Nearly Departed (Spring Cleaning Mysteries)

by J. B. Lynn

  "Is that true?" Venus asked him.

  He nodded, and yet he didn't move.

  Venus shifted uncomfortably from one stiletto to another. "I shouldn't have come over without calling. It's just that usually Vicky is home alone…"

  "He's not a date," I assured her again. "He works for Spring Cleaning."

  "Why?" Venus asked bluntly. "He's not like most of the other losers you hire."

  "Venus!" I hissed, utterly mortified. "You can't go around insulting people like that."

  Smoke chuckled. "Relax, Victoria. I'm not insulted."

  "He calls you Victoria?" Venus asked wide-eyed. She looked at Smoke. "She's hated being called Victoria ever since Frank DePaulo took to calling her Queen Victoria."

  "I'm sure Mr. Barclay doesn't care about this," I said hurriedly.

  "And when was that?" Smoke asked, a devilish twinkle dancing in his eyes.

  "Sixth…no, seventh grade," Venus confided.

  "And why did he call her that?" Smoke asked.

  "Oh, enough of this ancient history," I interrupted.

  Venus smiled at the memory. "Because he tried to kiss her at the Formal Dance, and she spilled punch down the front of his pants."

  Smoke threw back his head and laughed. "Can't blame the kid for trying."

  "That's exactly what I told her!" Venus beamed. "Care to join us for dinner, Mr. Barclay? We won't be dining here since Vicky never allows anyone inside."

  Smoke slid a questioning glance toward me. I sucked in a sharp breath. He'd been inside twice. Hell, he'd eaten at my table. If he let that slip, how was I supposed to explain to my best friend why I kept her waiting in the driveway every time she came over? It wasn't like I could explain that Delia had seen the way Mike looks at Venus and was incredibly jealous.

  "Thanks, but no. I've got plans."

  I exhaled the breath I'd been holding, knowing full well he'd grill me about my odd behavior the next day. Tonight though, I was getting a reprieve. I gave him a shaky smile of thanks.

  He didn't respond in kind. He just stared at me for the briefest of moments, his expression inscrutable. With a wave, he climbed into his Jeep and drove away.

  "Seriously," Venus said the moment he was gone, "where'd you find him?"

  "He's a friend of Mike's."

  "He doesn't look like any friend of Mike's I've ever met."

  I nodded my agreement. "So when did you get home?"

  "Yesterday."

  We didn't get to catch up any further because a black sedan pulled into the driveway. I recognized the driver immediately.

  "Now what?" I muttered.

  "Something wrong?" Venus asked.

  I shrugged. "I don't know. This is about Spring Cleaning. Do you mind waiting in the garage?"

  Venus watched Detective Al Reed climb out of his car. "He's cute."

  "He's a cop."

  "Okay, so he's a cute cop."

  I shoved her gently toward the garage. "Please, Vee? It's been a long day."

  She sauntered away giving Al Reed an eyeful as she went.

  "What can I do for you, Detective?" I asked, striding toward him.

  He tore his gaze from Venus's undulating ass and dragged it over to my face. "Hey, Vicky. I wanted to talk to you about what happened between me and Barclay."

  I waited.

  "You have to understand. He's a bad egg."

  "Is he?"

  Reed nodded. "He was kicked off the force because he gave a suspect a beating that ended in the man's death. He's the kind of guy you should stay away from him. He's more trouble than he's worth."

  I might have agreed with him about the last bit, but I was too annoyed that Al Reed was telling me how to run my business. "Did he go to jail?"

  "What?"

  "Did he go to jail for beating that man to death?"

  "No…he pled the whole thing out. He gave up his badge, and, in return, he didn't face any criminal charges."

  "So he got away with murder?" That didn't jive with the story that Smoke had told me.

  "He…I…he…" Reed fumbled his words which didn't instill much confidence in me. "He claimed he didn't do it, but his temper was legendary on the force. Everyone knew he was the guy most likely to blow his top."

  "Really?" That didn't really match up with the even-tempered man I'd met. Sure he'd shoved a sofa across the room, but that had been the extent of the evidence of his anger.

  "He's dangerous," Reed warned. "You should fire him."

  "I'll think about it." I didn't see giving the best employee I'd had in…well, ever, a pink slip anytime soon.

  "You do that. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you." He got back into his car, rolled down the window and added, "Don't forget you owe me a coffee date."

  I nodded.

  I watched him drive away wondering who I should believe about Smoke Barclay: the detective who got paid to judge a person's character, or Mike, who called Smoke a friend.

  "If Mike shows up, you'll have a trifecta of hot guys beating a path to your door." Venus emerged from the garage.

  "I told you, Smoke is an employee, and the detective was here about work. No one's beating a path to my door."

  "Like you'd notice if anyone were. I swear, you've become, as your Grandma used to say, 'the world's biggest stick-in-the-mud' ever since Jerry…" She clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Taking pity on her, I asked helpfully, "Left me in charge of the business?"

  She nodded.

  For a split second I considered confiding that it wasn't just Spring Cleaning that was draining me. It was the demands of the ghosts I now communicated with. Then I saw the lines creasing the skin between her eyebrows. She was already worried about my overall well-being. There was no reason to concern her with my mental health.

  "Let's have cheese fries for dinner, channel our inner fifteen-year-old selves, and gossip the night away," I suggested.

  Her concerns evaporated and she flashed that stunning smile that had men constantly beating a path to her door. "As long as we chase them down with margaritas."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The margaritas caught up with me the next morning. I sat at my usual table at the diner where Carla was refilling my coffee cup at regular fifteen minute intervals.

  "What you did the other day…" Carla began awkwardly.

  I fought the urge to close my eyes and shut her out. If she needed to talk about it, I'd listen. I might puke because of my hangover, but I'd listen.

  "Thanks. What can I get you?" she asked, effectively ending the conversation she had initiated.

  Instead of my usual hearty breakfast, I ordered wheat toast. Dry. It sat uneaten in front of me. I alternated between eyeing it and the past due Yellow Pages bill I'd propped up against the salt and pepper shakers.

  "Morning," a familiar male voice drawled.

  I tipped my head back to get a look at the face that went with the voice. I winced. "What are you doing here?" My own voice was raspy.

  Smoke slid into the seat opposite me. "I thought you might be here."

  I drained the rest of my coffee. "Did you figure that out using the detective skills you learned as a cop?"

  "I figured you'd gone out with an old friend who you hadn't seen in a while."

  Carla came over to refill my cup and put one in front of Smoke. "Do you want anything with that?"

  "Two eggs over easy with bacon well-done and rye toast, please."

  My stomach soured.

  "Coming right up." Carla flashed him a smile.

  A smile? I'd never seen one of those on the waitress before. It softened her, made her look approachable. I held my breath, hoping this didn't mean she was about to start indulging in chit chat. Thankfully she walked away.

  "Your friend Venus looks like she's quite the party girl, so I figured you'd be nursing a hangover here." Smoke squinted at me. "Apparently I wasn't wrong."

  "She's not really."

  "Not your friend or not a party girl."

&nb
sp; "A party girl. She's a great friend."

  "And yet you won't allow her to step inside your house. Explain that to me."

  I lifted my coffee cup to my lips and made a show of blowing on the steaming liquid. It wasn't like I could tell him that I was afraid of what Delia might do to Venus in a fit of jealous rage. I went with a half-truth. "She'd be appalled to see how I live."

  He raised his eyebrows. "Isn't everyone?"

  I shrugged. "I don't much care what everyone thinks."

  "Hmmm."

  That 'hmmm' was loaded with things I really didn't want to get into. What I really wanted was for my headache to stop pounding and my stomach to quit roiling. Mercifully Carla arrived with his order.

  "Cash flow problems?" He nodded toward the Past Due bill.

  "Nope."

  "Tom DiNunzio gave me a more than generous severance package, probably as thanks for not launching a sexual harassment charge against his sister. You could hold off on paying me."

  "It's not a cash flow issue," I assured him. I hadn't yet renewed the Spring Cleaning ad in the Yellow Pages because I really wasn't sure it was worth sinking money into something I desperately wanted to quit doing.

  "What is it then?" Smoke asked through a mouthful of egg.

  "I've been thinking of going in another direction." That wasn't a lie, just a truth designed to be misunderstood.

  "What kind of direction? Office cleaning? House cleaning?"

  "I am a whiz at removing almost any kind of stain known to man." The bill still came in Jerry's name. I ran my finger over it.

  "Or are you thinking of getting out altogether?"

  I looked up, surprised. "Why would you ask that?"

  "Mike told me your brother started the business."

  I nodded.

  "So I figured it's not your dream, but you've been doing it a long time. Maybe you want to try something different." He delivered the words in a casual tone, but he watched my reaction carefully.

  "Are you offering to buy me out?"

  He shook his head. "Not me. Eventually I'm going to get back on the force."

  His declaration reminded me of Detective Reed's visit the night before.

  "I don't think crime scene clean-up is the right line of work for you," he continued. "I saw you with the parents of the boy yesterday. Your heart was breaking for them. That kind of emotional turmoil's gotta take a toll on you."

  I looked away. "It's not that bad."

  "You hate it," he whispered.

  I shook my head but couldn't bring myself to voice the lie. I stared down at the table, willing the tears that filled my eyes not to fall.

  Reaching out across the table he caught my hand. "Why do you do something you hate? The job is physically demanding and emotionally draining, so why keep at it?"

  I pulled my hand free. "Family. I know that's something a lot of people can't understand, but for me, it's the reason."

  "I understand."

  There was such sadness in his tone that I looked up at him. "You do?"

  He cleared his throat, put down his fork, and pushed his chair away from the table. "I've got something I've got to take care of this morning. I should be at the frat boy house by ten. Do you mind if we don't start work until then?"

  "No problem."

  "You won't go in there and start without me?"

  "I promised you I wouldn't, and I make every effort to keep my promises."

  "Even if they're to your detriment apparently," he said dryly.

  "Those most of all," I joked.

  A half-smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Okay, I'll see you there at ten."

  With a nod of thanks in Carla's general direction, he strode out of the diner.

  My favorite waitress returned to the table to refill my cup.

  I held out a hand to stop her. "Just the check please, Carla."

  "No can do. I didn't realize the other day that you and Barclay are friends. No friend of his ever pays at one of my tables."

  That piqued my curiosity. "Why's that?"

  "Because he's an excellent judge of character." The very reason I liked Carla so much (that she didn't indulge in much chitchat) meant that she wasn't forthcoming with any more information.

  "We're not friends," I explained. "He works for me, so you can give me my check without any qualms."

  She shook her head. "Everyone, especially that man, deserves another chance. You're a good person for hiring him."

  "I was desperate."

  She laughed and walked away.

  She never did bring me my bill.

  * * *

  When Martin's parents had claimed that no one was looking for answers in their son's case, I wondered if they were right. I'd thought about asking Alan Reed, but I had decided that probably wasn't the best of ideas, considering his animosity toward Smoke. I did however have one other contact who would have the information I was looking for.

  Leaving the diner, I walked across the street, planted my butt on a bench, and waited for Megan Perron to wander out of her morning yoga class, looking all Zen.

  Not only had she been valedictorian of our high school class, but she'd been the girl who managed to make it all look effortless. The grades, the extracurricular activities, the boyfriends, the friends, everything had seemed to fall into place for her as though the stars had been aligned just so at the time of her birth.

  It hadn't surprised me that she'd continued to excel in college and had gotten into a first rate medical school. It did strike me as odd that she'd forsaken a career bringing in big bucks to become the county Medical Examiner.

  I just sat there in the sun, imagining all of the Vitamin D in my body getting activated by the rays and obliterating all the free-radical damage I'd done with the margaritas and steady diet of pizza.

  Sure enough, a few minutes later Megan, hair in a ponytail, skin flushed with feel-good endorphins, came out. She spotted me immediately and came to sit down beside me while swigging some green juice concoction from her environmentally-friendly bottle.

  "Does the irony that you regularly indulge in corpse pose ever occur to you?"

  She smiled the serene smile of someone who'd cleared her mind and contorted her body into ridiculous positions with even more ridiculous names. "How are you, Vicky?"

  "I'm tired. I'm working at the frat boy house."

  She blanched a bit. I worried that her vegetarian lifestyle was depriving her of iron.

  "It's a real mess," I continued.

  "I can only imagine."

  "But there's something that's bugging me about it."

  A guarded expression dropped over her features like a knight's mask clanging shut. "You know I can't discuss an open case with you."

  "So it is open? Someone's investigating? It's not just getting a rubber-stamped 'case closed?'"

  "I wouldn't know." She glanced up and down the street to see if anyone was within earshot. "What's this about, Vicky?"

  "I met Martin Nottoway's parents yesterday. Have you met them?"

  She nodded.

  "They seemed pretty sure their son wasn't a murderer."

  "All parents are," she muttered, practically repeating Smoke's words verbatim.

  "Still…I've talked to someone, and he seemed pretty sure Martin didn't do it."

  "Who?"

  I couldn't very well tell her it was the ghost of another kid who she'd autopsied. "A college kid who was hanging around. You saw the bodies, Megan. Do you believe that the one kid killed his two friends and then himself?"

  She nervously looked up and down the street again.

  "Megan?"

  "I don't know."

  "You don't know? Isn't it your job to figure that stuff out?"

  She frowned at me. I'd totally blown her sense of inner peace. When she spoke, she did so slowly, choosing her words carefully. "The evidence would support that theory."

  "But…?" I coaxed.

  She took a long draw of her green
juice. "But there were no signs of a struggle."

  "That doesn't make any sense. The place was trashed, and there was blood everywhere."

  "And yet there isn't a single defensive wound on either of the bodies. Each was shot multiple times, so if there was just a single shooter the second boy killed should have been aware of what was going on. Unless of course there was more than one shooter, and it was a coordinated attack." She sat quietly for a moment as we both considered what she'd revealed.

  I thought about Martin's shock and denial. "You don't think the Nottoway boy did it?"

  "It's not my job to figure that out. I've just urged the detective in charge of the case to keep digging and to not rubber stamp it."

  "Thanks, Megan. I appreciate the info."

  We stood up to go our separate ways. I was surprised when she pulled me in for a tight hug.

  "It's not your job to figure this out, Vicky. Please be careful," she whispered in my ear.

  "I will," I promised.

  I got to the frat boy house a little before ten. Since I'd promised Smoke I wouldn't go in without him, I had planned on waiting in the van for him to arrive, but Martin was out on the stoop. He wasn't alone.

  I squinted at the woman he was with. She had her back to me, so I couldn't see her face. I couldn't see through her either, which was odd, because it appeared that she and Martin were playing Rock, Paper, Scissors.

  I climbed out of the van so that I could get a better look at her. She definitely didn't shimmer in the sunlight the way he did, but I could hear her laughing and talking with him. I watched their game carefully. Martin made scissors. The woman made a rock. She smashed his scissors even though she shouldn't have been able to see his hand.

  I sucked in a breath. She could see him. She could see ghosts!

  I rushed toward them eager to meet someone who shared the same gift/curse as me. "Hello?"

  She turned toward me, and I could finally see her face.

  She had the distinctive features of someone with Down Syndrome. She smiled at me. "Hello!"

  I tried to ignore the sense of disappointment I felt. I thought I'd found someone like me, but obviously I hadn't.

  "Do you know how to play Rock, Paper, Scissors?" she asked.

  I nodded.