“Unlikely. Folks will snatch up a good deal to live around here, even if the place is haunted.” Kristy turned back to her mound of paperwork and started doing the pen acrobatics again.
“Don’t stay working too long. It’s getting really dark.” Winston placed his palm on her shoulder. “Do you have time for lunch with me tomorrow?”
She squeezed his hand and gave him a brief smile. “Definitely, Sherlock. The Jukebox Café at noon. Don’t be late from all your snooping.”
“I won’t.” But the case was still a priority. Even though he had no new leads, he harbored a growing suspicion that Rob Turner had been framed. Unfortunately, Winston had played an inadvertent part in that, so now he felt responsible to root out the real killer.
CHAPTER 31
Winston pulled up to the old Sweet Breeze house, hoping to stumble onto more clues. He was surprised to see the changes that had been made in only one day. The “Sold” sign had been uprooted. The grass was smoothed over and gave off the appearance of an undisturbed, fluffy green lawn. A line of potted plants stood in the back, the geraniums exhibiting a rainbow of colors. A stylized sign replaced the Sweet Breeze name; drawn with vines and flowers, it proclaimed, “Home Sweet Home” in a florid script.
He pressed the doorbell and heard a metallic ting from inside. No footsteps approached. He pounded against the door, to no avail. He even pulled out his cell phone and placed a call to Sweet Breeze’s old number. Of course, the line had been disconnected.
Winston glanced around at the traffic. All the drivers seemed intent on their errands or on their upcoming lunch. Nobody would notice the short Asian man sneaking up to the bay window of an old Victorian house. Thankfully, the new owner hadn’t had time to change the drapery yet. The curtains remained the original flimsy lace kind. Though they were pulled closed, Winston could peek into one of the fabric’s eyelets to get a look inside.
The microsuede couch and armchairs were gone, but the upright piano remained; a laptop perched on top of it, the computer screen open and emitting a soft glow. On the wall opposite the moved couch, Winston spotted a flat screen TV. Its expanse covered more than half of the white space. Somebody certainly knew how to live it up in their new home.
Winston moved back to the front door and tried to turn the handle. Of course, the new owners wouldn’t have left it unlocked for him to waltz right in. He also checked the windows, none of which had been left open. He moved around to the back patio, where the sliding doors were bolted down tight. He thought he heard a noise coming from one of the rooms, a heavy thumping sound, so he ran back to the front. He stood a moment glaring at the locked house of secrets. Maybe Kristy would have a better idea on how to reenter her old work place.
* * *
The Jukebox Café was tucked away in one of the downtown side streets. Its name was announced in a garish neon sign that stayed lit from morning ’til evening. The interior smelled of fried grease and tasted of smoke. Whenever he ate at the place, Winston found layers of oil added to his hair. Still, it served filling diner fare for five dollars a plate, well within his detective budget. Plus, it held a cherry red jukebox that played oldies tunes. Its volume setting drowned out distracting ambient conversations, while not being loud enough to damage his eardrums.
He slid into the sticky booth where Kristy already sat peering at a menu. “Am I late? I was checking out a lead.”
She glanced up. “No, I left a couple minutes early. I needed a break.”
“Would an omelet cheer you up?”
“A free one might.” She grinned at him, and he wanted to kiss the tiredness out of her eyes.
“You’re working too hard at Life Circles.”
“I could say the same about you and Joe’s case. Maybe you’re overthinking things. Rob’s word shouldn’t be trusted.”
“I don’t know. I have a funny feeling that he’s telling the truth.”
“Or maybe you should just pat yourself on the back, and let the justice system run its due course with Rob.”
“I tried checking out the new owners of the Sweet Breeze place, but I couldn’t get in. Have any bright ideas on how to enter?”
“Wait until the owners get back from work and ring the bell.”
The waitress brought over his steak and eggs, and he pushed them around his plate while Kristy took quick bites of her omelet and finished her food.
“Sorry, I have a short lunch break.” Kristy looked at him. “Hey, Winston, don’t get so down. We’ll work on this together if you still have misgivings. Cheer up. Hear that song?” She gave a jerk of her head toward the jukebox. He listened to the strains until he could identify “Chances Are.”
“That could be our song. Let me leave some good luck with you.” She grasped his hand with both of hers, the warmth of her fingers transferring over to his calloused knuckles. At the same time, he felt something cool laid against his dry and ridged palm.
“The spare key to my place,” she said. “Do me a favor. Go and check on my cat, Blueberry, for me. I wouldn’t dare trust him with anybody else.”
She scribbled her address down on a napkin with the pink tip of her lipstick. After she left, he traced his finger across the digits tattooed in rose against the flimsy paper. His day was starting to look up.
CHAPTER 32
Winston distinguished Kristy’s home only by its number. She lived on the first floor in one of those apartments euphemistically labeled as condominiums. Its sole window gave a glassy stare at Winston as he marched up the steps with a plastic grocery bag swinging on his arm. He’d stopped by the convenience store for a quick treat for the cat, a tiny bag of dry kitten nibble that had cost him a fortune.
He opened the door to find a very tidy home inside. From the foyer, he could spy the majority of the layout. Everything seemed ready for a realtor’s visit. Quiet nature prints, tasteful and conservative, lined the muted ivory walls. The couch held decorative square pillows, their gold tassels lying straight and combed down.
Winston took one step forward and almost tripped on the fluff ball of a cat lying in his path; it slinked toward the sunlight streaming in through the doorway, plopped down in a heap next to the frame, and purred.
“Blueberry?” Winston knelt down to pet the velveteen gray fur. The cat looked up for a moment, then started licking his paws and drew up into a fuzzy bowling ball shape. “I see where your name comes from. Well, I’ve got a treat for you.” The cat stretched himself out and laid claim to the sunny spot, forcing Winston to leave the front door slightly ajar.
Winston moved into the kitchen, which smelled like lemons. Gleaming white mugs perched on a rack on the tiled countertop and looked ready for use. The ivory refrigerator didn’t have a speck of dust on it—or the grimy fingerprints that marked his fridge at home. Stuck to the white expanse was a turquoise magnet clip that held two fat envelopes. Curious, he looked closer at them and saw that they both bore the same last name, “Blake,” on their return addresses. She still kept in touch with her two younger brothers then. The postmarks (from New York and Oregon) indicated that she’d received the letters this month. Kristy seemed like the kind of woman who would still use snail mail and handwritten notes to stay connected.
A disgruntled meow from the other room reminded Winston of his intended task. He spotted two shiny steel bowls on the floor, engraved with “Blueberry.” One held water. The other housed air. Winston opened the small bag of fancy cat food and filled the empty bowl to the brim. The clatter of pellets made Blueberry stroll to the kitchen and examine the gift offering. He nibbled a tiny piece, like a food critic. Then he took one massive paw and swiped the bowl, knocking kibble all over the tiled floor. Bits of dry cat food rolled under cabinet doors and the spotless fridge. Winston scrambled around and started using his hands to retrieve the runaway morsels. It took him a while to realize that a broom and dustpan would beat out cramped fingers.
While sweeping, he felt a sudden blast of cold air against his skin. He turned toward the
front door. Why was it open wider than he remembered? Then he noticed the patch of sunlight where Blueberry had been lying—now empty. He rushed outside, calling the cat’s name.
He scurried up and down the street, peering under the neighbors’ hedges for a sign of gray fluff. He was surprised nobody called the cops on him. This was what he deserved for trying to cat-sit for Kristy. He had no experience with pets beyond the carnival fish he’d won in the first grade and subsequently flushed down the toilet when it died. His father had been deathly allergic to cats, any hint of fur causing the man to sneeze out hurricanes of snot and his eyes to water like a geyser. Besides which, his parents had also banned animals from the household because of their insistence on schoolwork being the number one priority of the family. No distractions allowed. That hadn’t helped Winston too much on the academic front, though.
He stopped poking his head into bushes, sat down on Kristy’s front steps and moaned. How could he face her without finding her beloved cat? He thought back to Blueberry’s soft fur. Surely that breed of cat wasn’t too hard to replicate. He could find a twin and maybe Kristy would never notice. There was only one place nearby to find a cat mill—in the pet store at the shopping center, Sunnyside Mall.
CHAPTER 33
Sunnyside Mall, A tiny competitor in the world of chain malls, lay in south San Jose. It consisted of several drab brown buildings, and Winston wasn’t sure if the color was due to the original paint or years of accumulated grime. The whole area held just two levels and was very walkable; at least Winston didn’t get lost, as he often did wandering the Great Mall in Milpitas.
The center court held several containers of potted plants and a bubbling fountain with mounds of pennies collected at its bottom. Numerous security guards surrounded the central area. Winston wondered why until he saw a bevy of gorgeous women, all adorned in ethnic attire lined up behind heavy, velvet ropes. He spotted war paint on some, neck rings on others, and beaver hats adorning the rest of the beauties.
Telltale flashes of light bounced off reflecting screens, and he realized that they were waiting to be photographed. The huge banner above their heads read: “Modeling Contest: Exploring Cultures of the World, $1000 cash prize offered.” As Winston scanned through the burst of clothing styles, his heart stopped. He spotted Carmen next in line. Here was his chance to get a lead in the murder case. She often visited Sweet Breeze and might have heard something important about the day Joe had died.
He waited while she twisted and twirled in her sari, long scarves trailing her arms like writhing snakes. After she stepped away from the camera’s bright lights, he intercepted her.
“Hey, Carmen. Long time no see.” He guided her away from the crowd, with a gentle hand on her elbow. She, possibly dazed by the bright lights of the flash photography, didn’t resist, and Winston was glad to escape the watching eyes of the security without interference.
He led her to a hard wooden bench several yards from the center court, but she froze before the seat. “What are you doing here, Winston?”
“Taking a stroll at the local mall. How about you sit down and rest your pretty feet? I saw your lovely poses back there.”
“I did do a good job, didn’t I? The photographer told me I had the exotic vibe down.”
“Beautiful costume.”
“I know.” Carmen giggled and covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers, a coy gesture. The little flurry of motion jiggled her bracelet. It reminded him of the one that had graced Anastasia’s arm at Sweet Breeze.
“Where did you get that?” he asked.
She gave him a Mona Lisa smile. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know? Let’s say it’s from an admirer.” She tossed her vibrant red hair.
“Not Rob Tuner, right?”
She pursed her lips at the name. “I wouldn’t associate with a criminal.”
He’d better get on her good side if he wanted any real information. “Do you think you’ll win the contest, Carmen?”
“I will unless the judges are blind. I need the thousand dollars to kickstart my career.”
“Modeling must be tough.”
“It sure is,” Carmen said.
“I don’t know how you balance it all,” Winston said. “Looking good and taking care of your family. Always visiting your nana at Sweet Breeze…”
Carmen shuddered, a little twist of her head and shoulders. “Poor Joe.”
“You’re a smart lady,” Winston said. Carmen preened a little at the compliment. “Did you hear anything about what happened that day?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Carmen wrinkled her nose. “I think it’s time for me to go.”
Winston needed her to stay. How could he make her talk? She was the outsider at Sweet Breeze. So what if she was a wannabe model? Maybe she’d heard something helpful. If only he could offer her some bait, but what would spark her interest? “Wait a minute. Are you still pursuing acting?”
“I’m still looking for leads…”
Here was his way in. “You know, I have a friend in the industry.”
“Really?”
It was a bit of the stretch to say that Alex handled movies, but it might work. “Well, he has a recording studio. It’s for voice actors in video games.”
She scanned Winston’s face and then gave a brief nod. “That could work. When will he be free?”
“I can set up a session for three tomorrow afternoon.” His friend should be awake by then. Winston crossed his fingers. He hoped Alex would be able to act on such quick notice.
“I’m open then. What’s the address?”
He recited it by memory. Alex and Winston had been tight until the financial fall, and he still knew the man’s contact info by heart.
“See you then, Winston.” Carmen blew him a kiss and ambled off.
Winston dialed Alex’s number and asked for the favor. It was a quick chat. He didn’t have to worry because Alex was excited to have an actual model crossing his threshold after all these years. Besides, he did owe Winston a lot. He was the one who’d recommended the dot-coms that had killed Winston’s financial portfolio. Winston had sunk so much money into the “guaranteed investments” that he’d never be able to retire, as far as he could see.
As he mulled over his lost brilliant financial future, his phone rang. Several shoppers turned around to glare at him. Winston’s hearing had deteriorated over the years and now he had to set the cell’s volume at the loudest level.
“Oh, hi Kri—”
“What did you do, Winston? The kitchen’s a mess, and I can’t find Blueberry anywhere.”
“Oh, you’re home.” Crap. She had found out, and he hadn’t even started looking for a replacement feline yet.
“What happened?” Kristy asked.
“I was getting him food—”
“Why isn’t he here?”
“He was in the way of the door. I couldn’t close it.”
“You’re not making any sense,” Kristy said. “Just tell me the simple facts.”
“Well, um, he ran out the door when I wasn’t looking.”
Kristy groaned. “No! He’s a housecat. He’s always stayed inside. How will he survive?”
“I’m not sure.” Winston didn’t know the first thing about cats—or women, it seemed. Maybe he could tell a joke and move on. “Don’t cats have nine lives, anyway?”
“Not funny, Winston. Blueberry suffers from high blood pressure.”
He’d never heard of that before. “Are you serious?”
She huffed at him and hung up the phone. Guess cats did get chronic illnesses. He put his head in his hands. He’d screwed up with Kristy again, and he wasn’t sure how to fix the situation. He sighed. Maybe something miraculous would happen, just like his run-in with Carmen today. He would have to tuck away his relationship issues in the back of his mind and compartmentalize his life. He needed to stay focused when Carmen met up with his friend Alex tomorrow.
CHAPTER 34
Winston’s frien
d Alex rented a townhouse close to the San Jose State campus. In the glare of the afternoon sun, the building’s pistachio green walls seemed to give off an almost alien fluorescence. The place must have seen better days, a time when the glaring color had been a symbol of fashion. Still, the tri-level townhouse operated under rent control, a fact Alex happily embraced when his own investments (the same ones he’d suggested to Winston) went under.
Alex used to lead Winston under his senior QA position (Winston thought the “quality assurance” abbreviation should’ve been replaced by the simpler “tester” label). When Alex’s savings failed, he got work recording voice actors. Unlike Winston, he’d landed back on his feet through networking. Alex sure knew how to schmooze his way in the gaming industry.
In fact, Winston found Alex charming Carmen with compliments about her voice when he entered. “You’ve got a beautiful tone that everyone needs to hear recorded.” Alex shuffled around setting up and testing his equipment. He’d dressed himself special for the occasion, wearing a soft V-neck sweater, no doubt hiding a free gaming convention T-shirt underneath.
“Let’s set you up, sweetheart.” He adjusted her chair, so that it swiveled closer to the microphone.
“How long have you been doing this, Alex?” Carmen asked.
“Over ten years.” Winston heard a slight crack in his voice, the only indication his mind had briefly touched upon his financial shame. When he resumed talking, Alex spoke a bit louder. “Don’t worry, doll, I’m a professional.”
Carmen crossed her arms, boosting up her well-endowed chest over her top’s neckline. “What’s the last project you worked on?”
Alex named a couple of major recent hits he’d been involved in. “Today, we’re recording for a game called Women Warriors. It’s kind of like Mortal Kombat, but filled with females.”
Carmen tossed her head, a mass of fire-hot curls dancing in the sunlight. “I know all about it. I’m a gamer myself.”
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