Riga cursed, picked up the barbeque and hurled it through the glass door. Its safety glass exploded inward, shattering into harmless fragments. She stepped inside and hurried to Liz, her eyes streaming from the fumes. Riga knelt beside her, pressed two fingers to her neck. The flesh was cool but a weak pulse beat there. Hands trembling, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and called 911, then called down to the guard to alert him. She grabbed a soft, black and white checked blanket off the couch and draped it over Liz, then opened the front door to create a breezeway and to let the rescue squad in when they arrived.
Riga took stock of her surroundings for the first time. The condo was a writhing mass of vines. Liz had painted twining grapevines on every spare space, even painting over existing paintings. She’d turned the walls into a mural – a Greek temple, heavy with vines. How long had it taken Liz to paint all this?
Slowly, as if drawn there, Riga crossed the room to examine one small, square painting amidst the chaos. It showed the stairs to a second-story flat, white paint peeling off its crooked wooden walls. Grapevines wound about the steps and through a metal lattice above the door. Riga sucked in her breath. She knew this place. She’d lived there for three years. It was her old flat in the Republic of Georgia. The small purple grapes that grew above her door, she remembered, had been sickeningly sweet and she tasted that sweetness in the back of her throat now.
How had Liz chosen the scene? Riga hadn’t shown any photos to her – she had none to share. They’d spoken of post-Soviet Georgia, but this painting was inexplicable. Riga prowled the room. There were more paintings of Georgia – a scene of vineyards below a crumbling church, a narrow cobblestoned street beneath a balcony dripping vines. These were all scenes Riga knew and loved, but the sight of them here raised goose bumps on her arms.
Riga shook herself. Now was not the time for this mystery. The medics would want to know more about Liz’s condition. She found the bathroom, taking Liz’s prescriptions from the medicine cabinet and setting them upon the coffee table beside Liz for the medics to find. Riga located the stereo and turned it off, feeling immediate relief in the silence. The pounding music had been on a continuous loop – there was no telling from it how long her neighbor had lain there.
An ambulance arrived twenty minutes later, the police and fire department not long after. Riga explained what she knew of Liz’s medical condition, and handed them the pill bottles. They said they’d be in touch with her doctor, and let her know (politely) that they’d prefer it if Riga got out of the way. The police didn’t question her presence there, accepting Riga’s lie that the two had had plans and when Liz didn’t answer the door, she had grown worried enough to check.
Riga escaped as soon as she could. Hovering in her own doorway, she called down to the security desk and arranged for the guard on duty to board up Liz’s balcony door tonight, until it could be repaired.
Finally, the medics emerged with a stretcher.
“What hospital are you taking her to?” Riga asked as they wheeled Liz to the elevator.
“Mercy,” one of the medics said, walking backwards.
“Will she be okay?” She glanced at the small, still form.
He pressed the down button on the elevator. “It’s too soon to tell.”
Riga nodded. She closed her door on the scene and went to the window to tell Brigitte, who paced the wall in agitation.
“We have done all we could,” Brigitte said.
Riga wondered. She threw herself onto the couch and stared blankly about her, worrying that she had forgotten to do something for Liz. She thought Liz had a mother in Florida. She should have checked Liz’s cell to get her mother’s number but it was locked back in Liz’s condo. She wasn’t going to go over the balcony again for it.
Too wired to settle in for the night, Riga walked to the billiard parlor, tactical flashlight in hand. She didn’t need the flashlight to see, but it doubled as a weapon and Riga never took safety for granted in the city. The chill night air froze her jitters into a quiet stillness. Street lights darkened as Riga approached, flickering back on after she’d passed.
As her hand grasped the cool metal handle of the door to the billiard parlor, Riga shivered. She pulled open the heavy door, hesitating at the threshold. Dark shapes moved in the gloomy interior, music and voices smothered. A warm stench rolled outward and Riga wrinkled her nose in disgust, feeling prickles of alarm.
She went inside, winding through the crowd. People stood shoulder to shoulder and she realized that the odor she smelled was unwashed bodies. The billiard parlor attracted a wide variety of people, she reflected, but they were usually… clean. A man turned suddenly, bumping into her.
“Sorry,” he slurred.
She stepped back, startled by the deadened look in his eyes, his stained clothing, his foul breath. He rubbed his cheek, scratched at the early growth of beard sprouting in patches from his pallid face.
Riga glanced around, felt her mouth go dry. Everyone was in a similar state.
Except for one.
She made her way through the crowd, where a familiar figure leaned against the bar, watching her.
“Riga,” Donovan said. “I wondered when you’d turn up.”
Chapter 19: Venus Flytrap
Riga began to say something to Donovan then stopped, shocked by the sight of Surfer Pete. Behind the bar, Pete moved like the shambling undead, an uneven growth of blonde beard upon his face. His eyes glowed pink in the dim light.
“Hi, Riga. Get you something?” he mumbled.
“Pete! What happened? You look terrible!”
He twitched his shoulders. “Just workin’. The usual?”
“God, no. Where’s Takako?“
Takako stumbled from the backroom, ricocheting off the bar. “Ow,” she mumbled, rubbing her hip. Her hair was lank, her lips cracked. “-Lo, Riga. Drink?”
Riga looked around with dawning horror. The doublemint twins leaned against a pool table, still wearing their spangled silver outfits. “You’ve been here all this time,” Riga said. “You haven’t left. None of you have left.” She turned to Donovan, feeling pressure build in her head. “This place has become a trap. People come in but no one’s left. Except for you. And me.”
Donovan looked around, his dark brow furrowed. “I thought this place was getting seedy. That would explain it.”
Her mind flared with fear and rage. She called it by name, letting it evaporate and an icy calm descended.
Riga gripped Pete hard by the wrist. “Go home,” she said.
The muscles in his arms and torso jerked, as if he’d received an electric shock. He blinked, looking dazed.
Riga released Pete as if she’d been burned. “You need to go home now,” she repeated.
The noise level in the billiard parlor plummeted. She turned. Everyone’s eyes were on her, the force of their regard pressing upon her like a weight. “Go home,” she shouted. “All of you!”
As if a breath were being held, motion was suspended. Then someone turned and lurched to the door. Like a dam breaking, others followed, streaming into the cool night air.
Her dark calm evaporated and the world tilted. Riga’s knees buckled. She grabbed the bar to keep from falling. Donovan seized her elbow and put his other arm around her shoulders. She trembled in his arms, unsure if her knees would support her.
“Are you alright?” he asked in a low voice.
“Yes.” She tried to take a step, stumbled. Her brain felt disconnected from her body. “No.”
“Let’s get you out of here.”
“My office is upstairs,” she said.
They waited until Takako had locked the place up, watching her fall into a cab. They didn’t speak until they were inside Riga’s office.
Unwillingly, she stepped out of Donovan’s protective embrace, and removed a bottle of brandy from one of her desk drawers. She fumbled with the top, watching him take in her Spartan office.
“Interesting place you’ve got he
re,” he said. “It’s not what I would have expected.”
She splashed brandy into the glasses. “Why would a girl with a place on Nob Hill have a grotty little office like this one?”
“I wouldn’t call it grotty. But the thought crossed my mind.”
“The condo’s not mine. I did a favor for the owner, he lets me stay there.”
Donovan raised an eyebrow. “Must have been some favor.” He turned to examine the whiteboard and the photos from Helen’s house. “This is the case you’re working on now?”
She walked over and handed him a glass. “That’s my client.”
“Gruesome,” he said, nodding at the photos on the board. He put the shot glass to his lips, and knocked it back. “How are you feeling now?”
Riga took a swallow of the brandy, made a face. “Better.” She half-sat, half-leaned against the desk, stretching her long legs before her. “It’s been a rough night.”
He gazed at her, his cool green eyes appraising. “Did something else happen?”
She told him about Liz.
Donovan held the empty shot glass against his lips, considering. He reached past her for the bottle, closing the distance between them. His hand grazed hers and she felt electricity dance between them.
“You saved her,” he said.
“Maybe.”
“How did you know there was something wrong?”
She had to crane her neck to look at him, he was so close. Riga liked the feel of him in her orbit. “With Liz? I don’t know, I just knew.”
“You must have sensed something,” he pressed. “What was it?”
Riga thought about it. “I could hear music through her door,” she said slowly. “There was a strong scent of paint. But I didn’t sense her inside. I didn’t sense anything and I think that’s what was wrong. I should have felt her presence there.”
“That makes sense. But it doesn’t explain what just happened downstairs.”
“Why did you go to the billiard parlor? The first time, I mean? Why that place?”
He shrugged. “The hotel bored me. I wanted to go somewhere and began to drive. I ended up there and then you walked in and I knew I was in the right place.”
She felt a shiver of pleasure at his words, but they were just words, she reminded herself. “But why were you able to leave when no one else did?”
“Why were you?” he countered.
Riga raked a hand through her auburn hair. “Do you mean to say you have no idea why this is happening?”
“I’m not even sure what is going on, much less why. What happened back there, Riga? If the place was a trap, why were you able to release the others? And why is it that wherever I go, there you are?”
Riga laughed. The sound was an octave higher than normal. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
They stared at each other. “So,” he continued, “it appears that one or both of us are causing whatever’s going on. You’re right, we seem to be entangled.” He didn’t sound displeased by the thought.
He reached past her again, taking the stack of Tarot cards from her desk, riffling through them. “What’s this?” He placed a finger on the graph she’d drawn on her desk.
“I was trying to develop a model of the universe, but it’s still a work in progress.”
At his look, she said, “I know, better minds than I have attempted it. But my model takes a magical perspective.”
“What’s missing?”
“A reason why the dimensions sometimes bump up against each other – or at least, that’s my explanation for the encounters people report with UFOs and certain supernatural beings, or even deities. I don’t think they’re coming here, I think our dimensions sometimes cross and there and here become the same place. That’s what brings us into contact with them.”
“Them? Like faeries?” Donovan asked.
Riga shuddered. “Faeries too, though they seem to be able to hang around our plane longer. My model doesn’t explain why the dimensions cross, or why certain beings manage to stay while others just pop in and out for brief moments. Of course, the dimensions may not cross at all – many believe that certain entities simply have the ability to move between them. However, they never stay long and events seem to repeat in certain localities, so I think there’s an exogenous factor.” God, she sounded pompous. Why did she always go into professor mode when someone asked her about magic?
He traced the X axis with his finger. “What’s imaginary time?”
“Any time we’re not in – the past, the future. To us, it’s all imaginary, which theoretically means we can access all those points.”
He turned away from her as if bored by the topic and went to the whiteboard, looking at the Tarot card she’d affixed there. “Do you use these in your investigations?”
“Sometimes.”
“You can’t swing a cat without hitting a psychic in Vegas. Most are frauds.”
“Most?”
“The others are merely deluded.” He turned to her, his smile shark-like. “I prefer the frauds.”
“You’ve never encountered one that you thought was real?”
“No. You find that surprising?”
“You say you’re a skeptic, but you’re awfully open to what’s happening now, to me, to us. Or are you just humoring me?”
“No. I want to see how it will end. Don’t you?”
Riga poured herself another drink. She wasn’t so sure.
Chapter 20: The Devil
Donovan drove her home. He was quiet on the short drive back to Riga’s place and she realized after he’d dropped her off that once again, she’d failed to extract any real information from him.
Riga channeled her irritation into work, banging out her article on Aaron’s projects. She e-mailed it to Dora, feeling a sense of satisfaction that she’d completed something today.
But she tossed and turned that night, sleeping late the following morning. When she finally arrived at her office, she found the door open, loud voices echoing from within. Riga entered cautiously, sensing nothing good was in the offing.
A man sat behind her desk, rummaging through the drawers. He was thin and sandy haired, with a nose like a blade, and wore a buttoned up blue shirt with a plastic badge clipped to the pocket. A doughy woman with what looked like a Geiger counter wanded the wall. Another woman pulled books from the shelf.
The man looked up as Riga entered. “You can’t come in here,” he barked.
“Strange. I pay rent on the place.” Riga pulled a visitor’s chair out and sat down across the desk from him, crossing a leg over one knee. “What’s going on?”
“You’re Riga Hayworth?” he said.
She nodded.
He slid a form across the desk to her. Her heart sank when she saw the pink and yellow sheets below it – carbon copies could not be good news.
“We’re from the Environmental Commission,” he said.
“You’re from the EPA?” Riga said blankly, not looking at the papers.
“No. They’re federal. We’re with the city. It’s come to our attention you don’t have an environmental permit for your operations. This is an order to cease and desist all operations until our findings are completed.”
Riga sucked in her breath. “I wasn’t aware private investigators needed an environmental permit,” she said coolly.
“You’re not a regular private investigator though. In fact, it’s unclear what category you fall under or what you’ve been doing here.”
“I don’t even have an air conditioner,” she said, gesturing to the walls. The heating had never worked either, but she didn’t expect any sympathy on that score. “My operations don’t have any unusual affect on the environment.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
She shrugged. “If the city wants to waste taxpayer money on me—“
“The city won’t. You’ll be paying for the review.”
Riga compressed her lips, too angry to speak.
“W
e’ll let you know when our review has been completed,” he said dismissively.
She felt a curse building inside her head, and ached to blast the smarmy bastard with it. In the back of her mind, she wondered about that – she’d never felt the urge to curse anyone before. Her rage dropped away as if a switch had been flipped.
Riga stood to go and her eyes fell upon the whiteboard. Her heart beat faster. A new Tarot card – the Devil – had been stuck to the board with a word magnet like those on Helen’s refrigerator. The magnet said, “Refrigerator.” She stepped closer to the whiteboard, peering at the photos she’d taken of Helen’s refrigerator. She found the “refrigerator” word magnet in a photo, just below the haiku and the box of words that surrounded it. Had one of the environmental inspectors added it, or had Donovan?
If the magnet had been taken from Helen’s house, it must have happened after the police had left. Unless… had Helen’s back door been locked? Could someone have been in the house with Riga, taken the magnet, and then escaped out the back door before the police arrived? Riga filched the picture when no one was looking.
She stepped into the hallway, and dug through her wallet for the card the investigating officer had left her, made the call.
“This is Riga Hayworth.”
There was a pause. “Who?” the policewoman said.
“I’m the detective who found Helen Baro’s body.”
“Oh, the metaphysical detective. What do you want?”
“Was the back door locked when you arrived at the house?”
“And why should I tell you that?”
“I think it was locked. But someone left a refrigerator magnet on my whiteboard today and it looks like it came from Helen’s house.” Riga saw Mr. Chen standing outside his door. He caught her eye and she raised a finger – one moment.
“You’re calling me about a refrigerator magnet?” the policewoman said.
“Which may have been removed from a crime scene.”
“It’s not a crime scene. There’s no evidence that it was anything but an accident.”
“Then you won’t mind confirming if the door was locked?”
The Metaphysical Detective (A Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mystery) Page 10