“Wow, ten dollars for forty-thousand plus. Not a bad return on investment. I don’t think what I’ve brought has anywhere near that value, but…” I opened my briefcase, handed over the sketchbook, and watched silently as Arabella and Levon carefully studied each page. Levon kept going back to a page filled with images from the Pentacles.
“I have this one in my collection, although mine is slightly larger,” he finally said. He pointed to Sanchez’s drawing of a man with curly dark brown hair wearing a bright red conical hat, shirt and leggings, a yellow tunic, and green shoes. He was juggling two yellow pentagrams on either side of a green ribbon shaped like a figure eight. “I never realized it was a tarot card. I always thought it was a circus tat, because of the vivid colors and the fanciful pose.”
I felt a stir of excitement. “Do you remember where you bought it?”
“I’d have to check my records at home to be absolutely sure, but I’m almost certain that it was at a tattoo parlor in Marketville. Had a funny name…” Levon tilted his head back, thinking, then shook his head. “Nope, it’s not coming to me, but I can get them to you. I recall the guy was going out of business and he was selling everything in the shop. By the time I got there, most of it had already been sold. This would have been maybe 2002 or 2003? I always thought he was the artist, but his name wasn’t Nestor Sanchez. I’m pretty sure it was Dave something.”
“Dave Samuels, 2003, and the tattoo parlor was called Such & Such.” I gave Levon and Arabella a brief recap of the case, finishing with Brandon’s partially finished tattoo of The Fool, and his purchase of Sanchez’s flash.
“Only a few of them are signed, and I’m no expert, but I think they show real talent,” Arabella said, going through the sketchbook again. “He was really into tarot, wasn’t he?”
“That he was—or possibly is, should he still be alive,” I said. “So is his granddaughter, Sam Sanchez. She started her own tattoo parlor in Marketville after Samuels went out of business, a place called Trust Few on Poplar Street. But my hope was that one of you might tell me more about Nestor Sanchez. My gut tells me he holds, or at least held, a key to this investigation.”
A glance passed between Levon and Arabella, but I could read between the lines. They had nothing more to tell me, at least not right now, though I knew both of them would leave here today and research Nestor Sanchez on my behalf. For now, that would have to be enough.
23
Walking into the Glass Dolphin was like stepping back in time, and walking into The Hanged Man’s Noose was the same. It was like entering an old-time saloon, the sort of place you’d expect to see in a John Wayne western. The owner, Betsy Ehrlich, was a local history buff, and I’d learned the hard way about asking about the inspiration for the pub’s name, and the town’s namesake, Samuel Lount. Get Betsy talking about Lount, a nineteenth-century politician hanged for treason, and you were almost certain to learn more than you ever needed—or wanted—to know.
The Noose was filled to capacity, with a group of twenty-something men and women watching football on a big screen, sipping drinks, and munching on peanuts and nachos at the bar, and a mix of young, old, and every age in between filling up the booths. Betsy was deftly pouring draft beers, whiskey shots, and wine, a wide smile on her gamin-like face. She gave us a quick wave and motioned to a corner booth with a “Reserved” sign.
“I thought it might be busy today, so I made reservations,” Arabella said. “Nice of Betsy to tuck us away from the betting crowd.”
Our server came by with menus. Based on their casual banter, Arabella and Levon seemed to know her, and while I didn’t, she looked vaguely familiar. I tried to put a finger on where I’d seen her before. Not here, I’d only been at The Hanged Man’s Noose twice before, and both times it had been on a much quieter weekday, with Betsy serving us.
“The specials today are the Full Noose Nachos, Caesar salad with or without grilled chicken, and veggie sliders,” the server said, introducing herself to me as Kavya. “We also have a two-for-one Treasontini deal.”
The Treasontini was Betsy’s signature drink, a blueberry martini that packed a punch. Given that I had a thirty-minute drive home, I opted for a club soda with lime. Levon ordered a Sleeman Honey Brown, and Arabella asked for a five-ounce house white and a glass of water.
“What’s a veggie slider?” I asked. I made Caesar salads at home, didn’t want to order one when I was out, and I wasn’t big on nachos in general, though I knew the Full Noose Nachos were a favorite of Arabella’s.
“They’re incredible,” Kavya said. “Roasted red, yellow, and orange bell peppers, sautéed onion, goat cheese spread, and balsamic reduction. Your choice of sourdough or pretzel bun. Comes with regular or sweet potato fries.”
“That’s what I’ll have. Sourdough and sweet potato fries.”
“Make that two,” Levon said.
“Three,” Arabella said. “Much as I love them, if I eat any more, I’ll turn into one giant nacho.”
“Kavya,” I said to Arabella and Levon, after she’s left with our orders. “I’m sure I know her from somewhere, but she didn’t seem to know me. Has she worked here long?”
“Three or four months, maybe,” Arabella said, “and just on Sunday afternoons to help Betsy out with the lunch to early dinner crowd. Monday to Friday she works at the Cedar County Retirement Residence as a PSW.”
A personal support worker. That was it. She was the woman who’d been attending to Eleanor Colbeck. Funny how seeing someone out of context can block our minds from making a connection. There’d certainly been no spark of recognition in her eyes. Then again, I would have been anonymous to her, just another visitor.
I waited until Kavya had sorted our drinks to talk to her. “Kavya, Arabella tells me that you work at the Cedar County Retirement Residence.”
Her amber eyes assessed me. “I remember you now. You had lunch with Eleanor Colbeck a few days ago.”
“Mac and cheese and rice pudding,” I said with a smile. “I’m hoping the food here is better.”
Kavya laughed. “I can guarantee it. Say…didn’t you visit Olivia Osgoode a couple of times?”
“She was my great-grandmother.”
“I liked her. That would explain why you visited with Eleanor. The two of them were great friends. Ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner together every day for years.”
“Actually, I was there to speak to Eleanor about her grandson, Brandon.”
“Callie’s an investigator,” Arabella said. “She owns a company called Past & Present Investigations in Marketville.”
“Terrible thing, that telephone scam.”
“Actually, I’ve been hired to find Brandon.” I didn’t tell her that it was Olivia who had done the hiring. It didn’t matter, and I wasn’t sure how discreet Kavya would be. The last thing I needed was to get banned again by Platinum Blonde.
“Sorry for jumping to conclusions,” Kavya said. “The stuff I see, it would turn your stomach. Family members waiting for their inheritance, the ones who only show up when the stench of death is in the air.” A bell dinged at the bar. “That’ll be your veggie sliders. I’m officially off shift in thirty. Hang tight. I might know something to help you.”
The sweet potato fries were crisped to perfection, the veggie sliders every bit as delicious as Kavya had implied, and Levon was his usual charming self, entertaining Arabella and me with stories from the road, but all I could think of was what Kavya had to tell me. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late,” she said slipping into the seat next to me. “I had to cash out and there was a situation with a declined credit card. I’m also second-guessing whether I should be telling you. Depending on where you’re going with it, this could land me in some hot water. Then again, I’d like to see Eleanor Colbeck get some peace of mind.”
“Levon and I should probably leave, regardless,” Arabella said. “This is Callie’s case, not ours, and I should really get back to the shop to do some much needed paperwork.”
“I might be more comfortable just confiding in Callie,” Kavya said, though her tone suggested she was still on the fence.
“In that case, we’re out of here,” Levon said. “We’ll settle the tab with Betsy.” I started to protest and he shook his head. “No discussion. And don’t worry. Arabella and I will both see what else we can find out about Nestor Sanchez.”
“I appreciate that.” I got up to give him and Arabella a hug. They were good people, meant for each other. Maybe one day they’d admit it to themselves.
Kavya listened with interest and waited until Arabella and Levon were out the door before she spoke. “My brother was in community college with Brandon,” she said. “They had classes together, he was one of the people the reporter interviewed after Brandon disappeared. I remember Raj saying Brandon was the last person he’d think would up and leave. I forgot about him until I started working at Cedar County and met Eleanor. She talks a lot about Brandon, especially after that scam phone call.” Kavya frowned, and continued, “I looked Brandon up in that missing person’s registry. There was a photo of his unfinished tattoo.”
I wondered where Kavya’s story was going, and nodded at her by way of encouragement.
“Okay, so this is a pretty small town,” she said. “And there are only so many places where you’d get a tattoo—then and now. Sam Sanchez is one person with a tattoo parlor…and you were just talking about Nestor Sanchez.”
I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Nestor? Do you know him?”
“I met him at the retirement residence…but not in the way you might think.”
24
I stared at Kavya. “What do you mean, not in the way I might think? Was he a resident at Cedar County? A visitor? How well do you know him?”
“I don’t exactly know him…” Kavya paused. “Maybe you should tell me what you know about him first.”
“Not much. He was an itinerant tattoo artist with a fascination in tarot. His granddaughter last saw him in 2000, right after New Year’s. He sent an occasional postcard, but after a while those stopped.”
“A granddaughter,” Kavya said. “Is that Sam?”
“Yes. I interviewed Sam in relation to my investigation into the disappearance of Brandon Colbeck. She remembered Brandon buying some tattoo flash drawn by Nestor.”
“Interesting, but where do Arabella and Levon fit in?”
Kavya would make a good investigator. “I called Arabella to find out if she knew anything about Nestor Sanchez’s flash art. She didn’t, but thought Levon might. He has a small collection of flash and it turns out that Levon owns one of Nestor’s sketches. But neither Arabella nor Levon had much else, though they’ve both promised to do some digging.” I smiled. “Your turn.”
“I didn’t know who he was, at first,” Kavya began. “It was 2016. I’m sure of the year because I quit smoking for good on my thirtieth birthday, which was in April, and off topic, let me tell you it was far from my first attempt. I can’t remember the exact date, but I do remember it was during an extended cold spell, the temperatures well below freezing. The town issued an extreme cold weather alert, but the shelters were so overcrowded they had to turn people away.”
I nodded politely, wishing that Kavya would get to the point. She seemed to sense my impatience, because she continued on.
“I went out behind the dumpster for a quick puff, there’s a strict no-smoking policy inside the residence, and anywhere on the grounds, but the powers that be turn a blind eye at the dumpster, at least in the cruel depths of winter. I guess they figure if you’re willing to freeze your arse off to get a nicotine fix while standing next to smelly trash, you can have at it. That day, there was an elderly man carrying a threadbare backpack by the dumpster. He could have been sixty, could have been ninety, it’s difficult to judge someone’s age if they live on the street. I suspected that he’d been rummaging through the garbage. He started to scamper off when he saw me, but I told him I could get him a hot meal and a warm place to sleep, if only for one night. He hesitated, but the cold and hunger got the better of him.”
I thought of the snobbishness displayed by Platinum Blonde on my visits. “I’m surprised that Cedar County Retirement Residence would welcome someone like that.”
“Welcome? Hardly. I was taking a huge risk bringing him into the building, but it was just so damned cold, and, I don’t know, there was something about him that resonated with me. I took him to the furnace room. It’s not exactly the Ritz, but I figured it was better than being outside. There’s no shower down there, but there is a sink and toilet. I told him that I’d be back with food and a blanket as soon as my shift was over. All that time, he hadn’t said a single word. I figured he’d be long gone by the time I returned.”
“Let me guess. He was still there when you got back.”
Kavya nodded. “When my shift ended, I grabbed a couple of juice boxes, leftover green beans, meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and two chocolate brownies. I told the kitchen staff it was for residents who hadn’t made it to dinner.”
“You still remember the food you brought him?”
“Like I said, I was taking a huge risk. I could have lost my job. So yeah, I remember. Anyway, I took the elevator up two flights to make it look good, waited to be sure the coast was clear, then took the stairs to the storage room, where I grabbed a pillow and a couple of blankets, one for him to lie on and one to cover him. By this time my heart was pounding. I sprinted down the last set of steps to the furnace room, and lo and behold, he was still there. He’d even made an effort to clean himself up, and I can still remember how that small detail tugged at my heart. He was sketching something inside a tattered notebook, but he slipped it inside his backpack as soon as he saw me. I remember that each of his fingers had circular symbols tattooed on them and wondered if he’d been in prison. That should have made me nervous, but he emanated kindness. I can’t explain it.”
“The circular symbols, they’re called finger-bangers.” Which, when you thought about it, sounded like something you might get in prison. “What happened next?”
“Nothing, really. I told him to enjoy the meal and get a good night’s sleep, and promised to come down with breakfast in the morning. Except the next morning he was gone.”
I mulled over what Kavya had told me. “Did you ask him what his name was?”
Kavya blushed. “No. At the time I convinced myself that if he remained anonymous I could distance myself from any fallout. Now, I’m not sure. I don’t like to think that because he was homeless, his name didn’t matter.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. You did far more than most people would have. Which brings me to my next question. Did anyone else see him, before that day?”
“Uh-uh. I asked around after he left, not that I offered any reason for my curiosity. No one had, or at least, no one admitted to it. As the weeks went by, I was inclined to think it was a one-off. At least I did, back then.”
“Back then?”
“The day before the crank call to Eleanor I was sitting in the lobby with one of the residents. We do that sometimes if there’s a lull in the schedule—gets them out of their room for a bit, and they can watch who’s coming and going in the reception area. Doesn’t sound that exciting, I know, but the days can be long and dark, and small things like that can brighten it. Anyway, an elderly man came in holding a brown envelope. He was clean-cut with military short hair, wearing jeans and one of those puffy ski jackets. He shuffled his way over to Stephanie’s station and I remember thinking he looked vaguely familiar. That’s not so unusual. There’s no shortage of elderly men visiting Cedar County. I left to take Eleanor back to her room. Stephanie pinged me a couple minutes later.”
“Stephanie?”
“The platinum blonde on guard duty.”
Stephanie. At least now I had a name. “Go on.”
“She said there was a man waiting in the lobby who wanted to see me. She sounded suspicious, but Stephanie is hyper-vigilant.”
Having b
een on the receiving end of Stephanie’s vigilance, I could only imagine how she would have reacted to a stranger asking to see one of the personal support workers. “Did she give you a name?”
“Nestor Sanchez. The name meant nothing to me. Then she whispered that the guy had tattoos on each of his fingers. That’s when I knew he was my homeless guy. I told Stephanie that he was an old family friend and that I’d talk to him in about twenty minutes, that I had to get my resident settled.”
Nestor Sanchez. I thought back to Sam’s response when I asked if her grandfather was still alive. She’d replied with something along the lines of “He’d be ninety if he was,” and a comment about receiving sporadic postcards the first few years. No wonder she didn’t want me to find out about Nestor. She knew full well how he was living. But why not tell me so? Why not share the postcards? My list of questions for Sam kept getting longer. I brought myself back to the present and Kavya.
“Was he still in the lobby when you got back?”
Kavya shook her head. “I asked Stephanie where he went and she shrugged and said he’d left me an envelope.”
“What was inside it?”
“A sketch of a winged angel wearing a long, flowing white gown, standing barefoot in shallow water, and pouring liquid from one long-stemmed cup to another. Later on, I learned it was the tarot card, Temperance, and that it represented commitment to a new life and sobriety, but at the time I had no idea what it meant, other than a gesture of thanks. He’d signed it—Nestor Sanchez. I liked the sketch enough to have it framed. It’s still hanging on my wall at home. We could arrange to meet for coffee, if you’d like to see it.”
It would serve as a fine piece of “show and tell” when I paid Sam another visit. “Do you think I could borrow it for a short time? I promise to return it.”
“Sure, if you think it would help. I’ll leave it at reception tomorrow and let Stephanie know you’ll be coming by to pick it up one day through the week.”
A Fool's Journey Page 13