I nodded. “The police already talked to her.”
“Did they downplay the theft?”
My face must not have been reassuring. “Hey,” I said as he grimaced, “they still love you. Stealing some comics and a baseball card from a rich guy doesn’t mean you deserved to die.”
“I just wish…” He smiled sadly. “I wish I’d made better choices. I wish they could be proud of me.”
“I know.” This was the crappy part of being a medium. This was the part my mom dealt with far more than I ever had to.
Regret.
I never want to regret anything in life. I never want to wait to do something important or take part in anything I know would embarrass my mom or grandmother. Why?
Because I know how short life can be.
Vincent didn’t start out a thief. And he didn’t plan to end as one. For him, it was a means to an end. Some quick money for not much work. Hell, he might have even had noble intentions at one point. Rob from the rich and give to the poor or something.
But life doesn’t work that way, and fate is a fickle thing. You don’t get to explain yourself after you’re dead. All you have then is the people you helped and the people you hurt.
Vincent wasn’t a bad guy, but he hurt people. He’d done things that would haunt his parents forever.
He asked, “Can you take the list to my mom?”
I nodded. It was the least I could do after I’d lied to her. No doubt she’d ask me if I knew about the theft. I had already decided I’d say no. Let Vincent’s mom think it was one stupid mistake and he wasn’t like that. It was a lie, but a lie I could live with.
I drove to Vincent’s house and suffered through an awkward cup of tea with his crushed mom. I gave her the list of his friends with their phone numbers and told her to call me when things for the funeral were arranged. I offered to help, but her sister was still there. She had help.
It was awful.
I sat in my car afterward with tears in my eyes, sad and angry at the same time. Bogie still hadn’t shown up, and it had been almost a week. All I had was Vincent with me.
Vincent was not Bogie.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I put you through all this. I’m sorry you got hurt by Leo. But I’m really glad you helped the police solve our murders.”
I nodded.
“I think…” He was gazing at the house. “I think I’m going to stay here. Just for a little while. I think I can do that now.”
A weight lifted from me. “Yeah?”
He disappeared and reappeared on the other side of the car, standing outside the driver’s side window. He was wearing a small smile and a black Paramore hoodie. “Yeah, I think I’ll stay here.”
I nodded. “Don’t stay too long, okay?”
“Okay.”
“When you see the light, it’s time to go.”
That much my mom and gran had told me. It was normal for spirits to hang around loved ones for a little while, but if they hung around too long, it made it difficult for the living to move on. Vincent wouldn’t do his mom or dad any favors by staying too long.
But for a little while, it was okay.
He turned to me. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“I will.”
“You should listen to Bogie. He really cares about you, you know?”
I smiled. “Thanks, Vincent.”
He walked across the street and was gone.
I didn’t see him again.
I woke up at three in the morning to the smell of cigarette smoke in the air. I looked around, but I couldn’t see anything. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw the faint edge of a fedora. I smiled.
“Hey, Frank.”
Hey, kid. His voice was just a whisper in my head.
“I didn’t get the chance to say thank you before you disappeared.”
I know. People have shit manners these days.
“Bitch, bitch, bitch.” I rolled over and closed my eyes. “Welcome back.”
In my mind, I heard the faint sound of Frank Sinatra singing “I’ll Be Seeing You.”
And then, with Frank back safe and sound, I slept easy for the first time in a week.
Epilogue: I’ll Be Seeing You
“Page.”
Glancing sideways, I reached over and turned the sports page for Bogie. It was Saturday morning and the coffee was on. My mom was weeding in the garden, and my nan was humming by the stove. She was chipper. Unusually chipper.
Hmmm.
“Lindsay, is Frank feeling back to his old self again?”
“I am, Peggy. Thanks for asking.”
“He says he’s fine.” It had been two weeks since “the incident.” I referred to it as the incident. Mom and Nan referred to it as “Lindsay’s idiocy.”
I felt so loved.
Leo Caralt was in jail because the judge had denied bail based on his status as a flight risk. I guess he owned a bunch of houses in foreign countries and they could also prove he had foreign bank accounts, so they didn’t trust him not to run from the double murder charge.
I was probably going to testify unless they worked out a deal.
Vincent hadn’t shown up again. His memorial service had taken place a week after the incident, and I hadn’t felt his presence. I was hoping that meant he’d already moved on. My mom went with me and didn’t sense him around his parents, so that made me feel better.
Bogie was… Bogie. Back to his usual cantankerous, judgmental self. Frank was bitching about the Dodgers and complaining about my hair, which I’d decided to dye a vivid bluish green to take my mind off almost being murdered. Raul approved. Frank did not.
Raul was also back to normal. He’d kept his distance until he and his boyfriend had gotten into a rip-roaring fight about Raul meeting the boyfriend’s family. After that he’d called me to yell about “Dominic facing reality,” and we’d gabbed about the fickleness of men for an hour. Halfway through the conversation, Raul had mumbled something about missing me and I’d mumbled something back.
Then we’d quickly moved on. We weren’t the best about confronting the past.
So everything was back to normal! I should have been happy. I mostly was. I’d gotten a call from a local restaurant about doing a new mural for their roof balcony, and the job was supposed to start at the end of the month.
I was working.
My family was fine.
Bogie was back.
Raul was speaking to me again.
Leo Caralt was going to prison (probably).
And… Chris Lee hadn’t called me or texted since the incident.
Okay, fine. I was moping about it. In fact, my mom had snapped at me this morning to get out of my head and “Just call the man already. Are you fifteen?”
Call me crazy (trust me, you wouldn’t be the first) but I wanted him to make the first move. I’d laid myself bare during the investigation and confessed all my weirdness. The man hadn’t responded in kind. He’d been the hero and walked me home and kissed the top of my head (I think) and given me the mother of all manly hugs.
Then… nothing.
Nothing!
“Page!”
“Stop shouting.” I glared at Bogie.
“I said page five times. Where is your brain? Did it run screaming from the candy-colored crap on your head?”
I turned to him and blew the scent of coffee in his face before I took a long drink. “Mmmmm. Coffee. Perfect, hot coffee. Freshly brewed.”
Frank turned back to the sport section. “You know, you say you’re a modern gal, but you’re letting this one take the reins. Not very feminist of you.”
“I’m not taking dating advice from a guy who’s been dead for over sixty years.”
“You should.”
“Shut up.”
The doorbell rang.
“Oh!” My nan turned from the stove and turned the burner off under the eggs she’d been scrambling. “I wonder who that could be.”
“From the l
ook on your face, you already know,” I said. “Is it Mrs. L?”
Mrs. Lamberti hadn’t returned to her house yet. She was still visiting her son in Colorado. Part of me was wondering if she might be staying.
Nan walked out of the kitchen and down the hall. I heard the door open and a few mumbled words, but whoever was at the door didn’t speak very loudly.
The footsteps coming down the hall sounded male though. I turned, expecting Raul.
It was not Raul.
I sat silent as Detective Christopher Lee sat across from me, wearing a crisp grey suit and a blue tie. He set his sunglasses and keys on the table as Nan brought him a cup of coffee.
“Thanks, Mrs. Maxwell.”
“Peggy, Detective. I told you.”
“I’ll try to remember.” He smiled at my grandmother before he looked at me. “Morning, Linx.”
Of course I was wearing my ratty pajama shorts and a Han Solo shirt that said I’m Nice Men. Of course I was.
“Hi,” I said. “So… what’s going on here?”
“Peggy invited me for breakfast.”
“Did she?”
A smile was threatening the corner of his mouth. “She did.”
“Interesting.”
“I guess she didn’t tell you, huh?”
“Nope.” I took a long drink of coffee. Shit shit shit. My head was spinning.
Bogie said, “Good call, Peggy. She wasn’t going to get off her ass anytime soon.”
I ignored both Bogie and my nan, who was extra-super chipper as she served Chris a plate of scrambled eggs and toast to go with his coffee.
“Thanks, Peggy. It looks delicious.”
“Are you working all weekend, Detective?”
“You better call me Chris if I’m calling you Peggy,” he said. “And yes. It’s my turn.” He turned to look at me. “I was at that conference last week in Reno. Just got back into town. Not that anyone here would know that.”
I bit into a piece of toast. “Hmm.” Swallowed. “Is my grandma supposed to keep track of your work schedule?”
“I wouldn’t expect her to. I was just… informing.”
Informing what? Me that he’d been out of town working? Was that supposed to explain why I hadn’t heard from him?
“I’ve been busy too,” I said. “Really busy.”
“With what?”
Uh… dying my hair? Cleaning the garage so I could use it as a studio? (Okay, I cleared a path, let’s not get crazy.)
I swallowed another gulp of coffee. “Artist stuff.”
“Artist stuff? Is that a technical term?”
“Yes.”
“I like the hair.”
Nan said, “I’m going to call your mother in from the garden. These eggs will get cold if she doesn’t come to eat.”
I set my coffee down as soon as she walked out the french doors. “Bogie, out.”
“You expect me to just—”
“Out!”
I didn’t care how crazy it made me look. To his credit, Chris didn’t blink when I talked to thin air.
“Fine,” Bogie muttered. “Don’t mess this up, kid.”
I kept my eyes on Christopher Lee, homicide detective not scared away by the house full of crazy women. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you—”
“No, what are you doing here?”
He leaned forward. “Why didn’t you text me?”
“Why didn’t you text me?”
“Because it’s complicated, Linx. You’re a witness. I’m a detective. You’re a…”
“Psychic?”
“I believe medium would be more accurate according to what you’ve told me.”
Sitting there, cool as you please. He was talking about mediums and psychics like he was taking notes in his little notebook. He wasn’t even using the crazy-person voice.
Chris glanced around the room. “Is there…?”
“Anyone here? No. Not right now.”
“But there was.”
“Yeah, there was. There’s one ghost in particular who likes to hang around. He’s a detective like you.”
“Not like me,” Chris said. “I’m not invisible.”
No, he was not. He was just as handsome as the day I met him. And he smelled even better.
“Not like you.” I wasn’t attracted to Bogie. Not in the least. Christopher Lee, on the other hand… “What are you doing here?” I asked in a smaller voice.
Chris leaned back, still staring at me. The corner of his mouth turned up. He looked around my nan’s crazy kitchen decorated with too many coffee cups and vintage postcards glued to the wall. To the empty chair beside me and the sports page lying open. Then he picked up his fork and dug into his eggs.
“I’m having breakfast,” he said. “You should get some. It’s not good to have coffee on an empty stomach.”
Who was this man? I stood and walked to the stove to serve myself. I scooped some eggs from the pan and refilled my coffee.
“I like the shirt,” Chris said. “Have you seen the new movie yet?”
“No. I have mixed feelings.”
“I hear it’s better than people expected.”
“Good to know.” I sat down across from him. That little smile was still at the corner of his mouth. “Detective Lee?”
He smiled. “Yes?”
“What are we doing here?”
“Having breakfast.” He sipped his coffee.
“Okay.” I picked up my fork. Set it down. “So… what? This is a thing we do now? You come over to my house and have breakfast on Saturday morning?”
“Yes.” He picked up his knife and buttered the toast Nan had given him. “This is a thing we do now.”
“Do I have a say in it?”
He looked me straight in the eye. “Always.”
I had nothing to say to that. I picked up my fork and started eating. He was right. The eggs were really good.
“Okay,” I said. “This is a thing we do now.”
He looked up at me and our eyes met. The moment held and stretched like a drop of paint clinging to a brush.
I know you, that look said. I see you.
The tension broke when my nan and mother came back through the french doors, chatting about the whole bus of tourists that had just unloaded right off Sherman Canal.
“I don’t think it should be legal for those big tour buses to park there,” Nan said. “Is it legal, Chris?”
“It’s legal.”
“But is it ethical?” my mother asked. “I mean, this is a neighborhood. Do they bother the people in Beverly Hills like this? No, because they have money to keep people out.”
“Technically, they can’t keep people out of Beverly Hills either,” Chris said. “And we can’t cite tour operators for being unethical.”
“You should be able to,” Mom said. “Don’t you think, Lindsay?”
I stuffed toast in my mouth and said, “Mmflnmmr.”
Chris had dimples. And twinkly eyes. That just wasn’t fair. There needed to be some check on his attractiveness. He was bordering on unethical simply by existing.
“Oh,” he said. “Did you see this?” He pulled a folded piece of newspaper from his jacket pocket. “I’m looking for a new place, and it was in the real estate section.”
“You’re looking for a new place?”
He shrugged and spread out the newspaper section. “Yeah.”
“In Venice?”
“If I can afford it.” He pointed at a column. “Look.”
New listing. By appointment only. Modern and newly renovated house in a coveted location on Howland Canal. Three bedrooms and three bathrooms. Roof deck. Modern security system and soundproofing. Office features a custom mural by celebrated urban artist, Linx Maxwell.
Celebrated urban artist…
I looked up at Chris and my smile was in danger of breaking my face. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “Seriously.”
“Seriously!” The smile fell. �
��You’re not thinking of buying that house, are you?”
“On my salary? Are you kidding?”
“Oh, thank God.”
“Good to know the poverty of your public servants doesn’t concern you.”
“Nope.” I turned and shoved the clipping in my mother’s face. “Look at this! Mom, look! The paper called me a celebrated urban artist! Look, Creepy Leo’s house is on the market and the mural is a selling point!”
As soon as my mother saw it, she squealed like a seven-year-old at a birthday party. There was much celebration, and I didn’t care if I looked cool in front of Chris or not. Nan immediately suggested mimosas, even though Chris had to decline.
Celebrated urban artist.
Chris raised his coffee cup when we toasted, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Bogie leaning against the wall, his fedora tilted forward and a wry smile on his face.
Way to go, kid.
Nan was telling Chris about some of my worst artistic flubs as a kid while Mom was dialing Raul, probably to invite him over to have breakfast with the “celebrated urban artist.”
I’m proud of you, Linx.
Before he disappeared, I turned to Bogie and winked. He tapped the brim of his hat and faded into the wall.
He’d be back. But this moment…
This moment was for the living.
* * *
THE END
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Preview: INK
Please enjoy this preview of INK, book one in Elizabeth Hunter’s new contemporary romance series, Love Stories on Seventh and Main.
Emmie Elliot lasted three breaths in the old bookshop, her measured exhalations stirring dust motes that danced in the afternoon light streaming in from the large display windows that looked over Main Street. She backed out the front door and turned her back on Metlin Books, staring at the lazy midday traffic driving south on 7th Avenue. Then she bent over, braced her hands on her knees, and let her auburn hair fall, shielding her face from the afternoon sun.
A Bogie in the Boat Page 10