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“I’ll send it out with Stretch. He doesn’t have to worry on account of he’s a cook. And I’ll be the manager, so I can assign him garbage detail. Only problem is we have to find Vinnie, so we can make the job switch. Of course, you quit in a text message, so I guess I could text him that I’m taking over as manager.”
I slipped Wayne Kulicki’s file out of my bag. “I need to find this guy.”
“If you’re hard up for money now that you’re not a manager, I might hire you as a waitress or dishwasher or something.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Are you coming with me or are you going back to the deli?”
“I’ll ride with you so long as I get back to the deli by five o’clock.”
Wayne Kulicki was renting a small one-bedroom row house on the fringe of Chambersburg. He’d been a trust officer with a local bank prior to going bonkers and destroying the Eat and Go. He was currently unemployed.
I drove one block down Hamilton Avenue, turned into the Burg, and wound around the maze of streets that led to the row houses. Kulicki’s house was third from the corner and not in great shape. The paint was peeling off the clapboard, and one of his two front windows was cracked.
I parked in front of the house, and Connie called.
“Where are you?” Connie asked.
“I’m in front of Wayne Kulicki’s house. Where are you?”
“I’m in the parking lot behind the office. Vinnie’s car is here. And his shoe.”
“Is Vinnie’s foot in the shoe?”
“No.”
“Is Vinnie in the office?”
“No.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not kidding,” Connie said. “I called his cell, and there’s no answer. I called his wife, and she hasn’t seen him since this morning.”
“Is there any sign of struggle? Blood?”
“No. None of that. Just the shoe.”
“This is too bizarre. Are you sure Vinnie isn’t hanging out somewhere watching you, laughing his ass off?”
“I don’t hear any laughing,” Connie said. “Do you think I should call the police? It’s not like I could definitely say I’m looking at a crime scene. And suppose I’m being punked, and I’m too stupid to know it?”
“Do you know Jimmy Krut?”
“Yes. I went to school with him,” Connie said.
“Give him a call. He’s the primary on the deli disappearances.”
I disconnected and told Lula about the shoe.
“That’s not fitting the profile,” Lula said. “That’s changing the modus operandi. Someone’s got a lot of nerve doing that. I was counting on being able to go out the front door. And Vinnie isn’t even the deli manager. Of course, he’s the bonds office manager so maybe that’s got a relationship there.”
“Do you still want to be manager of the deli?”
“Hell no. Those space aliens got a manager fixation.”
I was having a hard time believing that Vinnie had gotten beamed up, chopped up, or otherwise abducted. It was too weird. I needed more proof than a shoe. I needed a video, a bloody handprint, a text message. I needed something confirming that a disaster had occurred. I mean, anybody could los
e a shoe, right? And how do we know it wasn’t planted by Vinnie so he could go off and get spanked by Madam Zaretsky?
