Deadly Night (30 page)

“
I’m not sure exactly where to look, so why don’t you follow me instead of splitting up like usual?” my wife suggested, leading the way inside the room.

Sounded like a good idea. My biggest concern was getting overwhelmed by the room’s opulence. No expense had been spared, or so it seemed. Thomasville, Chippendale, and other brands Fiona told me catered only to those with money. Lots of it.

At first glance, eight hundred square feet seems like a lot to cover. But once I got over the sheer luxury of our surroundings, I began snapping pictures. Meanwhile, Fiona walked around with a frown on her face. Intense concentration…focused energy while she searched for the mysterious item Candi’s spirit told her about.

“
Any luck on figuring out what we’re supposed to take from here?” I asked, gently after a few minutes, so as not to disturb the flow of information from her guides.

“
I’m not sure,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s something that was given as a casual gift…but at the same time was some sort of personal item.”

Gee, that narrows it down. Every wall in the house is covered with gold records, signed guitars, and all sorts of paintings, prints, and other artwork from fans across the globe. Her bedroom walls might be less ostentatious than the industry stuff downstairs, but I see a number of ‘admirer’ items. Roughly fifty by my count.

Fiona veered toward one corner of the room, where Candi’s vanity and armoire sat. Not sure what would be personal gifts among the rows of lipstick, nail polish, makeup, and brushes along her vanity’s mirrored surface, but there might be some
very
personal lingerie items stored inside the armoire. After grazing past the impressive cosmetic collection, Fiona stood in front of the armoire for a couple of minutes, questioning her guides quietly.

“
Nothing,” she muttered, turning to face me. “The only thing left to do is tear this place apart and I’m not comfortable doing that. Especially after Candi said the item would be readily apparent.”

“
So, I guess we should leave, huh?”

I snapped another round of rapid shots, focused this time on the armoire and vanity.

“
Yeah…I guess we should,” she agreed.

I could feel disappointment radiating from her, but it seemed pointless to stay here. Besides, I heard foot soles click against the marble-floored foyer below.

Candi’s mom is restless and ready to leave….

Fiona placed her camera back inside her purse and headed for the hallway. That’s when we heard it.

I damn near jumped out of my skin. The noise was so unexpected, as I was lost in thought for just a moment. Something tipped onto the vanity and then rolled over to the edge and fell to the floor with a soft thud.

The item lay on the carpet, glistening, and Fiona walked over to it.

“
What in the hell?”

She bent down and gingerly picked it up, while retrieving a plastic sandwich bag from inside her purse.

“
I need you to open the bag so I can put this inside,” she told me, looking over her shoulder. “I don’t want to risk touching it too much.”

She held the item by the very tip of its applicator/cap between her fingernails and showed it to me. It was a bottle of fingernail polish, some exotic purplish turquoise hue.

“
So, this is what she wanted you to find?”

I took the baggie and opened it up, and awaited her reply.

“
I believe so.” She paused to shoot me a look to watch my tone. My best efforts to hide a slight smirk proved futile. “It’s all I have to go by, and you heard the damn thing roll off her vanity, same as me. Nothing else fits the description Candi gave me.”

True.

I bit my lip to keep from saying anything else. My next concern was how this would fly with Shirley when Fiona told her about it once we returned downstairs. And, yes, she would tell her. I guess it was part of the deal to get in here, even though Ms. Miller doesn’t buy into the ghost hunting business. Yet, Candi’s mom
does
believe in psychic premonitions to solve murders. She must be a Court TV fan.

“
Here’s what I’ll be turning over to the police,” Fiona told her, holding the baggie and its hostage for Shirley to view, once we returned downstairs. The nail polish’s hue seemed more lavender under the late afternoon sun’s rays shining through the immense foyer window above us. “Hopefully this will help them catch Candi’s killer.”

“
I hope so,” said Shirley, eyeing the bottle as most skeptical people would, her voice betraying deep sadness within. “And I hope they catch him before this monster hurts anyone else.”

***

We drove through Candi’s posh neighborhood in silence, and it wasn’t until Fiona veered toward downtown Nashville that I realized we weren’t heading back to Stella’s place…at least not right away.

“
Where are we going next?” I asked.

“
Ed’s office,” she said. “I think he’ll forgive us for disobeying his orders to stay put at Auntie’s place once he sees this and hears the story behind it.”

Oh joy. I could hardly wait to witness Dick Tracy’s initial reaction.

“
Seriously, Jimmy, it’s the right thing to do,” she told me, and I could hear the growing agitation in her voice. I need to do a much better job of hiding my disdain. “Especially since Candi told me there are fingerprints to identify the killer.”

“
Huh??”

“
Yes!”

Now she was really irritated.

“
Okay, I believe you!” I sought to assure her. “Fingerprints would definitely be easiest to lift from a glass surface. And, from what you told me last week, Ed told you there was only a partial print left at Johnny’s place. Everywhere else the killer has struck, the dude wore gloves.”

“
So, this could prove to be something big...
very
big,” she said, her tone much calmer. “Ed can get the forensic specialists to put the prints through the national data base for a match on known felons. I’ve always felt the killer has done this before. If a full print from the bottle matches the partial
and
also belongs to a previously convicted felon, the police will know for sure who they’re looking for.”

“
Meaning a quick arrest, I imagine,” I added, picturing the sequence of likely events. “I guess this means we might know right away if the killer is Vito Travini, or worse, one of our friends.”

I turned to look at her, her eyes fixed on the road. But her deliberate slow nod told me she thought the same thing.

Saturday afternoon, just after four-thirty.

I almost feel like a bonafide rock star.

I’m on my way to the biggest gig thus far in my fledgling music career. Wait, I need to take that back…no sense in being too humble about where I’ve been and where this might lead.

I’m standing at the door to the elusive Big Time.

There that’s better…if only this were a limo instead of Mr. Ed’s cruiser.

Yeah, that sucks. Add to this fact my wife’s riding in the front passenger seat, and this definitely is
not
how I envisioned my trip to our Green Hills destination.

Fiona had little choice of where to sit, as Ed wanted a full rundown on her current ‘impressions’ regarding the murder case. The little nail polish bottle was sent to the lab for analysis last night, with preliminary findings available as early as tomorrow afternoon. But of course he wants more.

He treats her like some damned genie—hell, he
looks
at her like my dad used to ogle Barbara Eden’s character on “I Dream of Jeannie’. Wishing he could rub her curves and get three wishes granted. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce what that’d mean for ole Dick Tracy.

“
Are you nervous, hon’?” Fiona asked me, reaching over the seat to rub my knee affectionately.

I hope Ed caught that.

“
Just a little, babe,” I told her, taking this opportunity to overdo it just a bit, grasping her hand and kissing it. Stuff I normally practice discreetly, between us. Not this time…it’s definitely show n’ tell time.

Today, Ed has had very little to say to me beyond the basic pleasantries. A weak façade to his true contempt, I assume, and back to his normal Hob-Goblin self. He probably hopes I choke and fall off stage tonight, and end up impaled on my fretless Fender.

Okay, I’ll drop it…for now.

Fiona’s hope that he’d go easy on us for breaking our curfew didn’t turn out that way. It pissed him off, royally. Hence the police escort to the gig tonight. I better get ready to ham this up, or my band buddies will never let me live it down—regardless of the legitimate danger hanging over us.

“
There’s the entrance,” advised my wife, pointing to a wrought iron gate nearly as ornate as the gate we encountered at Candi’s exclusive neighborhood yesterday. “Do you know anyone working tonight?”

“
I’m not sure,” said Ed, looking over at the two Metro cruisers parked on either side of the entrance.

Four of Nashville’s finest guarded the entrance, holding night sticks and wearing riot helmets. It’d be a terrible decision to try to crash this party. These suckers look like they’d enjoy busting somebody, or at least bust their chops with a little harassment number. Their eyes lay hidden behind reflective shades, and they resemble giant menacing wasps.

The cops stopped the car, and this was one time I doubt Detective Ed Silver could’ve gotten us inside on his merits. I thought we might have to get out and walk. But then Fiona told them who
I
am, and just like that they let us in.

That’s totally awesome.

Our manager, Michael Dickenson, really came through this time. What the band originally considered a significant ‘step down’ from our normal venues gained immediate credibility just now. And at Mr. Ed’s expense, at least a little.

It stayed like this all the way inside, until we reached the main grounds beyond a sprawling mansion much bigger than Candi’s place. The area was packed with people and carnival tents. After Ed parked his cruiser, we were led by several event attendants to where the band gathered, near a large stage. Michael—all five foot-six of him—seemed aglow as he stood near my buddies, his intense blue eyes on fire. It’s definitely money time. He greeted me, then Fiona, who introduced him to Ed. Several A&R people from Nashville and New York were here too.

I forgot their names almost as quickly as they introduced themselves, on account of my nerves. Only Jim Stanford from Mercury, since I’d met him a couple of years ago. He’s a friend of Max’s and a heavy metal freak, despite working in the record company’s country division.

“
Bro, over here!”

Ricky called me away, and I hesitated, wondering if I should bring Fiona with me. She could tell before I did that the invitation was for me alone, since the band wanted to review the playlist before hitting the stage

“
Go on, Jimmy,” she encouraged. “I’ll try to get close to the stage so I can cheer you on!”

She added a full bodied kiss and then gently tapped my lips with her forefinger, lingering a moment longer on my chin.

“
Ed, take care of her—make sure she stays safe!”

I kissed her once more and then headed over to where Ricky and the others waited.

“
Whipped!” teased Max, while everyone else gave me our band’s traditional fist bump.

“
You’d be enormously lucky to find a lass like Fiona,” Chris chided him. “Chasin’ tail’s a gas, but it won’t last forever.”

“
Oh yeah? If it lasts until I’m forty, that’ll be fine by me,” Max retorted, turning his gaze to size up a pair of buxom babes who’d wandered close by. “I don’t think my liver will last much longer than that anyway.”

Not if he keeps drinking like he does. Hell, he’s holding a glass of straight Kentucky bourbon right now.

“
Guys, let’s stay focused,” said Ricky. “We need to make sure this goes as planned.”

Man, this is when I like him best. Ricky’s definitely a gamer, as am I. We practice well, but once the lights are on, we’ve always taken our performance to the next level. That has to happen tonight.

“
We’re going on at six, right?” asked Mongo, removing his drum sticks from their protective pouch. Everyone’s gear already set up on stage, the lone exception was my axe.

“
No, our gig’s been moved up to five-thirty,” said Ricky.

“
So time’s a wastin’,” I said. “We’re still playing for an hour, I take it.”

“
Yeah, that’s still the same deal,” he confirmed. “But we’ve got a great chance to be the most memorable act here today. Two country trios played earlier, and after us there’s a jam session featuring Morris Daniels and Chuck Gil.”

“
So, we are the only alternative to the Nashville Sound tonight, gents!” beamed Chris.

Dude oozes confidence. He’s holding up just as strong as ever, which I wondered about since he’s the youngster among us. I thought he might cower a little once we got here, but so far so good.

It didn’t take long to confirm the order of things: where to move back and forth on stage, while Chris does his thing; what songs made the final cut and the order; and, how to handle an encore if the right opportunity presented itself. In other words, if the response was as great as we hoped, we’d return to the stage for two more numbers. If not, then we’d leave it at an hour.