“How’d you like that, Wilson? I got out of answering him. Pretty slick if I do say so myself. Come on, let’s see what the seniors have in store for us today.”
Woof.
Chapter 15
MICKEY YEE AND HIS DOG BOOKER STROLLED ALONG THE BIKE and walking path in the gated community where Elaine Hollister lived. He spotted a bench that would allow him to sit as dusk settled. This was the time of evening when dog walkers were out and about. He didn’t think anyone would pay attention to him if he sat for a while without drawing attention to himself and his dog. He leaned back on the wooden bench, threw his arm over the back, then handed Booker a rawhide chew to keep him busy. Just a man and his dog out for an evening stroll.
In the pocket of his tee shirt, Mickey had a mini-recorder. He turned it on and listened to Lynus Litton’s voice relaying the information from the report that the detective assigned to follow Elaine Hollister had submitted. He’d listened to the tape at least six times since arriving at the gated community. He had already committed it to memory. He understood all that he heard, but something puzzled him. Something Lynus Litton didn’t have the answer to.
The investigator, Don Parker, said Elaine Hollister had had no visitors once she arrived home, until the time she left to go to her dinner engagement with her attorney, Isaac Diamond, which was verified by the audio tape from the bug Mickey himself had planted on Hollister’s landline. The conversation confirmed the dinner date and renewed the offer of a car to pick her up, an offer Hollister again declined. What Mickey didn’t understand was the two hours of muffled conversation or dialogue that Lynus said could be heard on the audio. He had orders to check his bugs to see that they were in working order. Always thorough, Mickey had, as usual, checked the bugs several times before he’d installed them. So, did Elaine Hollister talk to herself? Did she read aloud just to hear her own voice?
Lynus had left instructions for Mickey to stay in touch with Don Parker over open cell phone connections. Don was to call him the minute Elaine left the restaurant in case he was still in the house and needed time to get out clean. His last conversation with Don led him to believe that after dinner, the couple would head for someplace a little more intimate. Probably to discuss Elaine’s case, Don had said, tongue in cheek.
Mickey looked at his watch, and saw that it was already seven thirty. By the time he and Booker got to the Hollister house, night would have descended, making his job easier. He got up, settled his backpack more firmly on his shoulders, and picked up Booker’s leash. “Time to go, Booker.”
Twenty minutes later, Mickey Yee was standing inside the Hollister kitchen. A night-light low on the floor gave the state-of-the-art kitchen a dim, pale glow but gave off just enough light for him to make his way through the dining room, also lit by a low night-light on the baseboard. “You know what to do, Booker. I’ll be on the second floor.”
He sniffed, wondering what it was he was smelling. Perfume? A room air freshener? Women like those things for some reason. Some kind of aerosol spray like Lysol? No, that isn’t it. It was something he’d smelled before, but he couldn’t put a name to what it was. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.
Mickey galloped up the steps and ran down the hallway to Elaine Hollister’s bedroom. He blinked. It looked like a tornado had swept through the room. Clothes and shoes of every description littered the bed and floor. Obviously, the lady couldn’t make up her mind what she should wear to the dinner engagement with her attorney. The bathroom looked worse. Makeup was everywhere, and wet towels littered the floor. What really interested him, though, was the cell phone charging on the vanity. Quicker than lightning, he had the phone bugged. He plugged it back in, careful to place it exactly where it had been. Talk about luck. Now he didn’t have to worry about breaking into the house in the dead of night, with Elaine Hollister sleeping upstairs.
Mickey moved to the landline on the night table. He checked it, tested it, and was satisfied there was nothing wrong with the bug. He moved out to the hall, pressed the button that would lower the ladder that led to the attic. The ladder dropped, then unfolded. It looked like a dark pit overhead. The strange scent seemed to sweep through the opening and engulf him. He didn’t see a light switch anywhere, so that meant he’d need a flashlight. He rummaged in his backpack and withdrew a small Maglite that, when turned on, would illuminate an entire room.
Mickey stuck the end of the powerful light between his teeth, grabbed the arms of the flimsy ladder, and climbed, the Maglite lighting the way. The fine hairs on the back of Mickey’s neck moved. He crawled across the floor as soon as his feet left the ladder. He squatted and looked around, the Maglite showing him something he had never expected to see.
Mickey gaped at the makeshift altar, complete with a crisp white altar cloth. The altar was filled with vases of white flowers, colored beads, black candles, and incense holders. A vial sat in the middle of the altar, clearly labeled, in fine script, Holy Water. Next to the holy water was a dish of salt.
That’s what the smell was; Elaine Hollister had been burning incense since his last visit. Here in the attic, the smell was overpowering. Mickey was absolutely, positively certain that by the time he left this place, he’d have a really bad headache.
Still squatting on his haunches, Mickey didn’t like what he was seeing at all. He felt creeped out at the strange altar. Then he spotted the Bible, with a pair of reading glasses sitting on top of it. The hair on the back of his neck moved once more. He moved the light to see what was beyond the makeshift altar. He saw cardboard cartons and empty mailers. A furrow built itself between his brows as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing.
Witchcraft? Voodoo? Mickey shivered. He moved the Maglite and saw a sheaf of what looked like heavy yellow parchment with all kinds of symbols and signs that he wasn’t familiar with. He could clearly see the words, SPELLS and RITUALS, in heavy black-and-gold lettering. Then he thought about the four jugs of vinegar and the full shelf of herbs in the refrigerator in the kitchen downstairs.
Mickey fumbled with the cell phone in his pocket, on which he had an open line to Don Parker. He whistled softly and told him what he was seeing.
“Sounds to me like you got a high-priestess thing going on. I’d say from what you’re telling me that Hollister practices either witchcraft or voodoo. I’m not an authority on the subject. I’m just saying. I think you need to talk with Lynus, but I think that explains the conversation that was on the tapes. She was probably casting spells or chanting. I saw a movie once, and something like that was in it. I gotta say, Mick, looking at that woman, I never would have thought she’d be into something like that.”
Mickey cleared his throat. “Me, either. This is creeping me out. What’s going on there?”
“Looks like they’re having brandy and coffee. They look like any other couple out to dinner. No kitschy-coo, no handholding, nothing like that. They each had two glasses of wine. They’ll be leaving in about twenty minutes is my best guess. Keep the line open and get ready to leave in case she heads home. Call Lynus and tell him what you’re seeing. You bring a camera with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Take pictures of everything. Even if you think it doesn’t apply.”
“Okay. I’ll get back to you.” Mickey shoved the cell phone back into his pocket. He pulled out a second one and called his boss. He rattled off his findings. When he heard Lynus whistle, he knew he was really onto something.
“Take pictures, and I want to see you and them in my office first thing in the morning. Don’t forget to take a picture of the inside of the refrigerator.”
“Okay, no problem.” Mickey broke the connection, then dug out his digital camera. He positioned the Maglite to give him the best light. He snapped the altar from all angles. He took a picture of the Bible and the reading glasses. Then he took a shot of the cardboard cartons and the empty mailers. He could see the words INITIAL B ENTERPRISES on one of the mailing labels. When he stretched his arm across the altar
to get the boxes and mailers into better position, he knocked over one of the vases holding the white roses. “Oh, crap!” he groaned as he watched the water spread across the altar.
There was no way he could cover that up. Always confident, he decided that the best-case scenario would be Elaine Hollister would think that a rat or a mouse had toppled the vase. He snapped the pictures he wanted, then backed his way to the opening and the ladder that would take him down to the second floor. He looked around to make sure he wasn’t leaving any signs that would indicate there had been an intruder. Once he’d reset the alarm and locked the door, Mrs. Hollister wouldn’t know the difference.
Mickey put the Maglite back in his backpack and made his way down to the kitchen, where he took pictures of the vinegar jugs and the shelf of herbs. The lighting was perfect for the shot. He closed the refrigerator door and returned the camera to his backpack. He set the alarm, whistled for Booker, and they left the house. Outside, he drew a deep breath. He’d screwed up. He needed to call Lynus.
Mickey and Booker jogged all the way to the security gate and left the area as quickly as they could. The minute he was settled in his car, he called Lynus to report his screwup. He listened as his boss reamed him out about sloppy work, then he listened to his apology, saying mistakes happen. He didn’t feel one bit better. The kind of mistake he’d just made could mean the success or failure of the investigation.
“Okay, Booker, let’s call it a night. I know you’re hungry, and so am I. Tomorrow is another day.” That’s when he remembered the stack of black-and-white notebooks, the kind they sold in drugstores a long time ago. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he’d had one for one of his English classes. Crap. Did I take a picture of the notebooks? Not specifically, he decided, but maybe they’ll show up on one of the other shots. You’re getting sloppy, Mickey, he warned himself.
Gus woke with Wilson’s nose nudging his chin. Time to get up. “Okay, okay! I’m up. Hey, buddy, how’d you do the first night in our new digs?” Wilson let loose with a loud bark. “That good, huh?”
Gus staggered out to the kitchen and opened the door for the shepherd. He stood there watching his dog search out the perfect bush, scratched his head, felt the bristles on his cheeks, and decided coffee was what he needed. His big decision was whether to make breakfast or wait to eat at the farm. Or, he could pick up a breakfast burrito on his way to the fireplug’s office. Coffee and juice, he decided, and he’d grab something later. Wilson wouldn’t see it that way, he knew, so he filled a bowl with canned dog food and kibble, then set down a fresh bowl of water. The time was six-ten.
As Gus waited for the coffee to drip into the pot, he looked around his new kitchen. He liked that the sun would come in the kitchen window in the morning, and he could look out into the yard while he sipped his morning coffee. He made a mental note to find out if there was a morning newspaper delivery in the neighborhood. There was nothing like a morning cup of coffee and the day’s news, in his opinion. He knew there were millions of people who would rather read the news online. He was definitely not one of those people.
Gus poured his coffee and let his mind wander. He’d slept well, felt rested. He felt like he was ahead of the game, because he’d slept in a brand-new bed. Then again, he’d been exhausted when his head hit the pillow.
His thoughts next took him to the day he’d planned out for himself. First and foremost, he was going to see the fireplug to see what she wanted to do where he was concerned. From there, he’d stop by the office to check on things. After that, it was out to the farm and the seniors. He wondered what his grandmother had thought of the schedule he’d left behind and what she’d made of the suggestions he’d like to implement.
Gus finished his coffee, checked Wilson’s bowl, then rinsed it and put it into the dishwasher. He refilled his cup and carried it upstairs. He showered and shaved, then dressed in a pair of crisp khakis that Maggie had ironed for him while he was staying at Barney’s house. He checked his polo shirts but ended up wearing a pale blue button-down oxford shirt. He rolled it up to his elbows, slipped his feet into Docksiders, and was ready to go.
“Okay, Wilson, time to put a move on. Get whatever you want to bring with you because it’s going to be late when we get back. Just ONE thing, Wilson, not an armful. You can play with Winnie’s things when we get to the farm.” Gus watched, amused at Wilson’s attempt to pick one thing to bring to the farm. He picked up a tattered-looking stuffed rabbit with only one ear and half a tail. It was his favorite toy, the one he slept with at night. He picked it up twice, and twice put it back on his bed. He finally chose a ball with a hole in the middle and a ring through it. He looked up at Gus, his signal that he’d made his decision.
“I suppose someone will want to play tug of war with you. Time to get our show on the road.”
Gus’s plan was to arrive at Barney’s offices as close to seven-thirty as he could. He’d had a key to the building ever since Barney opened his offices. He would wait in the lobby to greet the fireplug on her arrival. Whatever was going to happen would then happen.
He had the building to himself when he arrived, and took a seat in one of the buttery-soft chairs scattered throughout the medium-size lobby. Wilson lay at his feet. Gus sat quietly, his thoughts of the farm and what lay ahead of him.
He knew that the fireplug was approaching when Wilson rose to his feet and walked over to the door. If the attorney was surprised to see a dog greet her, she didn’t show it. Nor did she show any surprise when she saw Gus getting up off the chair he’d been sitting in. She’d make a good poker player, Gus thought. He watched as she scratched Wilson behind the ears for a few moments.
“Good morning, Mr. Hollister. How nice to see you so early in the morning.”
Gus knew that she was thinking, how nice of you to ruin my day so early. “I know we didn’t have an appointment, and that we’ve been playing telephone tag. I’m sorry about that. So, can we discuss whatever it is you want to talk to me about? I also wanted to give you my new address and the phone number at my new house in case you can’t reach me on my cell phone.”
“Follow me, Mr. Hollister. I can give you exactly thirty minutes, then I have to leave for court on another matter.”
Gus looked around the fireplug’s office. It surprised him, and he wasn’t sure why. He liked it, though. He took a seat across from the polished desk and waited for her to take her seat of power. That’s how he thought of it, a seat of power. If he compared his office to this one, his would fall into the pigsty category. Not that it was dirty, just messy.
Jill folded her hands and leaned forward. She adjusted her granny glasses more firmly and stared across at him with unblinking intensity. “Do you have anything you want to ask me before we discuss your wife’s petition for divorce, Mr. Hollister?”
“No. My wife is divorcing me. I am not contesting it. If this were a perfect world, I’d tell you to fight till hell freezes over not to give her anything, but I know this is not a perfect world, so I’m probably going to have to make some kind of settlement. You already know the deal on the house. I was a fool, I admit that. So I guess what I’m saying here is do the best you can on my behalf.”
Jill’s cell phone took that moment to chime to life. Gus watched as she fished it out of the pocket of her jacket. She identified herself, then listened. All Gus could hear were the words, “I’ll ask him. He’s here right now. Yes, that is strange. Thanks for the heads-up.
“Now, where were we, Mr. Hollister?”
“I was telling you to do the best you can do on my behalf. I’m not naive enough to think I’m going to skate on this. Is there anything you need me to do on my own behalf?”
“I wanted to discuss what you’re willing to part with. I’ll be calling Isaac Diamond, your wife’s attorney, for a face-to-face. I’ve engaged the services of a private detective agency. We have ongoing surveillance on your wife. Right now, that’s all I’m comfortable telling you. And I want to caution you about talking t
o your wife. I don’t want you to be surprised if she calls you. If you’re like most people, I’m sure you have caller ID on your new landline at home and, of course, it will show up on your cell phone. If she calls, let it go to voice mail and call me right away.”
“Okay, I don’t have a problem with that. She’s the last person I want to talk to. What is it you hope to find out with surveillance?”
“After I find out, I’ll ask you what is normal and not normal where your wife is concerned. Then I’ll make a call on it. We do have time before I’m going to schedule a meeting with Mr. Diamond. Again, I’ll let you know when that is going to happen. You and your wife might or might not be at that meeting.”
“I understand. I hope you got my message where I apologized to you.”
Yessireee, this lady would make a great poker player.
“I did. I accept your apology.” The expression on the lawyer’s face was that of someone who had bitten into a lemon. Jill reached into a drawer and withdrew a yellow legal pad. “Now, give me that new address and phone number. You moved out of Barney’s house?! Living in a mansion with live-in maid service, cooked meals, someone to do your laundry, six cars at your disposal, everything free. What’s not to like? Why did you move?”
Gus wanted to reach across the desk and grab Jill Jackson’s lovely throat. Lovely throat. The words left him confused for a moment. He might have dropped it right there, but Jill started to tap her fingers on the desk as she waited for his reply. “Because I’m not a person who needs a fancy house with maid service and six cars. I can cook and do laundry and take care of myself. My grandmother taught me early on how to be self-sufficient. The only reason I moved into Barney’s house was because of Wilson, and because I had to get my head on straight. I’m renting a house with an option to buy if it’s a good fit for Wilson and me.”
“Is that the same grandmother you turned your back on in favor of Elaine Hollister?”
The Blossom Sisters Page 14