Ghost in the Wind (11 page)

Paul, no doubt realizing he could do little good now, did not speak.

But my father did. “Vance, I have only one daughter,” he said. “And I would be absolutely devastated if anything happened to her. I'd never be able to think straight if I didn't do something about it.”

Vance didn't acknowledge Dad; he just stared straight at me. “You asked if there was something you could do for me,” he said urgently. “There is, and I'm asking. Please. Stop looking and let me move on.”

Paul looked at me and shook his head. It was a test. For me.

I knew Vance was trying to charm me, and to intimidate me into doing what he wanted. I knew he was counting on my weakness, my admiration (okay, bordering on idol worship) for him and his music, to convince me that I should do something I thought was wrong. If someone willfully exposed Vanessa to something they knew would kill her, they had to
pay. And I knew that the least I should get out of him before agreeing to something so ludicrous was a sincere explanation of his desire to keep me off the investigation I was conducting, solo, supposedly on his behalf.

There was also the weird alpha-male vibe going on between Paul and Vance that was coloring the discussion. To agree with Vance would be to somehow reject Paul, who had been my friend and confidant for years, and who knew infinitely more about investigation than I did. To refuse Vance would be to turn my back on the great warmth and emotional support he'd offered, even without knowing it, when I'd been badly in need of it.

“Alison,” Vance said. “Please.”

There was only one thing to do. I took a deep breath, let it out and then turned my gaze away from Paul and into Vance's pleading eyes.

“Okay,” I said.

Paul actually smote himself in the forehead and fell, backward, through the wall and out of the house.

“Ooh,” Maxie said.

“Get Paul,” I said to Maxie.

Dinner had been a somewhat tense affair. I'm understating it.

The kitchen, where Melissa, Mom, Josh and I ate, was divided into two camps: On the one side were all those who believed that I'd disrespected Paul's experience and judgment by agreeing to give up the investigation. Which sounds weird, since Paul hadn't wanted to take the case. But when Vance had suggested we stop, Paul had shook his head to indicate I should refuse. So now one camp thought I had done badly by Paul. That camp consisted of Mom and Dad, Maxie (of course), Josh and even Melissa.

The other camp, which believed I had done the only rational thing available under the circumstances, consisted of me. So it was a pretty evenly divided gathering.

Liss, to be fair, had not chided me for the scene in the
movie room, but her expression clearly showed she thought I was being mean to her ghostly friend. And the cacophony from the others (okay, mostly Maxie) had drowned out any questions even after she and Mom had cooked the brisket, some roasted potatoes and carrots and made a side salad. Josh's perceived disapproval was based mostly on his somewhat nebulous knowledge of Paul, whom he couldn't see or hear but knew was a decent guy. He wanted to side with me but was already not all that crazy about Vance.

Maxie had ranted on for the whole time—even when guests were asking about nearby restaurants or thanking me again for the concert they thought I had organized—about my insensitivity and disloyal insubordination (she used other words) that I couldn't get my thoughts out completely. After a while I realized voicing my defense would make no difference unless Paul was in the room, anyway.

First, I had to wait for Vance to leave, but that didn't take long. He had been invited to jam with Clarence and Luther at a “very pre-Halloween gig in Red Bank” and was already late. Maxie had stared after him as he left as if expecting to be asked to come along, but she wasn't.

I was going to have to get in touch with Everett and tell him his new girlfriend was looking at other boys. Because life never progresses beyond seventh grade, even after you're dead.

“What do you mean, ‘get Paul'?” Maxie asked me now.

“Is that a complex sentence? I need to talk to Paul and he's not going to answer me if I call him now.” I was rinsing off some dishes in the sink before putting them in the dishwasher as Josh and Liss cleared the table. Mom was repacking her backpack with those few items she'd determined I would not be able to reheat or in some way convert into another meal.

“What do you want Paul for?” Maxie's voice, unsurprisingly,
had a combative tone. “All you did was ask him to come back and then tell Vance you'd stop the investigation. You threw Paul under the bus.”

“I could throw him under a real bus and it wouldn't hurt him now,” I pointed out. “Please just find him.”

“I'll do it,” Melissa said. “He'll talk to me.”

“Thanks, baby.”

Liss, probably grateful for the break from KP duty, headed for the basement door and vanished down the stairwell; it's always a decent bet to find Paul in the basement.

Maxie continued on her rant about how I'd betrayed my “best friend in the world” (Jeannie Rogers is actually my best friend, but that was the least of the points worth arguing and I wasn't even arguing) for the sake of “sucking up to a famous guy” that Maxie had “never even heard of three days ago.”

“Don't be so hard on Alison,” my mother told Maxie. I can always count on her when I need defending. “She made a mistake. Everybody makes mistakes.” Everybody has days like this one, too. I just tend to have them four times a week.

Thankfully, Paul finally rose up through the kitchen floor, face impassive. “Melissa said you were asking for me,” he said with as much inflection as a goldfish.

“Yes.” I dried my hands on a dish towel. “About what happened before in the movie room—”

I couldn't even get a whole sentence out of my mouth. “I understand what happened,” Paul said.

“I don't think you do,” I said.

“Of course I do. You were given a choice and you decided that Vance McTiernan was the more trustworthy person in the conversation.” Paul is often wise and almost always logical. It is rare to hear him be neither at the same time, but now he was sounding like a jilted sixteen-year-old.

“Paul,” I said.

“It was clear enough,” Maxie joined in without the benefit
of anyone indicating she should. “He got all these famous musicians to come to your house, so you sided with the guy who brought them here. It's a little sad, really.” She lay back, hands intertwined behind her head, floating in a pool that wasn't there. “I would have thought you'd be more loyal.”

“That's not the point,” Paul told her. “What hurt was the fact that you didn't trust my judgment, Alison. You didn't believe after all we've been through together that my advice might be of some value.”

“Pardon me, Paul, but isn't that what Alison was saying to you yesterday?” This time Mom really was coming to my defense. (Josh probably would have, too, but he hadn't heard a word Paul or Maxie had said. Besides, he was engrossed in wiping down the center island.) “That you should have trusted her a little bit more with the case Vance was asking you to take?”

Paul blinked and looked away; he was thinking.

Maxie was still floating on her nonexistent barge and thinking is something she tries to avoid whenever possible. “Is that what this was about?” she asked, presumably, me. “A way to get back at Paul for the way he talked to you? Wow. That's petty.”
Hello, Pot? Kettle has a message for you.

“Is everybody done telling me what I did and why I did it?” I asked. “Because I'd like to say a little something about the case.”

Paul, newly attentive, turned toward me. “You promised Vance you'd stop the investigation,” he said. “He asked you to stop looking into his daughter's death. What is left of the case?”

“Paul.” I almost told him to take a deep breath, but that would have been inappropriate. “I lied to Vance. I told him I'd stop looking for Vanessa's killer because it was the easiest way to placate him. I'm not giving up the case and I'm not about to drop the only leads I have.”

“You're not,” Paul said. It wasn't a question. A small smile was attempting to break out of the prison his lips had built for it.

“No, I'm not. But I am feeling a little over my head on this and I really need your help. Will you please guide me through this investigation?”

Paul dropped down a little to my eye level. Josh looked over at me, half-grinning, and touched my hand. His fingers were still cold from the kitchen wipe he'd been using but I appreciated the gesture.

“Are you sure you need me?” Paul said.

“I'm sure,” I answered. “I'm very, very sure.”

Paul's smile got a millimeter broader. “All right, then. Since you begged.”

I let it go.

Maxie, realizing the “fight” between Paul and me was over, suddenly lost interest in the conversation. “I have a date with Everett,” she said, and shot up through the roof. Really.

“All right,” Paul said, immediately getting down to business. “First, I think you are right in trying to find the other members of Once Again. But I've been confused as to why you haven't yet searched for Jeremy Bensinger, the half brother the obituary mentioned, or for their mother, Claudia Rabinowitz.”

Damn. He was right.

“See, this is why I need your help,” I said. Paul smiled. And I started to feel a little better.

I didn't tell him about my plan to go see the members of Vanessa's old band in Asbury Park tonight for the very reasons I'd suggested to Josh (even with Vance supposedly out of the house, I couldn't be sure he was where he said he'd be). I'd see about getting Paul by himself after Josh and I got back from the club and I'd tell him then.

But first, there was some searching to do for Vanessa McTiernan's mother, Claudia Rabinowitz. Since Maxie was
now unavailable, Melissa volunteered to girl the laptop (well, she couldn't
man
the laptop) and do some searches for the name.

“Google lists more than two million hits for ‘Claudia Rabinowitz,'” she reported in a few seconds. “I'll narrow it down.” I thought that was a good plan.

We moved out into the den so I could keep an eye out for guests. Nobody was in the room when we entered—they were probably all out to dinner in nearby restaurants—but as the innkeeper, I needed to be available.

Mom had already agreed to stay with Liss while Josh and I were out “meeting his friends A.J. and Liz,” and Dad was staying with her because, well, that's what they do.

Josh sat down beside me on the sofa. Since the all-star concert earlier today, he'd made a point of being close to me whenever he could. I'd never seen a jealous side of him before and it was interesting—did he think I was going to throw him over for a man who wasn't just decades older than I was, but had also been dead for eight years?

I was about to ask if he was all right when Liss announced, “I can't find any Claudia Rabinowitzes listed in New Jersey. It's like searching for an answer when I'm doing history homework.”

My face scrunched up. “Are you allowed to do that?” I asked.

Melissa gave me her “oh, mother” face and nodded. “We're
supposed
to. But that's not the point. Maybe Claudia moved out of the state.”

“Maybe she got remarried,” Josh suggested.

But Paul was already holding up his hand, which made no difference to Josh, of course. “See if there is a ‘C Rabinowitz' listed,” he said to Melissa. “Also, the obituary said Vanessa had a half brother whose last name was Bensinger. Claudia might have changed her name. Maybe the brother is the place to start looking.”

It was good to have Paul back on board. Someday when I was very old I'd be sure to say that to him.

“Jeremy's living in Marlboro, if I recall correctly,” I said. It was necessary to get back some of my own. Although I didn't recall giving any away.

“That's right,” Paul said. “Melissa, can you . . .”

“I've already got him,” Liss said. Josh nodded, no doubt thinking she was answering me. “I can print you out an address and MapQuest it if you want, Mom.”

“How about a phone number?” I asked. I'd rather call Jeremy than go see him if I could. Quicker, and I didn't have to worry that Jeremy might himself be a murderer. So few gruesome killings happen over the phone.

But Liss shook her head. “Sorry. If we want to sign up for one of the pay sites, maybe we could find it.” I didn't own a Marlboro-area phone book.

However, I could still dial a phone. I picked up mine and punched up Information. There was no listing for Jeremy Bensinger in Marlboro, which is not terribly unusual. Most people operate with just a cell phone these days, and those are not listed.

“Looks like I'll be visiting Jeremy Bensinger tomorrow after the morning show,” I said. “Do you think that was really Vanessa who got in touch with you?” I asked Paul.

“Actually, I don't,” he said. I'd suspected as much—he had been trying to get me to tell Vance the investigation was over (something Vance was now suggesting on his own; the world is an ironic place). “She was too vague and didn't seem to know any details. I'm not sure she really knew anything about Vanessa or Vance. It might have been someone just answering my message generally, hoping for some attention. That happens every now and again.”

“That's so sad,” Melissa said.

“It might also have been Vance trying to play us,” I said. “See if you can get her to admit to anything.”

Josh looked over at me and then glanced at his watch. “We should go if we're going to meet A.J. and Liz,” he said.

I saw the time and agreed. “I'll talk to you later,” I told Paul. “I should have something to report.”

“I imagine so.” Paul sank into the floor.

It was nice to be back in our traditional roles.