Murder on the Rocks (13 page)

“What can I tell you, Mack?” Cora said as soon as I was settled. She uttered this
in a flirty, noirish whisper that I knew wasn’t meant for me, but it made my mouth
burst with the taste of a sweet peach nonetheless.

“The cops know you had a romantic interest in my father when he was alive,” I said,
getting straight to the point.

“So? You know me, Mack. I have a romantic interest in just about every man I meet,”
she said with a shrug. Then she looked over at Duncan. “I love men. All men.”

Duncan quickly quashed the mood she was trying to create. “They also know that your
romantic notions toward Mack Dalton went unrequited, and that Ginny Rifkin became
his girlfriend instead.”

“True,” Cora said with a flirty little pout. “Mack had a thing for Ginny from the
moment he first met her. I could tell he was a goner early on. And she was good for
him, got him smiling more and had him going out on occasion.” She shrugged and smiled.
“I tried, I failed, I moved on.”

I frowned, not liking Cora’s description of the changes Ginny triggered in my father,
although what she said was true. Still, it made me feel as if I hadn’t been enough
for him, or that I had somehow held him back from having a satisfying social and romantic
life.

“I imagine Mack’s rejection left you feeling resentful and jealous of Ginny,” Duncan
said.

I expected indignation or shock from Cora, but all she did was laugh. “If I went around
killing every woman who got chosen over me, the cops would have a long series of murders
to solve. And to be honest, I’m not looking for a long-term relationship. In fact,
it’s the very threat of one that I use to get guys to move on when they start getting
too close. You see, for me it’s the chase, the thrill of luring them in that I like.
But I’m strictly catch and release. I like my life the way it is and I’m not looking
to share it with anyone on a permanent basis.”

This surprised me because I’d always thought Cora was husband hunting. I wondered
if it was true. If the peach taste in my mouth was any indication, she was being honest.

“I’m a woman with certain . . .” Cora paused here and gave Duncan another ogle and
a wiggle of her eyebrows. “I’m a woman with certain needs and I seek out male companionship
from time to time, but I bore easily.” Then, with a sly smile, she threw down a gauntlet.
“I have yet to meet a man who can keep me satisfied on any long-term basis. Think
you’re up for the challenge?”

Duncan blushed and stammered for a few seconds while Cora sat there looking smug,
waiting for him to answer. Finally she said, “Too bad.”

“Have the cops questioned you officially yet?” I asked her. She shook her head. “When
they do, based on what I’ve seen and heard so far, they’ll want to know where you
were between the hours of two
A.M.
and nine
A.M.
this morning.”

“That’s easy. I was home. And while I don’t have anyone who can verify that for the
entire time, I was online from eleven last night until about five this morning in
several private chat rooms.”

“Private chat rooms?” I said, a little confused. “You were up all night talking to
people on a computer?”

Cora
tsked
at my naiveté. “There wasn’t much talking going on, honey,” she said. “However, there
are at least three gentlemen who can verify that I was in my bedroom in various states
of arousal and undress during the hours in question. As for the hours after that .
. .” She sighed and her smile broadened. “Well, let’s just say my sessions were very
satisfying and I was too tired to be out and about trying to kill anyone.”

Duncan blushed, and I’m pretty sure my own face was varying shades of red. Prior to
now, I’d had no idea that Cora led such an erotic lifestyle. The discovery had me
looking at her in a whole different light, one that left me both shocked and intrigued.

Duncan said, “Do you have the names of the sites you were on and the gentlemen who
you . . . who were . . . who can provide an alibi?”

Cora laughed. “In a way, but I’m not sure it will help much. The site is called Safe
Cyber Sex and let’s see.”—she paused in thought a moment—“I believe the gentlemen
I was with were Harry Pocket Rocket, BoobTube, and Yourgasm.”

Duncan snorted a laugh while Cora ran a hand through her hair and primped a bit, watching
him with an enigmatic smile. There followed an awkward moment of silence that Cora
finally broke, though she maintained eye contact with Duncan. “I’m sure the cops have
people who are adept at analyzing computers and pulling out deleted files and e-mails.
No doubt they can ID the men I was with, but if they can’t, I’ll do it for them. I’m
quite good at that sort of thing. In addition to my official computer-troubleshooting
business I run a little side operation that involves digging up information online
for certain customers. I’m a bit of a cyber-private detective. For instance, my chat
room buddies may not be too eager to admit to their online peccadilloes, and the site
administrator will most likely start yelling about privacy issues if the cops ask
them to provide real names. But I can get their real names if I have to.”

She switched her attention back to me and Duncan sagged a little, almost as if she’d
had him pinned upright with the sheer force of her stare. “Mack, I can only guess
how upsetting this is for you and if I can be of any help in any way, just ask. If
the cops are as incompetent with this investigation as they were with your dad’s,
well . . .”

She left the conclusion hanging out there and it was all I could do not to look at
Duncan for a reaction.

“It’s not totally the fault of the investigators,” Cora went on. “They are often hamstringed
by protocols and legal hoops they’re required to jump through. I, on the other hand,
operate well under the radar. My methods may not be strictly legal, but I get the
job done. Anything you need, just ask, okay?”

I nodded. “Thanks, Cora,” I said.

“Happy to help,” she said. And with one last flirtatious look at Duncan, she got up
and left the room.

“Interesting woman,” Duncan said.

“That she is. I suppose you’ll have to check out her alibi and rule her out officially,
but I don’t see her as a killer.” From the expression on Duncan’s face, I wasn’t sure
if the idea of verifying Cora’s nighttime dalliances intrigued or frightened him.

“I hope not,” Duncan said. “Because if she’s as good as she says she is, I might be
able to use her.”

“I’ll bet,” I said with a smirk.

“I meant with the computer stuff.”

“Sure you did.” He looked as if he wanted to explain more, but after a second or two
of opening his mouth like a fish out of water, he just smiled and said nothing. “So
where do we go from here? I really need to get back out on the floor and tend to my
customers.”

“I think we’re done with the questions for now,” Duncan said. “And I have a shift
to finish out.” He smiled at me and waved his hand toward the door. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” I said, both excited and wary about the hours to come that I’d be spending
in his presence. Was he hanging out until closing to keep up his façade, or to keep
an eye on me?

A
fter Cora’s interrogation, she returned to her table, where the brothers and the others
were still gathering info, creating data sheets, and drawing charts of things I couldn’t
quite figure out. Sometime later, a couple of guys I pegged as off-duty cops came
in and Duncan quickly claimed the table, splitting off from me to wait on them. He
visited their table a number of times under the guise of taking orders and delivering
drinks, but I felt certain there was also an exchange of information going on. Half
an hour or so later, four more off-duty cops came in and hung around the small table
until another one nearby emptied. Then the newcomers grabbed some chairs and pushed
the two tables together.

Judging from the tidbits of conversation I overheard as I made my rounds, many of
my other customers pegged the guys as cops pretty quickly. If their presence bothered
any of them, it didn’t show. If anything, the cops’ presence seemed to add to the
whole
CSI
mystique that had been building in the bar all night.

Business remained brisk and it kept me and the other employees running steadily. At
one point Duncan met me in my office and handed me a printed list of names he said
the cops had retrieved from Ginny’s work files, asking me to look it over to see if
I knew anyone on the list other than the ones we’d already discussed. It took me a
while because Ginny had been a very successful Realtor in the Milwaukee area for nearly
twenty years and her client list was several pages long. I’d heard of her long before
my father hooked up with her, so the length of her client list came as no surprise.
Her name could always be seen on any number of residential and commercial properties
listed around the city. Based on what I knew about her general lifestyle, the clothing
and jewelry she wore, and the car she drove, she’d made a very nice living as a Realtor.

I recognized a number of names on the list, most because they were customers of mine.
There were some I knew through other means, such as Anita Wallace, a teller at my
bank and a recovering alcoholic who never went into bars, and Brian Branson, a barista
at the coffee shop where I buy my beans and someone who probably would have been a
customer of mine had he been old enough to drink.

Amusingly, I found my own name on the list along with Riley Quinn’s. I wondered if
Ginny had been the Realtor who sold him the bookstore ten years ago, or if his name
was simply on her list because she knew him from the bar.

Not long after finishing with the list, Riley came in. His arrival made me glance
at my watch in surprise, thinking it couldn’t possibly be that late. I thought he
must have closed the bookstore early because of the murder, but no, it was just shy
of eleven already. The night was flying by. I gestured toward Riley and leaned over
to tell Duncan who he was, but before I uttered a word, he said, “Riley Quinn, owner
of the bookstore next door. My guys have talked to him.”

“Does he know who you are?” I asked Duncan.

“I don’t think so. I wasn’t one of the ones who talked to him, but he might have seen
me when I first arrived this morning. We’ll just have to play it by ear and see.”

Riley sidled up to the bar and I walked over to him while Duncan delivered some drinks.
Riley was wearing his usual fall outfit—khaki pants, a solid-colored, button-down
shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a vest with two pockets, from one of which hung
a chain for a watch—a uniform of sorts that he thought made him look more “bookish.”
Come wintertime, he’d change the pants to corduroy and add a matching jacket with
the obligatory leather elbow patches.

“Hello, Riley,” I said.

“Mack, honey, are you okay?” He draped an arm over my shoulders and gave me a sideways
hug. His touch made me see round drops of silver spinning in the air. “I heard who
the victim was,” he went on. “I can only imagine how awful this has been for you,
especially on the heels of what happened with your father.”

Duncan came up as he said this and jumped in with a question. “How did you hear who
it was?”

I thought it an odd question given that the cops had talked to Riley earlier and must
have revealed her identity to him then. But a few seconds later I realized why Duncan
asked what he did when Riley turned and gave him a questioning look. “Who are you?”
Riley asked.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, knowing Duncan’s disguise was safe for now. “Riley, this is Duncan
Albright, the son of an old friend of my father’s from years ago. Duncan’s new here
in town and he needed a job so I’m letting him help out here for a while. Duncan,
this is Riley Quinn, owner of the bookstore next door and a very dear friend.”

Riley released me and the two men shook hands and eyed one another for a few seconds,
mumbling something I took for a greeting of some sort. A sparkle of light caught my
eye on Riley’s arm and I noticed specks of dust there, caught in his hairs.

Riley said, “I found out who it was when the cops showed up and questioned me. But
I also heard it on the news just a bit ago. They must have just found out because
the only thing the news reports said earlier was that the victim was a woman and someone
local.”

Riley must have noticed the dust too, because he started brushing at it. “That blasted
basement of mine,” he said. “This water thing forced me to clean parts of it that
haven’t seen a dust rag in years.”

“You have some on your back, too,” I said, brushing at specks of dust on his shoulders.
I caught a whiff of something musty on him and it triggered a cloying, sticky sensation
on my neck and shoulders. In a flash, I recalled feeling the same exact thing this
morning when I first found Ginny’s body. At the time I likely had dismissed it as
real, a sensation created by the humid heat. Now I wasn’t so sure and the doubt made
me tense. Riley released his hug but held my shoulders at arm’s length, eyeing me
with concern.

Duncan didn’t miss my reaction either and I could tell from the way he was staring
at me that questions would be coming as soon as he got me alone again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you back to see how things were going,” Riley said. “But
the store was wildly busy today.”

“It’s just as well you didn’t. It’s been really busy here, too. Who knew murder would
be so good for business?” I said with an awkward chuckle.

Riley didn’t laugh. Instead his expression grew more concerned. “I’m worried about
you, Mack. This has to be traumatic for you. Do you think it wise to be open for business
like this?”

“It’s certainly been emotional,” I admitted. “But I need the money, and I’m doing
fine, considering. I like staying busy. It helps me keep my mind off of things. And
as you can see, I’ve been packing them in tonight.”

“Yeah, me too,” Riley said. “The store filled up with customers early this morning
and stayed full all day, but unfortunately I didn’t see a huge uptick in sales. I
think most people came in simply because they were curious. Some felt guilty enough
to buy something to justify hanging around so long, but there were plenty of others
who didn’t buy a thing.”

“I’m sorry.”

Riley shrugged. “Nature of the beast,” he said with a smile. His gaze shifted over
my shoulder toward Duncan. “So when’s the last time you saw our Little Mack here?”
he asked, draping an arm over my shoulders as he spoke. I caught another whiff of
that musty, wet basement smell and suddenly the sticky, cloying feeling made sense.

Duncan said, “Not since she was a tyke. My father knew her father a long time ago,
before Big Mack came to Milwaukee.” This was part of the story we had set up earlier,
one that would eliminate his need to know anything more recent about me or my father.

Riley opened his mouth to continue his inquisition, but I derailed him before he could.
“I take it you got your plumbing problem fixed?”

“I did. It cost me seven hundred bucks, and that was just for the plumber. I had to
toss out nearly fifty books because of water damage. Thanks goodness the first editions
I had down there were on a high shelf that stayed dry.”

I looked over at Duncan and explained. “Riley had a water pipe break in his basement
yesterday and it caused some flooding. Since he keeps some of his more valuable rare
books down there, it could have been a far more devastating loss than it was.”

“Lucky for you,” Duncan said.

“Yes, yes it was.” Riley switched his attention back to me and said, “Can I bother
you for a vodka martini, extra dirty?”

“You certainly can. One extra dirty, vodka martini coming right up.” I shrugged from
beneath his arm and went behind the bar, Duncan hot on my heels.

“So does extra dirty mean I can sweep something up from the floor and drop it in his
glass?” Duncan whispered in my ear.

I laughed. “No, it means we add extra olive juice to his martini.”

I showed Duncan how to make the martini, and when we delivered it, Riley ordered a
sandwich to go with it.

“Have you had any more of your experiences?” Duncan asked once we were in the kitchen.
He couched the last word in little finger quotes, which annoyed me.

“Not really, at least nothing significant.” I handed Helmut my order and headed back
out to the bar. But Duncan altered my route by gently grabbing my arm and steering
me into my office.

Once inside, Duncan eyed me suspiciously. “Why do I get the feeling you’re holding
out on me? I’m learning to recognize your reactions when something bothers you and
I’m pretty sure you had one when we were with Riley.”

I busied myself straightening things on my desk that didn’t need straightening while
I avoided looking at Duncan. “You have to understand that these experiences, as you
call them, happen to me all the time, all day long, every day. They are as much a
part of my life as breathing. So I don’t necessarily notice all of them or attach
any significance to them.”

“Well, maybe you should.”

I shrugged, and continued what I was doing for a few seconds. Then I offered up an
explanation. “The problem for me is trying to sort out what matters and what doesn’t.
For instance, I felt a sticky, cloying sensation on my neck and shoulders when Riley
hugged me, and I felt that same thing this morning when I stumbled upon Ginny’s body.
For a second or two, that worried me. But then I realized that it was likely a damp,
musty smell that triggered the feeling, and since Riley had to toss out a bunch of
his water-damaged books, it explains why I felt the same thing when I found Ginny
next to the Dumpster. That same smell was there. So you see, not all of my experiences
are significant.”

“Fair enough. Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Seems to me you’ve asked plenty of them already today, but I doubt that will stop
you.”

“You’re right,” he said. “Are you sure Riley doesn’t have a romantic interest in you?”

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I picked up on a bit of a proprietary attitude on his part.”

“He’s just being protective. Riley is like a second father or an older brother to
me. He told me my father once made him promise he’d look out for me if anything happened,
so that’s what he does. But there’s no romance there. He’s more than fifteen years
older than me.”

“To some men that sort of age difference doesn’t matter. In fact, they like it.”

I laughed. “I assure you there is nothing going on between me and Riley. Frankly I’ve
got all I can do to keep up with Zach. But even if there was something going on, what
difference would it make? I don’t see how it’s relevant to your case, so why all the
questions? Are you jealous, Detective?”

I felt several beats of my heart go by before he answered.

“To be honest, yeah, I am a little.”

I looked up at him, trying to gauge the sincerity of his comment. “Are you using one
of your detective school techniques on me by trying to flatter me into letting my
guard down?”

He arched his eyebrows at me. “Is there a reason for your guard to be up?”

“You mean a reason other than the fact that two murders have occurred in or by my
bar in the past ten months, both of them involving people who were close to me?”

“So now you’re saying you were close to Ginny?”

Damn! The way he switched gears so quickly, sliding into interrogation mode, told
me I was right. He simply wanted me to let my guard down, to make me slip and say
something I shouldn’t.

“You know what I mean,” I said irritably. I stepped past him and opened the office
door. “Come on. We have tables waiting.”

We spent the next hour running at a pretty good clip, delivering drinks, fixing food,
and clearing tables. Many of my regulars came in, but the crowd had more unknowns
than usual, most likely because word of the murder had spread and curiosity was driving
them in. Everywhere I went I overheard customers discussing the case, spouting theories
of the crime, possible motives, and speculation about what evidence might or might
not have been found, information the cops had thus far kept tightly under wraps.

Helmut left at midnight—food orders typically tapered off later in the night and my
menu during the late hours was limited—leaving me with kitchen duty for a couple of
hours. Three times over the next two hours Duncan got phone calls on his cell and
stepped aside to talk. With the murmur of voices in the place hanging in at a dull
roar, my attempts to eavesdrop didn’t go well. But I didn’t have to overhear anything
to know that whatever information he got during the third call wasn’t going to be
good. He glanced toward me with a pained expression before shifting his attention
to the bar, where Billy and Gary were busy waiting on customers.