Tombs of Endearments (15 page)

When he made a move toward the condo, I stopped him, one hand on his arm. “First it was karate, now it’s lock picking. What else do you know how to do?”

He looked down to where my fingers were bunched around the sleeve of his windbreaker. When he looked back up at me, his eyes reflected the mellow light from the lamps over the paintings in the hallway. “You’d be surprised.”

“Yeah, I bet I would. Just like I was surprised when I realized you were following me last summer. Just like I’m surprised to find you hanging around with these guys. You told me you were a research scientist. You said you were conducting a study. About my propensity for hallucinatory imaging. Remember? You said my behavior was aberrant.”

Dan shrugged. “You’re the one who wants to talk to Vinnie Pal’s ghost. That sounds pretty aberrant to me.”

“And you’re the one who seems to think you can make it possible for me to talk to his ghost. Maybe I’m not the only one with aberrant behavior issues.”

“Have you checked them out?” Dan glanced into the condo, and when he looked at the ghost hunters, he smiled. When he looked back at me, though, he was as serious as a heart attack. “The thing that interests me, Pepper,” he said, “is that you never questioned if it was possible. You said you wanted to contact Vinnie’s spirit and you asked for my help doing it. But you never doubted it could be done. That tells me a lot. A lot about you. How many ghosts have you had contact with?”

I wasn’t expecting a point-blank question, so I wasn’t ready with an answer.

Dan read through my hesitation. “I thought so,” he said. “We need to talk. But not here. Not now.”
One hand on the small of my back, he ushered me into the condo. I noticed that someone had straightened up. The cutout of the naked lady was still there (bathed in moonlight, as luck would have it). So were the beer cans. But the City Roast coffee cups were gone.

Before I could think what this might mean, we were met by the ghost hunters, who, even in the dark, didn’t miss a trick.

“Is that an electromagnetic field detector?” His eyes on the gizmo in Dan’s hands, John rushed forward. “That’s way cool. We haven’t saved up enough for one of those yet.”

Dan offered his. “Take this one,” he said. “I’m going to do a little work with my digital voice recorder.” He grabbed my hand. “Pepper’s coming with me.”

Okay, so I admit it, spending a couple of hours in a dark penthouse apartment with Dan hanging on to me wasn’t all bad. I never even had a chance to take out my new camera or my tape recorder, and I didn’t care. What was disappointing, though (to me and certainly to the ghostbusters) was that when it was all over, we had nothing to show for our hunt.

A couple of hours later, we were gathered in one of those bars I mentioned earlier. Everyone there really did know Brian’s name. Maybe the fact that he was a regular had something to do with how many ghosts he’d claimed to have seen on other hunts.

“Nothing,” he said, scrolling through the last of the pictures on Angela’s digital camera. “We got
no EVP, no temperature readings that were interesting, and no photos, either. Let’s call it a night.”

John, Theo, Angela, and Stan didn’t argue. They gathered up their equipment, drank the last of the pitcher of beer Dan had ordered and paid for, and then they were gone.

Dan had been sitting four seats away from me at the bar. He slid down and took the seat beside mine. “Disappointed?”

“More like bored.” I yawned. “How many times were they going to go through those tapes they recorded tonight? There wasn’t anything on them but the sounds of them shuffling their own feet.”

Dan didn’t seem to hold it against the ghostbusters. “You never know,” he said. “Part of the process of finding paranormal evidence is following scientific procedure.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes, I really believe that’s the way things should work.” A smile crinkled one corner of Dan’s mouth. “No, I don’t believe they actually do work that way. Not always, anyway. Case in point: You don’t follow scientific procedure. And you’ve still made contact.”

It was late and I was tired. As if that wasn’t enough of an excuse to avoid the subject, there was the whole bit about Dan, who he really was and what he really wanted. Sure, he’d saved my life once upon a time, and honest, I was grateful, but frankly, the fact that he’d been able to do it—skillfully and efficiently—left me with more questions. Until I had answers, I wasn’t ready to talk. Not about my Gift or the goings-on on the Other Side.

There was an inch of lite beer left in my glass. I
swirled it around. “You’re convinced you know a lot about me. You want to tell me how?”

“I showed you the photo of you and those two ghosts. And if it was anybody else standing with two white, misty shapes, I would have dismissed it as an interesting but insignificant photo. But then I thought about your brain scans. Your occipital lobe is different from other peoples’, Pepper. You’ve got more activity there, and to me that means you’re far more attuned to the paranormal. Deny it if you like, but in that photo, I can see it in your eyes. You’re aware of the ectoplasm streams in the room with you. You’re talking to them.”

I remembered the picture. And the brain scans, too, come to think of it. I knew he was right. I took a sip of beer, put my glass on the bar, lifted it, and took another sip.

“You don’t trust me, do you?”

Dan put into words what I’d been thinking.

“How can I?” I asked him. “You haven’t exactly been Honest Abe. I’m not even sure who you really are.”

“That’s fair.” His own beer was gone, and he rolled the empty glass between his palms. “I can tell you this; there’s a lot more going on in the field of paranormal research than you can even imagine. We’re making real breakthroughs every day. You could be the key to it all, Pepper. I’d like to see you on our team.”

“Our
team?” It was beginning to sound like a
Mission: Impossible
movie, and I didn’t like it one bit. “Something tells me you’re not talking about Brian and the boys.”

“And Angela, don’t forget.” Dan’s smile was fleeting. “I can’t tell you more.”

“And in exchange for
I can’t tell you more
, you expect me to spill my guts.” I slid off the bar stool. “I won’t bother saying goodbye. I guess I’ll see you around whether I want to or not.”

“Pepper!” I’d already turned away when Dan’s hand clamped down on my arm.

I was surprised at both the force and the power of his grip, and just as I turned to tell him to keep his hands to himself, Dan backed off.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but he wasn’t talking about the way he grabbed me. I knew that right away. “I expect you to trust me, but I haven’t given you any reason you should.” He reached into his backpack and took out the tiny digital recorder I’d seen him use back at the condo. He pressed it into my hands. “Here. Maybe I can prove to you that I’m worthy of your trust. No strings attached. Take this and see if it helps.” He took a cocktail napkin from the bar and the pen the bartender had left nearby when she wrote out our bill, scribbled a number on it, and gave me that, too.

“That’s my cell. You make the next move, Pepper. Until you do—until you’re ready—I swear you won’t see me around. I’m going to leave the ghost-hunting group and I’m going to stop following you. Maybe then you’ll believe I’m worthy of your trust.”

And without another word, Dan walked out of the bar.

It was getting close to closing time. I knew I should get moving, but I didn’t want to wait until I
got home to see why Dan thought the tape he’d recorded was interesting.

Eager to find out, I slipped into the nearest booth and turned on the recorder.

“Is there anyone here?”

That was Dan’s voice. Like I’d seen the other ghost hunters do, he asked a question, then waited a long, long time to give the spirits a chance to answer.

This time, there was no answer.

“Can you tell me your name?”

Dan’s voice again and again, a long pause with no answer. In fact, the only thing I heard was me mumbling in the background, but then, we were in Vinnie’s magic room, and it gave me the creeps. I was anxious to get out of there.

“Vinnie, are you here with us?”

Listening to the tape was like reliving the whole ghost hunt. And the ghost hunt was as exciting as watching paint dry.

The bartender made the last call.

I moved my finger to flick the recorder off.

That’s when I heard a voice.

“Yes. Here.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Even though it was a rough whisper and the words were drawn out and labored, the voice was unmistakably Vinnie’s.

I swallowed hard and waited for Dan’s next question.

“Vinnie, if you’re here, can you give us a sign? Tell us something, something about what happened to you here.”

Another pause. I held my breath.

“It hurt.”

A shiver skittered across my shoulders.

“Do you have anything to say?” Of course, Dan didn’t know he was getting any of these answers. He couldn’t have known, not until we were done with the hunt and he was down at the other end of the bar listening to his own recording while the rest of the ghost hunters messed with their equipment and their big-ol’-nothing results. “Do you have a message for us?”

“Careful. Danger. The group…” Vinnie’s voice faded. I bent closer to the speaker, but the only thing I heard clearly was me mumbling a curse. It must have been when I slammed my knee into the wall as I was stumbling around in the dark. I couldn’t hear Vinnie again until my grumbling subsided. “One,” he said. The single word was as drawn-out and anguished as a howl. “One more will die.”

The next day, I had to lead a tour at the chapel.
Believe it or not, I usually don’t mind that assignment. The chapel at Garden View is one of the few buildings in the country completely designed and built by Tiffany. Yeah, that lamp and window guy, and how he’s more important than the guy with the jewelry store, I can’t say, but a lot of people are impressed when they hear his name.

I like the chapel. In the summer, it’s shady and cool. Any time of the year when the sun is shining, the place is awash in the colors of the huge stained glass window that dominates one wall.

Unfortunately, this was not one of those days. Heavy clouds hung just above the treetops. They were the exact color of the steel gray pants I’d paired with a white cashmere sweater that was gorgeous (and looked great on me), but wasn’t nearly warm enough to keep out the chill. While I waited for the senior citizens to totter off the bus, the damp air seeped through me, chilling me to the bone. I was inside on the heels of the last little old lady.

The chapel is small but impressive, and when
folks are in there, they’re usually so blown away by the mosaics on the walls, the inlay floor, and that spectacular window, they just walk around with their mouths open. That means they don’t ask a lot of questions, and for a tour guide, that’s always a big plus.

Especially when the tour guide has more important things to deal with.

I’m not a total idiot; I knew I had to satisfy them before I got down to my own business. I gave a quick spiel about the building, its design, and its highlights, and waited until the thirty-four members of the Bay Village Senior League were at the openmouthed stage. That’s when I ducked into the back of the chapel where Damon was waiting for me.

“It’s a job for the police,” I said. Since I’d already told him the same thing earlier in the day and back at my office, he knew what I was talking about. My comment shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

So he shouldn’t have rolled his eyes. “And the police are going to believe you when you say you have a tape recording of a ghost who’s telling you the guys in the band are in danger?”

This was farther than we’d gotten in our conversation back at the office because just as we’d started, Ella had come in to talk about the day’s tours and the Christmas events she was planning. I hadn’t had time to prove to Damon that I’d already thought through all of this. Now with the opportunity, I raised my chin, pulled back my shoulders, and gave him an I’m-on-top-it look. “I’ll play the recording for them.”

“They’ll think it’s a hoax.”

He had a point.

I muttered, but I didn’t have time to respond. At least not until I took care of the granny who was giving me one of those embarrassed half waves from across the chapel. I knew what it meant; she needed to find a ladies’ room. After I got her headed in the right direction, I got back to worrying about what I was going to do about the message from Vinnie.

I was already chewing my lower lip when I realized I was biting off a fresh coat of Frosty Caramel Apple. “Okay, so I can’t tell the police,” I said. I made sure I kept my voice down after I’d zipped back to where Damon waited. “But it’s not my job to handle this, either. I’m supposed to be helping you get to the Other Side. I’m not supposed to be solving crimes that haven’t even been committed yet.”

“That’s the whole point!” Of course, the weather didn’t matter to Damon, but just looking at him in jeans and that LBJ T-shirt made me shudder. “You’ve got to help the guys, Pepper. You’re the only one who can.”

I hated being responsible. For anything. I sighed my surrender. “I suppose I could warn them.”

“That’s not good enough. You have to protect them.”

As I may have mentioned, Damon was a pretty laid-back guy. I’d never seen him angry or agitated. Until then. His cheeks dusky and his eyes on fire, he stalked to the far end of the chapel, right through a group of gawking geezers who immediately shivered and commented about the dip in the tempera
ture. He got as far as the window, and I expected him to turn back. Instead he went right through it. A second later, he popped back up at my side.

Gift or no Gift, I’ll never get used to the comings and goings of ghosts. I just about jumped out of my skin.

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Damon said.

I crossed my arms over my chest. The stance helped contain my heart (which was about to pound its way past my ribs), plus, when I stepped back with my weight against one foot, I looked a little more intimidating. “Tell me.”

He hesitated. “The guys and me…well, you can’t possibly understand.” I could just about see Damon’s anger dissolve. The look in his eyes had been riveting and fiery; now it wasn’t focused on anything. Not on me or on the old people just a few feet away. He was seeing the past, I knew it as sure as I knew my own name, and his voice was soft and slow, like a man’s in a dream.

“When a band comes together and everybody meshes and clicks, it’s magical! That’s what happened with Mind at Large. We all had the same artistic vision and the same drive and the same goals—kick-ass music and rock stardom.” The tiny smile that touched the corners of Damon’s mouth was nothing short of rapturous. “We set the world on fire. It was everything I ever dreamed of, and it blew my mind! But then…” Damon blinked back to reality.

“It isn’t the money, you know. Sure, that’s what people say. It’s easy, and it explains everything. One day you don’t have a dime and the next, you’re rolling hundred-dollar bills and using them to light
your joints. But hey, I got used to that quick enough. It was the drugs that messed with our minds. And the women…well…I already told you that part. I was a greedy son of a bitch. I wanted every single one of them. Between that and acting like an asshole because I figured I was a star and I had every right…” His shoulders rose and fell. “After a while, me and the guys, we were at each other’s throats all the time. I couldn’t take it. And I refused to admit any of it was my fault. I’d had enough. It was messing with my mind and my songs and it was getting me down. I knew what I had to do. I decided to leave the band. I was heading out on my own for a solo career.”

In all the reading I’d done about Mind at Large and with all the people I’d talked to, no one had ever mentioned that Damon quit.

And no wonder.

It took me only a second to see the light.

“You told them, right? The band members. You told them you were quitting the night you died.”

He nodded. “Everybody was there. Except Gene, of course.”

I remembered what the agent had told me back at the Rock Hall. “He was in Pittsburgh. Did he know?”

Damon nodded. “I told him before he left. I figured I owed it to Gene. He’d been with us from the start. I didn’t want him to read it in the papers. The way it was, I didn’t have to worry, huh? I guess the news never made any of the papers.”

And no wonder. “None of the books I’ve read about the group mentions you were leaving,” I told Damon. “And none of the Web sites devoted to the
group say anything about it, either. That’s because you died that night. And if the band talked about you leaving right before you died…well, that drug overdose of yours sure was going to look suspicious. Nobody wanted any fingers pointed at them.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Damon was thoughtful. “See, without me, Mind at Large was nothing. I know it sounds bigheaded, but it’s the absolute truth. I knew it, and they knew it. Once I told them I was leaving, they knew their careers were sunk. Except—”

I put two and two together. For once, it actually equaled four.

“Except that once you were dead, it didn’t matter that you weren’t with the band anymore. Your death made the band a legend. And once Vinnie figured out how to channel you, the songs he stole put it back at the top of the charts. Damon, that means every one of the Mind at Large members had a motive to kill you.”

“It does, but don’t you get it?” Damon’s enthusiasm for my theory did not equal my own. “Vinnie Pal and Al and Mighty Mike and Pete, they had every right to be angry. We were brothers. We were compadres. And I made the mistake of actually believing what people said about me. They said I was the sexy, bad-boy genius of rock, and, son of a bitch, but I was going to do everything I could to prove it was true! I stole the guys’ chicks. I hogged the spotlight. It was my face as big as life on the cover of our albums, and most times, people referred to us as Damon Curtis’s band. Then I got pissed, and I was all set to pull the rug out from under all their lives.”

Damon looked me in the eye. “You’re right, Pepper. Any one of them could have killed me, but I know these guys, and I know not one of them has the heart. Now, if what Vinnie says is true, they’re all in danger. We can’t let that happen, don’t you see? It’s taken me nearly forty years to figure it out, but I finally have. I owe them.”

There are a lot of pluses to being a private detective, and someday when I think of what they are, I’ll be sure to write them down.

Most days, my Gift and the job responsibilities that result from it are pretty much a big ol’ pain in the ass.

The day Damon and I talked in the chapel was a perfect example. After hearing what he had to say about the band, how he felt responsible for their safety, and how I was the only one who could possibly help, I knew what I had to do. And I knew it was going to be a big ol’ pain in the ass.

All the same, I slipped out of the office and into full investigation mode.

It would have been a whole lot more tolerable if the weather wasn’t so cold and drippy. I sat in the car, huddled in my raincoat with the heat running full blast, and flicked the windshield wipers to their slow cycle. Every twenty seconds or so, they stroked the layer of mist off my window and I had a clear view of Damon’s grave.

Swipe.

There was nothing to see out there but gray and gloom and the fog that collected in pockets along the hillside. I blew on my hands and waited, feeling more isolated by the moment as the rain coated
the windows and I lost touch with the outside world.

Swipe
.

Like I said, there were pluses to being a detective. This was one of them, the reassurance that my instincts were right on. Because this time when the window cleared, I saw Crazy Belinda walking toward Damon’s grave.

I was tempted to hop right out of the car to intercept her, but I bided my time, eager to see what she was going to do. A coffee cup clutched in one hand, Belinda paused in front of the marker with Damon’s name on it, and I could see that she was talking to someone. Not to Damon. At least not so that he’d hear. I hadn’t seen him around since I left the chapel earlier that day.

When she was done, Belinda reached into the shopping bag she was carrying and pulled out a rag. She wiped down the headstone, removed each of the objects on the flat stone behind the marker, cleaned them, and set them back in place. The rain wasn’t driving, but it was steady enough. She didn’t even try to relight the candles in their colored-glass cups. Instead she took a wilted bouquet of flowers away and replaced it with a bunch of orange and gold mums that she’d brought along with her.

She was done, and it was time for me to spring into action. It was my job to make sure Belinda didn’t get away before I had a chance to talk to her.

Gritting my teeth against the raw weather, I hopped out of the car.

“Hey! Imagine running into you here!” When Belinda turned at the sound of my voice, I waved.
She was wearing a blue plastic rain slicker, and though it had a hood, she hadn’t pulled it up. Her hair hung around her shoulders, dripping. Belinda’s toes stuck out of the worn sandals that were brushed by her long, tie-dyed skirt. Her eyes were glassy, and when she looked at me, I could tell she wasn’t sure who I was.

I didn’t want to spook her, so I closed in slowly. “We met at the Rock Hall, remember? I was talking to Gene Terry, the manager of Mind at Large. You know him, don’t you? You know the guys in the band, too.”

As if a fairy godmother had flitted by and done the bibbidi-bobbidi-boo routine, Belinda was transformed. Her face lit. Her eyes twinkled. “I’m with the band!” she said. “Don’t need a backstage pass. I’m with the band.”

“Yeah, that’s right. You’re always with the band. That’s why I knew you could help me.”

Belinda’s expectant expression melted. “Can’t help you find the angel. He promised he’d be here and he hasn’t come.” As if she was giving him another chance, she looked up at the leaden sky, and when the angel of death didn’t appear (thank goodness!), her shoulders drooped. “Can’t find Alistair, either,” she said. “Bad, bad Alistair. He went out for the mail and he hasn’t come back.”

I was clearly fighting an uphill battle, but I remembered my promise to Damon. I told him I’d do everything I could to keep the band safe. So far, talking to Belinda was the only thing I could think of. “Alistair the drummer?” I asked her. “Or Alistair your cat?”

When Belinda shook her head, raindrops flew
around her. “Went out for the mail. He hasn’t come back. And he took Damon along.” She leaned in close and put a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone. He was in the living room. You know, the night he died.”

“Damon was in your living room? The night he died?” I did my best to make sense of this piece of information. “But I though he died right before a concert.”

“You’re so funny!” With one grubby finger, Belinda poked me in the ribs. I promised myself my raincoat would go to the dry cleaner’s first thing the next morning. “June 5, 1969,” she said. “That’s the night.”

I thought of everything I’d read about Mind at Large. “But that’s not the night Damon died,” I said, even though I knew this was one person I didn’t need to remind. Any fan obsessed enough to come out to Damon’s grave in the rain would surely know he hadn’t died until two years later. “And it wasn’t the night he told the band he was heading out on a solo career, either, because that was the same night he died and that wasn’t until seventy-one. So what happened in June of sixty-nine? Their first gold record?”

Belinda rolled her eyes, and the sound that escaped her wasn’t exactly a laugh. She washed it away with a sip of coffee. “Everyone knows,” she said.