Murder on the Rocks

by Allyson K. Abbott

  Angry at myself is more like it. “Nope,” I said in what I hoped passed for nonchalance. “Why would you think that?”

  “Like I said, you’ve seemed distant tonight. And there’s the way you dismissed me just now after correcting me on Tad’s drink. You seemed irritated. Did I do something to upset you?”

  His concerned tone sounded sincere but I knew he might be pretending to be worried in order to lull me into a feeling of disclosure and trust.

  “I’m sorry if I came across too bossy,” I said. “I know you’re only here to do your police work and to catch Ginny’s killer, but you’ve fit in so well and done such a good job, I sometimes forget that you don’t really work here. But if working for me is too hard for you, you’re free to quit and leave anytime. But then, I don’t need to tell you that, do I?”

  The timer on the fryer dinged and I went about draining the fries for Tad’s order, grateful for a chance to look away from Duncan. By the time I turned around to dump the fries on the sandwich plate, he was gone. Had he headed back out to the bar, or had he taken my suggestion and left the bar altogether?

  It turned out to be the former. Out in the main bar area, I discovered that Tad had left his table and settled in at Cora’s. Duncan was there, too, and he was leaning down between the two of them as they hunched together, talking.

  As I set Tad’s plate down in front of him, Duncan looked over at me and said, “Did Cora tell you about this computer program she’s working on?”

  “She did,” I said with a wan smile. “I understand it named me as the prime suspect.”

  Cora looked at me and winked. “I’ve added your friend Duncan here to the list of suspects since he doesn’t have an alibi for the time in question either.”

  I couldn’t help but smirk at that and I shot Duncan an amused look. He wiped the smirk off my face with his next comment, however.

  “Cora has a lot of information about the case, details and such.” He gave me a pointed look that made it clear he wasn’t very happy.

  Fortunately for me, the front door of the bar opened then and Zach walked in along with two of his paramedic buddies. I said, “Excuse me,” to the group at the table and walked over to greet Zach and his friends.

  “Hey, how’s it going today?” Zach said, giving me a hug.

  “Slow. The weather has been keeping people away. Even the lure of a murder isn’t enough to drag people in here tonight.”

  “It dragged us in,” Zach said, gesturing toward his friends. “Kurt, Andy, this is Mack.” I nodded and smiled at Kurt, a short, muscular blonde, and Andy, who was tall, skinny, and balding. “And it hasn’t been slow for us,” Zach continued. “It’s been a nonstop day and we just spent the last two hours out on the interstate dealing with a multicar wreck. We’re tired, thirsty, and starving.”

  “Glad to help,” I said, smiling at the other two men and gesturing toward a nearby table. “Sit down and take a load off. What would you like to drink?”

  They all ordered tap beers and Kurt and Andy settled in at the table. But Zach walked me toward the bar, one arm draped possessively over my shoulders.

  “Maybe you should take advantage of the slow business and the weather and close early for a change. Give yourself a little extra free time. Give us a little extra free time.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, frowning. “Billy counts on his hours. I don’t want to short him.”

  “So pay Billy and let him go home early. He’ll feel like he’s getting a bonus.”

  I started to say I couldn’t afford to do that, but I stopped myself, remembering that I might be able to after all, thanks to Ginny. Of course that assumed I collected the inheritance, which would be hard to do if I ended up in prison convicted of her murder.

  “But his paycheck is more than just his regular hourly pay,” I said instead. “That’s only half of what he makes. A good portion of his income is from tips, and if we aren’t open and don’t have customers, there aren’t any tips.”

  “How much is he going to make in tips at this rate?” he asked, looking around the bar.

  He had a point. Only half a dozen tables and seven bar stools were occupied. Despite the logic of it all, I still felt resistant to Zach’s suggestion and I wasn’t sure why.

  “You could also stay open and let Billy run things. He can manage, especially at this pace.”

  “We’ll see,” I said vaguely. “You and your friends need to eat. So let’s give it another hour or so to see if the storm continues and what kind of business I’m doing. Then I’ll decide.”

  Zach watched as I poured the beers and carried them back to the table along with a couple of menus. Then he settled in with his friends and helped them decide what to order.

  I was aware of Duncan watching me the whole time and the scowl on his face made me suspect he was angry with me for sharing all the information I had with Cora. I half expected him to follow me into the kitchen when I went to prepare the food for Zach and his friends, but he didn’t. When I finished fixing the food and went to deliver it, I found Duncan seated at Zach’s table chatting with the three men, but he got up and left abruptly as soon as I arrived. As I set the food down for the men, Duncan took out his cell phone and disappeared down the back hallway.

  I don’t know if it was the storm outside, or the fact that Duncan seemed upset with me, but something triggered a strong sense of pending doom in me. And when a loud crack of thunder rattled the windows of the building on top of a bright lightning flash, I wasn’t sure if the loud explosion I heard was real or one of my reactions. The lights blinked off, then on, then off. At first I wasn’t sure if that was real, either, but the lingering darkness and the outcries of my customers quickly cleared that up.

  I felt my way to the bar where Billy was already lighting some of the emergency candles I kept stashed for situations such as this. There were more candles in the kitchen, my office, and my apartment, and I went about rounding up as many as I could, placing them strategically throughout the bar for the few customers inside.

  I don’t know when I realized that Duncan had left. The candle duty kept me busy for half an hour or more, and figuring out tabs and bills without the benefit of a card reader or cash register distracted me for quite a while. Though I hoped the outage would be a short one, it was still dark over an hour later and all of my customers except for Zach had left, taking advantage of a lull in the downpour.

  I decided I might as well take Zach’s advice and close down early. The chances of any new customers coming in were slim and even if they did, my ability to provide for them was severely limited without power. I told Billy he could go and that I would pay him for the hours he was losing. He thanked me and headed out.

  As soon as Billy was out the door, Zach hollered to me across the empty bar.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that Duncan guy was a cop?”

  I froze, unsettled by the tone in his voice and unsure of how to answer him. So I didn’t; I walked over to his table and fired a question back at him. “How did you find out?”

  “I told you we spent the last couple of hours of our shift out on the interstate and there were a bunch of cops out there, too. Kurt overheard some of them talking about this undercover thing a new detective was doing that they thought was kind of strange. He heard them mention a name: Duncan Albright. So when your fella came over here to our table and introduced himself, Kurt knew who he was. Kurt asked him and he tried to lie at first, but then he just caved and fessed up. He said you were in on the whole thing. At first I didn’t want to believe that, but then I realized you had to be. How else could he be here working?”

  “It was a necessary evil, Zach. Detective Albright basically told me that I could let him hang here as an undercover cop or I could be shut down for several days while they conducted parts of their investigation. I couldn’t afford to be shut down. To be honest, it’s a good thing I did it that way. I found out that Gary has a criminal record and did time in jail, and that his cellmate wa
s Ginny’s birth son, given up for adoption. I had to fire him on Friday night. Fortunately Detective Albright is a fast learner with a penchant for bartending because he helped fill the hole left by Gary’s departure.”

  “If you’re so sure Gary is the culprit, why did you lie to me about this Duncan guy? Don’t you trust me, Mack? Do you know how foolish I felt when his real identity was revealed and my friends realized I’d been duped along with everyone else?”

  “I didn’t mean to dupe you, Zach, but my hands were kind of tied on the matter.”

  “Really?” he said, sounding both angry and wounded. “If that’s the case, then how come Cora Kingsley knew Albright was a cop?”

  “She didn’t at first. She just found out. She figured it out on her own when she did an Internet search and ran across an article about some bust he had in Chicago.”

  “Billy knew, too, didn’t he?”

  I sighed and gave him an apologetic look. “Billy figured it out on his own, too, and then he was sworn to secrecy.”

  “So basically you trusted your employees and the local floozy enough to let them in on the secret, but not me.”

  “You’re blowing this way out of proportion,” I said, feeling my anger rise. I turned and went back behind the bar to pour myself a beer from the tap. But when I pulled the handle all I got was foam, telling me I needed to switch out one of the kegs in the basement.

  “I don’t think I am,” Zach said. “You’ve been stringing me along for months now, Mack, and I think it’s time for you to be honest with me about where we stand.”

  “Zach, please, I explained to you long ago that I needed some time to—”

  “I’ve given you time, Mack. Now I need some answers. Am I wasting my time here? Because if I am, tell me now so I can move on.”

  “I need to go downstairs and switch out the beer kegs,” I said, knowing I was avoiding the question and praying my diversion would work. It didn’t.

  Zach stood, walked over to the bar, and slapped down some twenties. “That should cover our dinners. Keep the change. And if you ever decide you’re ready to move on, you let me know.” With that he turned and stormed out of the bar, slamming the door behind him.

  Tears welled in my eyes and a barrage of synesthetic reactions swarmed over me. I swiped irritably at the tears, grabbed a flashlight from beneath the bar, and headed for the basement, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. Focus is the one thing that sometimes helps me rein in the synesthesia when emotion or stress makes it go crazy. Mustering up all my determination, I went into the beer closet and disconnected the empty keg, rolling it out into the main area of the basement. Then I grabbed a new one and rolled it into place. The balancing act required to move the kegs while trying to hold a flashlight, and the concentration needed to switch the connections while still holding the light, gave me just enough focus to bring my synesthesia under control.

  When I was done I stood in the middle of the basement smiling, proud that I’d managed to control things so well. And then I heard the air handling unit kick itself on and knew the power had come back on. I walked over to the closest wall switch and flicked it, flooding the basement with welcome light.

  Now that I had let my synesthetic guard down, the reactions started up again stronger than before. The odor of must was strong and that’s when I noticed the big puddle of water on the floor beneath and in front of my father’s worktable. The rain had started up again—I could hear it pinging on the windows—and my first thought was that the rain had caused enough water to accumulate outside that it was leaking into the basement. But then I realized that the wall where the workbench was located wasn’t an outside wall.

  I turned the flashlight off and set it on the edge of the worktable. Something niggled at my brain and as I stood in front of the workbench area, staring at it and the puddle of water that appeared to be spreading, I switched gears and let my synesthesia take over. That cloying feeling returned and it was so strong it felt like I was wearing a heavy, wet shawl. I looked over at the wall with the boxes, where everything had been covered with cobwebs. A faint linen smell hit me, like just-washed cotton, and I remembered how the feel of the cobwebs on my skin had triggered a taste like biting into a towel. The linen smell had the slightly surreal feel of a synesthetic reaction and I guessed that it was my mind’s interpretation of the sight of the cobwebs. I turned back to look at the workbench, noticing how the tools on top of it also had cobwebs stringing them together, and the linen smell wafted a little stronger. But when my gaze drifted to the wall behind the table—a wooden structure covered with pegboard where more tools hung—the linen smell dissipated.

  A synesthetic vision of waves crashing against a shore hit me and I remembered how it had done so the last time I was down here. What was triggering it? The hairs on my arms and head rose, and at first I thought I was simply creeping myself out. But the sensation came and went and I realized that what I was feeling was the faintest hint of a breeze. And it was coming from the area of the workbench.

  Then it hit me. I turned and scanned the basement with more of a focus and realized now that every item and structure in the area that wasn’t used regularly had cobwebs on it . . . except for the wall behind the workbench. I walked over to the side of the worktable, tiptoeing through the puddle, and examined the edge of the back wall board. I probed its surface with my fingers and pushed and prodded along its edges. Then I went around to the other side and did the same thing. When that didn’t reveal anything, I ran my hand along the bottom side of the table and found the lever right away. It was almost flush against the bottom of the table but there was just enough room to get my fingers between it and the table and pull the thing down. I heard something, a mechanical noise, and it took me a few seconds to determine that it was a real sound. I stepped back and waited but nothing else happened. I stared at the wall and table for a moment before grabbing the edge of the table and pulling it forward. The whole unit—table and back wall—rolled forward with surprising ease, leading me to suspect the table legs had some sort of hidden casters.

  Behind the table was a large, concrete-walled room.

  Chapter 27

  A ceramic light fixture with a bare bulb hung in the center of the room but when I tried to turn it on with the old-fashioned push-button switch on the wall beside me, nothing happened. There was enough ambient light from the basement behind me to see across the room to the opposite side, where I spied a closed wooden door. Unfortunately the floor between me and that door was covered with water—the apparent source of the leak in my basement. I assumed the water was coming from whatever was on the other side of that door and even if it wasn’t, my curiosity demanded that I at least try to open it. A flash from the basement windows behind me followed by a loud boom of thunder punctuated my decision. Knowing the power could go out again at any time, I realized it would be foolish to venture any farther without the flashlight, so I backtracked to the basement worktable to get it. The weather gods showed me how smart my decision was by sending down another crack of thunder on top of a flash of lightning. The walls shook and the power once again went out. I turned on the flashlight, shone it into the hidden room, and proceeded to slosh my way toward the door on the other side. I was almost halfway there when the ground disappeared beneath me. My feet floundered for a few seconds as I tried, unsuccessfully, to stop my forward momentum. I sank into cold water and when my flashlight went under, darkness swallowed everything. The unexpected cold and my fear combined to trigger a wild array of synesthetic responses and I flailed about until I realized my feet had found purchase on a bottom that felt like small rocks and dirt. I stood a moment to catch both my breath and my wits. I was blinded but seeing crazy images. I tasted weird flavors, felt strange sensations, and heard things that might or might not have been real. As some of the synesthetic responses faded, I stretched my arms wide and let them swing forward and back as I took a tentative baby step, then another. I felt a rough edge in front of me and realized t
hat I’d fallen into a water-filled crater that was approximately three feet deep and a bit more than my arms’ length in diameter. I crawled out onto the concrete floor on what I thought was the side where I had fallen in.

  I got to my feet and put my hands out in front of me, again taking tiny baby steps and waving my arms like a bug’s antennae. When my fingers touched the cold, hard concrete of the wall, I followed it to my right, hoping to reach the open doorway into my basement. Instead I felt the frame of a closed, wooden door and I realized I’d climbed out of the hole on the wrong side of the room. I moved my hands over the door until I found the knob. I expected it to be locked, but it turned easily and I opened it and felt around on the wall on the other side in search of a light switch of some sort. There wasn’t one and it didn’t matter now anyway with the power out, but it would have been nice to know there was a source nearby if it came back on.

  I stood there a moment, trying to figure out what to do. Going back across the room didn’t seem like a good idea given that I already knew there was a big, water-filled hole in the floor, but without knowing what lay ahead of me, going forward didn’t seem appealing either. I decided going back made the most sense and if I hugged the wall and went slowly, I thought I should be able to skirt the water pit in the middle of the room.

  Before I could commit a single step to this plan, a new visual display began. A beam of light from the direction of my basement appeared, creating a white ball of light on the wall to my right. The ball slid rapidly across the wall toward me and when it hit my eyes and blinded me, I knew it wasn’t one of my brain’s manifestations. I raised an arm up to block the light and turned my face away. When I did, I caught a blur of motion over my shoulder in the area behind me, but before I could figure out what it was, I felt a rush of air and the white ball of light rushed at me like the headlight on an oncoming train. In the next instant something hit me hard alongside my body, knocking me off my feet. My head smashed into the door frame and just before I hit the floor I heard an explosive sound and saw a bright burst of what looked like a flame. Then all sensation—real and synesthetic—faded into blackness.