A police siren gave a brief whoop. Steve nodded to Gloria and went outside, returning immediately with a pair of officers. Leon interrupted his tirade to address the new arrivals. “You tell him he can’t throw me out of here,” he demanded, pointing at Steve. “You tell him this is a public place and I got rights! You got to help me! I’m an American citizen! I pay your salary!”
“Leon,” the taller of the two officers addressed him, “let’s go outside and discuss this situation privately. Will you do that for me?”
Leon grumbled but went. Steve sighed and shook his head as his shoulders relaxed.
“Busy morning, Steve?”
“Lia! You know the floor show was just for you.”
“I feel so special. This is my friend, Terry Dunn. Terry, Steve Reams. What’s going to happen to Leon?”
“He didn’t threaten anyone, so I asked them not to put him in jail if they could help it. If they can, they’ll just encourage him to move along. I imagine he’ll be back tomorrow. What brings you downtown?”
“We’re looking for a homeless man.”
“How many do you want? We’re running a special this week.”
“Cute. I’m hoping you can give me some information.”
“Let’s take a walk. Gloria, I’m going on break.” Steve grabbed a dapper straw hat from behind the counter and clapped it on his head. “My sister,” he explained. “She’s concerned that I’ll get skin cancer if I let the sun beat down on my head, now that there’s no hair left to protect it.
Steve led them down an alley next to the building. “Let’s head over to Coffee Emporium. We can talk there.”
They cut through the alley to Central Parkway and the former-machine-shop-turned-hipster-nexus. Once seated with drinks, Steve got back to business.
“I’m not supposed to talk about clients, and especially not in front of other clients. They can be so paranoid.”
“Oops, sorry.”
“You have the patience of Job, friend,” Terry said. “How do you manage it?”
Steve shrugged. “I had one foot off the curb at one time. It could be me babbling into my Wild Irish Rose. So what do you need this guy for?”
“Someone’s been leaving little foil dolls for a friend of mine,” Lia said, leaving out the part where Desiree was deceased and Lia thought Foil Man killed her. “We’re trying to figure out who it was. I tracked the dolls to a guy named Ernie who was homeless and hung with a guy—”
“Oh, you mean Watcher. Skinny guy, dreadlocks, beard down to here.” He indicated the middle of his chest.
“Watcher?”
“Sure, takes scraps of aluminum foil and twists them into little sculptures. We used to keep a roll of foil on hand for him. This was after you did the facade. He was amazing to watch. Haven’t seen him for quite a while. We still have a few of his sculptures around the office. Did you see the one behind the counter?”
“I only had eyes for Leon. What can you tell me about Watcher? We’re not sure what to think about the dolls, whether he was stable or not.”
“Well,” he scratched his chin. “There’s basically three types of homeless that I see. First are your mentally ill, the folks who would be in mental institutions if Ronnie hadn’t defunded those in the 80’s. Mostly, they’re too low-functioning to do much more than stumble through one day to the next, but there aren’t adequate housing options for them. They usually don’t have the capacity to cause any trouble that requires planning. It’s just when they get agitated that you have to worry.
“Next you have your addicts and alcoholics, and all they think about is their next high. Watcher got high sometimes, but he was young and and he still had a few brain cells. For being homeless, he could be responsible, especially after he decided it was his job to take care of Ernie. I think it gave him a sense of purpose. I always thought Watcher was behind door number three.”
“Which is?”
“One paycheck away from the disaster and something happens. It occurs more often than you think, these days. These folks are focused on finding their way back off the street. I think he lost his job and his girlfriend tossed him out. If I remember, he was living in his car. He was obsessed about being dumped, otherwise I think he might have bounced back.”
“Do you think Watcher is stable?”
“Relatively speaking, yeah. He was a little twisted, but he knew which shoe went on which foot, and what time of day it was. He and Ernie’d recycle cans and Watcher would sell his little dolls. Since he was always clean, some of the guys would have him go into stores for them. Never said much. Haven’t seen him since Ernie died.”
“How does a homeless person stay clean?” Terry asked.
“Mary Magdalene House has a bath house the homeless can use once a day, as long as they obey the rules and don’t get tossed out. Leon, of course, has been banned for life. I never figured out where Watcher washed his clothes. I never had any problems with him.”
“You said ‘relatively.’ What’s relative about his stability?”
“Well,” Steve scratched his chin again. “He could be a little spooky. He just . . . watched everything and didn’t say a word most of the time. It was kinda creepy.”
“Only kinda?” Lia asked.
“A voyeur, then,” Terry said. “How would we go about finding him now?”
Steve looked up at the ceiling while he considered this question. “He didn’t exactly leave a forwarding address. Tell you what. I think he used to get mail sometimes. Can’t get food stamps without a physical address,” he explained. “And he would have given them his real name. Would that help?”
“That would be great.”
“I’ll ask around and check our files this afternoon, but I can’t promise anything. We get mail for close to two thousand people. It’s been so long, his name might not be on the list anymore. Even if it is, I might not recognize it if I see it.”
Terry parked his truck across the street from the cheerless brick cracker-box in Price Hill. The house was fronted by an anemic scruff of grass, reminding Lia of an unfortunate grunge musician’s beard. She was sure rust was the only thing keeping an ancient Chevy station wagon atop the array of cinder blocks in the driveway. She imagined the next strong wind blowing defunct car parts all over the neighborhood. Sympathy bloomed for Desiree. If the place repelled her from the outside, what would it have been like, growing up in that house?
“Our target is this abominable abode?” Terry asked, mirroring her thoughts.
“This is the address I got from Amanda. Doesn’t look like much, does it?”
“You sure you won’t join me? I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“From everything Desiree and Amanda said about Josiah Willis, he’s not likely to open up around a woman. He might be able to relate to you since you’re wearing camouflage,” Lia said, referring to Terry’s concealed carry vest. “Just keep your vocabulary in check. Remember, he’s a heavy-duty bible thumper.”
“Surely the man who sired the comely Desiree is not a total ignoramus, but I shall essay to to make my verbiage intelligible.” He pulled out his cell phone and tapped a couple buttons. Lia looked at him quizzically as her phone rang.
“Keep the line open so you don’t miss anything.” He winked as he climbed out of the truck.
Lia rolled her eyes and slumped down in the passenger seat of Terry’s truck, holding the phone in her lap and lifting her chin so she could see out the driver’s side window while remaining concealed. She heard Terry knocking on the door through her phone and pressed it against her ear.
A black slit appeared above Terry’s head as the door opened. Terry remained in front of the door, blocking her view of the occupant.
“Josiah Willis?” Terry asked.
“Who wants to know?” The voice was thin and contentious.
“My name is Terry Dunn. I want to express my condolences for you loss, sir, and let you know that there will be a memorial service for Desiree at The Comet next Monday .
. . .”
“You friends with Desiree?” the unseen man interrupted.
Lia could see Terry duck his head in modesty. “I’d like to think—” Lia heard a rachetting that sounded like the pump stroke on a shot gun.
Terry jumped back. “What the . . . that’s . . . .”
“The only daughter I recognize is named Remington. Now get out of here, you filthy Satan-worshipping liberal hippie!”
Terry backed away a few feet until the door slammed shut, then jogged briskly to the truck. He leapt in, cranked the motor and tore down the street, saying nothing. Lia noticed his face was red. She waited until they were safely around the corner and driving at a safe speed before she spoke.
“Blood pressure up?”
“I was not anticipating a brush with death. That is not the usual response to a condolence call. The man was clearly mistaken in his estimation of my motives.”
“Obviously,” Lia agreed, keeping her voice suitably serious. “I take it the camo didn’t impress him. What was it he called you? I couldn’t quite hear,” she lied.
Terry muttered something indecipherable.
“I did discover one thing,” he said finally.
“In the two seconds you were at the door? What was that.”
“The man is no stranger to firearms.”
22
Monday, June 9
Lia tapped on the doorjamb to Dave’s cubbyhole office. Dave looked up from the time sheets he was totaling and raised an eyebrow at the stack of index cards in her hand.
“I just wanted to ask you about the bid cards for the silent auction. Should I put them out now, or wait until after the service?”
“Put them out now. No one will be going down to the basement until the auction starts.”
Lia toyed with the top card. “I hate to see the necklace go.”
“The purple crystal? You should keep it.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Without you, Desiree would still be in cold storage and Three Sisters wouldn’t have a sizable donation coming in. She’d want you to have it. We can spare one item from the auction.”
“Thanks, Dave. I’ll treasure it. And thanks for letting me bring Julia.” Julia, lying by Dave’s feet, wore a big pink bow around her neck and a tee shirt that said “I’m an Orphan, Adopt Me,” on the back. She looked up when Lia said her name and thumped her tail on the floor. “And you, Missy,” Lia said to the pup, “best behavior. No running off with cell phones or car keys.”
Bailey was first to arrive for the invitation-only event. “I thought you might need a hand.”
“I think we’re okay until it’s time for the food to come out, and I believe the cooks have that handled. Dave has the coffee all ready to start perking once the service begins. Maybe you could look at the auction tables and tell me what you think?”
They descended to the basement, set aglow with tiny, multi-colored Christmas lights vining around the ceiling pipes like an invasion of kudzu.
“It’s . . . a basement.” Bailey commented, looking around at the concrete walls.
“Yep. They have bands down here sometimes. Has more of that underground club feel, don’t you think? Help me rearrange this table,” Lia said, crossing to the other side of the room. “Dave said I should keep the amethyst. That would be alright, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t see why not. We’re bringing in plenty of cash on eBay with Desiree’s collection of lingerie.”
“You can’t be serious.” Lia stared at Bailey, horrified. “Tell me you didn’t.”
“Did. Posted links on the YouTube video, and we’re getting bids in the hundreds. The brassiere she was wearing in the video is now at $1,837 and the auction isn’t over until tomorrow night.
Lia shook her head. “Shame she didn’t live longer. She could have been the next William Hung. It will buy a lot of kibble, anyway. There’s something I don’t understand.”
Bailey tilted her head, waiting for Lia’s question.
“You’re a feminist. Why are you auctioning off her intimate apparel? Isn’t that a violation of sorts?”
“I didn’t know her as well as you did, but from every thing I’ve seen, she got a kick out of being noticed. Taking pride in her sexuality was a way for her to make a feminist statement. She would see this as becoming a minor sex-goddess, and be pleased that the devotion of her followers will do so much good for homeless dogs. . . . I know, not how you or I might see it, but that was Desiree. She enjoyed being an object of desire.”
“You’re doing this to honor her?” Lia blinked with disbelief.
“There isn’t anyone lining up to spend two K on my grannie panties. Yours, either. Bids already total more than five grand. Someone must like her.”
Lia didn’t know what to say. She turned back to the now pathetic array of vintage and kitsch housewares, CDs, books and costume jewelry and stroked a finger across the purple stone. “I think I’ll wear this. Will you find something else to go here while I put this on?”
By 7:00 pm, the back room was packed with mourners. As requested by Dave in the invitation, they were all wearing bright, happy colors to honor Desiree’s pseudo-pagan inclinations. Paul Ravenscraft, ordained minister, massage therapist and drummer in a world rhythms band, stood resplendent in a painted silk robe, waiting for the crowd to settle. He tapped the standing mic and nodded to Dave when the PA system issued a loud THOK, THOK.
Dave left his post to lock the front door for the duration of the service. He had the key in the lock when a slight, dour man knocked on the door. He wore a black suit that was older than Dave. The fit of the suit was terrible, the jacket bagging in a way that suggested he was wearing several colostomy bags.
“I’m sorry,” Dave said, “this is a private event.”
Paul’s voice came over the PA. “As we gather here today to honor the life of Desiree Willis, a beautiful young woman whose adventurous spirit and loving generosity touched all who knew her . . .”
“Can’t a loving father grieve his daughter?” The man’s eyes were bloodshot and his thin hair greasy and wild. Could it be possible that Desiree’s father regretted his treatment of her? Josiah Willis shoved the door open and pushed past Dave. He stopped at the entrance to the back room, taking in the brightly colored crowd. Dave locked the door and joined him, determined to keep him close.
“. . . we take joy and comfort in the thought that she will be returned to the body of the Goddess, becoming one with the earth. Her breath continues to be shared with the earth's atmosphere and with all things that live and all things that die. . . .”
Under Paul’s sonorous pagan ode, Dave heard a metallic click. A ring of cold steel pressed against his neck. “That’s some grief you’ve got there,” he said.
Josiah hissed, “Keep quiet and do what you’re told.”
Lia noticed the derelict wearing a baggy suit and Jesus sandals standing by Dave. How Odd. Next to her, she felt Terry stiffen.
“Oh, shit,” Terry muttered. She elbowed him.
“. . . Her blood returns to the streams, the rivers, the oceans and the clouds that float over us all. Her thoughts return again to that great Sky of Mind from which all thoughts arise and return. And that flame which is of Spirit again burns in yet another form. So, in a very real sense, this is not so much a good-bye as a farewell until we meet again, and again, and yet again—”
“Blasphemers!” Josiah screamed. He kept one gun on Dave and shot a second into the ceiling. That’s why his suit was bagging. How many more guns does he have?
Everyone stared at the little man standing behind Dave in the doorway.
“Hands in the air!” He shot again, this time putting a hole in the vintage photo-booth in the back corner. “That’s right, I’m armed. Don’t do anything funny. I’ve got another gun on this guy, and I’m packing four more. I’m Josiah Willis and that’s my daughter you’re talking about, so you’re all going to listen to what I have to say. You, Red.” he waved his gun at Bailey, who was
sitting with Lia, Terry and Jose in the back. “You’re going to grab that trash can and collect everyone’s phones, right after you take this guy’s keys. Anyone who tries to call 911 is going to get shot. Get a move on, girlie.”
“What do I do?” Bailey whispered to Lia.
“No talking!” Josiah Willis fired another shot, this time over Bailey’s head.
“Humor him!” Lia hissed between her teeth. “Buy time.”
Bailey picked up the wastebasket set under the coffee urn in the back of the room. She took the keys Dave still held in his hand.
“Cell phone, too,” Josiah snarled. Dave dropped it in the plastic bin. One by one, Josiah allowed people to briefly lower their hands to give their cell phones to Bailey. There was a certain amount of noise as people scooted their chairs around to allow her by. Terry used the noise for cover.
“Jose,” he whispered, “I’m packing. How about you?”
“Got my taser,” Jose hissed out of the corner of his mouth. “If I manage to get behind him and zap him, you think that will make him squeeze the trigger, or will he freeze before that happens?”
“It’s a distance, but I think I can pull off a head shot from here,” Terry said. “Or I can just shoot through Dave to hit him. Better lose Dave now than after that maniac manages to shoot half of us. It’s simple math.”
“Stop it,” Lia hissed. “If the gun is pressed to Dave’s head, he’ll get tased, too, and the gun will go off when they hit the floor. You’ll get Dave killed. As for you,” she whispered to Terry, “you pull your gun and I’ll mace you before you can get a shot off. We have to wait until Dave isn’t at risk.”
“Who’s talking?” Josiah fired again, this time taking out one of the beer bottles displayed on a high shelf that ran around the room. Glass rained down, but mourners were too scared to move. Lia noticed a thin trail of blood forming on the cheek of one woman where she was hit by a glass shard.
Bailey completed her rounds and deposited the phones at the front of the room.
“You!” Josiah waved his gun at Paul. “False preacher! Sit down over there.” Josiah marched Dave over to the mic stand, keeping the gun to Dave’s head. “This is better.” His voice boomed through the PA system. “You may rest your hands on your heads. Keep them where I can see them. I should have exterminated this nest of Satan’s vipers when Desiree first told me she was working here. . . .”
Sneak Thief (A Dog Park Mystery) Page 15