“I trust Chuck a lot.”
He took off his sunglasses and leaned in. I could smell him. He smelled good. Like clean laundry and coffee and mint. When did that become a sexy combination? I didn’t know, but I suddenly wished we were back in the storage unit and didn’t have an audience or a couple of felonies hanging between us.
“Can you do me a personal favor, Linx?”
Yes! Yes, I can, Detective Sexy. What is your command?
“I… probably can. I mean, what—?”
“Don’t be a bad guy, okay?” He waited for my eyes to meet his. “Do me that favor. Don’t be the bad guy here.”
“I’m not,” I said softly. “I promise you, I’m not.”
“Good.” He straightened. He put on his sunglasses. My suddenly-very-awake libido did not approve of either of these actions.
Lean back. Leeeean back. He was taking the sexy mint and coffee smell away.
“What do you have going on today, Linx?”
He wanted to know my plans? I smiled and had a sudden image of meeting him for coffee when he got off work. He’d be rumpled and tired. I’d be paint-smudged and he would think it was adorable. Was he saying my name more often than was necessary? I hoped so.
Detective Lee was staring at me.
“Oh!” That’s right, he’d asked me a question. “Um… Not much. I’ll probably go into work later. It’s been a weird day, but I need to get back to work.” I nodded. “At my job. But I’ll be finished—”
“Where do you work?”
“I’m a muralist,” I said.
He looked surprised. What was he suspecting? Barista?
Okay, I had been a barista for a while, but not lately. It was a noble and difficult profession.
“A muralist?” he asked. Then he glanced at my hair. “Artist makes sense.”
“You’re the one who said eccentric, remember?” A thought occurred to me. Detective Lee was used to my rambling now. Perhaps I could ramble with purpose. “I am. I’m an artist. In fact, my current job is right around the corner from Mrs. L’s house. Tech guy. Huge comic collection.” I noticed Detective Lee’s eyes get sharp, and I rambled on. “Leo Caralt. Have you heard of him?” I barely paused. “Anyway, I’m doing a manga-inspired mural for him. Do you know manga?”
Detective Lee frowned. “I’m not Japanese, Linx. My parents are Korean.”
I didn’t roll my eyes, but it was hard. “Yeah, and clearly the only people who like manga are Japanese people. And big nerds like me.”
“I just mean—”
“It’s fine. And I get it. Clueless stereotypes, right? Anyway, I’m a huge fan of manga, so it’s fun.”
“Manga?”
“This job.” Maybe he wasn’t as bright as he looked. “You know, the mural?” Or maybe I confused him. I was hoping it was the latter. “It’s a fun job.”
He took out his notebook. “And it’s by Mrs. L’s house?”
“Yeah, on Howland Canal. Leo Caralt. I have his phone number if you need to confirm it. But maybe mention that you’re not arresting me or anything. That probably wouldn’t be good for getting a reference.”
He jotted down a couple of notes and let out a long breath. “I’m not going to be seeing you at any more crime scenes, am I?”
“I don’t think so.”
That answer didn’t seem to please him. His mouth did that pursed, stuffy thing. Sadly, it just made him look cuter.
“Listen,” I said, “you’re in my neighborhood. I’m not purposely trying to run into you and make myself look suspicious.”
Frank muttered, “And yet you do it so well.”
I kept my eyes on Detective Lee, giving him my best wide-eyed innocent look.
“Don’t be at any more crime scenes, Linx.”
“I’ll try not to be.” I smiled innocently. “Not that it’s not nice to see you. You seem like a… fun guy.” I even kept a straight face when I said it.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Are you messing with me now?”
“Of course not.” I put on my shades and walked around to the driver’s side of my car. “You’re a very serious police detective.”
“That’s right.” He crossed his arms and watched me.
“Doing very serious things.” I opened the door.
“Don’t forget it.”
I let my smile grow. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Eventually he smiled too. “See you later, Linx.”
“Not me!” I got in my car and started it, rolling down the windows because the sun was baking. “Remember? No more crime scenes for me.”
“Goodbye, Linx.”
I drove off with a wave. Frank was in the passenger’s seat. Vincent was in the back seat.
“Dude,” Vincent said. “Were you flirting with the cop?”
“The pool of intelligent men in LA is limited, Vincent. Don’t judge me.”
I saw Frank nodding. “I like him.”
“Of course you do.”
Working at Leo Caralt’s house after I’d begun to suspect he was involved in two murders was more than slightly surreal. Same glass-fronted study. Same creepy action figures staring at me from their little clear plastic prisons. Same half-finished wall. Same mysterious tech magnate working in his locked office on the first floor.
Oddly enough, the loud group of workmen in the bathroom was keeping me sane.
Usually all the noise would have bugged me, but today it was comforting. I kept my earpiece in and continued my conversation with Frank. Vincent wandered around the house. I think he was more interested in what the plumbers were doing.
“Just because she was working on him doesn’t mean he’s involved,” I said quietly. There was plenty of noise to cover our conversation, but I didn’t want to take a chance. Leo Caralt seemed like the kind of guy who’d watch you from a hidden camera if you were in his house.
“He was being targeted by two accomplished thieves,” Frank said. “If he found out, this guy would react. And I don’t think he’d call the police.”
“Calling them accomplished is a stretch, don’t you think?”
“For Vincent? Maybe. For the girl?” Frank paced up and down the library, examining the rows of action figures. “I’m betting this wasn’t her first job. She may have fooled Vincent into thinking of her as a damsel, but that storage unit was too organized. She was cool. She had a system. Nothing about this wasn’t planned.”
“So?”
“So she’s scamming Caralt, and she’s also scamming Vincent. He’s playing one game—let’s make a little money on the side with this robbery setup—and she’s playing another.”
“What’s she playing?” I picked up the blood-red paint and began to fill in the outline I’d just drawn.
Frank stopped beside me, hands in his suit pockets, watching as the red eye grew. “I think I like this one.”
“That’s a first.”
“Well, it looks like something for a change.”
“Thanks.”
I’d agreed on manga inspiration, but it was still my work. A spray-painted mosaic formed the backdrop for the figures I was painting. One, a male, leaned into the corner of the far wall, his long leg seemingly propped up against the edge of the mural, his face literally blank—I hadn’t decided how to paint him yet—but pointed at the shapely female figure opposite him. Her hair fell in a long sweep down a naked back. She was looking over her shoulder at the faceless man, her hip cocked in a come-hither pose. She was coquettish and powerful. She stood a little taller than the male figure. Perspective was everything. She was the focus. She was calling the shots. Her arm pointed at the man. Would she be pointing a gun? Or beckoning with a finger?
I hadn’t decided on that one either.
“I think this Gabby girl was looking to play Vincent too. Maybe she planned on ducking out after this job. Throw some baseball paraphernalia at Vincent and let him take the fall. Heck, she might have been looking to set Vincent up. Let him be the face of the robbery while
she collects on the valuables and disappears.”
“He doesn’t seem like the brightest bulb in the box.” I switched from the red to a seafoam green. “That’s for sure.”
“Nah, he’s a nice enough kid,” Frank said. “He just got caught up with the wrong girl.”
I lifted an eyebrow at Frank. “Not another femme fatale.” I put on my best Mae West voice. “Say it ain’t so, Frankie.”
He smirked. “Very funny, kid.”
“I try.” Just then, the urge I’d been hoping would delay itself ever since I heard the plumbers working came back with a vengeance. “Damn,” I muttered. “I really have to pee.”
Frank winced. “I don’t need to know that stuff.”
My bogie could be a bit of a prude about bodily functions. The quickest way to get rid of him was to say I felt nauseated.
I crossed my legs. “Do you think they’re almost finished in there?”
He disappeared and then reappeared. “Nope. They still have a rag in the drain pipe.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I’m going to assume the worst.” I eyed the stairs. I knew there had to be a bathroom on the third floor, but I really didn’t want to go up there. That was Leo’s bedroom, and just the thought of it creeped me out.
But…
“You know,” Frank said, “you could use this as an easy excuse for snooping. It’s a classic for a reason.”
“I really have to pee.” I bolted for the stairs.
I’d been given a tour of the first and second floors, which sort of flowed together in an open plan. Lots of high ceilings and loftlike areas. But the third flood—the bedrooms—hadn’t been part of the tour. Nonetheless, I was sure a bathroom was up there. I’d heard a toilet flushing a few times.
I walked up the stairs and the lights went on automatically.
Motion sensors noted.
To the left was a heavy set of double doors. I turned right and walked down a hall. Like the first and second floors, the decor here was classic geek. Movie posters and memorabilia up here. A lightsaber that looked like it was used on the actual movie encased in glass. A creature head from some horror movie that would give me nightmares. I opened one door. Closet. I opened the next.
Bingo.
Just like the hallway, the lights flicked on automatically. Unlike the hallway, this decor did not scream geek.
I scanned the room quickly and locked the door, being very grateful I hadn’t worn my overalls today as I slid my pants down and sank onto the toilet.
Relief!
Wait… was this toilet seat heated?
Oh no.
I heard a clicking sound, and it gave me just enough time to brace myself. Leo Caralt owned a smart toilet. I did not like smart toilets. I didn’t like anything I performed bodily functions on being smarter than me.
A smart toilet—if you’ve never spent time around people with way too much money—is like a combination toilet and bidet. Which meant when I invaded Leo’s bathroom, I not only relieved myself, but I got an unexpected and unwelcome bath and blow-dry in the nether regions.
Not only was it invasive, it was also not time efficient. The bath and blow-dry would take a while. Since I had time to look around, I examined the odd decor that had struck me upon entering.
Most definitely not geek.
Jock chic? Was that a thing? The whole bathroom was stuffed, and I do mean stuffed, with baseball memorabilia. Framed card sets. Bats. Old leather gloves. A lot of it looked valuable and carefully preserved, but the settings were old. Wood-grain mounts and yellowing glue on plexiglass boxes.
Ohhh. Light bulb. This must have been where Vincent had stolen the card set from. In fact, there was a noticeable blank spot on the far wall.
I wondered if Vincent had needed the toilet too.
The smart toilet finally finished its cycle and I stood, pulling up my pants, still taking in the baseball collection.
What a weird room.
It couldn’t belong to Leo. Not only did he strike me as the farthest thing possible from a jock, but all Leo’s collections were new. He’d never have anything this outdated in his house. Except… he did. But why? It had to be someone else’s collection. His dad? An uncle?
Making sure I was fully clothed and my hands were washed, I whispered, “Frank.”
I heard his voice before I saw him. “You better be dressed.”
“Of course I am.” I turned, closed the toilet lid, and noticed the plaque behind me. “Huh.”
Frank appeared beside me. “That’s more of a wow than a huh, Linx.” He leaned in. “Nice.”
“What is it?”
The walnut plaque had five spaces, four of them filled. The center one was cracked. They were baseball cards, but they didn’t match. Three were in color, one was black and white. Three I saw were Yankees cards, and one was from the Cleveland Indians. I recognized a name.
“Oh hey! Yogi Berra. Cool.” I didn’t follow baseball, but everyone knew Yogi Berra, right?
“Not just cool,” Frank said. “These are five of the most valuable players on the 1961 Yankees, Linx. Roger Maris, Elston Howard, Whitey Ford, and Yogi Berra. That team won the World Series that year. In fact…” He tapped the center mount. The cracked one. “That was the year Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris competed to beat Babe Ruth’s home run record. Maris did it, but everyone still remembers Mantle.”
“So why the blank space in the middle?” I whispered.
I heard steps on the stairs. Shit. We had to hurry. Unfortunately, getting Frank to hurry when he talked about baseball was difficult.
“I’m betting that this space right here was where old Mickey was,” Frank said with a nod. “If you were going to steal one card from this collection, that’d be the one.”
“Why?”
“These are all rookie cards, Linx. A Mickey Mantle rookie card in good condition would go for hundreds of thousands of dollars these days. Maybe more.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Vincent mentioned some Cubs cards. Not that valuable, he said, right?” Frank raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t mention the Mantle.”
I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to open the door. I fixed my expression to wide-eyed innocence again.
“Hi!”
As I’d expected, Leo Caralt was waiting on the other side of the door. He was leaning against the wall, watching me with blank eyes. He was a pale-skinned man around my age with dark brown hair I suspected he dyed. His beard, when I saw any hint of stubble, was bright red. He was medium height. Medium build, leaning toward thin. He wore glasses sometimes, but I wondered if those were an affectation too.
“What are you doing up here?” he asked.
From the look on his face, I was not welcome.
“I’m sorry.” I tried shutting off the light, but I ended up just waving my hand in front of the motion sensor. “Sorry. The guys were working on the one downstairs and I didn’t want to bother you in your office—”
“So you thought you’d invade my personal space?”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean—”
He laughed, and the sound chilled me. His face went from cold to utterly, deliberately jovial. The transformation was so fast I wondered if I’d imagined it.
No, the memory of his blank stare was too vivid.
“It’s fine, Linx. I’m just sorry about the inconvenience. Don’t worry, the plumbers will be finished by tomorrow. They’re installing the new toilet on the second floor. It was the last to be updated.”
“Oh. That’s great.” I tried to walk around him, but Leo Caralt was oddly hard to slip past. He stepped in front of me.
“Is there someone else in the bathroom?”
“No.” I really wanted to get out of this hallway. I’d thought Leo was kinda creepy before, but his sudden mood switch was pinging all my instincts.
“I don’t like this guy,” Frank said. “I really don’t like him.”
“The
re’s no one in there?” Leo asked again, glancing over my shoulder.
“No.” What was he on about?
“So… were you talking to yourself?”
“Oh!” I let out a little laugh and lifted my phone. “Just on the phone with a friend.”
“While you were in the bathroom?”
“Yeah.” I managed to get around him. “You don’t call people while you’re on the toilet? Best time to talk.”
Without a backward glance, I ducked around Leo, walked down the stairs, and went back to the library.
“You’re right,” Frank said as I picked up a brush. “That guy is a creep. You need to get out of here.”
“The plumbers are still here,” I said under my breath. “I hardly think anything is going to happen with three big guys hanging around.”
“Yeah, but you heard Leo,” he said. “They’re gone tomorrow.”
They would be. And that thought chilled me. I still had at least a week left on the mural I was painting. I had a good reputation in Venice, but bad word of mouth could end that quickly. I needed to finish this job.
“No evidence,” I said, dipping my brush and getting back to work. “We’re guessing, Frank. None of this means—”
“This Leo guy killed Vincent and Gabby?” Frank said. “Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better. But I’m glad you mentioned his name to Detective Lee, kid. Me personally? I got more questions today than answers.”
5
Lying Liars Who… Okay, I Was the Only Liar
“Tell me what we’re doing again.” I brushed my hair out of my eyes. “And why I’m the one who has to…” I eyed my companions.
Vincent the Thief, a ghost.
Frank the Detective. Also a ghost.
Raul, the tall, gorgeous lab tech. Not a ghost, but definitely male.
All three of them looked back at me, the only female. The only other person, from Raul’s perspective.
“Never mind,” I muttered.
“You tell me what we’re doing,” Raul said. “We’re going to see this guy’s mom, and you’re telling her you were his girlfriend so you can look at his room?” He frowned at me. “Linx, even for you, this is weird. And kind of cruel. She’s grieving. Does this have something to do with your friend who knew Marina Girl?”
A Bogie in the Boat Page 4