Blue Twilight

by Jessica Speart

  I shivered, amazed that such a memory could be conjured so easily when least expected. Then I carefully shut it back inside the secret drawer where it was kept.

  “Or perhaps that’s not what you’re here for,” Big Daddy remarked, apparently noticing my reaction.

  “Actually, I’m looking for a teenage girl and was told that you might know her.”

  Big Daddy flicked his ponytail back with a brush of his hand and nodded, as if he knew exactly what I was talking about.

  “Which one?”

  Which one?

  I stared at the man, momentarily speechless. It wasn’t just his words that astounded me. I felt myself being reeled in by his eyes, the sensation that of being softly cocooned.

  “Her name is Lily Holt,” I replied, determinedly breaking the spell.

  Big Daddy furrowed his brow, and appeared to frown through his blanket of facial hair. “Sorry, but the name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  Either Big Daddy was lying, or Lily had cleverly changed her identity.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to backtrack a minute. Would you please explain what you meant by ‘which one’?” I asked, never taking my eyes off him.

  Big Daddy held my gaze, and returned it in kind. “First, I have a question of my own. Exactly who are you?”

  “Rachel Porter, a special agent with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.”

  Big Daddy looked at me oddly and then broke into a grin. “I can’t say that I get many of your ilk in here. But if I might make a suggestion, I think your tattoo should be that of a lioness.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Partly due to your personality, and partially because of that hair thing you’ve got going.”

  It took every ounce of self-control to keep my hands from flying up and brushing back my mane.

  “Anyway, the name’s Carl Simmons. But my friends call me Big Daddy.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Simmons,” I said, purposely ignoring Big Daddy’s chuckle. “Now will you tell me what you meant?”

  Big Daddy’s eyes flickered in amusement. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you explain why a Fish and Wildlife agent is searching for a missing girl? Perhaps I’m wrong, but I don’t believe that’s within your agency’s purview.”

  “She’s the daughter of a friend that I’m trying to help,” I answered, feeling more than slightly annoyed. “Now it’s your turn.”

  “Suffice it to say that I’m known for harboring runaways. I provide a safe haven for a few kids at a time until they’re able to make it on their own.”

  “And why would you do that?” I skeptically questioned. There was something about Big Daddy that just didn’t sit right with me.

  “I’m afraid that’s a long story for which there’s no time right now. I have an appointment arriving shortly. But let me give you a piece of advice. You shouldn’t be so afraid of getting a tattoo. Think of it this way. It’s the only form of art that you’ll take with you to the grave.”

  He smiled, and his teeth morphed into a queue of stained white shrouds lined up in an impenetrable forest. Then the door opened behind him.

  I caught sight of a man who didn’t seem to belong in a tattoo shop. If I had to guess, he looked rather like an accountant. His pin-striped shirt was neatly tucked into a pair of dark pleated pants, which were clean and freshly pressed. A slim briefcase was lodged under one arm. It was held in place by fingers whose nails were polished and manicured. I quickly hid my own badly bitten cuticles.

  He looked to be about thirty years old, with a baby face and body that was fit and trim. His blond hair hung soft as silk. The color was that of immature wheat, and held a slight wave to it. I could tell he’d tried to eradicate the little bit of curl there was by applying gel and severely parting his hair to one side. In fact, the man appeared so precise as to border on being terminally rigid. Or perhaps it was my own problem when it came to things that were too orderly.

  He caught my eye and smiled while walking toward us in stiff-legged fashion.

  “You’ll have to excuse me now,” Big Daddy said by way of dismissal, while turning to greet his visitor.

  He warmly wrapped his arms around the man’s slender form. “Spencer, it’s good to see you again. Did you bring those sketches as promised?”

  I wended my way toward the door, lingering long enough to watch as Spencer removed a sketch pad from his briefcase and began to flip through the pages. I subtly maneuvered around until I was able to catch a glimpse of some of the drawings. A pair of wings and a flash of blue immediately caught my eye, sending my heart into overdrive and temporarily banishing all thoughts of Lily.

  Perhaps I was on the verge of being obsessed, but I’d have been willing to bet that those sketches I’d seen were of the Lotis blue butterfly.

  Thirteen

  I planted myself at a café within view of the tattoo shop, purposely choosing a window seat. If I’d felt uneasy while speaking to Big Daddy before, a five-alarm fire was now raging inside my head.

  Charles Manson had lived in the Haight back in sixty-seven, during the “Summer of Love.” In fact, his house was only a few blocks away. The Haight had proven to be the perfect spot from which to recruit his notorious “Family”—a ragtag bunch of naïve runaways. Either I was beginning to imagine things, or the parallels between Manson and Big Daddy were becoming frighteningly similar. Even so, how did the Lotis blue butterfly fit into it all?

  I waited until Spencer left Big Daddy’s Body Shop and then quickly walked out and followed him. I caught up just as he was about to get into his vehicle. The car was as clean and understated as its owner—a navy blue Ford Galaxy.

  “Excuse me. Could I speak to you for a minute?”

  Spencer turned and flashed a bright smile as he caught sight of me.

  “Why, hello. Weren’t you in Carl’s tattoo shop a short while ago?”

  I nodded and returned his smile with one of my own.

  “This is so strange, because I was just thinking of you. I wondered who you were and was sorry that you’d left. Since then, I’ve been trying to imagine what it is that you do. It’s a game I like to play sometimes.”

  I found myself both flustered and flattered by his sweet, open candor.

  “I’ll be more than happy to tell you. My name is Rachel Porter, and I’m a special agent with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Rachel. I’m Spencer Barnes.”

  We shook hands, and I became acutely aware of the fine network of veins just below the surface of his skin.

  “Wow. A Fish and Wildlife agent, huh? I used to think about doing something like that.”

  “Really? Why didn’t you?”

  “I eventually decided to become an artist, instead. I like to imagine that the subjects I draw live on forever in some way. I don’t believe you can say the same thing about those animals that you come across. But then, I probably have some sort of Ponce de Leon complex,” he remarked, with an easy laugh.

  “Don’t we all?” I genially responded, thinking of the facial moisturizer on which I’d just spent fifty bucks.

  “Then I guess we have something in common,” Spencer jovially responded.

  “Listen, I caught a glimpse of your drawings back at the tattoo shop and thought they were wonderful. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” I offered.

  Spencer checked his watch. “Sure. Why not? I’d like that,” he pleasantly agreed.

  I purposely led the way to a café on the next block, not wanting Big Daddy to see us together, going so far as to sit at a table in the back of the room.

  “I hate to seem pushy, but would you mind showing me your drawings? I’d love to get a better look at them,” I said, after our coffee had been served.

  Gee, I’m sorry. But I gave all the sketches to Carl. Those pieces were specifically commissioned for tattoos.”

  Damn. I tried my best to hide my disappointment.

  “I couldn’t help but notice that some of th
em were of butterflies,” I casually remarked.

  “Oh sure. It’s a very popular design among women. I do those all the time,” he offered.

  “Yes, but there was something unusual that struck me about them. They seemed to be of one butterfly in particular.”

  “What are you saying? That they looked exactly alike?” Spencer asked, sounding a bit hurt.

  “No, of course not,” I hastily added, not wanting to insult him. “What I meant is they appeared to be all the same variety of butterfly. One that I believe is called the Lotis blue.”

  “It sounds as if you think that butterfly is pretty special,” Spencer observed.

  “The Lotis blue is extremely rare. In fact, a lot of people would love to get hold of one.”

  “You mean there’s actually a market for that sort of thing?” Spencer asked in surprise.

  “Damn straight. You’d be amazed at the prices some people are willing to pay for a butterfly that’s so collectible.”

  Spencer blushed and became oddly quiet.

  “Did I say something to upset you?” I finally asked, breaking the silence.

  He wrinkled his nose and made a grimace. “You’ll probably think I’m just being silly, but I don’t understand why people have to swear so much. Especially an attractive woman like yourself. I find it very unbecoming. Besides, you seem much too nice a person for that sort of thing.”

  “I’m sorry if I offended you,” I said taken aback, and not sure how else to respond.

  “That’s all right. People slip up sometimes. But we’re still friends, aren’t we?”

  “Of course,” I agreed, wondering if perhaps I did curse too much.

  “Good,” Spencer replied, and took a sip of his coffee. “You know, it’s funny you should mention butterflies. There’s a story about them that I loved as a boy. Would you like to hear it?”

  I nodded, beginning to think that Spencer was still rather childlike in some ways.

  “Okay. Two caterpillars were crawling through the grass when they spotted a butterfly flitting above them. One bug was fascinated, while the other was frightened, knowing he’d rather stay on the ground, where it was safe and he had plenty of food. But the first caterpillar didn’t care about such things. He yearned to have wings and fly. That bug wanted it so much that he finally changed into what he dreamt of becoming. However the second caterpillar stubbornly clung to what was familiar, never daring to imagine a better life. My mother said the lesson was that only those who know their true inner selves can soar like a butterfly. Isn’t that beautiful?”

  He smiled and I realized what an angelic face Spencer had.

  “Yes, it is,” I agreed, finding him strangely fascinating. “By the way, there’s something I’m curious about. Carl mentioned that he takes in runaways. Do you happen to know how he got involved with that?”

  “I’m not really certain, though I know there’s a story there somewhere. I’ve just never heard the whole thing.”

  “Does he actually help them?”

  “Oh yes,” Spencer responded, nodding eagerly. “He truly cares for the kids in every way. He gives them food and shelter, as well as ministering to their souls.”

  His words struck a nerve. I was growing increasingly concerned that Manson was Big Daddy’s role model.

  “But why does he do it?”

  “You really need to ask Carl that yourself. It’s his story to tell.”

  Maybe so. But I suspected Spencer knew more than he was willing to say.

  “I’ll be honest. I went to see Carl because I’m searching for a young girl.”

  “I wondered what you were doing at his shop. You don’t seem like the type to get a tattoo,” Spencer responded.

  “Perhaps you’ve run into her during one of your visits. The girl’s name is Lily Holt,” I continued, refusing to let the subject drop.

  Spencer gazed off into space, and then slowly shook his head. “Sorry, but I don’t remember having ever met a Lily.”

  “It’s possible she’s using an assumed name.”

  “That’s true. Perhaps she created a whole new identity. Describe her to me,” Spencer suggested, beginning to sound intrigued.

  Damn! This process would be so much easier if only I’d asked Eric for a photo.

  “She’s fifteen years old, about five feet three inches tall, and has long brunette hair. But what sets her apart are the scars covering her throat and neck.”

  He looked at me quizzically.

  “She was in an accident as a child.”

  Spencer’s eyes softened, and my hopes began to soar. Could it be that he’d actually seen her? I held my breath, waiting for him to say the magic words.

  Instead, he leaned in toward me and his fingers lightly touched my throat. They began to trace a jagged scar that ran across the width of my neck. It was a constant reminder of a case that had nearly cost me my life.

  “You’re scarred too,” he murmured.

  I surprised myself by not pulling away. Rather, I allowed his fingers to continue along their path, finding his touch oddly soothing.

  “Nobody gets out of this life unscathed,” I remarked as he reached its end.

  He nodded, and it felt as if a bond had been established between us.

  Only then did I notice the small scar etched into Spencer’s own temple. However, rather than mar his angelic looks, it made him all the more real and accessible. I decided to try and appeal to him once again.

  “Listen, if you can’t tell me how Carl got involved with runaways, then at least explain why it is that your drawings were of the Lotis blue.”

  Spencer’s sweet smile was as guileless as a cherub’s. “Honestly, I thought I was just drawing pretty blue butterflies. I must have seen a picture of them somewhere.”

  I had little choice but to believe he was telling the truth. Photos of blue butterflies aren’t all that uncommon.

  We finished our coffee and walked back to his car. Once there, Spencer pulled a scrap of paper from his briefcase and jotted down a note.

  “Here. This is my phone number. Feel free to call me any time.”

  I slipped the piece of paper into a pocket, and gave him my business card in return.

  “Thanks,” Spencer said.

  He placed his briefcase on the passenger seat next to some blue feathers that were trimmed and notched. Then he slid in behind the wheel.

  “I really enjoyed our talk. We should do it again soon.”

  I nodded in agreement and watched as he drove off. Then I went in search of my own vehicle.

  Unlocking the door, I climbed inside the Explorer and pulled out my cell phone. It was time to give Mitch Aikens a buzz.

  There was no answer. Big surprise. The little weasel was probably dodging me.

  That was all right. I didn’t really feel like driving out to Daly City today, anyway. Besides, it wasn’t as if Aikens was going to be able to hide all of his butterflies overnight. I began to head home, knowing that the matter could easily wait until tomorrow.

  I parked in Mei Rose’s driveway and walked over to where Tony Baloney was snoozing up a storm. He must have been knocked out by the sun’s rays bouncing off all the mirrors across the street. I leaned down to make sure he was all right. The dog growled at me even in his sleep.

  I sprinted upstairs and entered my apartment. Or maybe it really wasn’t, since nothing looked the least bit familiar. It took a moment before I realized why. Every piece of furniture had been carefully rearranged. Could Terri actually have been all that bored today? Then I knew what must have happened: Mei Rose had vowed to feng shui the place.

  I walked over to the windows and closed the blinds in an attempt to block the glare from pouring in. However, Su Lin Fong’s battery of octagonal mirrors continued to do their job. It was difficult to tell which of the two women was ahead in the chi war at this point. Either way, I counted Tony Baloney and myself among their casualties.

  I grabbed a soda and ran upstairs to check in with Terri.
He greeted me by immediately plucking the can from my hand.

  “Why are you drinking that crap? It’ll rot your teeth and it’s loaded with calories. Here. Have some of this, instead,” he insisted, and replaced my soda with a cup he held in his hand.

  I took a sip and wondered if Terri was trying to poison me.

  “My God, what is this stuff? It tastes perfectly awful.”

  “It’s tea that Mei Rose gave me,” Terri revealed. “She said I should brew some every day and it would help keep me young and beautiful.”

  “And you believed her? You’ve got to be kidding. Have you taken a good look at Mei Rose lately?” I asked him.

  Terri stared at me for a moment, and then slowly nodded his head.

  “I see your point,” he said, and dumped the tea into the sink.

  Something looked different in his place as well. It must have been the huge stack of books that was piled on the floor. I bent down to see what Terri was reading.

  The Quotable Vampire. I, Vampire. Vampire Ourselves. Plus every book Anne Rice had ever written. Last, but not least, was that all time favorite classic, Dracula, by Bram Stoker.

  I was beginning to think Terri was getting a little too wrapped up in his new job. My suspicions were confirmed as I followed him into the bedroom. Posed next to his bed was a life-sized cut-out of Elvira.

  “Don’t you think this is carrying it a bit far?” I queried, throwing an arm around her shoulder.

  “Not at all. She’s my new idol,” Terri responded.

  Oy veh. Maybe incorporating Christina Aguilera into his act hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. I decided to try and lead him in that direction.

  “Listen, I found a great clothing store in the Haight that I know you’re going to love. They carry everything from sequined hot pants to Lurex metallic tights, and a full array of garter belts. There are even sunglasses with dancing flamingos on their frames.”