A Bogie in the Boat Page 5

  “Kinda… I think…” I was flailing. This wasn’t my idea. It was Frank’s. “Listen, you don’t have to come with me.”

  “Yes, he does,” Frank said. “Grieving people do unexpected things. You need to have someone with you.”

  Vincent said, “Hey. That’s my mom you’re talking about.”

  “And she just lost her son,” Frank said.

  “Fine.” I could tell Vincent was nervous. He was even paler than usual, and his presence felt strange and scattered.

  “I’m coming with you,” Raul said. “People who are grieving can get weird. Violent even. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit I’ve seen.”

  “Oh, I think I would.” I started across the quiet, palm-lined street, Frank and Vincent flanking me. “I have a high tolerance for weirdness.”

  The small house was tidy. That was the first and last word that came to mind. It had a postage-stamp yard and blue-painted shutters. Flowers grew in beds that lined the front walk, and the grass looked like it had been trimmed with a laser.

  “Nice,” Frank said.

  I ignored him even though I had a vision of Vincent’s mom at this point, and she looked a lot like June Cleaver.

  “His dad is a baseball fan,” I said to Raul. “Vincent may have… appropriated some stuff for his dad that wasn’t exactly legal.”

  Raul scrunched up his face. “That’s… sweet?”

  “Thank you,” Vincent said. “I thought he’d appreciate it. His birthday is next month.”

  I said, “It’s not sweet. It’s stealing. He also stole a Yankees card worth a lot of money.”

  Vincent whispered, “I didn’t tell you about the Mantle card.”

  Frank said, “You think we weren’t going to notice a missing Mantle, kid?”

  “Do you know how much those things are worth?” Vincent hissed.

  I knocked on the door and tried to focus on appearing sad and not annoyed with the ghosts behind me. Raul stood at my side, his hands in his pockets. I heard movement. The lock turned.

  I didn’t have to fake the tears that came to my eyes. The woman who answered the door was wrecked.

  “Can I help you?” Her voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry, if you’re here to sell something, it’s not a good—”

  “I was a friend of Vincent’s,” I broke in. “I’m so sorry.”

  I was. I was horribly sorry. Intruding on her—even to help solve her son’s murder—was cruel and intrusive and awful. I hated bothering her, but I was relieved when her face softened.

  “Oh,” she said. Fresh tears filled her eyes. “I’m Vincent’s mom, Beverly.”

  Vincent had turned into a mute behind me.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Beverly. Vincent talked about you a lot.”

  She blinked. “He did?”

  “Yeah.” I heard sniffing and suspected it was Vincent. “I’m so sorry to bother you.”

  She opened the door wider. “No, it’s fine. I’m glad you came. What was your name? Are you… Gabrielle? He mentioned a Gabby a couple of times. Are you Gabby?”

  “No, but I knew her. I’m…” I didn’t want to say Linx. “I’m Lindsay. I was Vincent’s…”

  “Girlfriend,” Frank said. “Say it. You’ll be in immediately.”

  “I was Vincent’s girlfriend,” I said quickly. “Kind of.”

  Beverly’s mouth dropped open. “His… I didn’t know.” She flung out her arms and embraced me. “Oh, Lindsay. I’m so glad you came. I didn’t know Vincent was seeing anyone. He was so rarely here, and he’s never really told his dad or me… Well, I’m just so glad you’re here.” Her breath hitched. “This is all so surreal.”

  I was an awful person. I was also the only link she had to her dead child at this point. I hugged her back. “I’m so sorry, Beverly.”

  “Please call me Bev.”

  “We hadn’t been dating very long, but…” What did you say to a grieving mother? “He was special. Vincent was special.”

  “He was.” She pulled back and wiped her eyes, nodding silently. “Come in. Please. I’d love to sit and talk a little.”

  I motioned to Raul. “This is my friend Raul. He didn’t know Vincent, he just came for moral support.”

  Raul—always the gentleman—said, “I’m so sorry about your son. I hope we’re not bothering you.”

  “No, no.” She sniffed. “The police… they were here yesterday. And then they called again this morning and had more questions. Bud, Vincent’s dad, he went to the station, so I’m here by myself. It was just the three of us, you know? I have a sister, but she’s in Minneapolis. She’s flying out this afternoon, but this is just… It’s just—”

  “Surreal,” I said.

  “Yes.” She sat on the midcentury sofa in the neat living room.

  Once past the initial emotional explosion, I realized Vincent’s mom was definitely not June Cleaver. Her hair was cut in an asymmetrical bob, and though she was wearing yoga pants and a tunic that morning, I saw a woman’s suit jacket thrown over an armchair.

  “Bud works from home,” she said. “He’s a financial analyst. I was at the hospital when they called yesterday.”

  Vincent said, “She’s a doctor. A gynecologist.”

  “I came home,” Beverly said, “and the world blew up in my face.”

  “Vincent told me you were a doctor,” I said.

  She reached for a tissue. “I just can’t believe what they told us. Vincent would never have taken drugs. If there was one thing I told him from a young age, it was how dangerous narcotics are. And I know most moms would probably say that, but I knew my kid, you know? I knew him. There was something he’d been hiding lately, but I don’t think it was drugs.” She looked up at me with narrowed eyes. “Did you ever—”

  “Never,” I said quickly. “I agree. It doesn’t make sense. I never saw Vincent using anything like that.”

  “I smoked a little pot,” he said. “I didn’t even like that much.”

  Beverly said, “I doubt Vincent would even know where to get drugs if he wanted them.”

  I did, but only because I knew a lot of borderline personality artists who self-medicated. I decided not to bring that up with Beverly.

  Beverly asked, “Did the police call you?”

  “No. I heard from a mutual friend. He had a class with Vincent and heard rumors he was missing. I asked around, but nobody seemed to know anything. I couldn’t get through to him on his phone. Then I saw the paper this morning…” The murder had been briefly mentioned in the paper, but with very few details. There was, however, a photograph of Vincent. It was enough to be plausible.

  Beverly nodded. “I’m sorry you had to hear that way. If I’d known your name—”

  “It’s fine! Vincent sent me his address not long ago, so I decided to come here.” My heart dropped. She was a mom. She wasn’t my mom, but I was still heartbroken for her. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You lost him too.” She patted my hand. “Someone from school said he was missing?”

  I nodded.

  Beverly slumped back on the sofa. “I just don’t understand any of this.”

  Raul stood. “Do you mind if I use the restroom, Dr. Anderson?”

  “Of course not.” She pointed down the hall. “It’s the first door on the left.”

  Frank said, “I’m betting the police are telling your dad right now that you were murdered, kid.”

  “Is that supposed to be comforting?” Vincent whispered.

  “At least they won’t think you did drugs.”

  I had to keep talking to distract myself from the whispering ghosts behind me. “What did the police say?”

  “They asked a lot of questions. Where he worked. Where he hung out.” She sighed. “He stayed with friends a lot, so he wasn’t always here.” She laughed a little. “I’m realizing now he was probably staying with you, wasn’t he?”

  I blushed. “Not really. I live with my mom, so—”

  “They looked in his room, but I don
’t think they took anything. Does that seem weird? If it was a drug overdose, why would they want to look in his room? For drugs?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Vincent said, “They wouldn’t find the baseball cards. Not unless they tore my room apart.”

  I was trying to figure out how I could also get a look in Vincent’s room without seeming weird. “Beverly, is there anything I can do?”

  Her eyes went wide. “You’re so sweet to offer. I don’t think so. I’d love your phone number though. Do you… Would that be okay? I don’t know what we’re doing about a funeral yet.” Her eyes filled with tears. So did mine. “But as soon as I know, I’ll call. If you could help call some of his friends, maybe? I don’t know his friends from school.”

  “I hardly had any friends at school,” Vincent said bleakly. “Ask for my Paramore hoodie.”

  “What?” I asked.

  Beverly said, “I’m sorry. You don’t have to, but you asked what you could do to help, and I’m assuming you know more of his friends—”

  “Sorry!” I broke in. “Of course. I’d be happy to. I’ll put a list together and… Yeah, I’d be happy to.”

  “Ask for my Paramore hoodie,” Vincent said quietly. “The black one. Tell her we met at the concert last year.”

  I didn’t want Vincent’s Paramore hoodie. It was part of his history. It was part of him.

  Frank said, “Ask, Linx. A mom is going to understand that kind of thing.”

  I began, “Do you think…”

  Raul came back while I was talking, but he paused in the doorway, watching me with wide eyes.

  “I don’t want to take anything important,” I said. “But do you think I might be able to…”

  Beverly cocked her head. “Was there something of Vincent’s you wanted?”

  At least she didn’t look offended.

  “His Paramore hoodie,” I said. “The black one. We… we met at the concert last year.”

  Her face went soft. “Of course.” She sniffed. “He has so many sweatshirts, but you can look if you want.” She waved toward the hall again. “Please.” She stood. “I’m going to make some tea. Do you want some tea?”

  No, I wanted to escape, but that would be a shitty thing to do. Raul was nodding vigorously.

  “I’d love some tea,” I said.

  Raul said, “I’ll help, Dr. Anderson.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  They disappeared into the kitchen while I rose and walked toward the hall. I could see evidence of Vincent everywhere. Family pictures. A baseball team picture. Pictures of Vincent with a ruddy-faced man beside him. A high school diploma. One of those little pressed handprints in clay hanging on the wall.

  I felt sad. Guilty for lying to Beverly.

  And really, really angry.

  Vincent had done a dumb thing, but he’d been Beverly’s only son. He’d been a part of this family. He’d been loved.

  “I won’t ever tell her,” I whispered as I pushed open the door at the end of the hall. “Unless I have to, I’ll never tell her we weren’t a couple, Vincent.”

  Vincent was sitting on the end of his bed when I walked in, looking far younger than he had before. “Thanks.”

  I would let her think I had loved Vincent too. Let her believe she wasn’t the only one heartbroken over his death.

  I kept my voice low. “Where’s the hoodie?”

  “Bottom drawer in the closet.”

  I opened the closet and pulled open the bottom drawer. There were about four black hoodies in there, but I grabbed the one with the familiar logo with three white bars. All at once, the smell of Vincent hit me. I was in his closet, surrounded by his stuff. There was cologne and a little sweat. Soap and salt and leather. He wasn’t a ghost anymore. He was a real person, and he was dead.

  The tears came hot and fast. I clutched the hoodie to my chest and felt his loss like a punch to the gut. Backing out of the closet, I sat next to Vincent on the bed.

  “Linx?”

  I saw Frank watching from the corner, his eyes narrowed on Vincent.

  “You shouldn’t have been so stupid,” I said quietly. “Why would you do this to your mom and dad?”

  “I’m sorry,” Vincent whispered. “I’m so sorry. I was just trying—”

  “You were trying to make things easy,” I said. “You were trying to cheat. Don’t you know life isn’t easy? Nothing worth anything is easy.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  I slammed the hoodie down on the bed. “Not as sorry as your family.” I wiped my eyes. “Where are the cards?”

  “Back in the closet.”

  I sighed, but I went back in the closet.

  “Pull up the corner of the carpet,” Vincent said. “There’s a safe set into the floor.”

  I pulled up the carpet.

  “You have to pull up the carpet pad too.”

  I pulled up the pad, and it was just like he’d said. There was an old safe set into the floor. It had a combination lock. “Your parents don’t know about this?”

  “I found it when I was a kid. The combination was taped to the front. The old owners must have put it in. There was nothing in it, but it’s set into the concrete, so they couldn’t take it out.”

  “What’s the combination?”

  “Sixteen, five, forty-three.”

  I spun the lock open and there it was. It was a shield-shaped plaque with four Cubs baseball cards on it. I didn’t recognize any of the cards, but the shield looked exactly like the wood-grained mounting of the cards in Leo Caralt’s weird bathroom.

  “Look on the back,” Vincent said.

  Flipping the plaque over, I saw the Mickey Mantle card taped to the back. It was in a plain plastic sleeve, and it was smaller than a normal baseball card. I felt Bogie hovering over my shoulder.

  “Wow,” he said.

  “Holy shit.” I didn’t need to know anything about baseball to know that card was valuable. It had been perfectly preserved. More, it looked like it might have been signed.

  “Is that a signed card?” Frank asked. “Did Caralt actually have a signed Mantle rookie card? No wonder he killed them!”

  “Hey!”

  Frank said, “I’m not saying it was right; just understandable from a criminal’s point of view.”

  I ignored their bickering and put everything back in the safe before I closed the door.

  “What are you doing?” Vincent asked.

  “The police need to find this stuff here,” I said as I spun the lock and put the carpet back, scattering Vincent’s tennis shoes over the corner. “This ties you to Caralt.”

  “But…” His eyes were wide. “My parents.”

  “Your parents have to know that you stole this stuff,” I said. “It’s gonna come out, Vincent. If it doesn’t, there’s no motive. If it doesn’t, Caralt gets away with murdering you and Gabby.” I walked out of the closet and closed the door just as Beverly and Raul walked in.

  “Did you find it?” she asked.

  I walked over and picked up the Paramore hoodie off the bed. “Yeah. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  She shook her head. “Please take it. I don’t know… I mean. All his things.” She blinked hard. “Come on out to the kitchen. Raul and I made tea.”

  We drank tea and chatted with Beverly for an hour. She told us stories about Vincent as a child, and I filled in with anecdotes Vincent whispered in my ear. I could tell Raul was utterly confused, but he didn’t give anything away. Probably more for Beverly’s sake than my own; I could tell he liked her. I did too. By the end of the visit, I was even more determined to see Leo Caralt behind bars.

  She walked us out to my car and hugged both of us before we drove away.

  “I’ll call as soon as I know what we’re doing about a memorial,” she said. “I really appreciate your helping with his friends.”

  I nodded. “I’ll try to get ahold of everyone I can think of.”

  “Thanks.”r />
  We got in the car and drove away. Vincent and Frank hovered in the back. Raul waited until we turned onto Lincoln.

  “What the sweet hell is going on, Linx? Do not tell me you didn’t know this guy. The stories you were telling his mom were not made up. The Paramore hoodie? The story about the surfing trip? You knew this guy. Why did you lie to me? Why haven’t you ever mentioned him before? You know I never ask you questions, but what the hell?”

  I sighed and glanced over my shoulder. Frank shrugged.

  “It’s Raul,” he said. “Up to you.”

  Raul said, “I’m waiting.”

  “You know how my grandma and my mom can see ghosts?”

  He cursed in French. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to pull that bullshit on me.”

  “Do you really think my grandma—my grandmother—is full of shit?” I glared at him. “Really, Raul? I know you’re a scientist, but of all the years you’ve known her, do you really think my nan—”

  “Fine!” He was silent. Angry. “So you can see ghosts too?”

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  “Since I was about thirteen or so.”

  He was quiet for a long time. “And now you’re seeing this Vincent guy?”

  “He attached himself to me when I found his body behind Mrs. L’s house. I’m trying to figure out what happened to him so he’ll leave me alone.”

  I could tell he didn’t believe me. Or he didn’t want to believe me, but he kind of had to. His mind was probably churning with all the weird shit I’d asked him to do over the years. On the one hand, finally telling one of my best friends in the world was a relief. On the other hand, it was terrifying. What if this was one step too far? What if belief was one favor he couldn’t grant? Raul had defended me against “ghost girl” attacks all through high school, all the while assuring me he never believed the assholes who taunted me.

  And now I’d told him the assholes were right.

  Raul didn’t say anything the rest of the way home. He dropped me off in front of my house and drove away. I stood on the sidewalk with Vincent and Frank, wondering what I was going to do if he never talked to me again.

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