Dead In Red (18 page)

Damn, I should’ve checked out her house. If
she parked outside, I’d have a better shot of breaking into the car
under cover of darkness than in broad daylight in a commercial area
where people came and went all day.

“Hey, Ernie. Ern,” Sam called.

My head jerked up. I’d forgotten my
pseudonym. “Yeah?”

“You got any more questions for Mike?”

“No.”

Sam stood and offered Mike his hand. “Give
me a call when you have another hot tip.”

“You bet. And thanks for the coffee.”

Mike swaggered away from the table and Sam
reclaimed his seat. “Well that wasn’t worth the price of
admission.”

“Tell me about it.”

“But you got something. You always zone out
like that when it happens?”

I ignored the question. “I saw the knife.
Whether it was used to kill rats, I can’t say.” I wasn’t ready to
tell him about the other visions. “I need to break into a car
without destroying anything. You know where I can lay my hands on
one of those plastic things cops and tow truck guys use to open
locked doors?”

“Breaking and entering. What do you hope to
gain?”

“Knowledge.”

Sam looked thoughtful. “I might be able to
get my hands on one. But they don’t work in every car, you know. If
it doesn’t, are you willing to smash a window and commit a
misdemeanor?”

“I don’t know. I’m not that desperate
yet.”

“Okay. I’ll look into it. What’s your next
move?”

I didn’t want to tell him, and that was
unfair because he’d included me on what was for him a waste-of-time
interview. “You want to come with me when I look into that
car?”

“Not if you’re going be destroying private
property. But I’ll bail you out if you get caught. That is, if
you’re willing to share what you learn.”

“I’m willing—but on my terms.”

He leaned closer, lowered his voice. “I’m
giving you a lot more rope than I’d give any other source.”

“Why’s that?”

“You have your hunches, I have mine. And one
day we’re going to break a big story. Much bigger than this Kaplan
murder. I’m willing to be patient.”

For someone used to getting weird vibes and
insight out of nowhere, his words sent an unexpected and
frightening chill through me.

“Meanwhile,” Sam continued. “I’m working on
getting Kaplan’s autopsy photos. You want a look?”

I shook my head. “I saw him dead, and I’ll
probably see him dead again—in a lot more detail than I’ll want.
That’s enough for me.”

Sam looked intrigued, but luckily didn’t
push it. He grabbed our empty cups. “Let’s get outta here. I’ve got
other things to do today that have nothing to do with murder.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes
later, Sam dropped me off at the base of Richard’s driveway.
I gave him a quick wave before I turned to head up the drive. I
didn’t see any cars except my own, but then Richard and Brenda
usually parked in the garage. I hoped they were off playing golf,
as I didn’t want to run into them. Okay, I didn’t want to run into
Richard.

I headed straight for my car, had the keys
in my hand when I heard my name called: Richard, coming at me from
the backyard.

Slowly I turned, tried not to look annoyed.
I couldn’t say the same for him.

“Where are you off to now?” he demanded.

I couldn’t tell him the mill, he’d already
warned me not to go near the place. “Out.”

“You just came back.”

“And now I’m going out again.”

“Where?”

“To the drugstore,” I lied. “I’m running out
of shaving cream. You need anything?”

“You didn’t call last night. We were
worried.”

“You knew where I was. Otherwise you
wouldn’t have told Sam where to find me.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Rich, you didn’t keep tabs on me this close
when I was a teenager. Why the sudden interest?”

“It’s not me,” he lied. “It’s Brenda. You
know how she is—how she worries.”

“Uh-huh.” I opened the driver’s door, a
burst of hot air assaulting me. “You didn’t answer my question. You
want anything from the drugstore?”

He shook his head. “You gonna be home for
supper?

“Probably. If not, I’ll let you know.”

“Good.”

I got in my car, unrolled the window and
buckled up before starting the engine. “See ya.”

Richard moved aside as I backed down the
driveway. He walked to the center of the drive and watched me take
off down the road.

I hated this crap. I hated the tension
between us. Maybe moving into the apartment over the garage was a
big mistake. Maybe I needed to cut ties. But I couldn’t. My job
paid shit and in less than a week Richard had had to bail my ass
out of trouble—twice, as he had already pointed out.

Sophie was right. I needed him. And not just
for what he did for me monetarily. He’d helped me solve the
banker’s murder. Without him, I couldn’t have done it. And, if I
was honest with myself, I needed him because he was my brother and
we’d wasted a lot of years—years we’d never get back.

I’d been so lost in thought I didn’t realize
I’d driven to the mill on autopilot. The lunchtime crowd hadn’t yet
piqued, but there were enough cars parked outside to hide mine
further up the street. I grabbed a baseball cap from the back seat
of my car and found my sunglasses in the glove box. Not much of a
disguise, but all I had.

I felt conspicuous as I walked along the
sidewalk and over to Cyn’s car. As expected, it was locked with all
the windows rolled up. I clasped the driver’s door handle and
closed my eyes. The sensations that traveled through me were vague,
meaningless shadows of emotions I couldn’t quite grasp. Was Cyn the
same person who’d worn the sparkling silver high heels, played with
the silver-sparkled knife that had taken Walt Kaplan’s life?
Dammit, I just wasn’t sure.

The mill’s door opened and a young couple
stepped out onto the small front porch. I did an about-face and
started back for my car. It would take a baseball bat to smash
Cyn’s driver’s side window. My skull had been fractured by a
baseball bat. I didn’t want to sink to wielding one to get what I
wanted. But I needed to get into that car, and if the lock opener
wouldn’t work, I’d have to seriously consider visiting the closest
sporting goods store and buying a bat.

Unless . . .

Richard and Cyn had been friends. What kind
of influence could he still have over her?

No, that wasn’t an option. And convincing
him Cyn might be capable of murder would probably be impossible.
I’d have to continue on my own and hope that later I could make it
up to Richard.

And what about the next time I got insight
on a murder, because I had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time
it would happen.

I got in my car, slammed the door and
clasped the steering wheel until my knuckles went white. Giving in
to this psychic shit felt like embracing the dark side, and I
sometimes wondered if surrendering to it would condemn my soul to
eternal damnation. I wasn’t a churchgoer, wasn’t even sure I
believed in a higher power, but going after the scum of the Earth
that committed murder had to be a one-way ticket to salvation.
Didn’t it?

The more experienced I became at it, the
less sure I was.

# # #

CHAPTER 15

Dinner that night proved awkward. Richard
spoke in clipped sentences and seemed to have a stick up his ass.
Brenda made innocuous small talk while I pushed peas around my
plate until I felt I could gracefully escape their company. That
still gave me way too long to wait until the midnight hour. I took
a nap, first setting my alarm for ten fifty-nine p.m.

I wasn’t used to staying up ’til all hours
of the night anymore. Richard and Brenda weren’t early-to-bedders,
but they rarely stayed up past the eleven o’clock news, either. As
a temporary member of their household, I’d adopted the same
routine—in fact, often pooping out long before they did. So just
the thought of waiting until after 11 p.m. to head out for an
evening had me yawning.

Sneaking out without them seeing me was
another matter. Then again, in the evenings the two of them tended
to live in Richard’s study before heading up to bed. The driveway
was on the other side of the house. I just had to hope they didn’t
look out the window when I took off. To make sure, I didn’t turn on
my headlights until I was at least three houses down the well-lit
block.

I had to wait eons for the light at Main
Street to go green. The heat had backed off and I rolled down my
window, hoping for a cool breeze. The light changed and I turned
left, heading for the city.

Buffalo may be the second-largest city in
the state, but the travel time was far shorter than traversing the
same territory in Manhattan. Yet like the Big Apple, you could also
count on every damn traffic light going red as you approached.

An old Stones tune came on and I cranked up
the radio, glancing in my rearview mirror. Some damn fool behind me
had his lights off.

Maybe I should’ve asked Maggie to come with
me, then perhaps afterward she might’ve invited me back to her
place for another night of pleasure. But then I really didn’t want
to involve her in any of this for the same reason I hadn’t shared
any of what I knew about Walt’s death with Richard.

You need him.

The idiot without headlights was still
behind me. The main drag from Amherst to downtown was nearly ten
miles long, and it wasn’t unusual for cars to travel in a pack.

The Stones gave way to Stevie Nicks and I
felt like I was listening to the radio of my youth. Sometimes music
had been the only high point of those shitty days. I pushed the
thought away and noticed the jerk was still behind me. He or she
was probably the same kind of driver who left their turn signal on
for endless miles on a straightaway.

I paused for a red light and took note of
the business addresses. Club Monticello couldn’t be too much
farther ahead and I wondered how far afield I’d have to go to find
a parking space. Too far, it turned out. I had to walk two blocks
before I stood in front of the nightclub.

Club Monticello looked to be the hottest
spot in the neighborhood, with ribbons of DayGlo neon and colorful
posters of the featured acts decorating the front facade. Smokers
of both genders—and those in between—loitered the sidewalk out
front, polluting the air while the thumping bass of canned music
vibrated through us all. My internal batteries seemed to be
recharging as I read the Coming Attractions poster. Then suddenly
Richard strode up and was at my side.

My temper flared as I turned on him. “What
the hell are you doing here?”

His eyes were blazing. “What do you
think?”

“You followed me?”

“Of course. And I almost lost you at least a
dozen times.”

Understanding dawned. “You were the jerk on
Main Street without headlights.”

“I didn’t want you to recognize my car.”

“Brenda’s car.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. He wasn’t about to
drive the Lincoln into unknown territory on a whim. “Now what the
hell are you doing here?”

“Trying to find a lead in Walt Kaplan’s
death.”

Richard glanced at the flashing neon sign.
“At a drag show?”

“Hey, it was his preference—not mine.”
Sophie’s words came back to me.
You won’t
solve this without him.
My apprehension soared even as
my anger at seeing him dissolved.

I cleared my throat. “Now that you’re here,
you may as well come in with me.”

“You just want people to think I’m your date
so they won’t hit on you.”

I hadn’t thought of that, but now that he
mentioned it, it sounded like a good idea. “Come on.”

We paid the cover and entered the dark
nightclub which, as expected, was crowded and hopping. A part of me
had been reluctant to dive into a place with so many people—fearful
the mix of emotional pandemonium might overload my circuits—but
instead of chaos, the overlapping emotions seemed to cancel
themselves out. I felt like I was protected in a bubble of
nothingness, and was determined to revel in it. We’d just missed
the first show, and it would be another twenty minutes before the
second.

“Let’s get a drink,” I told Richard. We
threaded our way away from the theater and to the bar through the
crowd of dancers. Club Monticello was not only a gay bar, but
billed as the best dance club in Buffalo, welcoming gays, lesbians,
and straights. We saw men with men, women with women and, true to
their advertisement, a smattering of hetero couples. We also got
bumped and jostled more than either of us would’ve liked. I ordered
a couple of beers and Richard paid, receiving a wink from the
heavily mascaraed male bartender. I had to laugh as he left a tip
on the bar and quickly turned away.

I let myself move with the rhythm of the
music and happily soaked in everything that was happening around
me, eavesdropping on conversations. The drag queens—the amateurs
and pros—seemed to be referred to as “girls,” no matter what their
chromosome structure. And damned if the happy gyrating people
around me didn’t all look just fine.

Meanwhile, Richard looked like he’d be more
comfortable in a straitjacket. “Now what?” he yelled over the din
of music and other people shouting to be heard.

“Don’t get pissed, but I’m here to show
Cyn’s picture around. Ask the club personnel if they’ve seen her
before.”

“What makes you think she’d come to a place
like this?”

“She had the same pair of shoes Walt had
made.”

“What shoes?”

I realized he was in the dark about
everything I’d been investigating. “I’ll fill you in later.”

I turned back to the bar, and elbowed my way
in, waiting until the bartender took a breather between customers.
I pulled out Cyn’s picture, shoving it under his nose. “You ever
see this woman?”