by Jane Tesh
This sounded like something I’d like to see. “Meteora, Goddess of Weather?”
Ellin was determined to be polite. “Not exactly.”
“Have you booked a couple of wise men and some particularly bright stars?” Her eyes were beginning to flame, so I decided not to be a jerk in front of my mother. “Mom, I’ll be happy to take you by the studio tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Ellin, I don’t know very much about the paranormal. I’m afraid I’ll bore you with questions.”
“Not at all, Sophia. I’ll be glad to show you everything.”
I could tell this invitation did not include me.
After dinner, Brooke went upstairs to get settled in, Kary went out with some of her friends to go caroling at rest homes, and Ellin went back to the network to schedule an angel visitation or something. Mom insisted on helping Camden clean up.
I finally got in touch with Boyd Taylor, and he said I could come by his house tomorrow. He was anxious for me to hear his side of the story. I told him I‘d be very interested in his side of the story. I’d hung up when I heard a crash and a thump. Then Mom called, “David!”
I ran back to the kitchen. Mom was attempting to help Camden up off the floor. He was blank-eyed and trembling. A huge smear of tomato sauce spread across the counter and sink and down the cabinet.
“Blood,” he gasped. “Too much.”
I got him to his feet. “It’s okay. You just spilled some sauce.”
“Jared. Oh, my God, help him.”
Mom stared at us. “What’s he talking about? What’s wrong?”
“Camden, it’s okay. It’s over. Mom, get him some tea and put plenty of sugar in it.”
I steered Camden to the dining room and sat him down at the table. He put his head down on his arms and began to cry. I kept telling him it was okay, but he sobbed and hiccupped until Mom brought a glass of tea. She sat beside him and hugged him.
“Cam, honey, take it easy. My goodness, David, what’s the matter?”
“He keeps seeing a friend’s murder in wide-screen Technicolor.”
“Oh, dear, how awful. How often does this happen?”
“More often than we like. I guess seeing all that sauce set him off.”
Camden raised his head and blinked at us, confused. “Am I crying?”
I passed the box of Kleenex. “Like a baby.”
He wiped his face. “What the hell?”
“Tell me what you saw.”
“The usual. Jared lying in an ocean of blood, the murderer hacking away.” He shuddered, and Mom patted his arm. “Blood gushing. Sorry, Sophia.”
“Go ahead, dear. It helps to talk these things out.”
“Not this one,” he said. “It keeps coming back. And this time, I felt an overwhelming sadness. I don’t know where all this is coming from.” He banged both fists on the table. “Why won’t it go away? It’s driving me crazy.”
“Calm down,” I said. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Before or after I’m completely insane?”
Mom gave him another hug. “I’ll clean up the sauce. You drink your tea and try to relax.”
She went to the sink. Camden wiped his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. “Randall, this has got to stop.”
“It will. First thing tomorrow, I’m talking to Boyd Taylor. Maybe he’s psychic, too. Maybe he’s sending you all this shit.”
We went to the island. Camden put his tea on the coffee table and lay on the sofa with one arm over his eyes. Mom sat in the wicker chair near-by. “You don’t have to baby-sit, Sophia,” he said.
“Nonsense. I have reading to do.”
“I’m really sorry. It’s this talent. I never know what it’s going to do.”
“You must have loved your friend very much.”
“Jared and I were friends, but I’d only known him for a short time. That’s why I don’t understand this intense reaction.”
“Maybe because his murder was so violent?”
“I’ve seen much worse things in my life, unfortunately.”
“It must be hard for you.”
He sat up and reached for his glass of tea. “I’m usually able to handle things. Then something like this comes along and knocks me over. No wonder Ellie doesn’t want to hang around.”
“Your pretty girlfriend? Why wouldn’t she want to hang around?”
He took a drink. “It’s complicated.”
Mom gave me a sidelong glance. “Any more complicated than David having the hots for Kary?”
This made Camden grin. “I see where Randall gets his tact.”
“Thanks a lot, both of you.” I sat down in the blue armchair. “Go ahead and tell her about your screwy love life, Camden.”
He set his tea back on the table. “Ellie can’t decide if she loves me or my psychic ability. You see, she doesn’t have any psychic talent, at all, and she’s crazy about that kind of stuff.”
Mom leaned over and patted his cheek. “Then she’s an idiot, because you are very lovable.”
I don’t think I’d ever seen Camden blush. With Mom in control of the situation, I went upstairs.
Brooke Verner was in my bed.
Fortunately, she was still dressed. She leaned back against the pillows. “I stopped by for a little advice.”
“And I’m giving you some: if you want to live, stay out of my room.”
She swung her feet off the edge of the bed, but didn’t get up. “I want to catch the Avenger.”
“So catch him.”
“I need your help.”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t care. I don’t care if you catch him. I don’t care if he continues his reign of terror. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a nut having a good time at the city’s expense. Eventually, he’ll slip up, get caught, and have to pay for his crimes. End of story.”
“Aren’t you the slightest bit curious?”
“I’m busy right now. Will you leave?”
She leaned on one of the tall bed posts. “There’s a reward for his capture. Ten thousand bucks. Can you believe it?”
“Ten thousand for some fool in a cape? No, I can’t believe it.”
“I’ll split it with you.”
“The only split I want is for you to split from my room. Now.”
“All right, all right.” She took her time getting off my bed. “Party pooper.”
“I wouldn’t think you’d want him caught. Once he’s off the streets, you won’t have anything to write about.”
“You think that’s all I can do, chronicle this guy’s escapades? I’m a damn good writer. I can make a story out of anything.”
“Apparently so. Why don’t you try doing some good for a change?”
“Oh, like Chance Baseford, I suppose?”
Chance Baseford’s the theater critic for the Herald. His picture can be found in any dictionary under “pompous ass.”
“What’s he got to do with this? He writes reviews.”
Brooke made a face. “He thinks he’s so much better than anyone else, and I happen to know he got his start at the Galaxy News Weekly, a world class rag.”
“He hasn’t exactly kept that a secret.”
“I wish he hadn’t told everyone. With that kind of dirt, I’d win a Parkie for sure.”
“A Parkie?”
“The Herald’s top news award. Only I’d deserve mine. You know what Baseford’s are for? For writing nasty things about musicians and artists, for destroying careers. He thinks I’m useless, but I’m going to show him.”
“How? By making up stories about the Avenger?”
“By proving the Avenger is real.”
“I have to hand it to you, Brooke. You’ve got a nice little scam going.”
Brooke’s eyes glittered. “This is not a scam! This is a legitimate news story. I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks.”
“I don’t think anything about it.” Although I was thinking Brooke might be the Avenger to scare up her own news. “Get out of my room.”
“So you really don’t care?”
“I really don’t care.”
“And you’re not going to help me?”
“I’m not going to help you.”
She finally left, still huffing and glittering. Then someone who I would love to have in my bed stopped in the doorway, Kary, home from caroling, and not as full of the Christmas spirit as I would have imagined.
“David, I can’t find a thing on Susan Carlyle or Morris Otto. Are you sure they have anything to do with Jared’s case?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure, but I guess now you’ve proved they don’t.”
She gave me an uncomfortably long stare, as if she suspected I’d sent her on a wild goose chase. “One of my friends remembers an Alycia Ward who used to work at Fancy Feet Shoes in Olympia Mall, but she kept coming in late and got fired. This might not be the same Alycia Ward we’re looking for. Boyd Taylor works at Ben’s Garage on Emerald Street.”
“Thanks.”
Another long pause. “These are actual suspects, right?”
“Yes.”
“I really want in on this, David.”
“I really want you in, too.”
“Then don’t you think it’s about time you gave me a little more information?”
“I promise as soon as I know something, I’ll let you know.”
I’m not sure what she planned to say next because Mom came along.
“Oh, excuse me.”
“No, that’s all right, Sophia,” Kary said. “I was just leaving. Good night.”
“Good night, dear. David, Cam’s asleep, and I’m going to my room to make a phone call. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Okay, Mom. Good night.”
She didn’t say who she was calling, and I didn’t ask. I figured I’d made enough women mad for one evening.
Chapter Seven
“Behold and See If There Be Any Sorrow”
There was a memorial service for Jared the next day, so I dropped Camden off at the funeral home chapel and told him to call when he needed a ride home. Ellin invited Mom to tour the PSN and watch a taping of “Ready to Believe,” so I took her to the studio. Mom looked as surprisingly different as the day before in her tight black slacks and silky black blouse with leopard print buttons. She even had on large designer sun glasses trimmed with little rhinestones. I felt like I was like chauffeuring a famous movie star to the premiere of her latest film.
After escorting her into the studio, I went to talk with Boyd Taylor. As Jordan had said, there wasn’t enough evidence to hold him for Jared Hunter’s murder, but Taylor was angry and upset over being a suspect in the case.
Taylor was a big rough-looking man, six three, easily over two hundred pounds. His reddish hair curled around a high forehead. His gray eyes peered out over bags of wrinkles, reminding me of an elephant’s eyes. He met me at the door of his small brick home on Worth Street, invited me in, and offered me a drink.
“Beer okay?”
“Sounds good.”
“Camden couldn’t come?”
“Did you want him to?”
“I don’t know. I been thinking about it.” He rooted in his refrigerator and handed me a can of Miller. “Lawyer I spoke to says I’m crazy to even try. He says any sort of psychic testimony’s not going to hold up in court, but I figure Camden could tell who the real murderer is.”
I still had my doubts about Taylor, but if he wanted Camden to come check out his vibes, that didn’t sound like he had anything to hide. “You know Camden?”
“Seen him a couple of times at Jared’s. I didn’t kill Jared Hunter. I came over to see about the Marlin. He’d been talking it up at work, even brought photographs. I wanted to see the car.”
“What time was this?”
“Around nine.”
Camden had wanted to go to Jared’s at nine, and it had taken maybe fifteen minutes for us to over from Grace Street.
“You didn’t see anyone else?”
“No. I saw he was dead, so I ran into his house to call for help. Then I heard a car drive up. I thought it was the killer coming back, or maybe the police, so I decided I’d better get out of there.”
“If you didn’t do it, why run?”
“I been in trouble before. I didn’t want no cops to find me with a dead body. But if Camden’s clairvoyant, he’ll know I didn’t do it. I want you to get him over here. He can prove I didn’t kill Hunter.”
“Like you said, that won’t hold up in court.”
“Then you gotta take him back to Hunter’s house and see if he comes up with any clues. He’s got to be able to see I didn’t do it.”
“He’s seeing things, all right,” I said. “He’s reliving Jared’s murder at least once a day. What if he’s getting these thoughts from you?”
“That’s impossible. I didn’t do it.”
“Then who did? Who hated Jared that much? Did he piss somebody off at work?”
“No, no, we all get along good at the store, except for old Reese, and he don’t get along with anybody, but he’s eighty-five years old and can’t pick up a wrench, let alone stab somebody. Just get Cam to go over to Hunter’s and see what he can find out.”
Going back to Jared’s was probably the last thing Camden needed to do. “That’s not going to happen. What if he comes here and talks to you?”
“Yeah, sure, anything.” Taylor leaned against the sink and took a big swig of beer. “I seen how that big cop looked at me. It’s only a matter of time before they haul me back in. They want to pin this on somebody, and it’s not going to be me.”
I looked around the dim kitchen. Christmas hadn’t come to Boyd’s house. A brown card table was set in one corner with three folding chairs. I could see into the living room, which was just as dismal. An old console TV sat in front of a greenish sofa. Scattered beer cans, potato chip bags, and newspapers provided that lived-in look. I saw several comic books on the floor. “Are you a comic book collector, too?”
“I got a few, but I’m not that much into it.”
“Would Jared have had anything worth killing for?”
He took another drink. “A comic book, you mean? That’s crazy.”
“Some comics are valuable.”
“Maybe he wasn’t killed because of a comic book, or a car, or anything. Maybe it was some insane person walking by. I heard of that before. You leave your back door open, and some nut walks in and kills you. It happens. Why would I just stop by to kill somebody? I didn’t do it.” He finished his beer and crushed the can.
The crushing reminded me of the photograph in Jared’s house. “I saw a picture of you and Jared and Alycia Ward. Are you dressed as the Incredible Hulk at a comic convention?”
He looked blank. “The Hulk? Me? Nah, I don’t dress up. Must be somebody else. Will Camden come here?”
“I’ll ask him.”
The can was now about the size of a quarter. “Damn it. Somebody’s got to believe me. You’re a detective, aren’t you? Can’t you find out who killed Hunter?” His little eyes were pleading. “I ain’t got much money, but if you can help me, you can have whatever I got. You want to catch this guy, don’t you?”
Yes, I did. Whether or not the murderer was capable of broadcasting severe visions, he was still out there somewhere.
I set my empty can in the sink. “I’ll see what I can do. I want to talk to the people at your garage first.”
<
br /> Taylor’s face sagged with relief. “That’s great, thanks. It’s Ben’s Garage on Emerald. Don’t let Old Reese bully you.”
***
Old Reese was old, about as old as Fred, and just as cheerful. He was changing a tire on a Chevy truck.
“God Almighty, what a terrible thing to happen.”
“Do you know of anyone who would’ve hated Jared that much?”
He tugged at the tire. “No, sir. Hunter was an asshole, but everyone who works here is an asshole, except for me. They don’t know nothing.”
“No one came by, looking for him? No arguments? No complaints? Women?”
He paused and straightened. “Well, now, there was one woman came by looking for him. Reason I remember is because she was a black woman about six feet tall. Looked mighty fierce, too.”
The missing Alycia. “Did she say what she wanted?”
“Wanted to talk to Hunter, but he didn’t want to talk to her. I remember hearing him tell her he wasn’t in on what she wanted to do. She made a big face and said something like, ‘Are you too chicken?’ And he told her he wasn’t doing stuff like that anymore.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Beats the hell out of me. She did have a really nice ass, though. She looked better going away.”
“When was this?”
“I don’t remember. Not long ago.”
“Did she ever come back, wanting to talk to him?”
“Not that I know.” He screwed up his little wizened face. “You think she had something to do with his murder?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
He shrugged. I left this fount of information and spoke with some of the other men. Several remembered seeing a tall black woman, but no one had overheard any conversation between this woman and Jared. All of them expressed regret that he’d been killed.
“He was a good guy,” one said. “A good mechanic. It’s a real shame.”
“What about Boyd Taylor? Did he argue with Jared over the Marlin?”
“Yeah, they had their differences,” another man said, “But Boyd’s not the kind of person who’d kill somebody.”