And the pieces fell into place.
“Chuck Zuggart.” Now that I was thinking clearly, I could almost recognize the bartender from the picture in the yearbook Ariel and I had found on Ella’s desk. “That’s why you came here? To talk to him? You think he knows something about Lucy?”
Ella shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s not like I really saw anything. By the time I pushed through the crowd and made my way over to where Lucy was standing, Chuck had already walked away, and when I asked her about it…” She shrugged. “Guys were always flirting with Lucy. She knew how to handle them. She acted like it was no big deal. But what if it was, Pepper? What if there was something more to it than that? I never said anything to anyone about Chuck Zuggart. I didn’t even know his name. Remember, I wasn’t at the high school then and I didn’t know the kids everyone else knew. But then you got me to thinking about Lucy again, and I started looking through the old yearbooks. And there he was.”
I, too, looked Chuck Zuggart’s way. The way he was turned, it was the first I noticed the new scar that had been added to his pug-ugliness since high school. It snaked along his neck, down from his ear and all the way to the neckline of his T-shirt. He was not a man I would want to tangle with, that was for sure. But in the great scheme of things, I was more qualified to do it than Ella would ever be.
“I know you think I’m silly for coming to a place like this on my own, Pepper,” Ella said, “but all I could think of was Lucy and how I owed her this. Lucy and Ariel. All I could think is that if something ever happened to Ariel, I’d want someone to stand up for her. That’s all I wanted to do. So please don’t think I’m a foolish old lady. After all this time, I just wanted to stand up for Lucy.”
I squeezed her hand. “You did. And now it’s time for the professional to take over.”
And before I could convince myself not to, I sauntered up to the bar.
Zuggart was busy pouring out beers and shots and I waited until he was finished.
“Got any Beatles on the jukebox?” I asked.
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “A little young for the Beatles, aren’t you?”
“Bet you are, too.” Oh, yes, I can be shameless when the situation calls for it. Shamelessly, I slanted myself against the bar just enough to show a little cleavage. He was interested. It was creepy. I kept smiling. “My parents used to listen to them and…I dunno…” One well-timed shrug and his gaze traveled down to where the lace edging of my cami veed between my breasts. “I’ve always liked their music. Man, can you imagine what it must have been like to see them in concert?”
“Believe it or not, I think I did.”
“No way!” He thought I was referring to the impossibility of him being old enough. He liked that. Good thing he didn’t realize I was actually questioning the think I did in that sentence. “What, your babysitter took you?”
“Oh, you’re good.” He poured a shot and slid it in front of me. “On the house,” he said.
I ran a finger around the rim of the glass. “Were they any good?”
“Hell if I know.” He’d poured a shot for himself, too, and Zuggart chugged it down. “The only thing I remember about that night is being high as a kite. That and puking my guts out when I got home.”
Colorful, yes, but not exactly an alibi.
“So you don’t remember talking to Lucy Pasternak at the concert?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say, “Who?” I knew, because of the way his brows dropped over his eyes for a second. The next second, though, they shot straight up. “Hey, I remember her. She was that chick who disappeared way back when I was in school.” Now, he really was interested in me. But not for the same reasons he was interested before. “What do you care?”
“I’m a relative.”
“Why do you think I know anything?”
“You talked to her at the concert.”
“Who says?”
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
He wiped a rag over the bar. “I might have talked to her.”
I slipped onto the nearest empty bar stool. “She told you to get lost.”
“So you think I had something to do with her gettin’ lost?” Zuggart pulled back his super-sized shoulders. “That ain’t polite.”
“Neither is murder.”
He leaned over so he was right in my face. “Do I look like a man who would hurt a fly?” he purred.
“If I wanted to know about flies, I might care.”
“Well, I didn’t do nothin’ to that stuck-up Lucy. And you’d better be careful if you’re tellin’ anybody I did.”
“But you don’t have an alibi.”
He was holding a bottle of whiskey and he slammed it against the bar. “What are you, a cop?” His question boomed through Hog Wild and the results were predictable.
I was the center of attention again, only this time there wasn’t as much lust in the eyes of the guys who looked me over as there was suspicion. Along with some anger and a whole bunch of hatred.
I glanced over at the table and tipped my head toward the door, signaling Ella and Delmar that it was time to hightail it out of there. I slipped off the bar stool.
Only since Leather Lady was right behind me, I stepped on her foot.
“Sorry.” I was. I liked these new sandals and didn’t want anything to happen to them. “I didn’t see you.”
“I was saving that seat for a friend of mine.” She stepped forward, and her elbow caught me in the ribs.
I’d tried to be polite, yes? But this was too much.
I didn’t even try for a smile. “I doubt that. I’m pretty sure you don’t have any friends.”
I think she was about to say something clever like, “Oh, yeah?” but she never had the chance. Down at the other end of the bar, Reggie jumped to his feet. He smashed a beer bottle against the bar just as another guy—short, wiry, and looking like he was out for blood—tackled him.
8
“I love these shoes.” I cradled one patent leather and cheetah print sandal for a last moment, then, rather than risk getting sloppy and sentimental, I kicked off its mate, scooped them both up, and padded across Ella’s kitchen to toss them in the garbage can under the sink.
“Sorry.” She was at the table, her head bent. And not just because she was feeling guilty. Ella had an ice pack on the back of her neck. It covered the purple bruise she’d gotten thanks to the beer can Leather Lady threw.
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” I said. “That beer can was meant for me.”
“But you wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me thinking I could go out and investigate on my own.” Ella’s shoulders heaved. “A bump on the back of the neck is a small price to pay for what I put you all through.”
“Good thing that beer can didn’t hit you smack on the head. It coulda done some real damage.” Reggie got a fresh ice pack from the freezer, took away the one on Ella’s neck, and replaced it, and she thanked him with a smile. He was looking at me over her head when he said, “Told you going to a place like that was a bad, bad idea.”
“Which it wouldn’t have been if you didn’t start mixing it up with that buddy of yours down at the end of the bar,” I reminded him.
Guilt wasn’t Reggie’s style. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot Ella (bruise or no bruise) had made the moment we walked in her back door. He blew on the hot coffee, sipped, and grinned. “I showed him a thing or two.”
“And you sure showed that fat lady!” Delmar told me. His excited smile dissolved when he looked Ella’s way and realized he might have offended.
“Get over it, kid.” Without ever looking up, she brushed aside his worries. “You’re not going to hurt my feelings. I’m way past stressing out about the size of my hips.”
“You’re not anywhere near the Shamu league,” I reminded her, but of course, thinking big (really big) made me think about Leather Lady, and that soured the coffee I’d already poured into my own mug. I added an extra sprinkle o
f sweetener. “If it wasn’t for that nasty, no good—”
Delmar whooped. “You gave as good as you got, Pepper, that’s for sure. When she elbowed you, you showed her!”
I didn’t need the reminder that I’d lost it. Childish, yes. But who could blame me? When Leather Lady came at me, I had to defend myself, and since I was no match for her incredible hulkness, I did the only thing I could do. I stomped her instep, so thrilled to watch her hop up and down and shriek, I hardly noticed that the impact of cute patent leather against meaty Big Foot broke my sandal.
That is, until Leather Lady stumbled into our table, and before he could get crushed, Delmar shoved her away.
And Leather Lady got really pissed and started flipping tables.
At the same time Reggie and his friend got into it and Reggie flew across the bar.
After that, the crowd at Hog Wild…well, they went hog wild.
The beer cans—and the fists—started flying, and it was time for a quick escape. That’s when I realized my sandal was history—it’s hard to run like hell in a broken shoe.
I propped my elbows on the table and dropped my chin into my hands. “I loved those shoes,” I muttered.
“The hell with your shoes. We’re lucky we got out of there with our heads.” Reggie took the chair next to mine. The swollen skin around his right eye was quickly turning from a shade of sickly red to a vivid and even sicklier purple. He slanted me a look and I could tell his face hurt because he clenched his jaw. Tough guy that he is, Reggie had refused any first aid. Nice guy that he is (and he’d deny it in an instant), he said it was more important for Ella to use the ice packs. “You think it was worth it?”
“In terms of my shoe wardrobe, obviously not. As far as my investigation . . .” I’d been so busy staying alive, I hadn’t had time to think about Chuck Zuggart. I shrugged. It was the only logical response. “He says he doesn’t remember anything about the night of the concert.”
Ella’s head came up. Since she didn’t have a tough-guy image to uphold, she winced for all she was worth. “But—”
“I know. You saw him talking to Lucy at the concert.”
“And—”
“And it might mean something.”
“But—”
“But it could mean nothing at all. Zuggart says he was high and he doesn’t remember much of anything that happened that night.”
“So he could have—”
“Sure. Or he could have been so drugged out Lucy could have fought him off with one hand tied behind her back.” Considering that Lucy had told me she’d been tied up by her kidnapper, it was my turn to wince. Then again, since no one knew this bit of info but me, I didn’t need to apologize.
“Except some drugs, they make you friggin’ powerful!” At that moment, I’ll bet Delmar wished he had some of them. He had a cut across his left cheek, his knuckles were raw, and one sleeve of his leather jacket was missing.
My sigh was echoed by the others around the table and I’ll bet our thoughts meshed, too: Chuck Zuggart might have had nothing to do with Lucy’s death. Or maybe he had.
And I was right back to where I started, except that now, my head was pounding, two of my fingernails were broken, and my newest favorite shoes…
I glanced toward the kitchen sink and the garbage can nestled beneath it, stretched my legs, and leaned back in the chair, the better to forget my problems.
While I tried, Ella dragged herself out of her chair and went to the cupboard for a package of Chips Ahoy. She grabbed three cookies for herself and put the bag on the table. After a long night of brawlin’ at the biker bar, there was nothing like sugar. Reggie, Delmar, and I nearly started another brawl all reaching for the cookies at the same time.
“I’ve wasted everyone’s time.” Ella had a mouthful of cookie and crumbs on her chin. “I put everyone in danger, and for what?”
“Hey, it was no skin off my nose,” Reggie said, and then he chuckled because his nose was raw. He got up and sauntered over to the door. I’d offered to drive both Reggie and Delmar home, but they insisted they’d had enough of the Pepper Martin brand of excitement for one night and had called a friend to come get them. Out in the drive, a car honked. “That’s more fun than I’ve had in I don’t know how long. Who would have thought you two cemetery ladies would be so down and dirty. And the best part—”
“We didn’t get nabbed.” Delmar popped two cookies into his mouth at the same time, grabbed another one for the road, and followed Reggie to the door. “Which means no dings on our probation reports.”
“I suppose that’s all good,” Ella mumbled once they were gone. “But it doesn’t help with our investigation, does it?”
I was getting a little nervous about how everybody was suddenly calling this our investigation. But I wasn’t about to argue the point with a woman who’d taken a whack from a beer can with my name on it. Now that I thought about the beer can incident, I actually smiled. Not because Ella got hurt! Believe me, it just about killed me to think what might have happened. I was grinning because if Leather Lady hit a short, round woman instead of the five-foot-eleven redhead she was targeting, it meant her aim was as nonexistent as her fashion sense.
That cheered me only as long as it took for me to realize that as far as the investigation went, Ella was right: we were no further along in explaining Lucy’s disappearance then we were before we went to Hog Wild.
And that meant only one thing.
It was time for me to talk to my client again.
This time, I’d make sure I had exact change.
Since Lucy had already been dead for forty-five years, I figured another couple days wouldn’t hurt anything one way or another. Besides, I was wiped out after our Friday night adventure. I canceled out on my Saturday night with Delmar, Reggie, and Absalom with the excuse that I’d already seen two of them the night before and I’d catch up with all three sometime soon. Then I spent the weekend in, napping and thinking, and while I was thinking, I was thinking how pathetic it was that a woman my age didn’t have anything better to do.
I remedied that on Monday. OK, so talking to Lucy might not exactly qualify as something better to do, but it was, at least, something. And doing something in the name of my investigation was better than doing nothing.
I slipped into a seat on the rapid, sliding aside the morning’s newspaper that someone had left there. No big surprise, the headlines were still all about that serial killer, Winston Churchill, and the front page promised more inside: photos of his childhood home, a look at his apartment, a one-on-one with a woman who’d actually survived one of his attacks. Too depressing. I scanned the articles briefly, all set to drop the paper onto the empty seat in front of me when something else caught my eye.
How predictable am I?
Of course, it was Quinn’s name along with the words arresting officer. As always, he was a man of few words. This time they pretty much consisted of a snappy, “No comment.”
At least there was no photo of Quinn accompanying the story. I got rid of the paper, sat back, and waited, avoiding the watchful eye of the transit cop lounging at the front of the car.
It didn’t take Lucy long to show up.
“I thought you’d given up on me.” Lucy put the back of one hand to her forehead. “Abandoned. Again. It was as if night had closed in around me, deep and impenetrable, and I was separated from all earthly things.”
“You pretty much are,” I reminded her while at the same time wondering if Lucy and Ella really weren’t sisters. Lucy and Ariel certainly shared the same drama gene. “I’ve been busy,” I told her.
“Investigating?”
It seemed simpler just to nod than to try to explain. “We need to talk about Patrick Monroe,” I told her.
“Oh.” It wasn’t my imagination. Lucy’s cheeks flushed a color that reminded me of fresh peaches.
My suspicion level rose. “He was your secret boyfriend.”
“Oh my gosh, no!” It was hard not to b
elieve someone who went from flushed to sickly green in a heartbeat. “Ew. Mr. Monroe? He was so old!”
I’d done my homework, and I pointed out that at the time he taught at Shaker, Patrick Monroe was all of twenty-three. “Not all that much older than the kids he taught.”
“Maybe. But definitely not boyfriend material.”
“Did he want to be?”
“My boyfriend?” She tried to make it sound like the thought had never crossed her mind, but I am not easily fooled.
I turned just enough in my seat to make it look natural to the living around me, and clear to the dead that I wasn’t going to back down.
Lucy glanced away. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I think Mr. Monroe would have liked that.”
I knew the value of a well-timed stall so I kept my mouth shut.
Lucy squirmed in her seat. Sighed. Made a face. “He used to write poetry for me,” she said and grimaced. “Bad poetry. I mean, really bad poetry. He’d slip the poems into my locker and sign them Anonymous. Like that was supposed to fool me? What high school boy would think to sign his poems Anonymous? The guys I knew couldn’t even spell it.”
“So did you tell Monroe you didn’t appreciate his artistic efforts?”
“I told him I didn’t think it was right when he tried to kiss me after class one day.”
My stomach soured. “He didn’t force you, did he?”
“It was nothing like that.” Lucy pressed her lips together, no doubt coming to grips with exactly how she felt about the situation. “Hey, it was the sixties, and everyone was into free love and free thought. You know, all the groovy stuff. But I didn’t think it was groovy. Not with an old guy like Mr. Monroe. He tried. I told him I wasn’t interested. He backed off. That’s pretty much all there was to it.”
“But you decided to report him to the principal.”
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