by Cassie Miles
Liz was still remembering when she parked behind the Victorian mansion where she had her apartment on the third floor. She unlocked the door. They ascended the stairs.
As soon as she opened the door to her apartment and glanced inside at the neat, pleasant decor, her words ceased. Her silence was sudden as a floodgate falling into place to staunch the flow of a river.
“What is it?” Dash asked. His gaze swept the room. It appeared to be perfectly normal.
“Somebody’s been in here.”
Chapter Nine
To the naked eye of any other observer, Liz’s third-floor apartment would appear to be in perfect apple-pie order. But to her? She knew the instant she opened the door that someone had been inside. There were unmistakable signs. The fringe on the area rug was mussed. The miniblinds at the front window were closed.
Angrily, she marched to the south-facing window and placed her briefcase atop her wooden writing desk. The center drawer was not completely shut. The lid on her stationery box had been replaced upside down.
She turned, surveying the room. The magazine on her coffee table was skewed.
An intruder had been there. He’d read her magazine. His hands had flipped through the pages. Disgusted, she stormed across the room and lifted the magazine gingerly by two fingers. Holding the spine away from her, as if the magazine was a foul-smelling piece of garbage, she dumped it in the trash receptacle beneath the kitchen sink.
She spun around to face Dash, who had followed her into the kitchen. “I don’t suppose you notice anything, but believe me—”
“I do,” he said. “I can sense the presence of someone else. And believe me, your intruder wasn’t here for a friendly chat about recipes.”
Irritated, she rolled her eyes. “What on earth do you mean? You can sense them?”
“It’s a talent I have. A gift.” He peered into her kitchen trash can and plucked out an aluminum can, which he set on the counter. “Proof,” he said.
She eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know I didn’t drink that soda?”
“Maybe you did drink it, but I guarantee that you’re not the one who pitched the can into the trash.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He tipped his fedora back on his head and gave her a knowing grin. “Lizzie, you’re the type who recycles.”
She would have liked to snap at him, but Dash was right, absolutely right. Liz snatched the can from him. Never would she have thrown a recyclable aluminum can into the trash. But Dash had seemed to know it was there. How? How had he known?
Though she hated to think of Dash being the person who had crept into her apartment, her suspicions were unavoidable. She hadn’t seen him all afternoon. After his beeper went off, he’d disappeared. Did he come back here? Did he break into her home?
He walked through the front room and pointed to the desk. “The intruder was here.”
“Well, that’s easy to see.” Liz came up beside him. “Look at the lid on my stationery box. The lilacs are upside down.”
“Anything missing?”
“I don’t know.”
He strode across the living room and into her bedroom, where he pointed to the dresser. “The drawers aren’t properly aligned.”
“What were they looking for?” She pulled open her top dresser drawer. Her silky underwear and brassieres seemed to be in order, but she imagined the intruder staring at her intimate garments. Perhaps his fingers touched the lace waistband of her panties. As she looked into the drawer, everything seemed soiled.
She tried not to make a big deal about this intrusion. After all, a real private eye would need to be blasé about such things. But Liz was outraged and disgusted. The very idea that someone could sneak in here and handle her things was a loathsome violation of her privacy. She scooped out the contents of the drawer and dumped them in the hamper in the bathroom.
In the front room, indentations in the sofa indicated that someone had been sitting there. The pillows were slightly rumpled. Her imagination conjured up a picture of someone lounging comfortably. A man. A large, uninvited, faceless man sprawled on her sofa. Or perhaps he had a face. And a name.
She confronted Dash. “It wasn’t you, was it? You came back here, let yourself in and sneaked around my apartment, didn’t you?”
To her surprise, he gave her a respectful nod and a thumbs-up sign. “That’s what I like to hear. Now you’re thinking like a detective. Everybody’s a suspect.”
“Did you?”
“Not a chance, sweetheart. If I’d wanted to search the joint, I wouldn’t have been so sloppy about it.”
She agreed with his logic. “But I don’t understand why somebody would come here. It’s not much of a search, but were they looking for something?”
“The falcon,” he said.
“Bluebird! It’s a bluebird!”
“Whatever.” He frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense. Because I’m the only one who knows about that clue.”
“Dammit, Dash! You can’t be the only one!” She was nearing the ragged end of her patience. “You’ve got to be working for somebody. And this person who hired you has to have the information you’ve uncovered. Right?”
“Calm down, sweetheart. You’re getting hysterical.”
“Am I? And what does Bogie do when confronted by a hysterical female? Is this the scene where you slap my face and tell me you did it for my own good?”
“I would never strike you.”
The seriousness of his statement stemmed the rising tide of her frustration. No matter how eccentric his behavior, she knew that—deep inside—Dash Divine was an honorable man. He would never hurt her.
Contrite but confused, she flung herself across the sofa, erasing the imprint of her intruder. “I’m sorry, Dash. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I’m just so angry.”
“It’s okay. Now you got the temper out of your system.”
If only serenity were that easy. The residual outrage and sense of violation kept her heartbeat accelerated. A tension headache began to clang in the back of her head. “Why?” she questioned. “Why search here? Why would the murderer think I had a clue stashed here in my apartment?”
“He could have been waiting,” Dash said. His tone was serious. “Maybe he wasn’t looking for a clue. Maybe it was you he wanted.”
“Waiting for me to come home by myself.” The thought chilled her. If she’d come directly home instead of going to the warehouse, she might have found a cold-blooded killer sitting on her sofa, thumbing through her magazines.
And she recalled the incident in the park, when the jogger dressed in black had followed her, running at her pace, dogging her path. “I have something to tell you,” she said. “I should have mentioned this before.”
His gaze focused on her. “Go ahead.”
“Well, you remember when I called Dr. Clark. And you got so, um, so angry.”
“I remember.”
“Right after that, I was running in the park, and there was a guy who followed me. He wore one of those baggy black nylon suits and a cap and he stayed back far enough that I couldn’t see who it was. Anyway, I usually wouldn’t think anything of it. Lots of people jog in the park. But this guy would speed up when I went faster. When I walked, he’d slow down.”
“And this was before the dinner party?”
She nodded.
“So, even before we went there and your notebook was stolen from the car, someone might have suspected that you were investigating.”
“Possibly.” Her headache intensified. She hated to make mistakes, and not telling him might have been a big one. On the other hand, it was altogether possible that the jogger had no significance whatsoever. “I didn’t think it was all that important. I might have been imagining—”
“I don’t believe in coincidence.”
She observed him closely, waiting for the outburst of rage, waiting for him to say that I-told-you-so she probably deserved. Instead, he seemed to be making an effort
to control himself. A muscle in his jaw tensed. He reached into his pocket, took out his cigarettes, gazed at the pack longingly and returned it to his pocket. When he looked at her, a flame behind his eyes flared, then stilled.
“All right, sweetheart. You’re the P.I., how do you investigate that coincidence?”
“Call Dr. Clark? Find out if he talked to anybody else?”
“Do it.”
“But it’s after hours on a Friday. How will I—”
“Are you a lady? Or a private dick?”
“There’s a contrast for you!”
“This isn’t funny, Elizabeth.”
“You’re right. Of course, you’re right.” She looked up the number, called the answering service and left a message for Dr. Clark Hammerschmidt to call her back.
In the meantime, Dash examined the edge of her front door, twisted the knob. He explained, “Your intruder picked both locks. You can see the scratches.”
The break-in was too easy, she thought. Liz had always assumed that her apartment was fairly secure. But someone had entered and left without much difficulty. She might as well set out a welcome mat. Pick the lock and come on in.
“Tell you what, Liz. It’s not smart for you to stay here, knowing that the killer can slide right in at any time. But there’s a safe house that belongs to my office. It’s kind of a distance away from town, but nobody will find you there.”
She balked. “How far out of town?”
“Southwest. It’s a classy setting near Roxborough Park.”
“That’s over an hour’s drive.” She rubbed at her temples, wishing her headache would go away. “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’d be safely tucked away, and you could investigate on your own.”
He shrugged. “You can’t stay here.”
It was kind of a shame, he thought. He was just getting accustomed to the idea of having a partner, of having Liz as his partner. Still, taking her to the safe house was probably for the best.
“I have another idea,” she said.
Her eyes narrowed in that sly but adorable expression that he was beginning to dread. “What?”
“I could move in with you.”
Her suggestion knocked him for a loop. “You want to live with me?”
“Just until we catch the murderer. And I’m not hinting that it’s condom time, either. We could do it as a strictly business arrangement. I’d pay my share for groceries.”
“Actually, precious, I don’t think so.”
“But it’s perfect.” She marched into her bedroom, pulled a suitcase from the back of her closet and flipped it open on the bed. “Really, Dash. It’s the only logical solution. That way I can still work on the case, but I’ll be safely under your protection. So, where’s your place?”
In a Logan Street office. On a handy church pew. Up in the galaxies. Angels didn’t have places of their own. “You wouldn’t like it.”
“Don’t worry if it’s messy,” she said, misreading his reluctance. “I understand how it is with bachelors. And if the clutter bothers me, I’ll clean up. Otherwise, I can live with a mess.”
“You don’t understand…” How was he going to explain this?
Fortunately, at that moment, the telephone rang and Liz went to answer.
Dash followed her into the front room in time to hear her say, “Hi, Gary.”
From her end of the conversation, he deduced that Gary Gregory wanted to stop by to discuss the situation with Hector. Liz told him that it was convenient and he should come right over.
She hung up the phone and looked at Dash. “Do you think it was Gary who broke in here before? Maybe I should call the police and have them do fingerprints.”
“Don’t bother,” he advised. Though it was sometimes necessary to work with the police, he tried to steer clear whenever possible. It was a pain in the neck to explain who he was, to conjure up a fake driver’s license and a fake address. “Whoever was smart enough to pick your lock would be smart enough to wear gloves.”
“Good point.” She charged into her bedroom and resumed packing. “You stay here in the bedroom while I’m talking to Gary, okay? If he tries anything, you can stop him.”
Dash murmured his assent, but his mind was a million miles away. What was he going to do? Being truthful was always the best alternative. He should tell her again that he was an angel, and angels didn’t have apartments.
That was the right solution, the smart thing to do. But he didn’t want to tell her. He enjoyed having her relate to him as a mortal man. If she knew he was an angel, things would be different.
He touched the beeper in his pocket, half-expecting it to go off so Angelo could inform him that he was screwing up again. But the celestial summons was silent.
Dash was on his own. He needed to make his own decision.
In less time than he expected, the doorbell buzzed and Liz spoke through the intercom to Gary Gregory. Then she turned to him. “Go in the bedroom. Leave the door open a crack so you can hear.”
He’d just settled in behind the door when he turned and saw Cherie, lounging on the bed amid Liz’s halfcompleted packing. She batted her long fake eyelashes. “Problem, Dash?”
“You know it, babe.”
“Now she wants to move in with you. I’d say you’ve got a very sticky dilemma on your hands.” Her laughter trilled. “Honestly, you two are more fun than a soap opera.”
“You could help me out,” he said. “I’d make it worth your while.”
“How?” Her eyes glistened with an avariciousness that was totally inappropriate for a Guardian Angel.
“You stay here and keep an eye on Liz while I go find myself an apartment.”
“And what will you do for me?”
He gritted his teeth. “I’ll talk to St. Mike about your potential as an Avenging Angel.”
“Done,” she said.
With a sigh, Dash turned himself invisible. He and Cherie slipped into the front room to observe Liz’s meeting with Gary Gregory.
As soon as the accountant stepped inside, Liz offered him a soda, which he declined. “This isn’t a social visit, Liz. You caused a tremendous amount of trouble with those purchase figures you showed me.”
“Just doing my job,” she said.
He sat on the sofa and popped open his briefcase. The first thing he took out was a yellow legal pad, and Liz felt herself stiffen at the sight of it. Was he going to confront her with her own list of suspects? Was he going to demand an explanation?
She was incredibly glad that Dash was in the bedroom, watching and listening. Even though Liz liked to think she could take care of herself, she didn’t mind having backup, and she was confident that Dash wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.
Gary plucked a pen from his pocket protector and flipped through the sheaf of canary yellow pages. “I noticed that when you compiled your data, you only did comparisons for the last three months. Have you gone any further back than that?”
“No, I thought this was enough for a start.”
He began removing manila file folders and scattering them around himself. His motions were jerky and stiff, like a chicken scratching for feed. His crest of hair twitched back and forth as he spread out documents on the sofa and coffee table. How convenient, she thought. Gary the birdman had brought his own nesting material with him.
“I talked to Hector,” Gary said. “He went berserk, claiming that he’s buying quality beans. What price quality, eh?”
“He has a point,” Liz said. “And, apparently, Hector didn’t realize that he was paying as much over cost as he was. He said it was only about four or five percent. Not eight or ten.”
“Hector doesn’t have a head for figures.” He peered over the edge of his black-framed glasses and raised his eyebrows. “You know I’ve recommended you for his job. Several times.”
“I didn’t know that.” Immediately, she felt more kindly toward this geeky accountant. “Thank you, Gary.”
“In fact, this
afternoon, when I finally talked to Jack, I mentioned that you ought to be the buyer.”
What an irony! Just when she’d decided to dump OrbenCorp and become a private eye, she might be offered the job she’d always dreamed of. “What did Jack say?”
“He was too annoyed with Hector to respond.”
“Typical.”
“Jack didn’t apologize for destroying my rosebush, either.” Gary pulled his upper lip over the lower in that beaky expression, but there was nothing humorous in his look of barely suppressed rage. He was mad about that rosebush, and his features were contorted. He resembled a dark predator, a hawk. “The bastard,” he muttered. “He had no call to do that. None at all.”
Liz encouraged him to tell her more. “Do you think he’s jealous?”
“Oh, yes. Oh, yes. He’s envious because I’ve created a thing of beauty, my blue rose, and he’s done nothing.”
This guy had a one-track mind. “Actually,” she said, “I was thinking that he might be jealous of your relationship with Sarah. You know, that you two are going to be happily married and all that.”
“Maybe,” he conceded. “I knew he’d be piggy about the house.”
“And there’s no reason for his possessiveness, especially since the house really doesn’t even belong to Sarah. It’s going to be a shelter.”
He nodded disinterestedly. “I ought to quit right now. Today. That would serve Jack right.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Well, of course, I need the money. And I feel a loyalty to the memory of Agatha. She hired me and promoted me when no one else would.”
“Why not?” Liz sensed that this was very important, that Gary might have a dark secret in his past, maybe even a criminal record that made him unemployable.
“This and that.” He shrugged. “Anyway, my loyalty only goes so far, and I’ve just about run out.”
“So you’d quit?”
“I should. I should. If I leave, Jack is in trouble. He’s not much of a businessman. If I didn’t watch over him every minute, he’d run this company right into the ground.” Gary shuffled through his papers. “I seem to have forgotten my copy of the comparison figures. I don’t suppose you have yours with you?”