A Bogie in the Boat Page 6

  Come Hither or Stay Away?

  It only took Detective Lee until eight thirty the next morning to bang on my door.

  “Oh, you’re the handsome one who’s investigating that poor boy’s death,” I heard my nan say.

  “Ma’am, is your granddaughter home?”

  “Of course she is.”

  Wonderful.

  I’d texted Raul that morning with no luck. He was probably already at work, and I was due back at Leo Caralt’s place by ten. I sat at the kitchen table, sucking down coffee in my pj’s while Detective Lee followed my grandmother back to the kitchen. I looked like shit and I didn’t care. I stared at the newspaper and didn’t look up when Detective Lee sat across from me. My grandmother handed Detective Lee a cup of coffee and then excused herself.

  “What’s going on, Linx?”

  I didn’t even look up. I didn’t want to be confronted with his handsomeness that morning. What was his cologne? No one should smell that amazing first thing in the morning.

  “Linx?”

  I was pretty sure I’d just lost my best friend. Not even Detective Lee drinking coffee across from me was going to make that better. Even Frank had decided to leave me alone that morning, no doubt sensing my foul mood.

  “Linx, why were you at Vincent’s house yesterday? Why does his mom think you were his girlfriend?”

  I sipped my coffee. It was currently the perfect temperature. Coffee stays at the absolute perfect temperature for a matter of minutes. I didn’t want to waste those minutes talking to a cop.

  “Linx, don’t make me arrest you.”

  A little voice inside me whispered Raul’s words: What the hell?

  What the hell, indeed.

  I sipped my coffee. Still the perfect temperature. “Did you tell Vincent’s mom I wasn’t his girlfriend?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Good. I think he’d rather you didn’t.”

  Detective Lee was very quiet. How surprising.

  “I met his ghost behind Mrs. L’s house.” I sipped my coffee. Past perfect, but still warm. “He told me he didn’t do drugs. I was skeptical at first—there’s no rule that ghosts can’t lie—but I’m pretty sure he was telling the truth. I’m pretty sure he was murdered.”

  “Did Vincent’s ghost tell you who murdered him?” Detective Lee was using his calm “I’m probably talking to a crazy person” voice.

  “Nope.” I continued flipping through the paper. “That’s not the way it works most of the time. A lot of memories close to death can be very muddled. I’ve heard the same thing happens in car accidents.”

  Which was true. I’d read an article about short-term memory and traumatic events for a psychology class.

  “Right,” he said. “Okay.”

  I didn’t say anything else. My coffee was definitely getting cold though, and I wished Detective Lee would leave so I could refill my mug without him having to see my ugly I-just-lost-my-best-friend pajama pants.

  “Anything else?” I asked him, finally looking up.

  He was staring at me, and I couldn’t read his expression. It wasn’t derision, but it wasn’t belief either. Detective Lee had a good poker face. He might even be able to beat my mom if he had a lucky night.

  “Stay away from Beverly Anderson,” he said.

  I shrugged. I didn’t want to tell him I would because I’d already offered to help Vincent’s mom by contacting his friends when the memorial was planned.

  That reminded me, I needed to get a list from Vincent before he drifted off to the ether. Which would hopefully be soon.

  “We have a line of inquiry, and it has nothing to do with you,” Detective Lee said. “So don’t be interesting, Linx.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” I looked back down at the paper and willed him to leave. Which he did a few minutes later. He didn’t even say goodbye. I glanced at his abandoned coffee and reached across the table for the still-full mug.

  Perfect drinking temperature. At least something was going right that morning.

  Frank drifted in a few minutes later while I was drinking the detective’s coffee.

  “Raul will come back,” he said.

  “How do you know?” I was perversely angry at Bogie. I knew it wasn’t Frank’s fault that I’d hidden things from Raul, but dammit, if Frank had never appeared to me, I wouldn’t have had to. I would have lived a normal life. Or as normal as could be expected in my family.

  “I’ve known that kid as long as you have,” Frank said. “He’s not the kind to drop you. He’s loyal. And I can promise you that he’s wondered about all your weird stuff over the years. Right now he’s just pissed you waited so long to tell him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Maybe that was true. Maybe Bogie was right and Raul would call me back and we’d laugh about this and he’d tell me he was relieved I was a ghost-seeing amateur detective instead of a troubled woman with an unhealthy obsession over cold murder cases.

  Maybe.

  Or maybe he’d never speak to me again because I was a liar.

  “Okay.” Frank waved hand in front of my face. “Time to stop moping, kid. You’re headed to the creep’s house this morning. Has Vincent made an appearance yet?”

  I shook my head.

  “No matter.” Frank was acting like my gran. “Get up. Get dressed. Caralt is suspicious of you at this point, so the sooner you can get in and out of there, the better. Try to finish up this painting while the workmen are still there.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” I griped. “And I’ve got another week of painting. At least a week. I can’t escape this guy that easy. I’m just praying that he’s lost interest or doesn’t consider me a threat.”

  “You keep your phone on and your earbud in at all times, Linx.”

  “I will.” I stood and put my coffee cup in the sink. “Now see if you can find Vincent. I’m not waiting on you two.”

  Leo Caralt’s house was only a few blocks from my own. When I’d taken the job, it seemed like a bonus. Now, passing the dock where Vincent’s body had been found floating, with his ghost following me, it felt more ominous than convenient.

  Frank and Vincent were chatting.

  “Did Gabby know you’d taken them?”

  “She knew about the Cubs cards. Not the Mantle.”

  “What were you thinking, you idiot?”

  “I was thinking… I don’t know. I just thought… This card is here. And this guy is a total geek. He probably got this collection from his dad or something and he has no idea what it is. He’s obsessed with his comic books and all that shit and he won’t even notice.”

  “Anyone as smart as Caralt is going to notice a card worth several hundred grand if it goes missing.”

  “But he kept it in the bathroom!” Vincent said. “The bathroom! Who keeps a signed Mickey Mantle rookie card in the bathroom?”

  “I can’t disagree with you,” Frank said. “But you’re still an idiot.”

  I muttered, “I hear the bathroom is a popular place for Oscar trophies.”

  “What?” Vincent asked.

  “Oscar trophies. I hear a lot of actors and actresses keep them in the bathroom.” My phone buzzed in my hand, but I didn’t recognize the number. I ignored it. If it was important, they’d leave a message. I turned the corner and noticed the plumbers sitting on the deck in front of Caralt’s house. I raised my hand and they waved back.

  “Hey guys, what’s up?” I asked as I got closer.

  They didn’t look like they were on a break. They looked too annoyed for that.

  “Some police detective is in there with Caralt,” the foreman said. “Said we should wait out here.”

  My eyes went wide. “That’s so weird.”

  A detective? What were the chances it was…

  I craned my neck to see over the shoulder of the biggest guy. Yep. I could barely make Detective Lee out through the large windows facing the canal.

  “He probably got some shit stolen,” another guy said
. “With all the renovations to this place, he’s had people tromping in and out of this house for weeks.”

  “Huh.”

  “And he’s got a lot of stuff that’d be easy to sell,” the third man said quietly.

  The rest of us looked at him.

  “Just saying,” he said with a shrug. “All that collectible stuff, right? I mean, he’s even got it in the bathrooms. We had to move a bunch of it out so it wouldn’t get wrecked. He’s way careful with that shit.”

  I nodded, but in the back of my head I was wondering if the delay would keep the plumbers there for another few days. I wouldn’t mind that, even if they did listen to Nickelback.

  A few minutes later, Detective Lee must have left because Caralt came to the french doors and pulled them open.

  “Gentlemen, my apologies.” His eyes landed on me. “Gentlemen and Linx. Linx, I tried to call you and let you know there had been a delay, but you didn’t answer your phone.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mind waiting. No biggie.”

  He nodded, then creepy Leo Caralt disappeared inside.

  The foreman said, “No explanation, huh?”

  The second man said, “This dude is weird.”

  “You can say that again,” I muttered under my breath. Didn’t matter. It was time to work, and I needed to get to it.

  I walked up to the library and immediately reached for the brushes and paints I’d cleaned and left on the worktable the day before. Everything was where I’d left it. I’d wondered if Creepy Leo would look through my things after he found me in the bathroom. If he did, it wasn’t apparent.

  “Okay,” I whispered. “Work time.”

  It was Frank’s—and now Vincent’s—cue to leave me alone. As soon as I picked up my brush, I forgot about Caralt. I forgot about Vincent and Gabby dying. I forgot about all that and let myself fall into the mural.

  I loved this piece, and it didn’t matter how I felt about the person commissioning it. That was the thing about commissions. Some artists got snooty about painting within parameters, but not me. I considered it a challenge.

  Several hours later, I was working on the woman in the mural. I still hadn’t decided if she was beckoning with a finger or threatening with a gun.

  “Come hither or stay away?” I muttered under my breath.

  “Come hither.”

  I turned to the voice in the corner. It was Caralt. I hadn’t heard him come in, but he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring at the painting I was working on.

  No, that’s not creepy. Not at all.

  Was it? Or was I overreacting? It was his house. I tried to kill the goose bumps on my neck so I could be pleasant with a client.

  “Hey,” I said. “So you’re voting come hither?”

  He smiled, and it actually reached his eyes. “It’s your choice. You’ve brought this room to life with this piece. I don’t want to interfere at this point. It was just a thought.”

  I shrugged. “It’s your room.”

  His eyes roamed around the space. “It’s your painting.”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” I said. “I’m open to ideas. Why come hither?”

  “What man hasn’t imagined a beautiful woman desiring him?” he asked. “Men like me aren’t usually the kind to attract female attention. Not on our own. It’s only after we’re older… when we’re successful. Have money. Have something they want. That’s when they show an interest.”

  They, huh? Was he talking about Gabby? Even if he wasn’t, I wanted to curl my lip. Caralt struck me as the kind of man who thought women owed him something. My gut told me he saw women as prizes or trophies—flawless figures in see-through boxes—not real, living people.

  I turned back to the wall. “Yeah, I don’t know about that. I wasn’t ever considered the beautiful girl myself.”

  “You’re kidding.” His voice was warm and jovial, as if he hadn’t just insulted half the population. “You’re gorgeous.”

  Oh, I’m so flattered.

  I didn’t say that. Even though I found him skin-crawly, he was still a client. “Thank you.”

  “You probably had the boys begging after you in high school.”

  Gross. I set down my brush and turned around. “No, actually. I was the weird girl in school and dropped out of middle school because of bullying. I only survived high school because my best friend scared the popular kids away. But that’s fine. I grew up and realized that everyone is a punk when they’re young and still developing their frontal lobe.” I smiled and turned back to work. Where was my bogie? I always felt more confident if he was around. Even if he couldn’t do anything, he made me brave.

  “I guess you’re a bigger person than me.” Caralt’s voice was distinctly less warm.

  “Just learned a few hard lessons over the years. No use dwelling on the past.”

  I didn’t hear him walk in the room, but I heard him walking out.

  The girl in the painting was definitely getting a gun.

  I was sitting in my backyard, drinking a beer and staring at Bogie. “He did it.”

  Vincent said, “I thought we knew that already.”

  “I still harbored a few doubts, but I don’t anymore.”

  Frank cocked his head. “What changed?”

  “I couldn’t wrap my head around a guy like Caralt murdering for comic books. Even as big a collector as he is, he has to have insurance, right? He’s a businessman too. Very successful. Why would he risk everything to get his comics back?”

  Frank said, “He’s obsessive and smart? Thinks he’s above the law?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think it was about the baseball cards. Or the theft. Not really.” I sipped my beer. “I think he found out Gabby was after him for his collection. She didn’t like him, she liked his comic collection—or the money she could get from it anyway. And she’s not after his money the traditional way either. She steals from him. That’s what really set him off. The insult to his ego, not the theft.”

  “Either way, he killed ’em,” Frank said.

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  “We have anything concrete enough to take to Detective Lee?”

  “Nope.”

  Vincent said, “I wish I could remember what happened.”

  “We know what happened,” I said. “Roughly. You guys stole from him, he found out—”

  “But how did he find out?” Frank said.

  “Hmm?”

  “How did Caralt figure out who was behind the theft?”

  “It’s just a guess,” I said, “but a really cute girl started to cuddle up to him, he tells her about his super-awesome-amazing comic book collection, then the collection gets stolen. I’m guessing he put two and two together.”

  Vincent said, “Then he goes and hunts us down?” The ghost rubbed his hands over his arms. “That’s so cold.”

  “How did he find Gabby?” Frank asked. “Would Gabby have taken a mark to her own place?”

  “No way,” Vincent said. “Maybe the comic book shop? They might have her address. But they might have her parents’ because she was living there when she started working at the shop.”

  I said, “I don’t think Caralt would want anyone knowing he was asking around about Gabby. He’s not dumb. He wants his comics back and he wants revenge on the girl who insulted him. He might not have even planned to kill her. I don’t know.”

  “Records searches can be done on the computer now,” Frank said. “You and I do them all the time. He’s a computer guy, right?”

  I nodded. “As long as there was something in her own name attached to her current address, he might have been able to find her.”

  “Gabby didn’t own much,” Vincent said. “She lived with a roommate, and the apartment was in her roommate’s name because she was there first. Gabby just wrote her a check for her share of the rent. I remember them arguing about it on the phone and her roommate getting pissed because if Gabby was late with rent, it was affecting the roommate’s credit sco
re or something like that.”

  “Okay, so her name wasn’t listed on her apartment,” Frank said. “She own a car?”

  “Yeah,” Vincent said. “But her license and stuff was still registered at her parents’ house because I remember her complaining about her registration renewal going there and it was late because her mom didn’t call her. And it’s not like her mom would have told anyone where Gabby was because she and Gabby were not—”

  “Vincent.” I broke in. “Focus.”

  I finished my beer and thought about grabbing another. “Sounds like Gabby was pretty savvy about staying under the radar.”

  My thoughts went again to the very well-organized storage unit. This girl was not a newcomer to theft. She had a bookkeeping system in that desk. She had inventory. She had…

  “The storage unit.” Frank and I spoke at the same time.

  “Oh, she had the storage unit before we met,” Vincent said.

  I stared at Frank. “It was hers. She wouldn’t want her parents knowing. No roommate was going to rent it for her.”

  Frank said, “The storage unit would have been in her name. I bet you a pack of Lucky Strikes that’s what Caralt found.”

  I ignored the bet because there was no reason for me to smoke on this case. Frank would have to live without his precious cigarettes for a while. “Vincent, did you and Gabby ever work late at the unit doing inventory or selling stuff? Anything like that? Would she have been there alone?”

  “She might have been. I went with her sometimes. Sorting all the comics took time. I helped, but I know sometimes she’d go by herself.”

  Frank said, “We were looking at the storage unit as a secondary crime scene. It might be the primary.”

  Vincent asked, “What does that mean?”

  “It means that if the storage unit was the only thing Gabby had in her name, then that’s probably what Leo Caralt found. And if he found the address and the unit, he might have found her. That storage unit wasn’t just where you two kept your take,” I said. “It might also be where you were killed.”

  7

  Using Loved Ones for Dastardly Plans