Ghost Memory (4 page)

Meeting Thulu had brought me
partially back out of my shell, but I never made it all the way
back. I was far more comfortable with the dead than I was with
living people. Except for Thulu’s gigantic family that is. I adored
them and had felt at home with them from the beginning. But the
rest of humanity I could do without most of the time. It was
something I didn’t want to examine too closely.

Once everything was settled, Evan
led Mr. Quinn back to us. I gave Evan a hug of thanks.

On the drive back to Mr. Quinn’s
home, he remarked how much nicer our bank was than his.

“I made arrangements to transfer
all of my money over to this bank,” he informed us. “I also made an
appointment with Evan to set up some safe investments. What a
delightful young man your cousin is. And so very knowledgeable for
one so young. I was quite impressed by the regard the bank manager
had for him.”

“Evan is a financial genius, that’s
for sure,” I agreed.

We made sure that Mr. Quinn was
safe and sound inside before we drove back to our apartment. I was
feeling pretty good about what we’d done on the case so far.

At home, I made sandwiches and soup
for a very late lunch, while Thulu started surfing the net. We ate
at our desks as he worked with online maps of San Francisco, noting
certain locations.

When he was done, he showed me the
list of locations with several business names.

The first was an electrical
company. The second a motorcycle dealership. The third was a bank.
It was easy to see the progression.

“This is where the money is?”

Thulu shook his head. “No, the
money is scattered all over the place. I used the money to track
the thief and focused on him.”

“Clever.”

He dimpled at me.

Thulu pulled up a website for the
electrician, Harvey Brewer. The owner was an older guy who had the
business for over thirty years. Somehow, I doubted Brewer was the
thief, but I wouldn’t rule anything out. A review site gave the
electrician rave reviews with very few low ratings. That validated
my feeling that it was probably someone who worked for him. No
matter what, that meeting wasn’t going to be pleasant.

It was going on late afternoon, so
we decided to give the electrician a call. Thulu got a receptionist
who said the owner wouldn’t be in for another half-hour. We set off
again, this time for the electrician’s office.

The address for the electrical
company was in an industrial section across town. There were more
warehouses than actual offices. When we got to the address, it was
in a row of similar combination warehouse/offices.

There were four panel trucks with
the electrical company’s name and other cars we assumed belonged to
employees parked nearby. And there was one brand-new, bright,
shiny, red motorcycle. Thulu and I exchanged glances when we saw
that. Yep. We were definitely in the right place.

We went up a short walkway and
opened the door into the office. This wasn’t an office for
customers, but a working office for the electrical company. There
were no frills, but it did have a few chairs for the rare visitors.
The décor was utilitarian, but some effort had been made to make
the front office comfortable. A few plants were scattered about and
family pictures adorned the wall to the side of a large desk.

Thulu smiled, dimples showing, at
the older woman who was behind the desk, talking on the phone. Her
grey hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. We waited for her to
finish, which wasn’t very long.

“Hi there, I was wondering who the
new motorcycle outside belongs to?” asked Thulu.

“Oh, that belongs to our nephew. Is
there a problem with it?”

At that moment the man whose
picture we had seen on the website came in from the back. He looked
at us questioningly.

“Oh, here’s my husband, Harvey
Brewer. They were just asking about Gary’s motorcycle, Harv.”

The man shrugged. “So, what about
it?”

Thulu looked him straight in the
eye. “I hate to tell you this, Mr. Brewer, but the money used to
buy that motorcycle was stolen from one of your clients.”

Husband and wife wore identical
expressions. Not so much of surprise, but of weary disappointment,
and a wariness that said they were now on their guard. The tension
in the room escalated. She was the first to speak.

“And you know this how?” Her tone
was brittle.

Thulu answered softly, but firmly
“The money was taken from a house owned by Peter Swanson and
Donovan Quinn. You did some work for them a couple of months
ago.”

“Yes, we did.” said the man
grudgingly.

“It was during that time that the
money went missing. The theft was only recently discovered.”

“Theft? You’re not the police,
though, are you?”

“No, we’re not,” said Thulu. “And
believe me when I say that I’m hoping we won’t have to bring the
police into this. If we can’t resolve this among ourselves and get
Mr. Quinn’s money back, then, of course, the police will have to be
called. I really hope we don’t have to do that.” Thulu looked
steadily at the man.

There was silence in the office. I
could hear the ticking of the clock and the hum of machinery out
back. Mr. and Mrs. Brewer looked at each other for a long
moment.

Finally, Mr. Brewer spoke, “I don’t
believe we have anything else to say to you.”

Thulu nodded pleasantly. “That’s
fine, sir. There will be an official complaint filed with the
police against you. Your company can answer for your nephew’s
actions.” He turned and headed for the door with me right behind
him, disappointed that we were going to have to go another route
with this.

“How much money was taken?” Mr.
Brewer asked.

We stopped and turned. Mr. Brewer
was a little paler than moments before.

“Sixteen thousand dollars,” Thulu
said quietly.

Mrs. Brewer gasped. Mr. Brewer
briefly closed his eyes before giving a small sigh and looking
Thulu in the eye.

“That’s about how much the
motorcycle cost,” Mr. Brewer said. “Where is Gary?”

“He’s finishing up at the job. And
he’s already paid for that bike,” she protested.

“Well, he’s going to have to sell
it and get the money back,” I said firmly. “He stole it from an old
man who needs that money to live on.”

Mr. Brewer sighed once more. “I
remember Mr. Swanson and Mr. Quinn quite well. We rewired their
Victorian a couple months ago. They were very nice and even gave us
a bonus for completing the work early.”

I watched him as he thought through
the situation, examining his options. I could see how much his next
words cost him. Mr. Brewer was a proud man. “I’m extremely
embarrassed that my nephew has endangered both my personal
reputation and that of my business. I will make sure the money is
returned.”

“And when can we expect that?”
asked Thulu promptly.

Mr. Brewer’s movements were stiff
as he looked at Thulu before turning to his wife. “Do we have
enough to cover this?”

She nodded, but I could tell she
wasn’t happy about it.

“Then would you please make out a
check for that amount.” He looked at us, while his wife turned to
her computer. “Should the check be made out to both of them?”

“No, please make it out to Donovan
Quinn,” said Thulu, shaking his head. “Mr. Swanson passed away.
That’s another reason why it’s important for Mr. Quinn to have his
money returned as soon as possible.”

Mr. Brewer paused, a new idea
striking him. “And what is your business in this?”

“We were simply hired to track the
money down. Mr. Quinn was referred to us by a friend of his,” said
Thulu smoothly.

“So you expect us to turn this
check over to you?” asked the woman bitterly.

“No, ma’am, we have no problem with
you hand delivering it yourself. Today after work will be just
fine,” I said sweetly. I doubted she’d take me up on that.
“However, please feel free to call Mr. Quinn right now and verify
who we are and that we have the authority to act for him.”

Mr. Brewer nodded and pulled out a
notebook as he moved to the back office. He was gone for several
minutes and when he returned he nodded to his wife. “They’re who
they say they are.”

Mrs. Brewer turned to her computer.
After she printed the check, she handed it to Mr. Brewer to sign.
He handed it to Thulu, who gave it a cursory glance and nodded to
Mr. Brewer.

“Thank you. I know this was tough
and I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. You both
seem like good people,” said Thulu. No one offered to shake
hands.

We made our way outside to our car,
thankful that the episode had ended as it had. Our bluff about
calling the cops was just that. A bluff. We didn’t have one shred
of evidence to even prove the money existed, except Mr. Swanson’s
ledger. Getting anyone to investigate on such flimsy evidence would
have been tough. Fortunately, Mr. Brewer had been caught off-guard
enough to not question us more thoroughly. And apparently his
nephew was far from being a saint.

“So, I got the impression this was
not the first time Gary has pulled something. I feel sorry for
those two,” I said.

Thulu nodded. “It could have gone a
lot worse, that’s for sure. I’m glad we won’t be around when Gary
finds out he has to return the bike.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

We were almost home when an
unpleasant thought occurred to me. “I hope he doesn’t decide to
take it out on Mr. Quinn. Maybe we can talk him into going to a
hotel for a few days.” Something was bothering me. Not that my
feelings were very reliable, but still I felt strongly enough to
say something. “Thulu, let’s go straight there. I have a bad
feeling about this.”

For once Thulu didn’t give me a
hard time about my erratic feelings.

Thulu turned to go to Mr. Quinn’s
house. Heavy traffic and lights slowed us down, causing my stomach
to churn. Every red light made me want to yell with frustration. I
pulled my cell phone out and called Mr. Quinn, filling him in on
what had happened and cautioning him about not opening the door
until we got there.

It seemed to take forever, and when
we got to the house we saw a bright red, shiny motorcycle
sandwiched in between two cars. We didn’t immediately see anyone
around, and the porch was empty. Thulu searched for a parking space
and we finally found one a block away. We used the walk back to the
house to look around the neighborhood. No one stood out, but my
stomach was churning and we kept a good pace getting to Mr. Quinn’s
house.

If that was indeed Gary’s bike, he
had raced to get there before us. As we got closer, I saw it was
the same one we’d seen an hour earlier. We were still a quarter
block away when we heard shouts from the direction of Mr. Quinn’s.
Thulu and I exchanged a quick glance and sprinted to the
Victorian.

A short, stocky guy with long,
sandy blonde hair was hammering on the front door and yelling for
Quinn to open it. I was pretty sure it was Mr. Brewer’s nephew,
Gary.

Neighbors began to peek out of
windows, but doors stayed firmly closed and curtains twitched shut
when I looked their way.

Sensibly, Mr. Quinn had declined to
comply with the demands, and his door stayed firmly shut as well.
Peter Swanson stood guard in front of it, glaring at Gary, who
kicked the door. I prayed it would hold.

We were two houses away when Mr.
Swanson unleashed a jolt of electricity which hit Gary square in
the chest and knocked him back toward the steps. He caught himself
on the handrail, halting a near fall down the steps. He shook his
head and looked around, not being able to see Mr. Swanson’s ghostly
figure standing guard.

Thulu and I exchanged looks of
shock. It was unusual for the dead to be able to make contact with
the physical world, and the fact that Mr. Swanson had made such an
impact impressed me. The depth of his feeling had to be intense to
cause such a strong effect on the physical world, let alone a live
human.

Gary staggered to his feet, long
blond hair in his eyes. He glared back at the door trying to figure
out what had happened. He shook his hair out of his eyes and rubbed
his chest. He looked around for the source of the jolt, but seeing
no one, he went for the door once more. I was surprised he hadn’t
run away.

“Can we help you with something?”
Thulu asked amiably, as we stepped onto the porch.

Gary turned to glare at us. It took
only a couple seconds for him to figure out who we were. He closed
the gap between us and shook his fist in Thulu’s face, having a
solid target to take out his anger out on. Big mistake.

“You the bastard told my uncle I
stole that money?”

Thulu raised an eyebrow and simply
watched him, not answering.

Gary looked back and forth between
us. “Well, it had to be you two. My uncle said it was a couple. So,
you turn around and give that check back to me right now and then
you tell my uncle you made a mistake.”

Thulu looked at him placidly. “No,”
he said. Just that - a simple, quiet answer.

Gary apparently didn’t like the
answer, though, because he made his next mistake and drew his fist
back. An action he was destined to never finish. The next moment he
was flat on his back on the painted porch, staring up at the
ceiling, breath knocked out of him. Thulu knelt over him, pinning
him down with a casual hand on his neck.

“Stay down and listen very
carefully to what I have to say. I don’t want to hurt you, but I
can and I will if necessary. Are you listening to me?” Thulu’s
voice was still quiet and calm.

Gary’s eyes tracked to Thulu. He
struggled to get up, but immediately stopped when Thulu applied
more pressure to his neck.

“Right now you need to stay down
and listen until I’m done talking. Then I’ll let you up. But not
before that. Nod if you’re listening,” Thulu continued.