Chapter
21
I
walked into Pete's a little before ten. Since I'd last been in, someone had stuck three cardboard pumpkins and a couple of crepe paper witches on the walls in an attempt at holiday decoration. I glanced around. Three college kids were watching a rerun of I
Dream of Jeannie
on TV, Ebsen Fields was hunched over the bar reading a book, highlighter in hand, while George was hunkered on a stool, sipping a beer out of a stein. I sat Zsa Zsa and myself down next to him and apologized for being late.
“No problem. I just got here myself,” he said, turning towards me. I watched his eyes widen as he took in my appearance. “Jesus, what happened to you?” he demanded, staring at the cut on my chin and the bruises on my jaw. “I thought you said you were sick.”
“I am. I'm sick of getting hurt.” The bruises on my jaw had gotten worse overnight, as injuries like this are wont to do, nettling into a purplish-yellow color that no amount of makeup could hide. Not that I was complaining. Considering what I'd been through, it was a miracle I wasn't in the ICU. “I almost got myself blown up.” I told George about last night. He listened the way he always doesâintently, his eyes half closed to block out distractions.
“I'm impressed,” he said, when I finished. His lips curled in an expression of disapproval. “All that in one evening. That's almost a new personal best.”
I was trying to think of some smart assed comeback, when Ebsen Fields set a bottle of Sam Adams and a saucer in front of me.
“Boy, you look like shit,” he observed. “What happened? Someone beat you up?”
“I was in an explosion.”
“Right.” Ebsen tugged on his beard. “Happens every day. I was in one last week.”
“It was on the news.”
“Then how come I didn't see it?” He leaned towards me. “You know, you and Connie, you're both the same. If you don't want to tell me something, that's okay. Just say so. I was only trying to be polite.”
“Where is she anyway?”
“How the hell should I know?” Ebsen snapped. “I just work here. No one ever tells me anything. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.” He moved back down the bar and picked up his book.
I poured some beer into the saucer and pushed it over to Zsa Zsa. “Boy, he's in a pissy mood.”
George made a popping noise with his lips. “He's got a paper due the day after tomorrow.” He watched Zsa Zsa drink. “Why do you think dogs like alcohol?”
I shrugged. “Probably the same reason people, birds, and elephants do: It makes them feel good.”
“So all God's creatures get drunk?”
“I don't think fish and reptiles do,” I replied, as I was thinking that I was glad I'd put Zsa Zsa between us. That way George wouldn't be able to smell the tobacco smoke on my clothes. So I'd had a lapse. Or two. Or three. It's not every day a building explodes when you're inside it. But George wouldn't understand. He was too much of a hard ass. Tomorrow I'd get back on track, I promised myself. I'd smoke two more cigarettes when I got home and throw the rest of the pack out. God, I wished I could have one now. I reached for a pretzel instead.
George rubbed a finger around the rim of his glass. “It's too bad about the girl,” he said.
“Melanie?”
“I used to come across kids like that all the time when I was working. I always figured half wouldn't live to see their twenties.”
“A lot don't.”
“You're sure she was dead when you saw her?”
It was the same question Connelly had asked me, and I gave George the same answer I'd given him. “Yeah. I'm sure. She was crumpled up. She wasn't moving. I saw some blood. If she wasn't dead, she was doing a really good impersonation.”
George asked another question. “And no one knew you were inside the warehouse?” I guess he couldn't help playing cop, even if he wasn't one any more. After seven years on the force, the habit was too well-ingrained. But I didn't mind going along. I could use all the help I could get.
“I don't think so. My car was parked in the back. Whoever did this would have had to have driven through the alleyway to see the cab.”
“And the gunshot that set everything off came from the street?”
I nodded. “Why? What are you getting at?”
George reached over and moved the bowl of pretzels closer. “I'm just thinking out loud.”
“I'm listening.”
“I'm just wondering if whoever did this wanted to kill you, too.”
I snapped a corner of the pretzel off. Tiny brown crumbs rained down on the bar as I played the other night's events back in my mind. “I'd say the odds are against it. I'm pretty sure I wasn't followed and, unless someone had a reason to, they wouldn't drive around to the back. No. I think I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. As per usual.”
“Well, if it was inconvenient for you, think what it was for the killer.”
“True.”
“Because if you hadn't come along, everyone would have assumed some nut job was squatting, there was a gas leak, and bang!âthe place blew up. Very unfortunate, but these things happen all the time. Too bad. End of case. On to the next.” George gave a pretzel to Zsa Zsa. She dropped it on the bar and began licking the salt off it.
I reached over and picked a burr I'd missed off her ear. “Establishing cause of death would certainly be harder, that's for sure.”
“Yeah. Crispy critters don't cut up so good.”
The laugher of the college kids erupted in spiked peaks, taking over the room. Ebsen Fields glared at them and went back to reading.
George took a gulp of beer. “Those kids think they own the world.”
“You did, too, when you were their age.”
“No I didn't. If you're black, you know you don't.” He opened his mouth to say something else, changed his mind, and grabbed another pretzel. I could hear the crunch as he chewed. Watching the jutting of his jaw muscles, I realized that this was the first time I'd heard him mention what it was like to be African-American. I waited to hear what was coming next, but he went back to talking about Melanie. I guess it was a more comfortable topic. Maybe it was for me too, because I didn't bring the other back up. “Do you think Amy knows something about Melanie's death?” George asked.
I recalled Amy's ashen face when she heard the news. She'd been shocked. And scared. “Yeah, I think she does.”
He traced an invisible crack on the bar with his finger. “You think Melanie's death is related to Dennis Richmond's?”
“Definitely. Don't you?”
“I'm not sure. What do you think the link between the two deaths is?”
“I'd like to say Toon Town, but I can't because I don't know if he was up in Dennis Richmond's apartment or not.” I reached for a cigarette before I realized I wasn't smoking. “So even though I don't want to, I'm going to have to say Amy. She was involved with both people.” I wound a lock of my hair around my finger, as I thought aloud. “So far we've got two deaths, Dennis Richmond's apartment was searched, my house has been burglarized, and my store has been vandalized, and all the above happened within a relatively short period of time. I didn't think there was a connection with everything before, but now, looking back, I do.”
George ran a finger around the the rim of his glass. “Personally I think the two homicides are related, but that's all.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The MOs in the break-ins are different. Let's start with Richmond. A homicide and an apparent robbery.”
I interrupted. “His place was pulled apart.”
“Hey,” George replied. “I've seen guys pull the light sockets out of the wall looking for money.” He continued. “As for your place, I think that was a straight B&Eâsome kids looking for a quick scoreâand the store we can lay at Toon Town's feet.”
“So you believe in the randomness of the universe?”
George stretched. “Do you believe everything is connected?”
“I'm not sure,” I replied, after thinking over my answer for a minute. “That concept has theological implications I'm not sure I'm willing to entertain right now.”
George laughed, picked up a pretzel crumb, and deposited it in the ashtray. “I'll tell you one thing, though. And this I'm certain of: Amy is definitely Murphy's daughter.”
“Yeah. She has his genes. Chaos follows wherever she goes. Kind of like Mary and her lamb.”
George let out a sad little sigh. “Funny thing is I still miss the guy. I miss our Tuesday night pool games.”
“That's because you always won.”
“He was good company.” A ghost of a smile flitted across George's face, and I knew he was remembering their past adventures. “We should take a couple of beers out to the cemetery and go visit him.”
“Let's,” I agreed. It was time. I hadn't been back since the funeral, because I hadn't been able to face it. And I switched to a less painful topic. “Did you ever get hold of your cousin?”
George took another sip of his beer before answering. “He doesn't know anything about the Richmond family. I told you he wouldn't.”
“Well, it was worth trying.”
George frowned and narrowed his eyes. “I don't know how that man gets through the day.” His leg began to vibrate. “He's going to end up on a slab if he's not careful.”
I changed the subject again. It seemed as if I were doing a lot of that this evening. “I wonder who is going to get Dennis's half of the business, now that he's dead?”
“His wife and children, I would assume.”
“Not necessarily.” I recalled the scene I'd witnessed between Gerri and Brad Richmond. “His share could revert to the surviving partner.”
“Why don't you ask Gerri?”
“Funny, man.”
George tapped his fingers on the counter. Then he said, “So do you believe what Amy's telling you?”
“I believe she's scared. I believe she's drugged up. I believe she's running. But from who or what, I couldn't say.”
“Why do you think she came back to your house?”
“I don't know. I didn't get a chance to ask her. When she heard about Melanie, she freaked. I wonder if she said anything to Manuel?” I mused.
“Wouldn't he tell you?”
“Not unless I asked. Which I'm going to do right now.” I slid off the bar stool, told Zsa Zsa to stay, and went and called my house. Manuel was in.
“So?” George said when I sat back down.
“Well, the good news is that Connelly called in. They've got Melanie's last name.”
George smiled. “You must be going up in his estimation.”
“I don't think so. He actually wanted to know if Manuel or I had heard from Amy yet.”
“So what did Manuel say?”
“He said he hadn't.”
“Did you ask him if she said what she wanted?”
I nodded. “He said Amy was babbling on about how she's scared she's being watched.”
“Did she say by whom?”
“No. Manuel thinks her brain's fried and she's totally whacked out.”
George grimaced. “He should know.”
I drew myself up. “What does that mean?”
“What do you think it means?”
“He doesn't do that much stuff,” I protested.
George snorted. “What world are you living in?”
“Boy, Ebsen isn't the only one in a pissy mood.”
“I just think you should get that kid out of your house.”
“What do you care?” I snapped. I didn't like George's tone.
“I just don't think you're doing Manuel any favors by helping him out.”
“What's this? Your tough love speech? Given your family situation, I think you're the one that needs it, not me.”
George didn't answer. He didn't even look at me. His face had become a blank. His jaw muscles had formed knots. He dropped some money on the bar, stood up, and walked out.
Way to go, Robin. Zsa Zsa barked and I gave her an absentminded pat. I would have apologized, but I knew it wouldn't do any good. You can't talk to George when he gets angry. You have to let him cool down first. Anyway, what I said was true. I just should have said it differently. Oh well. I wound a lock of hair around my finger. George and his family really weren't any of my business, anyway. At least not yet. But they were going to be, if we kept going out together. I sighed and finished my beer. The perfect ending to a perfect day.
I paid my bill and walked out the door.