Deep-Fried Homicide (The Laurel Falls Mysteries Book 1) (28 page)

"I'm sorry, Benny. It's just that he's so…"

"…right?" Jason sneered at her and she made a face back at him. "We're here. Come inside, please?"

The sign on the shop door read "Pawn" but Jason knew that it was much more than a pawn shop. He'd been coming there for almost ten years, for various reasons. He led Benny and Trina to the counter, where a thin, gangly young man held sway over a very dirty older man with a broken television. The minute he saw Jason, he shoved both the television and the man aside.

"Grandpa! Hey grandpa! Jase is here." He shook Jason's hand smartly and smiled. "Gramps will be right out."

The curtains behind the young man parted and an equally lean man stepped through them. He smiled brightly and the eyes beneath his white brows brightened. "Jason! Good to see you."

"I have a little problem I was hoping you could help me with." Jason produced the Jackie Winfield card and slid it across the counter. "All you have to do is tell me that's not your signature and you've never seen this man before and we'll be on our way."

"Ah, Benny! How are you?" He thrust his hand past Jason and shook Benny's hand.

Jason's face fell. "You know this crook?"

"He's no crook, Jason. This is Benny. And this sure as hell is my signature. I sign cards for him all the time."

Jason shoved the card in his pocket with a disgruntled frown and produced the Babe Ruth. "Okay, so you got lucky on that one, fat boy. How about this one, Jackie? Surely Babe Ruth hasn't been hiding in the back all these years, signing cards for old Benny here."

Jackie took the card with some degree of annoyance and peered at it closely. "Of course the Babe didn't sign this himself, you idgit! He's been dead a long time. But he signed it through Benny. That's how it works."

Jason pulled a sour face and snatched the card back from Jackie. "Surely you don't buy this guy's line of BS?"

"No BS, Jason. I've watched him do it myself. And I've seen the faces of the loved ones Benny delivers the messages to. He tells them things there's no way he could know on his own. It's really quite amazing."

"Okay fat boy." Jason targeted Benny with his eyes and gritted his teeth. "You go right ahead. Channel somebody for me. Better yet, you channel Win Davis. I happen to have known him personally and there's a question I need to ask him."

"That's not how it works." Benny sighed and looked disappointed. "They come to me. I don't come to them."

"Yea, that's what I thought. Fraud! You're a fraud!" Behind him, the bell on the door tinkled and Jason gave the door a quick glance. A business man, neatly clad in a cheap suit and even cheaper loafers, was scanning the stereos. Jason turned back to Benny and growled. "You mark my words, Benny, I'll nail you eventually."

"If you feel you need to try, then by all means." Benny mock-bowed and shook his head. "I've never ripped anyone off and I've never failed to give a refund. You tell Mr. Armstrong to come around my shop on Monday and I'll give him back every penny he paid me. A man should be happy with his purchases."

Jason glared at him for a moment, as though trying to find some evidence in the man's face. Then he fumbled in his pocket for the rest of Benny's cards, finally thrusting them at Benny with a scowl. In the process, a lottery ticket slipped out of his pocket, fluttering neatly to the floor behind Jason. No one saw it.

"I'll be sure to tell him. We'll see if he wants to pursue this with the police or not. If he asks my advice, I'll tell him to file charges right away." Jason put his cap back on, giving it a quick tug to shore it up on his head. He tipped it briefly to Trina and turned to leave.

Trina followed Benny toward the door more slowly and as they walked into the sunlight, the suit-wearing gentleman claimed Jason's lottery ticket for his own.

Jason had gone two blocks by the time he realized that his Nikes were hammering the sidewalk. He was that mad. Benny, the girl, and finally Jackie turning on him. They were all nuts. Every last one of them ready for the Ha-ha Hotel. And if it took him the rest of his life, he'd prove that.

He jerked open the door to the convention center and let the air conditioning wash over him. All he wanted at that point was to calm down and salvage the rest of his day. After five years of being a private dick, he knew one thing for sure: most cases went to hell and when they did, they went fast. He would call Armstrong when he got back to the office and tell him about Benny's offer. No doubt, the man would be happy with the resolution. After all, that's what it was all about for millionaires, right? The money? Jason would not be satisfied as easily. There was more at stake here than cash and cards. The fat bastard was forging baseball cards, for God's sake! He'd faked Catfish Hunter's signature and the Babe's as well! It was treasonous! Despicable! And if it took the rest of his life, Jason would see that the man paid.

"You know, you really are quite an ass!"

Jason spun to face Trina. "Oh Lord! Not you again! Don't you have crystal balls to polish or something?"

"And don't you have some cheating husband to catch? That would be more productive than harassing Benny the rest of the day."

"Oh, I have no intention of harassing Benny." Jason edged along the wall, hoping to escape Trina, but she only advanced.

"What if we were able to channel your mother? If she answered a few choice questions – things only you and she would know – then would you believe that it's at least possible for Benny to channel the spirits of Babe Ruth and Todd Williams?"

"Ted."

"Huh?" She cocked her head to one side like a curious bird.

"It's Ted Williams. Not Todd."

"Oh. Whatever. But would you?"

"Okay, you produce my mother's spirit and get her to tell me who gave me my first French kiss…I'll believe whatever you say."

"Fine. Then come to this address at eleven tonight. But be ready to apologize to Benny."

She turned and strode away, every piece of jewelry jangling against every other, skirts flying about on the breeze created by her quick stride. Jason watched her go, suddenly aware that he saw nothing more of her than her tight hips dancing as she walked. Red-faced and angry, he threw his cap on the floor with a growl.

Chapter Two

H
enry Cooke sat in his favorite chair, watching his favorite show, and wearing his favorite bathrobe. His wife, Edna, was already asleep. She always went to bed at nine, come hell or high water. It had been that way since they had first married twelve years ago. Part of Henry understood why she went to bed so early. They lived in a crappy apartment in a crappy neighborhood. They had ratty furniture and wore ratty clothes. They had never paid full price for anything, never taken a vacation, and they reserved their only three date nights in a year for their birthdays and anniversary. There was really no reason to be awake if she didn't have to be. The fact that it was his fault ate at Henry every day of his life.

In the pocket of Henry's favorite ratty chenille robe sat the lottery ticket. He held it between thumb and forefinger, caressing it like a long-lost lover. His eyes were on the TV, but he really wasn't following the show. His mind had shot ahead to the weekly lottery drawing. Henry had a hunch.

Somehow, he had known the ticket would be a winner the minute he picked it up on that pawn shop floor. He had gone in looking for a stereo for his wife and had come out a millionaire. That's how it was. That's how it was meant to be. He knew it.

Henry drew in a deep breath and his left hand reached out for his beer. It was a reflex motion and he had no need to look at the table next to him. The can was always in the same place, set neatly to the left of the phone and to the right of the remote. Always.

But this time, his hand came up empty. It was a short month and he'd been out of work one day that week, so his pathetic paycheck had allowed no room for buying beer. Henry sighed dolefully and rested his free hand on the arm of the worn recliner. The other hand still fondled the lottery ticket inside his pocket.

The show ended. The credits rolled. Henry sat a little higher in his chair and pulled the lottery ticket out of his pocket. His lips spread slowly as he watched the studio logo melt into that familiar lottery sign.

Henry closed his eyes for a moment and offered up a quiet prayer.

Every Sunday for as long as he'd known her, Henry's loving wife had gone to church and played the organ for the services. She'd longed for a piano of her own, but the organ was all she had. When Henry had proposed, he'd promised her the moon. So far, he'd given her squat.

"If I'm right, baby, I'll give you everything you ever dreamed of." His eyes peeled open and glanced at the ceiling. "Please let me be right."

"Six…" the perky lady on the TV screen chirped.

Henry realized that the drawing had begun and he'd missed the first number. His eyes shot to the screen frantically. The first two numbers were right. A two and a six. So far so good.

"Twelve…."

"Yes!"

"Eighteen…"

"Yes!" Henry's fist shot into the air. He was out of his seat now, clutching the ticket in two shaky hands.

"Twenty-two…" the lady on TV announced with a flourish.

"By God…YES!"

"Twenty-four!"

"I did it! I did it!" Henry began to dance around the room, leaping and thrusting his fist into the air in triumph. "I won! Sumbitch, I won!"

He raced into the bedroom, where Edna was beginning to shake herself from sleep, startled by the noise.

"Henry! What's going on? Why are you raising such a ruckus?" She sat up, blinking as he switched on the light.

"I did it, Edna," he whispered as he eased onto the edge of the bed. "I found this lottery ticket and it won."

"How wonderful, Henry! What did you get? A hundred bucks? Two?" She smiled and blinked at him, finally able to focus.

Henry laughed loudly, his head thrown back and his eyes shimmering with happy tears. "The jackpot is eighty-five million, baby. Eighty-five million."

"So…" She looked askance at him and raised her carefully plucked eyebrows. When he failed to respond, she added, "How much of that is ours?"

"Like I said, baby, eighty-five million."

"The whole thing?" She had started to shake and she clutched the covers to her to stop the shaking.

"The whole thing. The whole shebang. All the eggs, the basket, everything. We won it all!"

And then they were both on the bed, jumping in the air and hollering, laughing like loons. All the while, Henry's mind turned, adding up what he would buy Edna to make up for the last twelve years.

J
ason stood on the sidewalk, his head thrown back as he stared up at the old Brownstone before him. It was one of a hundred in that part of the city, all lined up like soldiers awaiting further orders. There was life somewhere inside; a light shone through several windows. He glanced at the card and then at the placard. He had the right address.

As he ascended the steps, sounds reached his ears: laughter from a game of stickball somewhere behind him. The plaintive cry of a crow somewhere above. Music from an old and cranky radio down the street. Jason expected to find a buzzer, a row of mailboxes, some sign as to which apartment the kook might live in. Most of the old brownstones in that part of town had been converted to apartments. There was nothing but a doorbell. He pushed the button and stepped back.

From behind the door came a jangling sound and a soft humming, then the door was yanked open. Jason smiled before he knew he was doing it and thrust his hands into his pockets.

"I'm not late, am I?"

"Right on time," she giggled, ushering him in with a wave of her arms. The bracelets danced again.

"Good, because we all know how cranky the dead get when you keep them waiting." His pointed stare was not lost on her.

She smiled back at him, one of those evil little smiles that women reserve for moments when they are oh-so-right and the man is oh-so-wrong. "I think somebody is in for a big surprise."

"We'll see." He stepped clear of the hallway and saw that the room directly to his right had been set up for the occasion. The windows were hung with heavy red velvet and a table sat in the middle of the room, festooned in some sort of embroidered fabric. Candles were everywhere and their eerie light danced over everything, changing the colors of walls and furniture alike.

Benny was there too. His fat smiling face was almost child-like as he rose from the small settee against the back wall. His hand was out when he was still ten paces from Jason. "I'm glad you came," he said, pumping Jason's hand.

"Yea, we'll see." He glanced around the room, trying to take it all in at once. It was too much, too overdone, too…too… "Is all this for my benefit?"

Trina looked confused. She tilted her head like a dog and blinked at him. "All what?"

"The velvet, the candles, the table…are there hydraulics? Are you going to make it float in the air?"

"Now you're being ridiculous. And offensive." She swallowed, drew a deep breath, and shook her head. "For your information, my house always looks like this. I like it. And as far as doing anything for
your
benefit…"

"I'm feeling sleepy. We should start." Benny took Trina's hand and pulled her toward the table. "I always start to feel sleepy when the spirits call," he added as an afterthought. "It's how I know they're near." He dropped into one of the three chairs and leaned his elbows on the table.

"Shouldn't you question me first? You know, ask me my mom's name, where I grew up, stuff like that?"

Trina looked perturbed. Benny just smiled. "The spirits will tell me everything I need to know." He smiled and for a moment, his face lost that child-like quality. "I have to find her." His eyes closed.

Jason looked from Benny to Trina, then rolled his eyes. "Oh brother!"

Trina reached behind her to an odd-looking and rather battered sideboard. There was a pad of paper and a pencil there and she slid these across the table to rest in front of Benny.