“Photographs?” Lennox, not missing a trick, gazed at me with the eyes of an investigating detective. “You have some photographs of Avon Bailey Jr.?”
Despite everything, I wasn’t yet willing to completely betray Harley’s confidence. But an unnerving thought came and wouldn’t leave. What did Avon Bailey have to do with Charlie Risko’s murder? Lennox’s eyes were still on me, patiently waiting for an answer. I had to come up with something. I went with the truth. Or close to it.
“I don’t have them,” I said quickly. “But I think they exist.”
“If you know anything about them, you’d better tell the police.” Lennox’s serious voice said he wasn’t playing. “Odessa, you don’t know where this is going to go. That kid has been missing for a very long time, and if his body shows up, you don’t want to be the person who had information you didn’t hand over.”
He watched me closely, making me feel like a suspect, but then he changed his tone. “I don’t mean to scare you. Just don’t borrow trouble that doesn’t belong to you.”
“I already have,” I said, as much to myself as to him. There was genuine concern in his eyes but he didn’t push it. I was grateful for that.
“Want some more tea?” It was an awkward attempt to change the subject. I appreciated that, too.
“I’d better be on my way,” I said, my voice sounding smaller than I meant it to.
“He probably ran away,” Lennox said after a moment. “His father threw him out of the house and that’s probably what happened. From what I understand, he was a bitter, nasty man who could be violent when he drank. The kid may have run away out of spite.”
“Is his father still in town?”
“Last I heard, he died destitute in an old folks’ home over in Clifftown. That was a shame because his family owned a lot of property.”
“They call them senior citizens’ residences now,” I said, gently correcting him.
“Thanks. Better keep that in mind. You never know when I’ll be needing one,” he joked, and things were light again between us. I wondered how long that would last.
Chapter 13
It was Monday morning. Nearly two weeks had passed since Charlie Risko’s murder, and the office was still haunted. My skin crawled whenever I walked through the front door. Every now and then, I’d catch a whiff of nutmeg, thankfully not as strong as the day the murder happened, but impossible to ignore—and believe me I tried. Was it the elusive gift “speaking” again—a reminder of what had happened or a hint of what was to come? Whatever it was, I was sick of it, and as I did every morning, I took a deep, calming breath as I settled into my cubicle.
Vinton saw me and smiled. “Morning, Sunshine. Looks like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, adding an edge to his usual greeting. “Sunshine” had recently become his pet name of choice, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but it could have been worse.
“She always looks like she’s seen a ghost,” said Dennis Lane, who got nastier by the day. He’d never been friendly to me, but his words this morning delivered a particularly worrisome jolt following my talk with Lennox. “Hear anything from your buddy Harley? Heard he got out of jail with a lock on his ankle. So much for riding around on his bike.” His mocking tone straightened the hair on the back of my neck.
“Leave the girl alone.” Vinton came to my defense. “We all know what’s going on with Harley. Just drop it.”
“If you say so, old man.” Passing a sneer off as a smile, Dennis turned back to his laptop, leaving me to wonder why the heck he was picking on me. I figured it had something to do with Tanya. Was he losing his grip on her?
“We’ve all been through enough,” Vinton whispered to me. My pained expression must have given me away. “Don’t let him get to you, Dessa.” He paused for a moment and leaned closer. “You haven’t heard from Juda, have you?”
I smiled to lighten my response. “Vinton, you know I never hear from Juda.”
“I’m worried about her, Dessa. Something’s going on.”
“You think something’s happened to her?” Was that what the nutmeg was saying?
“You never know in this damn place.”
“I’m sure she’s okay,” I said to reassure him, but I wasn’t so certain.
I hadn’t seen Juda in a while but noticed then that there was something different about her. A lingering shadow surrounded her, not definite enough to be a glimmer, but grayish, almost colorless. Her eyes were empty and her face looked as if it had been hollowed out, all life sucked from it. I also noticed she was letting her hair go back to its natural color, mousy brown speckled with gray. She was the keeper of Charlie Risko’s secrets. How long would she keep them?
My instincts (let’s call it the gift) warned me to keep what I’d guessed about Charlie’s secrets and the involvement of his coworkers to myself until I knew more. Only then would I share what I knew with Lennox and finally the police. Hopefully, it might clear Harley of murder, but I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t know how deeply he was tied into all that had happened but I knew he was involved. Everyone, including Dennis Lane, seemed to know more than me.
I settled back in my chair, turned on my iPhone, put in my ear buds, and looked for a free meditation app, then got tired of looking for one for which I didn’t need to create an account. I closed my eyes and counted, focused on my breath, and asked myself yet again why the hell I kept coming in here. The answer was plain and simple: I had to work. I had two rental deals pending, and the possibility of a house sale (rare for me). It was a short sale, which usually involves sadness and loss, though not as bad as with a foreclosure. I’d never done a short sale before but knew I had to be registered with a legitimate Realtor.
Despite my suspicions about the place, Risko Realty maintained a legitimate presence in the market. This was officially my place of business. Besides that, my office account had been paid for when Charlie was alive, which included the right to use all the office equipment—phones, printers, stationery, exclusive websites, special forms—whatever was needed to do official business. Going to Staples was out of the question. Unless I planned to depend upon Aunt Phoenix’s charity every month, I was stuck here; now was not the time to quit. I had to adjust. I pushed back in my chair, avoided looking at anybody directly, and wondered, and not for the first time, about my coworkers. Things had certainly changed yet strangely remained the same.
Bertie sat in her usual place, close to me but not too close. She said very little these days. Her smile was always weary and more subdued than I’d ever seen it. She rarely mentioned Louella or Erika, which had always brought excitement—good or bad—into her eyes. I didn’t know what was going on in her family but thought it best not to push her. Sooner or later she’d share her troubles, she always did. But I missed her wisecracking banter with Vinton and sensed that he did, too. A couple of times he baited her, but she ignored his quips, focusing instead on whatever lay on her desk. I wondered if she still wanted me to come by with the pound cake, but she didn’t mention it again and I knew she hated surprises. Bertie was, as my aunt might put it, a well you could easily drown in. I’d leave it to Aunt Phoenix to explain what she meant by that.
Ever since our chocolate-chip-cookie-gin-and-tonic soiree, Vinton had claimed me as his long lost sister. He greeted me each morning with some good-natured remark and had become oddly protective. On more than one occasion, he walked me to my car as if he feared for my safety. Except for the coffee and grin, he almost filled the space Harley had left, yet I still missed Harley’s smile and good nature.
I kept a suspicious, wary eye on Dennis Lane. I was growing more afraid of him by the day, and hoped he didn’t notice. I sensed it would feed his ego, making him grow stronger. I knew now I was in the presence of a con man, a good one, and whenever he glanced my way, I touched my mother’s amulet for protection; even without chewing the cloves, it made me feel safer. He studied me curiously from time to time but mostly ignored me. I’d once seen him as attractive and ch
arming but now saw and heard nothing but manipulation when he “charmed” his clients in his quiet, seductive voice.
I was also worried about Tanya. She thought she was tough but was actually a naïve young woman with money and a business. An easy mark for a smart con man who was trying to edge his way into her heart. I suspected that Dennis saw me as a possible threat to whatever long con he was planning to run, and I knew that would put me in danger.
Yet, day by day, Tanya was growing stronger. Free of Charlie Risko, she was winging it on her own. For one thing, she stopped wearing those clinging turtlenecks, willing to let the world witness her fading bruises. Her black leather motorcycle pants had been replaced by jeans, still tight as a snake’s skin but softened by bright-colored tees, well-tailored jackets, and stylish, expensive heels or sneakers. One morning, a furniture mover had noisily hauled out furniture from her office. Later that day, painters had come to “freshen up” the place, as she put it. She must have had a major delivery of office furniture overnight. When she called me into her office at noon, I was pleasantly surprised.
“Well, how do you like it?” She stood up and gestured around the room, her eyes big as they waited for my approval. “I’ve made some changes. I’ve been keeping the door locked because I wanted to surprise everyone after all the work was done. If you don’t have plans, can I take you to lunch?” she added in the same breath, then sat back down in the new chair covered in pink damask.
Signs of Charlie Risko were nowhere to be seen. Gone was the heavy mahogany desk where he used to rest his gun beside his helmet and expensive leather gloves. There were no more tacky velvet armchairs or behind-breaking, hardbacked chairs meant to intimidate and torture those sitting before him in judgment. The room was now blazingly white, and she’d headed back to her favorite decorating source (Pottery Barn) for tips on office furniture. Her desk was a sleek, economical wonder of glass and steel. A white china vase waiting for a bouquet of fresh flowers was now where the helmet and gloves once sat. A chic, comfortable sofa, covered with the same fabric as her chair, was in front of her desk, inviting coworkers to lounge and chat. A matching one stood against a far wall. There was no trace left of the back door that had led to the alley. Sealed, primed, and painted, it was as if it never existed.
“Have a seat,” she said, pointing to the sofa in front of her desk. “So what do you think?”
I sat on the comfortable sofa across from her, too stunned to speak.
“Cat got your tongue? What do you think?” she asked again, like an eager child.
“Took my breath away,” I truthfully admitted.
She grinned, obviously pleased to hear it. “Nope, nothing left of him. He’s gone for good.”
“This is quite a change, Tanya, and done very quickly.”
A shadow came over her face. Not quite a glimmer, I decided, simply a change that I didn’t know how to interpret. “I’m glad he’s dead,” she said.
“Don’t say that too loud,” I said as neutrally as I could.
“Why not? It’s the truth, and my grandpa taught me not to lie. I told you about Pa Nettie and what a good man he was. Everything Charlie wasn’t. Why shouldn’t I say the truth?”
“Because it’s in . . . in bad taste,” I said finally. I sounded like somebody’s prissy aunt. “Your grandpa would probably agree.”
“Talking about taste, you ready to have some lunch?” she said, gracelessly changing the subject. “When we come back, I want to show it to everybody, but I wanted to show you first,” she added, like a grade-school girlfriend sharing a secret.
* * *
We ended up at a diner down the street, one of Grovesville’s better-known twenty-four-hour spots. Darryl and I would come here late nights if we’d been in the city for a show or he was late getting home from work and we didn’t feel like cooking. It was one of the few places where we regularly ate. The décor was classic Jersey diner. Shimmering aluminum and colored tube lights on the outside, jukebox, shiny Naugahyde seating, and bright fluorescent ceiling lights that gave everything a greenish cast on the inside. But the food was surprisingly tasty, though heavy on fat and salt. You could order a drink, which we always did. A dry martini for Darryl, a glass of red wine for me. Salad and burgers were our usual fare—reassuringly familiar. It all came back in a rush when we walked into the place. My breath stuck in my throat.
“You okay?” Tanya asked when we were shown to our seats.
“Yeah, just memories. My husband and I used to come in here nights. It makes me remember again how much I miss him.”
“I wish I had someone to miss like that, good memories of a true love like that.” Her wistful voice turned hard as she continued. “Me and Charlie used to come in here, too, after he’d have me out on one of those damned motorcycle rides until all times of the night.”
“I thought you liked to ride!”
“No! Give me a Mercedes-Benz or BMW. We could have afforded both, but he was too cheap.”
“Well, you can afford it now,” I said, taking all judgment out of my voice.
“I’m selling that stupid motorcycle. If you know anyone who’s interested let me know. All his motorcycle junk is gone now. That dumb helmet, his funky jacket, all of it.” She paused for a moment and her lips parted in a slight, wicked smile. “I already dropped it off with somebody who actually might want his crap.”
“Juda?” I took a chance.
“How did you know?”
“I’d heard that she and Charlie were together once and—”
She interrupted, another wicked little smile parting her lips. “Well, now Miss Juda Baker can have something to remember him by. Our office is full of nosy tale-telling folks, isn’t it?” she said as she went through the menu, avoiding my eyes, then put it down and looked across the table at me. “What did you hear?”
I picked up my menu, slowly went through it, pausing before I answered. “The usual stuff.”
“Like what?” She glared at me now, daring me to answer.
“That they were together before you-all were.”
“According to her, they were still together. At least in her head.”
“You sound jealous.”
“Come on! In a minute, you’ll be saying I killed that fool out of jealousy. So now you think maybe I killed Charlie Risko?” she said teasingly, mocking me more than anything else.
“I don’t know about that, but there was a lot of stuff going on between him and you and everybody else that I don’t understand,” I said, telling the truth.
“Why don’t you ask Juda? She thinks she knew everything about Charlie Risko there was to know.”
“And you weren’t jealous?”
“Of . . . Studebaker?” She spat out Charlie’s derisive nickname. “Ask her, when you get a chance.”
“I think I will,” I said, turning to the menu again and ending the conversation.
I ordered a tuna fish sandwich and a Diet Coke; Tanya ordered a Cobb salad and a Bud Light. I’ve never been good at small talk and, apparently, neither was she; we ate our meals in silence. She turned talkative on the way back to the office.
“I haven’t heard from Harley, have you?” She was walking at a breakneck pace, obviously anxious to get back to show off her new office; it was all I could do to keep up with her. “After I got him that lawyer and all. You’d think at least he’d have the decency to call me, see how I’m doing. He’s not answering his phone, if it’s still on.” She stopped for a moment, waited for me to catch up, then pouted a little pout.
“I haven’t heard from him either. I need to get in touch with him about his bird,” I said. I hadn’t heard from Aunt Phoenix and hoped everything was okay.
“What kind of a man keeps a stupid bird, anyway?” she said, regaining her pace.
“One who loves his mama.”
“I really don’t give a damn about him anymore one way or other,” she said. “Don’t tell him I said that, though.”
When we got back to the of
fice, Tanya called everyone into her “new” space for a toast. She pulled out a bottle of surprisingly good champagne that she had on ice in the sink in her bathroom and poured us all a generous glass.
“To new times,” she said enthusiastically.
“We’ll wait and see,” muttered Vinton, downing a second glass.
Dennis Lane gave her a mysterious smile, tossed back his drink, and headed out without saying anything else. Bertie sipped hers in thoughtful silence.
* * *
At the end of the day, Vinton walked me to my car, despite the fact that I assured him I could take care of myself. I suspected that this walk was more for him than me, his hedge against the loneliness I now knew stalked him.
“Nobody seemed too surprised by her changes,” I said, making conversation.
“Nah, we all poked around in there when she took you to lunch. That office wasn’t a surprise to anybody. You-all best friends now?”
I detected a note of envy in his voice and shook my head to reassure him. “She doesn’t call me Sunshine,” I said, and he smiled. “I wouldn’t say we’re friends. She’s young, Vinton. Probably reaching out to me because I’ve had a loss like hers.”
“Her loss is nothing like yours, like mine. Just watch your back. Don’t trust her as far as you can throw her. You don’t want to end up like her late dearly beloved.”
“I don’t think it was her.”
“Dessa, you don’t know who it was or is or might end up being. Don’t take any chances. Listen, do you mind stopping by Juda’s with me? I called her last night and all day today. She’s still not answering her phone, and I’m worried about her.”
“I don’t think she’ll welcome me. You-all are friends, but I don’t think she likes me. She hardly speaks to me, and I’m about ready to give up on her. What’s her problem?”
“There’s a lot behind that, believe me. I’ll make us all a gin and tonic when we get there and maybe she’ll loosen up. I brought her a bottle of gin when I saw her yesterday afternoon. Good stuff, something called Ransom Old Tom. It cost a king’s ransom. She promised we’d crack it open together. How about it?”
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