Immortal Eyes (PI Assistant Extraordinaire Mystery Book 2)

by Lotta Smith

  It was nice to have a destination for a change.

  Chapter 29

  I sped past a large upscale shopping mall, high-rise condos, mansions, small-to-moderate strip malls, a large park, woods, houses, and a scenery bridging between the city and the suburb.

  I exited Capital Beltway and passed by a tiny roadside Hallmark shop. Then I realized I was empty-handed.

  Where were my manners? I had to buy flowers.

  I needed to bring flowers as a condolences gift. That was the protocol. I had to show my respect for the deceased. And, indeed, I truly wanted to offer my deepest condolences to her loved ones. I was aware that nothing could revive her or fix the situation, but I was compelled to do whatever I could to console her family. Slowing down, I made a mental note to find a florist.

  Then my cell phone chirped. I muttered a curse. My guess was Archangel was calling to check on my progress, or rather lack thereof.

  I pulled over to the roadside. Caller ID said Blocked Number. Hmm, it didn’t seem like a call from my employer.

  I took the call anyway. “Hello?”

  After a couple heartbeats of silence, I heard, “Hi. Is that you, Kelly?”

  “Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line belonged to a young girl. I wasn’t expecting a phone call from a young girl. “Who’s there?”

  “You don’t remember me? Ouch, that hurrrts.”

  “Is this a prank call?” I asked, seriously considering hanging up.

  “Don’t hang up!” she said rather desperately, as if she could feel what I was thinking. Then she added, “Please.”

  I sucked in air. I remembered that voice. As much as I wanted to believe she was still alive, I wasn’t really sure if I could cope with the cold reality if I turned out to be wrong.

  “Who’s there?” I asked again. It was more like a whisper than a question.

  “It’s Karen.”

  “Prove it,” I demanded. I wasn’t 100 percent positive I could trust what I was hearing. I might have been hallucinating. I couldn’t ditch the suspicion it was a prank call from some naughty kid who had randomly pushed the dials and somehow reached me.

  She gave a resigned sigh. “We met at my apartment. You came with Mr. Archangel regarding the Eyeball Snatcher cases. My BFF and neighbor, Alice Sinclair, had fallen victim to that serial killer. Mr. Archangel had on beautiful high heels. Your shoes were okay, though a tad bit boring. Oh, and don’t tell me you forgot you ate Neiman Marcus Exclusive chocolate coated potato crisps in my kitchen.”

  I gulped air. Being one of those people who was never on blogs, Facebook, Twitter, or even Instagram, there was no way a total stranger had knowledge about my personal activities. The tone of voice, the way she talked, it was definitely her. Add being a smartass to the list, it was Karen.

  “Holy fuck,” I gasped. Then my voice raised an octave. “Pardon my French. Do you happen to be calling from the afterlife, such as heaven?”

  “No. I’m not dead, yet. How about chilling a little, Kelly?”

  “Chill? Hello? That’s asking a lot. How am I supposed to chill myself when I’m talking to someone calling completely out of the realm of reality?”

  “Kelly.” She sighed. “Has it occurred to you that you may be having a real conversation with a live person who happens to be someone who regards you as a friend?”

  “So…” I gulped. “Are you still alive?”

  “Hello? I’ve been trying to let you know I’m alive for the past couple of minutes. Oh, don’t forget that all parts of me are still attached to my body, including but not limited to my eyeballs.”

  I opened my mouth to say something intelligible, only to find the words failed to come. So I shut my mouth and opened it again, hoping something came out. I repeated the procedure several times.

  “Wow,” was the best I managed to say. Unbelievable was an understatement. “So, Karen, where are you? What have you been doing? Are you okay? Or are you hurt? Oh, gawd, I’ve been worried sick about you!”

  Without answering any of my rapid-fire questions, she said, “Listen, Kelly. I need your help.”

  “What can I do?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “We’re talking. Tell me everything; I’m all ears.”

  “No, I mean, we need to talk in person. Would you please come see me?”

  There was something über-serious in her words.

  “I will,” I agreed. “I’m more than happy to see you. Where can we meet up?”

  “Before talking about it, Kelly, I need you to promise something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Please promise you’re not gonna tell anyone I called you or you’ll be meeting up with me?” It sounded more like a question. “I want to keep our meeting a secret. A private meeting, if you know what I mean.”

  “Oh…” I furrowed my eyebrows. “So you haven’t called your mom yet?”

  “No,” she said. I could imagine her shaking head on the other end. “Don’t tell me I need to call her or the police. I’m just not ready for that. I need moral support from you.”

  “Oh, my God!” I screeched, “You’re pregnant!” From the context of our conversation, it was obvious she had gone missing of her own will. Throw in her super-superior IQ, and voila, I couldn’t imagine any other reasons to drive her to take such a teenager-ish desperate measure.

  “No way!” she shot back. “Kelly, I can’t believe you said that. How old do you think I am? I’m eight, not freaking eighteen! I haven’t even had sex! Believe me, if I were pregnant, I would be filing a miracle report to the Vatican rather than talking to you.”

  “So, you’re not pregnant. All right, how nice. What a relief…”

  “Exactly. I’m not pregnant.” She added rather sheepishly, “Will you come?”

  “Of course I will. But you’ve got lots of explaining to do.”

  “I guess so.” She sighed. “I can’t believe my stupidity.”

  “Hey, don’t beat yourself up over the past. What’s happened has happened,” I said as reassuringly as possible.

  Karen’s sudden getaway reminded me of Bart, one of my past stepbrothers with somewhat questionable academic performances. When he was in fifth grade, he faked his own kidnapping to stop his dad from meeting his teacher at a pre-summer-vacation parent-teacher conference, causing a hell of a panic and a massive manhunt involving the police and the FBI. Later, he was found safe at a weekend house within ten miles of our home address. He was playing Gameboy when the police discovered him. He wanted to keep his crappy grades a secret, but apparently, his tactics didn’t work well. He ended up spending that summer in an intensive tutoring camp without Gameboy or PlayStation.

  I continued, “Karen, I’m glad you called and you’re well enough to make a phone call. I can imagine it wasn’t easy taking the first step by breaking your silence, but you did it anyway, and I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks for the kind words. That’s nice to hear.” She tried to chuckle, but it ended up more like a gagging sound.

  “We’ll meet, and then we’ll talk. Take it easy, Karen. Everything will be all right.” Though I wasn’t all that sure how to make things all right.

  “Okay. I really hoped something magical would happen,” she muttered nervously. “So, please pinky swear you are coming all by yourself without telling a soul.”

  “Yep, pinky swear. Trust me.”

  “Don’t even think about fessing up to your boyfriend.”

  “Don’t worry; I wouldn’t tell a soul. Besides that, I don’t have a boyfriend in the first place. Anyway, my lips are zipped and the key’s thrown away. So, where can I meet you?”

  She gave a shallow sigh. “A little shop called Rhapsody in Pink. I’ll meet you there. Remember, Kelly, you’re coming here all on your own.” She gave me an address, and after a pause, she added, “Kelly, I really hope to see you soon. And remember, if you break our promise and tell anyone I called you before meeting me, I won’t be able to meet you any mor
e, much less talk.”

  I sensed desperation from her last words.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Karen?”

  I tried to clarify, but the line was dead.

  Chapter 30

  Reciting the address Karen had given me over and over like the alphabet song, I made a U-turn and drove the back to the shop on Kendall Avenue. The destination was close. As in a five-minute drive close. Good thing I was already in the area.

  Things were turning out pretty well. It looked like I was making huge progress.

  Okay, so it was more like pure luck that I got a phone call from Karen, rather than the fruit of my hard work. Then again, as they say, “All’s well that ends well.” Finding out Karen was alive and well was even better than catching the killer. Now that Karen was not in danger, visiting Dr. Julia Stewart’s family could wait.

  I thought about calling Archangel to give him an update of my latest progress. After all, his theory that Karen should be still alive turned out to be right.

  After some serious debating with myself, I chose not to call him. Yet.

  Karen seemed serious when she said she needed to speak to me in private. I knew she wasn’t a dumb kid who enjoyed getting herself and others in trouble. There was a good reason for her to demand privacy. I didn’t want to ruin our mutual trust by prematurely bringing in Archangel before finding more about the situation.

  I drove three more blocks on the broad street, turned left, and drove into a residential area.

  Low-rise apartments and moderate-to-large houses were lined up on quiet streets, peppered with occasional small shops and cafés. I couldn’t help wondering how Karen had ended up here. The neighborhood didn’t seem to be bad or dangerous, but it was far from her home.

  Driving slowly, I scanned each building for ads or signs of my destination. In the middle of the third street, I found our rendezvous point.

  It was on the ground floor of a red-brick three-story building. A small yet eye-catching hot pink billboard said Rhapsody in Pink in white letters was hard to miss. Also, Antiques, Arts & Crafts, Psychic Reading Available written on the window with glitter stickers facing the street was hard to miss as well.

  The building didn’t come with parking spots for visitors, so I rolled past the store, turned left, and pulled over to the corner of the street. I parked my car and jogged to my destination.

  There was an OPEN sign on the glass and wrought iron door. From the outside, the shop’s décor was shabby pop. Numerous stickers and banners were on the door and the window facing the street, making the place somewhat mysterious.

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door. Bells hanging from the door hinges jingled as I walked in.

  Inside, there was a guy tending the shop all by himself.

  “Hello, there,” he greeted.

  He was a Caucasian in his late-twenties to early-thirties with an average height and slim body. He was wearing a light-blue fleece top and a pair of khakis. He had green eyes and freckles on pale skin, and he was kind of cute. His rose-colored lips curved into a shy smile.

  “Hello.” Anxious to see Karen, I cast glances around the place.

  “May I help you?” he said, fumbling with the cuff buttons of his shirt.

  “Actually, I’m supposed to meet up with a friend here.”

  “So you must be Kelly!” His smile widened. “I know her, and I was expecting you.”

  “Uh…really? Wow.” I was a little bit baffled with the situation. “And you are?”

  “I’m Alan, Alan Hamilton,” he said. “Nice to meet you.” Smiling, he continued, “Karen just called and told me everything. I believe she’ll be here in five minutes or so. Have a seat?” He gestured to a white, wooden stool.

  “Thanks, but I prefer to look around the shop, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not, make yourself at home.” He nodded and went to the door, flipping the “Open” sign to “Closed.” “Let’s make it private here. Rhapsody’s reserved just for you and Karen.”

  I ambled to a glass showcase. “So, Alan, what brought you and Karen to know each other?”

  “Actually, she is a frequent customer here. She likes the kinds of goods I have here at this little shop, not to mention she likes my psychic readings as well. Such a charming little girl, you know? So intelligent and sensitive.”

  “I know. Then again, she’s got her share of naiveté, disappearing and reappearing like this, scaring the wits out of me. Seeing the news and all, I couldn’t help but thinking of the worst-case scenario.” I sighed. “So, Alan, you knew where she’s been staying all this time?”

  “No way! Of course not.” Hands up in the air, he winced. “I’m a law-abiding citizen. If I knew of her whereabouts, I would have talked her into coming out and reported to the authorities. She didn’t give me details, but mentioned she was staying with a relative or something like that. When she makes up her mind, nobody can make her change it.”

  “Yeah. As much as I’m relieved and happy she’s well and alive, I can’t help wondering what drove her to take such an extreme action. She’s not a ‘run away from home’ kind of girl, you know.”

  “Hmm…” Tilting his head to side, he said, “Maybe that’s because we’re seeing only the superficial aspects of her as a little girl. But as we know, she is a mature, intelligent lady trapped in a little girl’s body.”

  He had a point.

  “I suppose you’re right,” I agreed, looking up at the shelves full of little goods with relatively big price tags. “Absolutely, she is…” As I was about to share my insight on humanity, my eyes got stuck on a painting in the corner of the shop and I stopped.

  “Good God…” As I approached the wall hanging the subject that caught my attention, I gasped.

  “This one has character, doesn’t it?” With the tip of his fingers, Alan fondly stroked the frame of the painting.

  In my mind, I was trying to make an intelligible reply, but words just failed to come out of my mouth. At a complete loss for words, I gaped at the painting like a total idiot. Obviously, it came with something more significant than character.

  The first thing that grabbed my attention was the color scheme—the whole picture was painted in shades of pink. And its brushwork characteristic looked consistent with the ones I’d seen before. The motif was the sun and the sky. It was hard to tell if the sun was rising, setting, or just floating in the sky. On top of all that, this painting had the same signature “Sam,” just like the ones I’d seen at Alice Sinclair’s condo.

  I blinked and couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing.

  Then I muttered, “Jesus H…”

  There was something else I noticed about the painting besides the similarities in color and signature.

  The sun was the main motif in the full 30 x 40 inch canvas. With a closer look, I could see the sun was composed of numerous small circular dots in strong shades of shocking pink, and each small dot had another circular dot in the center painted in a different shade of pink. In addition, the sky surrounding the sun was painted in a gazillion circular dots as well—like some kind of fake Paul Signac painting. Only it came with more obsession. A whole lot more obsession.

  I was no expert in art or symbolism, but I knew all the dots in this painting represented eyeballs.

  Actually, this was not a painting of a landscape. A painting of a crazy number of eyeballs was more like it.

  Suddenly, I started to feel sick, so sick that I was afraid my lunch would come back from my stomach to say hello.

  “This is called Rhapsody in Pink,” Alan told me, still stroking the frame of the picture. “I named this shop after this piece of art.”

  “Oh…I see.” I gasped, opening and closing my mouth, trying my best not to blurt out, “Rhapsody in Pink? You’ve got to be kidding me. Obsession in Pink sounds more like it.” I cleared my throat. “By the way, Alan, do you happen to know the person who created this piece of…art?” I managed to say, even though it seemed more app
ropriate to call that piece crap instead of art.

  “Of course.” He flashed a smile. “I personally know the artist who created this piece of work. So tell me, Kelly, what do you think about this painting?”

  “Well, it’s interesting,” I said. Although “disgusting” was closer to what I had in my mind, I didn’t want to offend Alan. One of the keys to having an amicable discussion about artwork was to avoid dissing particular art pieces or creators. So in this case, “interesting” was the all-purpose term. In addition, I really needed to discover as much information as possible about this painting and the creator, not to mention I still had to meet up with Karen here.

  It was apparent that whoever painted this picture Rhapsody in Pink was obsessed with eyeballs. I mean, what kind of person—minus an obsession—was capable of painting infinite eyeballs without getting sick?

  On top of all that, an eyeball obsession fit perfectly with the murderer’s profile.

  “So, Alan, can you tell me more about this painter…Sam? The signature says ‘Sam,’ right?”

  “Right. His name is Sam Deuchars.”

  “Can you tell me more about him?” His home address, for example. “I’m completely captivated by this piece.”

  “Oh, really?” He wore a lopsided grin.

  “Yes. So, is Sam a local artist?”

  “Of course I know. He lives in Maine.”

  “In Maine?” I parroted. “Maine’s a bit too far from here, isn’t it?” Think of the inconvenience commuting from Maine to the DC vicinity just to commit brutal murders.

  “I know it’s far from here. But he often visits this area. Also, he has a vacation home in a town close to the West Virginia border as well. A beautiful house in a deep forest. It’s a three-hour drive from here. And guess what? He’s still staying at his vacation home.” Then he added, “Hey, you’re really interested in him, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I think so.” I pointed at Rhapsody in Pink. “The painting is so captivating.”

  “I see. Hey, you can visit him and say hi, you can even take a look at his newest creations. He loves to interact with his fans.”