by Jeanne Rose
“I sure can’t tell Jennifer.”
Irina sighed. “Okay, that’s why I’m volunteering.”
Which relieved Adriana greatly. Irina really was a friend. Making plans to meet in an hour or so at Irina’s place, which was on the way to the LaSalle Street hotel, Adriana felt a bit better. She rang off and headed for the shower.
Fifteen minutes later, refreshed and feeling a bit better, she was sitting at her vanity, blow-drying her long, thick hair, filled with a new sense of purpose . . .
. . . and the sudden sensation that she was being watched.
Jennifer?
Eyes to the door, thinking she hadn’t heard it open because of the noisy blow-dryer, Adriana noticed the wooden panel was shut tight. Not her sister, after all.
Phantom?
Searching the shadowy room, she noted the cat was balanced awkwardly on a chair near the open window, intent on her own personal hygiene.
Knowing that no one could be spying on her from the outside – being that the apartment was on the sixth floor – Adriana tried to shake off the uneasy feeling and went back to her hair.
But the weird sensation wouldn’t go away.
By the time her hair was dry, she was well and truly spooked.
And why shouldn’t she be?
Eddie had been murdered just that morning, and she’d been one of the last people to see him alive.
She . . . and Val.
A shiver shot up her spine. She stared at herself in the mirror as if she were inspecting a stranger. Val. When Eddie had volunteered to see her home, Val had ordered him away and Eddie had complied.
A small voice of guilt told her that if she had insisted Eddie accompany her, he might still be alive.
Suddenly, a movement pinned her gaze. She blinked, releasing the tears, and focused on the scene in the mirror. Behind her, Phantom stood near the open window. The cat was staring out into the dark, her fur fluffed up as if she saw something that frightened her.
But nothing frightening was reflected in the mirror.
Adriana whipped around to take a gander behind her even as Phantom yowled and made for the space under the bed. She blinked again as she thought she saw something pale flutter. She rose from her seat at the mirror and crossed to the window.
Standing there, staring out into the spring night, she had the oddest feeling that she wasn’t alone. The hair along the back of her neck prickled. If she had fur, it might stand up along her spine, too. But try as she might, she saw nothing untoward.
Out on the lake, a tourist boat made its way north.
Below, hundreds of cars buzzed the Drive.
Nothing unusual at all.
She convinced herself that her imagination was once again playing tricks on her. Then the cat must have picked up on her emotions and had been reacting to them. Even so, she grabbed a pair of trousers and an oversized sweater and headed for the windowless bathroom to dress.
And when she reentered the bedroom a few minutes later, she was apprehensive. No need. Phantom was once more ensconced in the middle of the bed, comfortably snoozing.
Adriana let go a sigh of relief and ruffled the cat’s fur. “Silly puss!”
Then, swiping on some lip gloss, she grabbed her shoulder bag and left her room.
“Going somewhere now?” Jennifer asked incredulously.
Her sister was alone, dressed in a nightgown and sipping at some herbal tea. The newest pop lit novel lay open in her lap.
Still a bit defensive from their earlier go-round, Adriana reminded her, “It’s barely eight.”
“You don’t have to worry. I’m meeting Irina.”
”Take a taxi.” Jennifer’s tone was worried. “Please.”
“Sure.” Knowing her sister cared despite their time-clock and other differences, Adriana gave her a hug. “A taxi it is.” Then she left, double-locking the door behind her. If Jennifer had any clue as to what she and Irina were up to . . .
She took the elevator down and waved to Henry, the security guard, on her way out. Once on the street, she paused to catch her breath.
The winds whistled eerily like high-pitched voices around the century-old building, and a fog fingered its way up from the foot of the lake. Kind of spooky. Added to that, it was a dark night, the moon hiding behind a bank of clouds. An odd night fraught with tension. Reminded of Phantom’s unusual actions earlier, Adriana swallowed hard, then told herself not to start imagining things again.
She started looking for that promised taxi. She was so preoccupied with that task, that she didn’t realize someone had come up behind her. Not until a linen handkerchief was presented to her with a flourish.
Heart thumping, she whipped around and came face-to-face with Valentin Kadar. The long scarf around his neck fluttered. It was white or cream-colored, probably silk.
“You!” she said accusingly, her pulse racing at the very sight of him.
His sudden appearance was as odd as the night.
Staring into her eyes, he demanded, “Tell me what is wrong, Adriana. You are so sad.” His own features were drawn into an expression of concern.
Still, his very presence put her on alert. “What in the heck are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.”
The way he uttered those simple words shot a thrill through her. His light accent was as sexy as all get out. As was the rest of him. Since she was wearing flat-heeled ankle boots rather than heels tonight, he seemed even taller than she remembered. More imposing. Almost . . . regal. He took her breath away. She swayed toward him.
Then suddenly snapped out of it. “I have to leave now.” Before she forgot her purpose.
“Where do you go?” he asked, moving even closer so that she had to raise her face to look him in the eye. “What has upset you so?”
Val was still holding onto his handkerchief. He used it to dry the trace of a tear from her cheek. Feeling his touch through the crisp linen, Adriana was mesmerized. She couldn’t move. A very physical longing filled her, reminding her of the imagined kiss . . .
Which forced her to renewed action. She swatted away the consoling hand. Backed up a bit. Wildly, she looked around for a taxi, her effort in vain.
“I’ve got to meet someone.”
“Another man?” he asked, his tone sounding too disinterested.
“No.” Not that it was any of his business. “Someone I knew was killed this morning.” When he didn’t react, merely went on gazing steadily at her, she added, “You met him.”
“The street musician.”
Wishing he sounded at least a bit upset or surprised or something rather than so matter-of-fact, Adriana stated, “His name was Eddie Szewicki.”
Though perhaps Val already knew that from reading the newspaper article. Could that be why he’d shown up unannounced, to console her? But how could that be, when he hadn’t seemed to know why she was upset . . .
“A friend and I are going to talk to some people about what happened to him.”
“You mean the authorities?”
She shook her head and eyed the empty, fog-limned street in frustration. Where was a damned taxi when a person needed one? While part of her longed to stay with Val, to allow him to comfort her with his mere physical presence, another part knew that she had to get away from him if she wanted to think straight. She needed to be able to think straight.
“You are not investigating this death yourself?” Val questioned her.
“Investigating?” she echoed. “I hadn’t exactly thought of it that way.”
What was she trying to prove? Adriana wasn’t certain. She only knew she wanted to act. At a deep level, because he was another night person, someone who swam against the tide of daytime reality, she identified with Eddie. She didn’t want him going to his grave unmourned . . . unknown, lost.
“Either you are investigating, or you are not,” Val probed.
“I’m just going to see what I can learn about other people he knew with my friend Irina’s help,” A
driana said stubbornly.
“Your actions are foolish.”
She bristled at his tone. He couldn’t tell her what to do. “I wanted to do something for Eddie long ago. This is my last chance.”
Frowning, he said, “But surely the authorities will alert the appropriate people.”
“For a homeless person? You’ve got to be kidding.” Then she weighed the fact that Eddie’s death had been front page news. “Though maybe, considering the circumstances . . .”
“What circumstances?”
“The way his body was found. Someone mutilated him, did something terrible to him.”
Expression immediately closed, Val merely remarked, “Mutilated? This situation is definitely better left alone.”
Left alone? Eddie shouldn’t be alone in death. Not to mention that, underlying all, there was something more . . .
She focused on Val’s scarf, fluttering once again in the breeze and thought about the peculiar feeling she’d had in her room. She couldn’t help imagining Val outside her window, while at the same time she knew such a circumstance was ridiculous. The sixth floor window had no access.
Such a weird vision had to be spurred by something else and she realized it was Val’s coolness. She thought about the unfriendly way he’d handled Eddie last night, wondered if Val could have wandered back toward the park after he’d left her.
But surely paranoia was taking over. Val had nothing to do with the murder. She didn’t want to think that she could be attracted to a man that dangerous.
Still, she fought a thrill of fear. “I want to ask some questions,” she said, keeping her voice steady, watching his expression. “I figure maybe someone will know something about a bizarro who likes to kill people and mess up bodies.”
His frown merely deepened. “Then I shall accompany you and your friend in your quest. This is no task for ladies.”
She felt a bit relieved. If Val had done something wrong, he surely wouldn’t want to be snooping around about it afterward. “Your company isn’t necessary.”
“I’m afraid it is.”
The intensity she recognized in such insistence bothered her anew. The warning signals that had been set off at first sight of him tonight grew louder. Perhaps the very idea of talking about strange murders excited him.
“Forget it,” she said, first backing away from Val, then rushing off as fast as she could go without actually running. “But thanks for the offer.”
Adriana quickly found she couldn’t shake off the man that easily. To her frustration, his easy, silent stride caught him up to her in seconds.
“I don’t need your help,” she gritted out, forcing herself to go faster.
He didn’t reply, merely kept up with her as effortlessly as if he were flying.
She puffed, “Okay, so I don’t want your help.”
But he didn’t respond to that either.
She suddenly stopped short as did he.
Catching her breath, she faced him directly and asked, “Do you ever pay attention to what people tell you?”
“If they agree with me . . . of course.”
Adriana might have been tempted to dress the man down, but the streetlight above illuminated his sardonic smile. She suspected that, in his own odd way, he was teasing her. A real sicko surely wouldn’t have a sense of humor.
“I am concerned for you, Adriana,” he said, sobering. “I do not wish to see you put yourself in danger. And if you believe your actions tonight will honor your friend, then I shall respect that. Let me accompany you. I will honor him, too.”
He spoke so sincerely, appeared so genuine.
How could she refuse? Tension drained from her limbs, and she had a hard time remembering why she’d been so determined to leave him behind in the first place. Besides, his manner was so charming, his accent so entrancing, his words melted her knees.
She sighed. “All right. Come with me, then.” And added, “Just don’t get bossy.”
“Bossy?”
Thinking he might not understand the slang, she explained. “Pushy. Overbearing.” Choosing to make herself perfectly clear, she added, “In other words, don’t be telling me what to do.” Jennifer and Todd already did enough lecturing. “I’m going to follow my conscience wherever it leads.” As well as her gut-level feelings.
Which she hoped would eventually tell her what to do about Val. As they set off again, this time at a reasonable pace, she couldn’t help being totally aware of him.
She felt guilty at the inappropriateness of balancing romantic attraction with grief for her friend’s death, but she had to admit Valentin Kadar had gotten under her skin.
CHAPTER THREE
THE LASALLE HOTEL dominated several century old graystone two- and three-flats to the north and was dwarfed by a modern steel and glass high rise apartment building to the south. The four-story red brick structure was badly in need of tuck pointing, and the window trim could use a good scraping and a fresh paint job. Hanging above the rickety door, a neon sign glowed a brilliant pink but for the final two letters.
“LaSalle Hot. Sounds like an adult video title,” Irina joked, though her sarcasm had a real edge.
Making Adriana aware that her friend was giving Val another side-long once-over. Rather than being charmed by the Hungarian as Adriana had expected her to be, the usually irrepressible Irina had acted cool toward Val from the moment they’d met. Val had merely given her studied gypsy-look a scornful glance in return and had ignored her since.
“Let’s go inside,” Adriana said.
Val opened the door and held it for the two women. Irina slipped past him quickly, while Adriana lingered for a second, her gaze connecting with his, heat shooting through her from head to toes, before she entered. Even a sober occasion such as a friend’s murder didn’t shut off the appeal the man held for her.
The lobby was even shabbier than the exterior. Linoleum so worn you couldn’t tell the original color covered the floors. Paint peeled from the walls. Dust motes swirled through the air visibly, challenging anyone with or without an allergy.
“This sure isn’t the Ritz,” Irina whispered.
An elderly man sat in a rickety lobby chair, head tilted back, mouth gaping open in a loud snore. Behind the scarred front desk, a bone-thin clerk sucked on a cigarette while he watched a wrestling match on an old TV. with bent antennae.
“Yeah, kill him, Thunderbuns!” he shouted.
Adriana shuddered that anyone should have to live in such depressing surroundings. Behind her, Val touched her arm lightly, as if he knew she needed encouragement. His very presence gave her more confidence.
So when the man behind the desk didn’t so much as look their way, she cleared her throat loudly. “Excuse me.”
The clerk kept his eyes on the tube. “Yeah?”
“Did you know Eddie Szewicki?”
That got his attention. He turned slitted eyes and a beard-stubbled face to her. “What’s it to you?” He inhaled long and hard. “You a cop?” A cloud of smoke poured from his mouth and haloed his head. “I already gave a statement.”
“No, I am . . . was . . . a friend of Eddie’s.”
“Hah!” the clerk barked, gaze raking her expensive clothing in disdain. “Not a very good one or Eddie wouldn’t’a been hanging around this dump.”
“Speak to the lady with respect.” Val moved closer.
The clerk started and frowned, acting as if he’d just noticed the other man’s presence. “Yeah, yeah, sure, buddy,” he agreed quickly, seemingly caught by Val’s gaze. He blinked several times in trying to focus on her. “So what can I do for you, doll?”
Adriana sucked in her breath. Once again, Val’s influence had worked its instant magic on demand. How did he do that? She gave him a quick glance, almost expecting to see him breathing fire or something, but his features were quietly unexpressive but for his intense gaze. In turn, Irina stared hard at the Hungarian, her mouth a straight line.
Shrugging, Adriana turned ba
ck to the clerk. “Do you know if Eddie had any relatives at all? Or other friends?”
“Sorry, I don’t get intimate with the clientele. I check them in, take their money, hold their mail.”
”Did Eddie get mail from anyone?”
The clerk pulled a face. “Not so I remember.”
“That pretty well eliminates relatives,” Irina remarked. “At least any we can find fast.”
Adriana feared she was right. “What about friends?”
The clerk stuck the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, where he left it when he said, “He knew people here.”
“Anyone special?”
“Kid named Louis Brock – another musician.” Disdain colored the title.
“We should find this Louis, then,” Val said.
Adriana nodded. “But first, do you know where they took Eddie?”
“Ever hear of the morgue?” Eyeing Val speculatively, the clerk quickly added, “Over on West Harrison.”
“Choice neighborhood,” Irina muttered.
Though she figured she would hit a dead end here, Adriana asked, “Did the police give you any details that weren’t in the newspaper report?”
“Yeah, me and the cops are best friends . . . uh, meaning no disrespect to you, Miss,” he quickly added when Val took a step closer.
“Then you don’t know anything about how or why he was killed?”
The clerk barked another laugh. “No more than that the murderer musta been some loony-tunes who escaped the nut factory. Thought he was a vampire and sunk his teeth into old Eddie’s neck.”
Adriana felt Val tense next to her, and noticed Irina’s eyes widen. “A vampire?”
Ash from the clerk’s cigarette wafted down to the counter. “Nothin’ but a dried-up husk . . . that’s what one of the cops said. And fang marks stabbing into the throat.”
With that, the guy turned back to the wrestling match, while Adriana and Irina exchanged spooked glances. At the same time, the sound of feet came clunking down the hotel stairway and a young man in his late teens or early twenties appeared. He had curly blonde hair and was carrying a beat-up guitar case.
The clerk tore himself away from the television long enough to inform Adriana, “You hit the jackpot, doll. There’s Louis Brock now.”