Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (26 page)

Bark.

“Don’t let it go to your head. My right boot is still hopelessly stained.”

Bark.
 

The door opened and we jogged out through the ski locker room. It was another half hour before the lifts opened, so it was empty. It dawned on me that the snowboard that hit Nina might be in that very room. Of course there were a lot of lockers, but if I could narrow down the search, getting in the right one might not be so hard. Something to think about anyway.
 

Wallace and I went out into a grey morning. Fog was rare in Copper, but that morning there was a misty quality more suited to Ireland than Colorado. Wallace peed on a pile of snow and started doing her goose-stepping march down the path toward the Belgian Bean. A guy came out of the shop across the path to put out a sign and stopped with raised eyebrows. “How’d you get him to do that?” He kind of looked at me like I was into white power or something.
 

“It’s the booties. She hates them,” I said.
 

“Oh. I was wondering,” he said. “Can I take a video?”
 

“Knock yourself out.”
 

The guy got his phone out and filmed me and Wallace as we went by. The guy yelled, “Thanks,” and I picked up Wallace and stuffed her in my purse.
 

Bark.
 

I think it was a thank you bark, but I’m often wrong.
 

The Belgian Bean was open and about half full. I realized I’d never seen a picture of Mr. Dushane and I had no idea what he would look like. I assumed he wouldn’t sport his son’s hairdo, but you never know.
 

Bark.
 

I poked Wallace’s head down. “Quiet. If you’re not good, I’ll make you eat that French toast for breakfast.”
 

Growl.
 

“I’m kidding. Even you don’t deserve that.”
 

Bark.
 

“Waffle?”
 

Bark. Bark.
 

Wallace settled down. People say dogs don’t understand us, but I’m here to say they do. If I’d said rotting liver in the same waffle voice, she would not have gone for it.
 

I opened the door and scanned the restaurant for someone who looked like Rory but came up empty. No purple hair and no one sitting alone. Stephen, the guy behind the counter, grinned at me and waved. I walked up and ordered hot cocoa and two waffles.
 

“I hear you had a close call,” said Stephen.
 

“Me?”
 

“Weren’t you with Nina Symoan when she got hit?”
 

“Oh that. I wasn’t that close. She’s going to be alright. Thank goodness.”
 

Stephen leaned over the counter. “DBD was duking it out last night. Mickey and Wade freaking losing it again.”
 

“What was it about?” I asked.
 

“Shit. I don’t know. Those guys are mental, but it was kind of weird.”
 

“Weirder than Mickey threatening to kill Wade with a hammer?” I asked.
 

“The other one got into it too. The short one. Can’t remember his name,” said Stephen.
 

“Darren? Wears a lot of black.”
 

“That’s him. I think he’s the bassist.”
 

“What did he do?” I asked, thinking of how Darren had grabbed me. What had he said? Something about how he needed this. What was this? A photo op? His life was one big photo op.

“He was screaming at Mickey to shut up and color. He was really pissed and he’s usually the cool one.”
 

Shut up and color. That was familiar. So Mickey was supposed to get in line. Would Darren hurt Nina as a threat to Mickey?
 

“That is strange. My dad’s a huge fan. Darren’s supposed to be the one that didn’t really care about the band. He kind of fell into it.”
 

“He’s into it now,” said Stephen.
 

“Has anybody been in here looking for me?” I asked.
 

“Hell, yeah.”
 

I scanned the room again. Plenty of people were staring. That wasn’t unusual for me, but none looked like a candidate for Rory’s father.
 

“Who was asking?”
 

“Dudes of all ages. I got three dirty old men this morning. Since the DBD pics went live, I’ve been getting calls. I got an offer from a guy in Texas who’ll give me two hundred bucks, if I can get a boob print.”
 

I recoiled. “What the hell is that?”
 

“He wants you to dip your breast in dye or ink or some shit and press it to a piece of paper. Boob print,” said Stephen shaking his head. “The dude was weird. You get some real freaks, don’t you?”
 

“That’s a new one,” I said.
 

“It’s not even the grossest offer I got.”
 

Don’t ask. You don’t want to know.

Stephen grinned. “You really stirred it up with that kiss. It’s on the DBD site and even The Belgian Bean is trending on MSN. You’re a star, baby.”
 

“I’m dead meat. My mom is going to kill me.” I bonked my head on the counter.
 

“Your mom is hot. Holy shit hot. I would so like to get with her,” said Stephen.

That got my head off the counter. “That’s my mother you’re talking about.”
 

“Yeah,” he said in a dreamy voice.
 

“There’s something wrong with you.”
 

Stephen reached over the counter and patted my shoulder. “So they say. Don’t worry I’d get with you, too”

“Thanks. I feel so much better now. Do you know Rory Dushane’s dad?”

“Nope. Never met him, but I heard he’s cool.”
 

“I’m supposed to be meeting him here.”
 

Stephen tilted his head and squinted at me. “So what do you say to the boob thing? It’s easy money.”

“I like my money hard with a side of dignity,” I said.
 

“That’s a growing business. You being DBD’s new girl. We can go 50/50. I’ll handle everything.”

“You’re out of your gourd. I’d like a large hot cocoa and two waffles.”
 

“60/40.”
 

“You know those real freaks you mentioned earlier? You’re one of them,” I said.
 

Stephen looked past my shoulder and grinned in a way that made me afraid to look. “Freaks are a growing business since you got here.”

Chapter Fifteen

The bell over The Belgian Bean’s door jingled. I winced and turned, expecting the very worst after Stephan’s descriptions of the guys who’d been looking for me.
 

Please let it be Rory’s dad. Please. Not a freak for me.

I squinted as if that’s protection, and through my lashes saw a tubby little guy trot in. Aaron. He didn’t have a coat on, despite the twelve degree temperature outside. He ran right through, around the counter, and into the back.
 

Stephen called over his shoulder. “Hey, Aaron!”
 

“Do you know him?” I asked.
 

“Everybody knows Aaron. I think he’s some kind of genius. Like the Rain Man of food. He was in here yesterday and, dude, he threw down these chili rellenos waffles. They were totally sick.”
 

“I don’t doubt it.”
 

“You know him?”
 

“He’s my partner at work sort of.”
 

“How’d that happen?” asked Stephen. “You two don’t really match.”
 

“Nobody matches Aaron.”
 

My partner came out of the back with glasses so smudged I was surprised he didn’t run into a wall. He held a whisk in one hand up high like the Statue of Liberty. “What does he like?” Aaron asked me.

“Who?” I asked.
 

“Cullum Dushane.”
 

I couldn’t even answer I was so astonished.
 

Stephen answered for me. “Rory’s his kid and he likes plain waffles.”

“Got to do better than that,” said Aaron.

“Why? What are you doing here?” I asked.
 

“Helping. Fergus’ll be here in a minute.”
 

“You called Fergus?”
 

“He called me,” said Aaron.
 

“Why? What do you think is happening?”

Aaron ignored my question, not unusual for him and just stood there blinking. At least I assumed he was blinking. I couldn’t really make out his eyes.
 

“Aaron. Hello,” I said.
 

“Bacon. We’ll use bacon.” Aaron spun around and trotted back into the kitchen, leaving Stephen and I staring at his wake.
 

“I don’t know what he’s going to make, but it’s gonna be rocking,” said Stephen.
 

“I’m so tired,” I said. “If Mr. Dushane shows, tell him I went back to my condo.”
 

“Miss Watts,” said a deep voice behind me.
 

I turned and found a man only a few inches taller than me standing there. He was blond with silver touching his temples and bags under his eyes that made him look much older than he was.
 

“Mr. Dushane?” I asked.
 

He held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry I’m late.”
 

Aaron ran out of the back, pointed a dripping whisk at us, and then ran back inside. Mr. Dushane didn’t seem surprised. He was probably too exhausted and stressed to care much about what happened around him.
 

“Let’s sit down,” I said. “Would you like some coffee?”
 

“No, thank you,” said Mr. Dushane, unwinding the scarf around his neck. “Too much of the stuff lately. My hands won’t stop shaking.”
 

I was guessing the shaking had more to do with Rory and less to do with coffee, but I nodded and asked Stephen for a couple of bottled waters. He handed them over and whispered, “Think about my offer.”
 

I rolled my eyes and Mr. Dushane and I found a table at the back. I’d like to have stayed away from prying eyes, but the Belgian Bean wasn’t that kind of place. Mr. Dushane sat with a kind of weariness that only comes from great sorrow, but I wasn’t convinced he was Rory’s father. To say they looked nothing alike was a serious understatement. Rory was big and brash with over-sized features. Mr. Dushane was delicate. The wrists extending from well-tailored wool coat weren’t much thicker than mine and he had long elegant fingers and fine features you’d expect to see on a member of the aristocracy. From what I’d managed to find out, Mr. Dushane was anything but aristocratic. He worked with his hands and was absolutely obsessed with horticulture and, in particular, healing plants.
 

“You met my son and you’re wondering where the resemblance lies,” he said quietly.
 

“I’m wondering if you are who you say you are,” I replied.
 

Mr. Dushane pulled out his wallet and produced his Colorado driver’s license as well as a family portrait. It was him in the pictures and I felt a bit embarrassed to have questioned him.
 

“Rory was adopted. My wife had cancer when she was a teenager and couldn’t have children.”
 

“I’m sorry my confusion was so obvious.”
 

He made an elegant wave with one hand. “It’s nothing. May I ask what offer that guy was talking about?”
 

“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s got nothing to do with Rory.”
 

His stare got hard and he waited. I had to tell him and it pained me. He wasn’t the kind of man who heard boob print on a daily basis. Of course, who was?

“Mickey Stix kissed me and it’s all over the internet. Stephen’s been getting calls. I guess people think he knows me and can get me to do things,” I said, hoping that would suffice.
 

“Like autographs.”
 

“Kind of. You really don’t want to know.”
 

“I’ll take you’re word for it. May I ask you what you’ve found out about Rory?”
 

I gave him a rundown of what I knew, including the theory that Rory was carrying medicinal cannabis for a member of DBD. Mr. Dushane didn’t react when I said that. His stillness was studied and I could tell it was true but he would never openly confirm it. I told him that I thought Rory’s and Nina’s attacks were connected and that Detective Carey had asked me to get closer to DBD for information. That’s when Mr. Dushane’s face changed.
 

“He asked you to do that?”
 

“It’s no big deal. Frankly, I would’ve done it anyway,” I said.
 

He shook his head. “No. That’s not safe for you. Look what happened to Rory and to Nina. I can’t let you risk yourself on my account.”
 

I was about to protest when Aaron came out of the kitchen carrying a large platter. He set it down and gave us plates heaping with crispy waffles that smelled like I’d died and gone to pork heaven. Then he jogged back to the kitchen.
 

“Did you order this?” asked Mr. Dushane.
 

“That’s my partner, Aaron. With him you don’t order you just eat. I hope you like bacon.”

“I love it, but I don’t think I can eat.”
 

The paler and looseness of his skin told me he probably hadn’t eaten since he’d gotten word about Rory.
 

“As a nurse, I’m going to tell you that you need to eat. As Aaron’s partner, I’m going to tell you that one bite and you’ll want to,” I said with a smile.
 

Aaron trotted back out of the kitchen. This time he had two pitchers, large and small, and two mugs on his tray. He set them in front of us, put the tray under his arm, and watched us with the intensity of a starving hunter. I hesitated, mostly because I wanted to bother him. But also because I just wanted to sit there with those sublime smells wafting around us. Mr. Dushane leaned forward and peeked in the pitcher. He looked unsure of whether he should ask Aaron what it was. Aaron did not come off as a normal person. I was used to him and I even I thought he was weirder than normal.