Dead Bolt (27 page)

I nodded. “Okay. Thank you, Ivana.”

“If you . . . if you talk to anyone, other than Katenka, I mean . . . please to don’t tell them about me. Don’t mention my name.”

I nodded. “I promise. It won’t come up.”

As I walked down the street toward my car, my mind was a whirl. For all I knew, Katenka had gone off, without her son, for reasons of her own. But what if those reasons were related to Emile’s murder and her haunted house? How, I had no idea. I had gotten close to the Daleys during the renovation and I needed to reassure myself that Jim hadn’t harmed his wife. Her sudden disappearance was worth looking into, especially since I knew someone who knew something about girlie shows. Someone who owed me. Big time.

Zach Malinski.

It was a Friday night, so he might not be home. But it was still early, and I imagined Zach’s evening didn’t start until later. Maybe he was taking what Luz used to call a “disco nap,” a late catnap that allows you to stay up all night at the club. On the other hand . . . we hadn’t exactly kept in touch after our last run-in, when he locked me up in a salvage yard. For all I knew, he was in prison.

I drove to the corner of Golden Gate and Divisadero, then circled the block three times until a parking spot opened up. Zach lived in a forties-era building that featured five-foot-high arts-and-crafts-style wood paneling and marble thresholds. Z. Malinski was still listed in Apartment 112. I tried the buzzer. No response.

A woman with a stroller started to maneuver her way into the building, so I held the door and followed her in.

I scooped up a
People
magazine from the demilune table that held the tenants’ overflow mail and went past number 112 to the end of the hall, where a door opened onto a set of back stairs and an emergency exit. I left the door open a crack and took a seat on the next-to-bottom stair, where I could see who came and went.

I enjoyed the novel sensation of being hidden and unknown, observing but not being observed. I put my phone on vibrate and flipped through the magazine, intending to catch up on celebrity gossip. The only problem was I didn’t recognize most of the people in
People,
and the few I did recognize were in an article entitled “Where Are They Now?” Was I really that old? Maybe I just didn’t watch enough TV. The last television program I remembered seeing was a house-flipping show that Luz and some other friends had insisted I join them in watching. It was kind of fun ridiculing the host’s shoddy workmanship and throwing popcorn at the screen, but I hadn’t been invited back. I had the sneaking suspicion my antics had gotten me blackballed.

I heard noises in the hall, and peeked out to see a trio of young women in four-inch heels teetering down the main stairs, all dolled up for a big night on the town.

I glanced at my steel-toed boots. Bet they’d make a big splash at the downtown club scene. I had no plans for this Friday night. When I’d checked in earlier, Caleb was heading out to the movies with a group of friends, and Stan and Dad were planning on eating leftovers and settling in to watch
Top Gun
on DVD.

Speaking of leftovers . . . It had been a long time since the Pakistani food. I wondered, just for a moment, what Olivier was having for dinner. What would it be like to have someone like Olivier trying to seduce me with food?

And speaking of seduction . . . My mind drifted to Graham. When he was younger he had been so dashing, handsome and brash, roaring up to job sites on his motorcycle. He had mellowed. A lot. Now he was . . . I closed my eyes and shook my head, exasperated with myself. He was taken. Period.

The front door opened again. Zach. His head was bent as he sorted through the mail in his hands while he walked down the hall. He paused outside his apartment door, reading a postcard, as he fished for his keys in his pocket.

Quietly I slipped out of the stairwell and came to stand next to him.

He glanced up. His eyes widened in surprise, then wariness.

He took an involuntary step back, then smiled. “Mel! Great to see you! You’re not armed, are you?”

“Does the Glock in my purse count?”

He held his hands up, grinning now, though there was a flicker of worry in his sherry-colored eyes. “You know what I always say, no need for firearms among friends.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Zach. I think I’d best keep the upper hand this time.”

He ducked his head. “Well, I’m man enough to enjoy a woman being in charge. Once in a while.”

An elderly woman came out of her apartment across the hall, leading a small white dog on a leash.

“Good evening, Zachary,” she said.

“Mrs. Eldridge, don’t you look lovely this evening in that red hat. Heading out for a hot date?”

“Oh, you.” She smiled and swatted the air. “How you do go on. Is this your lady friend?”

“This is my good friend Mel Turner. Mel, meet the lovely Mrs. Eldridge.”

We exchanged pleasantries, and she tottered down the hallway.

“Come on in,” Zach said as he unlocked the door. The apartment was tiny but charming: Off the small foyer was the bath, a single room just big enough for a queen bed and a desk, a closet, and a cramped galley kitchen. Large windows looking out over the street kept the snug apartment from feeling claustrophobic. The walls were lined with five-foot-high cherry-stained wainscoting topped by a little shelf, which Zach had filled with photographs and various mementos from his travels.

“‘Good friend’?”

He smiled.

“Don’t you think that’s stretching it a bit?” I continued. “We didn’t exactly part as friends.”

“That’s not entirely true.” He took a seat in the desk chair, interlaced his fingers over his flat stomach, and leaned back. “I bear you no ill will.”

“Shame I can’t say the same.”

Another flicker of doubt in his eyes.

“Why aren’t you in jail?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just caught up in a series of events . . .”

“Give me a break.”

“Also, I struck a deal with the DA. Turned state’s evidence.”

“Ah.”

Our eyes held for a moment. He smiled that crooked, charming smile. Last time I saw Zach had not been pleasant. But to be fair, we had spent time together before that, and despite all that happened I felt a certain .  . . comfort with him. I couldn’t quite explain why. He was younger than I, by several years, and extremely handsome in an earnest, sleepy-eyed way. But despite his ever-present smile, his expression was sad.

Tall and muscular, he looked older than I remembered. His clothes weren’t expensive, but they suited him: classic jeans, white T-shirt, black leather jacket. Today he had on a blue-and-green scarf against the cold.

“Nice scarf,” I said.

He grinned. “My mom knitted it. You don’t think it’s lame?”

“I like it. How come you’re home on a Friday night?”

“It’s not night yet. It’s late afternoon in my world.”

We were silent for a few minutes, Zach waiting for me to make the first move.

“I need help.”

“Excellent,” he said, sitting up and rubbing his hands. “I happen to be looking for work.”

“I don’t mean your photography skills.”

“You and the rest of the world, unfortunately. The state of journalism today is a crime. I’m looking for anything at the moment.”

“How about McDonald’s?”

“Except fast food.”

“I’d like you to talk with your friends at the Vixen’s Lair about a Russian woman who might have worked as a dancer in one of the clubs downtown.”

I handed him the photo of Katenka.

“Do you recognize the club she’s in, by any chance?”

He looked at it a beat too long before shaking his head.

“You’re sure?” I pushed.

“I may need money, Mel, but I’m not stupid. I don’t tangle with this sort of thing.”

“
W
hat sort of thing?”

“The people who bring these girls in, they’re . . . not very nice people.”

“The women come here legally, though, right?”

“Sometimes, sometimes not. And even if they’re legal at first, they might overstay their visas. Anyway, if she worked in one of the clubs, chances are good she doesn’t want them to be reminded of her, either. If she got out, then it’s all good. Why stir up trouble?”

“It’s the only thing I can think of. She’s gone missing. I’m worried.”

“And the cops?”

“Her husband hasn’t listed her as missing yet.”

Our eyes held for a beat. “And you think her husband had something to do with her disappearance?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I have no real reason to think so. I just . . . I can’t imagine why she would disappear. They have a little boy, a baby.” I supposed it was possible Katenka had simply gotten fed up and run, or was so scared of the ghosts that she bolted. But she was arranging that birthday party for Quinn, and no matter how awkward she seemed with him . . . she was also fiercely protective. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d have to have a reason to run.

“What the hell,” Zach said with a shrug. “I need the cash.”

“You’re going to charge me?”

“I just told you I was looking for work. I have a very reasonable hourly rate.”

“Yes, but you owe me. Big time. Do this for me and I’ll call it even.” I handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “For expenses.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Let me know what you find out.” I rose to leave.

“Aren’t you coming with me?” he asked.

“I’ve got buildings to build.” And ghosts to banish.

“It’s Friday night. Why don’t you let me take you out?”

“I thought you didn’t have any money.”

He grinned. “I’ve got a twenty in my pocket; let me at least spring for a cup of coffee. Or how about McDonald’s? I could pick up an application.”

I couldn’t help but smile.

“Thanks anyway, Slick, but the last time we met you essentially kidnapped me.”

“I was trying to keep you safe.”

“Calling the cops would have been preferable to trapping me in a salvage yard.”

“Leave it to you to fixate on the details.”

“I’m leaving now. Let me know what you find out.” I headed for the door.

“Are you sure?” he asked, reaching around to open the door for me. “You, me, a twenty-dollar bill and a Russian girlie club—what’s not fun about that?”

Mrs. Eldridge was coming back down the hall, her little white dog yapping in excitement.

Zach let out a loud sigh. “Guess I’ll ask Mrs. Eldridge instead. Last time we went out she drank too much and started dancing naked on the bar, though, didn’t you, Mrs. Eldridge?”

“Oh, you dickens,” she said with a smile, waving him off.

“At least let me walk you to your car, Mel,” Zach said.

“I’m fine.” I hurried down the hallway, dropped the borrowed magazine on the credenza, and headed out of the building before I could change my mind. What was wrong with me? I had been whining about not having a date, and not only was Zach good-looking and interesting, he made me laugh. But he was young. Also, he was a criminal who had sort-of kidnapped me. Important to keep that in mind.

Absorbed in my thoughts, I neglected to pay attention to my surroundings. It was never a good idea to let down one’s guard at night. This was a big city, after all. Things happened. Like now.

Someone grabbed me from behind. Before I could think, there was an arm clasped around my throat.

“Stay out of it, or else,”
a man’s voice hissed in my ear.

What a cliché, I thought as a strong hand shoved me against my car, slamming my face into the metal doorframe. Pain shot through my cheekbone and engulfed my skull, muddling my thoughts.

Instinctively, I fought back, pushing away my assailant’s arm and stomping on his foot with my heavy work boots, then kicking his shins, hard. He grunted and doubled over, and I spun and drove the tip of my steel-toed boot at his kneecap hard enough to cause serious damage. Screaming, I ran back to the apartment building. Since I knew the front door was locked, I headed for Zach’s window, which was a good five feet above the sidewalk, yelling his name.

Zach flung the window open and leaned out, bare-chested.

“
Mel?
Are you all right?”

I scanned the area. No sign of my attacker.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?”

Before I could find the words to explain, he leapt nimbly out the window, landing on the narrow strip of lawn, ready for action in bare feet and jeans.

“I don’t know. I think he’s long gone.”

“Who was it?”

I shook my head. My assailant had been a tallish guy, and I thought he had been wearing a ski mask and gloves. That description could fit a good portion of the city’s population, including Zach. But it couldn’t have been him; he had the perfect alibi.

Zach pulled me to him and cradled me to his chest, murmuring soothing sounds.

Not that this was the best time to notice, but Zach must have been working out. His lean swimmer’s physique had beefed up considerably since the last time I’d seen him.

“You okay?” He touched my face gingerly.

My cheek throbbed and I could feel my eye swelling. But I cleared my throat and stepped away, nodding. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“You want to call the cops?”

I chewed on my lip, then shook my head. Inspector Crawford already thought I was nuts, and even if she believed me, without more to go on there was no way they’d find the guy.

“Let’s go inside,” Zach said, then paused. “Hold on. No key. Well, no problem. I’ll hoist you up; you go through the window and open the door for me.”

“You most certainly will not hoist me anywhere,” I said, uncomfortable with the thought of him trying to lift a, uh, healthy woman like me. What if he couldn’t do it? And even if he could, I was wearing a short skirt and lacked grace. No, such a scenario could only end in disaster. “I’ll hoist
you
. I’m at least as strong as you are.”