A Line To Murder (A Puget Sound Mystery) (14 page)

I introduced him to Andy.

“This is a surprise.” Dave smiled and sat. He leaned back, with the top buttons on his over-sized linen shirt undone and looked much younger than his forty-odd years.

“I’m taking your advice. I’m here to ask questions.”

Dave waited, looking from Andy to me.

“The police seem to have homed in on Andy as the murderer and aren’t looking any further.”

“Sweet Jesus!” Dave sat up abruptly. “That sucks.”

A waiter in khaki low-riders and a bartender’s apron brought him a mocha. I sniffed the chocolate smell and waited for the waiter to leave.

“So, where should I start?”

Dave blew on his drink, took a sip and looked around the room.

“The Psychic Showcase?” asked Francisco.

“It’s worth a try.”

“What’s that?”

A woman sat down at Dave’s table and he nodded. “I’ll be there in a minute, Gail.” He polished off the mocha. “There are lots of small reading sites, like this one, but periodically we have a big get-together. Around here, it’s generally at the Seattle Center. It runs for a weekend and gives us a chance to mingle and learn new things, as well as gives the public a chance to see what we have to offer.” He pushed away from the table and stood. “Look, I’ve got to go. If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know, but there’s a showcase next weekend. If the vicar’s interested in rebirthing, there’s a good chance he has other psychic interests. Anyway, think about going. Who knows what you might turn up.”

“What about here?”

“Can’t hurt to ask around, but if there’s a woman alone, Andy should do the asking.”

Dave left us and greeted his waiting client as if she were an old acquaintance. Perhaps she was. He had a lot of regulars.

I turned to Francisco. “What about the movie star voice thing,
should we try to find some drag queens?”

Andy looked disgusted. After all, this was his ex-wife we were talking about, the mother of his son.

Francisco shrugged. “Maybe, or you could check out Volunteer Park.”

“In Seattle? Why?”

“That’s where a lot of men go looking for anonymous sex. Older men who don’t show up too well in bar lights.”

“Oh.”

Andy and I were silent. He had contributed relatively little to the conversation.

What is he thinking?
“Well,” I glanced at my watch. “I’m going to ask around.”

I stood, took a deep breath and approached a table. “Excuse me.” The two ladies sitting there looked up. “I wonder if you can help me. A friend of mine just died and I’m trying to find someone she was—ah—counseling about her services. Because of client confidentiality, I only know of him as the vicar. Does that ring any bells?”
Every word the truth.

They looked at each other. “No, sorry,” one of them said. They continued their conversation and I moved on. Within twenty minutes, I had
canvassed most of the room. At a table near the piano, a man sat, arms crossed, waiting for someone. I made my way over and repeated my spiel.

“I saw someone who might be your guy at the Church of the Divine Humanity. At least, he wore a clerical collar.”

Yee haw. My first clue.
A man in a clerical collar would have stood out.
The church he referenced wasn’t a regular church; it was for the psychic community who followed the gospel of St. Thomas. About all I knew of St. Thomas’ gospel was it had only been discovered in 1945 and was controversial.
I sat. “I don’t suppose you heard his name.”

“No. He came in late and sat in the back.”

“What did he look like?”

“Middle-aged, not very tall. The only reason I noticed him is because he stumbled at the door.”

“Did he talk to anyone?”

“Not that I saw.” The man looked across the room and stood. “Sorry. It’s not much. Good luck.”

He left and I looked at my watch.

Andy joined me. “Any luck?”

I told him what I’d just learned. “How about you?”

“I found out I’m a water sign. The woman who told me is an earth sign. Seems we’re very harmonious and she wants to get together and explore our compatibility.”

I burst out laughing and went to speak to Francisco. “In case I have to work at the fair, tomorrow, I think I’d better head home.”

“I
'll walk her,” Andy said.

“Thanks. I’ll wait for Dave.” They shook hands and Francisco added, “Good luck. Dave may come up with something. On the off-chance your fellow is gay, neither the gay community nor the psychic community is that big, especially in Tacoma. People talk.” He looked across the room for a minute and then at me. “Got your pepper spray?”

“Yes.” I pulled my jacket off the back of the chair and Andy grabbed his.

Francisco hugged me, and Andy and I turned to leave, nodding at Dave. He returned a barely perceptible acknowledgment.

Andy helped me on with my jacket and held the door open.
How nice it is, sometimes, to be a female.
We left the building and walked out into the crisp night air. Since both Dave and Francisco know who I was with, I felt safe. This was really the first time I’d had to get to know Andy. I decided to focus on keeping my mouth shut and letting him talk. I had a good ear for what wasn’t being said.

I automatically turned left. “I always go up Broadway rather than Ninth Street. It’s a block or so longer but less steep.”

“Hmmm.” Andy’s shoulder brushed my arm. He slowed his pace to keep my pace. His hand, still warm from cradling the espresso mug, took mine in a firm grip. My stomach did a swan dive. The action of his fingers lacing through mine was slow and thoroughly delightful. For a moment, we remained quiet, as we walked past the windows of a row of antique shops.

“Your hand’s warm.” Andy’s voice was low and a bit husky.

God! It’s been forever.
I knew some women were attracted to murderers, something about the God complex. Was I one of them? I certainly hoped not. How to answer. “They usually are. I have good circulation.”
Oh, good, Mercedes, how to go with the moment.

Suddenly, the night air seemed unusually warm and I unbuttoned my jacket.

Traffic was so light when a car passed, it was almost an event. A train whistle blew long and loud before fading away with a melancholy sigh.

When Broadway left downtown and headed up a hill, the road passed a few remaining early twentieth-century homes, some of which had been turned into apartments. At one of them, an unkempt garden thrust a canopy of branches over the sidewalk. When Andy pushed them aside, releasing a shower of drops, I laughed. He let the branches go, stopped and turned me toward him. His arms went under my jacket and around my waist. The warmth of his hands on my back went through my shirt as he held me close. His lips were firm.

A light breeze bounced the boughs, sending up a protesting night bird and scattering more droplets. I barely noticed. When the first kiss was over, Andy trailed more on or near my lips. His lips were slightly chapped. Then he pressed my head to his shoulder and rested his cheek on it. My hands explored his back and shoulders.

A car went by and honked. Laughter erupted in Andy’s chest. Lifting my head, I looked at his face, so close to mine.

“Teenagers.”

“Ummm.” He kissed a small mole near my mouth. Then he let me go and took my hand again.

We continued walking and turned left at the top of the hill.

“Do you believe in that stuff?”

“What stuff?” My thoughts were on his thumb, which rubbed and massaged my palm.

“Astrology. The psychic world.”

That’s what you’re thinking about right now?

I reined in my thoughts and tried to concentrate. “I don’t believe or disbelieve.” I’d walked this ground before and learned to be wary. “I guess I’m more confused than anything. The way I feel is that, well, I’ve never really understood how the moon controls the tide. And the human body is something like ninety-seven percent fluid, so who’s to say the planet’s positions can’t influence a fetus? We’re all a half-melted snow cone.”

“A snow cone?” Andy laughed.

I let it pass. A police car cruised by slowly. The smell of hamburgers from the Frisko Freeze Drive-in filled the air. It was a moment of pure happiness.

“Will you go to the Psychic Showcase with me?”

“I was planning on going if I don’t have to work at the fair, so, yes.”

Our sneakered footfalls were quiet as we approached my apartment. Stars and a slice of the moon provided little light. The lamppost lights hardly penetrated the park. I kept my gaze averted. At my building, Andy held the door and followed me up the stairs. The part of a date I hated. I’d had a few ugly encounters when I closed my door in the face of an overconfident companion. I unlocked the dead bolt and turned to Andy.

Before I could speak he said, “I wouldn’t ask to come in except I’d like to say hi to Jose. Dominic asked me about him.”

“Sure.”

Andy followed as I turned on lights, turned up the thermostat and folded back the birdcage cover. Jose took his head out from under his wing and gave an angry squawk at having his sleep disturbed.

“Hey, old fella, remember me?” Andy leaned forward and put a tentative finger out. Jose gave him a dirty look and tucked his head back.

“Isca and I bought him at a Latin American street fair in San Francisco. He was hopping around his cage, interested in everything going on. Every time he heard music, he whistled and bobbed his head like he was dancing. Isca was into celebrating anniversaries then, a year since we’d met, when we fell in love, that kind of thing. She wanted an anniversary gift so I bought him. Then we had to figure out how to eat the rest of the month.”

He laughed, then sighed. “Dominic loves the feathers. Once Isca saved a bunch of them and made him a headdress for playing cowboys and Indians.”

His words made me sad. I had no appropriate response and didn’t know where the nostalgia was leading. I took the food and water containers out. If I filled them now, it would save me a little time in the morning.

Andy made occasional noises to the bird, and I went into the kitchen. Jose ate regular seeds as well as pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds and fruit. I cleaned the containers and looked for the wicker basket I kept fruit in. When the bananas were green, I put the container on a window ledge. That night, reaching for it, I knocked it on the floor. Apples and pears rolled every which way, and as I scrambled around picking up the produce, I caught a glimpse of Andy. He had turned away from the bird, picked up something and stood staring at it. No big deal, except that as I got up, he slipped whatever it was into his pocket.

Uh oh. What’s this?
I put the fruit basket where it belonged and carried the feed cups back to Jose’s cage. I took a quick glance around and didn’t see any tale-tale dust rings where some object had been removed.

“I’ll be going now.” Andy started toward the door. I followed, puzzled. Something I owned had caught his attention and he swiped it, but what? I liked weird stuff and had a lot of it. It might be days before I figured out what was missing.

At the door, Andy, still in that absentminded way, thanked me for the evening. “I’ll call about the Psychic Showcase.” He closed the door.

Whoa! I didn’t like fighting off over
ly amorous suitors at the end of an evening, but what a brush-off. I locked up, took a quick shower and climbed into bed. While I waited for sleep, I tried to remember what had been on the table near where Andy stood. He’d been next to a table of Asian things I’d found in antique shops or brought back from Hong Kong. Eventually, taking mental inventory put me to sleep.

At five, when the alarm went off, I jumped out of bed. My morning schedule was worked out for maximum efficiency. It didn’t leave time to rummage for the earrings I wanted. When I found them, the shiny silver triggered my memory. Andy must have picked up and pocketed the money clip. The one with the words, “Andy, Luv Isca” I found under her bedroom window.
Holy crap.

Earrings forgotten, I sat on the bed to consider the ramifications. Hemingway said all things wicked started from something innocent. Isca’s phone line started out innocent but she got careless and Dominic heard her. That was bad. Isca and Andy’s fight was nasty and the murder was wicked. Every human was a mixture of good and evil. Psychologists used Dr. Jekyll, the respected physician, and Mr. Hyde, his schizophrenic other half as a good example. I remembered the broken dowel and shivered. Did Andy have a Mr. Hyde side he didn’t know about? How could I trust a man who, when he thinks no one can see, swipes a clue from a murder investigation where he’s the prime suspect?
I doubt I can.

Chapter 13

For the next few days, I alternated working either the breakfast or afternoon shift and found excuses to put off calling Isca’s brother, Parker. On Thursday I took the bull by the horns.

“Parker? Hi. How are you?”

“Hey, Mercedes. What a nice surprise.” He sounded better than he had at the funeral. “The kids got conjunctivitis right at the beginning of spring vacation.”