“What about the gun?” Melissa asked.
“Phyllis will figure out why she thinks there was another gun. Get your stuff. We have to leave.”
“Why?”
“Your father just stopped off at Madison Paints,” I told her.
“He’s with Josh?” Melissa asked.
I was out of Phyllis’s office and already halfway to the door. “We have to go,” I said.
Twenty
“We’re missing the afternoon spook show,” Melissa said.
“I don’t care,” I told her. “Maxie and Paul can handle it if any guests show up. But they might not. This isn’t a huge ghost crowd. Besides, finding out what’s going on is much more important right now.”
We were braving the brutal climate of the inside of my Volvo wagon on our way to Josh’s store in Asbury Park. I had no idea if Steven was going there as a subtle reminder to me that he could be dangerous if he felt like it or . . .
Or he and Josh were doing business together. I really didn’t want to think about that. Could I be blind enough to think Josh was different and then find out he was The Swine II?
No. I’d known Josh for years, and then years again. That simply couldn’t be the case.
“I get that we have to find out what’s going on, but why can’t you just call Josh and ask him?” Liss said, sitting back and hugging herself for a little warmth. I made a mental note to get the Volvo’s “heater” looked at. Hang the cost! My daughter was freezing.
“Because if I ask your father I can’t trust the answer, and if I ask Josh he’s going to try to be diplomatic. That means I can’t trust his answer, either, and that’s not good enough right now.”
“You don’t trust Josh?” Melissa sounded shocked.
“I do trust Josh, but he gets funny when your dad is involved,” I explained. “He doesn’t want to say bad things about Dad too much and he doesn’t want to compete. So sometimes he just doesn’t do anything, which would have been better this time, but it seems that Dad is getting him involved in what’s going on. I need to know how and I need to know why.”
Liss nodded. A lot of girls would be devastated by an analysis like the one I’d just given her. She seemed to be analyzing it for herself.
“You’re not thinking about yourself,” she said finally. I could see the steam from her breath. Maybe if she tethered herself to the roof and sat outside, she’d be warmer. “You are going to change the situation when you get there. You should let Everett tell you what they’re talking about and decide what you’re going to do after you have the information.”
My first impulse was to tell her six different ways in which that was wrong. I’d need to observe the interaction for myself; Everett wouldn’t catch the nuances in the two men’s behavior that I would; it would be more immediate to talk to them while the meeting was still going on; and . . . three more ways. But I’ve learned over the last thirteen years that my daughter is often more sensible and intelligent than I am, and have been badly burned by not following her reasoning in the past.
I pulled the car over to the side of the road, parking in a Burger King lot to get us out of the way. I started to think of reasons to go inside without buying any food just to get out of the cold, and I was in my car. That was it, I was calling Marv Winderbrook tomorrow about a heater for the Volvo. Because thinking warm thoughts wasn’t cutting it right now.
So I turned toward Melissa. “You’re saying I’d be more of a problem than a solution?” I asked.
“Well . . .” She studied my face for a mood; no sense in going the wrong route here. “Sort of. You wouldn’t do anything wrong, but just being there would make them act different, and that wouldn’t help.”
“You don’t have to worry about insulting me, honey.”
“I wasn’t. I just wanted the fastest way to get out of the car and into a warm house.” Eminently practical, among all the other amazing things my daughter manages to be. “But I still think all of that is true.”
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go into the Burger King and get a hot chocolate.”
“Can I have coffee?”
While having various hot—and they’re not kidding about the hot—beverages, we debated the wisdom of texting Everett and decided it was too risky. If we weren’t hearing from him, that meant they were still inside Madison Paints. If he was there with Josh and The Swine discussing whatever they could possibly have to talk about, pulling out his phone to text or hearing it beep with a message from me would draw attention. Steven might dismiss it, but if Josh saw a flying cell phone he’d know I’d sent a spy. He can’t see the ghosts, but he knows they’re there.
In fact, there were three ghosts in the Burger King as we decided to wait until Everett could report back. One was dressed in clothing from the nineteen forties, which put him here before the King had decided to start grilling patties; the other two were a couple in their seventies, I’d say, watching the manager of the place give orders. She must have been their daughter, from the delighted beaming expressions on their faces. Liss and I opted not to let them know we were aware of their presence, finished our drinks and braved the car once more.
As it turned out, there was no reason to rush home, either. None of the guests had decided to attend the afternoon spook show, which was both a relief and a worry. If nobody wanted to see the spirits in action, would my guesthouse still be special enough to attract visitors when the weather broke?
Still, there was plenty of activity. Maxie wanted to take a bow over having manipulated her laptop—a newer model than mine and she’d been dead for five years—into divulging some information on the topics Paul had assigned. We met in the movie room, where I could recline in a chair made for exactly that purpose and Melissa could lounge on a sofa in front of a coffee table on which she put her feet.
“What’ve you got?” I asked Maxie. She twitched a bit at being treated like an employee.
“Your Maurice DuBois was an interesting guy,” she said, green visor and black T-shirt (bearing the legend “Dude, You Got a Dell”) presenting a contrast to her businesslike manner, although Maxie would have disputed that. “But the most stuff came from this software, SafT.”
Paul, idly turning a space heater on and off from ten feet away with his finger, had clearly heard some of Maxie’s information before we arrived. “That’s not the biggest thing,” he noted.
Maxie looked annoyed. “Maybe not, but it’s the most.”
I asked Paul to leave the heater on, as Liss and I were still recovering from a nice ride home and he looked embarrassed. “Go on, then,” he said, instructing Maxie. Paul likes to pretend we’re a real detective agency and he’s the boss who sends all his operatives out into the field. We all have our delusions.
“I was going to. Anyway, this SafT thing. Turns out your ex was actually onto something there. Some of the tech sites, the ones for people with more than an eighth-grade education, were all excited about this thing. Said it would revolutionize the Internet because nobody could hack anything it touched. You wouldn’t have to worry about your data. Some of them thought even governments would be interested in it because the threat of some foreign power or terrorists or somebody hacking into their computers is what keeps them up nights.”
Melissa, who had been listening intently, sat forward, putting her feet down (which made me feel better about the coffee table) and leaning her elbows on her knees. “So I bet that would make it really valuable,” she said.
Maxie beamed at her. “You’re right,” she said. “The speculation was this thing was going to go in the billions.”
That made me sit up and take notice. “The billions?” I said. It seemed impossible The Swine could possibly have mixed himself up with something that good.
“So, why was Steven having trouble finding investors for it?” I asked. “If it was worth billions, it seems something with that kind of potential would have
them lining up around any number of blocks.”
Maxie leaned a bit. That’s her way of saying she’s thinking. “Well, I had to dig pretty deep to find anything about it. I think your ex was trying to keep it quiet, maybe so nobody could find out how much there was to be made.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Melissa said. “Dad would want people to know it was really big so they’d want to give their money, wouldn’t he?”
“Only if it was real,” came a male voice from the hallway. In walked Lou Maroni and his two attendants. “That was the question, after all.”
“You guys really have to learn how to knock,” I said. “I mean, is that really too much to ask? Hang on. I’m going to get Steven for you.” Out came my phone.
But Maroni held up his hand like Diana Ross singing “Stop! In the Name of Love.” “I’m not looking for him right now,” he said. “I’m looking for you.”
That couldn’t possibly be a good thing. “Me?” My voice had dropped half an octave.
“I’m getting the shovel,” Maxie said.
“Hang on,” Paul told her. “We might not need it. I can electrocute him if necessary.”
“Yes, you,” Maroni said, not having been privy to the discussion of how to immobilize him. “You might have something I’m looking for.”
I’d once had a similar situation involving a deed to George Washington’s old shore home, but that hadn’t been fun and I doubted this would take a better path. “I don’t see how that’s possible,” I said. “The only person in this family who’s ever met you before is Steven, and he hasn’t left anything for you.”
I felt Melissa standing on my right side. She would not hesitate to close ranks if there was going to be trouble, but I didn’t want her in harm’s way. “Go sit down,” I told her under my breath.
“Make me.”
Go raise children.
“It’s very simple,” Maroni said, not advancing on us at all. I did not take that for a good sign; a man with a firearm doesn’t need close proximity. “When we were walking in, I heard you talking about a software program called SafT that could be worth billions of dollars. That was what you said, wasn’t it?”
“I did a little research about it on the Internet,” I said. “Because Steven said you were investing in it and he said that’s what everybody was all excited about. So I found out what you would find out if you did the same searches.”
“I did the research.” Maxie sniffed.
“Yeah,” Maroni said. “I know all that stuff already. What I don’t know is where your pal Steven might have left the patent application and other documents for that software, because right now they’re technically mine and I’d like them back.”
I wasn’t crazy about the direction this conversation seemed to be taking, but I couldn’t say it was a surprise at all. I consciously took a step away from Melissa, ostensibly to get a better angle to face Maroni head-on, and said, “Okay, first: I have no clue where those papers would be. Nobody’s ever even mentioned them to me before. Steven never brought them up and neither did you when you were here last. So I couldn’t begin to tell you where to look except that it would be somewhere that’s not in my house. But I’m wondering exactly why you think those documents belong to you. Wouldn’t they belong to the person who created the software to begin with?”
Maroni looked amused more than anything else, and that wasn’t pleasant to see. “Technically you’re right. That’s exactly who should have the papers in question. But in this case that’s not possible, so I’m guessing Mr. Rendell has them with him or left them here, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you if I can take a look at the room he was staying in. Would that be your bedroom?”
Melissa almost took a step toward him, but Maxie said, “Don’t. Let me handle it.” Liss stopped, but Maxie didn’t do anything.
“It so wouldn’t,” I said. “And I’m afraid I’m not letting you search any of the rooms in my house, because this is my business and if word gets around that I am not protecting the privacy of my guests, I could lose this house. So you’re just going to have to take my word for it, because as it happens, I’m telling you the truth. I’ve never heard of any patent documents before the moment you brought them up.”
Maroni held up his hands on both sides, gesturing toward but not to his two lovely assistants. “And if we insist?”
“I’ll have to call a friend of mine at the police department and report that you are trespassing and making terroristic threats,” I said. “But you can trust me, whatever it is you’re looking for isn’t here. Now, Steven was very upset that he missed you the last time you came. Would you like me to call him? You can ask him where these papers you’re looking for might be.”
“No need,” Paul said. I turned to look at him and saw he was pointing toward the hallway, where I could now hear footsteps approaching.
Maroni and his men, however, were staring at a space in the air over my head and looking confused. “What are you looking at?” he asked.
The Swine strutted into the room like he’d just invented ego and wanted to take it out for a test spin. Chest out, arms back, head held high, he was a dazzling example of someone who had much more confidence than an objective perspective would encourage. “So! How is every—”
He stopped dead in his tracks as if someone had put up one of those invisible walls mimes keep running into right in his path. He actually said, “Oof!”
Maroni and his traveling muscle show turned. I couldn’t see their faces, but I could hear the evil grin in his voice. “So, Steven Rendell,” he said. “I was hoping to see you again.”
“Shovel?” Maxie asked.
“Shovel,” Paul said.
Before she could leave, Maxie was shouting, “Everett!” Her boyfriend had just phased through the side wall and was making his way toward her, seemingly distracted by the three unfamiliar men, because he twisted his body toward them as he floated.
“Who are they?” he asked.
“Enemy combatants,” Maxie told him. She’s picked up a little military lingo since they’ve been together. “We were just saying I should get a shovel to hit them with.”
I wanted to ask Everett about Steven’s visit to Madison Paints, but there were far too many people in the room now.
“Lou,” Steven said. He wasn’t even trying to do his “happy to see you” voice. “What’s up?”
“I think you know. You’ve been doing your very best to avoid seeing me. You even flew all the way to New Jersey from L.A. only a couple of days ago just so you wouldn’t have to see me.” Maroni turned a bit so I could see his profile, which was not exactly a treat. “I’ve been spending a little time with your beautiful family.” And three ghosts, but why tell him that?
“Don’t get anything yet,” Everett told Maxie. “Let’s see what happens. It’s best not to be the first to fire.”
“They’re not involved,” Steven told his “investor.” “You don’t have to bring them in on it.”
“They’re already in,” Maroni insisted. “They’re in because I couldn’t find you. So I was asking your wife where to find the SafT patent papers.”
“Ex-wife,” I pointed out.
“Of course,” Maroni said. “Ex-wife. Shows good taste.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Patent papers?” Steven said. You could hear the sweat in his voice and he was a Californian who had just come in from temperatures in the teens while wearing an inadequate coat. “I don’t know anything about patent papers. Can’t you get them online?”
“Let’s find out,” Maxie said, and “put on” her trench coat, then zipped up through the ceiling, where she could work on her laptop without being obvious to the civilians in the room. “Keep me informed, Everett.”
“Will do.” Everett is excellent at taking orders, which is probably why he gets along with Maxi
e so well.
“Yes, I could, but you know perfectly well that the originals are going to be required to cash in on the patent once this thing hits.” Maroni was speaking slowly as if to a somewhat dim-witted child. “You’re stalling, Steve. You know where they are and you don’t want to give them to me. So maybe I should take something of yours and we can swap.”
He looked creepily toward Melissa.
“Shovel,” I said. “Definitely shovel.”
“It’s not snowing,” The Swine told me, clearly sure that I had gone completely mad. “You don’t have to shovel anything.”
“Try to stand clear of him,” Paul ordered. “I can get a good charge into one thrust, I think.” He held out his hands as if he were about to try flying back to Krypton.
“Wait.” The last person I expected to speak took a step forward when I wanted her to take several steps back, like to another state. Melissa looked Maroni right in the eye. “Why do you need those papers, and how come the original owner can’t have them?” she asked. “It doesn’t make any sense. The person who created the product gets the patent.”
Maroni nodded. “Very good, young lady. But in this case we have a problem, don’t we, Steven?”
Everyone turned their attention to The Swine. He looked for a sympathetic face and didn’t even get one from the people he couldn’t see. “See, the patent is held by Maurice DuBois.”
Twenty-one
“Oh, Stevie!” Lou Maroni scolded The Swine in an exaggerated tone. “You didn’t tell your wi—ex-wife—that little detail? That the guy who made this thing everybody thinks is going to make them rich is the guy who ended up with a few too many pieces of metal in his body in an alley?” He made the “tsk, tsk” sound and wagged a finger at Steven. “Shame on you.”
It was the closest I’d come to feeling sorry for my ex-husband in years. I still didn’t get there, but it was close.
Part of the reason I couldn’t react was that I was still stunned. “Maurice DuBois was your inventor?” I said to Steven. “He was the guy you were investing all that money from other people in? And when he ended up dead you didn’t bother to tell anybody?”
Spouse on Haunted Hill Page 19