by Norma Lehr
Next, Abby entered the deejay’s den.
She raised her hands in the air. Dear Lord. If the hallway had impressed her, this room was something else. Awards and news clippings, all carefully framed, crowded the wall behind his dark mahogany desk. Must be an entire history of Sterling’s radio life. Far too many radio awards posted to read in one sitting.
Hold it! What was this? L.A. Examiner.
Disc Jockey Quicksilver, along with several others, has been indelibly tarnished by the 1960 payola scandal. Stamm was indicted on charges of accepting money from record companies in exchange for playing their records—
Scrawled across the bottom of the article in bold black ink: Sterling Stamm NOT LIABLE. Sterling’s addition to the scoop, or maybe Logan’s?
Good grief! Not only was he married when Trish knew him, he had been accused of doing something illegal. Probably not a good idea to mention to Logan she had seen this article. No point in bringing up bad memories from the past. She moved to the other side of Sterling’s desk and sat in his worn leather easy chair.
On top of the desk and directly in the middle stood a color photo of Trish at the height of her beauty, leaning back into handsome Sterling’s arms. His chin rested against her auburn hair. Abby sighed deeply. Those two certainly appeared to be in love. She supported her chin on her fist and sat gazing at the picture.
“Found you. You planning to move in here?” Logan stood in the open doorway, holding his apron. “Impressive stuff, huh?” He glanced around. “When I called your mother from Reno about listing this place, she requested a picture. Said that if I wouldn’t mind, she’d also like to keep one specific album poster.”
Abby stood. “Yeah? It’s obvious which picture. Which poster?”
He came into the room and pointed up to a singing group from the fifties, The Platters. Four handsome black men and one lovely woman. Their song titles were listed on the cover. “Only You” had been circled with a pen. Near the bottom, written in a strong hand: “and you alone can fill my heart with love.”
Logan went to the bookcase and hit a button on the CD player. “This is the one Dad always listened to. His handwriting’s on the cover. Must have been their song.”
The mellow music swelled as The Platters’ smooth tones melted her heart, singing of love and destiny.
Abby crossed the room and hit the stop button while she fought to hold back tears. “They were really in love, huh?”
Logan shrugged. “Always together throughout his final months. I came several times to visit Dad toward the end. Trish was always here. Sounds crazy, but I felt like an intruder. Their closeness? It was tangible.”
She faced him. “Was Trish drinking during those last months before he passed?”
“Not that I could tell. She looked and talked sober. Someone mentioned that later, after Dad’s funeral, she hit the booze heavily for a couple of weeks. Not too long after, I heard she turned herself in to the clinic and got cleaned up.”
Abby moved toward the door. She lifted her nose and sniffed. “What’s that aroma wafting down the hall? Hope you saved me some of that good cookin’ you talked about.”
Logan shrugged. “Sorry. Couldn’t find you so I ate it all.”
“You did not!” She locked her arm in his and pulled him out the door.
Abby took one quick glance back over her shoulder. This walk down Sterling’s memory lane had proven to have quite an effect on her. She left the DJ’s office with the niggling feeling that his son, this neat guy whose arm she held, might possibly be her half-brother.
Abby patted the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Whoa. Where did you learn to cook?”
“Somewhere in my past I lived with a gal from Italy. I watched her cook. She taught.”
Abby twirled a pasta string on her fork. “This is the best spaghetti I’ve ever had.”
“Want cheesecake? I’ll get you a slice.”
She patted her middle. “No room. Save me a piece for later.”
Her tone turned serious. “We need to talk, Logan. I have questions.”
He rubbed his brow. “Questions? The poker game again, right? That’s what you’re leading up to. I’ve told Dawson everything that happened.”
“I believe you, honest I do. But if you tell it to me, I might get a different take on it.” He placed his fork on his plate. “Okay. Shoot. Whaddya want to know?”
“Think back to that night. What went on during the game. I need your perceptions.”
He looked out the kitchen window with a faraway stare.
“Try to visualize.”
“Where do you want me to begin?” He turned from the window and spread his hands. “Nothing unusual happened while the game was on.”
“Okay. What happened when Thomas collapsed?”
Logan tapped his finger on the table. “He had the seat next to Trish so she was the first to get to him. She pressed the artery on his neck while she shoved her smartphone across the table and yelled for someone to call 911. Reynolds called and gave them his address while Trish cried hysterically.”
He shrugged. “I really didn’t know what to do. Thomas was sprawled across the poker pad, face down in a half-circle of spilled chips.” Logan shook his head. “I’ll never forget the color of his hair. The glare of the overhead shade gave the gray strands a green cast, a split-pea soup green. He had two red jacks clutched in one hand and a burned out Lucky in the other.”
Logan slouched back against the chair. “It’ll be a long time before I can get that picture out of my head.”
Abby waited a minute to give him a break. “How long before help came?”
“It seemed like they’d never get there, but according to Dawson, they made it in minutes.”
“What was Trish doing?”
“She looked dazed. Went into the living room, clutched a pillow against her chest and kept sobbing.”
Abby swallowed hard. She recalled the conversation back at her condo when Trish said she had once thought of marrying Thomas Levine. Could that have been because he was Abby’s biological father? Abby fought back tears.
“Did any of you try to console her?”
“We all did, but she waved us off. The dentist put his arm around her shoulder. She elbowed him away.”
“What did Trish do or say when they took Thomas’ body?”
“She stood at the open door for what seemed like a long time. I remember she had a hanky pressed against her mouth.”
“So, do you think she pulled herself together at all before she left?”
“Not really. She finally closed the front door and pressed her palm against the wood panel. I don’t know what the other players saw, but I’ll never forget her look when she reeled around and faced us.”
“Look? What … sad?”
“Nope. She lifted her finger, narrowed her eyes, and pointed at each one of us in turn. ‘Okay, you bastards!’ she said. ‘I know one of you killed him.’ ”
Abby took a deep breath. “Why would she think such a thing?”
“When we find her—and I believe she’ll turn up after she settles down—you can ask her.”
“Logan, thanks. I know this whole situation has probably stressed you out. That had to be one poker game you wish you’d never been invited to.”
He snorted a laugh. “You can say that again.” He paused, set his fork on his dish and flipped a finger under his nose. “Levine smoked up a storm—one hard, smelly stick after another. A couple of times I had to get up and go outside on the back deck to grab a breath of fresh air.” He stared at Abby. “The truth? If Trish hadn’t personally invited me to play—and I needed to talk to her afterward—I would have excused myself and left.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yeah. And I used to be a smoker. A couple of times Trish commented about the smoky air, but the doc ignored her.” Logan scratched his brow. “Probably why I thought he had a heart attack. I kept thinking, how much longer can the old guy live before all the nicotine
puts him down?”
Abby nodded. “Do you think the dentist and Heath thought he had a heart attack?”
“Both of those guys thought he’d had a stroke.”
“Did they say that?”
“Yeah. I said heart attack and they said stroke.”
“Have you been in touch with either of them since?”
“Well, yeah. You know I have. The dentist made a brief appearance at the police station while I was there. Dawson called both him and you in too.”
“How about Michael Heath?”
“I overheard Dawson say your PI Garret was bringing him in later today.” Logan stood. “Are we through here?” He began clearing dishes.
Abby stood too. “I’m sorry. I can really get carried away, but I don’t know what else to do at this point except ask questions. Please. Just one more. Well, actually, two. Then I’ll leave.”
He set a plate down on the granite top.
“Did your dad have another place in or around town where Trish might have gone? An apartment no one knew about? Someplace she might think is safe?”
His eyes crackled with anger. “If I knew something so important, do you think I’d be crazy enough to keep quiet about it?” He turned his back. “Jesus, Abby. Is that what you think?”
She stared at the floor. “Just covering all the bases.” When she looked up, she said, “One more question then you can throw me out.”
“What?”
“If the doctor was murdered, who do you think killed him? How was it done? And why?” Her smartphone buzzed. She could see Logan looked relieved and surprised.
“You have it turned on,” he said. “Will miracles never cease?”
Renee’s number appeared on the tiny screen. Abby took the call outside. “Renee, good to hear your voice. What’s going on? Are you still at Gail’s?”
“Yes, and I just spoke to your aunt. What the hell? Where’s Trish, for heaven’s sake? Are you out looking—”
“Hold on. We’re all searching for her. I’m sorry if Ginny upset you.”
“Well, I’m coming to Palm Springs. I’ll be there in the morning. I called Ginny because I was planning to surprise you at the Follies anyway. I’ll just leave here early. I can help. We can search for your mom together. Can someone pick me up at the airport?”
“Absolutely. What time?”
“Flight arrives at the Palm airport at ten. Ginny offered to let me stay at her place. Can I bunk with you?”
“Let me work on that. You’ll stay with me wherever.”
Minutes later, Abby stepped back indoors. “The call was from my friend Renee. She’s flying in tomorrow morning.”
“Is that good news or bad?”
“Both. She spoke to my aunt Ginny. She’s been invited to stay there and bunk with me.”
“You’re not smiling.” Logan appeared to be back to his old self. “No room at your aunt’s?”
“Well, it’s complicated. Since my other aunt arrived from Branson it’s getting crowded over there. I don’t feel comfortable sharing a room with Dorie and the little religious statue she brought along.”
“Statue?”
Abby laughed. “Sounds strange, huh? Well it is, for me anyway. Especially with everything else that’s going on. Dorie’s become a minister of the Church of the Highest Note. Don’t ask. I haven’t had time to hear much about it. It’s probably all okay. We’ll see. Anyhow, after I locate my mother, I’ll be more open to hearing about what Dorie’s got going.”
Logan turned and faced her. “If you’ll cool it and stop putting me on the defensive with your questions, you can stay here. You and your friend. There’s plenty of room.”
“Really?” Surprised, Abby studied him for a moment. He had been angry when she’d asked if his dad might have another place. Now he was opening this lovely home to her and Renee. She didn’t get it. Something to think about.
It was true that he couldn’t leave Palm Springs—Dawson’s orders—so he might enjoy some company. She gave Logan a once-over in an attempt to view him through Renee’s eyes.
Knowing her best friend as she did, she didn’t think it would matter if he was a few years younger. Might even be a plus. Renee would see a fine looking single dude. A great dresser. In addition, if Abby left the two alone, possibly tomorrow night, Logan might tell Renee something important about the fateful poker night. Some little tidbit he’d overlooked. Yep. Renee might be the perfect houseguest for Logan.
“You’re sure we wouldn’t be an imposition?”
“Not as long as you make your own beds and clean the bathrooms. I only cook. I don’t clean.”
“What a kind offer. Let me think it over. Right now, I need to get back to Ginny’s. Got some family business to handle before I leave there.”
She looked around. Could be a pleasant break, sleeping in this house filled with romance from another era. The alternative? She and Renee would share a motel room with two beds.
“Sure,” she said quickly. “I’ll take you up on your offer, Logan, if you don’t mind my going and coming at strange hours. I promise I’ll stop asking prickly questions. If I do?” She squinted. “Simple. Stop me.”
Logan put her mind at ease. “You’re free to come and go as you please. I’ll give you a key.” He opened a drawer under the granite top. “This friend of yours. What’s her name again?”
“Renee.”
“Right. Is she single? I don’t need some jealous husband or guy friend barging in here.”
“No. Nothing like that. At the present, she’s very single.” Abby held up her phone. “I’ll keep it on if you need to reach me.”
“I could ask when you’ll be back, but I won’t.”
Abby raised a brow and picked up her purse. “Good!”
She’d head over to the police station to look for Blade, and hopefully Heath. Find out more about the driver of the dark car. Next she’d call Reynolds and push to get a time for their dinner date tomorrow night.
CHAPTER 13
At the station Abby adjusted her dark glasses and peered around the area, searching for Blade’s rental VW.
“Looking for someone?”
Abby jumped. “Good Lord, Blade.” She placed her palm against her chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.” It took a minute to catch her breath. “I came here looking for you.”
He slid into the GEM. “You came looking for me. That’s a switch! Seems the only way I can corral you lately is to approach with an element of surprise.” He frowned. “What’s going on with you? Since last night at the Caliente you’ve acted like I’ve got the plague. You left me at my cabin door. Sped away without so much as a goodbye or a go-to-hell. Only thing I could figure is that Heath said something to upset you and you took it out on me.”
She patted his knee. “I’m sure it looks like that. I know I’ve been acting strange, and I apologize. I’ve been meeting myself going and coming for the last two days.”
“Yeah? And today, did you by any chance use the lock picks you lifted from my glove box?”
Abby felt the heat rush to her neck. She reached for her hanky and blotted. “Yep. I did. Wasn’t sure you’d let me borrow them. Knew you wouldn’t approve, so I didn’t mention it.” She dug around in her bag for the kit.
“You’ve got that right. What the hell were you thinking? Got a pretty good idea where you used them.”
Abby brought out the tool kit and handed it to him. “Sorry. I planned on telling you.”
“Yeah? When?”
She gritted her teeth and squinted. “Now?”
He held the kit in his palm. “What’s that smell? You got horseradish in your purse?”
Abby had forgotten about the paper packet Dorie had given her this morning. She brought it out and opened it. Sniffed the root and held her nose. “I didn’t know my aunt put horseradish in there. Now the entire thing probably reeks.”
“Why the hell did she give it to you? Are your sinuses clogged?”
“Absolutely n
ot. It has something to do with her new religion.” She shook the inside of her purse around trying to air it out. “Why? Is horseradish for clearing sinuses?”
“My mother used it. Worked on us kids. Your aunt must be an herbalist. Probably part of her religion.”
Abby tossed the packet on the floor in the back. “I’d get rid of it, but I know Dorie will be asking about it.” She sniffed her hands then dug through her purse for hand sanitizer.
After a substantial squirt of the sanitizer, she offered it to Blade. “This should take care of it.” She pointed toward the station. “When I was here earlier, Dawson said you found the driver of the car that tried to run me down. Who was it?”
“I tried to tell you last night, but you ran off like a scared rabbit. This morning in front of your aunt’s place you sped off like a race car driver.” He tapped his foot on the floorboard. “One more time. What’s going on with you?”
Abby shook her head. “First. I didn’t intentionally snoop through your glove box.” She went on to explain in detail how her foot had hit the knob and it automatically dropped open.
Blade listened. He turned and faced her. “That’s not all you found, right?”
Abby couldn’t meet his eyes. “No.” She hesitated. “There was something else. A photo.”
“I figured as much. That’s what pissed you off.” He straightened, jutted his chin and gazed around at the passing traffic. “You don’t have enough faith in me to ask?”
Abby thought seriously before she answered. “It’s not a matter of faith, Blade. It’s trust.”
He grunted. “That’s great. You think you can’t trust me. Which one of us do you find it hard to trust? Me, or yourself?”
Abby stiffened. “You know most of the important parts of my past. I’ve never refused to answer anything you asked.”
“True. But the operative word here is asked. You found something of mine. A personal photo you thought I might be keeping from you, and you jumped to conclusions.” He rubbed his brow.