All Things Lost (23 page)

     “Are we moving?” I asked trying not to think about Asher.

     “I think so, yes. We decided that we want to stay to together and make this work, and that means moving. That's still a ways off, though.”

     “So you're going to sell this house?”

     “No, I'm not ready to let go of the beach house just yet. Maybe I just don't want to let go of that part of my independence just yet. We're going to rent it out for now. We'll probably need the extra income anyway. It would be unrealistic to expect the bed and breakfast to take off right away. Who knows, I'm not wishing the business to fail but if it does we might need this place to fall back on.”

     “What about your business?”

     Adam shoved me playfully. “How long do you think we were out there? We don't have all the details worked out yet. You've really been worrying about all this haven't you?”

     “I guess so.”

     “Well, stop. We're going to be fine. I'm sorry you got caught in the middle the other night at dinner. That wasn't fair to you, we were…I was being very selfish.”

     “It's ok.”

     “No, it's not ok. And to answer your question, we'll probably compromise. I'll probably keep my business but help out Steve with the B&B when and where I can.”

     We were quiet for a minute then I said, “So we're moving in with
Amalie
, huh?”

     
“Who?
Oh, Steve's ghost. I'm still a little skeptical about that.”

     “That's because you haven't heard her walking around and slamming doors.”

     He ruffled my hair. “Don't you think of you'd given up the afterlife to hang around you'd have better things to do then slam doors and stomp around?”

     “Maybe she has unfinished business.”

     “Well, for Pete's sake, let's help her finish it!” He laughed and stood up. He reached down for my hand and pulled me to my feet. “Come on; let's get inside before these damn mosquitoes eat me alive. Then I'll be haunting you because you made me stay out here so long.”

     I followed him inside where Mom and Steve stood side by side at the sink, Mom washing the dishes and Steve drying. It was very domestic, but a little odd all things considered.

     “How long are you staying?” I asked Mom.

     
“For a few days at least.
I want to spend a lot of time lounging about the beach and doing absolutely nothing. This is my vacation.”

     “So I was just an excuse to get away?” I asked with a grin.

     “Pretty much,” she shot back. Laughing, I left Adam to help with the clean-up and started for bed. Kane was sprawled across the couch watching a movie on TV. I stopped long enough to say, “I'm glad you came back for my birthday, Kane.”

     “Yeah, me too,” he said, “Besides, it was boring at my mom's.”

     I turned the TV off my way out.

* * *

     I got early the next morning so that I could have a little quality time with my new Mustang. It drove like a charm, smooth and easy to handle. I was in heaven. I was enjoying it so much I lost track of time and was almost late for work. I reluctantly parked the car and forced myself to climb out. I gave the hood an affectionate pat before turning to go inside.

     “Have you named her yet?” someone suddenly asked me, causing me to jump.

     
“Novak!”
I gasped. “I didn't see you there.”

     He took a sip from the steaming oversized coffee mug in his hand.
“Didn't mean to startle you.
Have you named her yet?”

     
“Her who?
The car?”

     “That's who I was referring to, yes.”

     “It's a car, Novak, not a puppy.”

     “Every car needs a name. I've had Bessie for longer than you've been on this earth. She's like family. She's seen me through some tight spots.”

     “You really need to get a woman.”

     “Bessie gets better mileage.”

     “Has one ever told you you're a strange man, Novak?”

     
“All the time, kid, all the time.”

     We walked into the office where Novak had a stack of paperwork waiting for me that was tall enough to block light behind me desk.

     “Take care of that and when you get finished come on into my office and we'll take stock on our progress on your case,” he told me.
“Oh, and Killian?
I really enjoyed meeting your family last night. You can learn a lot about someone by observing them with those they are closest to.”

     “What did you learn about me?”

     
“Ah, that I can't tell you.”

     
“Why not?”

     
“Because you have to figure these things out for yourself.”

     “Gee thanks,” I grumbled.

     “I did realize how much I miss my family, though. I'm going to go into here and call my daughter. Hold my calls until I tell you otherwise.”

     He went into his office and shut the door as I dove into the pile of work awaiting me. It was after
noon
before I reached the bottom of the heap. I ran out and grabbed a sandwich and, after eating it, I knocked on Novak's door.  

     “Come in,” he called.

     I let myself in and took one of the big brown leather armchairs that faced his desk. The office itself reflected Novak's personality. It was a comfortable place, laid back and non-demanding. It was decorated in what could only be described and Early American Yard Sale. Its furnishings were an eclectic mix of old elegance and modern efficiency, but somehow it all worked.

     His desk was an enormous expanse in scarred golden oak, solid and sturdy. It must have come with the office. I couldn't imagine that it had ever been anywhere else it was so huge; it would have been a bitch to move.

     One wall was completely taken up by mix-matched bookcases of varying heights, colors and wood types. They were filled to overflowing with books of all types: legal books, phone books for every phone book in the tri-state area, atlases and a set of encyclopedias that were quite possibly older than me. One bookshelf was reserved for Novak's guilty secret, his collection of hardcover detective novels. There were books by Sue Grafton, Tony
Hillerman
,
Agatha
Chris
tie, Elizabeth Peters, Patricia Cornwell, Faye
Kellerman
, Marcia Muller,
Sharyn
McCrumb
, and more. Many of them had been signed by the author.

     Behind his desk was an intimidating wall of battleship-gray metal filing cabinets, each meticulously labeled and locked. The other wall was claimed by a strangely hump-backed sofa-sleeper that sat hunched under the room's only window. Novak supposedly kept it there for the rare occasion when he pulled an all-nighter. I always had the uneasy feeling that the sofa bed was lurking there, off to one side, just waiting for me to let my guard down before pouncing on me and devouring me whole. Hey, I have an overactive imagination, ok?

     Today he was sitting in his black swivel executive chair, leaned back as far as he could go without flipping over with his feet on the desktop.

     “So, where are we, kid?” he asked.

     “In your office, sir,” I answered flippantly. He shot me a look that would peel paint off a Chevy so I hurriedly added, “You mean on the case?”

     “Yes, I meant the case.”

     “Well, I guess we're nowhere.”

     His eyebrows shot up in tandem and I couldn't help but feel like I had failed some test. “Nowhere?” he said. “That's an awful lonely place to be. I would rather think we're somewhere. What do we know now that we didn't know when we started?”

     “Well, we can be fairly sure that Phil
Zaranski
didn't kill Ira Cohen. He has an alibi that checks out.”

     Novak opened a desk drawer and pulled out a stack of index cards. He jotted something down one and pushed it aside. “Ok, what else do we know about Ira and
Zaranski
?”

      “What difference does that make if we know
Zaranski
didn't do it?”

     Novak looked up at me and once again I felt like a particularly slow student. “First rule of the detection business; don't ever take anything for granted, no matter how insignificant it may seem at the time. Don't throw any fact away as useless until you have the whole picture. Something that seems of no consequence can have a great impact on something else later down the road or take on a different meaning in the light of new information. Now, what do we know about Ira Cohen and Phillip
Zaranski
?”

     Properly chastised, I picked up where I had left off. “We know
Zaranski
was secretly taping couples in their motel room in, um, compromising positions.”

     “Positions that likely included missionary, doggie style and 69,” he quipped.

     I tried not blush as I continued, “We know that Ira found this out and was blackmailing
Zaranski
.
Zaranski
probably hated him enough to kill him.”

     “But he has that pesky alibi. What about the tapes?”

     “What about them?”

     “Did Ira know about them, and if so did he look at them?”

     “I don't know. What difference could that make?”

     “It could make a big difference. If Ira was a blackmailer, and he knew some of the people on the tapes…”

     A light bulb went on over my head and I finished his thought, “then Ira could have been blackmailing them as well.”

     “And they would have a motive for murder. A blackmailer seldom stops at one victim. It's a definite possibility. The question is, did he find the tapes and view them, and if so, was he brazen enough, or stupid enough, to actually try blackmailing someone else?”

     “Well, we know he wasn't exactly a model citizen. He abused his son and blackmailed his boss. I wouldn't put it past him.”

     
“Nor would I.
Who else is there?”

     “Nadine Tingle.”

     “Ah, yes, the charming Ms. Tingle. What do we know about her?”

     I frowned, “Not much. Just that she was involved with Ira in some way, but didn't apparently like him all that much.”

     “Or that's what she wants us to believe, anyway.”

     “You think she's lying to us?”

     “I think there's much more to Nadine Tingle than meets the eye. I think it would be a mistake to underestimate her; she's a lot sharper than you might first think. We know about as much about her and her relationship with Ira now as we knew going in, which is just the way she wanted it.”

     “What about Becky Haynes, the neighbor?”

     “She's another one who hasn't been completely up-front with us. She's trying to protect Caleb, from what I'm not sure. There were no toys in the yard, no signs of children. It could be that Becky Haynes thinks of Caleb as a son, maybe the child she can't have.”

     I stared at him in awe. “You got all that from a five-minute conversation?”

     
“Observation, kid.
That's what this business is all about. You have to keep your eyes and ears open at all times. You have good instincts and a mind like a steel trap, but unless you learn how to harness them and put them to use they won't amount to a hill of beans. Just like any talent, you have to learn how to use it to its fullest potential. What about Caleb?”

     It took me a second to shift gears and catch up with him. “Caleb. He says he ran away from the group home because he thought he was going to be returned to his father. He won't say where he was between leaving the group home and getting picked up by the police on the boardwalk. Not even how he got there.”

     “That could be significant or it could be nothing. Fifteen year olds have a different value system when it comes to what is important. He could be refusing to say because he chopped his father up with an ax or simply because he protecting a girlfriend somewhere.”

     “Boyfriend,” I corrected automatically.

     “Boyfriend?” he repeated. His eyebrows had scaled to new heights and I realized I had neglected to tell him that Caleb was gay.

     “Did I forget to mention that?” I asked sheepishly.

     “Yes, as a matter of fact you did. Do you know of any particular boyfriend?”

     “No,” I said, forcing thoughts of Asher out of my mind. I seemed to be spending a lot of time lately trying not to think about him.

     “But you know that he is definitely gay?”

     “Yes.”

     “I see.” He thought for a moment, rubbing his chin, then he gathered up all the cards the he had written on while we had been talking. There was quite a stack now.  He pushed everything on his desk to one end and beckoned me closer with a crooked finger. I moved to his side as he began to lay the cards out as if he were playing some game that only he knew the rules to.

     A pattern began to form. It started at the top with a single card. It had Ira Cohen's name written in neat, careful printing at the top. Under his name was written all the relevant facts that we knew about him at this point. Under that, branching out, were cards bearing the names Caleb Cohen, Nadine Tingle, Phillip
Zaranski
, Becky Haynes and one blank card. Under certain names were cards with a single question written on it. Under Caleb's name there were two questions. One read, “Where was he between the time he left and the time the police picked him up?” The other said, “Did he have a boyfriend and if so who
was it
?” Under
Zaranski's
was a card that said, “Who else was Ira blackmailing?” Under Becky's was, “Why is she protecting Caleb, and from what?”