Angel Board

by Rufty, Kristopher

“Because I don’t think either one of us wants to spend the night alone after all this.”

  Nodding, Amber agreed. “You have a point. Why don’t you just come along?”

  “I need to hang around the house just in case the detective comes by. He’s supposed to check up on David for me.”

  Amber was impressed. “Wow. Look at you, thinking outside the box.”

  Sam smiled. “Swing by your place and get some clothes. You can crash with me. I’m off work the next couple of days, but don’t make it too late.”

  “I won’t. I’ll probably be back around seven.”

  “That’s perfect.”

  Amber couldn’t help but notice the nagging feeling in her gut, the one that was telling her not to leave Sam’s apartment. But she had too much to do. Too many things were spiraling out of control, and she was going to set them straight.

  Sam broke her concentration by asking, “Is there anything I can do while you’re out researching?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe check online for some info about angel boards? It’s hard to differentiate the bullshit from the facts on the Internet, that’s why I stick to finding the books. If it’s in print, then there has to be some kind of legitimacy to it.”

  Sam nodded. “Sure, I’ll get right on it.”

  “All right.” Amber turned to leave, but stopped at the door. “I can’t remember where my purse is. I think I might have left it at David’s. Can I use your library card?”

  “Of course. My purse is on the table next to the door. It’s in my wallet.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Sam picked the towel off the floor and, using it as a glove, she began picking up the mug shards.

  Looking over her shoulder, she found Amber hadn’t left yet.

  “What’s up?”

  “Really…thank you, for everything.” Amber forced a smile on her face.

  Sam gave her a warm smile of appreciation. “Like I said, you’re welcome.”

  Amber nodded. Sam’s purse sat just where she’d said it would be. She opened it. Digging through layers of old receipts, she found Sam’s wallet at the bottom. She opened it and found a picture of Sam and David at the front of the photo book. It was an older one; David still had sideburns. Sam’s hair was much shorter. Looking at the snapshot, Amber wondered if things would ever be as simple as they’d seemed at that time. She sighed as she dug out the library card.

  Then she was on her way.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The bells above the door jingled when Stiltson left. Standing behind the counter, Carrie felt overwhelmed, yet relieved. The way he had spelled it out for her, there was no way she could mess it up. Plus, she was honored he would think so highly of her and trust her with a job like this. More than a job, it was a mission.

  She replayed their exchange, making sure she hadn’t misunderstood anything, checking for any hidden meanings in what he’d been telling her. For all she knew, he could be a pervert who lied to younger girls just so he could have his way with them. It seemed highly unlikely, but that didn’t scare her either.

  He was different. Not at all like the guys she normally came across on campus. Carrie had always known an older man would be the only kind that could satisfy her mentally. While most guys were focused on sports, hot cars, and fast women–not in that order–she was none of those things, and never would be.

  Going to a movie, reading a book, having a companion to team up with on a thousand-piece puzzle was what she needed. And also, she wasn’t a hellcat in the bedroom. She relished things slow, gentle, and savoring–not what the guys of today wanted, which was porno sex.

  Carrie was one of a different breed. Too much brain for most types of guys or, as she referred to them, boys. She remembered how Stiltson’s face had blushed when she told him she was nineteen.

  “You seem relieved,” she’d said.

  “I am.”

  “Was my student ID not enough proof for you earlier?”

  He’d shrugged. “Guess I was in denial.”

  “Why?”

  His face flushed harsher. “Many reasons. But right now, it’s because of this favor I have to ask of you.”

  “What kind of favor?” What he’d gone on to explain to her had not been at all what she’d expected—or hoped. She had prepared for him to ask her to accompany him to dinner or something subtle.

  “I’m working on a case,” he began. “On the surface it appears to be an accidental death.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  He smiled. “Is it that obvious?”

  “To me it is. I can read it in your eyes.”

  “You can?”

  “Yeah, I like how your eyes want to conspire against each other.”

  “What?”

  “Like when you’re happy. Take this morning for example. Your smile was a beamer, and your eyes were wild. But now you want to be serious, yet you’re happy about something. So one eye is lowering, while the other wants to pull away and be wide open.”

  He’d laughed. “Are you calling me cross-eyed?”

  She laughed. “Not at all. I don’t know what I’m saying. I just like your eyes.”

  “Thanks.”

  “They’re hiding a pretty rough interior behind them.”

  Stiltson’s smile turned to a frown. “You have no idea.”

  She cleared her throat. “Want to explain your favor to me while I make you a cup of coffee?”

  “Look at you, trying to make a sale when I come to you for help in these desperate times.”

  “No better time, I think. Holding my decision over your head, I could probably get you to buy just about anything here.”

  “Maybe. But let’s not test that theory?”

  “Okay, deal.”

  Like earlier in the day, she’d led him to the coffee pot. While they walked, the ice cream bar separated them. At the end, she’d stepped out from behind it and walked to the table.

  Stiltson had already taken a cup off the stack and was pouring coffee in it. She crossed her arms and purposely cleared her throat.

  Looking up, Stiltson was smiling. “Thought I would help.”

  “Well, that’s sweet, but how can I make a cup for you if you’re doing the work? And besides, you’re not on the payroll.”

  “Oops, sorry.” He sat the pot on the warmer and stepped away, holding his hands up in surrender. “Better let the professional take care of it.” He’d glanced at his watch.

  And had seemed to be very nervous about the time.

  “I hate to rush this,” Stiltson said. “But my partner is waiting for me out in the car.”

  “So? Invite him in; I’ll make him a cup too.”

  “No, it’s not like that. He doesn’t exactly know why I’m in here.”

  “Oh?” She’d raised an eyebrow at him. “Then why are you in here?” Carrie was suddenly nervous. Her hand began to tremble as she stirred the ingredients of her spectacular mix.

  Stiltson noticed and sighed. “I need your help.”

  “Okay.” She grabbed a lid from the pile and covered the coffee. “What do you want me to do?”

  “The case that I mentioned earlier?”

  She’d nodded.

  “Well, I need you to check up on the guy for me.”

  “What do you mean by that?” She’d squinted her eyes, studying him.

  “Well, some things involved with the case just don’t add up. And this lady asked me to look after him. She’s worried that he may do something to himself.”

  “A lady?”

  Great, he’s doing a favor for another woman. Where do I fit into this?

  He needs my help.

  For what? If he’s doing a favor for her, why should I do one for him?

  That was easy. She liked him, and it would prove that she could handle herself.

  “Yes. The girlfriend.”

  “Oh–of the guy?”

>   “Yes. David Barker. He’d recognize me and probably figure out that I’m poking around.”

  “So what exactly would I be doing around this David Barker?”

  “Nothing. I don’t want him to see you at all. Just walk by his apartment, maybe put your ear to the door. Observe him as he comes and goes.”

  “I can do that.”

  “But no more than an hour a day. You got me? You can hang out there for an hour straight, or break it up in ten six-minute intervals throughout the day, or however you please. Only an hour. Tops.”

  “No more than an hour, got it.” She dropped her arms by her sides and walked back behind the counter. “Want some ice cream?”

  “Oh, no thanks.”

  He’d kept his distance from her as he walked back to the front counter. She came around the rear side and met him by the register. “Are you going to be my partner?” she asked.

  “I can’t be seen around there. He knows my face.”

  “Oh…” She lowered her head. An underage smoker flier was taped on the counter. A corner had peeled back and was flapping loosely. She tore the stray piece away.

  “And he knows my partner’s face.”

  Her lips tightened to a straight line, and she’d nodded. “Why don’t you want your partner to know?”

  “That’s complicated.”

  “I’m a smart girl, I can handle it,” she’d snapped at Stiltson, defending herself, but felt horrible about it afterward.

  He took it in stride. “I know you are, that’s why I asked for your help.”

  Letting her stiff shoulders relax, she had finally decided to lower her guard. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Stiltson sighed. “He doesn’t need to know because he wouldn’t approve of the favor in the first place. He thinks the Barker kid is up to no good. He’d probably shoot first and ask questions later.”

  Carrie winced at the thought. “What do you think?”

  “I think the kid didn’t do anything wrong. But I also think he may need help of some kind.”

  “All right, I’ll do it.”

  “Great.” Reaching into his coat pocket, he’d removed a business card and placed it on the counter. “Here’s my card. I’m going to jot down his address on the back.” Stiltson leaned over the counter and began to write.

  “Where does he live?”

  “Seraph Heights.”

  “Is that the old mansion in the historic district that was converted into apartments?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow.” Carrie knew of the place. She’d seen it often in town. She’d always thought the place was a tad eccentric. Odd, but with a hint of beauty. Once it had probably been the epitome of all things gorgeous, but due to neglect, it had drastically faltered.

  Stiltson stood up straight and handed her the card. “Don’t let the place fool you. It’s fallen on some hard times in recent years. We’ve busted some pretty nasty people out that way. So be careful.”

  “I will.”

  “No more than an hour a day.”

  “I promise.”

  “If you go by there today, call me tonight. I left my home number on there. My cell phone’s on the front. If you don’t make it out there this evening, just give me a ring tomorrow.” He headed to the door.

  “What if I call anyway?”

  Stiltson stopped. He stared ahead for a few moments before looking back over his shoulder at her. “I’d like that.”

  Carrie had felt a tremendous heat rush through her body. “Okay.” She waited for him to leave. Then she bit her lip and jumped up and down. She wanted to scream for joy, but was sure he’d hear her. This was big news, a way for her to prove herself to him on so many levels.

  He had explained everything the best he could. She was certain he’d left out details, but Carrie also understood that she didn’t need to know everything. If there was a possibility that she might be put in danger he wouldn’t have allowed her to help.

  He cared for her. His eyes told her so. His eyes had told her a lot, and she was grateful for everything she’d learned about him.

  Don’t blow it, girlie, this is your big chance.

  “I don’t plan on it,” she muttered.

  He would be proud.

  Giles had felt himself drifting off while waiting for Stiltson to return to the car. He wasn’t quite asleep yet, but teetering along the border of sleep and awareness when the door opened. He nearly jumped through the roof.

  “Sorry,” Stiltson said. He sat behind the wheel and shut the door. Even in the short amount of time the door had been open, the nippy air from outside had forced its frigid touch into the car. Stiltson quickly shut the door and turned the heat up to high.

  Yawning, Giles asked, “Did you get what you needed?”

  Stiltson raised the cup of coffee and shook it. “Sure did.”

  Giles glanced through the window and smiled. “Who’s the cute little number watching you?”

  “What?” Stiltson looked toward the store. Carrie stood just to the side of the main window. Watching. Trying to be covert. She had failed. Stiltson could see her, and Giles, who was barely awake, had spotted her as well.

  “Oh her…she’s just the one that made the coffee.”

  “You dirty old man.” Giles laughed, resting his head between the door and his seat, the seatbelt strap braced the weight of his skull, working as a makeshift pillow.

  “You may be right,” Stiltson muttered.

  “Hmmm…wha…” Giles began nodding off again. Before Stiltson could repeat himself, Giles was out like a light.

  Stiltson frowned. “Nothing.” He put the car into drive and left.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It had been at least five years since Amber had set foot in the library. Not much had changed. The building was starting to show its age in various places, but overall, it had held up well.

  She entered through the rear doors. The back-parking lot was usually empty. Amber had often wondered if anyone even knew it existed. It appeared as if the library was trying to keep it hidden. It was surrounded by a brick wall, and trees in need of trimming drooped over on opposite sides. The lot itself could use a fresh coat of asphalt and a new paint job.

  Amber nervously approached the librarian stationed behind the main counter. She looked to be a cheery, young woman. She had a pleasant smile and was probably in her thirties.

  Maybe she wouldn’t laugh Amber out of the building after all.

  “Hello,” said the librarian. “I’m Betty. May I help you?”

  Amber imagined herself turning around and running out the way she’d entered. But instead, she only said, “I suppose you could. Do you have a section on…um…”

  “Just say it. There are no weird requests in the library,” Betty laughed.

  Amber forced an uncomfortable smile. “Well…” Amber balked.

  “Go on.”

  Smiling, Amber said, “Do you have a section devoted to angels?”

  Betty appeared to be stunned. “Wow. That’s a popular subject today.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re the second person today. Just a little while ago a man came in asking the same thing. It’s funny, you could almost be his sister.” Betty laughed even harder.

  Amber did not.

  I am his sister, she thought. David was in here researching the same thing.

  Amber gave Betty a simulated smile. “So, is that a yes?”

  Betty nodded. “Yes. You can probably still find his stuff all spread out upstairs. I saw him at table nine. It’s right in front of the non-fiction section. He had books laid out everywhere.”

  Amber civilly thanked her, but was actually screaming on the inside. Her mind was filled with images of David hunched over the table like a diabolical madman, in a desperate search of all things angel.

  Upstairs was deserted.

  “Thank god for small favors,” she muttered. Loo
king across the room, she located table nine near a window. Two piles of books were stacked side by side like towers.

  That’s where he was. She wondered how long it had been since he’d left. She’d probably just missed him.

  Or maybe he’s still here.

  Walking to table nine, Amber felt a frosty bite of fear nibbling at her spine. What if David caught her looking in the books? He would know that she was suspicious of him and checking up on him like a jealous girlfriend. Or a meddling sister.

  No worse than Mom.

  She could lie, but he would see right through it. David wasn’t stupid. Especially when it came to Amber. He could always tell when she wasn’t being honest with him.

  Remember Evan?

  Amber had hoped to never remember Evan, but also could never forget him. A degenerate boyfriend who had liked to convey his frustrations of the relationship with his fists. When David had confronted her about the bruises on her body, she’d tried lying her way out of it. He didn’t fall for it.

  So, in return, he’d shown his frustrations at Evan with his own fists.

  Amber neared the table. A plain writing pad sat near the books. The indentions in the paper were proof that David had been jotting things down. Whatever it was, he had taken it with him.

  What is he up to?

  She sat down in the chair. It was still warm. He’d been there very recently. Amber scanned the upper floor but didn’t see him. In fact, there seemed to be no sign of life other than her up here. She was more concerned about what he’d been scribbling anyway.

  He’d left the pencil behind. Like a pencil used to keep golf scores, it was half the length of a normal one.

  Rubbing her finger across the pad, she felt the impressions of his notes. She picked up the book on top.

  It was old. The spine was crippled with creases. The pages had browned with age. When she opened it, a smell from inside the book reminded her of an old basement.

  She quickly flipped through the pages. Nothing caught her eye–just random old text. So she sat it to the side. If nothing else came up, she would go back to it later.

  The pad seemed to scream at her. She grabbed the pencil and wondered if her idea would work. It was something she had seen on one of those cop shows–she couldn’t remember which one. They had used a pencil to shade over a pad to reveal what had been written on the previous page.