That Touch of Ink (7 page)

NINE

Hudson put a hand on the doorknob, but turned back to face me. He leaned against the door with his hand behind him. For a moment, it felt like he was protecting me from whatever was on the other side of that door.

“Counterfeiting is a lot harder than the movies would make it seem. Impossible if you plan to pass it.”

“What if you’re selling to a collector? What if it’s a denomination that’s been out of print?”

“You don’t sound like you’re asking hypothetical questions anymore.” Parts of the doorknob grated against each other as he turned it and pushed the door open. He stood back and let me through first.

I hadn’t spent a lot of time in Hudson’s house, but I knew the layout. Inside the door was a long hallway that ended in his living room. An orange tweed sofa sat along one wood-paneled wall, and a shag carpet the color of air-popped popcorn softened our footsteps.

This house had once belonged to his grandmother. She’d left it to him when she passed away. While the seventies interior seemed contradictory to Hudson’s punk exterior, I knew he’d rather be surrounded by what felt familiar, what felt like family, than to gut it and start over. I liked that about him, that he had a quiet respect for who, and what, had made him the man he was, even if the rest of the world had renounced orange tweed and shag carpeting.

He pulled the cork out of a bottle of red wine and poured two glasses. He set one on top of the table in front of me. Mortiboy sat on the end of the sofa. He didn’t move when I sat down, which demonstrated a new level of acceptance from the feline.

“What’s this all about?” Hudson asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Madison, you’re asking about counterfeit bills. That doesn’t sound like a decorating project. If you know something about a crime in progress or a crime that’s been committed, you’d do best to contact your friend on the police force and tell him what you know.”

“He’s partially aware of it. Besides, I don’t really know anything. That’s the problem.”

Hudson sat down. Gently, he picked up my hand, flipped it over, and rubbed his thumb against my palm. Even though I was silently urging him to continue, he set it back down on my own knee. I took a deep breath and exhaled. I needed to talk and I knew Hudson would listen.

“Somebody sent me a five thousand dollar bill. I once said I could be bought for five thousand dollars, because it’s the only bill with my name on it. It’s the James Madison. It was a private joke.” I looked down at my hands in my lap. “If it’s real, it’s worth a lot of money. If it’s not real, well, I don’t know what it means. It could mean somebody is in a lot of trouble.”

“Do you know who this somebody is?”

“Somebody is the demon I was telling you about.”

“How well do you trust him?”

“I used to trust him with my life.”

Hudson picked up his wine glass and took a long sip. I could see him savoring the taste before he swallowed. He leaned back against the cushions of his chair and nodded at me. “But now?”

“The list of people I trust with my life got a lot shorter a couple of months ago.”

Hudson was one of the people on that list. My being there, telling about my problem, should have tipped him off if he didn’t already know it.

“There’s more,” I said. I leaned forward and swirled the wine around in my glass. “I was at Joanie Loves Tchotchkes earlier today. She had a framed five thousand dollar bill hanging behind the register. It seems like too much of a coincidence. I think at least one of them is fake. Maybe both. I don’t know why someone would counterfeit a bill that’s been out of circulation for half a century, but I guess I want to know what would be involved in the process.”

“Madison, like you said, I just finished dealing with my own demons. I’m not itching to put myself back on the cops’ radar.”

I leaned forward and put a hand on his knee. “I would never ask you to do anything illegal. I hope you know that.”

Quietly, after a long pause, he said, “It could be done.”

“What would it take?”

“A powerful magnifying glass. Saturated inks, a very fine paintbrush. Rag paper, or the materials to make paper with the right fabric content. Maybe a piece of clothing from the era to provide the fibers, in case the paper gets tested.”

“Like a forger painting a van Gogh who uses dirt from the original artist’s neighborhood?”

“Same principles. How deeply are you involved in this?”

“I don’t know yet. I still don’t know exactly what it is I’m involved in.”

I sipped at my wine but was too lost in my thoughts to enjoy it. Mortiboy curled up on his end of the sofa, his head on his front paw. One eye opened, looked at me, and closed again. Hudson’s cat had a suspicious nature and I thought maybe I should take a page from his playbook.

“It’s been a long day, and I better be getting home. Rocky finally stopped knocking over lamps, but now he’s discovered a taste for vintage shoes. I don’t remember if I closed the closet doors or not.”

“I figured you’d learned that lesson already,” Hudson joked. We both turned to look at Mortiboy, but this time he ignored us.

Hudson followed me out to the car. “That box in your back seat, that’s from Joanie’s, right?”

“Yes.”

“Is the bill in there?”

I reached into the backseat and lifted the flat package. When I turned back around, I unfolded the butcher paper and exposed the rudimentary wooden frame.

“What do you think?”

“I can’t say if it’s real or not, but I can tell you one thing. Even if it is real, it couldn’t come close to what you’re worth.”

I put a hand on his and his fingers curled around mine. There was something about Hudson’s amber eyes that soothed me, made me feel like the rest of the world didn’t exist. It wasn’t a heated sexual urgency, but a cozy warmth, like being slow roasted over an open fire. He presented me with a cocoon of safety.

“Can I hold on to this for a couple of days?” he asked, lifting the package about an inch.

“Sure. Feel free to take it out of the frame if you want. For all I know, it’s a color copy and the backside is blank.”

“In the meantime, be careful, Madison,” he said.

I didn’t reply.

When I arrived at the apartment building, there was a minivan parked by the sidewalk. A redheaded woman stood next to the van and two boys tossed a Nerf football back and forth in the yard. I parked behind the moving van and approached as if I was a friendly person who lived in the building instead of the secret owner and landlord.

“Hi,” I called out to the woman.

She held a cell phone to her head, but when she saw me she moved her hand away and set the phone inside the minivan on the passenger side seat.

“Is everything okay?”

She looked confused.

“I live here.” I pointed to the building. “You’re in a no parking zone, so I thought maybe something was wrong.”

“Something is wrong. I’ve—we’ve been on the road for three days. I thought we had an apartment all lined up. I filled out paperwork, sent in a deposit, the works. The landlord just called. She said she didn’t like the idea of renting to someone she hadn’t met so she rented our apartment to someone else.”

The older of the boys caught the football and ran over to us. “Mom, can we find a hotel soon? I’m hungry.”

“Sure, Tommy. Stay with Billy.”

She turned back to me. “I’m Mrs. Young. These are my boys.”

“I’m Madison,” I said. My eyes darted to the minivan. The back seat was packed with boxes and blankets. It reminded me of how I’d arrived in Dallas: with everything I thought I couldn’t replace packed in the back of my car.

“Mrs. Young, I happen to know there’s a vacancy in this building. I’ve lived here for a couple of years, and I like it.”

“Is the landlord here? Can I talk to him?”

Inside, I smiled. Almost everyone assumed the landlord was a man, and I used that to my benefit to keep my role a secret. “No, not now. I can get you an application if you’d like.”

“That would be great.”

“Follow me.”

We walked past the boys to the front door. I kept a clipboard filled with tenant applications by the mailboxes. I tore one off the pad and held it out to Mrs. Young. Before she took it I snatched it back and wrote Hudson’s number across the bottom. “Call Hudson James.”

“He’s the landlord?”

“He works for the Night Company. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

Mrs. Young’s face relaxed into a smile and I smiled back. “Thank you, Madison. This would be a nice break for us.”

I gave her directions to the closest La Quinta hotel and walked her halfway down the sidewalk. She corralled her boys into the minivan and waved before getting inside and pulling out onto the street. I’d call Hudson about her early tomorrow.

I pulled my car around to the back of the building and backed into my space. After getting out, I came around the side of the car for the box from Joanie Loves Tchotchkes. I pulled the rubber gloves back on before grabbing it from the back seat.

For the second time that day, I entered a room I didn’t know. Rocky ran out of the bedroom and danced around my feet. I set the box on the floor and joined Rocky on the carpet. Time to dig into the box.

On top of the box was a T-shirt with the smiling image of my favorite actress. Underneath was the caption, “Have a Doris Day.” Under the T-shirt was a scrapbook filled with newspaper clippings about her movie openings. If I ever returned to my volunteer position at the theater, these would be a nice addition to the lobby.

Below the scrapbook were two lobby cards, one from
Midnight Lace
, one from
Julie
. A dog-eared paperback copy of
Day by Day
, her autobiography, was wedged into one of the corners. It was a good night for a bubble-bath and a couple of chapters. I pulled it out and set it in a separate pile from the scrap book and lobby cards. So far, no surprises. Someone who knew I’d modeled my life after Doris Day had arranged for me to receive a box of memorabilia that was worth more in warm, fuzzy, nostalgic feelings than cold, hard cash.

I plunged my hand into the bottom of the box and my fingers closed around a small bundle. I pulled it out with my right hand and transferred it to my left palm. It was wrapped in a white handkerchief monogrammed with the initials PS. I unwrapped the handkerchief and revealed a man’s tri-fold, brown leather wallet. I flipped it open, and then flipped it open again. An unfamiliar face looked at me from a Pennsylvania driver’s license: Philip Shayne.

I’d taken the box fair and square, so I ignored the unease that tickled the back of my neck. As I emptied the contents of the wallet on the floor, I wondered how this man’s wallet had come to be trundled up inside of a box that had been dropped off at Joanie’s store with my name on it. It wasn’t until I peered inside the billfold that my heart skipped a beat.

Four bills were tucked inside: a twenty, two ones, and a five thousand dollar bill.

TEN

Coincidences like these were rarer than sightings of the Chupacabra. Slowly, I felt around on the floor for my handbag and fished around inside for my cell phone. I dialed Tex’s home number, and a woman’s voice answered.

“Could I please speak to Lt. Allen?”

“Is this Madison Night?” she said. I recognized the direct tone of Officer Donna Nast.

“Yes, it is. Donna?”

“Officer Nast.”

“I’m sorry, Officer. May I speak to Tex? Is he there?”

“Is this your damsel in distress call of the day?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but this is important. I need to speak to him. It has to do with his case.”

“He’s off duty,” she said and hung up.

I immediately called back. “Officer Nast, I’m serious. I need to speak to him.”

“Like I said, he’s off duty.”

“It’s important.”

“If you need help, call the station.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re different, Madison, and I know how his mind works. Different to him is good. He sees you in those polyester outfits and thinks you’re sexy. And I’ve seen how you two relate to each other.”

“Then you know we spend more time arguing than agreeing on anything.”

“To a cop, that’s foreplay.”

I took a quick, sharp breath and exhaled it in a huff. Officer Nasty was earning her nickname tonight.

“If you talk to Tex, let him know I’m on the verge of withholding evidence in his case.” I hung up the phone and stuck my tongue out at it.

I called Tex’s personal cell phone, and the call went to voicemail. I left a brief message. “I have something at my apartment I think you’ll want to see. Come over when you get the message. I’ll wait up.”

As I waited for Tex’s return call or possible arrival, I sorted the contents of the wallet into piles: business cards, credit cards, membership cards, and condoms. In truth, the wallet contained only one condom, but it warranted its own pile by sheer nature of “one of these things is not like the other.”

I stacked the Doris Day memorabilia back into the box with the wallet at the bottom and poured a glass of wine. I dozed off in the armchair twice, until it seemed as though Tex would not be returning my call. After a brief shower, I searched the closet for a clean pair of pajamas.

I pulled a yellow chiffon nightgown out from a stack of peignoir sets that had been professionally laundered last year and dove into the sheer layers. Dozens of pleats heat-set in the polyester fabric cascaded over my trim body, like being inside a ray of sunlight. I blew kisses to Rocky, who stood up and followed me to the bed. Within minutes we were asleep.

An unfamiliar sound woke me hours later. An eerie glow from the parking lot behind the building illuminated the room through my curtains. My heart pounded like a drummer keeping time in a parade, but I lay still, listening for sounds of movement. A stillness hung in the air, until I heard it again. A single tap on my window.

My unit was on the second floor, facing the parking lot. Unless Spiderman had decided to pay me a visit, I doubted anyone was directly outside. I pushed the covers back and approached the window, peering between the floor-to-ceiling curtain panels. Tex stood in front of his Jeep. He wore a camel blazer over a white T-shirt and jeans and held a megawatt flashlight in one hand. He shined the light directly at me, and I backed away from the window. The light went out.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was close to three thirty. In my experience, nothing good happens at three thirty in the morning. I slid the window open and hissed through the screen.

“What are you doing here?”

“Unlock the back door. We need to talk.”

“Can’t this wait until the morning?”

“No.”

“Fine.”

I belted myself into a plush white terrycloth robe, slipped into matching slippers, and went downstairs. I turned the knob on the back door and pulled it open. One of my neighbors cracked their front door in the hall behind me, but no one appeared.

“Come in if you’re coming in,” I said in a low voice. I headed up the stairs to my apartment, and he followed.

“If anybody should ask, I was never here,” he said once we were inside.

I shook my head. “My neighbors are going to think I made a booty call.”

“It’s a duty call, not a booty call. You said you have evidence?”

My eyes bugged out. “I called you hours ago! Why didn’t you call me back?”

“I did. Your phone’s off.”

I looked around the apartment for my phone and located it on the corner of the Danish modern desk. The screen was black. I powered it on, the battery blinked twice, and it went black again. I walked away from Tex to the kitchen and plugged it in to the power cord. When I turned around, he was staring at the walls of the living room.

“If you couldn’t respond in a reasonable amount of time, this should have waited until morning,” I said.

“I had to get out of the house.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“I knew it would be safe here.”

“Safe from what?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He reached down and picked up one of the red kitten heeled shoes I’d worn earlier that day. It dangled there, rocking back and forth. They were a far cry from the stilettos I’d seen Officer Nast wear when she wasn’t in uniform. I couldn’t picture her and Tex as a couple. It seemed by his presence that he was having a hard time with the concept too.

“Tex, when people are in a relationship, they’re supposed to want to spend time together. So why are you here?”

“I want to see this evidence,” he said, and set the shoe on the table. 

I moved back to the living room and waved a hand toward the box on the floor. “Have at it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s what Joanie Higa called me about today. Most people would call it junk. Somebody dropped it off at her store with my name on it. Mostly Doris Day memorabilia. Pictures, magazines, sheet music. A couple of lobby cards.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d agree with Donna that you made up an excuse to get me over to your apartment.”

“It’s a quarter to four in the morning. I was
asleep
. I didn’t ask for you to come over here and interrupt my sleep, and I don’t need to make up excuses to get you or any man to my apartment. Lately, it’s been like Grand Central Station around here.”

“Nice rant. Are you finished?” he asked.

I was vaguely aware that I wasn’t making any sense, but I didn’t care. “I’m tired and I want to go back to bed. Just take the box and leave. I hope poison ivy
is
contagious via cardboard and you get a rash all over your arms.”

“What did you say?” he said, his head snapping up to look at me. His blue eyes drilled into me, and I tugged at the collar of my robe to make sure my privates were concealed.

I waved my hand toward the rubber gloves on the carpet next to the lobby card from
Midnight Lace
.

“Poison ivy. That’s the reason for the gloves. The person who dropped the box off at the thrift store was covered in it, and I don’t think I’d mind you catching it as punishment for coming here at this hour.”

He stared at me.

“Take the box, don’t take the box. If you insist on going through the contents here, please be quiet. And if all of this is an elaborate ruse to avoid your girlfriend, you can crash on my sofa. I don’t care anymore. I just want to go back to sleep.”

I stormed into the bedroom and shut the door behind me. I heard the front door open and close, heard footsteps on the stairs, and heard the back door to the building click into place.

I unbelted my robe and climbed between the covers. Rocky was fast asleep on the left-hand side of the mattress so I fit myself on the right and pulled the puffy comforter up to my chin. The apartment was quiet again. I rolled away from the window and closed my eyes, returning to sleep.

The rays from the sun filtering through my curtains woke me hours later. Rocky was upside down, paws in the air. I rubbed at his tummy. My stomach growled, and I realized neither Rocky nor I had eaten anything since yesterday morning. I pushed the covers back and got out of bed. Natural light flooded the living room. I padded in bare feet into the carpeted hallway before reaching the living room with the new hardwood floors.

Sunlight bounced off the yellow walls of the living room ahead of me. I wondered if I would ever become accustomed to the changes Brad had made to the room. As perfect as it had seemed initially, it felt unfamiliar now, something I didn’t like feeling in my own apartment. The wood floors were cold, and I scampered through the room with my head down, not wanting to spend time thinking about it.

When I reached the kitchen, I lifted Rocky’s water bowl from the floor, refilled it with fresh water from the tap, and replaced it next to his food bowl. I started a pot of coffee and leaned against the counter, waiting for it to brew.

As I waited, I thought about Tex’s visit to my apartment in the middle of the night. There had been more to his arrival than avoiding Officer Nasty. He was interested in what I knew. But we hadn’t gotten far enough for me to tell him what I found inside the box. He left before I ever told him about the wallet.

The clock on the microwave said six fifteen. I didn’t know if Tex had returned to his apartment last night or not, but I had a better chance of reaching him now than if I waited. I picked up the now fully-charged phone and dialed his number. I listened to the rings. One. Two. Three—

And then I heard the ring in stereo, from the receiver I held to my left ear and from my living room.

If Tex had dropped his phone at my apartment, there were going to be issues, not the least of which was explaining to his surprisingly jealous girlfriend how it had come to be at my apartment in the first place. I rounded the corner from the kitchen and stopped short. Returning Tex’s cell phone dropped a few notches down the priority list because his cell phone wasn’t the only thing at my apartment.

Tex himself was stretched out on my sofa.

He lay on his back with his head turned toward the center of the room. His dark blond hair stood out in spikes against the pillow. I could make out his white T-shirt and the faded denim of his jeans under the loose weave of the white afghan that covered his midsection. A pair of boots sat next to the sofa, one upright, the other on its side. Rocky’s head was inside the tipped one, his tail whipping from side to side. Tex looked at me, sleepy-eyed. He closed his eyes and then opened them again, blinking twice. 

“Where did you come from?” I demanded.

“You said I could crash on your sofa.” He stretched his arms over his head, then sat up and spun himself to a sitting position. “Damn, Night, is that what you always wear to bed?”

I looked down at the sheer yellow peignoir gown, all fluffy layers of pleats. I wasn’t supposed to have to worry about decency in my own apartment, alone, sharing a bed with a Shih Tzu.

I stormed away from him to the bathroom and pulled my robe from the back of the door. I glanced at my reflection, started to leave, but turned back to the sink and put a few drops into my bloodshot eyes.

When I returned to the room, Tex held two cups of coffee. Rocky was draped over his foot swatting at the frayed edge of his jeans.

“I want to know why you’re here,” I said.

“You extended an invitation. I didn’t know how long I’d have to wait to find you in that generous of a mood again.”

“But you left! I heard you!”

“I’m going to have to teach you a thing or two about what you hear and what you think you hear. You heard your front door open and the back door shut. You might have even heard my car door. You didn’t hear me pick up your keys and let myself back in. You never rescinded the offer, so I figured it was fine.”

He raked his fingers through his bed head, but it fell forward against his forehead as soon as he let go.

“It is definitely not fine.”

“You’re kind of cranky for a morning person,” he said.

“Don’t try to make this about me. I want some answers.”

He drank a good amount of coffee before answering. “You obviously are not a fan of being woken up in the middle of the night, but, after you mentioned the poison ivy, I wasn’t about to leave.”

“Why? What does the poison ivy have to do with anything?”

“For starters, our victim was covered with it.”