5 From the Grounds Up Read online

  I coughed like I was clearing my throat. 'Sorry,' I said loudly, 'but when the bottle broke, the talcum got in my throat. I don't know if the florist kept the water on, but I could use something to drink.' There. That should tell Sarah where I was.

  'The water's disconnected,' Ronny said. 'My father, the cheap bastard, had it turned off.'

  'So cheap he wouldn't pay a mechanic? Is that why Kornell asked you to fix the Buick's fuel line?' I asked.

  'Please. He never wanted me touch his precious classic.'

  'More precious than his own son?'

  'At least this one.' More squirming.

  I knew he was thinking about Tommy. 'Even so, you did your best to fix Kornell's car.'

  'What can I say? I'm a saint.'

  And I was sweating bullets. 'The Buick's clock was off, too. I mean in addition to the fuel line.'

  'A real shame.' Ronny attempted to stick his hands in his pockets, but the pants were too tight. He settled for hooking his thumbs in the belt loops.

  'And the depot clock? That was wrong, too.'

  'A timely convergence, you might say.' Ronny didn't sound so much like Elvis anymore. 'But still, the chances of anything happening?' He shrugged.

  'Yet everything did,' I said. 'It must have seemed like a sign from God to you.'

  Ronny's thumbs slipped out of the belt loops. 'Not a sign from God, Maggy. Just an accident.'

  'But a very lucky accident.' I needed to move things along before the recording ended. I knew I risked agitating him, but I had to take the chance. 'You inherited this place from Kornell and when you realized--thanks to me telling you Wednesday--that the depot wasn't part of the package, you decided to throw in with Sarah and me, figuring you'd get the property one way or the other.'

  I hurried on before he could interrupt. 'You probably rigged up the bad electrical wires and plumbing yourself. The hose under the sink was a nice touch--you cut it from the garden hose outside. No wonder Jenada was able to obtain a permit for his restaurant. Everything was fine until you got hold of the place.'

  A very Elvis sneer.

  'You rammed Sarah's Firebird into the building, too, didn't you?'

  'Don't be silly,' Ronny said. 'I just turned the car around for her.'

  'And forgot to set the parking brake?' As I said it, I finally heard a faint beep from my pocket, followed by a woman's voice signaling that the message had reached its maximum length. If I did nothing, the voicemail would automatically go to Sarah's phone.

  Ronny shrugged. 'I suppose I might have. Don't quite remember.' He bent over and lifted the rock I'd left on the floor.

  Bad sign.

  I held up my hands, playing for time. 'One thing that I don't know, though, is how the flour got in Sarah's car.'

  A grunted laugh. 'There was a floury apron on the porch railing,' Ronny said. 'I might have shook it over the seat before I followed Art into the depot.'

  'You knew the apron was Art's?'

  'It seemed a good bet, don't you think?'

  'So you set him up?'

  'I just wanted to cause a little confusion.' Ronny gave an Elvis pout. 'I figured any white powder would give the emergency workers pause.'

  He hefted the rock like he was weighing whether it would crush my skull. If Ronny's MO was staging accidents, what was he going to do? Bean me with the rock and say I fell on to it climbing through the window?

  That could work, come to think of it. Meaning, I probably shouldn't mention it to him.

  Instead, I said the next thing that came into my head.

  'What about Vi?' I was edging away. There was a simple thumb-turn deadlock on the door. I'd stand a better chance going out that way than through the window. 'Did you kill her, too?'

  Unlike my other accusations, this one seemed to shake him. 'My father killed her. I told you that.'

  'Your father?' I was still moving.

  Only problem was that Ronny was shadowing me. 'Yes, my father. He used to hit me, did you know that?'

  I decided to take another shot in the dark. 'Of course he hit you. You killed his son. Who could blame—?'

  'I was his son, too,' Ronny roared. 'It was an accident.'

  'Was it, Ronny? Was it really?' The florist shop's door was less than four feet away now.

  'Stop that,' Ronny shouted, raising the rock.

  I wasn't sure if he meant talking or moving, so I ceased both.

  'Get back over there.' He was indicating the corner where I'd started, near the bags and far from the door.

  Back to square one.

  All I could do now was hope Sarah got the message. In the meantime, I'd keep Ronny talking and, last resort, take him down. Let's hope Sarah was right, and I did outweigh the twerp.

  While I had been dwelling on other things, like how I would beat the crap out of the nutcase if I got hold of him, Ronny remained fixated on his brother.

  'It was an accident,' he repeated. 'Maybe I left the door open, but Tommy was the one who wandered out.'

  Ronny seemed to be calming down. I did not view this as good news. My chances of taking him were better if he wasn't thinking clearly.

  'My father should have watched Tommy, if he loved him so much.' This last sounded like the whine of a five-year-old.

  'And the ball?' I asked, trying to stir him up again. 'The one that Tommy chased into the road?'

  'Tommy wanted it,' Ronny said softly. 'It rolled into the street.'

  'You threw it.'

  A flare of anger. 'I kicked it.'

  'That first time was a revelation, wasn't it? You realized you could kill, but not be blamed.'

  I'd struck a nerve. 'I was blamed,' Ronny screamed, free hand rolled into a fist. 'I was blamed my whole life.'

  'By your father, but not by anybody else,' I said measuredly. 'Not by Vi or anybody you cared about. You were just a little boy, after all. If anything, it made Vi love you more. '"Poor Ronny, it's not his fault."'

  'That's right.' Ronny stuck out his chin. 'It wasn't my fault.'

  'You took no responsibility and had no remorse. Then or now.'

  'Remorse for what?' Ronny was visibly trying to calm himself again. 'I left a door open and kicked a ball. Out of the goodness of my heart, I did some repairs on an old lady's wheelchair. Fixed my father's fuel line. Reset a clock or two. Turned a car around for my cousin and neglected to set the parking brake.'

  He shrugged, rock still in hand. 'What can I say, Maggy? Some people are just accident prone.'

  I retreated behind the Schulz's bags and snuck a glance out the window. Still no Sarah. I was on my own. 'Did you loosen the porch rail to throw us off?'

  'Maybe.'

  'Poor little Ronny,' I intoned. 'Fell off the porch and hurt himself.'

  His face changed and he took a step toward me. I might have pushed one too many buttons. Time to back off and appeal to his ego.

  'I have to hand it to you,' I said, tipping my head. 'You do a great Elvis. Circa nineteen fifty . . .?'

  'Fifty-seven.' Ronny gave a little butt wiggle and a smidge of pelvic thrust.

  I gestured at the bulge in his pants. 'What do you use for it?'

  Ronny looked down at his crotch. 'A rolled-up sock.' He adjusted said sock with his non-rock hand. 'As long as the pants are tight enough. Bell-bottoms, now they're a problem. The boner falls out.'

  'Embarrassing,' I said. 'But I meant what do you use for the jock itch.'I leaned down and picked up a container of Silken Petals. 'Maybe if you put a little of this on your . . . sock,' I twisted open the top, 'it'll help.'

  Ronny stuck his free hand out. "These tight pants are murder.'

  I held the powder just out of his range. 'And the polyester. No wonder you wore shorts the other day.'

  'And boxers.' The Elvis clone took a step toward me. 'Had to air the boys out.'

  'But maybe a little too much air?' I was careful to keep the container out of reach. 'How'd you keep the sock in?'

  A sheepish grin. 'That was a problem.'

&nb
sp; Ahh. 'Fell out as you exiting Sarah's car, huh?'

  But Ronny was getting impatient with the conversation. 'I told you I moved her car. Now give it.' He made a grab for the container.

  Always one to accommodate, I thrust the bottle in his face and squeezed hard, crushing the dispenser and sending up an explosion of Silken Petals powder.

  Ronny dropped the rock and fell back, coughing and rubbing at his eyes.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, I made a dash for the door. As I turned the deadbolt and went to push, a hand grabbed my shoulder from behind.

  I tried to shrug it off and keep going, but Ronny was stronger than he looked. The little bugger even spun me around and shoved me back into the room. Ronny's head was covered with powder, his eyes streaming, the tears making flesh-colored rivulets down his cheeks.

  I retreated to get my balance. Then, as Ronny came toward me, I moved forward as well, going on the offense. I could see he was startled.

  As the distance between us closed, I zigged.

  Ronny zigged.

  I zagged and Ronny zagged. We were like two people trying to pass each other on a sidewalk. I faked another zig, knowing the man would anticipate it. When he did, I zagged instead.

  As Ronny tried to change directions, I stepped around and kicked out the back of his left knee. As he went down, I heard two things. The rip of his pants and the thud of his head against the rock on the floor.

  Holy shit.

  It had been self-defense, right? Ronny was the one who attacked me. And dropped the rock there. This was his fault, not mine.

  Even as I had the thought, Ronny groaned and turned over.

  All remorse gone, I took off for the door again and this time pushed it open, in my haste nearly tripping over the roof tiles I'd left there myself.

  Then I ran like hell.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  'Elvis really has left the building,' Art Jenada said.

  We were on the sidewalk, watching as Officer Heckleman led Ronny out of the florist shop. Firefighter Brady was snapping photos.

  Ronny had a gash on his forehead but apparently he'd live. After over-powdering (sorry) him, I ran across the street and directly into Jenada. He gave me a towel for my bloody leg and then called 911. The two of us armed ourselves with catering knives and stood guard outside the shop until the police arrived and disarmed us. Then they went inside and found the real bad guy.

  'I can't see,' Ronny screamed as Heckleman and he passed us. 'And I probably have a concussion.'

  'I'm sorry,' I called after him. 'It was an accident.'

  Ronny didn't laugh.

  'Not a fan of ironic humor, apparently,' I said to Jenada.

  'Isn't that your friend the sheriff?'

  I turned the direction Jenada was looking to see Pavlik's car pull up to the curb. As Heckleman eased Ronny into the rear seat of the municipal squad, the sheriff took a moment to fully appreciate Ronny's fashion statement. Then he proceeded up the sidewalk toward us.

  'Michael Jackson?' Pavlik asked, hooking a finger toward Ronny.

  'No. The King, 1957. Elvis did the white sock thing first.'

  Pavlik pointed to the still-open door of the florist shop. 'So I guess we could say that Elvis has—'

  'Forget it,' I said. 'Already been done.' I introduced the sheriff to Art.

  'We met at the last disaster, I think.' Jenada stuck out his hand. 'Or maybe the catastrophe before that.'

  'The train crash,' Pavlik agreed. 'It's so hard to keep count.'

  They looked at me like this was my fault.

  'Listen, I'm the hero here. I disabled the bad guy. And,' holding up my phone, 'got the confession on voicemail and sent it to Sarah.'

  'Let's hope she got the message and didn't delete it,' Pavlik said. 'But you're right. You are the hero. Great work. Just don't repeat it.'

  'Promise.' After all, the chances of again coming across a man dressed like Elvis when I had a bottle of talcum powder in my hand were probably slim to none.

  'What happened there?' Pavlik was pointing at my leg. The paramedics had removed the towel and replaced it with an embarrassingly small bandage. They said I might have bled out, but it would have taken a week or so. And a clotting disorder.

  'I'm fine. Just a scratch.' I looked around. 'Where's Sarah?'

  'Haven't seen her,' Pavlik said.

  'You mean the woman with the baggy suits?' Jenada asked. 'Nasty disposition, no more Firebird?'

  'That's her,' I confirmed.

  'Haven't seen her either.'

  Jenada waved at Christy, who was waiting timidly across the street, wringing her rubber-gloved hands. 'Gotta go. I think she wants me.'

  Jenada winked in my direction and crossed the road to her. Penn and Inkel were making their way over to Christy as well, with Rebecca making sure Michael didn't cross the street to the crime scene. It would be interesting to see how that relationship progressed. Or not.

  'Quite a crew you're going to have here at the Junction,' Pavlik observed. 'This line-up puts Benson Plaza to shame.'

  'And just think,' I said. 'We'll still have Amy and Tien. Add Sarah to the mix . . .'

  An unfamiliar car roared up. The driver slammed on the brakes and screeched to a stop in front of us, laying down a strip of rubber.

  'Cool skidmark,' Sam Harper said, jumping out of the passenger side of the car.

  'Sam, you're home.' I hugged him. 'You look like a surfer dude.' I tousled his sun-bleached hair.

  'Skidmark? Eww.' Sam's sister Courtney climbed out of the backseat.

  'Not that kind of skidmark, stupid,' Sam said.

  'Don't call your sister stupid.' Sarah came around from the driver's side.

  I hugged Courtney and complimented her on her tan.

  'Fake Bake. I'm not an idiot like my brother.' She threw him a look.

  Happy homecoming. I turned to Sarah. 'They're back—that's wonderful.'

  'Sure.' I could see her resisting the urge to grin. 'One hour off the plane and they're already fighting.'

  'Hey, just be glad they have each other. Eric used to pick fights with me.'

  Pavlik had gone off to talk to Heckleman, so I led Sarah to one side, so the kids wouldn't overhear. 'So, what happened?'

  'Sam and Courtney called, finally. I asked them to come home and they did.'

  'Simple as that?'

  Sarah shrugged. 'I may have told Courtney the hot guy she likes called. Next thing I know, she wants me to book them the next flight home.'

  Sarah was trying to act irritated, but couldn't quite carry it off.

  'That's all?' I asked. 'What about Sam?'

  'Sam? I said I was buying a new car.'

  I looked at her.

  Sarah shrugged. 'I can't help it if he assumed he was getting the Firebird.'

  'That's downright cruel,' I said. 'Shame on you.'

  'Hey, they're home. Besides, I talked to Mario and he offered to help Sam rebuild my poor Bird.'

  I didn't think it was the right time to ask about the parts that already had been harvested.

  'Speaking of Mario and the car, did you get my message?'

  'Yeah, but I didn't listen to all of it. I was at the airport, picking up the kids.'

  Oh-oh. 'You didn't erase it, did you?'

  'Nah. Should I ask what's going on here?'

  'You were supposed to be saving my life,' I said. 'Ronny is a little whacked.'

  'A little whacked?' Sarah pointed to the squad. 'He's doing Elvis in whiteface.'

  'That's talcum powder. Silken Petals, to be exact. I used it to blind him.'

  For a change--and a welcomed one--Sarah seemed at a loss for words.

  I said, 'Your cousin—'

  'Step-cousin.'

  We were back to that, eh? 'Your step-cousin has been behind all the accidents. Your unc . . . Kornell owned the flower shop and Ronny wanted it. He engineered the accident with the train and when that was successful, it made him overconfident.'

  'Overconfid
ent?'

  'I think he felt like this was all pre-ordained. Consider his history: He left a door open and kicked a ball. Presto, his pesky little brother is out of his life forever.'

  'He did that on purpose?' I don't think I'd ever seen Sarah so astonished.

  'I think so. Maybe just to get Tommy into trouble. But Ronny admitted kicking the ball into the street because Tommy wanted it.'

  'Ronny was a kid,' Sarah protested. 'Kids make mistakes.'

  'Of course they do. And kids learn from their mistakes. In Ronny's case, though, he learned that he could "make mistakes"--like not tightening Kornell's fuel line or Clara Huseby's wheel—'

  Sarah started to interrupt, but I tamped her down with my palms. '—and feign ignorance. Ronny would set things in motion and then walk away.'

  'Like someone leaving a bomb in a train station.'

  'Exactly, except in this case Ronny seemed able to convince himself that he wasn't responsible.'

  Even as I said it, I was thinking about my knee-jerk reaction to Ronny's imagined death. Maybe self-justification was as natural an instinct as self-defense was. After all, nobody wants to admit -- even to themselves -- that they've done something wrong.

  Ronny, though, had perfected the art.

  'But what did he expect to accomplish here in the Junction?' asked Sarah.

  'When Kornell died, Ronny thought he'd inherit half the depot. When I told him that wasn't true—'

  'He didn't already know?'

  'No, don't you remember? Kornell said he hadn't told his son anything. Given that, Ronny thought he'd get both the florist shop and Vi's interest in the depot when his dad died.'

  'But even if that were true, I'd still have the other half.'

  'He intended to buy your share with his inheritance and make a killing by selling the whole block to a hotel chain. When he realized he didn't own fifty per cent and you recognized how valuable the property was, Ronny knew he couldn't afford to buy you out.'

  'So,' Sarah shaking her head, 'instead, he bought in.'

  'Exactly. Ronny asked for the warranty deed, supposedly to give to his lawyer. I don't have to tell you that it wouldn't be hard to forge a new one and get some shady notary public to witness it. If you weren't around to contest it—'

  I interrupted myself. 'You didn't let Ronny touch the new Firebird, did you?'