Books of a Feather (10 page)

“Good night,” she said. “Thanks for understanding.”

I squeezed her hand. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you more.”

I chuckled and we headed for the bedroom. I'd always known my parents were good-hearted, but they'd proven it in spades tonight. For that reason, I hated myself for even once thinking that Benjamin Franklin's old saying about guests and fish might be true after all.

•   •   •

The next morning we were all up bright and early—except for Goose.

“He's still asleep,” Mom said as she poured coffee for herself and Dad. “I've never seen anyone sleep so soundly. I guess he was able to relax for once.”

“It's got to be so stressful sleeping on the streets,” I said.

“It's no kind of life,” Dad agreed as he doused his coffee with a teaspoon of raw sugar. “Sadly, we know an alarming number of people who've ended up there.”

“Some of our generation seemed to slip through a wormhole years ago,” Mom said. “I don't know how else to explain it.”

“I'm sorry about your friend Goose,” I said, feeling helpless.

“We'll do what we can for him,” Mom said, patting my hand. “So, what're you kids doing for breakfast?”

“Derek and I were going to walk down to the South Park Bistro. I've been craving their Belgian waffles.”

“I'd love to take a walk this morning,” she said, and glanced at Dad. “Do we dare leave Goose alone for a few minutes?”

“He'll be asleep for another hour or two,” Dad predicted. “Maybe longer, poor guy.”

Mom could tell we were reluctant, so she said, “You two go ahead and we'll get something later.”

Derek gritted his teeth for a quick moment, then said, “If you don't think it'll be a problem to leave him alone for a little while, we can all go together.”

I was so proud of him for having faith in my parents' judgment, although I could tell it cost him. It was costing me, too, but I was trying to hold my tongue.

“I completely understand if you'd rather not leave him alone,” Mom said. “Jim and I will stay home.”

“Maybe if we ordered everything to go and brought it home,” I said.

“That's it,” Dad said. “We'll walk there with you and get our breakfast to go. That way we won't be gone more than half an hour. Goose can't get into much trouble in that amount of time.”

“Would that be okay?” Mom asked. “I really just wanted to take a walk anyway.”

Derek nodded. “Then it's settled. I just have to make a quick phone call and we can go.”

I assumed Derek was calling to check on George and I used the time to brush my hair and dab on some lip gloss. We all donned heavy jackets because the morning air was so cold lately.

We walked three blocks to Third Street and turned left. Two short blocks later, we reached the tiny enclave of South Park, a block-long green park and playground surrounded by small offices, apartments, a few shops, a coffeehouse, and several restaurants, one of which was the Bistro, an adorable haven for wonderful café au lait and fabulous Belgian waffles.

Unfortunately, the line outside the Bistro was longer than we'd anticipated.

“Darn,” I said, turning to Derek. “I'm glad we're getting it to go.”

After twenty minutes we received our piping-hot orders of waffles to go along with separate containers of fluffy butter and golden syrup, plus sides of bacon. Mom had thoughtfully ordered breakfast for Goose, too, so we each grabbed a bag to carry and headed for home.

“This will be more fun anyway,” Mom said, glancing at a charming shop window filled with kitchenware and linens.

I linked my arm with hers. “I think so, too.”

“Gosh, I miss the city sometimes,” she said, tightening her grip on my arm.

I chuckled. “Is that why you're shivering?”

“The chill is part of the ambience.”

“Good point.” In San Francisco, the weather was like a key character in a movie. The famous fog that rolled in almost every afternoon, blanketing the city, actually had a name. San Franciscans called it Karl. I'd heard a rumor that Karl the Fog had its own Twitter account.

I could hear the murmurs of Dad and Derek chatting a few yards ahead of us.

“Oh, I just remembered,” Mom said. “You have that wonderful machine that makes café lattes, don't you?”

“Yes. I'll make one for you.”

“I would love that.”

“What time do you leave for the wedding?” I asked.

“Two o'clock. We'll have breakfast and then get dressed and ready to go. I'll wake up Goose as soon as we get back and encourage him to take a shower. It might boost his spirits a little.”

“A shower always makes me feel better.”

Chuckling, she patted my arm. “Me, too.”

“I would offer to wash his clothes, but I think they might fall apart.”

“True. And he might not be willing to trust you with them anyway.”

“I understand.” I rested my head against my mom's. “Poor Goose. Did you talk to him last night? Does he remember much of the old days with the Grateful Dead?”

She sighed. “He remembers the music, of course, and dancing. He says he remembers me and Dad, but he couldn't remember any of our other friends.”

“That's too bad.”

“It's okay,” she said grimly. “We'll do what we can for him. And on the way to the wedding, we'll stop at one of the shelters in the Tenderloin and see if we can get him a bed for the night.”

“I hope you can do it. I read in the paper a while ago that they've started requiring some kind of medical certificate proving he doesn't have tuberculosis before they'll let him stay the night.”

“Oh dear. I wonder if he has one. Maybe we should bring him home to Dharma with us. Gary Jenkins has taken in a few homeless folks over the years, ones who were willing to stay sober and help around the farm. It's a much healthier environment.”

“You'll have to ask Goose how he feels about that. Some people have a hard time stepping out of their comfort zone, even when that zone is as gruesome as living on the streets.”

“I'm afraid you're right, sweetie. It's sad, isn't it?”

The four of us traipsed through the lobby and piled into the freight elevator.

“It smells so good in here,” I said, gladly changing the subject.

Mom sniffed the air. “I think it's the bacon.”

“And the syrup,” I added.

Derek agreed. “My mouth is watering.”

Dad was regaling us with the latest winery gossip as the elevator shuddered to a stop and we walked down the hall to our door.

“Stop,” Derek ordered suddenly. “Jim, step back. Brooklyn, please go see if Alex is home.”

“What's wrong? What happened?” But then I saw that the door was opened an inch and I felt sick to my stomach. I ran down the hall and knocked loudly on Alex's door. When she answered I said, “Can you come over, quick?”

“I'll be right there.”

I raced back to our apartment in time to see Derek pushing the door open. Mom and Dad remained in the hall, but I followed cautiously inside, wondering if Goose had left the door open. Was he still here? Did he steal everything in sight and run away? If so, he was a lot more devious and agile than any of us had given him credit for.

But everything seemed to be in perfect order. So what had happened here? Who had left our front door open?

Derek's voice was deadly calm. “Brooklyn, please go out to the hall and call Inspector Lee, will you?”

“Why? What happened?” I glanced around him and got a look at the hall where Goose lay spread-eagled on the hardwood floor. At least it
looked
like the man named Goose who'd come home with Mom and Dad last night. Except . . . he was clean. His hair was shiny and his beard was gone. Shaved off. He looked almost handsome and that would've been wonderful but for the fact that he was sprawled across our hallway floor, his back pressed up against
the door to my closet safe. He wore a plush burgundy bathrobe that I recognized as Derek's. It had fallen open to reveal blood seeping from a gaping wound in his gut.

Now I had a whole new reason to feel queasy. There was blood. And Goose was
dead.

Derek knelt down and checked Goose's neck for a pulse. Glancing up at Mom, he shook his head and confirmed my worst fears. “I'm sorry, Rebecca. He's dead.”

“But he shaved,” I muttered, then regretted it immediately, because the fact that Goose had shaved was possibly the least important aspect of the dreadful scene before us. No one seemed to notice my absurd comment, though, as they all stared at the body. Derek had taken it upon himself to get his phone out of his pocket and call the police. Dad had his arms wrapped around Mom. Her face was buried in his sweater, and her shoulders were shaking in grief.

I felt my own eyes burning with tears at the sight of Mom's pain. Once again, death had come into our home. It was going to sound completely self-centered of me, but I actually considered it good news that I hadn't been the one who found Goose's body.

Officially, that would be Derek, who didn't seem at all flustered by the discovery. But since I was still close enough to witness the crimson blood streaming from Goose's gut, did it matter? I might as well have been the one who had stumbled over the poor guy.

Blood. To this day, I just couldn't handle it.

It dawned on me that the reason Derek had asked me to go out to the hall and make the phone call was that there was so much blood. I just never seemed to handle it well, and this time was no exception.

Feeling like an idiot once more, I had to turn and walk away before I passed out from the image of all that dark red liquid oozing from Goose's stomach onto our floor.

I took the opportunity to pace the perimeter of the living room, taking deep breaths and trying to calm myself as I made a cursory search of the space. I checked my workshop, too, but didn't find anything out of place. I saw my sandals on the floor under the desk—and gasped. “Charlie! Where are you—”

I started to dash out of my workshop when I heard a plaintive mewing from right under the desk. I crouched down and peered into the small dark space. “Are you in there, sweetie?”

“Mew.”

“Aw, come here. I won't let anything hurt you.”

She crept closer and I pulled her into my arms. “Poor thing.”

I wasn't about to let her go while Goose's body lay on the floor. I wanted more than anything to check my closet safe and make sure my books were still inside and secure, but I knew we couldn't move Goose's body until the police arrived.

I circled back around to where Mom and Dad were consoling each other. I had to avoid looking down at the poor man, knowing I was still light-headed from seeing our hapless murder victim's blood oozing from his wounds.

Ugh. There went my roiling stomach again. I silently argued that maybe it was a good thing I still reacted this way at the sight of blood. After all, I hadn't turned completely cynical about murder. And I also hadn't fainted this time. So three cheers for me.

Derek finished his phone call and slipped the phone into his pocket. “Inspector Lee and Inspector Jaglow will be here shortly.”

“Good,” Dad murmured.

Alex knocked briefly and walked in. “Everyone okay over here?”

“Not everyone,” Mom said. “Our friend Goose was attacked while we were out taking a walk.”

Alex's eyes widened. She walked over to take a look at the body, then scowled as her hands curled into fists.

“Stop,” I said, before she could speak. “Don't you dare blame yourself.”

“But—” She let out a breath. “I'm sorry, guys. I didn't hear a thing.”

“It's not your fault,” Derek said sternly.

She stared down at Goose. “Who is it?”

“An old friend of ours,” Dad said.

She reached for Dad's arm and then Mom's and gave them each a gentle squeeze. “I'm so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Alex,” Mom said. And the tears started to fall again.

It was alarming to see my mom so devastated and I was in danger of tearing up myself. I slipped my arm around her shoulder. “Let's go sit down, Mom.”

“All right.”

“That's okay, honey,” Dad said, lightly squeezing my shoulder. “I'll sit with her.” He led Mom over to the living room couch.

“I can stick around if you'd like,” Alex said.

“You don't have to,” I said, rubbing my hands up and down my arms. I wasn't sure if it was a nervous reaction or a way to get my own blood moving. “We're just waiting for the police to show up.”

Derek agreed, adding, “We might give you a call later if something comes up.”

“Okay.”

But she still looked distraught, so Derek added, “You're not to feel bad. This is our fault for leaving him here alone.”

“Where were you?” she asked.

“We walked down to South Park and got breakfast to go,” I said. “We were barely gone half an hour.”

Alex shook her head in disgust. “If it's the same woman who tried to break in the other night, she works fast.”

“Yes, she does,” Derek said through clenched teeth. “I have a feeling she's been watching the house.”

“Probably. How else would she know the right time to break in?”

I didn't like the look of fury and frustration on Derek's face. It was a dangerous combination for a man with his skills and background. He would be even more determined than before to get to the bottom of this. Not just for poor Goose and what his death had done to my parents, but because our
home
had been violated.

I knew just how he felt.

Alex left a few minutes later after promising to come back that afternoon.

Derek and I joined my parents in the living room.

“I'm fine,” Mom insisted, lifting her chin and blinking like a sun-blind woman in a futile attempt to stem the tide. “I never cry.”

“She cries at pet food commercials,” Dad said.

We all had a good laugh and Mom smacked Dad's knee.

“Oh my God,” I said suddenly.

“What is it?” Mom asked in alarm.

“I just remembered, we never ate our waffles.”

“You're trying to make me cry again,” Mom wailed.

It might've seemed wrong to an outsider, but it lightened our hearts to hustle off to the kitchen to heat up the waffles and bacon.

As we ate in silence I had time to ponder what had happened here today. I was raised to believe that life was a circle. Death and birth and everything in between were simply what happened during our cycle on earth. But did that mean we should be comfortable with sudden death? It saddened me to think it might be true. We weren't being blasé about it, I insisted to myself, but I wondered if we were becoming inured to the reality of it. It bothered me to think that maybe we were, and I was determined to fight the feeling.

I left the table to make another pot of coffee and came back to finish my meal. “These are the best waffles in the world.”

“Goose would've enjoyed them,” Mom said, then glanced around at our looks of alarm. “Don't worry. I won't start crying.”

“Good,” I muttered. “Because in case you haven't noticed, nobody cries alone when I'm in the room.”

Dad glanced toward the back hall, where Goose's body remained. Looking at the rest of us, he asked, “Where did Goose get that bathrobe?”

Derek gritted his teeth. “I believe it's mine.”

I gave him an apologetic look. “I believe you're right. Never mind. We'll get you a new one. Something Turkish and elegant.”

“Oh no,” Mom moaned. “I'm so sorry, Derek.”

“Please, Rebecca.” Derek reached for her hand. “Don't worry about it for a single moment. It was insensitive of me to blurt that out.”

Dad leaned closer to Mom and threw his arm around her shoulders. “Come on, honey. It'll be all right.”

“But Goose is dead and Derek's bathrobe is ruined and we never should've—”

“Rebecca, please,” Derek quickly intervened. “If wearing my bathrobe gave your friend Goose a few moments of pleasure, I'm perfectly happy that he took it.”

She sniffled. “Oh, that is the sweetest thing I've ever heard.”

“And it's the absolute truth,” Derek insisted. “I don't want you to spend another second worrying about it. The robe was quite old. I was going to buy a new one soon.”

“See that, Becky?” Dad said, stroking Mom's hair. “It's going to be all right.” Looking at Derek, he added, “She's got such a tender heart.”

I slid my barstool closer to Derek and squeezed his arm lightly. The truth was, the bathrobe was brand-new, a Christmas gift from his parents in England. But it was easily replaced, unlike Goose's life.

We spent the rest of the meal speculating on what had happened to Goose. As near as I could figure, as soon as we'd all left for the Bistro, Goose must've gone wandering around the house. Derek's bathrobe had been hanging on a hook in our bathroom, so Goose had definitely given himself a thorough tour of our place. He took a quick shower, shaved his beard, and threw on Derek's bathrobe. At that point, he probably walked into the living room and surprised the intruder.

So in a way, Goose was a hero. I didn't know if the woman was after my books and I couldn't yet tell if anything was missing from the closet safe, but aside from that, nothing had been taken from our apartment. I figured Goose must have surprised the woman and she had fled the scene before she could accomplish her main goal of stealing one of my books.

There wasn't a doubt in my mind that stealing a book was her ultimate goal. I just didn't know
which
book she was after. And unfortunately, with Goose's body blocking the closet door that shielded my book safe, I wouldn't know the answer until the police came and moved him.

Had she been trying to get into the closet when Goose
surprised her? The answer had to be yes. Why else would Goose be lying dead directly in front of the closet door?

Had she heard the elevator rising? Was that why she ran out? Given the length of time we were gone from the house, she couldn't have been here more than a few minutes.

“I wish the police would hurry,” I muttered.

As if I'd conjured them, there was a knock on the door.

“I'll let them in,” Derek said.

Mom and I hastened to clear the table of breakfast plates, and a moment later, Inspectors Lee and Jaglow followed Derek inside.

Both of them stared at the body of Goose for a long moment.

“That's a nice bathrobe,” Inspector Jaglow said. “Friend of yours, I assume?”

“No,” Derek said bluntly. “He's an old friend of Brooklyn's parents. My understanding is that he's been living on the streets for quite a few years. They ran into him last night and brought him here in hopes that he would enjoy a night of untroubled sleep.”

Jaglow gazed at my parents. “That was nice of you.”

“I'm not sure he would thank us now,” Dad said grimly.

Inspector Lee walked directly over to the body and began taking photographs with her telephone, capturing Goose's image from a number of different angles. I'd never seen her be so quiet and wondered if something was bothering her.

“Hey, Nate, help me move him away from the door so he's lying down flat,” she said to her partner, finally speaking for the first time.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“She's having man trouble,” Nate Jaglow said, bending down to shift Goose's body.

“Nate, shush,” she said mildly, clearly indicating she wasn't angry with him for speaking out of turn.

I didn't dare ask which man was giving her trouble, but I glanced at Derek meaningfully. He shrugged as if to say he didn't have a clue as to whether Crane had contacted her or not.

Now I had to wonder if maybe Inspector Lee had a boyfriend. I'd never bothered to ask, since we weren't intimate friends. But I was dying to know.

“Tell me more about this guy,” Lee said, still looking at Goose.

“We knew him years ago,” Mom said. “Back in the days when we were following the Grateful Dead.”

“Did you keep in touch?”

Dad said, “No. Once we moved to Dharma, we lost touch with a number of our old Deadhead friends.”

Inspector Jaglow was busy writing down the information in his notepad. “And what's his name?”

“We always called him Goose.”

“So you don't know his real name?”

“Sorry.”

“We'll fingerprint him and try to track down his next of kin.”

“That would be lovely of you,” Mom murmured.

“Do you know where he grew up?” Jaglow asked. “Where he went to school?”

“No idea.” Dad shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Anything you can tell us about him that might help us put some pieces together?”

“He has a dragon tattoo on his butt cheeks,” Mom said.

Lee's head jerked up. “Yeah?”

“Wow, Mom,” I said. “Just how well did you know Goose?”

“Becky?” was all Dad could say.

“Oh, Jim. Don't tell me you've forgotten all the times we used to go skinny-dipping.”

“Honey, I've never forgotten our skinny-dipping days.”

“Then how could you miss seeing a full-blown winged dragon tattoo spread across a man's buttocks?”

“Good question,” Lee said, trying to contain a smirk.

Derek didn't bother to hold back. He just started laughing.

Dad glanced at the other men in the room, then back at his wife. “This may come as a shock, but I rarely spend time checking out other guys and their buttocks.”

“I suppose I should be happy about that,” Mom conceded.

“I'd say so,” Inspector Lee said. Then she flashed her partner a look of resignation. “Looks like we'd better turn him over and check out this tattoo.”

“Let's do it.” Jaglow positioned himself by Goose's head.

“Would you like some help?” Derek asked.

“I'd appreciate it,” Lee said. “Thanks, Commander.” She moved aside so that Derek could grab Goose's feet while Nate took hold of his head. With as much care as possible, they shifted Goose over until he lay in a prone position with his face pressed against the hardwood floor. As a result of moving him, the bathrobe flapped open and bunched up, leaving the dead man sadly exposed and the rest of us in complete shock.