I tried to sound official. “I have reason to believe that Gabby and Vincent were both killed at the ministorage.”
“You mean the one where you don’t have a storage unit?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have just been informed—”
“By a ghost?”
“I told you he was hanging around. Why you gotta make it weird, Detective?”
Did I hear muffled laughter on the other end of the phone?
Detective Lee said, “So Vincent’s ghost told you that’s where he was killed?”
Okay, he definitely sounded amused. Amused was better than dismissive.
“No, he told me the storage unit was the only thing Gabby had in her name. Her apartment was in her roommate’s name. Her car was registered at her parents’ address. The only thing that was only registered to Gabby was that storage unit. So if someone went looking for her because someone thought they’d been robbed, then that’s what they’d find. And it was pretty evident that someone had been in the unit. Vincent seemed to think a lot was missing and had been moved around. Like maybe after a struggle?”
Another long silence.
“That’s a very perceptive line of reasoning,” Detective Lee said.
“I’m not an idiot or a crazy person,” I said. “I promise.”
He let out a long breath. “You remember I asked Chuck Morrissey about you?”
“Yeah.”
“I guess… It sounds like sometimes your grandmother would call him.”
My eyes went wide. “She what?”
“She’d sometimes know things about cases. Recent cases. Old cases. Didn’t want to be officially involved, she said. She just had hunches. Probably from knowing the city so well. Intuition kind of stuff. From living in the city and knowing people, you know?”
How had I never heard this before? I mean, I wasn’t surprised, but I was kind of surprised.
“Chuck said your grandmother never wanted her name mentioned. But that sometimes… she was helpful. That was all he said.”
“Are you saying that it’s possible I just have a hunch? That something happened in the ministorage?”
“You grew up here,” he said carefully. “You’re clearly very perceptive.”
“You’re… probably right. It’s a hunch.” And you definitely do not have a pet psychic, Detective Lee.
“I’ll send a team back to the storage unit,” he said. “Just to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”
“Cool. That’s great.”
“So why were you really calling at two a.m.? Were you out adding to your somewhat impressive trespassing record?”
“You looked up my record?” I asked. “I didn’t know you cared, Detective. And I’d call it more than ‘somewhat impressive.’”
“Linx.”
“Fine. I just got back from my friend Raul’s house. His grandmother is Haitian and she cooks amazing food. Dinners there are not short events.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had amazing food. Sorry, Haitian food.” He yawned. “I’ve had amazing food before.”
I smiled. “You sound tired. Why are you still working?”
“Paperwork. Every cop’s favorite pastime. Is Raul your boyfriend?”
My eyebrows went up. “It would be news to his current boyfriend if he were. No, we’ve been friends since high school though. He’s family.”
“That’s nice.”
“So…” I took a chance. “No family waiting up for you, huh? No wife or girlfriend?”
He laughed a little. “No. Was I that obvious when I asked?”
“Just obvious enough to make me curious.”
His voice was definitely lower. “You were already curious.”
I nearly bounced up and down on my bed. “And I was already interesting.”
He let out something that sounded like a throaty growl. I silently screamed, Oh my god, so sexy! in my head.
“Linx, this is… not a good idea.”
“Because you think I’m crazy?”
“Because you’re involved in an open investigation.”
“So you don’t think I’m crazy?”
“I never…” He yawned. “I don’t think you’re crazy. You see a lot on this job you can’t explain. I may not be a rule-breaker, but I try to keep an open mind.”
“What should I call you at two in the morning?” I mused. “I mean, if I call during office hours, I’ll call you Detective Lee.”
“Are you going to call during office hours?”
I stretched out on my bed. “I don’t know. You’re a little easier to talk to in the middle of the night.”
“Are you in bed right now?”
“You have good ears.” I closed my eyes. “Christopher Lee. Christopher is a mouthful. Chris? Chris suits you. Please don’t say Topher, because then I’ll have to judge you horribly.”
His chuckle was low and rough. “Just Chris.”
“Chris.”
“Yeah.” His voice got all growly again. “Just Chris. I’m going to send you my mobile number. If you need to tell me another…”
“Hunch?” My phone buzzed against my head. I glanced down and saw an unknown number with the simple message It’s me. He’d just texted me his mobile number while I was on the phone with him. I officially had Detective Sexy’s digits.
“Call me on this number,” he said. “Or you can text me.”
“Do I need to text you?”
He paused. “You tell me.”
8
The Part Where I Piss Everyone Off
“It’s coming along nicely.”
I looked over my shoulder. Creepy Leo was standing in the doorway.
“Thanks.”
Bogie had been leaning against the far wall, whistling a Nina Simone tune under his breath. He stopped whistling and stood straight.
“It’s nice to know someone keeps to a professional schedule.” Leo turned his head toward the bathroom where I could hear Junior and another guy chatting loudly over the blaring radio. “I’m sorry they’re still bothering you.”
I shrugged and went back to work. “They’re fine.” I wanted to finish this mural, not chat with a guy who’d murdered two people.
I know. Such a diva.
“It looks finished.”
“It’s not,” I said. “Not quite.” I got that a lot toward the end of a mural like this, because the fill was done. Most of it was finished, but it was the details that often tripped you up. A few outlines. Some shadows. Simple stuff that always took longer than you thought it would.
I heard him walk into the room. “When will you be finished?”
“I’m hoping before the weekend.”
“Well, if you want to work tonight, I have an event to attend, so you’re more than welcome to stay late. You wouldn’t be bothering me.”
I nodded but didn’t give him a response. I felt Bogie move toward me. I knew he couldn’t really do anything, but I still felt better knowing he was close.
“You have your personal security code.” Leo’s voice sounded pinched. He was probably annoyed I wasn’t giving him my undivided attention. “So I’ll leave the system in guest mode while I’m gone. I’ll be alerted when you come and go, of course.”
“Okay, cool.”
That was one of the convenient (weird?) things about working for Caralt. I didn’t have a key to the place, but I did have my own security code that would let me into the house. That meant I could get in anytime if Leo allowed the system to let workmen or guests in. That also meant he could track my movements when I came and went.
“So will you be working tonight?” he asked.
Bogie said, “Don’t even think about it, kid.”
I stopped and took the opportunity to stretch my back before I turned around. Leo Caralt definitely looked annoyed, but I’d pacified him by turning and giving him my absolute attention. “I might try to come in, but it’ll depend on if my grandmother needs my help tonight.”
; There. I’d left open the possibility, but also given myself an out. I was leaning toward Bogie’s suggestion anyway.
“Ah.” Leo nodded stiffly. “What would your grandmother need help with?”
I frowned. Leo had never asked me personal questions.
Bogie didn’t have to be as polite as I did. “I don’t know, asshole,” he said. “Dinner, maybe? Finger painting? Macramé? How about none of your damn business?”
Leo seemed to understand he’d overstepped when I didn’t answer. “As I said, I’ll leave the house in guest mode so you’ll be able to enter should you want to. I’ll be home at midnight, so if you decide to work, please be finished by then.”
“Oh, can she be?” Frank asked. “Can she, you pitiful creep? I’m so sick of this guy’s shit. I say we call Detective Lee now and tell him about Vincent’s safe.”
I had to find a way to make sure those baseball card frames were still up there before I let Detective Lee know where they were in Vincent’s house. I had no idea if Leo had reported them as stolen. Finding them would mean nothing unless I could tie them to Caralt.
I ignored Bogie and smiled at Leo. “I’ll make sure to text you if I end up coming over.” I turned back to the wall and hoped the conversation was over.
It wasn’t.
“Do you often help your grandmother?”
My eyes went wide. Good God, was Creepy Leo trying to make small talk?
“She’s older,” I said. “I do what I can.” Please go away.
“That’s very thoughtful.”
I started on another long line and prayed he’d get the hint.
He didn’t.
“Living in proximity to younger family members must be an advantage for the elderly as they decline.”
Something in the clinical way he made the statement made me stop and turn around. Caralt was standing by the door, his hands in his pockets, a nearly human expression in his normally cold eyes.
“Of course,” he continued, “if you’ve treated your children or grandchildren badly, they are less likely to be invested in your ongoing health.”
Something told me Leo Caralt’s family hadn’t exactly been the Waltons.
Bogie seemed to agree. “This guy has issues,” he said. “Still doesn’t give him an excuse to murder. Plenty of people have shit families and don’t turn into murderers.”
“My family is great.” I tried to smile. “I’m really lucky to have a grandmother close enough to visit.” Something in me didn’t want Caralt knowing too much about my family or where I lived.
Something in his eyes told me he already did.
An expression of smug amusement flashed across his face. “Have a nice visit with your grandmother.”
“Have fun at your party.” I turned back to the wall as Leo walked down the stairs to the first floor.
“Creep,” Bogie said.
I needed to finish this painting, but I sure as hell did not want to be in Caralt’s house alone.
Then again…
I couldn’t help glancing at the stairwell that led to the third floor. The one with the weird bathroom. The one with all the baseball stuff. The one Leo Caralt definitely didn’t want me exploring.
Shit.
“Of all the harebrained ideas you’ve had over the years, kid, this is one of the worst.” Bogie was pacing back and forth in my room.
“I basically have permission to be at his house when he’s gone,” I said. “He practically invited me over.”
“But doesn’t that seem like a bad idea?” Vincent asked, his eyes the size of saucers. “I’m not a detective, but I agree with Frank here. This seems really dangerous.”
“Well, so is breaking into people’s houses, Vincent, but that didn’t stop you, did it?”
Frank glared at me. “And you notice what happened to him?”
My room was not the most spacious. Therefore, having two ghosts—one of whom was pacing—keeping me company as I painted my toenails and contemplated burglary was not giving me the Zen focus I was aiming for with the pedicure.
“We need evidence that Caralt wanted to kill Vincent. The best evidence we have is those cards you stole and locked in your safe. But unless he reported them stolen—”
“Do we know he didn’t?” Frank asked.
I paused. I actually didn’t know. I’d never found out why Detective Lee was at his house the other day. Maybe he’d been reporting the baseball stuff stolen? If that was the case, linking Leo and Vincent would be easy. I picked up my phone and texted Detective Sexy.
What? What nickname was I supposed to give him in my phone?
I texted: Why were you at Leo Caralt’s house the other day?
He texted back far quicker than I’d expected: Are you still working there?
Yes.
The phone rang almost immediately. Detective Sexy flashed on the screen along with a very grainy picture I’d ninja-ed at Vincent’s crime scene.
Don’t judge me; I wanted to show Raul.
“Why are you still working there?” Detective Lee asked.
“Uh, because I’m a professional who agreed to do a job for the man, and honestly”—I finished my pinky toe and put the cap back on the bottle of nail polish—“if I stopped now, it would just bug the shit out of me until I finished because I cannot stand not finishing my work.”
“Is that why you got arrested three times at the same building when you were twenty?”
“One, I cannot believe you actually looked that up, and two, I have pictures of that piece. If I showed it to you, you’d understand.”
“And you couldn’t put it on a canvas?”
“Do you have a twenty-foot canvas lying around I could borrow? Thanks! That would be great.”
He sighed loudly. “Cut the shit, Linx. Why are you still working for Caralt?”
“I’m almost done. Did he report things stolen?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
I spread my toes, admiring the bright purple, and ignored Bogie’s expression, which told me he did not appreciate that I wasn’t putting Detective Lee on speakerphone. “Let’s just say I know that he might have had some comics and collectibles stolen.”
Detective Lee was carefully silent.
“But let’s say I also know about some other things that were stolen.”
“Money?” he asked.
“No.”
“Art?”
“Define art.”
“Is this a philosophical debate? Because I don’t really have time to—”
“Baseball cards.” I leaned my head against the wall. “Did he mention anything about baseball cards?”
Bogie whispered, “A signed Mickey Mantle rookie card.”
I waved him away and waited for Detective Lee’s response.
“I don’t know anything about missing baseball cards,” he said. “That guy collects baseball cards?”
“I know, it surprised me too. He has one bathroom that’s super weird and—”
“Don’t go snooping around Caralt,” he said firmly. “I’m not joking about this, Linx. Do not do it.” His voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I don’t even like you working for this guy.”
“Are you still at the office?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” It was early. That made sense. I glanced at the window. It was early. The sun was still out. It was six o’clock. It was still light.
What was it about daylight made everything seem less dangerous?
“Okay, so… you’re going to keep your mobile phone on you tonight, right? Or do you, like, go to the gym after work or something like that?” He probably went to the gym. He looked like the type.
Detective Sexy said, “I go in the morning. What are you going to do?”
Nailed it. “Nothing.”
“Linx, you better not—”
“Have a great night, Chris! Sorry, office hours.” I hopped up from the bed. “Have a great night, Detective Sexy. I will talk to you later.”
&n
bsp; “Linx—”
“Okay, bye.” I hung up before he could say another word.
So this was the part where I pissed everyone off.
Did I know it was a bad idea?
Yeah, pretty much. But I knew it was a bad idea the same way I knew breaking and entering was a bad idea. I knew it… I was just foolishly optimistic.
Breaking into Leo Caralt’s house that night was far easier than most building sites. After all, I had a code! I had a reason to be there. All I had to do was go to Leo’s office.
Which I did.
Pick up my brushes and paints.
Which I did.
And stay away from the third-floor bathroom.
I did not do that.
I picked up my brushes and paints, set them down again. Glanced around the office lined with tiny plastic people in their tiny plastic prisons.
And realized I really hated Leo Caralt.
I hated that he’d killed two people, and I still had to put up with him hovering over my shoulder. I hated that I knew he’d done it and he was still walking around being smug. I knew police work took time. I knew correct procedures were important.
I also knew that wherever Leo was that night, it wasn’t in that house.
Putting my brushes and paintpot down, I walked toward the stairs.
Bogie appeared in front of me. “Go home.”
“I get a picture of that bathroom. I get a picture of the frame with the missing cards and I send it to Detective Lee with the combination to Vincent’s safe, and the police have a tie between them.”
“I didn’t teach you better than this?” he hissed. “You don’t get to take shortcuts, Linx. This stuff takes time. You need warrants. You can’t just—”
“All I’m doing is going to the bathroom.” I walked through him and felt the chill cover my body. All I was doing was going upstairs and taking a picture. All I had to do was confirm that the frame was still there and send a picture to Detective Lee.
The problem was, when I walked down the hall and opened the doorway, every bit of baseball memorabilia was gone.
“Shit.”
Bogie appeared beside me. “Leave. Leave now.”
“Okay, I kinda figured the frame with the missing rookie card would be gone, but the whole bathroom?”
A Bogie in the Boat Page 8