by Meg Benjamin
She suddenly knew exactly what he was thinking. A dowdy nobody like you goes clubbing? She took a firmer grip on her patience. “Yes, Mr. Delwin, I’ve been to the club. More than once.”
Delwin had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. But only slightly. “Then you can introduce me. I’d like to talk to the people who hired her.”
Rose paused. The Nightmare was one of the places where she picked up the occasional client for Locators. Augie Garcia, the manager, might not know exactly what Locators did, but he knew enough to inadvertently say something that might make Delwin suspicious.
“It’ll have to be during the day. I have commitments in the evening.”
Delwin gave her another one of those looks that seemed to say: You do something in the evening besides watching Lifetime?
Oh, just screw it. Screw him. Which might be sort of interesting.
She caught her breath. Where the hell had that thought come from? “When did you want to go there?”
Delwin shrugged. “How about now?”
“Sure.” Rose managed not to sigh.
***
The best Evan could say about Nightmare on Novalis was that it didn’t look as bad as he’d expected. True, fake spiderwebs did hang from the corners and a stuffed Frankenstein doll was propped up behind the bar, along with some plastic skeletons along the far wall. And it was the middle of the afternoon, which made everything look a little more tawdry. But hell, he’d seen worse.
He’d worked in worse.
The bar was mostly empty. Not surprising, given that it was only a little past three. A couple of men in shirtsleeves sat at the back, half-empty beer glasses on the table in front of them. Evan gave the room a quick once-over—tables in the middle, booths along the sides, bar stretching along one wall across from the entrance. Ordinary.
One wall had been painted with phosphorescent paint. It glowed with a faint blue-green luminosity under the track lighting. Probably black lights, which meant anyone sitting nearby would resemble a zombie. But maybe that’s what the management of the Nightmare wanted—if you came to a place like this, maybe you didn’t mind looking like you’d been dead for a while.
The bartender was loading beer into the cooler, deliberately not looking their way. He was maybe five-foot-five, with slightly rounded shoulders and a somewhat concave chest. If any drunks gave him trouble he’d have to either use sarcasm or a sawed-off pool cue. Given the man’s physique and the Nightmare’s ambiance, Evan was betting on the latter.
Rose Ramos strolled easily across the room toward the bar, as if she’d been in the place a few times before. Apparently, she hadn’t been exaggerating about knowing her way around. The bartender nodded at her. “Hey, Rose, what’s up?”
“Not much, Rudy.”
She slid decorously onto a barstool. Evan suddenly got a glimpse of her nicely rounded behind, like a perfect apple. Why the hell would she want to hide that under those baggy khaki slacks? The woman had the worst fashion sense he’d ever encountered.
Rose didn’t even glance his way. “Who’s doing the booking for the séances these days, Rudy? Suzanne?”
Rudy shrugged. “Suz quit. Moved to Austin. Augie’s doing it himself.”
Evan caught Rose’s quick frown. Whoever Augie was, he didn’t think Rose liked him.
The bartender turned in Evan’s direction, his expression stony. “Can I get you something, mister?”
Evan shrugged. “Negra Modelo. You want anything, Ms. Ramos?” He put a little extra emphasis on the Ms., just to see if he could get a rise out of her.
Rose blinked and then turned back to the bartender. “Give me a club soda and lime, Rudy.”
The bartender pulled a beer out of the cooler while Evan slid onto a stool beside Rose, trying to fold his legs under the bar. “So who’s Augie?”
“The manager. He’s part owner of the club.”
“Okay, I’ll swing back this evening and talk to him.” Evan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the slightly tacky surface of the bar. Oh yeah, real classy joint here.
Rose shook her head. “He won’t talk to you—you’re a stranger. They don’t take to strangers too well here. I’ll talk to him.”
Evan got the feeling she wasn’t exactly ecstatic at the idea, but for some reason she was even less enthusiastic about letting him do the talking. The bartender placed his bottle on the bar and slid Rose’s glass on top of a coaster.
Other than serving him beer, the man continued to studiously ignore Evan’s existence. The bartender focused on Rose again. “What do you need to talk to Augie about? Maybe I can help.”
Rose glanced up at him, smiling. “Maybe. So the club’s still doing séances?”
He paused, staring off into the darkness at the back of the room. “I don’t mess with the mediums much. Not my kind of people, you know?”
“We just wanted some information, Rudy. It’s nothing serious. We’re trying to find one of the mediums—we might want to hire her. Alana DuBois? You remember her?” Rose’s voice was warmly reassuring.
Rudy licked his lips. “Nope. They’re all alike to me.”
Right. You didn’t need to be an expert to know that was bullshit. Evan wondered if Rudy disliked mediums in general, or one medium in particular. Suddenly, Alana DuBois seemed a bit more interesting than she had before.
As Rose leaned forward for another question, the swinging door on the other side of the bar flew open with percussive force, enough to make Evan brace himself.
A man paused in the doorway, filling the space for a moment before walking toward them. His shoulders and chest rolled with muscle beneath his Pantera T-shirt. His long black hair was pulled back tightly. His legs were so heavily developed they almost bowed under their own weight.
If the guy had looked even slightly angry, Evan figured he’d need to start throwing chairs in self–defense. Fortunately, he was smiling.
“Rosie,” he rumbled, “Que paso, babe? Long time no see.” He sounded a lot like a talking landslide.
“Augie.” Rose smiled tightly. “Good to see you again.”
She didn’t look like it was really all that good. Evan decided not to question why he felt that was a good thing.
“You looking for referrals?” The man-mountain raised his eyebrows. “’Cause if you are, I might have someone . . .”
“We’re looking for somebody, Augie.” She talked over him quickly, her voice almost drowning him out.
“Looking for somebody? We?” He turned, glancing at Evan for the first time.
“Augie, this is Evan Delwin. Evan, Augie Garcia. The manager.”
“Delwin.” Augie Garcia engulfed Evan’s hand for a quick shake that left him flexing his fingers, then turned back to Rose. “So who are you looking for?”
“One of your mediums.” Evan raised his voice slightly until Garcia turned back to him. “Alana DuBois. She been around lately?”
Garcia’s eyes narrowed a bit as he glanced at him. “They’re not ‘my’ mediums, mister. They’re contractors. Work for individual events. Not on salary or anything.” He turned back to Rose. “What do you want her for?”
“We just want to talk to her,” Rose soothed. “Maybe hire her. She’s not in any trouble, Augie.”
Not yet. Evan cleared his throat. “How do they get paid?”
Garcia glanced back at him. He looked faintly pissed at being interrupted again, and Evan wondered just how far he could push his luck before he ran the risk of being flattened.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Just wondered if Ms. DuBois had picked up her paycheck. We heard she did a séance for you recently.” Evan gave Garcia a professional smile. Nothing to worry about here, big guy.
Garcia was unimpressed. “I don’t know you, Delwin. What makes you think I’d tell you about how I pay my contract help?”
“
You do know me, Augie.” Rose’s voice was like warm milk and honey all of a sudden. Evan found himself thinking of balmy summer nights, the swish of air from a ceiling fan grazing across bare skin. For a moment he thought he smelled night-blooming jasmine.
He blinked. Rose sat watching Garcia with a bright smile, like she was getting ready to read him The Cat in the Hat at the library. Evan felt a quick jolt of exasperation. He was getting really tired of being blindsided by a freaking librarian every time he turned around.
Garcia chuckled with a sound like tectonic plates shifting. “Yeah, Rosie, I know you. You want to know how I pay my help?”
“If you don’t mind, Augie.” She picked up her glass of soda and took a small, ladylike sip.
“They work on commission, so much a head. The guests pay me, then I pay the help—the medium and the woman that cleans the building and sets things up for the night.”
“And did Alana DuBois pick up her last paycheck?” Rose widened her eyes to peer at Garcia across the rim of her glass.
His brows moved together slowly. “No, as a matter of fact. She was supposed to come by the next day, but she never showed.”
“So you haven’t seen her since that night?” Evan leaned into Garcia’s line of sight again.
“Nope. Called her about the check, but she didn’t answer.”
Evan felt a slight prickling across the back of his neck. He didn’t know any medium who’d leave a check behind.
“Could we have her number?” Rose said in her Cat in the Hat voice. “I mean, I’ve got one, but I don’t think it’s working.”
Garcia shrugged. “Sure, I’ll give you what I got. Come on into the office.”
Evan got to his feet to follow her, but Garcia gave him a long look. “Sit down and finish your beer, Delwin. I’ll give Rosie the number.”
The bartender moved to the opposite end of the bar as Garcia ushered Rose back through the door. The next five minutes would have passed in complete silence if one of the men at the back of the room hadn’t come up to pay his tab. Finally, Rose and Garcia reemerged.
“Thanks, Augie.” Rose dimpled. “I appreciate this.”
“Any time, Rosie,” Garcia rumbled. “Come back and talk to me later, okay?”
She smiled. Evan pushed up the corners of his mouth into something in the general smile family, then headed toward the door, telling himself it really wasn’t any of his business why Garcia would want Rose Ramos to come back later.
Outside on the street, he blinked in the sudden onslaught of sunshine after the dimness of Nightmare on Novalis. “Friendly little place.”
Rose shrugged. “You’re a stranger. I told you they wouldn’t say anything to you.” She opened her purse and pulled out an eight-by-ten-inch glossy. “I got this from Augie. Alana DuBois. Maybe ten or fifteen years ago judging from the hairstyle.”
Evan studied the print. Alana DuBois had slightly brassy hair with the kind of permanent that left it in clouds of frizz around her face. He really hoped that style represented a ten-year-old fashion decision and not her current taste. He flipped the print over. The back side was stamped with the name and address of a Dallas photographer.
Rose peered over his shoulder. “Not local.”
“Con artists tend to move around.” He flipped Alana DuBois’s picture back over. “Looks like she’s in her thirties here. Wonder how old she is now.”
Rose wrinkled her forehead as she studied the photograph. “No telling.”
She paused as he unlocked his car door and tossed the picture on the seat. “What are you going to do now?”
“Show this around. See if anyone can tell me any more about her.”
“Show it to whom?”
He leaned back against the side of the car. “I’ll show it to the cops in the Fraud Division. The ones who deal with con men, bunco artists, phony psychics, fortune-tellers, and the occasional medium.”
“I thought fortune-telling was legal.”
“It’s all legal, as long as you stay within the bounds. Don’t threaten people with dire things if they don’t give you cash. Don’t tell them the spirits want them to invest in Nigerian bank accounts. As long as fortune-tellers just tell fortunes and mediums just talk to spooks, and that’s what the people paid for in the first place, it’s legal.”
Rose watched him with narrowed eyes. “Suppose the person pays for something above and beyond what’s legal, but he’s satisfied with what he gets in return?”
Evan shrugged. “As long as it isn’t something nasty, like, say, the death of the mark’s mother-in-law, the cops probably won’t get involved. Who’d make the complaint?”
He could swear he saw her shoulders relax slightly. Then she took her car keys out of her purse. “Do you have anything else you want me to work on?”
“Do another search on Bradford. See what you come up with on the local front. What’s he been doing since he moved here? Give me a call tomorrow and we’ll touch base.”
Rose’s lips tightened slightly. “Count on it, Evan.”
Chapter 6
Rose stood watching Evan Delwin’s car turn up Novalis, probably heading for the police station on Nueva. She considered going back into the Nightmare. Augie said he had a referral but hadn’t given her any names.
Not that they needed another commission for Locators right now. They were already behind on the ones they had currently, what with this new Evan Delwin project. Skag was spending a lot of time in spirit spaces, doing who-knew-what but not working on Locators projects.
Rose sighed. She should go back and talk to Augie again. At least he and Rudy had stiff-armed Evan Delwin enough that Delwin shouldn’t be too eager to ask them any questions about Rose herself. She could imagine Augie’s reaction if he tried it. Delwin would be lucky if he got off with nothing worse than abrasions. Which would be a shame, actually. Because Delwin really did have nice eyes.
And good hair—dark and slightly disheveled. And very nice lips.
No, she really didn’t want Augie beating up Evan Delwin, even though there’d been moments during the afternoon when she’d wanted to punch him herself.
She flipped her purse strap over her shoulder. Screw it. Truth be told, she didn’t really want to talk to Augie right now. She could always call him later. She didn’t want to do anything except go home, even if it meant she’d have to spend time checking for society news about William Bradford.
And checking in with Skag, too, of course. Oh joy.
She parked her car in the driveway at the back of the house as she did every day, and then, as she did every day, took a quick detour to the end of the backyard where the ground sloped down to the water.
The San Antonio River flowed wide and smooth between grassy banks. On the far side a man and woman pushed a stroller on the hiking path that ran along the river’s edge.
Rose stepped through her back gate and then ambled down the path on her own side of the river as far as the graceful iron footbridge at Johnson Street, watching a canoe glide lazily with the current. Despite everything, including her resident ghost, when she came home in the evening, she still thanked Grandma Caroline for bequeathing her the house in King William.
After a few minutes of watching the thick green water flow lazily under the bridge, she sighed and headed back home. She jiggled her key in the recalcitrant lock on her rear door for a few moments, then managed to push it open. One of these days, she needed to get a new one. Just another repair on her list. Keeping up a century-old house was a constant chore. She tossed her purse onto a chair in the kitchen, waiting for the inevitable.
“Rose!” Skag bellowed from the living room. “Where have you been? What happened? What did Delwin say?”
Rose sighed again. “Honey, I’m home,” she muttered.
As she walked through the dining room, she glanced longingly out the side window. Afternoon s
unlight dappled the lawn under the spreading pecan tree. A glider swing hung invitingly at the end of the wide porch that ran around the first floor. She could be sitting out there with a glass of iced tea and a novel. Instead, she was going to be interrogated by a petulant phantom.
“Rose!” Skag trumpeted again as she walked into the living room.
He was sitting in his favorite chair, more or less. She was never sure exactly how to describe the way Skag occupied space. He didn’t sit—sitting required weight, something Skag didn’t exactly have. On the other hand, he was definitely in the chair, even though the texture of the chintz upholstery was dimly visible through his chest.
Skag’s version of the nasty gossip columnist in All About Eve, Addison DeWitt, was impeccable. He looked and sounded exactly like him, and whenever Rose suggested he might want to consider adopting a persona from somebody a little more recent, he reminded her, with a very Addison sneer, about George Sanders and his Oscar.
Skag removed the cigarette holder from his mouth and blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “Well?”
She gritted her teeth. Since the smoke was spectral, she could neither smell it nor inhale it. And the possibility of anything harming Skag’s health was clearly a nonissue. Still, she didn’t allow living people to smoke in her house.
“I wish you wouldn’t—”
“—smoke in here,” Skag finished for her. “Yes, so you’ve said. I’m ignoring it. Now tell me about Delwin.” He regarded her with narrowed eyes, smoothing a hand across his hair.
She flopped into the chair across from his. “Delwin was intrigued enough to follow up on Alana DuBois. We found a picture of her at the Nightmare and he’s checking with the cops to see if anyone knows anything about her.”
Skag raised one perfectly curved eyebrow. “You went to the Nightmare? Alone?”
“It was the middle of the afternoon, and I was with Delwin. I don’t know what you think could happen to me down there anyway. Augie’s big enough to scare off anyone short of Godzilla.”
He tapped his cigarette holder against his glass ashtray. “Augie isn’t exactly a reliable protector.”