PM09 - Supernatural Born Killers

by Casey Daniels

  “And if there’s a comic book connection—”

  “Then it might have something to do with the fact that Jack took Dingo away from the comic book store but never officially arrested him.”

  “And that kid with the shaggy hair who we saw at the comic book store…” Quinn gave me a hard look, waiting for me to finish the thought, but I held firm. This was not the moment to freak out my parents with talk of backhoes and holes in the ground.

  “Which might mean…” he egged me on.

  It’s a good thing Mom and Dad were watching Quinn and me go back and forth. Watching them bob their heads one way, then the other, gave me some time to try and figure out where we were headed with this argument.

  “The whole thing’s got to be connected with comic books,” I said, my voice tentative at first, but gaining traction when Quinn didn’t tell me I was way off base. “The comic book Dingo took at the shop was valuable. Dick said so. And if he had it with him when Jack took him away—”

  “And it was never turned in as evidence,” Quinn reminded me.

  “Then maybe Dingo took Superman seventy-five because Jack wanted it?” I saw my argument fall apart right in front of my eyes and flopped back down into my chair. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would Jack want a comic book?”

  “You could ask him,” my mother suggested.

  “Or we could find out what the guys in Seattle and Las Vegas know.” Quinn pulled out his cell and walked into the living room with it.

  “Oh, honey!” As soon as Quinn was out of earshot, Mom leaned closer. Her cheeks were pink. “He’s dreamy.”

  “Mom,” I groaned.

  “Oh, I know. You’re an adult and you don’t need your mom and dad telling you what to do about your love life.”

  I didn’t even need my mom saying the words your love life.

  “He seems like a fine man.” At least Dad’s comment skirted the issue.

  “And dreamy,” Mom added, but mostly, I think, because she knew it would drive me crazy.

  Quinn stuck his head back in the room. “There was a burglary during the convention in Seattle, all right,” he said, then talked back into the phone. “What’s that? That’s all they took?” He clicked off the call and dialed another one, pacing back into the living room.

  “One in Vegas, too,” he said in a couple minutes when he was done with that call. “And our thief is very selective.”

  My mother didn’t raise any fools. And remember, I’m an only child. Even I knew where this was headed. I looked at Quinn, Quinn looked at me, and we spoke at the same time.

  “Superman.”

  He stuck his phone in the holder clipped on his belt. “I’ll wait until morning to call Chicago and New York. Bet they’ve got the same story.”

  “All valuable stuff, right?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Rare and valuable. Our thief is very selective.”

  “And I’ll bet that means the goods haven’t come back on the market.”

  Let’s face it, a Harvard-educated guy shouldn’t know stuff like this; we both turned to Dad.

  He shrugged. “Makes sense. If you’ve got a punk who’s that selective when it comes to swag, he’s not going to fence it. If he was, he’d just grab anything he could get his hands on. But you said this guy is particular. He’s not doing this for drug money. Or for kicks. Somebody’s paying him to go shopping.”

  I nodded. “Shopping for Superman memorabilia.”

  “Which means we need to tap our Superman connections.”

  I knew Quinn was talking about Vincent, the crazy security guard.

  Me?

  I had other ideas.

  And no way I was going to share them with my new “partners.”

  “I have to admit, I was a little surprised when you called.” Milo Blackburne delivered the comment along with a smile and the martini he’d just made for me. “I could have sworn you were playing hard to get.”

  “I don’t play.” It might be the only true thing I was willing to tell him that evening, so my smile matched his. “I just thought—”

  “That you’d butter me up to write that big, fat check to the cemetery.” He sat down in the chair opposite from where I was sitting on a cushy couch, and he laughed, so I guess he didn’t really hold it against me.

  Which is why I figured I could continue with the whole truth and nothing but. At least for now.

  “Well, it would be nice if you’d make good on your promise,” I said. The martini was icy cold and perfectly blended and I sipped, and nodded my appreciation. “The board of trustees, they’re kind of holding it over my boss’s head. You know, the whole thing about getting more and more people to become patrons.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Your boss is worried?”

  “She’d never admit it.”

  “But this could jeopardize her job?”

  “She’d never admit that, either. Not in so many words. But she’s new to the job and she is on probation.”

  “So you’re worried for her.”

  Not a question, but hey, Milo had been nice enough to invite me to his place for a drink so I guess I owed him an answer. Yes, yes, I know…I’m not naive. Not when it comes to men, anyway. I knew he wasn’t being a nice guy just because he was a nice guy. He had a thing for me. I also knew I was never going to let him get close enough to demonstrate. He was reasonably young, reasonably good-looking, and if what I’d seen of the house meant anything, more than reasonably wealthy. That didn’t mean I was interested. I may have lost a lot of things when my dad’s practice went under and I was relegated to a life sentence working in a cemetery; my pride wasn’t one of them.

  I snapped out of this thought to find Milo watching me carefully. “I’m worried about Ella,” I admitted. “She loves Garden View, and she’s the best person in the world to be administrator there. She’s got years of experience and lots of terrific ideas and more energy than any middle-aged woman should have. But none of those are reasons for you to decide to become a patron or to not become a patron. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or anything. It’s just the truth.”

  “It’s also true that you are a loyal and good friend.”

  Believe me, I hadn’t explained about Ella’s problem to try to impress him. But it looked like that was exactly what happened. When he looked my way, Milo’s expression was all mushy.

  Mushy, I didn’t need. Just like I didn’t need the look he skimmed from the top of my head and along my sleeveless black sheath dress (not to worry, it had a vee neck, but not too deep of one, and it hit just above my knees). I’d even thought of the whole sexy, tousled curls thing before I left the house; my hair was wound in a fat braid. Neat. Modest. No way did it say come and get it.

  None of which kept Milo’s eyes from glittering from behind those tortoiseshell glasses of his. I knew it was better to keep the subject on cemetery finances.

  “As for you becoming a cemetery patron…” I began.

  “Not another word.” He leaned forward and pressed one finger to my lips, and I was so stunned, I froze. Fortunately for me, he didn’t go any further. Before I could find my voice and tell him it was inappropriate—not to mention off limits—he got up, strolled out of the room, and left me with a few burning questions. Like, where was he going? And what was I going to do if he tried another move like that when he got back? And who the heck has enough money to live in a place like this, anyway?

  When I called him and asked if we could get together, Milo was more than a little surprised. When he said he’d rather host me at his house than meet in some impersonal restaurant and I said yes, I think he was more surprised. When I told him I couldn’t wait to see his collection of Superman memorabilia…

  There’s nothing like knocking a guy’s socks off.

  Especially when you’re hoping that the guy in question is going to spill the beans about what he knows about the market for Superman goods.

  For my part, I was just as surprised, too, when I arrived a
t the address he gave me. Yeah, I’d heard Milo had more money than God, but I wasn’t expecting anything quite so…

  I glanced around the living room with its oak paneling, marble fireplace, and killer view of Lake Erie. Everything about the place said Old Money. Fabulous oriental rugs. Paintings that were the real things, not cheesy reproductions. Furniture that glittered from a good application of lemon wax.

  My mother would more than approve.

  Precisely why I didn’t tell her—or anyone else—that I was coming here.

  First I’d find out what Milo could tell me about his Superman contacts.

  Then I’d let Quinn in on what I’d done.

  By then, it would be too late for him to tell me I was taking chances I shouldn’t be taking. Besides, I didn’t need to hear it from him. I already knew that.

  “This should keep your boss happy and in her job.” Milo sailed back into the room waving a check. Once he sat down in the plush wing chair across from me, he handed it to me.

  And I looked at the string of zeroes behind the “one” he’d scrawled on the check and nearly choked on a sip of martini.

  I swallowed. Hard.

  “You can’t—”

  “Of course I can. Although thanks for thinking enough about me to worry that I might be doing something foolish. That just proves what I said earlier—you are a good friend. You care about people. That’s not…” His breath escaped on the end of a sigh. “That’s not a quality I see in most of the women I meet. But then, I suspected that right from the start. You’re special.”

  I took another gander at the check. “Look who’s talking!”

  He shrugged away the compliment. “I’ve got plenty of money and I can do whatever I want with it. If that means supporting a cause I think is worthy, then that’s my business. Besides…” The orange light of the setting sun winked off the lake and reflected in his glasses. “If my little gesture to Garden View helps impress you, Lana—”

  “Pepper.” I didn’t want to take money under false pretenses so I figured I’d better make that clear.

  He didn’t hold it against me. “You know I’m just kidding.” Milo grinned. For a date with a woman at home, most guys I know would have gone casual. Jeans, T-shirt, sneakers. Not so Milo Blackburne. He was wearing a gray suit that cost more than my entire outfit. Jimmy Choo pointy-toed ankle boots and Juicy Couture purse included.

  He settled in, completely at home in our magnificent surroundings. “What do you think of my little place?” he asked, apparently reading my mind.

  I sat back, too, but not before I tucked that check in my purse before I could lose it. Or Milo could come to his senses and ask for it back. “It’s not exactly little. It is…” I remembered the sweeping drive where I’d parked the Mustang, the wide veranda outside the front door, the impeccable landscaping. Just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, I took another look out the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the room and the sweeping panorama of Lake Erie beyond. The house was west of downtown in an area of the city long known for big houses and bigger fortunes. It was built on a rise and beyond the wide veranda and the gardens that bordered it left and right, the lake was a shade of grayish blue that matched the slate roof on the Tudor-style mansion.

  “Your home is impressive,” I told Milo. “Beautiful.”

  “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Lana.”

  There it was again. That slip of the tongue that sent tingles up my spine. And not the good kind.

  I actually might have pointed this out if Blackburne didn’t sit up fast and reach across the mahogany coffee table that separated us to take my hands in his.

  “It could be yours,” he said.

  It took a couple seconds for my brain to catch up with the conversation. “What are we talking about?”

  His smile was indulgent. “What were we talking about?”

  “We were talking about the house. I said…” A couple seconds. And it was a couple seconds too long. Had I realized where this was headed before he latched onto me, I would have beat a hasty retreat. Too late now, so I went for logic instead. “You hardly know me.”

  “I know enough to know what my heart is telling me is true. You’re intelligent. You’re kind. You’re loyal. You’re gorgeous. Of course, I knew you would be all those things, Lana.”

  Enough was enough. I smacked his hands away and jumped to my feet. “It’s Pepper. Pepper, Pepper, Pepper. If you think I’m so fabulous, you should at least remember my name.”

  “Of course.” Mr. Unflappable. When he rose, he left his martini on the table. That gave him two free hands. Don’t think I didn’t notice.

  I took a step back.

  Milo stepped forward.

  I was all set to give in to the panic that thumped through me when I saw a bird swoop by outside the windows, and beyond it, the streak of a plane’s contrail in the quickly darkening sky.

  “It’s a bird. It’s a plane,” I whispered. And reminded myself that nervy guys were nothing new. Not in my life. I could take care of myself; I’d always been good at that. What I couldn’t forget was that I had a case, and a ghost who might be depending on me to come through for him. Unless, of course, I was the person he was supposed to save and he’d done that back at Garden View and had already gone to his happily ever after.

  Since I couldn’t be sure, I had to stay focused. I glanced around the stately appointments of the stately room of the stately mansion.

  “Where’s Superman?” I asked.

  Milo’s shoulders shot back. “You are interested!”

  “You know I am. When you mentioned your collection the other day—”

  “I was afraid you were just humoring me when you said you didn’t think it was foolish. You know, so I’d donate to the cemetery.”

  “But you’ve already donated. And I still want to see it. Come on.” It was one of those all-encompassing phrases. If Milo took it the way I hoped, it would tell him that he’d been reading me wrong, that I was interested in his Superman stuff. It was also cool and light and airy, and it gave me a chance to sidestep away from him. “I’d never think a hobby you love so much is goofy. Like I told you on the phone, I’d love to see your collection.”

  I swear, I thought he was going to salivate.

  “Well, come on.” Before I could stop him, he looped an arm through mine. “You’ve got a real treat in store for you.”

  Side by side, we walked through wood-paneled hallways, past a winding staircase and even a suit of armor. We finally stopped in a room at the opposite end of the house. More windows, and another fabulous view of the lake. But there was something weird about this room…

  I twitched my shoulders, ridding myself of the uneasiness that did its best to creep up on me. While the room where we’d left our drinks was wide and spacious, this room was narrow and out of proportion. The walls were painted a vivid blue that made them feel like they were closing in. The valance above the windows was red. And everywhere I looked…

  “Superman.” I closed in on the framed picture on the wall closest to me.

  “Autographed,” Milo said, pointing to the picture. “By George Reeves. You’re far too young to remember. Well, so am I!” He laughed. “He played Superman in the original TV series. That was back in the fifties. And this…” He stepped back and waved toward a bigger framed display next to the picture. Blue tights. Red shorts, a red cape. And a blue shirt with a yellow emblem and a big red S on it.

  “Reeves’s original costume,” Milo said.

  “I’m impressed.” Another truism. “It must have cost—”

  “A fortune? Absolutely.” One hand to the small of my back, Milo strolled to the next exhibit in his little museum, an arrangement of Superman comics in different languages. “All first editions,” he explained. “As is this one, of course. My pride and joy!”

  He took my hand and we walked across the funny, narrow room. On the opposite wall and above another marble fireplace was a comic book displayed in an elaborat
e gilt frame. The cover proclaimed it was all about Superboy.

  “I will confess, this is not a recent addition to my collection, but I just recently hung it here. The day after the patron cocktail party at the cemetery, in fact. Until then, this place of honor went to a comic titled Superman: The Wedding Album. You know, the story from 1996 when Lois Lane and Superman get married. But at the cocktail party…well, that’s when I met you, and realized the error of my ways. This comic…” Milo gestured toward the book, “features a story called The Girl in Superboy’s Life. It’s the first story in which Lana Lang appears.”

  “Who I’m not,” I reminded him.

  “But you are a beautiful redhead,” he countered, looking into my eyes. “Just like Lana.”

  I wasn’t about to argue.

  No, not because I’m conceited. Because it was time for me to close in for the kill.

  “It’s all wonderful,” I said, maybe a little too breathlessly, but hey, I don’t think Milo noticed, anyway. “How did you find all this great stuff?”

  “Conventions. Collectors. Auctions.” He took my question at face value. “There’s always someone, somewhere who’s willing to sell.”

  “Always?”

  A spark lit his eyes. What it meant, I didn’t exactly know.

  “Come on. Spill the beans!” I gave him a playful poke on the arm. It gave me a chance to keep the mood light. “I’m not saying you would ever do anything dishonest, but hey, there have to be people—”

  “Who says?” There was a sharpness to his voice I hadn’t heard before and I flinched.

  He darted forward and cupped my hand in his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Well, neither did I. But I am curious.” Playing to the lie, I strolled around the room, looking at his treasures. “It’s amazing,” I said and hoped the whole breathless thing didn’t come across as too phony. “Too amazing to keep to yourself. You should open a museum or something. So anybody who loves Superman could enjoy your collection.”

  “There you go, worrying about other people again.” The sun had slipped below the horizon and that crazy orange glow had faded from the lake. The light was soft and gray and when Milo put his hands on my shoulders, I couldn’t see his eyes behind his glasses. “I’m so glad you’re interested in my collection. In fact, next time you come to visit—”