“Oh, my word! What happened?”
“Someone broke in through a window. Ripped her throat out in the middle of the night.”
I glanced at Grayson. He was looking away, but I got the feeling he’d been listening in. He’d been gone all night. His clothes were in the washing machine. A knife-blade of fear stabbed me in the back.
“Bobbie? Are you there?” Paulson asked.
I took a step away from Grayson and whispered, “Yes. Should I come by?”
“No. The FBI’s been called. Stay where you are. Is that lodger of yours still around?”
Cold wind swept down my spine. “Yes.”
“Be careful, Bobbie.”
“I will.” I hung up the phone.
“What’s up?” Grayson asked.
I turned to face him and tried to smile, but it wouldn’t stick. “Nothing. Beth-Ann’s cat had kittens is all. I’m going to go over there to, you know, help out with the delivery.”
“I love kittens. Can I come?”
Grayson took a step toward me. I took a step back.
“Well,” I fumbled, “I’m gonna get my eyebrows tweezed, too. So why don’t you hang around here? Talk to Earl. He told me your RV should be ready soon. Maybe today, even.”
Grayson eyed me like he wasn’t buying it. “What’s really going on?”
I looked away. “Nothing. I just need some girl time, okay?”
Grayson shot me a dubious look. “Okay.”
I wanted to run, to get the hell away from Grayson. But I willed myself not to. Instead, I channeled my fear into enough energy to march back up the stairs to my apartment.
As I headed down the hall to my bedroom, the sound of the washing machine made me stop in my tracks. I looked around to make sure Grayson wasn’t behind me, then I carefully opened the bi-fold doors to the closet housing the washer and dryer. I lifted the lid on the washing machine and peeked inside. The water around the clothes in the drum was tinged dark pink.
“What are you doing?” Grayson’s voice rang out behind me. I dropped the lid and nearly peed my pants.
“Yeah ... uh ... nothing.” I tried the lame smile again but even I wasn’t buying it. “Just wanted to see if there was room, you know, for a few of my unmentionables.”
Grayson smiled. “Sure.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he joked.
I laughed, but this time his humor was totally lost on me.
Chapter Thirty-Three
AS I PULLED OUT OF the parking lot, I caught Grayson eyeing me from the upstairs window of my grandmother’s apartment. Something creepy crawled down my neck and over my shoulders.
Great. Thanks to him, not even my own home felt safe anymore.
I hit the gas and headed in the direction of Cherry Manor to check out the remains of a woman I’d known since I was a kid. I was driving my dead father’s car, mashing the gas pedal with his oversized boots. On my head was a stranger’s wig held down with Earl’s stupid Lucky Red cap.
What part of this insane life is mine? Is anything in it something I actually chose for myself?
I did a mental inventory and couldn’t come up with a single item. I was working a hand-me-down job, living a hand-me-down life. My grandmother was gone. My father was gone. My mother was gone. And now, Mrs. Vanderhoff was gone. Point Paradise was slipping from my grasp despite my attempt to resurrect it.
Maybe it was time to just let it go ....
The pine trees ticked by on either side of the road. Never again would I be a little tomboy stalking dolls in the woods with a BB gun. Never again would I get another warm, White Shoulders-scented hug from my Grandma Selma. Never again would I help my dad change an oil filter. Or hear my mother chide me about how dirty I’d gotten my clothes.
Clothes.
Grayson’s bloody laundry was churning in my washing machine. What had he done?
He might be a murderer. He might be a saint. But either way, Grayson had been right. I had wished for change. Big change. A whole new life kind of change. I’d yearned for something more interesting—more exciting. But tracking down Mothman? Really?
Had someone upstairs heard my prayers wrong? Again?
Am I really just a pawn in some long-running gag that only ends when I take my last breath? If so, who’ll be there to see it?
I blew out a sigh. As aggravating as he was, at least I still had Earl.
Yippee.
I hit the gas, trying to outrun a past I no longer wanted. But what else was out there? Only a future I couldn’t see. But wherever I went from here on out, one thing would go with me. That stupid twin inside my head. Thanks to it, my life was never going to be the same.
Grayson was right. I should’ve been a lot more careful about what I’d wished for.
I PULLED UP IN FRONT of Vanderhoff’s modest little block home. It had been plain before. But somehow it seemed even plainer now that her life had gone out of it.
Paulson’s car was out front. A blue Toyota Corolla. I made a mental note of it, walked up to the front door, and rapped my knuckles on the wood paneling. Paulson’s face appeared in the small window.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as he opened the front door a crack.
“I thought I might be able to help.”
“It’s pretty gruesome.”
“Where is she?”
“In her bed.”
Paulson opened the door wider. His hands had blood on them. He noticed that I noticed.
“It was awful, Bobbie.” He turned, and I followed him into Vanderhoff’s kitchen. “I covered her with the bedsheets. I couldn’t bear for someone to see her like that...all exposed and everything.”
Paulson’s voice cracked as he washed his hands in the sink. I noticed my business card on the refrigerator and my heart pinged.
Poor Mrs. Vanderhoff. Oh, geez! And poor me if the FBI guys find my stupid P.I. wannabe card in here!
While Paulson had his back to me, I peeled my business card from the fridge. The magnet came to, glued to the card by some sticky substance I didn’t have the time or desire to discern at the moment. I jammed them both in my pocket right before Paulson turned around.
He reached for the dishtowel hanging off the refrigerator door. His eyes were filled with tears. I patted him on the back. He nearly broke down. “How could something like this happen?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered, as no better words came to mind.
“Maybe you were right about seeing that convict in the woods after all.” Paulson sniffed back tears. “Thanks for coming by, but you should go now. This may be the work of a serial killer. Like I told you before. The FBI’s been notified. They should be here any minute now. I don’t want you to get hung up in this.”
“Okay. You sure you’re all right?”
“Yes.” Paulson looked me in the eyes, an apologetic expression twisting his handsome face. “I know it’s unprofessional to cry. But I’ve just never seen anything like this.”
“I understand. Nobody would expect such a thing to happen here in Point Paradise.”
As Paulson ushered me to the door, a thought crossed my mind. Should I retrieve the tele-bug device Grayson had stashed under Vanderhoff’s couch cushion? Conflicted, I considered telling Paulson about it. But with Vanderhoff dead in the next room and the FBI on their way, every fiber of my being wanted to get the hell out of there. This whole thing was way out of my league. Besides, who was I to point the finger at Grayson? What if it really was the Mothman who did it?
Mothman? Cripes! I’m beginning to buy into this bullshit! I really do need a shrink.
If I told Paulson about Mothman, he’d think I was looney tunes for sure. I’d probably become the FBI’s number one suspect. Then there was Grayson’s bloody laundry ....
I decided to keep my trap shut and let the FBI do their work. They’d find the tele-bug soon enough. And if Grayson was guilty, he’d be found out. To borrow one of Grayson’s clichés, let the ch
ips fall where they may.
Paulson ushered me out the front door and said, “I guess that means our little wager is off.”
“Wager?”
“Twenty bucks or dinner.”
“Oh. Right,” I said absently. “Yes. You’re off the hook.”
“That’s too bad.” Paulson gave me a sad smile and closed the door.
I walked to the Mustang and climbed in. As I turned the ignition, something about Paulson and men in general got under my skin like a bad rash.
Guys. Do they ever stop thinking about sex?
A tap on the passenger door window made me flinch. It was Nancy Parker, the dog-walking neighbor lady I’d seen last time I was here with Grayson.
“What’s happening at Mrs. Vanderhoff’s?” she asked. “Did she find a buyer?”
“I don’t think she’s looking for one. She’s dead.”
“Dead?” Parker’s face registered delight for a second, then shifted into the furrowed-brow concern of a decent, law-abiding citizen. “That’s too bad.” She looked down at her dog. “Well, Doodles, I guess we won’t be seeing any more of Popeye.”
“Who’s Popeye?” I asked.
Parker made a sour face. “Vanderhoff’s mangy, one-eyed mutt. He’s the terror of the neighborhood. Always digging out from under the fence and trying to do his business with my poor Doodles. I can’t say I’ll miss him.”
“Or poor Mrs. Vanderhoff?” I asked sarcastically.
“Well, to be honest, no.”
For the umpteenth time, I tried to roll up my broken driver’s side window, making me grimace at my own stupidity. I shifted into first, and, just to prove I was honest as well, I did what I told Grayson I was going to do. I headed in the direction of Waldo to see Beth-Ann.
“IF GRAYSON ASKS, YOUR cat had kittens,” I said as I walked into Beth-Ann’s converted beauty shop garage.
“I don’t have a cat. And why would Grayson call me?”
“I don’t know. But I want to have a plan, just in case he does.”
“You sound paranoid, Bobbie.”
“Maybe I am. Vanderhoff died last night.”
“Dang it! I just ordered a whole case of that blue rinse she uses.”
“Somebody murdered her, Beth-Ann.”
Beth-Ann did a double take. “What?”
“They ripped her throat out. Just like the corpse I saw in the woods.”
“What corpse? Don’t tell me there’s a serial killer on the loose and you didn’t even bother to tell me!”
“I’m telling you now.”
“And you think Grayson’s the killer?”
I studied her face. “Maybe. Why would you say that?”
“I did that Google search. Like you asked. He’s got kind of a shady past.”
“And you didn’t bother to tell me? He could have killed me, for crying out loud, Beth-Ann! Do you know he was gone the entire night last night? And this morning ... his laundry ... it was all bloody.”
“Criminy!”
I winced. “What did you find out about him?”
“Well, that he was telling the truth. Grayson was a physicist, like he said. But he got discredited and lost his position at MIT.”
“Why?”
“The grounds were kind of vague. Unethical behavior.”
“That could mean anything from stealing paperclips to creating mutants in a lab.” I wrung my hands. “What are we going to do?”
“I know what I’m gonna do.”
Beth-Ann marched over to a cabinet and opened a drawer. She pulled out a pistol and pointed the barrel toward the sky. “Watch out Mothman, and any other kind of man who gets in my way.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have another one of those, would you?”
Beth-Ann bit her lip. “Well, I was saving it for your birthday, but I think I’d rather give it to you now, so you live to turn thirty-seven.” She reached deeper into the drawer and pulled out a wrapped gift.
“Here, Detective Drex. Happy Birthday.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
I RETURNED TO ROBERT’S Mechanics feeling like a new woman. I was invigorated, supercharged, and packing heat. With my very own, no-hand-me-down Glock tucked away in the right hip pocket of my coveralls, I was prepared to handle whatever Grayson threw at me. And he knew firsthand what a good shot I was.
Grayson’s RV was out of the service bay, parked in the lot up near the road. Earl’s blue-coveralled butt was bent over the open hood.
“How much longer?” I asked as I shut off the Mustang’s engine.
“Just took it for a test drive.” Earl wiped a socket wrench with an oily rag. “Needs a few adjustments and she’s ready to roll.”
“Good, because I’m ready for Grayson to leave.”
Earl’s eyebrows disappeared under his shaggy bangs. “Lover’s quarrel?”
“Har har har. I think he’s outstayed his welcome. And what gives? I thought you said you’d have that thing ready by now.”
“I would’ve,” he argued, “but these two fellas stopped by asking for directions to Alto Lake. I told ’em to find Waldo and—”
“What did they look like?”
“Like them men-in-black fellas. Only they was men in blue. Probably FBI.” Earl looked up to the sky and scratched his stubbly chin. “I wonder if a UFO crashed somewheres around here.”
“What makes you think they were FBI? Did they say so?”
“No. But I watch The X-Files, Bobbie. I know the difference.”
“Earl, they were the FBI. Paulson called them. Vanderhoff’s been killed.”
“Kilt? As in dead?”
“Yes.”
“How? Who done it?”
“I don’t know. Where’s Grayson?”
“Upstairs packing.”
For his getaway, no doubt.
“Okay. Earl, if he tries to leave, don’t let him.”
Earl smiled slyly. “Lookin’ for one more roll in the hay first?”
“No!” I hissed. “He owes us a hundred and eighty-eight dollars.”
I turned and stomped up the stairs. My bravado faded with each step.
Should I call Paulson? Should I confront Grayson on my own? Should I just get the money from him and let him go?
I tapped on the door to Grandma Selma’s apartment. Grayson called out, “Come in.”
He was sitting at the kitchen table. As I entered, he looked up from his laptop and smiled. Beside him on the table were two stacks of pink T-shirts and boxers, neatly folded and stacked with the kind of precision that made me question his mental state even more.
I eyed him suspiciously. “Funny. I pictured you as the tighty-whitey type.”
“That’s what I get for buying cheap red handkerchiefs,” Grayson said. “I tried out that biker, do-rag look. But I think the fedora is more me. What do you think?”
You’ve got a smartass answer for everything, that’s what I think.
I felt for the Glock in my pocket to steady my nerves. “You going somewhere?”
Grayson shrugged. “Thought I’d rob a liquor store and go to Disneyland.”
“Cut the crap, Grayson. You’re a liar. You told me you’re a physicist.”
Grayson’s brow furrowed. “I am.”
“You were discredited years ago.”
“So? Once a physicist, always a physicist. How did you find that out, anyway? Did you use my computer?” Grayson smiled in a way that made me squirm inside.
“No.”
“Why not? Couldn’t get past the question on the screen?”
“I didn’t try. I guess I really didn’t want to find out what would happen. What do you do to people who mess with your computer anyway? Rip their throats out?”
“It’s a joke, Drex.” Grayson laughed and shook his head. “You really are uptight. Look.” He turned the laptop on the table until the screen faced me. The same question from last night was flashing on the display: “Are you sure you want to do this?”
He pressed the button
. The computer opened to a menu. “See? It’s not even locked. The only password required is a conscience. Looks like you’ve got one. Congratulations.”
Yeah, but do you?
“My personal integrity is important to me,” I said in a way I hoped implied that I didn’t think his was.
Grayson eyed me silently for a moment. “I want to show you something.”
I touched the loaded gun in my pocket again. “If it’s your lizard, I’m not interested.”
Grayson laughed. “Keep Gizzard out of this.”
He got up and walked out of my grandmother’s apartment, down the breezeway and into mine without even so much as a “Do you mind?” I tagged along after him, uncertain what else I should do.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To your bed.”
“Forget it!” I yelled to his back. He turned around.
“I want to show you some important evidence I found, Drex. And I want you to be hooked up to the alpha wave monitor when you see it. I need to see how you react subconsciously.”
“Why?” I hissed. “What difference does it make?”
“It makes all the difference, Drex. Trust me on this.”
“Trust you? Why should I?”
Grayson shrugged. “I guess that’s a valid question. But good grief? If you don’t by now, will you ever?”
I stared at Grayson until he sighed.
“Would it help if I asked nicely?” he said.
I didn’t answer.
“Would you please do this for me, Drex? People’s lives could be at stake. Including yours.”
I know. That’s what I’m afraid of.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I WAS LYING IN MY BED, my hand tucked inside the pocket of my coveralls. Unbeknownst to Grayson, my fingers were wrapped tightly around the grip of my sleek, new subcompact Glock. The barrel was pointed at Grayson’s heart as he leaned over me and stuck electrodes on my stubbly scalp.
“Calm your mind,” he said softly.
Clearing my head was oddly difficult to do with him so near. Just inches from me, I found the animal warmth of his body teasing me in places long left unteased. Grayson was a man of mystery. Dangerous. Provocative. Strangely alluring. If I wasn’t careful, he could be the death of me.
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