Most Likely to Die (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (6 page)

- Six -

“Oh, nothing,” Charlie said, his shoulders slumping.

“Nothing!” I protested. “What about the evil captain and—”

“Oh, Rodin always figures out a way to make sure the captain doesn’t harm people too seriously.”

“Rodin?” I parroted, trying to remember who the hell Rodin was. Finally, it came back to me. “Is Rodin a character in your books?”

“Yes, of course.” Charlie peered at me for a moment as if
he
was now doubting
my
sanity.

“Rodin Rodent is my series protagonist, a seafaring rat of many colors. See, he’s this plucky little rat, with a coat that’s brown and gray and white. And he hitches rides on boats and has great adventures. I’ve had him living on the evil captain’s boat for the last three books. He keeps the captain from doing anything too wicked. But the neat part is that the captain doesn’t even know Rodin exists. See, the captain has this fancy brass bed. But all the big brass curlicues are hollow brass pipe. That’s where Rodin lives. And hides all his possessions.

“A little rat’s home because that’s all a little rat needs,” Charlie sang out in a brave falsetto. This time I was pretty sure he was in character. At least he wasn’t roaring and flinging his arms around, just tilting his head and wiggling his nose ever so slightly. “A muslin pouch of herbs for a bed, and the captain’s missing sash for a sheet. And a sachet from a long-lost love for his pillow.”

“So just how does a rat keep a captain from doing evil deeds?” Wayne asked.

I shot a quick glance Wayne’s way. Was he really curious or was there something hidden in these rat tales that he thought was really about Sid Semling? But nothing showed in Wayne’s face.

“Oh, all kinds of ways,” Charlie answered cheerfully. “Removing the powder from the captain’s musket. Rodin does that all the time.” Charlie chuckled and wiggled his nose a little more. “Chewing up the documents that bind his deckhands into servitude. Stealing keys for prisoners.”

“Must make the captain angry,” Wayne said quietly.

“That’s what’s so neat. See the captain never knows it’s Rodin. Rodin’s like Zorro. And Robin Hood. And the Lone Ranger. He comes and goes and helps the people who need it, but no one ever knows that he’s the real hero. The only person on the whole boat that even knows of Rodin’s existence at all is the cook. And he just thinks Rodin’s a common rat. But he likes him anyway, so he leaves out food for him.”

Charlie didn’t look miserable anymore. He wasn’t wringing his hands together. He wasn’t staring into space. His face was animated with a big, goofy smile, and his voice was clear and easy. Rodin Rodent’s ship was obviously where Charlie Hirsch’s soul resided.

“In the one I’m writing now, the evil captain has taken over another ship. This ship’s captain is a woman. Captain Penelope Page. Captain Page is a courageous and ingenious woman. She sails a tiny ship for the spice trade, with male and female deckhands…”

My head came up. The story was beginning to sound more interesting. Especially the surprising touch of feminism in Rodin’s world.

“…and a ship rat too. But Penelope knows her rat, knows her personally and cares for her. Rolanda Ratus.” Charlie sighed and his eyes glazed over. “Rolanda’s a brave rat, a female with silky brown fur, a scrap of red velvet for a cap, and a two-inch hat pin for a sword. And big brown eyes. Like no other rat that Rodin has ever known.”

I wondered if Rolanda was Pam in disguise. Ratus Eroticus? And if she was, would Pam like being imagined as a rat, no matter how silky and brave?

“But the evil captain can’t stand a woman being in charge of even so small a crew. So he rams her tiny ship and boards it, taking Captain Penelope Page and all her hands prisoners. And Rolanda too, unbeknownst to him. The evil captain wants Penelope’s ship. And her crew. He tells her he’ll kill her the next day if she won’t agree to his terms. Then he ties her to a chair and leaves her to think it over. That’s when Rodin and Rolanda meet. When they both come out of hiding in the same instant to chew the bonds from Penelope’s hands and feet—”

The doorbell rang and I jumped in my seat. Damn. I was ready for the next installment.

“I’ll get it,” I said unenthusiastically.

Wayne didn’t argue. Maybe he was waiting for the next installment too.

I didn’t recognize the man standing on my front porch. Not at first. He was a short, sharp-nosed man with a beard and a clipboard in his hand.

“Hi, how are you this evening?” he began.

A solicitor.

“Have you seen my signs?” I demanded.

I had three of them. The first, a twelve-inch-long, red metal sign on the front fence reading, “no solicitors,” ditto right above the doorbell, and my new homemade one thumbtacked to the middle of the front door which said in inch-high letters, “If you are a solicitor and you ring the bell you will just make me angry, not only at you but at your cause. Please don’t ring the bell.”

“Oh, but I’m not a solicitor,” he assured me. “I’m here to help you save the environment—”

“You want to help me to save the environment personally?” I interrupted.

“Yes,” he said enthusiastically. Then he shoved a sheaf of papers toward my face. “Did you know that the rate of—”

“By asking me to give you money for your cause,” I continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Well, yes,” he agreed. “And you could also give your time. This period is crucial. Last week, more than forty thousand—”

“You
are
a solicitor,” I concluded.

“Not really—”

“Yes, really. Now go away.”

I started to shut the door, but I wasn’t quick enough. He shoved his clipboard into the gap.

“You know, I came here on a weekday, a month ago,” he told me. “And you said you worked during the day and that that’s why you had all the ‘no solicitors’ signs up. And I understood completely. But this is Saturday night and you’re not working—”

“I am working,” I told him.

“No, you’re not,” he told me back.

“I’m working on a murder investigation at this very moment,” I whispered at him.

“A murder?” he blurted, jerking his head back, his eyes widening in concern.

“Yes.” I lowered my voice even further and bent my head forward conspiratorially. “A murder of a solicitor.”

He lurched back a foot. I pressed my advantage and stepped forward, shortening the gap between us.

“Maybe you can help me,” I suggested. “Do you know of any reason at all why someone would want to murder an uninvited solicitor?” I asked pleasantly.

He had turned and was down my front stairs in the time it would take to mouth the words, “a good cause.”

“Tell all your friends!” I shouted after him hopefully.

When I rejoined Wayne and Charlie on the couch, Wayne was asking Charlie something about Sid Semling. What the hell had happened to Rodin, Rolanda, and Penelope? I opened my mouth to ask and then closed it again. Was Wayne investigating?

“Well, it was a shock to see him die that way,” Charlie was saying. He looked down at his hands again. “A real shock. I didn’t particularly like Sid, but still…”

His voice drifted off and his eyes took on that dazed puppy dog look again. Maybe I could feed him the Sid experience like a Rodin Rodent story and get him talking like he had before—

“I never have that kind of violence in my books,” he assured us. “No one ever dies. Rodin always saves them.”

“But didn’t Sid need saving?” I asked softly.

He swiveled his head around, looking at me suspiciously.

I did my best to keep my face bland.

“Even the evil captain needs saving once in a while,” Charlie finally conceded. Then he turned his head to stare back out into space.

“You know Sid and I were friends once,” he added, surprising me with his return to reality. His voice went into high gear again. “We hung out a lot together. Or at least, Sid hung out with me. At the time I really thought he liked me. And I liked him. He could be fun. And he was nice to me. You know, doing me favors, introducing me to people as his friend. That’s originally how I got into the group, remember?”

I nodded, though I didn’t actually remember. I realized I barely remembered Charlie at all. Just a fairly quiet guy who hung around. And who eventually started going out with Pam.

“I figured out later the reason Sid hung out with me was because my parents were wealthy.” Charlie blushed deeply. Was he ashamed of the wealth? “And, um, sorta upper-class. At least my mother. She came from Mayflower stock and all. Her family wasn’t all that happy with my father. See, he was Jewish. But still, a doctor. A wealthy and highly respected doctor. You wouldn’t think that’d make a difference to a kid, would you though? But I think it made a difference to Sid for some reason. I’m not exactly sure why.

“Anyway, Sid kinda took me under his wing. Even told me how to dress. How to act with girls. He was nice to me. But—”

Charlie stopped as if someone had pulled his plug mid-sentence.

“But?” Wayne prompted.

Charlie slammed his fist into his own calloused palm in answer. The couch shook with the impact. My stomach quivered uneasily.

“But there was always something in it for Sid,” he rapped out. “Sid never did anything if there wasn’t something in it for Sid.” Charlie took a few quick breaths and went on, his mouth still speeding.

“Like Sid didn’t have a car. So we always drove mine. A Mustang. I think my father bought it for me so I could feel like a real, rootin’-tootin’ American boy. The truth was I always just felt silly driving it. But Sid loved that Mustang. He loved to drive it. I even let him borrow it when I wasn’t there.”

I nodded, remembering the car suddenly in full color. It had been a cherry-red convertible. And I remembered Sid’s hands on the driver’s wheel. Actually, I’d remembered it as Sid’s car, not Charlie’s.

“And I got Sid alcohol and cigarettes. Actually, I just raided my parents’ house. They did a lot of entertaining. There was always stuff around. But the thing Sid really seemed to want was for me to take him to my parents’ club, to introduce him to the people there. My parents’ kind of people. And I was glad to. He was my friend.”

Charlie shook his head and his voice slowed a little.

“See, there was something weird about Sid’s parents. I can’t really explain. They had money. His father owned a local bottling company. And it wasn’t just that his parents didn’t have class, though they didn’t. They dressed all wrong and talked all wrong. At least for my parents’ crowd. But it was something weirder. Sid’s dad was always pissed at him, always giving him a hard time. And Sid’s mom cried a lot. But both Mr. and Mrs. Semling tried to act happy to see me whenever I came over. It was all so strange. I sometimes wondered if Sid was my friend because his father ordered it.”

“But why would Sid’s father order it?” I asked.

Charlie shook his head again, this time in puzzlement.