Murder at The Blues Stop

by Wendy Byrne

  “Here it is.” She rattled it off. “Now I’m going to burn this letter in case that prick comes snooping around again with a search warrant that he lied to get.”

  “Thanks for all your help.”

  “Keep in touch. And stay safe.”

  “Count on it.”

  ***

  By the second dose of penicillin, Shane was coherent enough for us to make the drive into Chicago, despite the fact it was two in the morning. Following his directions, we made our way to the Ryans’ home in the northern suburb of Lake Forest.

  Even in the dark of night, it was impossible not to notice the grandeur of the upper-middle-class neighborhood. In comparison to the other homes we’d traveled past, the Ryans’ home seemed modest.

  Surrounding the home were huge trees and lots of shrubbery, which worked in our favor. We didn’t need a nosy neighbor wondering why the Ryans had company at this time of night, especially when they were several thousand miles away.

  “How do we get in?”

  “Key in the garage door code.” Shane rattled off the number.

  I slipped out of the car, punched in the code, and the garage door opened like a charm. After everything we’d been through in the last few days, I half expected the entire CPD to mow us down in a hail of gunfire. Instead, I gingerly pulled next to a black Volvo sedan, then got out and hit the garage door button at the side to close the door behind us.

  “You need to key the code into the alarm.” He pointed to the flashing red box to the right of the door to the house.

  I sprinted over and keyed in the numbers he gave me. To my relief, the alarm disengaged with only seconds left on the clock. I retrieved Shane and the few belongings we’d accumulated.

  “To be safe, we should probably leave the lights out except for the ones on timers.” Shane shuffled inside, still looking like death warmed over.

  For a few seconds, I wondered if the penicillin prescribed for me would work on a man his size. Since he’d mentioned he’d had mega doses in the past, I could only hope he hadn’t built up a resistance. As if I needed that additional complication.

  “Do you suppose they have any food?”

  “Not sure. They planned on being away for a while so probably nothing fresh. But Mrs. Ryan usually has a stock of stuff in the freezer and cases of pop and water, usually some beer.”

  The thought of food made my stomach rumble. With everything that had gone on, I’d virtually stopped eating. Given all the worrying I’d done and the subsequent running from bad guys, there hadn’t been a whole lot of time left over to do much else.

  Shane led the way since he knew the interior of the house and could negotiate better in the near darkness. A wide hallway opened into a massive kitchen where a double door built-in stainless-steel refrigerator nearly covered a wall. Opening the freezer section, I found several cartons of macaroni and cheese and did a little happy dance celebration.

  “I’ll put this on.” I didn’t leave room for him to argue because more than likely he’d say he wasn’t hungry.

  Instead of protesting, he sat down at one of the stools around the center island. “Any water in there?”

  I opened the refrigerator side, finding two cans of pop but no water. “I’ll look for some later, but these were handy.” When the microwave dinged, I searched until I found eating utensils and plunked our gourmet feast onto the countertop. “I talked to Donna.”

  The fork stopped midway to his mouth. Given the meager light, I wasn’t sure if it was more shock or surprise on his face. “What’d she say?”

  “First of all, Cara’s out of the hospital and trying to reach Garrett. She also said Stu’s been hassling her since we left. But she’s also heard from Walt Cummings.”

  “I thought that guy was long gone. Maybe, if I don’t end up dead, there’s hope he’ll take his damn bar back.”

  “Doubt that. From what I can gather, Walt wasn’t running from creditors. He was running from the same people we are. He desperately wants to talk to you.”

  “Do you think it’s a setup?”

  “You’d know that better than me.”

  “Give me the number.” Ten seconds later, Shane grabbed the pay-as-you-go cell phone, ignoring the middle of the night hour. His expression turned from consternation to skepticism when somebody answered.

  “Who is this?” Shane asked, putting the phone on speaker. The reception sucked; static and noise blurred most of the sound.

  “Who wants to know?”

  Without answering him, Shane continued. “You left a message for me.”

  “I left a message for a lot of people.” At least that’s what I thought he’d said. Only every other word came through.

  “This is getting me nowhere.” Shane nearly disconnected when Walt spoke again.

  “If it’s you, Shane, I want to help. They killed her.” He mumbled something else I didn’t catch.

  Although I could only hear bits and pieces of what the guy said, it sounded like he was drunk and sobbing on the other end of the line. Fat chance Shane would get anything useful from him.

  “Killed who?” Shane asked the question that was on my mind. Drunk or not, with our lives on the line, getting him to spill had to be the number one priority.

  Walt started a crying jag on the other end of the line. Shane shook his head. “I can’t understand you, Walt.”

  “Annie. They killed my Annie.”

  Color me shocked. While I knew Annie fit in somehow, this wasn’t how I would have figured. Walt and Annie were a thing? They must have kept it on the down low since even Donna didn’t seem to know about that.

  “Who killed Annie, Walt?” Shane’s voice reflected the same urgency I felt.

  “They’re on the video. They killed her, Shane. I want them to pay.” Walt dissolved into another crying jag in which his words and thoughts were either indecipherable or nonsensical. “You’ve got to help me, Shane.”

  “How can I do that when I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about?” Shane clicked off the phone.

  “Why did you do that?” I gulped. Shane had suddenly become pensive, making me wonder why.

  “He’s too drunk to make any sense. I’ll call him back tomorrow and hope he’s sober enough to give us information.”

  “It’s got to be the same video those guys were looking for.” It seemed far-fetched right now, considering the reference had come from an incoherent drunken man, but what if?

  “Hell if I know.”

  “What if the video has nothing to do with the Marcos case but has to do with Annie and whoever murdered her?”

  Shane’s expression went from thoughtful to dismissive. “That would mean Vince’s accident was just a coincidence. We know coincidences don’t exist.”

  “Not unless we can tie Tony and Annie together. She asked you to recommend an attorney. Maybe it was for Tony. We don’t know they didn’t know each other.”

  “Walt was drunk. Maybe he was delusional.” He got up from the chair and grasped my hand. “We need to get some sleep if we hope to stay one step ahead of this.”

  There was something he wasn’t telling me. I just didn’t know what yet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Shane was still asleep when I got out of bed the next morning. At nearly nine o’clock, I figured it would be safe to call Donna.

  All night long, I’d been going through in my head everything I knew about Annie, Walt, Stu, Vince, and the Marcos case, so much so I might explode from information overload. I had come to only one conclusion.

  “Can we trust Patrick?” I blurted out the question as soon as Donna picked up. Chewing on the edge of my lip, I considered our potential options and pretty much came up with zilch. We were screwed any way I looked at it. We needed help. With a clear head now, I recognized the situation we faced couldn’t be solved by the two of us alone.

  “He’s Shane’s brother. What does Shane think?”

  “Shane can’t be objective. Trying to do this alone
is a recipe for disaster. He just hasn’t admitted that yet. We need help on the inside, and Patrick is the only cop I know in Chicago.” If I thought for one second it would help, I’d call in my brother Joaquin in a heartbeat. But at this point, I figured getting the FBI involved would make matters worse.

  “My gut says he’s one of the good guys. Then again, I haven’t been around him much.”

  My anxiety level had heightened during the course of the night, even though we should be safe for the time being. Maybe the enormity of the house made me feel insecure. Maybe it was due to our close proximity to trouble central that had my adrenaline popping. I couldn’t be sure either way. But I knew if I ever wanted both of us to be safe, I needed to do something. If a video was stashed somewhere, I had to retrieve it.

  Fast. I couldn’t wait for Shane to feel better and figure it all out. The way things were headed, we’d be dead within the next couple of days.

  Impulsive? Maybe. But I’d rather be impulsive than dead.

  Donna finally spoke. “Gabriella, what aren’t you saying?”

  “Walt told Shane there’s a video with proof of whoever killed Annie...I don’t know, maybe more. It’s hard to figure. Shane’s not so sure he believes him. Did you know Walt and Annie were involved?”

  Donna was quiet for a few seconds. “Not then, but now that I think about it...I don’t know too many bar owners who would have kept her the way she was, drunk or high most of the time, but Walt always forgave her. Then, like I said, she straightened up.” She hesitated before continuing. “She did talk about a new man in her life who helped her with her addictions issues. At the time, I figured the guy was a counselor or a friend. She never mentioned any names. Now I know why.”

  My breath hitched, while my heart began to beat faster. “If Annie knew about a video—even though we don’t know what it’s of—any idea where she would stash it? Where did she live?”

  “She had a studio apartment near Chinatown the last I knew. But she mentioned something about being evicted so I imagine she might have been couch-surfing with friends.”

  “How about Walt? Where’d he live?” There had to be a million places somebody would hide something like that. It probably wouldn’t be their residence as that would be the first place a bad guy would look.

  Donna asked the question that was plaguing my thoughts as well. “Are you sure a video even exists?”

  “No. But it’s the only lead we have, and if it does exist, that might mean we have a chance of beating this thing and not spending our lives in prison.”

  “If it’s somehow connected to Annie and Walt, then The Blues Stop is logical, but I’m sure the police have gone over that place with a fine-tooth comb.”

  “They should have found it, right?” If the video existed, and that was a huge if, the police wouldn’t be hunting us like dogs if they’d already found it.

  “They couldn’t have it, or they wouldn’t be coming so hard after you two.”

  “True.” I let the idea simmer around my brain for a minute. “How do you find something that might not exist?”

  “Start at the source and think of all the possibilities.”

  I nodded, thinking the same thing. “Where did Walt live?”

  “Northern suburbs. As far as I know his soon-to-be ex-wife still lives there. Let me do some digging on my end and see if I can come up with an address. I’ll give Cara a call and see if she has any ideas.”

  “That would be great.” I felt more anxious than before but didn’t know why.

  “Did Walt say anything else?”

  “Nothing that made sense. Shane’s going to call him back today. Hopefully, Walt will be sober.”

  Based on incoherency alone, it remained a strong possibility Walt had been rambling, a drunken, guilt-ridden diatribe that had nothing to do with reality.

  “I’ll let you go and see what I can find out. I’ll call if something comes up.”

  “Great. I’ll talk to you later.”

  It shook me to think how far-reaching this whole situation had become. How could we trust anyone? For once, I could relate to Shane’s paranoid version of life. Donna and Cara were safe. The jury was still out on Patrick.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I jumped when Shane came around the corner. This darn house. It was like a mausoleum. “Nothing, other than the usual—afraid we’re going to go down in a blaze of gunfire kind of moment. Why?”

  “Because you were singing. Which is it, nervous or scared?” The stubble of hair on his head that had started to grow glistened from a shower. For the first time since I’d found him in the alley, he’d taken the time or had the energy to shave.

  I, on the other hand, was unshowered, uncoffee-ed, and still wearing the t-shirt I’d worn to bed. It was no wonder I didn’t like being in charge; it played havoc with my sense of style.

  “Was I?” Since I couldn’t remember singing out loud, I must be closer to going over the edge than I’d thought. But, on the other hand, Shane seemed to be on the mend, if the way he looked this morning was any indication.

  “Yep. I think it might have been ‘Dead or Alive.’ But I could be wrong.” He gave me a smile that made me feel all squishy inside, proving once again that whatever was heating up between us was going from simmer to boil.

  “My subconscious must be speaking.” Never having considered myself a violent person, I’d found out over the last couple of days how quickly that could change. “I hope that’s not a bad sign.”

  “I’ll worry if you start using me for target practice.” He walked close and gave me a quick kiss. “Coffee?”

  His kiss startled me in one way, but in another, it felt normal. Weird how in so little time, things had evolved between us. I couldn’t quite put my finger on the exact moment it had happened.

  “I was about to put some on. I also found some waffles and breakfast sausage in the freezer.” I pointed to the boxes I’d set on the counter.

  “You’re my new hero.” He opened the packages, plunking the sausage into the microwave and inserting the waffles into the toaster. After sitting down at the center island, he popped another dose of the antibiotic, chasing it with a glass of water. “I’m starving.”

  I joined him, bringing a cup of coffee for both of us. “Walt wasn’t real clear last night, to say the least. What do you think is going on? Did Walt and Annie really have a thing?”

  “Walt had a thing with a lot of women, which is why his wife wanted a divorce. As for Annie, I couldn’t say. He sounded broken up about it, so I guess it could be true.” He stopped for a second as if measuring what he was about to say. “No doubt he’s gotten himself in hot water and maybe thinks he can use me to worm his way out.”

  “But why lie about something that’s so easy to disprove?”

  He took a sip of coffee. “That part bothers me. But I still have to think about Vince Perry and why he’s laid up in the hospital. As far as I know, he’s got nothing to do with The Blues Stop or Walt.”

  “I don’t see the connection either.” How could two random incidents be connected when there seemed to be nothing even remotely tying them together? But it was there. Somewhere. I knew it.

  “I emailed Garrett too. Hopefully, he’ll check his email soon. He might have an idea about this video Walt’s talking about. If it even exists in the first place.”

  “It does seem a little too-made-for-tv-movie-ish. Most bad guys, especially cops, would be too smart to get caught on video.”

  “Exactly. It almost smells like a trap.”

  Once again, I tried to figure out the common thread linking Shane, Walt, Annie, and Mack. The Blues Stop remained the obvious answer. But how did that tie into Vince Perry except for the remote possibility of Annie and Tony? What if it didn’t? What if we were chasing our tails? What if the video was a red herring meant to throw us off track?

  “What about Patrick?”

  “What about him?” Shane ground his teeth together, which couldn’t be a good sign.r />
  We needed Patrick, assuming he was one of the good ones. But how would I know either way until it was too late. “Maybe we should trust him.”

  Saving them from what would no doubt be an argument, my phone rang. I picked it up without giving more than a cursory glance at the number.

  “Hello.”

  “Gabriella, it’s Donna. You’re not going to believe this, but Patrick just left my house.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He wanted to know if I knew where you were. Luckily, I didn’t, and he believed me. He said he’s been looking into things and knows a way to help. But he needs to talk to you.”

  Oh God, why is life so complicated at times? Especially when Shane glared at me as if I were hiding something, mostly because I was. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know what to think. That’s why I’m calling you. I’m willing to do whatever you want, but I need direction.”

  “Let me get back to you.” I hung up the phone, feeling ever so guilty. While I hated to keep the conversation from Shane, I had to. He couldn’t be impartial, and he would get my mind headed in one direction when it might need to be going in another.

  “What was that about?”

  “Donna said the police are sniffing around, and she doesn’t know what to do. She can’t get rid of them no matter what she does.” That sounded plausible even to me. He didn’t know we’d talked fewer than fifteen minutes earlier.

  Maybe it was my guilt, but he looked at me as if he knew I was lying. “Then why are you humming again?”

  I had officially lost it. Randomly breaking into song without my knowledge or consent was not normal. In my defense, keeping lies straight appeared to be a full-time job, and I’d never been good at multitasking. “Don’t you think I’m under a little stress here? Is it so surprising I might use the one tool that makes me feel better?”

  He grimaced. “Sorry. But you didn’t tell her where we were, did you?”

  I must have made him feel guilty since he changed the direction of his questions. Not only that, but he got up and fixed a plate of sausage and waffles for both of us.