So Sam left the vehicle running, got out, and circled around to help me into the car. It was a lot taller than Brenda’s new minivan, but luckily there was a handhold so I could haul myself into the passenger seat while Sam tossed the crutches in back, slammed both doors, and got back in.
“Where to?”
“My place in Amherst. I need you to climb the steps and retrieve my gun permit. Then you can take me anywhere that legally sells guns.”
“There’s a sports shop at the mall.”
“Suits me.”
He pulled out of the hotel’s parking area. “Okay, but start talking. I want to know everything that’s going down.”
It took the entire drive to LeBrun Road to tell Sam what I knew and suspected about Ms. Maria Spodina and Dave’s death, including the fact that my bank accounts had also been decimated.
“Aren’t you jumping to conclusions?” Sam asked.
“I trust my gut.”
He nodded, conceding my point.
A gray sedan emblazoned with a Bison Security logo blocked the end of Richard’s driveway. A uniformed guard sat behind the wheel, but got out when Sam pulled up behind it.
“This is private property,” the burly guy dressed in gray said. He had shoulders like a linebacker and a nose that had been broken at least once. “Can I help you gentlemen?” His voice and demeanor was gruff—no nonsense.
“Yeah, I live here,” I said.
“You got some ID?”
It was a struggle to fish my wallet out of my pocket, but I handed him my license, which he scrutinized before checking a list on a clipboard, and then handing it back to me.
“I need to pick up something—or at least my friend will retrieve it for me,” I said, jerking a thumb in Sam’s direction.
“I’ll move my car,” said the guy, whose name tag said Tony Barber. “Do you want the accumulated mail?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“I’ll get it for you.”
We watched as he moved the car, and then Sam pulled right up to the door that led to my apartment. He rolled the windows down and I handed him my keys, telling him where to find my gun permit. He disappeared up the stairs and Tony appeared in front of the SUV’s passenger side window with a stack of envelopes, magazines, and circulars. “Thanks.”
Tony nodded and went back to his cruiser.
I sorted the envelopes into piles, and opened what little mail had arrived for me. Included in the stack was a nondescript envelope that harbored my new credit card. I’d been hoping it would arrive, as I had nothing else to use to pay for the gun. If push came to shove, I meant to ask Sam to buy it for me and let me pay him later. I pulled out my cell phone and activated the card, shoving it into my wallet and pocketing it.
Sam exited the stairwell to my apartment and got back in the SUV. He handed over my keys and the paperwork. “Looks like you made a hasty exit.”
“Yeah. Richard grabbed my printer and some clothes and that’s about it.”
“Is all this intrigue—with you guys bailing on your homes and all—really necessary?”
“If my friend Dave hadn’t been murdered, I might have a different answer, but—yeah. I’m scared shitless,” I admitted
Sam nodded, did a K-turn, and pulled out of the driveway. I gave a half-hearted wave to the security guy as we headed back toward Main Street and, then turned east. “Have you got any idea of what kind of gun you want?” Sam asked.
“A semi-automatic should do.”
“Why?”
“A gut feeling doesn’t hold much weight with law enforcement.”
“Yeah, but you’ve got a rep for being right.”
“Sometimes.”
“More than that,” Sam said. “In fact, if you weren’t so busted up, I’d ask you for some help with—”
“And that’s another thing,” I interrupted him. “Richard thinks we ought to exploit my little psychic tricks for fun and profit.” Crap, now even I was using the “P” word and calling what I could do a trick. Maybe Sophie was right. Maybe we were being frivolous with something that had proven dangerous to me on way too many occasions.
“You wouldn’t charge an old buddy like me for your services, would you?”
“I’m still wrestling with the idea of charging at all. Would that be bad karma?”
“I don’t believe in karma, so I’m not the one to ask.”
I wasn’t sure I believed in karma, either.
I changed the subject. “If we’re heading to the mall anyway, I’d like to hit a clothes store.”
“What for?”
“It’ll be hard to pack heat without drawing attention while wearing a snug t-shirt.”
“Okay. But I haven’t got unlimited time, you know?”
“I figured as much. I pretty much know what I want to get in both departments, so I’ll make it as quick as I can.”
“Thanks.”
Sam launched into a detailed description of his latest series of articles for the paper, but I only half-listened. I had too many other things on my mind. I was beginning to feel antsy. Something was going to happen—and soon.
I only wish I had a clue about what that would be.
* * *
Not only did we hit the mall’s big box sports shop and national chain department store, but we stopped at a Subway and got sandwiches to go. Sam dropped me off at the front of the hotel and made sure I made it through the front door before he burned rubber. He was way late getting back to work.
Richard was asleep on the suite’s couch when I arrived back at our hotel room at a little after two. The maids had apparently come and gone, and the door to my room was open. Herschel sat on the arm of the sofa, right above Richard’s head, which I was sure would freak out my brother when he awoke. I tried to be quiet as I struggled through the door, hanging onto a large Macy’s bag. I hoped the new, oversized Aloha shirt ablaze with big pink flowers I now wore would do a good job of hiding the holster where the semi-automatic with the ten-round clip in it hung on my right hip. I had a couple of other clips at the bottom of the bag, and had stashed two in the minivan before I’d come upstairs. I wanted to make sure that no matter where I was, I’d be well armed.
Richard awoke with a start, saw Herschel looming over him, and let out a yell, startling the cat, who jumped onto him. He hollered again, and Herschel sprang off his’s abs like they were a trampoline.
“Damn that cat!”
“How did he get out?” I asked, leaning back against the door to close it.
Richard sat up, rubbing his eyes. “The maids. I was on the computer and they went in your room before I could stop them. The woman said he got out, but he must have been hiding here in the living room. I left the door to your room open hoping he’d go back inside.”
“A lot you know about cats,” I muttered.
He glanced at the bag. “What did you get?”
“Something to wear besides just t-shirts.” I sat down on the chair he usually used and hauled my leg up on the coffee table. I plucked at the lapel of my shirt. “What do you think?”
“It’s a little loud—not your usual style. And don’t you think it will draw attention to you? Attention you might not want.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I agreed.
“I hope you bought something a little more sedate, because you’re going to need it.”
“Why?”
“Because Dave’s wake is tonight.”
Aw, crap.
“I’m assuming you want to go.”
“No, I don’t … and, yeah, I do. What time?”
“It’s seven to nine.”
“Let’s go on the early end—just to get it over with.”
“Do you think he’ll … be there?” Richard asked.
I shrugged, knowing what he meant. “I don’t know.” I opened the large bag and pulled out a black shirt. I hadn’t thought about wearing it to a wake—I just liked the pattern of little palm trees woven into the fabric. “Will this do?”<
br />
Richard nodded.
I set it and the rest of the stuff back on the floor and pulled out my sub. “Is there any pop in the minibar?”
“Yeah.” He got up to retrieve it. “You were gone nearly three hours; what else were you doing besides clothes shopping?”
“Sam listened to my story first, and then I listened to what he’s got going. Oh, and I stopped by the house and picked up the mail. It’s at the bottom of the bag.” I went to retrieve it, but he gestured for me to forget it, opened the tab on the can, and handed it to me. “I’m sure there’s nothing of any importance.”
“I got my credit card, which is how I got new shirts.”
“I was on the phone with your bank this morning.”
“Is my money going to make a return visit?” I asked hopefully
“Not likely.”
Great. And I now had a seven-hundred-dollar balance on my new credit card and no job to pay it off. If I couldn’t use my psychic gift, just how did Sophie think I was going to make a living in the next couple of months?
I unwrapped my ham and every-kind-of-vegetable-they-stocked sub and offered half to Richard. He shook his head. “I had something from out of the fridge.” He made a face, and I figured he was getting tired of eating in.
Richard watched as I polished off half of my sandwich. I wrapped up the rest of it for later and he put it into the fridge before again joining me.
“What have you got planned for the rest of the day?” I asked.
“I still have more reading to do. And I want to invest some time in more genealogical research. I’ve made some progress finding the last of Alice’s descendants. Another hour or two of searching websites and I should have it nailed down.”
“Couldn’t your friends in California do it a lot faster?”
“I’ve already imposed on them far too much this last year or so. If we’re going to go into business, we have to be willing to do the research we need on our own.”
I nodded. And he was right; the whole Alice thing wasn’t our main concern. We could afford to put it on the back-burner if we had to.
Now that I’d eaten, I felt logy and ready to fall into the sweet abyss of sleep. I needed to be sharp when we went to Dave’s wake because I had a feeling that an important exchange of information would take place there. Maybe from someone—or two—in attendance … or maybe from Dave himself, should he still be attached to this earthly plane.
“I’m going to need to crash for a while,” I told Richard. “I’m sure once I do, Herschel will join me. Feel free to shut the door.”
He nodded. “And tomorrow we’re moving to another hotel. We’ve been here far too long.”
“Agreed.”
He nodded toward the bag. “Want me to take that to your room?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
He got up, grabbed the bag, and headed for my half of the suite. I was glad to be following him. I didn’t want him to see the bulge from the gun on my hip. I’d take it off in the bathroom and stash it in a drawer until later. But I also knew I’d holster it again before heading for the funeral parlor. I had a feeling I might need it sometime quite soon.
23
Although we arrived at the Delaware Avenue location of Amigone Funeral Chapel at precisely seven o’clock that evening, I was surprised at how many cars were already parked in the lot. It looked like Dave was going to get a good sendoff. No doubt the word had gone out and former patrons from the bar—and the people who inhabited the rest of his life—had shown up to pay their last respects.
Richard hadn’t said much since I’d awakened from my nearly three-hour nap. Since I can’t tune into his emotional spectrum like I can with others, I presumed he was probably bummed by being separated from Brenda and Betsy. I hadn’t heard from Maggie and I figured we were both due for some quality face time with our loved ones after we left the funeral parlor. And I hoped we might seek out something better than take-out to eat, too. I sure was missing Brenda’s home cooking.
Richard got out of the van and stood before the passenger side door as I got out. He seemed rather tight lipped, but retrieved my crutches from the backseat and handed them to me. “How do you want to play this?” he asked, looking around as though to scope out a threat.
“By ear. But I do think I’ll learn something significant.”
“Good. How long do you think this will take?”
I shrugged. “Maybe half an hour.”
He nodded. “I might not stay inside the whole time. I might come back to the car to work on Alice’s genealogy some more.”
“Are you okay?” I asked, noting the sweat on his brow. The temperature was warm, but not sweltering.
“Let’s just get this over with.” He nodded toward the chapel’s door.
We headed for the side entrance and the addition to the former brick two-story home. Richard held the door open for me to enter. It occurred to me that Dave might not be the only client on display that night, but I only saw his name on the small sign outside the door to our right.
The room was pleasant enough, with soft green walls and a neutral carpet, and already filled with a number of people—mostly men—many whose faces were familiar to me. I looked around until I saw a closed coffin against the far wall. Nowhere did I see my incorporeal former workmate and must admit it was with a conflicting air of relief and disappointment.
“I’ll add your name to the guest book,” Richard said, and let me forge ahead to meet and talk with several of the guys I’d known for the past two years at the bar. They’d been sorry to hear I’d been hurt; they were shocked that Dave had been killed, and wasn’t that just terrible luck?
Luck? I didn’t think so.
Richard hung with me for a couple of minutes before he excused himself to find a john. I took the opportunity to gravitate to the receiving line, and seemed to be the last one in it.
A slim woman of about thirty-five, dressed in a black-and-white floral dress, stood next to a guy in a gray suit and a darker gray tie. He looked terribly uncomfortable; she looked sad, yet resigned.
Finally, it was my turn to introduce myself. “Hi. I’m Jeff Resnick. Dave and I were co-workers at The Whole Nine Yards.”
“Yes, he spoke of you often. I’m Susan Lynden, his sister. And this is my husband, Bill.”
Still clutching the handholds of my crutches, I didn’t offer her my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
She offered me a wan smile. “Dave liked you. He was thrilled to have a new biking buddy.” She eyed the cast poking out of the right leg of my sweatpants. “I was sorry to hear about your accident.
It was my turn to force a smile. “Thanks.”
“Dave thought you guys had a lot in common.”
Oh, yeah? I wasn’t sure what, and she didn’t elaborate. Instead, she shook her head. “He had such a bad streak of luck these last couple of weeks.”
“Oh?” I asked, my gut tightening, my fingers clutching the crutch handholds just a little tighter. Had that been what Dave had wanted to talk about when I’d blown him off days before?
“His bank accounts had all been hacked. His credit cards were compromised. He was fighting with his bank trying to clear it up.”
My mouth went dry. Just. Like. Me.
“Did he report that to the police? Have you mentioned it to them?”
“Yes. I guess they’ll be looking into it, but I don’t see how it connects.”
Should I tell her about my own predicament? I looked into her sad gray eyes and decided she didn’t need another brick added to her shoulder, but I would call Detective Wilder the minute I left the funeral home. It couldn’t be a coincidence that we’d both been hacked—that we’d both been attacked, and yet I still couldn’t figure out why. It couldn’t be because Maria Spodina wanted that small corner of real estate on Main Street in Synder. It just didn’t make sense because why would she see Dave and me as a threat?
My gaze shifted to my left and I saw Tom—Dave’s and my boss�
�enter the room. He was dressed in jeans, a buff-colored cord jacket with suede elbow patches straight out of the nineteen eighties, a blue shirt and a green tie, looking much older than the last time I’d seen him.
Tom saw me, and headed over to intercept us.
“Tom,” I said more or less in greeting, “This is Susan Lynden, Dave’s sister. Susan, this is Tom Link, Dave’s and my boss.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said, and offered his hand, which she dutifully shook.
“It was a shock,” she admitted, not at all warming to Tom. Dave must have told her how he’d been demoted and his feeling of betrayal after Maria’s arrival at the bar.
“Dave was a great employee. All the guys loved him.”
Susan nodded, but her gaze drifted over to the coffin and her lips pursed. She looked like she was about to cry. Her husband came to her rescue. “Honey, would you like to sit down for a while?”
Susan nodded, and Bill gently grasped her arm and led her to one of the rows of seats that faced a lectern. A box of tissues sat on a nearby seat, and he handed it to her.
“It’s a damn shame about Dave,” Tom said, his gaze straying to the coffin, too.
“Yeah,” I said, shifting on my one good leg. I’d been standing a little too long. “Did you come alone?”
“Yeah. Maria’s taking care of things at the bar. We hired another two bartenders yesterday. Gotta keep up with the trade,” he said, but there didn’t seem to be any pleasure in his voice.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
Tom looked away from the casket. “Things at the bar … they’re just not quite …” He seemed to struggle to come up with the correct verbiage, then settled for the obvious. “…right.”
“How so?”
He shrugged. “What happened to you—what happened to Dave. It seems rather coincidental.”
“Does it?” I pushed.
“You don’t think so?”
“No, I don’t.”
He frowned. “Who would want to hurt you guys?”
“You tell me.”
“You don’t think I had anything to do with—?”
“No,” I cut him off. “But think about everything that’s happened in the past few weeks.”
Shattered Spirits Page 23