The Blossom Sisters (14 page)

“What now, indeed! I have news to share and thought you would want to know. I can hang up and call you back later if you like.”

“I'm awake now. Let's hear it.” Gus relayed yesterday's events and what had transpired so far today.

“So what you're saying is you're back in the fold and working your ass off to show everyone that you know how to perform. You bought a house but actually you're renting it and are doing some creative accounting for the time being. You sat outside your old house and had an attack of déjà vu because it was a stupid thing to do. How am I doing so far?”

“You're doing good. Wilson loves me again. Granny and the aunts are feeding me. I'm a happy camper.”

“That's good to hear. I was worried about that guilt by association thing where you and your granny were concerned. I don't understand why you were in such a hurry to buy a house. Isn't mine good enough for you?”

“Aren't you listening, Barney? It's not about the money or your big house. It's about me and Wilson picking up the pieces and starting over in our own place. Yeah, it's going to be tough, and I'm going to have to watch my pennies, but I can do it. If I have to, I can moonlight on the weekends for extra money. I appreciate everything you've done for me, you know that. I'm not a taker, Barney. You of all people should know that. Just tell me you're okay with all of it, and you'll make my day.”

“Of course I'm okay with it. I'm just jealous that you're having all the fun, and I'm stuck here in Hong Kong. I'm thinking of retiring, Gus. What do you think of that?”

Gus started to laugh and couldn't stop. “I think I know someone who might hire you. Part time. No pay, no benefits, just oodles and oodles of goodwill, smiles—and you'll go to sleep at night with a smile on your face.” Barney laughed because he knew Gus expected him to laugh.

“Well, I gotta go. Any news from Phil Ross?” asked Gus.

“Damn, didn't I tell you? Phil retired last year. He just gathered all that information as a personal favor. Jill Jackson hired someone else. Don't worry about it. By the way, how is all that working out for you?”

“Gotta go now, Barney. Granny's at the door, and they need me,” Gus said, and let Wilson out of the car.

“How'd you like that, Wilson? I got out of answering him. Pretty slick if I do say so myself. Come on, let's see what the seniors have in store for us today.”

Woof.

Chapter 15

M
ICKEY YEE AND HIS DOG BOOKER STROLLED ALONG THE BIKE
and walking path in the gated community where Elaine Hollister lived. He spotted a bench that would allow him to sit as dusk settled. This was the time of evening when dog walkers were out and about. He didn't think anyone would pay attention to him if he sat for a while without drawing attention to himself and his dog. He leaned back on the wooden bench, threw his arm over the back, then handed Booker a rawhide chew to keep him busy. Just a man and his dog out for an evening stroll.

In the pocket of his tee shirt, Mickey had a mini-recorder. He turned it on and listened to Lynus Litton's voice relaying the information from the report that the detective assigned to follow Elaine Hollister had submitted. He'd listened to the tape at least six times since arriving at the gated community. He had already committed it to memory. He understood all that he heard, but something puzzled him. Something Lynus Litton didn't have the answer to.

The investigator, Don Parker, said Elaine Hollister had had no visitors once she arrived home, until the time she left to go to her dinner engagement with her attorney, Isaac Diamond, which was verified by the audio tape from the bug Mickey himself had planted on Hollister's landline. The conversation confirmed the dinner date and renewed the offer of a car to pick her up, an offer Hollister again declined. What Mickey didn't understand was the two hours of muffled conversation or dialogue that Lynus said could be heard on the audio. He had orders to check his bugs to see that they were in working order. Always thorough, Mickey had, as usual, checked the bugs several times before he'd installed them. So, did Elaine Hollister talk to herself? Did she read aloud just to hear her own voice?

Lynus had left instructions for Mickey to stay in touch with Don Parker over open cell phone connections. Don was to call him the minute Elaine left the restaurant in case he was still in the house and needed time to get out clean. His last conversation with Don led him to believe that after dinner, the couple would head for someplace a little more intimate. Probably to discuss Elaine's case, Don had said, tongue in cheek.

Mickey looked at his watch, and saw that it was already seven thirty. By the time he and Booker got to the Hollister house, night would have descended, making his job easier. He got up, settled his backpack more firmly on his shoulders, and picked up Booker's leash. “Time to go, Booker.”

Twenty minutes later, Mickey Yee was standing inside the Hollister kitchen. A night-light low on the floor gave the state-of-the-art kitchen a dim, pale glow but gave off just enough light for him to make his way through the dining room, also lit by a low night-light on the baseboard. “You know what to do, Booker. I'll be on the second floor.”

He sniffed, wondering what it was he was smelling.
Perfume? A room air freshener? Women like those things for some reason. Some kind of aerosol spray like Lysol? No, that isn't it.
It was something he'd smelled before, but he couldn't put a name to what it was. Whatever it was, he didn't like it.

Mickey galloped up the steps and ran down the hallway to Elaine Hollister's bedroom. He blinked. It looked like a tornado had swept through the room. Clothes and shoes of every description littered the bed and floor. Obviously, the lady couldn't make up her mind what she should wear to the dinner engagement with her attorney. The bathroom looked worse. Makeup was everywhere, and wet towels littered the floor. What really interested him, though, was the cell phone charging on the vanity. Quicker than lightning, he had the phone bugged. He plugged it back in, careful to place it exactly where it had been. Talk about luck. Now he didn't have to worry about breaking into the house in the dead of night, with Elaine Hollister sleeping upstairs.

Mickey moved to the landline on the night table. He checked it, tested it, and was satisfied there was nothing wrong with the bug. He moved out to the hall, pressed the button that would lower the ladder that led to the attic. The ladder dropped, then unfolded. It looked like a dark pit overhead. The strange scent seemed to sweep through the opening and engulf him. He didn't see a light switch anywhere, so that meant he'd need a flashlight. He rummaged in his backpack and withdrew a small Maglite that, when turned on, would illuminate an entire room.

Mickey stuck the end of the powerful light between his teeth, grabbed the arms of the flimsy ladder, and climbed, the Maglite lighting the way. The fine hairs on the back of Mickey's neck moved. He crawled across the floor as soon as his feet left the ladder. He squatted and looked around, the Maglite showing him something he had never expected to see.

Mickey gaped at the makeshift altar, complete with a crisp white altar cloth. The altar was filled with vases of white flowers, colored beads, black candles, and incense holders. A vial sat in the middle of the altar, clearly labeled, in fine script,
Holy Water
. Next to the holy water was a dish of salt.

That's what the smell was; Elaine Hollister had been burning incense since his last visit. Here in the attic, the smell was overpowering. Mickey was absolutely, positively certain that by the time he left this place, he'd have a really bad headache.

Still squatting on his haunches, Mickey didn't like what he was seeing at all. He felt creeped out at the strange altar. Then he spotted the Bible, with a pair of reading glasses sitting on top of it. The hair on the back of his neck moved once more. He moved the light to see what was beyond the makeshift altar. He saw cardboard cartons and empty mailers. A furrow built itself between his brows as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing.

Witchcraft? Voodoo? Mickey shivered. He moved the Maglite and saw a sheaf of what looked like heavy yellow parchment with all kinds of symbols and signs that he wasn't familiar with. He could clearly see the words, SPELLS and RITUALS, in heavy black-and-gold lettering. Then he thought about the four jugs of vinegar and the full shelf of herbs in the refrigerator in the kitchen downstairs.

Mickey fumbled with the cell phone in his pocket, on which he had an open line to Don Parker. He whistled softly and told him what he was seeing.

“Sounds to me like you got a high-priestess thing going on. I'd say from what you're telling me that Hollister practices either witchcraft or voodoo. I'm not an authority on the subject. I'm just saying. I think you need to talk with Lynus, but I think that explains the conversation that was on the tapes. She was probably casting spells or chanting. I saw a movie once, and something like that was in it. I gotta say, Mick, looking at that woman, I never would have thought she'd be into something like that.”

Mickey cleared his throat. “Me, either. This is creeping me out. What's going on there?”

“Looks like they're having brandy and coffee. They look like any other couple out to dinner. No kitschy-coo, no handholding, nothing like that. They each had two glasses of wine. They'll be leaving in about twenty minutes is my best guess. Keep the line open and get ready to leave in case she heads home. Call Lynus and tell him what you're seeing. You bring a camera with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Take pictures of everything. Even if you think it doesn't apply.”

“Okay. I'll get back to you.” Mickey shoved the cell phone back into his pocket. He pulled out a second one and called his boss. He rattled off his findings. When he heard Lynus whistle, he knew he was really onto something.

“Take pictures, and I want to see you and them in my office first thing in the morning. Don't forget to take a picture of the inside of the refrigerator.”

“Okay, no problem.” Mickey broke the connection, then dug out his digital camera. He positioned the Maglite to give him the best light. He snapped the altar from all angles. He took a picture of the Bible and the reading glasses. Then he took a shot of the cardboard cartons and the empty mailers. He could see the words I
NITIAL
B E
NTERPRISES
on one of the mailing labels. When he stretched his arm across the altar to get the boxes and mailers into better position, he knocked over one of the vases holding the white roses. “Oh, crap!” he groaned as he watched the water spread across the altar.

There was no way he could cover that up. Always confident, he decided that the best-case scenario would be Elaine Hollister would think that a rat or a mouse had toppled the vase. He snapped the pictures he wanted, then backed his way to the opening and the ladder that would take him down to the second floor. He looked around to make sure he wasn't leaving any signs that would indicate there had been an intruder. Once he'd reset the alarm and locked the door, Mrs. Hollister wouldn't know the difference.

Mickey put the Maglite back in his backpack and made his way down to the kitchen, where he took pictures of the vinegar jugs and the shelf of herbs. The lighting was perfect for the shot. He closed the refrigerator door and returned the camera to his backpack. He set the alarm, whistled for Booker, and they left the house. Outside, he drew a deep breath. He'd screwed up. He needed to call Lynus.

Mickey and Booker jogged all the way to the security gate and left the area as quickly as they could. The minute he was settled in his car, he called Lynus to report his screwup. He listened as his boss reamed him out about sloppy work, then he listened to his apology, saying mistakes happen. He didn't feel one bit better. The kind of mistake he'd just made could mean the success or failure of the investigation.

“Okay, Booker, let's call it a night. I know you're hungry, and so am I. Tomorrow is another day.” That's when he remembered the stack of black-and-white notebooks, the kind they sold in drugstores a long time ago. He wasn't sure, but he thought he'd had one for one of his English classes.
Crap. Did I take a picture of the notebooks? Not specifically,
he decided,
but maybe they'll show up on one of the other shots. You're getting sloppy, Mickey,
he warned himself.

 

Gus woke with Wilson's nose nudging his chin. Time to get up. “Okay, okay! I'm up. Hey, buddy, how'd you do the first night in our new digs?” Wilson let loose with a loud bark. “That good, huh?”

Gus staggered out to the kitchen and opened the door for the shepherd. He stood there watching his dog search out the perfect bush, scratched his head, felt the bristles on his cheeks, and decided coffee was what he needed. His big decision was whether to make breakfast or wait to eat at the farm. Or, he could pick up a breakfast burrito on his way to the fireplug's office. Coffee and juice, he decided, and he'd grab something later. Wilson wouldn't see it that way, he knew, so he filled a bowl with canned dog food and kibble, then set down a fresh bowl of water. The time was six-ten.

As Gus waited for the coffee to drip into the pot, he looked around his new kitchen. He liked that the sun would come in the kitchen window in the morning, and he could look out into the yard while he sipped his morning coffee. He made a mental note to find out if there was a morning newspaper delivery in the neighborhood. There was nothing like a morning cup of coffee and the day's news, in his opinion. He knew there were millions of people who would rather read the news online. He was definitely not one of those people.

Gus poured his coffee and let his mind wander. He'd slept well, felt rested. He felt like he was ahead of the game, because he'd slept in a brand-new bed. Then again, he'd been exhausted when his head hit the pillow.

His thoughts next took him to the day he'd planned out for himself. First and foremost, he was going to see the fireplug to see what she wanted to do where he was concerned. From there, he'd stop by the office to check on things. After that, it was out to the farm and the seniors. He wondered what his grandmother had thought of the schedule he'd left behind and what she'd made of the suggestions he'd like to implement.

Gus finished his coffee, checked Wilson's bowl, then rinsed it and put it into the dishwasher. He refilled his cup and carried it upstairs. He showered and shaved, then dressed in a pair of crisp khakis that Maggie had ironed for him while he was staying at Barney's house. He checked his polo shirts but ended up wearing a pale blue button-down oxford shirt. He rolled it up to his elbows, slipped his feet into Docksiders, and was ready to go.

“Okay, Wilson, time to put a move on. Get whatever you want to bring with you because it's going to be late when we get back. Just
ONE
thing, Wilson, not an armful. You can play with Winnie's things when we get to the farm.” Gus watched, amused at Wilson's attempt to pick one thing to bring to the farm. He picked up a tattered-looking stuffed rabbit with only one ear and half a tail. It was his favorite toy, the one he slept with at night. He picked it up twice, and twice put it back on his bed. He finally chose a ball with a hole in the middle and a ring through it. He looked up at Gus, his signal that he'd made his decision.

“I suppose someone will want to play tug of war with you. Time to get our show on the road.”

Gus's plan was to arrive at Barney's offices as close to seven-thirty as he could. He'd had a key to the building ever since Barney opened his offices. He would wait in the lobby to greet the fireplug on her arrival. Whatever was going to happen would then happen.

He had the building to himself when he arrived, and took a seat in one of the buttery-soft chairs scattered throughout the medium-size lobby. Wilson lay at his feet. Gus sat quietly, his thoughts of the farm and what lay ahead of him.

He knew that the fireplug was approaching when Wilson rose to his feet and walked over to the door. If the attorney was surprised to see a dog greet her, she didn't show it. Nor did she show any surprise when she saw Gus getting up off the chair he'd been sitting in.
She'd make a good poker player,
Gus thought. He watched as she scratched Wilson behind the ears for a few moments.