The Girl In the Morgue

by D. D. VanDyke

  “You know what I would say,” he replied to the unspoken question, “because I’m right here with you. Now slow down so we can have a proper conversation. One where you can give me your attention without getting yourself killed.”

  Cal felt her vision expanded, seeing everything ahead of her on the freeway, locked into the moment just as she would have been if she were speeding through a racecourse. She couldn’t crash, not when she was in the zone like that. Not with her skills.

  “Callie. Slow down.”

  “I’m fine—” Just as she started to protest, a VW drifted lanes ahead of her without so much as flash of turn signal. Cal stood on the brakes and steered to the edge of her lane, quickly checking the mirrors and over her shoulder for hazards. There was a green Lamborghini sitting in her blind spot, obviously racing her. She hadn’t even noticed it.

  The Lambo shot past her with her braking, allowing her to move into the next lane to avoid the oblivious slower car that had cut her off. She dodged both the supercar and the Volkswagen by only a hair’s breadth and slowed to the speed of the surrounding traffic, heart racing.

  “Slow breaths,” her father advised, voice calm and unfazed by the close call. Of course he wasn’t bothered by it. He was already dead. But if Cal died, her hallucination would die with her, so in a way, he would suffer whatever fate she did.

  Cal watched the Lamborghini until it fled from sight. The guy had won the race. So what? It was all about the car and the obstacles, not the driver this time. No shame in that.

  “You distracted me,” she snapped at him. “If you hadn’t started talking to me, I would have seen what was going to happen.”

  “Why are you taking these risks?” he asked, not responding to her rancor. “Feeling self-destructive?”

  “No. Maybe. No.”

  “Is he really worth it?”

  “Brody? Why would I try to kill myself over Brody? I was just having a little fun. Trying to distract myself from the case.”

  “It isn’t Brody you’re upset about.”

  “Sure it is. He’s the one I was talking to. He’s the one who drives me crazy calling me by a nickname that doesn’t belong to him and treating me…treating me like a kid. I’m thirty fucking years old, Dad.”

  “No need for vulgar language. This is you being an adult?”

  “Adults swear, Dad. Besides, he’s younger than I am. Flirting with me when he should be acting like a professional.”

  “Like I said, it’s not Tanner Brody you’re angry with. You haven’t even slept with him—for a reason, I think.”

  Cal smacked the steering wheel with the heel of her hand hard enough to hurt. “This has nothing to do with Thomas!” Her words hung in the air as she passed a couple of other cars, the seconds ticking by.

  “Did I say anything about Thomas?” her father asked mildly.

  “No, but obviously that’s who you were talking about. I’m not upset about him. He can rot in hell. I don’t care. He had me a few times and now he’s on to someone else, some shady moll or trailer park trash or spy girl. To hell with him!”

  “Is that being fair? You don’t know where he’s gone or what challenges he may be dealing with. Who says he’s gone to another girl?”

  “I just know how men are. He got what he wanted and now he’s gone.”

  “I didn’t abandon you, Cal, or even your mother, no matter how much she deserved it. She was the unfaithful one in our marriage, but I loved her anyway, and I forgave her every time. I knew what I was getting into when we married, and I tried to understand. You have to decide how much leeway to give Thomas. Or, instead of focusing on the men you can’t have, why not consider the ones that you can?”

  Cal scowled. “Like Tanner?”

  “He’s interested in you, but the more attention he shows you, the harder you push him away.”

  “That’s not true.” And yet here she was, arguing with her subconscious about it. Why was it she was unable to get serious with Tanner, a loyal, upstanding cop who respected her and was willing to go slow? Why did she maintain a burning attraction to Thomas, a contractor-for-hire who played fast and loose with her feelings? What was wrong with her? Or was it like they said—women always say they want the good guy, yet they fall for the bad boy.

  Maybe as well as shredding her skin and blasting her eardrum, the bomb had caused permanent brain damage, as attested by the appearances of her dead father and her inability to have a normal relationship. She’d never had problems with men before the explosion.

  “You never had problems before?” Her father read her thoughts. Hell, her father was her thoughts. It was all very weird. “What about, oh, I don’t know, Jay Allsop and Cole Sage? This isn’t the first time you’ve chosen the wrong man, or ignored men who were available in order to chase one who wasn’t.”

  “That’s not fair. Jay was just a few hookups. Didn’t mean anything. I never chased Cole. I just…” Cal pressed the accelerator, inching her speed up to blow past a truck.

  “You just pined for him?”

  “I don’t pine.”

  “Hit the self-destruct button?”

  “I wouldn’t put my own life in danger over a man who didn’t want me.”

  “Then prove it. Slow down, Callie.”

  She glanced at her fuzzbuster, which was showing green, and passed a few more cars. She wondered how far ahead the Lamborghini had gotten. Maybe she could sneak up on him and show him how skills could beat money.

  Turning her head to glare at her father, she found no one there. The blast of a truck horn came and she swerved, barely avoiding an eighteen-wheeler.

  Dammit. Either Cal was losing her touch, or her dad was right and her preoccupation with Thomas was putting her life in danger.

  She took the next exit and headed home on the surface streets.

  ***

  Escondido wasn’t exactly a short jaunt from San Fran. Even breaking the speed limit, it would be more than a day trip, down past greater LA and partway to San Diego. Hotter and drier than San Francisco, one of the first cities settled in the area, it was a decent place, with strong Spanish roots and some nice parks. It had been a long time since Cal had been there. She remembered visiting the Wild Animal Park as a child. A happy family outing.

  Cal still hadn’t seen her mother since she’d gone to dinner with Sergei, which was both reassuring and concerning. She knew Starlight had been home by the dirty dishes in the sink, but they kept missing each other. Starlight’s bed had not been slept in, and the sofa where she often crashed seemed undisturbed.

  She dialed the direct line to Sergei’s office. It rang half a dozen times before he picked up.

  “Da,” he growled into the receiver.

  “It’s Cal. You wouldn’t happen to have my mother around, would you?”

  “Cal. Why have I not heard from you before this?”

  “Well, I didn’t need her before now, and I didn’t want to seem like I was prying.”

  “About Jenna. Are you not investigating?”

  “I am. I was actually just going to tell Mom I’m home, but I’m headed to Escondido to pursue some leads.”

  “Escondido? What is in Escondido?”

  “A Renfaire that Jenna was going to attend. I want to talk to some of the other people in her SCA group.”

  “What is Renfaire? One of those places she go to bash swords?”

  Cal chuckled. “Yes. Exactly.”

  Sergei grunted. “You think people there know something about who kill my Jenna?”

  “They know her boyfriend has another woman in his life. I’m hoping to find out who and ask her a few questions.”

  “Good. You have enough money for expenses?”

  “Yeah, plenty. So…is Starlight around? Or do you know where she is?”

  “Da.” She heard Sergei put down the receiver, and then nothing for a few minutes. Eventually Sergei’s voice came from a distance, saying, “Cal.”

  Starlight picked up the phone. “Callie? Is s
omething wrong?”

  “No, Mom, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to let you know I’m going to Escondido. I won’t be home tonight. I’ll probably be back tomorrow, next day at the latest.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. You have a nice trip.”

  “I’ll feed the animals before I go, but you’ll need to make sure they get let out later, and fed tomorrow.”

  “I will.” She sounded distracted.

  Cal hesitated, wondering how much it was safe to ask. She didn’t want to upset Starlight and she didn’t want too many details. “Mom…”

  “Starlight, Cal.”

  “I just wanted to make sure everything is good with you…Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Callie,” her voice was light, and dreamy. “I’m fine.” She giggled. “More than fine.”

  “Uncle Sergei is taking good care of you?”

  “Good care of me. Don’t you worry.”

  At least Sergei would make sure she ate. He preferred women with a little more meat on their bones.

  “Okay. Hugs and kisses. Be well.”

  “You too, Callie-Gee.”

  Cal packed an overnight bag and left as soon as she could, but it was still late morning. If she could push her speeds, she might make it through Greater LA before rush hour really hit, but a crash delay on the Grapevine destroyed that hope. Rather than put herself through the hell of the nation’s worst traffic, she took the 210 toward Pasadena, then the I-10 to I-15 until the sun went down.

  With no point arriving at the not-yet-open-to-the-public Renfaire location after dark, she found a Marriott and treated herself to a luxury suite and a rare steak from room service. She plugged her seldom-used laptop into the internet and surfed for more background on the SCA, Renfaires, and associated geek culture.

  A call to her mother confirmed she’d made it home. Starlight hummed to herself during the conversation, a sure sign she was feeling good. Afterward, Cal checked in with Brody, who had nothing for her, and then took a bubble bath and went to bed early.

  When Cal arrived at Felicita County Park just outside Escondido the next morning, set-up for the Renfaire was in full swing. The tents were appearing and people in medieval or renaissance gear—or jeans and t-shirts—were busy carrying loads here and there, putting up display tables, and shouting back and forth.

  She wandered around, now and then jostled or shouted out of the way by the busy people. Most of them ignored her, but a few gave her glares and looked as if they wanted to know what she was doing there. In business casual, she wasn’t exactly dressed for either reenactment or lift-and-carry. She stood out in her blazer and boots, but without them wouldn’t be able to easily conceal her weaponry. And she wasn’t checking her Glock and backup at the entrance, despite the posted warning signs.

  “Can I help ye?” asked a large man, stepping in front of Cal. He wasn’t wearing tartan, and his strong Scottish brogue sounded fake.

  “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

  “Do ye have a booth here, then?”

  “No. I’m just helping out.”

  He still didn’t back off. “Ye cannot be here if ye are not authorized. We’re na open ta the public yet.”

  Cal patted her pockets as if looking for her license or pass or whatever identification the Renfaire workers were supposed to have. “I’m not the public. I’m an associate.” That was one of her vaguely official-sounding lines that often mollified people like this. “Where’s the San Francisco group? I’m supposed to be seeing the guy in charge over there.”

  “The Misty Hills bunch? Over yonder.” The big man pointed. “You looking for Pete the Potter?”

  Misty Hills bunch? San Francisco was foggy, Cal gave them that. She nodded at the big faux Scotsman and headed in the direction he’d pointed. “Pete the Potter,” she agreed. “Yeah, that’s who they said I needed to talk to.” He didn’t impede her further.

  Cal walked with long, purposeful strides so that everybody would see she had places to go and things to do. She headed toward a pink-and-orange striped pavilion, looking at the names on the banners and heraldry of the various tents to pick out the one she wanted.

  The variety of people and outfits was bewildering. This wasn’t some amusement-park fairyland with everything clearly marked for visitors. This was a deeply geekified culture, a place many of these people obviously lived in even more than their mundane lives.

  The Misty Hills pavilion was not the pink and orange one, but a couple of tents beyond; a large, neat rectangular canopy with chairs set up in front of a stage. There were lots of items displayed around the interior, weaponry and armor and other odds and ends like those at Jenna’s apartment. Cal walked around, examining them close up.

  “Are you looking for someone?”

  Cal turned around and saw she was being addressed by some kind of king, she figured, actually wearing a crown. A big, bedazzled, gold crown. Beneath it stood a tall, broad white man with shoulder-length brown hair and a carefully trimmed beard. He wore fancy robes of purplish-red and black, generously decorated with gold piping and trim. Cal gaped at him for a moment before she was able to find her voice.

  “Wow. That’s amazing. You guys really do go all out, don’t you?”

  He gave her a regal nod, waiting for her answer.

  “I’m…I guess I’m looking for—uh—Pete the Potter. At the…” She tried to remember the words, looking around for the banner she had walked by moments before. “The…Misty Mountains?”

  “Wrong world, but close enough. That’s me. Call me Pete, since we’re obviously not in character yet.”

  Cal stared. “Pete?”

  “I go by many names. In mundane life, Pete the Potter, because of my last name, Potoczek, which no one wants to try to remember. Prince Petros of the Misty Hills.” He smiled and bowed. “At your service, milady.”

  “Oh. Well. Thank you for that, Your Majesty.”

  “Your Highness, actually. Majesty is for kings and queens. I’m a mere prince. Seriously, though, you can call me Pete. We’re weird, not delusional.” He sat down on a chair and motioned to Cal to take one as well. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. Are you a fan? Interested in joining our chapter?”

  “No. Though I gotta say, it looks like a lot of fun.”

  “Oh, it is. We have a jolly good time.” This last was in a slightly cheesy, put-on British accent, as if to see if she’d play along or comment. Well, at least the guy could laugh at himself.

  “I’m actually here trying to help out Randy Roubicek. Uh, Sir Randolph, I guess you call him.”

  Pete’s eyes narrowed and his lips pressed tightly together, thinning into a line. “Well. Are you a friend of Randolph’s, then?”

  “No.” Given his reaction, Cal decided she’d better take another tack. “Actually, I was more familiar with Jenna. His girlfriend.”

  Pete shook his head gravely. “Is it true what I heard, then? About her…dying?”

  “Yes. In a very brutal homicide.” She said homicide because most people made the leap to murder, even though the two weren’t legally the same. “I can only imagine the level of rage her killer must have had. But…Randy just doesn’t seem to fit the profile. He confessed to self-defense, but I think he’s trying to hide something. Or someone.”

  “You a cop?”

  “I used to be. Now I’m just a friend who was asked to look into it.”

  “What do you think Randy’s trying to hide? And why?”

  “I’d like to find that out. I think the most obvious suspect would be…Pat.”

  Pete didn’t meet Cal’s eyes. “Pat. What about Pat?”

  “There were rumors about Randy and Pat in the USENET group. So I don’t imagine it’s a surprise to you.”

  “Randy seemed very devoted to Jenna.” Pete appeared to be in avoidance mode now, a sure sign he had something to hide. That “something” could be as small as an embarrassment to his group, or as large as a felony.

  That made Cal want to keep digging all
the deeper. “If you don’t like Randy, why protect him? Tell me what you know. If Randy is on the level, he’ll stay out of jail. If not…if someone else killed her and he’s taking the fall, I want to find out the truth.”

  “You think it was someone from the Society? Is that why you’re here?”

  “I’m not accusing anyone. I’m just looking for background and information. From people who spent time with Jenna and Randy. And from what I gather, that’s this group.”

  “I think you’re wrong about it being anyone from the Society. We’re close-knit.”

  Cal thought about pressing, but waited him out instead with a shrug and a stare.

  “I could introduce you to a few people,” Pete said finally. “I’m afraid it’s going to be a wasted trip for you, though. Come on back tomorrow when everyone’s here. Besides, it’s not worth coming all this way if you can’t see the fair open to the public and in full swing.”

  “Probably. We’ll see.”

  He looked away from her for a moment, then put his hands on his knees and levered himself up. Cal caught the edge of a tattoo on his neck, which wasn’t fully covered in spite of his costume collar. It was vaguely reminiscent of the kind of ink she’d seen on gang members, especially those who’d done time. It might have been the corner of a swastika. Aryan Brotherhood, maybe?

  “Have you been doing this long?” she asked, as Prince Petros escorted her through the crowds. Many, but not all, bowed and greeted him briefly before proceeding on their way. Some ignored him entirely. She assumed those were from other groups, or no group at all. Some were clearly only vendors, not real geeks.

  “The Renaissance Faires, or the SCA? Many years for both. A lot of the money and promotion for Faires like this one comes through me and my contacts. We have things going on all the time. For example, we’ve got a pure SCA fighting event in Golden Gate Park next week, though it’s open to the public for onlookers, so we pick up some good sales of crafts, food, costuming, stuff like that. I’ve been networking for long enough that now we can walk in and ask for what we want and venues like that will give it to us, because we’re the anchor. We pull in the other groups, we pull in the vendors, we pull in the crowds.” His chin lifted.