David Handler - The Snow White Christmas Cookie

“But we’ve had leaks on our undercover operations.”

“I don’t leak!”

“I’m not saying that you do. But I’m under strict orders, from the top, to tell no one.”

“I don’t like the way you weasels operate,” Des fumed.

“It’s not your job to like it. And don’t call me a weasel.”

“Is your man still there?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if he was?”

“Uh, excuse me for getting in the way of this little love fest,” Grisky interjected, “but did your man have anything for us, Captain?”

“Possibly,” The Aardvark replied. “Paulette Zander’s son Casey is a heavy, heavy sports bettor. Football’s his game. He’s lousy at it. And Gigi knows how to play him like a fiddle. She eggs him on, gives him a little taste now and then. The end result, according to my man, is that Casey Zander’s into Slick Rick for a whopping twenty large.”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere,” Grisky said eagerly. “Let’s play this out. Casey Zander has to raise twenty large to pay off Slick Rick. He’s a part-time mail carrier. He’s involved with Josie Cantro. We know that Josie’s a naughty little girl. We know that valuable mail on Hank Merrill’s route was disappearing in the weeks prior to his death.”

“And we know that Casey can’t be the brains behind this,” Des said. “He’s not bright enough-especially if the security at the Post Office is tight.”

“It’s very tight,” Questa said. “Plus he only drives on Saturdays.”

“So what does that make him?” Grisky wondered aloud.

“The weak link in the chain,” Yolie answered. “Let’s find him and break him.”

“He’s a U.S. Postal Service employee,” Questa said. “I’ll be the one to talk to him.”

Yolie shook her head. “He’s a person of interest in our homicide investigation. We’re talking to him.”

“We’ll all talk to him, okay?” Grisky said. “Any idea where he is?”

“At home with his mother, I assume,” Des said as her cell phone rang. She peered down at the screen. It was the Rustic Inn calling. She stepped out into the hallway to take the call. “This is Resident Trooper Mitry.”

She heard heavy wheezing at the other end before a voice said, “Des, this here’s Rutherford Peck calling.”

“What can I do for you, Rut?”

“Well, it’s like this. I’m at the Rustic and I don’t have any way of getting home.”

“Not a problem. I can arrange a ride for you. How did you get up there in the first place?”

“Your friend and mine Mitch Berger brought me up here for a friendly glass of beer.”

“Did that old Studey truck of his break down again?”

“Not exactly. Although he did say that he wanted to get something out of his truck. He went out to the parking lot, oh, maybe a half hour ago or so.”

“And?…”

“And he never came back.”

Des felt her pulse quicken. “Where is he, Rut?”

“That’s just it, young lady. Nobody seems to know. His truck’s here but Mitch isn’t. And I can’t find anyone who knows what happened to him.”

“Rut, are you okay?”

“Fine and dandy. It’s Mitch who I’m worried about.”

“Stay put. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

She rang off and turned to discover Yolie and Toni standing there in the hallway with her.

“What’s going down?” Yolie wanted to know.

Des shook her head in amazement. “He did it to me again.”

“Did what?”

“Went barging into the middle of things like Robert Mitchum on a bad-hair day. I’m going to kill him, I swear. But first I have to find him. I can’t believe he…” She broke off, her stomach in knots. “Want to get in some trouble?”

“You know me, girl. I’m up for anything. Let’s roll.”

“You could end up back in a gunnysack like me,” Des cautioned her.

“Not a problem. I look hot in gray. Whatever it is, I’m in.”

“Me, too,” Toni said.

“This ain’t your fight,” Yolie told her. “Besides, I need you holding down the fort here.”

“No way, Loo. I’ve been chained to a computer all day. And if I have to spend five more minutes in a room with Grisky I’m going to shoot him. Enough with the talking thing, okay? Let’s get out of here and break bad.”

Yolie’s fierce face broke into a smile. “Good answer, Sergeant.”

Mitch’s dear old truck was parked in the slushy lot just as Rut had said it was. Unlocked, with nothing and no one inside. Quite a few other pickups were crowded into the lot. There was no sign of Mr. Slick Rick Fontanella’s silver Coupe de Ville.

Des could feel the tension inside the Rustic the second that she and Yolie walked in the door. The sight of two very large sisters, one of them in uniform, tends to do that in a bar that is frequented by pigment-challenged workingmen. Toni stayed outside to conduct a thorough search of the parking lot and the area out back.

Des’s eyes scanned the room. She saw no sign of Tommy the Pinhead or Gigi Garanski. No sign of Rut Peck either, for that matter. She made her way over to Steve Starkey, who stood behind the bar with a wary look on his face.

“Afternoon, Des,” he said, forcing up some good cheer. “What can I do for you today?”

“I got a call from Rut Peck a few minutes ago. He wanted a ride home.”

Steve’s face fell. “He told me he was calling the Jewett sisters. I didn’t realize he called you.”

“He seemed a little confused about a few things. Thought I’d better check them out. Steve, say hello to Lieutenant Yolanda Snipes of the Major Crimes Squad.”

“Major Crimes?” Steve’s eyes widened. “Hey, what’s going on here?”

“That’s what we’d like to know,” Yolie growled.

“Where is Rut, Steve?”

“Lying down in my back room. He had one beer too many and got a little light-headed. Come on around, I’ll take you to him.”

Steve’s back room was a combination kitchen, storeroom and office. Chili bubbled in a huge pot on the stove. Cases of beer were stacked practically to the ceiling. There was a desk cluttered with papers. Also a beat-up old sofa where the occasional Rustic regular had been known to spend the night if he’d had one or seven too many. Rut lay stretched out on it with a blanket thrown over him. He was awake but looked a bit wan.

“Are you okay, Rut?” Des asked him.

“I’m fine, young lady. Sure didn’t mean to kick up a fuss. I’m just having a little bit of trouble sorting things out. Plus I think I ate one too many of Steve’s chili dogs,” he confessed, belching discreetly. “I feel like a fool for putting you to so much trouble.”

“No need to. There’s only one fool in this picture and it’s not you. Where is he?”

“That’s what I can’t sort out. Mitch asked me if I’d mind stopping off here for a beer on our way to Essex Meadows.”

“Did he say why?”

“No, he didn’t. And I didn’t care why. It was fine by me. Except now he’s gone and I don’t know where.”

Des glanced over at Steve. “What can you tell us?”

“Not a whole lot. Rut popped in a couple of hours ago with a young guy who he introduced to me as your friend Mitch Berger.”

“Mitch’s truck is still here,” Des said. “Where’s Mitch?”

Steve hesitated, licking his lips. “Look, I run a friendly bar. A place where regular guys can hang out and relax.”

“I’m going to keep this real simple, Steve. I’m not holding you personally responsible for anything that’s happened here today- unless you start playing games with me. Then I promise that you’ll be sorry this day ever happened.”

Steve let out a sigh, then opened the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey. He poured a stiff slug into a not-very-clean-looking glass, drank it down, and then poured himself another slug. “Des, you’re going to get sore no matter what I say.”