Peppermint Soul (Liza McNairy Mysteries Book 1)

by Dan Glover

  "Allen Picany."

  "What about him, Danners?"

  "Oh, sorry, Liza. I'm just thinking out loud."

  "Yeah? Well, clue me in... or do I have to start kissing you again?"

  "Who knew we were going to see Johm? Who had a bone to pick with him? Allen Picany is the only name that comes to mind.

  "What are we waiting for, Danners? Set sail for the Picany's, full speed ahead, warp factor five and all that shit."

  Chapter 29—Devils

  And Horseradish)

  1

  Jesus Christ... Olay was dead. It was all over the news... a Beverly Hills doctor who was being investigated for federal corruption charges found murdered inside his Malibu Hills home. Not just killed. Tortured. Tormented. Like someone wanted to instill the maximum amount of pain and enjoyed taking their time about it.

  Paula had been away that night. Again. Was she having another affair? She'd been making herself up, dressing provocatively. Or was something else going on? Johm dead, and now Olay... two old names from the past within days of each other, and Paula nowhere to be found on either night. Did she know? And if so, how long until...

  He could turn her in. The police might be interested. But then he risked her talking. If in fact she knew anything. All guesses on his part... nothing to go on, really. Just innuendo and circumstantial evidence that he knew wouldn’t hold up. And what the hell had happened to Liza McNairy and that queer Danners Forthright? He hadn’t heard from them in over a week. For what he was paying he expected some sort of update, at least.

  The doorbell rang. Speak of the devil. There they were... Ms. Tits and the Queen of the Nile. Like they just may have heard him cussing them from afar. Maybe they had good news. Lord knew he needed it. But from the look on their faces he thought not. Did they know about Olay? Doubtful. No... they were here about Johm. And just who was the real psychic anyway?

  "Hello, Ms. McNairy... Mr. Forthright... please come in. I'm just fixing lunch. Would you care for some?"

  "I wouldn’t mind a sandwich, Mr. Picany."

  "Knock it off, Danners. We're not here to eat lunch, Picany. We're here for answers."

  "I have no idea what you're on about, Ms. McNairy. Here you go, Danners. I hope you like ham on rye."

  "Johm turned up dead, Picany... as far as we know, you're the only person who knew about him and his connection with your daughters. Did you have something to do with it?"

  "When did this happen, Ms. McNairy?"

  "The night before last."

  "I was here all night."

  "Can you verify that, Picany?"

  "Ask my wife. She's sleeping right now... shall I wake her?"

  "What kind of topping did you use on this sandwich, Mr. Picany? It's really excellent."

  "Thanks, Danners... it's my own special concoction. I use horseradish I grow in the backyard with a dash of dill and a pinch of cilantro. Here... take a jar home with you. Are you sure you're not hungry, Ms. McNairy?"

  "You have to try this, Liza... here, have a bite of mine, sweetie."

  "No, Danners... I can't eat spicy food. You know that. Why did you hire us, Picany?"

  "To find my daughters, Ms. McNairy. I thought I made that clear."

  "Why are you hiding something from us then?"

  "I have no idea what you mean."

  "Did us asking about old boyfriends trigger something, Picany? Dredge up old bones? Do you remember anything more you'd care to share with us?"

  "I didn’t kill Johm, if that's what you mean."

  "But you know who did."

  "How would I know that, Ms. McNairy?"

  Yeah... my heretofore docile wife has gone on the rampage, Ms. McNairy. She's slaughtering anyone who might have had a link to Missy and Melinda no matter how tenuous. Go upstairs and arrest her, if that's what you private dicks do. No one knows who is next on her hit list. It might even be me. Or you.

  "This little runaround you're sending us on is costing you two thousand dollars a day, Picany."

  "The money card's still working, isn't it?"

  "Yes... I guess I don’t understand why you're doing this."

  "Find my daughters, Ms. McNairy. That's why I hired you."

  Good cop, bad cop. Did they really think they were hiding their modus operandi? Still, perhaps he should have let old bones lie. But dammit, he thought there might be a chance to find the girls. Even after all these years, after giving up on ever seeing them again, maybe McNairy and Forthright could locate them. Hell, even if they only found their corpses at least there'd be a sort of closure.

  He used the funds collected ages ago to help for the search. The money was just lying dormant anyway. Couldn’t be spent on anything else. The Lord knew he tried. May as well make use of it. With nearly six hundred thousand dollars he could keep the dicks working

  2

  For the most part of year, if need be. Why did they do it? Especially a man like Danners Forthright. Allen had done his homework. Not all that long ago Forthright had received a multi-million dollar settlement from the County of Los Angeles for their use of improper arrest procedures against him. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to blow that much money on frivolous playthings so he must still be pretty well healed. Why expose himself to the rigors of solving cold cases?

  He'd retired so long ago it seemed as if he'd never worked at all. Of course part of that was involuntary. The drinking made holding down a job nearly impossible. But he'd made enough money that it didn’t matter. Money he couldn’t declare. Cash he'd squirreled away for a rainy day. And damned if the monsoon season had lasted the best part of twenty years now with no letup in sight. Now, cash was getting increasingly tight. But so fucking what. The end was near too.

  "Maybe we should think about looking for another place, Paula... put this one on the market."

  At the time he had enough cash socked away to buy a mansion in the Hills again. Somewhere that no one would know them. A place where they could start over again. Hell, maybe they might even have another kid or two. They weren’t ancient yet. Of course they'd probably have to have sex for that to happen and that part of their relationship had pretty much fizzled.

  "But what if the twins come back, Allen? How will they know where we're at?"

  Christ, she was out of her mind. What could he have been thinking? Paula would never leave this place. So on they stayed. Trapped inside four rooms and a bath. Surrounded by the accoutrements of yesterday. Folded into the hate of one another yet emboldened by hope. Forever waiting for the day that would never come. And he drank. What the hell else was there to do? Think about all the men Paula fucked behind his back? No thank you.

  "Do you really have to start drinking first thing in the morning, Allen?"

  "No, sweetheart. I haven’t been to bed yet so technically it's still last night."

  Sure, he had all the answers. And Paula was simply concerned about him. Of course she was. When was the last time they made love? Had to be while the twins were still with them. Sure, he got the urge every now and again but each time he thought about approaching the little woman visions of other men danced before his eyes.

  Truth was, he'd never been the world's greatest lover anyway. Sex didn’t matter that much to him. Never had. Oh, he wasn’t queer. Men held no appeal at all. But neither did women. Asexual. Yeah. That's what they called it. Still, he had to admit a sense of lust when it came to Liza McNairy. But even thirty years ago a woman like her would be nothing but repelled by him. And now with that crusty old motherfucker staring back at him each time he risked a glance into the mirror, why, he stood no chance. No wonder Paula was playing around again. Hell, he couldn’t blame her.

  Chapter 30—Renegades

  (Playing Around)

  1

  "I nearly died five years ago, Liza."

  "Oh my God, Marcy... I had no idea. What happened?"

  Marcy had been with the department when Liza started. Worked in dispatch at the time. In those days Rambo's was the pre
ferred after hours hangout for all the sheriff's deputies as well as the other employees who worked for the county.

  Things had changed. Not a uniform in sight now. Yuppie crowd, mostly, intermingled with the work a day riff raff that were slowly being displaced from this section of Los Angeles. Marcy had been a big drinker back in the day. They'd spent many a night closing up the club before piling into a shared taxi for the ride home.

  "The doctors said a virus invaded my liver. No one knew how I acquired it. I woke up one day and I couldn’t breathe. Not without a biting pain in my side. I thought I twisted something. A muscle. Maybe a pinched nerve. But my liver was giving out. I started to turn yellow. My hair fell out."

  "That's horrible."

  "The doctor said I needed a transplant. They put me on a list but with my odd blood type finding a donor was a long shot. But then Hank Lupo worked his magic."

  "What did he do, Marcy?"

  "He knows people. I had a new liver in two days, Liza. I was so sick I didn’t question where it came from. I owe him my life."

  "What does that have to do with Thomas Johm?"

  "I'm still not sure. I just know there were a lot of people protecting him."

  "Including Hank Lupo?"

  "I've said too much already, Liza. I can't drink like a normal person. One glass of wine and my mouth starts running. I'm sorry. I have to go. I don’t know what I'm doing here in the first place. Just trying to feel normal again, I suppose."

  What are you doing, Lizzi? You don't belong here either.

  I know, Lissi. I'm just doing my job. I'm living life like it's real. A thousand kisses deep.

  She should go too. That's what Lissi meant. Getting eyed up by all the wannabes at Rambo's was not her idea of a good time but still it gave her a vivacious thrill to know she could still excite a normal man and not just queers and renegade cops. She was ready to leave along with Marcy but something made her stay on for just another drink. She was feeling fine... playing low keys, not yet ready for a nod. Yeah, one more drink wouldn’t hurt. And then she saw him.

  Hank Lupo. Staring at her from across the room. Christ... he'd followed Marcy here. Or did he? Could be the man had simply stopped in for a drink too. Surprised to see an old flame, maybe. Gauging his chances on bagging her tonight. She knew how the game went. The waitress brought another drink and set it down before walking away.

  Danners was waiting out in the parking lot. Still, it wouldn’t hurt just to say hello. For old times sake if nothing else. She raised a hand in his direction motioning him to come over to her table. Just then she saw a woman with him. The light was dim and the distance might have played tricks on her eyes, but for a moment Liza thought sure it was Paula Picany.

  She'd only met the woman once and she looked haggard that day, like she hadn’t slept. Tonight though—if indeed it was her—Paula looked stunning. An older woman, yes, but she exuded a rare sexuality that was bound to attract men like Hank Lupo... hell, any man for that matter. Well, maybe not Danners. Liza got up to make her way closer, just to be sure it really was Paula Picany but Hank took the woman's hand and the two of them vanished before she could grab her drink and

  2

  Move across the room.

  "It must've been someone else, Liza. Why would Paula Picany be seeing Hank Lupo?"

  "You didn’t see them leaving, Danners?"

  "No... but there are lots of people are coming and going."

  "Drive around the block... let's watch. Could be they're still inside waiting for me to leave."

  "What about Marcy? Did you find her, Liza?"

  "I did. I thought Hank might have been watching us. But now I'm not so sure."

  "Did she give you anything?"

  "Yes. No... maybe... I'm not sure what to think, Danners. She said she had to have a liver transplant about five years back. Said Hank Lupo helped find a donor. I didn’t like the way she said it. Like he might have been into some shit... black market organs, stuff like that."

  "Marcy's about same age as the Picany twins would be if they lived."

  "Probably... what're you getting at, Danners?"

  "Wax..."

  "Oh... that explains it, DanDan. Sure... now I understand everything."

  "Liza... a cadaver is kept alive by artificial means long enough to harvest the organs. The skin turns a waxy gray color. I keep getting impressions of wax. Can we find out who performed Marcy's surgery?"

  "I have no idea, Danners. I didn’t think to ask her that."

  "What's her full name, Liza? Do you know?"

  "Yep... I did my homework in that department, DanDan. I used to work with her, remember? Do I get a shiny gold star? Or at least a little smooch? Marceline Kay Jordan. Born on April 5, 1980. Lives at 15801 Wooddale Avenue in Pomona."

  Danners surprised her by leaning over and kissing her on the cheek. For just a moment she felt temped to turn and give him a thrill... some real mouth to mouth, but he was driving and the poor man might have a spazz if she went that far.

  "I'll call Reilly, sweetie. I bet he'll be able to access the medical database and retrieve that information for us."

  "Has anyone ever told you how cute you are when you're onto something, Danners?"

  Chapter 31—Downtime

  (Mind over Matter)

  1

  Seeing Liza at Rambo's shocked the shit right out of him. Had she spotted who he was with? Maybe. Hard to say in that dim light. Not that it mattered, really. It wasn’t anyone's business who he saw during his down time. And was that Marcy? Dammit. He should have known better than to trust that bitch. If not for him, she'd be dead by now. And this is how she repaid him? By consorting with the enemy?

  Still, Liza McNairy wasn’t his true adversary. She'd cut him some slack if he needed it. She owed him. Danners Forthright... that was the man to watch. Hell, he'd nearly been greased just a few years ago. Spent ten years on death row. Too bad they let him off.

  "What's wrong, sweetie? You look like you're a thousand miles away tonight."

  "Let's just forget this for now, Paula. I'm distracted. Come on... I'll take you back to your car."

  The old gal looked too fine to walk away from but maybe it was best. When he called her, in the back of his mind he thought maybe they'd just go over details of the case again. Then she showed up looking like a two dollar hooker. Boobs nearly hanging out, mini skirt up to there. Yeah... she was older, but severely fuckable too. Like all those years ago. Had it really been that long since he boned her?

  The thing was, he couldn’t get Liza out of his mind. Paula Picany was a poor substitute. Lately, he'd been having a bit of a problem too. He knew it was mostly in his mind but that didn’t make things any easier to stomach. Ten years ago he'd have balled Paula standing out back in the alley. Hell, he did. Not once but several times. What a slut she was. Those days were over, though. Now he needed the proper time and place and even then getting it up was iffy at best.

  "Do you still have that crash pad of yours, Hank?"

  "You know I do."

  "Take me there, big boy. The night's still young."

  Yeah, sure it was. Now if only some of that shit would rub off on him. Women had no worries. Just spread those legs and lay there. Men, on the other hand, had to deal with... don’t think about that, Hank. It'll only jinx your fuck stick and you know it. Christ. Liza was looking fine. Why the hell did she have to come into a place like Rambo's looking like that? Now he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

  As he pulled up in front of his secret apartment he remembered the last time he was here with Paula. He'd carried her up the stairs taking them two at a time. Now, he got winded just walking up them himself. Age... what a motherfucker. He ought to get back into shape. Maybe join a gym. Work out each day. Get up an hour early. Yeah, like that was gonna happen.

  Paula seemed to be struggling up the stairs too. At least he wasn’t the only one. She tugged at his hand as if beckoning him to slow down. They stopped on the landing each of them out
of breath.

  "When the hell did we get so old, Hank?"

  "I guess that kind of shit sort of sneaks up on a person, Paula."

  She'd always been easy to be with. Fine on the eyes too. Tonight, though, he was out of sorts and what's more, Paula seemed to sense it. But what did she expect? He had a lot on his plate these days, not the least of which was her missing daughters. What the hell did he think he was doing? Jesus. Instead of fixing to screw the woman, he ought to be working on solving the case.

  When they finally made the door, he pulled out his keys, opened it, turned on the lights, and allowed her to go first. The place smelled of mouse turds and disuse. Dust everywhere. Cobwebs too. When was the last time he was here? Weeks ago, hell... maybe even months.

  "Come on in and sit down, Paula. Let me open a window. It's stuffy in here."

  "While you're doing that I'll fix us a couple drinks. Is the liquor still where you used to keep it?"

  "I guess so..."

  He opened a couple windows to catch a cross breeze, walked over to the sofa, and sat down. He could hear Paula in the kitchen rattling around in the refrigerator. Probably looking for ice. A few seconds later she appeared carrying two Tom Collins glasses.

  "Here you go, Hank. Just the way you like it. How about a little... you know."

  She pulled out a package and a small pipe. He could smell the aroma of the pot even before she opened the baggie. Medicinal quality stuff... she probably had a script for it. Hell, she had one for every other drug on the planet, why not marijuana too.

  "I shouldn’t, Paula."

  "Oh stop being

  2

  "A fucking cop for ten seconds, Hank. This is the shit. And besides, it's legal. Wanna see my prescription card, Officer Lupo? Here. Take a hit."

  He'd smoked a little grass when he was kid but nothing like what Paula handed to him. She held the lighter over the bowl while he inhaled. It tasted of bubblegum and blueberries mixed together. As he held the smoke in it felt like his lungs were crystallizing as he choked back a cough. And before he exhaled he could feel the rush hitting his head.