Deadlock (FBI Thriller #24)(30)
Pippa said, “You put that nasty snake around his neck, like he’s a monster. And why do you have him leaning out the window?”
Mrs. Filly shrugged. “I decided to make it my last memory of him. I actually saw him up there and took a photo. I decided to immortalize him. Believe me, the snake fits him. But, to be honest here, he didn’t really have a paunch, I added it because he was such a two-timing bastard. And the Grateful Dead T-shirt? Like I said, a bit of whimsy on my part.”
“And this was when it was still that old hotel, the Alworth?”
“Yes, you can see the sign. The hotel wasn’t ever renovated and no one wanted to stay there. Old Mrs. Alworth sold it, and Mr. Sleeman—he’s our local wealthy robber baron—he turned it into some St. Lumis memorabilia shops. How did you know about the hotel?”
Pippa gave her a big smile. “I grew up in St. Lumis. My family left seven years ago. I decided to come back and visit my old stomping grounds.” She looked back at the puzzle. “When did Major Trumbo die?”
Mrs. Filly stroked her jaw, hummed. “I think it was five years ago, the same year Lill bought the Calders’ place and turned it into a B&B. She said it was very sudden, he simply fell over and croaked while they were on vacation. She said she couldn’t cremate him in life, so she did it when he died. I believe his urn sits on her fireplace mantel. All her guests see it at every meal.”
Pippa smiled. “It was one of the first things I noticed.”
Mrs. Filly snapped to and called out, “Sir, that puzzle’s wooden, indestructible, very good for small children, perhaps not quite as scary as the one he’s clutching to his chest, which I don’t recommend for any child under thirty.” She laughed at her own joke, patted Pippa’s arm, and walked over to ring up a sale, a large puzzle of Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones in a room filled with snakes, one crawling up his leg, another wrapped around his waist. His mouth was open in a scream. Pippa shuddered. No, thank you. She saw a father and one of his sons arguing. The boy wanted a Frankenstein puzzle that showed purple goo coming out of the monster’s enormous mouth. She hoped the father won that round. It was then she saw a sign posted against the back wall of the shop:
LEARN HOW TO MAKE YOUR OWN PUZZLES
If she’d been in a bathtub, she’d have jumped out and shouted, “Eureka!” Pippa snapped a photo with her cell when she was sure Maude Filly was otherwise occupied, walked to a corner of the shop, and shot off another text with the photo to Savich.
She waited, studied Mrs. Filly as she rang up another sale and interacted with her customers. When there was a break again, Pippa walked back up to her. “I see your sign about making your own puzzles. Do you give classes?”
“No, not exactly classes. If someone asks for advice I help them with the design they want or recommend several different designs to them. Help them set it up.”
“I’ll bet people love to turn photos into puzzles, right? Like with Shutterfly? You send them your photo and they make a puzzle out of it?”
Mrs. Filly nodded. “Many people want to give their puzzles a personal touch.”
“You’re so talented. I bet people from all over have heard of you and come in.”
“Aren’t you sweet. Yes, I have a lot of visitors.”
Pippa pointed to Major Trumbo leaning out the window. “That one is fascinating. Did anyone want to make a puzzle like it?”
“Hmm, I don’t think so. That’s not to say that someone couldn’t simply take a photo of it if they wanted to. I’d never know.”
“Have you sold many of Major Trumbo’s puzzles?”
“Not all that many. Mostly only to folks who knew him and get a good laugh. The few others who’ve bought the puzzle only see a nasty old dude with a snake kissing him. Gives lots of people the willies.” Mrs. Filly cocked her head at Pippa in question. “Why all the interest in that particular puzzle? You never knew Major Trumbo, did you?”
“No, I didn’t know him. The puzzle’s unusual, makes me wonder about the nasty old dude.”
Mrs. Filly didn’t smile, but she nodded. “People prefer the monsters and the gore, and maybe the Jack Nicholson. Now, the Jack one makes my skin crawl.”
More customers poured into the store, and Mrs. Filly turned to greet them. Pippa had so many more questions, about her records, about how her puzzles were made, but she didn’t want to make Mrs. Filly suspicious. The way the woman had looked at her when she’d asked how many Major Trumbo puzzles she’d sold—maybe she already was. It was time to move on. She’d swing back around later.
Pippa left Maude’s Creepy Puzzles, snapped another photo of the storefront, and sent it to Dillon. Then she headed to Columbo Square, another two blocks inland.
The air was fresh with a slight breeze, and the sun was bright overhead, a perfect fall day for the tourists strolling around town. After a block, Pippa pulled off her leather jacket as she walked toward the square. She felt euphoric, amazed at how quickly the puzzle mystery seemed to be coming together. But she realized, even with her meager experience, that something seemed off. The puzzle had almost been served up on a platter for her where she couldn’t miss it. Was someone trying to lure the FBI to St. Lumis? She’d asked only a few questions before Mrs. Filly had looked at her oddly. Why? Had she given herself away by showing all that interest? When she went back, she’d have to be more careful.