That Touch of Ink (8 page)

ELEVEN

“You still don’t know his identity?” I asked.

“Not yet.”

“I think I can help you with that.”

I made a great show of pulling on the gloves and rooted into the corner of the box for the wallet. At first, I flipped it open and held the driver’s license for Tex to see. He leaned forward and made a grab for it, but I pulled it away, out of reach. Without speaking, I held up a gloved finger in a just-a-minute gesture. Using my thumbs to hold the billfold open, I waved the wallet closer to Tex’s face to make sure he saw the five thousand dollar bill.

“Well? What do you think?” I asked.

“That’s our vic.”

“Don’t you think it’s suspicious that he has a five thousand dollar bill in his wallet?” I asked. “These bills are supposed to be rare, and they’re springing up all over town like blue bonnets. It’s like someone found a five thousand dollar bill printing press in their basement.”

“Sit down, Night. Tell me everything you know. Tell me what you can about that box.”

I lowered myself into the chair opposite Tex and adjusted the hem of the robe to cover my thighs. When I looked up, Tex was staring at my face, not my legs. His expression wasn’t playful anymore.

“You heard Joanie’s message. She runs a thrift store out by Lemmon and Inwood. When I got to her store, she brought this box out of the back. Apparently some guy covered in poison ivy dropped it off along with a bunch of other boxes. This one had my name on it. I guess she peeked inside, saw the Doris Day stuff, and figured somebody knew I was a fan.”

His eyebrow twitched, and I shrugged. “So I’m predictable. Anyway, when I went to her store, I saw a framed James Madison on the wall behind the register. I asked her about it, and she said the same guy dropped off both things.”

“Where is it?”

I held up a hand. “I’ll get to that in a second. She told me to wear rubber gloves before handling the box, said the guy was covered in poison ivy. She felt so bad she gave him a bottle of Calamine lotion. She carried the box to the stockroom and probably called me right away. I don’t think she even really went through the rest of the box.”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“There must be some kind of explanation that does make sense, but you’re not seeing it.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. We have a victim covered in poison ivy. The guy who dropped off this box was covered in poison ivy. The contents of this box connect those two people. If we could find the guy who dropped this off, we’d have enough to bring him in for a nice long conversation in an interrogation room. So why would this guy risk it? Why not get lost and lay low until the rash is out of his system?”

“That takes more than a day or two. Poison ivy lasts about two weeks.”

“You sound like you know from experience.”

“Baseball camp, seventh grade. The whole team was down for the count. Well, except for the catcher. She was so suited up nothing could get to her.”

“Baseball camp.” Tex studied me for a second. “Every time I think I have you figured out, you throw me a curve.”

“Here’s what really doesn’t make sense. You have to come into contact with the oil from the plant to get the rash. So, what, he rubbed the box down with the oil? Which he would only do if he wanted someone else to get the rash. And since it has my name on it, did he want me to get the rash? Why?”

Tex shrugged. “By this point, the rash would be mild enough it wouldn’t do much damage. Maybe take you out of commission for a few days. Give somebody a chance to take care of you. You know anybody who would want to do that? Maybe somebody who recently came back into your life?”

I glared at him. “You recently came back into my life. Does that make you a suspect?”

“C’mon, Night. You have any other theories?”

I stared at the box for a few seconds when it hit me. “What if the guy who dropped off the box wasn’t trying to protect Joanie from getting the rash as much as he was trying to protect whatever is in the box?”

“Saying the box is covered in poison ivy. That’s a pretty good way to make sure people don’t go snooping in your things.” He lifted the flap with his index finger. “Did you unpack the box?”

“Yes, but I wore the gloves the whole time.”

“So the guy who dropped off the box had everybody who touched it wear gloves. And inside the box is a wallet of the guy who was killed. You think—”

“That the whole point of the box was to get me the wallet?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to spend more time thinking about it, but with the wallet, at least we can figure out if it’s him. It’s a start. Thanks, Night.”

Being thanked came as a surprise. “You’re welcome.”

He looked around the apartment, taking in the changes. “This is the apartment makeover?”

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised. I have to say, it looks like you. Do you like it?”

“Not really.” I didn’t know why that mattered to Tex, but I could tell that it did. “I’m probably going to redo the whole thing when I get a little free time. Let me know if you have any ideas. I’m open to suggestion.”

As soon as I heard the words out loud, I braced myself for a sarcastic comment. None came.

Tex ruffled Rocky’s fur, then stood up. “Was there anything valuable in there? Any of the Doris Day stuff?”

“Nothing I can’t live without.”

“I’m sorry, but you can’t keep it.”

“I know.”

He hoisted the box up, balanced it on his knee and carried it to the door.

I turned the lock and opened the door.

“The framed bill, is it in here, too?”

“Um, no. I gave it away.”

His face clouded. He slammed the box on the corner of my desk. “To who? Your long-lost boyfriend? I thought he was giving you space.”

“I haven’t seen him since dinner two nights ago. I didn’t give it to him, I gave it to Hudson.”

“Why?”

“I had a couple of questions about its artistic merits.”

“Do me a favor, Night. Don’t involve anybody who doesn’t need to be involved in this. If something else happens, you call me. First.” He stormed out of the apartment, down the stairs, and to his Jeep. This time when I heard his engine start, I looked out the window and watched as he drove away.

I showered and changed into a pink, gray, and yellow argyle pullover and a pair of gray trousers with a pink windowpane pattern. The ensemble was a favorite that got little wear thanks to the perpetual heat and humidity in Dallas, but the temperature had dropped somewhere around the holidays and today it was in the high sixties. I didn’t know when the heat would return, so I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

After spending yesterday morning in Connie’s shoes, I was more than happy to push my feet into well-worn sneakers before leaving the house. I clipped a pink leather leash to Rocky’s collar and off we went.

My physical therapist was located two blocks off Turtle Creek Boulevard in a tall building of medical offices. I spent the next two hours hooked up to electronic machines that sent a pulse through my knee, followed by limited range exercises and a soothing rubdown with menthol. Rocky spent the same amount of time with the receptionist. We were both in good spirits when we left.

Before I’d reinjured my knee, two miles of lap swimming had kept the joint limber. I missed the Zen connected with swimming at the early hours of the day but hadn’t been able to bring myself to return to Crestwood, my regular spot, after what had happened there. Just like the theater, it was tainted with memories. The life I’d built was changing, whether I wanted it to or not.

I held the door open for Rocky, and he jumped in. He watched me walk around the front of the car and get into the driver’s side, then padded over to me on his thick, furry paws and rested them on my right thigh. His dark brown eyes looked at me with concern. I ran my hand over his fur, scratching him behind his ears.

“What are we doing, Rocky? Are we inviting trouble into our lives?”

His tail thumped against the white leather and his pink tongue shot out and licked my palm. I kissed him on top of his head, and pulled out of the parking lot.

I wasn’t far from the condominiums where Archie Leach lived, and even though I didn’t have an appointment, I drove in his direction, half-tempted to drop in unannounced under the guise of measurement-taking.

Turtle Creek Luxury Apartments was one of the historic buildings in the Highland Park area of Dallas. It was designed by Howard Meyer and built in 1957. At one time it boasted the most luxurious apartments west of the Mississippi. Sixteen stories high, shaped like an octagon, with a pool on the roof and a fleet of valets, it had all of the amenities to woo the young nostalgia crowd, yet somehow it maintained its heritage rooted in tradition. There was something very old-Dallas about the condo; most of the units were owned by rich, elderly folks who had been there for fifty years. The staff stood on ceremony as they’d been trained to do, creating a stodgy time-warp effect.

I pulled my car up to the gate and rolled down the window. A man with shoe-polish-brown hair slicked away from his face took note of my license plate as I slowed by the valet stand. Rocky stood up and stepped on my lap, sniffing the man. A plastic nametag with the name Harry Delbert was clipped to the white collar of his shirt.

“Hello, I’m here to visit Mr. Archie Leach,” I said.

“Is he expecting you?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I’ll let him know you’re here. What’s your name?”

“Oh, no!” I said, too quickly. He furrowed his brow and set his mouth in a firm line. It was obvious I needed a new approach to undo my reaction. I pulled a business card out and handed it to the man.

“I’m his decorator, Madison Night. He invited me over to take measurements, but I may have confused the time. Ten till two, or two till ten. It’s possible that I’m either slightly early or woefully late. Maybe I should just turn around and reconfirm the time.”

The man studied me for a couple of seconds. “Hold on a second and we can straighten this out.”

He waved a hand to a thin man across the parking lot who wore the same uniform: white shirt, red vest, black tie, black trousers. I watched as he made a phone-to-the-ear gesture, then he turned around and picked up a receiver. Before I could hear what he said, he slid the glass partition closed, leaving me alone with my regret that I’d never learned to read lips.

I studied the building. I had first learned of Turtle Creek Luxury Apartments when I moved to Dallas. The most fascinating part of the building was the floor plan. Each floor contained three apartments with entrances in the middle of the building. Each unit had two exterior walls, allowing more natural light than if the floor had been divided into squares like most apartments. The Dallas sun being what it was, I imagined a hefty air conditioning bill went along with the natural light, but it was probably worth it. I would have loved to live there, but the price of rent had been my ultimate decision-maker. Two thousand a month was too steep for someone with a start-up business.

As I watched the building, the double glass doors by the entrance opened and an impeccably-dressed woman in a fur-trimmed, pink tweed coat and matching pencil skirt left the building. Her posture was stately, her head tipped up, helping to counter the weight she carried around her waist.

She walked to the end of the carpet runner that extended from inside the building and adjusted the pillbox hat on her frosted gray and white hair. Moments later Archie came out. He carried a small rust-colored Pomeranian. He set the dog down by the woman’s feet and turned the leash over to her. He ignored the parking attendants and strode toward a small white Lexus. The dog led the woman down the side of the apartment building to the sidewalk, and the two of them disappeared past a neatly trimmed hedge that lined the street.

I looked at Harry to see if he’d noticed. He was still on the phone. I looked back at Archie. He started the engine and drove out of the lot in a cloud of exhaust. I craned my head to see the plates on his car, but he was too fast for me.

I waved to get Harry’s attention. He slid the partition open.

“I must have had the time wrong. I’ll just pull around and leave.”

Harry hung up the phone. “Pull through and park in one of the first three spaces on the right marked ‘Visitor Parking.’”

I pulled forward and parked in the spot next to a collection of potted plants in need of a week’s worth of water. Rocky followed me out of the car. The thin man met me on the carpet.

“Did you speak to Mr. Leach?” I asked. The man didn’t answer. “I think I understand. You’re going to let me in to take measurements?”

“This way, Ms. Night.”

He glanced at Rocky for a second and appeared to be thinking about something. I half-expected him to tell me to put Rocky in the car, and I prepared myself for the battle that would come when I said no. Instead, he stepped back and held out his left arm, ushering me away from the main glass doors of the building to a small enclosure that sat to the side of the valet lot. Harry stepped out of the valet booth and joined us. He stood behind me, his outstretched hand now poised by the small of my back. Something was wrong, but I didn’t know what.

“Thank you for your help, but I think I’ll come back when my client is here.” I kept a tight grip on Rocky’s leash while he moved between the different sets of feet, sniffing the toes of all of the shoes.

“What makes you think he isn’t here?” The thin man asked.

“He just drove out of your parking lot.”

The man looked at the parking lot, at Harry, and back to me. Two other men, in black T-shirts under gray jackets, approached from the front doors. They looked like they’d been hired for their solid build more than their sense of style.

“What is going on here?” I asked.

The two men came closer. I looked to my left and right. There was nobody else around.

“Ms. Night, what’s the real reason you’re here?” the thin man asked.

“I told you. Archie Leach hired me to be his decorator. I told him I wanted to come by to take measurements, but I forgot what time he expected me. He just drove out of your parking lot, so clearly I’m here at the wrong time. I’ll schedule a proper appointment and come back later.”

“Lady, Archie says he didn’t hire a decorator,” said one of the two beefy men.

“If I could talk to him, I’m sure we could straighten this all out.”

The thin man in the red vest stepped directly in front of me. “Lady, I’m Archie Leach, and I’ve never seen you before in my life.”