“Shado here. What’s up?” He slid off the stool to walk to the front window and distance himself from the other patrons. A city bus whizzed by on the freshly plowed street, oblivious, it seemed, to the fact it had but one passenger on board.
“I did some checking on the name you asked me to look up.” A moment of silence followed. “Are you at home?”
Shado glanced over his shoulder. “Are you my mother? Why do you ask?”
“Oh shit. What the hell did you do?”
“Could we please move on to the real reason you called?” Shado shifted to his other leg. He had a drink waiting for him.
He heard a sigh on the other end. “I can’t find a thing on Angel Marie Sutter. No one, I mean no one has filed any missing person reports. I even went to the national registry and found nothing. No records, no violations—not even a parking ticket. Clean as a whistle. Like she doesn’t exist.”
Given the battle she had with his car’s belt buckle and the odd questions she’d asked, Shado doubted she knew the first thing about how to drive. Not so strange if she was a runaway from a strict Amish community. “Well, we know she exists now, don’t we?” He wanted to say he hadn’t made love to a fantasy, but he needed to sort his private life out on his own. “Dumb idea, but did you happen to do a Google search?” he asked, noting the snow appeared to be dwindling in intensity. Then again, it had been doing so off and on all day, creating havoc in a place, which rarely had record-breaking snowfalls.
“Yeah, I did.” There was a strange tone in his voice, more than the natural Texas drawl he used at will.
“And?” Shado waited.
“I don’t figure it means much. The only reference I can find is the mention of it in some book on the history of the old mining towns up near Virginia City.”
An unsettled feeling caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. He looked over his shoulder, and the man who’d been on his phone was at the bar settling his bill. He stared at Shado, lingering a bit longer than was comfortable as he walked out, paused to flip up his hood, and started on foot down the street.
“You still there?” Gleason asked.
“Yeah.” He watched him through the window until he turned the corner and disappeared. “What did you say the name of the book was?” he asked trying to shake the uneasy feeling the guy gave him.
“Tales of the Sweet Magnolia or something like that.”
Shado’s heart skipped a beat. “You realize she was looking for the Magnolia the night I met her?” It was the first bit of information connecting her to anything— or at least the name.
“Maybe she read it?” Gleason suggested.
“She borrowed it from my neighbor lady.”
“Miss Brisbee. I always liked her. Sweet old gal,” his friend remarked.
“She hasn’t said much about it.” He scratched his chin. “It’s a coincidence, right? Her name in that book?”
“What are you saying, man—she came here from the 1800s?” Gleason chuckled.
Were it possible, it would certainly account a great deal for her strange behavior. He’d had to show her how to work a can opener. Who doesn’t get that? “I was thinking maybe it’s a family name? You know some of these drug cartels have been in the business for generations.”
“It was a brothel, Shado. We’re not talking The Godfather here.”
“Maybe so, but you’ve got to start somewhere, right?” His reasoning made sense, but something about the weak explanation left him unsatisfied. “At any rate, I’ll ask her about it, see what she says.”
“Yeah, when you get home,” Jack retorted.
“How’d you guess?”
“There’s a basketball game in the background. You hate basketball.”
“You can hear the TV?” Shado checked behind him. He wasn’t able to hear it midway to the set. “I needed to get some fresh air.”
“Instead you found a bar? You don’t drink.” His friend’s surprise was evident.
“I’m heading back home.”
“Listen, I know this has to be tough, but try to be nice to the girl. She’s been through a lot.”
Shado held the phone from his ear, not believing what he’d heard. “You like her, don’t you?”
“What’s not to like?” Gleason asked. “She’s a good kid.”
“Really? And when exactly did you come to this conclusion—before or after you read me the riot act about getting involved with her?”
“What I said, grasshopper, was I needed your head clear. Big difference.” He hesitated, and Shado waited for what was coming next. “Are you involved?”
“No. Maybe…it’s complicated,” he replied shoving his hand through his hair.
“I understand. Just tread carefully. We don’t need any trumped up charges smacked on one of our detectives, if you get my drift.”
“I know the correct protocol.” Because he’d already violated it.
“Have you talked to her about the case?”
“She’s been busy going through the books.”
“And walking through the driving snow to bring you homemade soup.”
“Yeah, we had a talk about that.”
“Does she know about Danny?”
“No.” He was quick to answer but curious why Gleason would ask.
“Do you plan to tell her?”
Shado shook his head. “I’m not sure where this line of questioning is headed.”
“Doesn’t matter. Sounds like she’s got you tied up in knots, and you haven’t figured it out yet.”
He snorted. “My head’s in the right place.” His words touched off more guilt, and he corrected himself. “Everything’s going fine.”
“All right then,” Gleason answered, though he didn’t sound terribly convinced.
“Maybe it’d be a good idea to get her out a bit.”
“Out? You just told me the captain wanted us to stay put.”
“And I can see how well you listened. Besides, I have an idea that will get both of you out. Poor thing having to live day in and day out with you—man, that can’t be easy.”
“Do you have a point here?”
“The Policeman’s Ball is coming up day after tomorrow. Why don’t you bring her? Espinoza’s not going to come within ten feet of a room full of cops. I’ll clear it with the captain.”
“I don’t go to the Policeman’s Ball.”
“Do you have a suit?”
“Yeah, but I don’t dance.”
“Well, maybe Angel does, and you can watch.”
“She doesn’t have a dress to wear.”
There was a strained silence on the phone. “Let me check, maybe Marla has something she can fit into.”
“I don’t know if it’s safe.”
“For who—you or Angel?”
“Funny.”
“Look, man. I’m not saying you aren’t allowed to have feelings—” Gleason started.
“I don’t have any feelings for her.”
“Don’t say that too loud. What I mean is it’s perfectly natural to transcend your role of protecting Angel into other…emotions. It’s not a crime to enjoy life, Shado.
You just gotta know when to draw the line.”
He saw her in his mind, standing in the bedroom as he slid through the
window with the snowball in his fist. That was fun. The most fun he’d had in a long time, and then he crossed the line. “Yeah. I’ll talk to her, see what she says.” Odds were slim he’d even mention the dance to her. Besides, given the way he’d stormed out earlier, he doubted she’d want to talk with him anytime soon. The best thing for everyone was to find her attacker, take down Espinoza, and go back to the way things were.
“Just consider the idea and let me know. Marla and I will save you seats at our table.”
“Sure, okay,” he agreed, mostly to get Gleason off his back. He hung up, finished his drink, and bundled up for the walk back home. Home. He’d never thought of it in those terms before. It had liter
ally been a place where he showered, slept, and occasionally laundered his clothes, but home? It’d only become one in the last few days—since his unexpected roommate moved in.
A cab sped by, jerking him from his reverie and reminding him he should keep his eyes peeled and his senses sharp in case he ran into the strange guy from the bar. Likely it was his overwrought imagination playing with his head, but better to be safe than sorry. He passed by a storefront and glanced at the open sign in the window. He stepped back and studied the place, wedged between his favorite Chinese restaurant and his tattoo parlor, but he couldn’t ever remember seeing an antique shop called Timeless Passion before. Maybe it was new. He started to walk away when a headless mannequin wearing a lovely gown, just inside the front door, captured his attention. He cupped his hands to look inside the window. An older gentleman worked at the back counter, hunched over studying something with a large magnifying glass. He shifted his focus back to the lacy looking sheer gown, the color of moonlight. The image of Angel in the dress solidified in his mind. It was perfect for her. Without hesitation, he opened the door and went straight to it.
“It is lovely, isn’t it?”
A voice jarred him from his reverie. He looked to his right and found the elderly man beside him. He was shorter than Shado by at least a foot and dressed impeccably in gray tweed trousers, a pressed white shirt, and a fashionable gray wool vest. His long hair had been brushed smooth over his ears, and he wore spectacles—round, with wire rims, like his granddad’s.
“Not just any woman could pull off something so ornate. But on the right woman, it would be a vision.”
Shado’s looked back to the gown. The long and sleek style reminded him of a Greek goddess.
The man stepped forward and lifted the sleeve of pale, delicate lace. “It’s an heirloom.”
Translation—expensive. “How much are you asking for it?” he asked, looking for a tag.
The old man glanced up and studied him. He met his gaze, struck at not having seen that shade of blue before.
“Depends, I reckon,” he replied.
A common ploy among dealers well versed in the art of bartering. Just the same, he wasn’t much in the mood to play this game. “Do you want to sell it or not?”
A smile touched the old man’s lips. “Let’s go back there and have a seat. We can talk about it.”
He needed to get home. “Okay, but I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“That’s the way of the world these days—always in a hurry.”
He followed the gentleman toward the back. The guy took a seat at a game table with a checkerboard set up to play. He gestured for Shado to take the seat across from him. “Really, I don’t think I have time—” he started, and the old man met him with a quiet resilience.
“Time is precisely what you have, Detective.”
Shado’s radar kicked in, and he took a quick scan of his surroundings. Nothing but shelves and stacked ancient paraphernalia—relics of days gone by. There was, however, an unmistakable yet comforting smell to the place, which evoked memories of when he and Danny would spend rainy afternoons playing in their grandmother’s attic.
“You and I are quite alone, and you have no reason for concern.”
He lowered himself uneasily into the chair. “How’d you know I was—”
“A detective?”
He nodded.
The strange man pointed a wrinkled finger at his coat. “The police emblem, but you’re not wearing a blue uniform, and you smell like whiskey. I put two and two together, and you just confirmed it.”
He was a crafty old goat. “Has anyone ever told you, you look a lot like—”
One bushy white brow arched upward in question. “Einstein? I get that a lot. I guess I should take it as a compliment. I consider myself as curious as he is.” He made his first play, though Shado sensed that had happened the minute he walked in the door. He eyed the board and scooted his game piece to the next square.
“You said…as he is. Einstein’s been dead for a very long time.”
The silver-haired gentleman remained focused on the checkerboard. “Ah, so he has. Tell me about this woman you see in the dress.”
His guard went up. “Why do you need to know?”
His competitor smiled. “I’m curious to know what they are worth to you—the gown and the woman.”
He nudged a checker piece and studied the possibilities of his opponent’s next move. “Is this a trick question?”
“Let’s say it’s worth fifty dollars.” He sensed the old guy was up to something as he scooted a wooden checker to the next spot.
“That’d be quite a bargain,” Shado remarked. “You said yourself the dress was an heirloom. It’s beautiful.”
“One of a kind.” The shop owner settled back, crossed his arms, and waited.
“I’d have to agree.” He shifted a checker and tried to anticipate what would come next.
“Certainly the woman you envision wearing it is worth more than fifty dollars? Would you say that is a fair assessment?” He smiled as he jumped a checker and captured one of Shado’s men.
He wondered if the man had meant to leave himself so vulnerable. Nonetheless, he took advantage and jumped, not just one, but three of the old guy’s men in one definitive sweep. “Angel? She’s one of a kind. Smart, creative, loves to laugh, and can cook like nobody’s business. And what’s more, she’s sweet—in an old-fashioned way you don’t find in most people anymore.” He finished, placing his game piece in a position to be crowned king.
Without fanfare, the man complied with the rules then glanced up. “Sounds like maybe you consider her as priceless as the gown.”
Confused by the stranger’s observation, he shifted in his seat. “So the dress is not for sale?”
“Now that’s not what I said.” His finger hesitated over a checker, and then he pushed it a space. “But it’s a fair-to-middlin’ indicator of how you value the woman. Sounds to me like she’s something special. Someone you wouldn’t want to lose.”
The recent needling from Gleason about the upcoming dance and the telltale signs of tears on Angel’s cheeks filtered through his brain. Maybe there was nothing at all to lose, and maybe that was his problem. He rubbed his hand over his chest. “I wish it was simple.”
The odd little man shrugged. “I’ve found folks spend far too much time worryin’ about what they need, trying to figure it out in their head—like some mental diet they’re on. They tell themselves what they want is bad for them, and for some, perhaps it is. To me the difference is motivation.”
Shado chuckled. “Motivation? I don’t think my father would’ve agreed with you.”
“What I’ve come to recognize in human nature is there’s a difference in wanting for the sake of wanting and the kind your soul needs. Many folks don’t even realize they’re robbing themselves of true happiness. They just chalk up all their desires as selfish dreams and shove them aside, as though they don’t deserve them. It’s sad, don’t you think?”
Shado mulled over his words. Had he been shoving aside his thoughts of Angel because he considered them to be nothing more than shallow fantasies? “I don’t know,” he answered both questions.
The old man regarded him then. “Tell you what. Let’s finish our game. If you win, the dress is yours, and with any luck, what she needs may help you see what you need. What is it you think she needs?”
Hell if he knew. “There’s someone by the name of Billy she’s looking for.” He
eyed the game board, troubled by how this guy seemed to talk in circles. Though it could have been the two shots of potent whiskey causing his confusion. He studied his next move, as though his future depended on it, and then spotted a play and jumped a number of his opponent’s men. He leaned back with a satisfied smile, curious to see how the clever gentleman was going to maneuver himself out of this ironclad predicament.
“So…do you have a name, Detective?”
“William Ryan Jackson. My fr
iends call me Shado.”
“Suits you,” the man replied, rubbing his fingertips together.
“What do you mean?” He looked at the old man.
The man glanced at him. “Names can say a lot about a man. Sort of define a person’s character. Take William, for example, gives the impression of someone reliable, dependable, while Billy, a shortened version, sounds more like a kid who enjoys roughhousing with his brother.”
He studied the old man. “And Shado? What does that infer?
His opponent shrugged. “Someone who’s been through enough that he prefers to stay out of the limelight. Keeps to himself because it’s easier.”
“Easier?” he asked trying to figure out what game the guy was really playing.
“Well would you look at that. You’ve managed to place yourself in a position to win. Seems when you want something bad enough, you’ll do just about anything to get it.” The corners of his silver moustache lifted when he smiled.
He regarded the owner, realizing he’d sidestepped his question. “Easier than what?”
“Than risk the hurt, of course,” he replied. “It’s perfectly understandable.”
Shado nodded, glad someone validated his reasons for being alone. He waited for the guy to make his final move. “Who are you?” He was a wise old man, eccentric as hell, but astute for his age.
The stranger tossed him a look of mild surprise. “Did I forget to introduce myself? The name’s Burt, Burt Fesuvius—purveyor of time.”
“You seem to know a lot about people, Mr. Fesuvius.”
“Please call me, Burt, Detective Jackson.” He moved his checker, making it impossible for Shado to lose.
“I listen to people—to their dreams, their deepest desires. Look around you— everything you see here was once someone’s dream. Each one at the time was important in someone’s life.” He reached behind him and pulled out a garnet on a burnished gold chain. The work was impeccable. The gem sparkled as it twirled in the dim light. “This necklace was once worn by a woman who followed her dreams, however impossible they seemed. She was willing to risk ridicule for one moment in time when she might have what her heart sought most.”
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