by Gwen Gardner
“Sure, why not,” said Simon. “With your knowledge of the streets in town, you’ll be perfect. And it’s only temporary. Plus, Butch feels so guilty about that argument, if Badger asks him, he’ll definitely say yes to both of you.”
“Good, then that’s settled.” A sense of bloody dread settled over me.
Chapter Sixteen
Puttock’s Pub
Unfortunately Butch needed help right away, and so Cappy and I began work the next morning, a Saturday. Our delivery items were all wrapped in butcher’s paper for which I was grateful. I didn’t want to deal with any blood. I didn’t want to see it or smell it or touch it. Even thinking about it made me shiver as I placed the packages into my bicycle basket.
We all juggled our schedules the best we could. Badger, Simon and Riley were all working at the Blind Badger. Cappy and I were making deliveries for Butch. That left Cappy’s friend Dino on Billy-Watch.
I pedaled behind Cappy through the narrow ginnels until we reached Market Alley and circled around the back as we were told to do. Puttock’s Pub served hamburgers, but I found it hard to believe that anyone actually ate there. The area was filthy and smelled like rat pee. Not that I know what rat pee smelled like.
Leaning our bikes against the soot-covered brick wall, Cappy retrieved Puttock’s order from his basket. We entered through the back door which opened into a large kitchen. Looking around, my opinion about eating anything from Puttock’s hadn’t changed. The cooking range was thickly grease-spattered and couldn’t possibly have been cleaned this century. The deep fryer was going full blast and unattended. Dishes were piled into a filthy sink, dark stains covered the flooring, and the garbage bins overflowed. Nasty flies circled everything, even though it was winter.
Dear Lord, why did I volunteer for this? Not for the first time I considered backing out of the whole thing. I wasn’t cut out for it – any of it. Not the ghosts, not the murders, and certainly not the blood. I sighed.
We walked further into the room, Cappy calling, “‘ello? Anybody ‘ere?”
We had strict instructions not to leave the order unless paid in cash. Evidently Gerry Puttock had a difficult time paying his bills.
The kitchen was deserted, so we peeked through the window on the swinging door. A few customers, both living and living-challenged, occupied the tables and barstools, but the dark atmosphere made it hard to see well. These old buildings always teemed with afterlife.
My attention was drawn to a loud-mouthed man with slightly long, curling brown hair, and a dingy gray sweatshirt pulled tight over an extended potbelly. Billy Radcliffe, telling a story to the room at large that only he laughed at. The owner, Gerry Puttock, served drinks behind the bar. I looked around for Dino, who was supposed to be on Billy-Watch, but didn’t see him.
When Cappy was about to go through the doors to look for Dino, a voice behind us bellowed, “Here now, what’re you doing?” I almost jumped out of my skin, I was that intent on what was going on in the other room. But cool, calm Cappy turned nonchalantly and eyed the man.
He was short, round, balding, and wore a filthy apron. The cook, then.
Cappy held up the package of hamburger meat. “Delivery.”
“Well, hand it over then,” said the man, scowling at the pair of us.
Cappy handed over the package along with an invoice and waited.
“Get on with ye now,” said the man, “I’m busy.” He took the package and dismissed us with a wave of his hand. When he turned back around, we were still standing there.
“Well, what do you want?”
“I need to collect the money, don’t I?” answered Cappy, with me standing behind him nodding my head helpfully. The dude was scary, I’m not gonna lie.
“You bill us like you always do.” The man was clearly irritated. “Now get out of here,” he said with a shooing motion.
“No sir. I’m sorry, but it’s the cash money or I have to take the order back. Those are my orders.” Again, I nodded helpfully.
“Orders, huh? We’ll see about that. Wait here,” he demanded. He shoved through the door, leaving it to swing violently back and forth.
Cappy and I looked at each other. We hadn’t taken the danger factor into account when we accepted this job. When the door stopped swinging, I looked through the porthole. The cook was gesturing with his hands, and whispering loudly so the customers couldn’t hear. Gerry gestured wildly back with his hands, an angry scowl on his face, before the cook crossed the room and walked through another door. Gerry continued the conversation he was having with Billy.
I cracked the door open slightly to eavesdrop. I only made out about every other word. Gerry was saying something about, “You promised... by... slut... woman... not... wanted.” To which Billy replied, “You said... fault... screw you, man.”
These two clearly knew each other.
The cook’s muffled voice seeped through the wall, yelling at someone else now. No doubt he was on the phone to Butch. Butch could match the cook’s temper any day, though.
Surrounded by all these bad tempers, I fancied we should put them all in a boxing ring and let them fight it out to see who comes out on top. Except that Bart already lost the match, and that was the whole problem.
Cappy tugged on my sleeve and I turned around. He pointed at a stairwell leading off the kitchen. I nodded and followed him up through the dark passage. I mentally added darkness to the list of items I wasn’t cut out for. Those people who say anything in the light is also in the dark? They don’t know what they’re talking about. The dark is full of the unknown. Things people didn’t even know existed. I ought to know. I’ve seen a fair amount of strange stuff.
With yelling still coming through the wall, I followed quickly on Cappy’s heels. Reaching out through the darkness to balance myself, my hand came in contact with a handrail mounted on the wall. I was grateful until a splinter lodged into my middle finger. “Ouch!”
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Cappy’s voice drifted down urgently through the dark.
“It’s okay. I’m all right. Just a splinter.” I pulled it out and finished the climb without the rail.
Once at the top, we walked down a dark, narrow hall with several doors on each side. The door on the left was open so we went inside, noticing straight away a room-length window that overlooked the whole pub; a pretty good surveillance position. We tiptoed to the window and looked out. It reminded me of a one-way view, like in the movies. The kind where you viewed the people on the other side, but they couldn’t see you.
Gerry was still behind the bar.
From behind us, a voice said, “Cappy? That you?”
Once again my heart stopped beating. Have I mentioned I wasn’t cut out for this? We swung around to see Dino emerge from a dark corner.
“Jaysus, Dino, don’t sneak up on a bloke like that,” said Cappy, with a hand to his chest. The calm Cappy from downstairs was gone.
“Sorry.” Dino grinned. “But you were the last person I expected to see ‘ere. I ‘eard footsteps coming down the ‘all so I ‘id. I reckoned for sure I were caught.” He nodded in my direction, but spoke only to Cappy.
“Just making a delivery. Anything going on?” asked Cappy, indicating with his chin toward Billy, who was still talking to Gerry downstairs.
“He’s getting rat-faced, innit he?” answered Dino. “But they was fightin’ ‘bout somethin’. I can’t ‘ear from here.” Dino, about the same age as Cappy, was twice as big and twice as wide. His over-grown brown hair hung lankly over wide brown eyes.
“Here now, where’d you two go?” An irritated bellow echoed from down the hall.
We hurried to the door, Cappy turning back to tell Dino. “I gotta go, catcha later.” We slipped down the hall. I followed as Cappy briefly opened the other two doors, looking for a toilet to flush as our cover. But one room looked like a brothel, and the other a personal living space, so he quickly closed the doors and we went down the stairs.
The cook w
as none too pleased. “The lady had to make a pit stop, didn’t she?” said Cappy.
Another helpful nod from me.
The cook grumbled and handed over the exact amount of cash, clipping Cappy on the back of the head as we headed out the door.
Cappy threw a dirty look over his shoulder. “Old tosser.”
Chapter Seventeen
The Wanton Wench
I entered the Blind Badger through the front door and avoided looking into the dusky corner for the Dark Shadow. Instead, I hurried down the hall to the snug so I didn’t have to deal with it. Badger was seated on the bench.
I removed my coat and hung it on the coat tree. “Are we the first ones here?” I went to the fireplace and rubbed my hands in front of the warmth.
“Yeah. Simon is finishing his shift and Riley is in the kitchen scavenging for leftovers. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”
I poured a cup of coffee from the side table before taking a seat across from Badger. His red eyes were preoccupied. “How was your day?” I asked, sounding like a middle-aged housewife.
Badger didn’t seem to notice. He smiled weakly. “All right. I’ve nothing new to report at the meeting.” He shrugged apologetically.
I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “There will be days like that. This investigating business takes time. We’re all learning.”
He returned my squeeze, long and firm, both hands wrapped around mine. His eyes gazed into mine, almost as if he was searching for something. I stared back, wishing I could help.
He sighed before leaning back against the bench. “Yeah. I suppose so.” His eyes still lingered on my face.
Did I have something on my face? I mean, other than the tomato color I felt growing deeper on my cheeks? I reached up and swiped at my face.
He smiled.
“Okay, what? Why are you staring at me? Do I have something on my face?” Am I paranoid? Yes. Yes I am.
He shook his head. “I like how you look. You’re pretty.” He reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek.
“Oh. Um, thanks.” I ducked my head and hoped my face wasn’t as red as it felt. I so did not know how to play this particular game. Pretty? Me?!
I prayed someone would come and save me from this awkwardness. And I prayed they wouldn’t. What the heck was wrong with me?
Glancing briefly into the hall, a shadow drifted by, but a physical body didn’t follow. No help there.
Thankfully, Cappy arrived shortly after. He shed his coat and hung it on the coat tree before slipping into a chair. He was followed by Simon. Riley came a few minutes later with a plate of sandwiches and then everything went back to normal. Riley set the plate on the table and the usual grabfest ensued before everyone settled down. We spent a few minutes in eating and idle chitchat.
With the crumbless plate moved to the side, we spread the murder board across the table. Simon and Riley moved to one bench to begin filling in the board with new information. Badger joined me on the other bench. I tried to ignore the warmth of his leg against mine and concentrate on the task at hand.
I was pleased to see the board filling up. It meant we were making progress – didn’t it?
“Who wants to go first?” Badger took a bite of his sandwich. He didn’t cringe so he must have made a lucky pick. Simon, on the other hand, looked disgusted. He must have gotten the liverwurst. Again. It’s the luck of the draw, I thought happily, biting into my ham and swiss. Again.
“Um, I think I’d better go first.” I wasn’t looking forward to this. I pulled the packets of paper I’d taken from Bart’s office at Shoreline out of my rucksack. I smoothed the wrinkles from the papers. “These are your dad’s cell phone, er, mobile phone records. And, well, there’s a bit of a timing problem.”
Badger pulled the top packet toward him and began to study the items I highlighted. A confused frown appeared between his eyes. “But...this would mean my dad didn’t die on the day he disappeared. In fact, the calls between Dad and Shelly continued for another month.”
“Yes,” I said. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Something’s not right here.” Riley tapped the papers with her pen. “They’ve got it wrong. He was already dead. Wasn’t he? Because if not, then that means he and Shelly really did...”
“Run away together,” Badger said.
Silence stretched out and settled in for the wait.
Finally, Badger said, “Let’s move on. Who’s next?”
“I’ll go next.” Cappy volunteered, stuffing the last of his sandwich in his mouth. “There’s not much to report. My gang covered Billy-Watch. First ‘e went to Puttock’s for a breakfast beer – me and Indigo seen ‘im there. Then ‘e went to Hadrian’s Hardware, Bodies by Billy and then back to Puttock’s in the evening. The only suspect ‘e had contact with was Gerry.”
“So the only thing you learned is that Billy knows Gerry Puttock,” said Riley, noting the information on the board.
“Not only knows him,” I added. “They were arguing about something. Unfortunately we couldn’t catch what they were saying.” I walked over to the side table and refilled my coffee mug. “But, that’s pretty significant...”
“Because Gerry is a suspect and Billy could have been hired by him to follow you guys,” Simon finished for me.
“Exactly,” I answered. “If Gerry was the murderer and he hired Billy to find out what we were up to, then...”
“We could be in deep doo-doo,” said Riley.
“Yes. But keep in mind – Billy could have been hired by anyone. It’s too early to start making assumptions.” I took my coffee and sat back down, trying to read the progress on the board upside down. I was thinking that nothing was leaping out at me when POP!
I jumped in my seat, as did everyone else in reaction to me. My heart raced, and my flight or fight reflex seriously thought about clicking in.
“What? What is it?!” gasped Simon, looking everywhere for something suspicious.
“Sorry! I’m sorry,” I gasped, pointing next to Simon, but of course the space was empty. “Not you, Simon. Next to you – I’m sorry, she startled me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“She...?” began Simon, before our attention was drawn to Badger. I glanced at him, sitting next to me. Oh Good Lord, no please, say I didn’t do it! He was covered in coffee. I looked down at my empty mug and back at Badger’s dripping face. I sighed. My coffee.
I leapt off the bench and grabbed napkins from the side table and began mopping his hair and face. His total look of resignation made me want to cry. And when the others started laughing hysterically, I wanted to cry even harder.
Badger took the wad of napkins I offered him and dabbed at his chest and lap ineffectually. “Uh, thank you. I think.”
“Um, you’re, uh, welcome. No! That’s not what I mean.” I shook my head in despair. “What I mean is, I’m sorry! Truly I am. It’s just that I saw...” The ghost of a seventeenth century serving wench, mop-capped and wearing an off-the-shoulder chemise under a tight bodice and voluminous skirts had wedged herself next to Simon and was staring over his shoulder at the murder board. The same wench I’ve been seeing about the Blind Badger.
Simon shivered. “Anyone feel a draft?”
“It’s her.” I pointed again. “A serving girl popped in and startled me. That’s the draft you feel.”
The girl, probably my age, but waaay better built, had been laughing with the others at Badger’s unfortunate accident. Now she looked at me with piercing green eyes.
“You can see me!” she said. “You’re the one they’re talking about.” She floated over and glided around me, studying me from all sides, as if trying to figure out what was so special about me.
“Who? Who’s talking about me?” I was startled, to say the least. I mean, nobody should be talking about me – dead or alive. I didn’t like it. Not one bit. It made me feel all creepy. I shivered.
The girl looked arou
nd, clearly scared. “The collectors,” she whispered and popped back out.
I felt my face drain of color. They were all watching me, the whole gang. I shrugged and sat down. What did she mean, The Collectors?
“I’m sorry. Shall we continue?” I pulled Bart’s portfolio out of my rucksack. I ignored their questioning glances. I couldn’t talk about it right then. Mostly because once again, I proved to Badger I was a total, complete disaster. “I’ve finally finished going through the client records.” I laid the portfolio on the table and opened it to the first page.
I pointed to the top document. “I have four names of the people I think we should question. They appear to have worked with your dad quite regularly.” I looked at Riley, not daring to look at Badger. “The first one is Andy Hall, who we’ve already spoken to. Do any of you recognize any of the other names?”
I passed the paper to my right. Badger scanned it before passing it to Riley.
“We know all of them,” said Riley. “Not well, and only from social or business functions, mainly.” She passed the paper back to Badger.
“We need to question them. But carefully, we don’t want to bring any more attention to what we’re doing. What can you tell us about them?” I asked.
Riley waited for Badger to answer, her pen at the ready to record what he said.
“The first man is Dexter Najeem. I’ve been with dad a few times when they had lunch at the Curry Castle. I think he eats there regularly.”
Riley nodded. “Yeah, me too.”
Badger nodded and went on to the next name.
“Stephen Clarke. He’s rat-faced every time I’ve seen him. He drinks his lunch every day at Dickey Dan’s.” He looked at me and Simon. “We’re sure to run into him there.”
“It’ll have to be you and Indigo,” said Simon. “I’m working the lunch shift all week.”
“No problem,” Badger answered. “And lastly is Felicia Bartlett.” He looked at me. “She belongs to the Shakespeare Running Club – an avid runner. This is right up your alley. If she won’t talk to you, you can always trip her up and make her listen.”