Peppermint Soul (Liza McNairy Mysteries Book 1)

by Dan Glover

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  Sometimes it was like remembering someone else's life... the Baker boy. As the years went by the name meant less and less until the only time Johm ever thought about him was once in a great while when he'd catch a glimpse of the boy in the mirror, just before reality came rushing in and obliterated his image once more.

  Everyone else he knew had a history... a family, people they'd grown up with, childhood friends, lovers from old. Johm had none of those things in his past nor could he. Things like that—love, friendship, the closeness with others that only time brings—were as foreign to him as the Russian language. Once it bothered him, the sense of loss, the knowledge that he could never go back and renew old acquaintances, not without risking everything he'd so painstakingly built over the years. Now, he rarely thought about it... maybe for a moment or two when just coming awake after dreaming of his father and mother.

  They were good people. Loving parents. The best any kid could ask for. They'd tried their damnedest to instill that same sense of compassion and caring in their only son, not through bitter rapprochements or heated discussions about the virtues of heaven and the sufferings of hell, but with the same consideration and concern that they together showed the world. Theirs was a special sort of bond. He felt it each day that he shared with them. Yet whatever particular and unique qualities they possessed did not leak down into their son's personality.

  His delights were the polar opposites of compassion and love. For the longest time he attempted to hide those perversions. Of course his parents turned a blind eye as much as humanly possible. Who would want to admit that their beloved son—the epitome of all they believed in and hoped for—would turn out to be totally devoid of any redeeming value in both the eyes of the Lord and of the community in general?

  And so, after many severe and unabashed disappointments, that Baker boy vanished. Died in a ball of flames, and in doing so brought the only sense of peace his parents had known since the day the hellion was born. It was and would probably be his only real act of love toward the man and woman who brought him into the world and attempted to seduce him with its rewards.

  The old Thomas Johm had been little more than a wart on the ass of a society full of them. No one cared too much that he dropped off the face of the globe only to be resurrected. Like Lazarus, Johm lived again, brought back from the dead by a bit of chicanery and magic that only an adept like the Baker boy could have managed... along with a little help from the Captain, of course. What's in a name, after all. Nothing really. It's the history that makes it so. And for Thomas Johm—the new and improved Thomas Johm—history began at twenty three.

  Chapter 10—Visions

  (Of the Dead and Dying)

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  There were too many leads. That's what the case boiled down to. So many tips flowed in that it'd have taken a police force ten times the size of Los Angeles Sheriff's Department to solve—and it was one of the biggest in the nation—and a hundred years on top of it. Apparently everyone had seen something that day. The twins were popular and well known.

  Jesus, twins. Maybe that was the reason Liza disliked mirrors. Did she sometimes see things in her reflection that weren’t really there? Or maybe they were there. Like the shadows he sometimes saw out of the corners of his eyes but when he looked, nothing. Only something had been there. He simply couldn’t see it any longer. So yeah. Not that she ever said so outright but he knew. Just like how he knew other things... the visions simply popped into his head and he knew. The whispers that others ignored, maybe, or perhaps he alone could hear them. He could never decide.

  She talked to her dead sister, Lissi. Her erstwhile twin. Did she see her too? Maybe that had something to do with her aversion to mirrors. All the mirrors in Liza's apartment were covered with black cloth... sack cloth. Towels drying, she'd say. Sometimes he caught her in the conversation though she'd always deny she'd said anything. Did Lissi talk back? Probably. If anyone in the world would understand, Danners could. She should know that by now. But Liza was a private person, like him. Maybe that's what brought them together in the first place.

  Danners, banners, big fat canners. Yeah, he heard people saying things when no one was around too. Mostly mother and her mouth. Never a I love you, son. I'm proud of you. Nope. Only demeaning little ditties that she had a habit of making up, spur of the moment, as it were. Maybe she liked showing off her erudite personality. But long ago he decided she was just cruel. He'd learned to keep his distance. And then, like that, poof! She was gone.

  For the longest time, he was sad about his loss. Later, when he grew into a man, discovering for the first time and with amazement how some mothers were actually good and loving women who never demeaned their children no matter how lame they were, he was happy she abandoned him when she did. Otherwise he might well have grown into the same hateful person. Finally, he acquired a certain amount of disinterest in her, at least that's what he told himself.

  And yet here he was, over sixty years later, still trying to impress the damned woman. Attempting to do himself proud, at least in her eyes though long dead. Maybe everyone was still a child when it came to their parents. Perhaps there were some things never meant to be equal in stature, and mother and child was one. And fathers? He had no knowledge of that particular beast and something told him he was better off for it.

  Yeah, they each needed their space. Private time to ward off the demons crowding in, maybe just a little too close for comfort. He figured most people were like that only not to the same extent. They were better able to handle the day to day rigors of life and of love in general without the wheels coming off completely. Him, he'd been skidding sideways down the pavement most all his life. That was his normal. Liza's too.

  She walked out of the bathroom wearing just a white terry cloth towel around her waist, sat down at the table, and lighted a cigarette. She seemed so completely at ease with everything in the world including him that he knew right off why she'd been in the bathroom so long but hell, what did that matter. Danners wondered again why he had to be queer and what it might be like having sex with Liza McNairy even if it was just one time.

  "Something doesn’t make sense, Danners."

  She looked up from the paperwork and caught him staring at her tits. Christ, he couldn’t help it. Didn’t bother covering herself either. She even wiggled her shoulders to jiggle them a bit, good-naturedly, like she might be teasing him.

  "I'm sorry, Liza... you were saying?"

  "Do you like what you see?"

  "You know I do, sweetie... I was thinking, though... that boy in the photograph... the image is fuzzy but there's some names written on the back. Someone tried to erase the writing but you can still see an imprint by using a black light. Check it out. Missy Lynn Picany, Melinda Lea Picany, Jonathan Alvin Baker."

  "That name seems familiar. Oh... look here, Danners. This file says one Jonathan Alvin Baker was interviewed by police. He was the prime suspect at the time. Drove an old tan colored van just like the one seen leaving the area when the girls vanished. Is it possible they all ran away with each other?"

  "If they took off together they parted company shortly afterwards, Liza. Jonathan Alvin Baker turned up dead not a month later. Check it out. They found him in a van, a 1969 Ford Econoline, tan color. He went off the side of the road. The vehicle rolled over repeatedly and caught fire, all apparently while he was drunk."

  "So the prime suspect dies shortly after the twins vanish. Doesn’t that seem a bit too convenient, DanDan?"

  Jesus, Liza... could you please cover up those tits of yours? I'm losing focus here, girl. It's got something to do with that Baker kid... this whole case. You're absolutely right. It was convenient that he died when he did. Too convenient. But for who? And why? Was the kid feeling guilty over something? Speaking of feeling: I wonder what those hooters would feel like, one in each palm of my hands? What was it I was just thinking? Oh. Was the investigation getting too close to the truth? Concentrate, Danners, concentrate
.

  "I guess that depends on who you ask, Liza. It certainly wasn’t convenient for that Baker boy. Unless..."

  "Unless? Come on, DanBoy... spill those guts of yours or I'll jump up on the table, rip off this towel, and do another jiggle or two for you."

  She knows I'm staring. Is that good or bad? I suppose I'll begin to drool any second and my secret'll be out. Out of the closet, in a manner of speaking. Or back into it. Does she suspect? Do I suspect? Maybe this whole gay thing is nothing but a figment of my imagination... a hold over from my illustrious and wonderful childhood... all those years spent being cornholed by my foster fathers. Wouldn’t that be a hoot. What was I thinking? Oh yes... don't stammer now. Check for drool.

  "Well, it's just a thought, Liza... what if Baker didn’t die that night? You and I both know the forensics were for shit back in those days. They found a body that might or might not have matched his... burned beyond recognition. Parents had him cremated. No autopsy. There are too many loose ends to suit me."

  "You're getting something from handling that photograph, aren't you, Danners."

  "I am, sweetie. I'm just not sure what. But I'm guessing if we dig deeply enough, we'll find Jonathan Alvin Baker is still alive. Probably using an alias."

  "Someone died that night, DanDan."

  "So if Baker and the girls are in the photo, who the hell took the picture? If we discover that, we might have

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  "Our first real lead, Liza."

  "Did I ever tell you how cool you are, DanMan?"

  No one has ever told me so, my lady. But hey! Did I ever tell you how much I want to jump your bones? To rip off every shred of that terry cloth covering your body and ravage you until the day after tomorrow? And if I opened up to you, would I only manage to frighten you away? Destroy this friendship we have? This weird relationship in which we're entangled... where we continually tease one another with one sexual innuendo after another until the crotch of my pants is close to bursting and I swear you're vibrating with want?

  "Only you, my darling... only you, and none other."

  Who else is there? Liza leaned in closer to him, stroking his cheek and then the teddy bear sitting in front of them. Her left breast brushed his arm. She smelled of lavender and lotion. Her hair, still damp from being washed, shined white as snow as it cascaded around her shoulders... all but for that one patch of red growing out right above her left ear. A little remnant of Lissi, or so Liza was apt to say.

  "Tell me more about this bear you found, Danners... which twin did it belong to? Do you know?"

  "I'm not sure yet, Liza... I need to sleep with him a night or two. I should dream over him. I've a feeling that bear might shed some secrets along with his fur."

  "So it's a him, then. Do you know his name yet, DanDan?"

  "No, but I like the way he feels. That's why I think it's a him."

  "Oh, Danners... I should've known. You're just an incorrigible queer, aren’t you."

  Well, that depends upon how far you want to push this thing of ours, little Lizzi. You know I'll never act on my own. I'm a sissy boy, just a cunt in so many words, or so I've been told all my life. But something tells me if you push the right buttons I might surprise you. Hell, I might even surprise myself.

  She leaned back and sighed, causing her breasts to rise and fall. Lighting another cigarette she took a deep drag off it while she stared at him, as if sizing him up, as if wondering—perhaps even gauging her chances—whether or not he might make a pass at her if she sat there long enough with her tits hanging out and with that look of desire burning right behind her eyes. That eventually he might take the hint and try his hand at seducing her like every other man in her life had done at one time or another. But if he gave into that temptation, wouldn’t that make him just like them?

  "I suppose we are what we are, my pretty lady."

  Liza found the photos... he'd taken a teddy bear. It had been loved. Slept with each night. Worn out. He liked holding it, maybe a little too much. The sort of thing he might not give back unless the parents noticed it gone and said something. Of course he'd just say he needed it. That's how he worked. Not consciously. He could never force it. If he tried, he'd get it wrong. Most times the answers came to him during dreams, that stuttering of reality that lay beyond most mortals' purview.

  "You know I'm teasing you, right, DanMan?"

  There was a hint of uncertainty in her voice. Her little girl was peeking out at him as she did from time to time. The tiny child that Liza hid so well from the rest of the world and yet revealed to him every so often, like now... when she was feeling it, playing the low keys, as she put it. Well, yeah... ever since you walked out of that bathroom, you've been teasing me. Taunting me. Making me doubt myself and everything I've known for the past four decades. Am I really incorrigible? Doubtfully. Try me. Just one time... give me a whirly, girly.

  "Of course I know that, Liza."

  I know it, Lizzi my love, but do you? You must have a suspicion of what you do to me when you sit half naked not five feet away from me. Otherwise, why do you do it? Is it a test of my queerhood? If so, I'm failing and quite badly at that. I've never had a woman. Do you know that, my lovely? Not many people do. In fact, I don’t think I've ever told anyone that little secret of mine. Does that mean I'm technically a virgin? Probably not. Not after the sordid life I've led.

  "So tell me, master psychic... what do you have for me? What's that little bare bear sharing with you? Anything good? Anything scrumptious? Positively delicious?"

  "Come on, girlfriend. It's not like that. But yes. I'm getting some impressions. Something about an old abandoned building. Lots of sick people. Wax. It's all too vague to make out yet. I need to sleep over it... to dream. I need to meet the dragon."

  If he spoke like that openly in front of everyone, they'd be hollering for the men in white coats to come take him away. Dialing up the number. Ha ha. He he. Ho ho. Liza knew how he worked, though, and she appreciated his methods enough to not only give him the leeway he needed, but to actively encourage his visions. Often times in the past, he hadn’t even known what he knew until she asked just the right questions, like now.

  For a long time he thought of it as a curse. Did jail time for it. On death row. The cops thought his descriptions were way too vivid to be anything but suspect. The dreams. Too real. Three juries agreed. If not for DNA evidence exonerating him he'd probably have been put to sleep by now like some out of control rabid dog. Hell, for all he knew he was still on a half dozen lists up and down the California coast as someone to watch, a mass killing maniac just biding his time. On hiatus.

  Weren't they a pair to draw to, him and her. An ex-hooker erstwhile cop wannabe private eye paired with an ex-con dicksucker psychic who paraded about as a queer and yet who had visions of bedding Liza McNairy, girly extraordinary. She was staring at him again. For just a moment he thought of reaching out, of caressing her cheek, of claiming her mouth as his own. But then she spoke and broke the spell.

  "We ought to check out the spot they were last seen, Danners. Just for the hell of it."

  "I'm game. You should put some clothes on first, though. You're liable to cause a plane to crash if they fly over and see you looking like that."

  "Prude."

  He wondered what she'd do if he really did hit on her. Probably break his jaw. On the other hand it might be worth it just to find out. Focus, Danners... forget about Liza's tits for the moment and focus. There's something you're not seeing and it's right in front of you. That goddamned inner voice of his. He hated it. Yet he'd grown used to recognizing it... to following it. To trust its veracity even if what it said seemed farfetched.

  "We're going tonight?"

  "I thought we might, sure. What's wrong, Danners?"

  "Nothing... I don't know... it's late. Let's go tomorrow, in the daylight. That neighborhood's not the greatest, you know."

  "That's so sweet of you, Danners. You're worried about me."

  Chapter
11—Forgotten Pictures

  (Old Bears and Chocolate)

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  Yeah, there it was. She enjoyed being ogled, even if he was a damned queer. Christ, Liza, that isn’t right. The man can't help how he feels. And besides, she felt safe with Danners in ways no other man had ever quite managed to measure up to. She knew that push come to shove, he'd cower in the corner rather than stand up for himself, but when it came to her, Danners Forthright was there. He had her back.

  He'd kill for her. He'd done it in the past and he'd do it again if need be. Didn’t even flinch. And what a shot... Danners could put a bullet through the center of a bull's eye from a thousand meters on a windy day. Or through someone's skull. Though he played the compassionate queen Danners Forthright had a heart of iron beating beneath that shrunken chest.

  The drive out to Santa Monica consumed the better part of two hours. Damned traffic. According to the statements she'd read the girls had disappeared while on their way to the beach or perhaps on their way home—accounts varied depending on who you asked—a trip they'd made dozens of times. Mother and father both worked days so sometimes during the summer the twins went swimming. They were both avid surfers.

  It hit her as they were driving, the discussion the night before. Something DanMan said. That's what'd been bothering her too... the picture. The two girls standing alongside the boy, Jonathan Baker... the three of them looked close. Too close for teenagers. But there were four people in that photograph... whoever had taken it left the tip of their thumb on the edge. Three of those people were either dead or lost in limbo. What had happened to the fourth?