A Farewell to Legs: An Aaron Tucker Mystery - By Jeffrey Cohen Page 0,74

possible. There’s one problem with your theory, Inspector,” he added.

“What’s that?”

“Well, if you’re assuming that Stephanie killed Crazy Legs, then got right on an airplane at Reagan, flew to Newark, hopped in a rental car and drove to the reunion, you’re forgetting that she had her own car when she pulled into the lot in Scotch Plains.”

“You noticed that?” I asked incredulously.

“Sure,” Mahoney said. “It’s second nature now. I see a car, I check the plates, and I look for a sticker or a number that would indicate it’s from a rental company. Got to keep up with the competition. And Stephanie’s car was definitely private.”

I thought for a while about that. “That leaves a few possibilities,” I said. “But one thing’s for sure.”

“What’s that?” asked Mahoney, always dependable to deliver a straight line when you need one.

“Well, you gentlemen—and I use the term loosely—have answered your questions very well, so Snapdragon is definitely picking up the tab for dinner,” I said, reaching for my American Express card.

There was a good deal of cheering while I calculated the tip, and how to convince the people at surrounding tables that I’d never met these men before in my life.

I got home after Leah was in bed, but Ethan was still up, wreaking havoc with my computer by playing Internet games on the Nickelodeon site. Abby, with a Sphinx-like look on her face, told me he had been on the Internet pretty much all evening.

We sat in the kitchen, she having a cup of decaf and me having a couple of tablespoons of Maalox. And the idiot grin that kept trying to conceal itself on my wife’s face finally got the better of me.

“Okay,” I said, “tell me about the dog.”

“It’s so cute!” she gushed. “We found it on the site for this shelter in Hackettstown. . .”

“Hackettstown!” I groaned. “That’s an hour and a half drive easy.”

“You only have to do it once,” Abby said. “He’s so adorable, Aaron. Part beagle, part basset hound.”

“A bagel. Very appropriate.”

“You have to see. As soon as Ethan’s done playing, I’ll show you the picture.”

“Don’t show me anything,” I said. “I don’t want to be infected with cute dog disease like the rest of you.”

“You are a very difficult man,” my wife said. “Believe me, once you see the picture, you’ll fall in love.”

“I might fall in love tonight, but in February, when the wind is blowing and it’s twelve degrees outside and Mr. Adorable wants to be walked, I’m not going to be so in love.”

Ethan called in from the den. “I’ll do it, Dad,” he said. “You don’t have to walk the dog.”

Abby and I looked at each other, but our looks were saying two different things: hers was all about “see?” while mine was very clearly stating, “famous last words.”

Chapter

Eighteen

After the Y the next morning, I decided to let bygones be bygones and go get a water bottle at the Kwik N’ EZ. In my stinky sweats, I didn’t want to inflict myself upon anyone at a real store, and besides, I thought with a certain malevolent glee, they were used to things that didn’t smell especially good around there.

Not paying attention to the staff, I just walked over, picked up the bottle of Poland Spring, and headed for the counter. The owner, Mr. Rebinow, was eyeing me warily the whole time, but he wasn’t working the register. I noticed that he had taken the box of stink bombs off the counter as soon as he saw me walk in.

I paid for the sports bottle, took the top off, and raised the bottle in his direction, which I considered a conciliatory gesture, and left. But he made no sign, no movement, no nod in my direction. Some people—you mess up their store for two stinking days (literally), and they never forgive you.

When I got back to the house, Preston Burke was there, admiring his work. He had finished painting the window frame, and it looked better than at any time we’d lived in the house. The man lacked social skills, but he could certainly fix a window, which was more than I could say for myself.

“Oh, Pres, I forgot to take the money out of the bank. Do you mind if I give you a check?” I could do an online transfer of the money from our savings account later.

“It doesn’t matter, Aaron. You ever think about painting that front door? It really doesn’t match the window anymore.” Burke looked sideways at