“Thank you for that. Jeff was able to identify the man who killed his wife.”
“Oh my God! Are you serious?”
Richard nodded. “Deadly serious.”
Wilder shook her head. “How can I help?”
“We’d like to look at whatever files the Buffalo PD has on Alice’s case. We’d like to help her find whatever peace the news would give her. We thought if you could give us a recommendation, we could go on from there.”
Wilder bit her lip. “I’m not at all sure my brother officers from other jurisdictions would be as open to trusting your brother’s intuition as I was.”
“And why did you give him a chance?”
She shrugged, and her wisp of a smile was ironic. “Because I could see how much he cared for your wife—and for you. He was no bullshit artist, and believe me, I’ve seen more than my fair share of that kind of personality.”
“So you’ll help us?”
Wilder hesitated. “I’ll make some discrete inquiries. Just one question; why are you doing this?”
“Me, personally, or Jeff?”
“One or both.”
It was Richard’s turn to hesitate. If he was honest, he’d say it was to chase away a profound boredom that continued to haunt him, but Jeff was into helping Alice heart and soul. As for the future … that was open for debate.
“We’d like it to eventually morph into a business, but neither of us sees it as a real paying proposition.”
“Then why pursue it?”
“Because … because people—alive and dead—need resolution. Jeff became a different person after he identified his wife’s killer.”
“And has that person been brought to justice?”
“Well, sort of. He was murdered by the survivor of someone else he’d killed.”
Wilder’s mouth dropped open in alarm. “What did your brother think about that?”
Richard shrugged. “Karma.”
Wilder nodded, but it was more than a minute before she spoke again. “Okay, I’ll check in with the Buffalo PD about your brother’s hit and run and try to find out what I can on this restless spirit. Do you have any documentation?”
“Yes, and I’m more than happy to show or tell you about it.”
Again Wilder nodded, then looked at him askance. “And would the two of you be willing to look at some of the Amherst PD’s cold case files?”
“Absolutely; and the older the better.”
“Why?
Richard’s lips quirked into a smile. “Because we’re cowards. We’d prefer not to stir up a hornet’s nest.”
“It doesn’t matter how old the case. In my experience, there’s always someone who wants to suppress the truth and thwart justice. What you’re proposing could be extremely dangerous, and I hope you realize that.”
“We do,” Richard said gravely. Before that moment, he’d never thought of himself as a thrill seeker, but that had been a big part of the appeal of working for the think tank in Pasadena. Sure, he and Brenda did a lot of mundane research and testing, but from time to time they’d experience a heart-pounding adventure. The truth was they’d—or at least he’d—loved that aspect of the job. Now they led very quiet lives—a little bit too quiet. Jeff had been the catalyst that brought Richard back into a world that sometimes held the same kind of intrigue.
He hadn’t lied to Brenda. He would avoid danger whenever it presented itself. But avoid intrigue?
Never.
10
Brenda had been right—or at least close in her prediction that Richard wouldn’t arrive home until late in the day. It was after five, and since I’d been running on OTC pain relievers, I was more than ready to drown my aches, pains, and sorrows with a couple of generous shots of happy hour Maker’s Mark. But no sooner had Richard arrived, than so did my co-worker, Dave. As he’d promised, he brought a cold two-four of LaBatt Blue. Damn. To be polite, I was gonna have to drink a couple of bottles, but no way was it gonna deliver the level of buzz I craved.
Dave sat on the couch adjacent to my recliner. We hadn’t seen each other since the hospital, and he’d winced upon seeing my face covered in a plethora of nasty scabs. They were a mess, and as long as I didn’t smile, they didn’t hurt half as much as the shattered bones in my leg.
“So you’re on the mend,” he said, handing me one of the beers.
“It’s gonna be a couple of months before I’m out of this cast, but—yeah. Every day is a little better.” Little being the operative word; miniscule would have been a much better descriptor. I cracked the cap on the bottle. “So, what have you got to tell me about what’s going on at the bar?”
“Maria is a bitch.”
“That was my impression, too, but there’s no arguing she’s brought in more business.”
“Yeah, and scared all our regulars away. Guys who’d been coming to the bar for more than a decade. They kept Tom in business through a lot of lean years.”
“Scared them away?” I asked, playing devil’s advocate.
“A couple of the guys told me she glared at them with that evil eye of hers, then told them to leave and not come back.”
“Why would she do that?” Despite my own misgivings about the woman, it made no sense to tell long-time paying customers to vamoose.
“She’s got some kind of convoluted reason—although not one that I can figure out.”
“I got the distinct feeling I wasn’t going to be asked back to work there.”
“Yeah, and now she’s got my shift. I’m really hurting financially—and it’s only been a week.”
How ironic that he’d discovered the reality of my situation. He’d worked the more lucrative shifts, leaving me with the hours that held no promise of any kind of financial freedom.
“So what are you saying?” I asked, not sure I even cared enough to hear the answer.
“I was hoping you could look into the bitch’s background. You were a trained investigator.” It sounded like he’d thrown my former job title in my face as though in challenge.
“Was,” I echoed.
“You figured out who killed Walt.” The man who’d held my job before me—and who’d also been our boss’s cousin. I had never taken credit for that discovery—at least not aloud. Had Tom mentioned it to Dave?
Dave reached into the breast pocket of his golf shirt. “I waited until Tom went to the bank this morning to make a copy of this.” He handed me a folded piece of paper.
I looked it over. “Maria’s job application?”
Dave nodded. “It’s got what you need to look into her background, right?”
Yeah; her name, address, and added later in Tom’s hand, her Social Security number.
“I added the make, model, and license plate number of her car, too.”
So he had.
“Just what do you think I can do? Do I need to remind you I’m pretty much housebound?”
“You said you went to the bar the other night.”
Yeah, and I’d been paying for it—at least physically—ever since. Of course, traversing the driveway and scooting up the steps to my apartment and back down again hadn’t helped, either.
“You’ve got contacts, right?” Dave went on.
“Not as many as you’d think.”
“I just have a feeling this bitch is bad—really bad,” Dave said grimly. “And she’s been sucking up to Tom. Flirting with him. She’s got to be thirty years younger than him—if not more. It just feels like she’s got some kind of scam working and I’d hate to see her pull shit on the poor guy. He’s such a sucker for a pretty face.”
Yeah; I’d seen that for myself.
“Okay. I know a couple of people I can call—and there’s always the Internet. I’ll see what I can dig up.”
“Thanks, Jeff. It might just save both our jobs.”
I gave him what I hoped was a reasonable facsimile of a smile, but I already knew I’d never again work at the Whole Nine Yards. “I’ll do what I can.”
Dave smiled, once again looking relieved. Sure, he expected me to solve all his problems and then he could go back to the life he’d known and enjoyed—but I wasn’t sure that was likely to happen, either.
“How’re you doing with that beer?”
“I’m good,” I said as he cracked open another. But how I wanted those shots of Maker’s Mark—and the promise of not only dulled pain, but a dull mind—even more.
“Cheers,” Dave said.
I hoisted my bottle of beer, but felt anything but cheerful.
* * *
Dave stayed another twenty minutes, and he gave me a hand to get to my feet before me and my crutches followed him to the back door. Brenda bid him a cheerful good-bye, too, and I used my right crutch to close the pantry door to the drive before I hobbled back to the kitchen. The maple table in front of the window was not set for supper, and CP’s highchair was also missing.
I gave Brenda a quizzical look. “What’s going on?”
“We’re eating in the dining room tonight.”
“Why?”
“Richard thought you’d have more room to keep your leg elevated.”
“Bullshit.”
“I couldn’t have said it better. Why don’t you go in and sit down.”
“I can help you. I mean, I’m not completely useless. I can still chop onions and toss a salad.”
“Too bad we don’t need those skills tonight.” She nodded toward the seldom-used dining room. “Go on and sit down. Maybe you can get something sensible out of Richard.”
She hadn’t meant to guilt me—but I felt that way nonetheless.
I wasn’t exactly able to perform a three-point turn, but I did manage to turn around and head for the dining room.
As she’d indicated, Richard sat at his usual seat at the head of the table with CP in her highchair at his right side.
“Hey, Rich.”
Richard looked up from the papers that were strewn before him. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay.” Well, it was mostly true. I leaned against the table and struggled to yank out one of the heavy cherry chairs when Richard leapt to his feet to help me.
“Want the hassock from the living room or some pillows to prop up that leg?”
“I hate to put you to so much trouble.”
“It’s no trouble,” he said, settled me in the chair, and then disappeared. CP had a number of pastel-colored plastic blocks on the tray of her highchair. She inched one of them to the edge of the tray, stole a look at me, then pushed it over.
“Uh-oh!” I said. She giggled and started pushing another block toward the edge.
Richard returned with the footstool and the pillows from my recliner, setting them under the table and getting my leg situated.
“I hate all this,” I muttered.
“I know you do.” He resumed his seat. “I got a lot done today—learned a lot. Are you up to hearing about it?”
“Of course.” Well, maybe.
CP pushed a second block off her tray.
“Uh-oh!” I said.
She giggled.
Richard collected the scattered pages and handed them to me. “Would you like to read them now, or should I give you an overview?”
I hated to admit it, but…. “I’m a little frazzled after my conversation with Dave. Could you give me the highlights and then maybe tomorrow I could read them and give them my full attention?”
Richard nodded. “There’s the Courier Express short piece on Alice’s death, and the official obit, but that’s not the interesting stuff.”
“Oh?”
“It turns out Alice’s body was found in the proximity of three speakeasies.”
I noticed that Richard had a glass of what would have then been classed as hooch. Me? No such luck. “When did Prohibition end?”
“Nineteen thirty-three.”
“Just a year after Alice died.” I thought about it for a few moments. “She told me her last memory was of being happy. I wonder if she remembers where she was just prior to her death.”
“That’s a question you’ll have to ask her the next time you see her. It’s a pity the cops can’t interview murder victims. What an opportunity you have to potentially solve hundreds of crimes.”
Maybe, but did he realize how creepy that ability was? I remembered seeing the movie Sixth Sense and the horror the poor little kid who saw dead people experienced. True, my encounters with the dearly-departed hadn’t necessarily been ghastly, but the knowledge that restless spirits really did roam the earth, and apparently in droves here in Buffalo, was something I didn’t want to contemplate too often.
“I don’t want to only associate with the dead.”
Richard shrugged. “Then you’ll have to do more to cultivate friendships with the living.”
If he was trying to be funny, he’d missed the mark. After all, he and Brenda rarely socialized with friends and colleagues, either. More often than not, it was Maggie and me that filled their social calendar.
“Did I say something wrong?” Richard asked.
“Why ask?”
“Because you look … sad.”
“I was just thinking that my only real social outlet, besides you and Brenda and Maggie, is my job. Or, was my job. But if we go into business together, it’s likely I’ll be even more isolated.”
Richard frowned. “I guess I never considered it from that angle.”
I shrugged. “Then again, I lived in Manhattan for fourteen years and never had a best friend. I played racquetball with the same guy for years—and now, thanks to the mugging, I can’t even remember his name. But we were never friends. I went to a shooting range on a regular basis, but I always went alone. It turns out you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“Thank you.”
He didn’t say more. I guess that meant he didn’t consider me his best buddy. It was probably his friend back at the think tank in Pasadena. If Richard ever had a problem, he called his friend, Michael. He’d called the guy on my behalf more than once, so I guess I shouldn’t have felt bad about it, but somehow I did.
Well, so what. So fucking what!
CP pushed the last block off her tray.
“Uh-oh!”
Richard absently bent down to pick up all the blocks so the game could begin again.
Brenda appeared at the doorway. “We won’t be eating for at least half an hour. Would you guys like some cheese and crackers to stave off hunger?”
“I could use a double shot of bourbon.”
“Is that wise?” Brenda asked. “Wouldn’t you be better off with a beer?”
A beer was a lot more volume and a hell of a lot less alcohol than a couple of shots.
“I’m hurting, and I don’t want to take a pain pill until I hit the sack. If I drink another beer, I’ll have to get up and pee in the night, and I don’t want to have to do that, either.”
Brenda’s gaze shifted to Richard, as though asking permission to fulfill my request. I glanced in his direction to see him give a curt nod.
“Okay,” she said reluctantly, but I’m not sure she approved.
“I’ll have a refill, too, if you wouldn’t mind,” Richard said.
Brenda nodded. “Coming right up.” She grabbed his empty glass and disappeared around the corner.
CP watched me as her little fingers pushed a pink block toward the edge of the tray once more.
It was time to turn the conversation back to business—since that seemed to be what Richard wanted to talk about. “What else did you learn today?”
“I spoke with Bonnie Wilder of the Amherst PD.”
“Oh?”
Richard nodded. “I think she could be a valuable ally.”
“How so?”
“She’s going to speak to the Buffalo PD about the status of your accident, and ask if we can view the files on Alice’s death.”
“Oh, you with the glib tongue.”
“We need an ‘in’ with someone in law enforcement. I figured she�
�d be more receptive than Detective Hayden.”
He had that right.
The block went sailing over the edge of CP’s tray.
“Uh-oh!”
CP’s eyes were bright as her little fingers picked up a block and she examined it closely.
“Anything else?” I asked Richard.
“Just what’s on these pages.”
I nodded.
“You said your conversation with Dave left you frazzled.”
“Only because it involved Maria Spodina. He wants me to look into her background. He gave me all the info I need.”
“Maybe we could use this as another trial run for our business.”
“Maybe.” My gaze shifted to the table top and suddenly I felt as though I wanted to cry. But I wouldn’t do it in front of Richard. No way.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice kind.
It took a few moments before I could answer. “I’m feeling really overwhelmed.”
“Uh-oh!” CP called out and giggled.
“Well, who wouldn’t be?” Richard said, ignoring his baby girl. “You’ve been through a hell of a lot in a short time. You’re in constant pain, and both Maggie and I are pushing for you to make decisions that require a clear head.”
At least he was aware he’d been trying to force me into a corner. I chose to respond to the other topic.
“I assume Brenda told you about Maggie’s bright idea.”
“Yeah. This is not a good time for such a proposition.”
“No,” I said, feeling shaky. “I’ve lost my job at the Whole Nine Yards—”
“Uh-oh!” CP called again.
“You don’t know that for sure,” Richard said.
“Oh, yes I do. You’re proposing I take a job without a chance of making a living—because you don’t need to; Maggie wants a roommate who can pay half the freight, and nobody has asked me what the hell I want to do.”
CP pushed the last of her blocks on the floor and Richard bent down to retrieve them again. He set them before the baby, his expression pensive. “I guess we need to talk about that, and I realize it’s a powder keg subject.”
Shattered Spirits Page 11