“Don’t even say it… What happened with Sandstrom?”
“He’s still trying to get me to go out with him.”
“What’d you say?”
“I told him to call me next week.”
“Great… Now he has your cell phone number.”
“It’s all right, Lucy. I…”
I stopped full stop and Cindy nearly crashed into me.
“What?”
“Shh…”
I looked around. We had left the art museum and were heading out to the parking lot. It wasn’t far, but there were still dark places around with lots of corners of that building. The hair on my arms stood at attention just as I saw slight movement at one end of the building. A man was watching us, turned and went around to the back.
“Come on,” I whispered. Walking purposefully, yet quietly, we went around a corner to see two men lifting a crate into a truck parked in the alley by an old house. One man emptied a bag on the ground. They got into the truck and drove away.
I’d gotten a quick glance at the man who’d been watching us and these two didn’t look like him. No telling where he was now. I walked over to see what had been emptied into the alley. Picking up a few remnants, I took a whiff and crinkled my nose.
“What is it, Lucy?”
“…Pastrami…”
Her quizzical look probably matched mine. Weird… Okay, but life is made of a series of details. I’d file this away.
I smiled at her. “…Data, data, data. I cannot make bricks without clay.”
“You’ve watched Holmes way too many times.”
We walked back to the parking lot, got in the car and drove home. All the way I was thinking -- Pastrami was indeed data. But I needed more data to start making those bricks…
* * *
CHAPTER 8
My dad seemed to have that John Malkovich thing going for him. He looked like that actor from ‘Con Air’ who tried to bump off the rest of the cast during the course of the movie. Dad’s got this Don’t mess with me quality that I’d just as soon not tangle with. But I end up doing just that, time after time…
We blended like oil and water, figuratively speaking, of course. I went over to his house for dinner Saturday night to hear my monthly ration of You’re wasting your life. Why at your age, I was…
Cindy had bailed on me – Had to work one of her events. She works in the Public Relations department of one of the local casinos. She meets and hobnobs with lots of exciting people. I get criminals, mad co-workers from the theater and my father. Tonight I took Baskerville to keep Dad off balance.
“Put that animal on the floor, Lucy.”
“Oh, Dad. I’m just feeding him a bite or two. You made lots.”
“…Yeah. Lots for humans only.”
“Well, Baskerville’s hungry. I’m not going to eat in front of him.”
He sighed audibly. “…Whatever. Can we get back to the topic at hand?”
“If we must…”
He folded and refolded the napkin in his lap. “Come on, Lucy. Most people your age have decided what they want to do in life.”
“…But many haven’t, Dad. You need to give me more time.”
“Have you signed up for fall classes?”
I cleared my throat and fed Baskerville another bite from my plate. Glancing over at him, Dad gave me a look that said he knew I was stalling.
“You haven’t, have you?”
“Medical records just aren’t my cup of tea.”
“Do you want to work at a movie theater forever?”
“No… but…”
“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy…” He seemed to finally run out of breath. Suddenly, he took another one. “…You’ve got to pull yourself together. Why, Christine is on her second assignment in Europe now.”
“Dad,” I blew out a breath. “I have no desire to be a career diplomat.”
“…Lucy, it’s just that your sister is two years younger than you and is doing so well already.”
“Could we please talk about something else? I’m getting a stomachache.”
Baskerville licked my fingers and barked at Dad. “And now you’re upsetting Baskerville.”
I put the dog on the floor and got up to go to the bathroom. On the way, I spied a flyer sitting on a sideboard nearby and picked it up.
“Who’s this, Dad? Did you go to a funeral recently?”
“Yes. Friend of mine had a heart attack and died last week.”
“That’s too bad,” I said reading the short flyer. “…Nice man?”
“He and his wife were good friends for many years. But he’d had a heart attack the week before and I guess a big one got him.”
“Huh… Where’d he live? I don’t recognize the address.”
“It’s a house situated behind the museum. It faces the alley so the alley is probably the address.”
“The alley? Behind the museum? What – the art museum?”
“That’s right. Why?”
“… When did he die, Dad?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure of the exact date but Maggie, his wife, told me he dropped dead outside on their stairs the night of that rain last week.”
My neck was tingling again.
“Would you mind if I took this flyer?” I grabbed Baskerville and placed him gently into my oversized bag. He liked to sit in there with my wallet, brush and things. He stepped around to get comfortable and stuck his fluffy white head back out.
Dad rose from his seat. “What? You’re leaving now? We haven’t even had dessert.”
I hurried to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Dad, but I really need to take off. I’ll call you next week.” I headed for the front door.
“Lucy?” I turned back to look at him. “You’re investigating something again, aren’t you?”
I nodded and shrugged my shoulders.
“…Be careful, sweetie.”
“Thanks, Dad.” And I ran to my car thinking about the man’s death and remembering that Sherlock said there were no coincidences.
* * *
I called Cindy on the way. She didn’t pick up. Her event must be still ongoing and she’s working. Fine… I can do this alone.
Pulling up to the art museum, it was long past dark. The museum wasn’t a square building, but one that had odd lines and angles. That oddness made strange shadows, some identifiable but most not. I’d poked around in the dark in lots of strange places before, but this one took the proverbial cake. Long, irregular shadows cast the alley behind in an atmosphere of creepiness. Creepiness? God, I have such a way with words…
Baskerville insisted on getting out of the car with me, so I put him on his leash and set him on the ground. He was fearless and walked quickly to the alley. Good thing that’s where I wanted to go… He has a nose like a bloodhound and soon had me sprinting to the center of the alley, right by where the truck had been this afternoon. A porch light from a nearby house lent an eerie look at Baskerville. Bathed mostly in shadow, his white curly head stopped, not moving a muscle. I walked around him to see what had made him stop. He had his nose to the ground, sniffing. I crouched down by him and made out the faintest whiff of… there it was again – pastrami. Still? Or again?
I tugged on his leash to walk closer to the house – the house of Dad’s friend. Plucking out the little penlight I always kept in my pocket, I shined it around the staircase where the man must have fallen. I was pretty sure this was the house. It matched Dad’s description and was the closest house to the museum.
Baskerville was getting impatient, so I had to work quickly. The steps had been painted white at one time, but the paint had long since worn away. The house was old and not maintained well. Nicks and dents covered the stairs and I had no idea what I was looking for anyway. Baskerville was giving me a final tug when my penlight caught the tip of something shiny. On closer inspection, it looked like a piece of metal was lodged in the wooden railing. A nail? No, the shape was thicker.
br /> I racked my brains to think of what I had with me. Picking up Baskerville, I dashed back to the car, put him in it and fished around in the console between the seats. Eureka! I found it! I grabbed nail clippers and ran quietly back to the house. Baskerville didn’t like being left and began his signature bark. Like a pebble dropped in a well, the sound echoed. Great… Let’s wake up everyone…
On the run, I pulled out the file from the nail clippers and as soon as I reached the steps began chipping away at the wood on either side of the piece of metal. It dug out quickly – dry rot. I shone my penlight at it and about did a double take – A bullet? I blinked rapidly… Inconceivable… I finally snapped to, tucked it in my pocket and made my way back to the car. Baskerville finally quit barking, although a few lights had come on in the house and I needed to get the heck out of there.
Driving away, I thought long and hard.
A bullet? Lodged in the staircase where the man had died.
Was it there before?
Did it happen the night he died?
If so, maybe his heart attack was caused by fright. Someone shooting at me would sure get my heart going.
Damn, this was just getting better and better, although I had absolutely no idea what was going on. Yet…
* * *
CHAPTER 9
Kevin was back at work the next day and asked with a smirk about the umbrella. He’d noticed it was gone and that got his curiosity up. I deflected his pointless question by turning around and going over to see Bobby. I’d seen him walk in looking a bit strange. He was helping Megan behind the concession counter.
“No, Bobby. Straighten up the candy. I don’t need help with the popcorn.” She was fussing, as usual.
“Sure, Megan.”
I took a good look at them both. Megan had gold glittering all through her hair today and several new silver studs in her ears. If that weren’t enough color, Bobby had yellow stripes down one side of his face. Don’t these people own mirrors?
“Bobby, you need to go wash your face. You’ve got stripes on one side. Sleep on your palette again?”
He smiled bashfully. He’s really a nice kid, just a bit eccentric. Join the club – “I did, Lucy. Sorry. I’ll go wash it off right now.”
“Oh, come on, Luce. The stripes give him a certain panache,” added Megan.
“Good word,” I said. “…Use it in a poem tonight.”
She glared at me and went back to making the popcorn. A burnt smell filled the air and she glared at me again. Like it’s my fault she burned the popcorn. I shook my head and opened my mouth to apologize for being such a smart ass when customers started lining up and she needed Bobby to pour the drinks. Hope he got back soon. I went off to find Marvin.
I bumped into Bobby coming out of the restroom. He looked clean and slightly damp.
“Hey, Bobby. Have you seen the Impressionist exhibition at the art museum?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, you’ve got to see it. Manet, Monet, somebody I forgot and Van Gogh! It’s Starry Night and just spectacular. Let me know what you think when you see it.”
“Will do, Lucy. Thanks.” And he scurried back to deal with a pissy Megan. Better him than me.
Marvin wasn’t in his usual hiding place, but I decided to sneak off for lunch anyway. I headed over to the café at the art museum, since Sue had suggested I come around as often as possible. I took her advice.
Walking in, all seemed pretty normal. Everyone was doing their jobs and there was a sprinkling of patrons in the gift shop… some were heading up the staircase to the exhibits. I went around the staircase to the small café in the back. Walking by small tables and chairs, a few people were eating and talking. Seemed like an average day…
Until I met the café owner…
A short, overbearing man with two strands of hair plastered across his otherwise bald head was berating some poor girl behind the counter. As I walked in, he lowered his voice, but she still quaked when he looked at her. I couldn’t help myself.
“Problem?” I asked.
“No, miss. Did you want to order something?”
“In a minute. Could I speak to you?”
“Sure.” He came out from behind the counter and the girl thanked me with her eyes. I nodded at her and backed the guy in a corner.
“You really should be nicer to your employees.”
He snorted. “What business is it of yours?”
“I’m a customer and don’t like what I see. That could cost you business.” One of the plastered strands of hair loosened.
He stood up straighter, but still wasn’t as tall as me.
“Listen, Mr…”
“Crowe, Russell Crowe.”
Like Bond, James Bond? I bit back a smile. “Your name’s Russell Crowe?”
“Yes and I’ve gotten that kind of smirk from people all my adult life or as long as that guy’s made movies. I’ll thank you not to go there.”
A giggle threatened. “…Russell Crowe? Well, you don’t look like him at least.”
“Jesus.” The second strand of hair popped up and he felt the top of his head to smooth them both down. “Did you need anything else?”
I swallowed the giggle. “Didn’t I see you at the reception the other night? After Dr. Schultz’s lecture?”
“Yes, I’m on the museum board and attend all those events. So?”
“Have you seen the exhibit? In particular, the Van Gogh painting?”
“I have… Most impressive. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Enjoy your lunch.”
And he stalked off, probably still unhappy about the Russell Crowe remark. Really…I’ve never met anyone who looked less like Russell Crowe. He resembled Danny DeVito more. I shrugged and went over to the counter to order some soup. The girl he’d been berating flashed me a grin and said the soup was on the house.
“What will Russell Crowe say?”
She laughed. “He’s got the ‘Gladiator’ swagger too. Poor guy…”
Handing me the soup, I sat and took a load off. I’d begun a chart of the various characters I’d met so far and took it out of my purse to look it over. Sue, Schultz, Sandstrom, the dead guy from the alley and Russell Crowe… Adding his name to the list made me smile. I wrote a few descriptive comments about each person on the list and concentrated on my soup.
When I finished lunch, Sue met me on the way out the door.
“Come in the gift shop for a minute, Lucy. I saw you speaking with Mr. Crowe.”
“Ah, yes. I’ve laughed at that one already.”
She rolled her eyes. “…It might interest you to know that he has a brother just released from prison.” She closed the door to the gift shop.
“Really? Why was he in prison?”
“…Robbery. I know he stole some things, but I’m not sure what. Anyway…”
“…Yes?”
“I overheard Crowe talking on the phone to someone. He remarked that he couldn’t find the brother, who’s supposed to be in town, and Crowe fears that he’s active again.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s so grumpy with his employees?”
She laughed. “That and his name probably. I don’t know why he just doesn’t change it, if he hates it so much.”
Couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so I bid Sue goodbye and made a mental note to check out Randy Crowe. It was an interesting time for a thief to show up. For now, I headed back to work. Maybe it would be a good day and I’d see Marvin.
* * *
CHAPTER 10
Bobby didn’t come in to work the next day. Now what… I called over to his apartment but no one answered. We were short-handed which meant I ended up collecting movie tickets. Marvin was actually working in one of the theaters and Kevin ran a few projectors as well. Kevin was pissed that Bobby didn’t even bother to call in and was threatening to fire him – if we saw him again. Megan had to run concession all by herself and was performing her Poor me act. No one cared. br />
Cindy called to let me know Warren Sandstrom had called to invite us both to a members-only dinner at the museum tonight. I seemed to be spending most of my free time either in the museum or around it. Actually, he invited Cindy and she wangled an invite for me. That’s what friends are for…
Bobby still hadn’t called in by the close of my shift, so I drove over to his apartment looking for him. He didn’t answer the doorbell. Peering in the window didn’t net me any information, so I was walking back out to my car when someone yelled out at me.
“Hey! You looking for Bobby?”
“Yeah. Do you know where he is?” I turned to look at a mousy little guy wearing a Big Bang Theory tee shirt. He had paint on his face too.
“You a friend?” he asked.
“We work together at the movie theater and he didn’t show up for work. Not like him…”
The guy shuffled his feet and glanced nervously around him.
“What?”
“Bobby’s in the hospital.”
“What the hell happened?” I felt my stomach fall to my knees.
“…Someone beat him up. It’s not good.”
“Which hospital?”
“St. Teresa’s…”
“Thanks, ah…”
“Josh.”
“Thanks, Josh.” I jumped in my car and drove quickly over to the hospital. It wasn’t too far from my apartment. On the way, I called Kevin to let him know.
Kevin was less than sympathetic -- His wife had showed up at the theater and was currently raising hell at him in the office. Guess I was handling this on my own.
Arriving at the hospital, I checked with the Information desk and found what room he was in. I headed up the elevator, my lips curled in distaste. What is it about these places? Walls are all painted beige and the smell of disinfectant is everywhere. Once on his floor, a nutritionist walked by me carrying a tray with amazingly unpalatable-looking food. I’d sooner chew on the bedpost.
A policeman was just leaving Bobby’s room.
“Any trouble, officer?”
“Are you related to Mr. Springer?”
“No. I’m his boss at the movie theater where we work. I just heard about this. How is he?”
“Let’s go over here for a minute, miss.”