Gold Coast Blues (8 page)

“Why didn’t you just ask me to do the job? What’s with the cloak-and-dagger bullshit?”

She studied me again. “I’m trying to apologize.”

“I’ll accept your apology if you include the truth. Let’s start with my business card. I don’t remember leaving one here.”

A blank look, then, “You left one with Brenda.”

“Who was the girl who called and came over?”

“Jennie Adler. She works for Brenda. I asked Brenda if I could borrow her for a quick favor. Neither of them knew any details. I drove Jennie over, waited, then took her back.”

“Who was your greaseball errand boy?”

Margot looked puzzled. “You mean Spike? He’s a college kid we met when we lived in Evanston. He used to run errands for us to make extra cash.”

“Spike? The Spike who worked at Doug’s bar?”

“Yes. He was Doug’s assistant.” She walked to the attic chain of paper butterflies and stroked one lovingly. “All handmade in India,” she said then walked into the kitchen and returned with a box of tissues. She blew her nose a few times and dabbed her eyes.

“Then you called Spike to run another errand?”

Margot started crying again. “It was supposed to be easy and quick. Nothing to it. I swear I never would’ve knowingly sent Spike—or you—into a dangerous situation.”

“So Spike was supposed to make the swap and at the last minute you decided I should be there.”

“After you left yesterday I started thinking about what you said. That some crazy could just walk up those stairs—and like a fool I would let them. And then I started thinking about Spike and that he should have an older man with him. I still thought it would be easy, but why not have someone like you, someone who probably carries a gun—just to make sure?”

My turn to study Margot. “Uh, you do know Spike pulled a gun on me, right?”

“What?” Margot whispered. Her expression of horror appeared genuine.

“Let me guess. The little bastard told you we got mugged in
front
of the theater surrounded by mobs of people, and you believed him. Sorry. Spike stuck a snub .38 into my gut then walked me back to the alley. I got jumped right after he said, ‘Fuck you, Margot.’ ”

Margot staggered back to the chaise. “I can’t believe it. I mean, I believe
you
. But I can’t believe he would do that.”

“Believe it. I noticed you buzzed me in without using the intercom.”

Margot thought for a moment and then said quickly, “But I knew it was you. I saw you from the window walking down the sidewalk—you parked on Webster.”

Good guess. “Where’s Spike?”

“He called me in a panic. He said he ran away after you got hit on the head.”

I thought of Spike’s arrogant expression just before I got hit. “What exactly did Spike know about this easy job?”

“He knew nothing about the arrangement! Only that we asked him to exchange one package for another. I kept him in the dark on purpose—to protect him. He didn’t even know the package was a bottle of wine.”

“You’re sure he didn’t know?” I said.

Margot looked at me wild-eyed. “Yes. I just told you I kept him in the dark. I was afraid he wouldn’t understand the value of wine.”

Her last comment made no sense. “You’re a wine connoisseur, eh?”

“Well, no. But you knew Doug had turned the pub into a wine bar—”

“How would I have known that?” I asked.

“You talked about it with Brenda. She told you she taught him about French wine.”

Margot had done her homework.

“So you think Spike couldn’t resist stealing the five grand, and that’s all there is to it? Then who stole your wine? The thieves must’ve stolen an entire case from you, right?”

Margot hesitated. “Ten cases.”

“Holy shit! When?”

“Two months ago.”

“And you don’t think Spike had anything to do with it?”

“No, I don’t believe it. He’s been a great help to me until now. He succumbed to the lure of the cash, that’s all. He grew up very poor.”

“Where was the wine stolen from?”

“A wine storage facility.”

“Okay. Here’s what’s bugging me. A wine expert told me a bottle of Lafite Rothschild costs four to five thousand. The ransom was five thousand. Why would you pay for the same bottle twice?”

“If the stolen wine was Lafite Rothschild, I would agree. But the stolen wine was
Mouton
Rothschild.”

“How much per bottle?”

“Around twenty thousand.”

I wanted my eyes to pop out like a cartoon character. “Twenty grand multiplied by two hundred and forty bottles?”

“Half of that. Wine cases have twelve bottles.”

“And the thieves wanted to swap a 20K bottle for 5K?”

“I don’t think they realized what they had. So they thought five thousand sounded like a good price.”

“I found this Lafite Rothschild cork in the alley. I think it was used as a key fob. Do you think the same person would have kept a Boone’s Farm screw cap?”

“How would I know how these people think? And I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”

Margot wheeled herself around to stretch out on the chaise. I studied her profile as she gazed out the window. Any sign of anguish had vanished. Now she just looked pouty.

“The thieves broke in to a storage facility? Don’t they have to compensate you?”

“They have to investigate first—like insurance fraud. It takes time.”

“Have you investigated Doug’s staff? Didn’t that place have security cameras?”

“If the police started asking questions, the thieves would’ve sold it at a deep discount and still pocketed a lot of cash. I didn’t care if I had to pay for it.”

“So they were going to sell it back to you one bottle at a time?”

“The one bottle was supposed to be a test to see if they really had my Mouton Rothschild.”

“You think they’ll call again?”

Margot sat up and faced me. “Can you help me get the wine back?”

“Unless the wine has something to do with the missing girl, Tanya, I’m not interested.”

“But I’ll pay you!” she shouted, once again startling me. “You can have a bottle as payment!” I didn’t respond. She calmed down. “I did it again,” she said. “I had no right to talk to you like that.”

“I don’t like wine.”

“Keep it as an investment! I’ll give you two bottles. That’s forty thousand dollars in a commodity that has given double-digit returns the last ten years.”

Forty thousand was a hell of a lot of money, about four times my net worth. The rich have been getting richer the last thirty years. I dared to predict their future looked bright and would include insanely expensive wines.

“If I can find your wine in the process of finding Tanya, I’ll do what I can. But the girl will be my first priority for as long as it takes.”

Margot jumped out of the chaise, ran behind the love seat, then wrapped her arms around my neck. “Thank you, Jules,” she said and kissed my cheek.

Her weird behavior canceled out how nice her touch felt. “Margot, you need to chill out! I really don’t know what I can do for you.”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” she said, although her voice remained ridiculously upbeat. For some reason she seemed to have a lot of faith in me.

Chapter 13

The Audi sedan merged onto Webster Avenue as soon as I walked out of Margot’s building. I didn’t think much of it until I reached my 1983 Honda Civic and heard the tires squeal as the Audi executed a sharp U-turn and pulled up to me. The window lowered and I saw Amy angling toward me over the passenger seat. “Let me give you a ride. Get in.”

I leaned through the opened window. “You’re following me?”

Amy frowned. “Oh, don’t make a big deal out of nothing. Just get in and hear me out.”

The sharpness in her voice put me off, but I did as told. Amy pulled another U-turn and we headed east. “So what the hell are you doing following me?”

“I know you think I’m a nut but I’m supposed to be involved in this investigation. It’s just the way I am. There’s a puzzle that needs solving and I want to help.”

“I told you, I work alone—”

“But it’s not about you, it’s about me. It’s what I want to do—what I have to do. So many innocent young women are taken advantage of. Tanya Maggio’s energy is calling me. I’m not sure she’s alive anymore and the least I can do is offer my skills to make sure she’s found and someone is brought to justice.”

“You expect me to understand what you just said?”

Amy pulled over near DePaul University. “Haven’t you ever felt a calling, something you
have
to do—even if you can’t explain why and nobody understands you?”

“What? You think I get respect? Most people don’t know private investigators exist outside of movies. They think I’m joking. But, yes, I’m drawn to it.”

“Because you’re reckless. You don’t give a damn.”

“About what?”

“About anything. You’re like me. If something turns you on, you check it out to find what’s behind it. Doesn’t matter what others think. That’s a reckless way to live.”

She had that look of cocky anticipation, as if she knew she had me pegged. I wanted to tell her she had revealed a great reason for us to be more than friends.

“You want to play investigator with me?” I said. “Fine. You can share what you know or think you know. But you’re on your own. You take your own risks. I’m not going to be responsible for something happening to you.”

Amy’s expression did not exactly exude gratitude. “Gee, thanks, Jules. How privileged I am to be allowed to help you.”

“You say you picked up Tanya’s energy. How do you do it?”

“I’m going to pretend you asked that question without overt cynicism. For people like me, the energy comes through
you
. The barrier between the concrete world and abstract consciousness is just a thin veil of perception. If you are focused on her, then at some level you are communicating with her simply through your desire to find her. Think of me as eavesdropping on
your
conversation.”

Intelligent, pretty, she saw little difference between empirical and hypothetical reality. But only two letters separated the words “psychic” and “psychotic.” “I don’t like being followed.”

“Last night I spent some time on the Internet. The wine collecting world isn’t that big. Not at this level of value. When you start breaking out the niche groups, you find a small circle that collects antique wine. I don’t even think they drink the stuff. It’s just a place to park money, like an investment.”

Amy took a piece of paper from her purse and handed it to me. It was a lengthy obituary of a philanthropic wine collector, Dr. Thomas van Bourgondien, who donated his bottles to various charities once they had attained a significant value.

“Interesting guy,” I said. “What about him?”

“Read the last few lines.”

“ ‘Preceded in death by his wife, Sarah, survived by his daughter, Margot Daley.’ How did you find out where she lived?”

Amy hesitated. “I did some more searching on the Net.”

“Is Margot Daley the only antique wine collector in the city? How did you settle on her house as where you’d find me?”

“I had a hunch—”

“Don’t start with the ‘energy’ bullshit, Amy. Falling back on your psychic powers as an explanation isn’t going to fly every time. In fact, the more you use it, the more I wonder who you really are.”

Amy sighed. “Okay, you got me,” she said. “A friend in law enforcement told me where she lived.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you were so sure I would go to Margot’s house.”

“I wasn’t sure, but Margot’s father was a North-Sider. I had a hunch she was a North Side kind of gal. I gambled and my hunch was correct. That’s my explanation, take it or leave it.”

“Your explanation stinks but I’ll let it go for now,” I said.

“You want to tell me what Margot has to do with Tanya? You thought Tanya’s disappearance was related to the stolen wine.”

This time I hesitated. “Okay, you got me. I don’t know and if I did I wouldn’t tell you.”

“You are really starting to annoy me. Do you want my help or not?”

“It’s not about me, it’s about you, remember?”

“Fuck you.”

I supposed I deserved it. “Sure. You can help me. But like I said you’re on your own. If you got info you want to share, fine. But it’s going to be a one-way street. I’m not going to risk you getting hurt because you know too much. The state gave me a license, they can take it away.”

Amy sighed. “I wonder how a guy like you—who probably doesn’t have many friends—would be any good at this job.”

“Maybe not having friends is an advantage. Or I make up for it by being
reckless
. And like you said, I don’t give a damn.”

Amy offered to drive me back to my car. I declined, choosing instead to see if the fresh air would inspire my mental energies to figure out why this beautiful stranger would willingly take crap from me. Despite my view of intuitive abilities, I thought the passion in her voice for investigating the spirit world was sincere. And true to my reckless nature, I was attracted to the mystery of her sudden appearance in the same alley where I had been jumped.

Chapter 14

It always felt good to be home. Despite an absence of only four hours, I had learned to appreciate the simple comforts of coming home to a reclining chair and sleeping cat. I called Eddie.

“It’s Jules Landau. How’re you doing?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m all right.”

“Where are you?”

“Out.”

“You mind coming north? See a little more of the city? I’d like to have a meeting.”

“What about?”

I waited for the punch line. “What do you think? About why you’re paying me, yeah?”

“Okay, yeah. You got new information?”

“Go ahead and make that assumption if it’ll get you here.”

I gave Eddie directions but couldn’t shake the feeling he was pretending to listen. About an hour later I heard the outside door to my building open and then Eddie’s footsteps on the stairs. I stuck my head out the door and watched the top of his bald head ascend toward me.

I said, “You always stare straight down when you climb stairs?” No answer. “How does our subway compare to New Jersey’s?” Eddie had no opinion of the subway.