With Vics You Get Eggroll (A Mad for Mod Mystery Book 3) (6 page)

SEVEN

“You hired me because of my history? Because of my involvement in a homicide investigation?” I asked. Even saying it out loud didn’t make it sound more rational.

“That’s how Dan and I found out about you and your business. Truth is, we’d like to talk to you about buying the rights to your story. Could make a great movie,” she finished in a sing-song voice.

“Cleo, I don’t know how I feel about this. What happened last year isn’t my story. It involved a lot of other people too.”

“But you were at the center of it. If you sell to us, we’ll build the whole thing around you.”

The rundown house and the carte blanche mid-century decorating job were starting to make a bit more sense. Cleo and Dan were movie producers with money to burn, and I was the novelty act du jour. I didn’t need to subject Hudson to an environment like this, where his past would be the deciding factor in getting the job.

“My regular contractor is out of town. I’ll be hiring someone else to work with me.”

“Boo-hoo,” she said, pushing her glossed lips out in a pout. “I was so hoping to meet him face to face. But speaking of being out of town, I’ve decided to throw a pool party while Dan is gone. How does Saturday night sound? I know you won’t be done with the renovations, but is there anything you can do in the interim, you know, to make it seem more special than, well, than it is right now?”

I flipped through the pages of my sketch pad until I reached the one with the list of renovations. It was going to be a long time until their house was ready for entertaining.

“What part of the house do you want to be available to guests?”

She stared at me as if she didn’t understand the question.

“Cleo, once I tackle this wall of glass blocks, it’s going to be a mess in here. Right now you have an empty room. I can stage it with furniture and knickknacks from my storage locker, but that’s going to cost you—”

“Like a rental? Don’t worry, I’ll pay whatever you want. What’s the going rate?”

“I was going to say it would cost you in time. It’s going to take time to clean up this room, bring furniture in, have your party, and take the furniture out.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Cleo’s lackadaisical approach to the completion of her deadlines had been bothering me. Add in her confession that I was hired because she and her husband were interested in the development rights to my story, and I was growing less and less enthusiastic about her and Dan’s business. They’d paid me generously to start the work on their house, and under just about any circumstances it would have been difficult to turn down the opportunity to work on a Cliff May house so in need of repair. But still, I was starting to feel like the entertainment.

“Before I agree to anything, I have to check my calendar and see if I have any other commitments.”

“I know this is in addition to what we hired you to do. Make sure you track the expenses and hours, and if you need another installment, just let me know. Now, why don’t you come up with a game plan and let me see some new sketches?” She turned to the wall behind her and waved her hands in small circles. “I’d love something Japanese.” I was reminded of
Broadway Danny Rose
when Mia Farrow talks about doing a room in bamboo.

“Sure, I’ll see what I can come up with,” I said. I scribbled
Japanese? Check storage locker
on my sketch pad and flipped it shut.

“Oh, and you’re invited, of course,” she said. “Wear your swimsuit and bring a date. Eight o’clock?”

“Cleo, are you sure it’s a good idea to throw a party while Dan is away? In light of what’s been happening around Lakewood?”

“Madison, you are delicious, you know that? You’re all a kerfluffle over there, trying to look out for me. It’s cute.” She handed me a pre-printed invitation, which let me know in no uncertain terms that “not doable” had not been an option. I headed out to see what I could come up with on the fly.

It was going on lunchtime and I hadn’t eaten all day. I didn’t want to spend a lot of time or money, so it would probably be fast food. As I grew closer to my studio, I passed the parking lot to the shopping center where Kate Morrow’s body had been taken. There were half as many cars in the lot as usual. Tex’s Jeep sat in a spot in the back. A scruffy version of the man I knew appeared to be asleep in the driver’s seat.

I drove past the Jeep to the Hunan Palace located in the corner of the strip mall. It was next to Paintin’ Place, and long ago I’d come to appreciate their buffet. I bought two combo meals, left my car parked in front of their shop, and walked to the Jeep. The closer I got, the surer I was that it was Tex inside. He didn’t look good.

A faint stubble dusted his normally freshly shaven face. His dirty blond hair fell forward over one eye. His head rested against the headrest, eyes closed, and his chest rose and fell with even breathing.

I wondered how exhausted he must have been to fall asleep in his car in the middle of the Casa Linda parking lot in broad daylight. I had a feeling I knew what he was doing there in the first place.

I rapped on the front windshield, startling him. He stared at me for a few awkward moments, his icy blue eyes cloudy and unfocused from sleep. A stack of flyers sat on the passenger seat. From where I stood, I recognized images of the missing women. I was struck by the futility of handing out flyers in a parking lot in an attempt to find a lead.

“Night,” he said. He looked at my outfit and shook his head. “When are you going to start wearing dresses again?”

“When this job is over. Are you hungry?” I asked, changing the subject. I held up the bag of takeout.

“Hunan Palace?” he asked. I nodded. “Hop in.”

I circled the car. Tex moved the flyers from the seat to a webbed pocket inside his door and I climbed in. In the past year I’d learned how to get into and out of a Jeep in a dress; it was one of many new skills I’d picked since befriending the lieutenant. Today I was thankful for the pantsuit.

The car smelled like Christmas. I looked at the rearview mirror, the floor mats, and the pockets in the door, eventually spotting a green tree-shaped air freshener sticking out from under the seat.

I handed Tex a small container of white rice, took one for myself, and left additional containers of orange chicken and pork shu mai open between us. Nasty’s words flashed through my mind.
He’s not the man you think he is.
At least fifty different questions fluttered through my brain while I ate, none of them appropriate for the moment. All of the shu mai and most of the chicken was gone before I spoke.

“Do you want to talk about this thing that’s going on with you?” I asked.

“Not much to tell. Not yet, anyway.”

“I saw the news.”

“That’s only half of the story.”

“If I thought it was the whole story, I wouldn’t have gotten into your car.”

“Night, I would never hurt you.”

“I know.” It was obvious that Tex didn’t want to talk about the abductions. I tried out silence for a while, but when that proved awkward, I went with good old-fashioned get-to-know-you small talk. “Do you have any family around here?” I asked.

“What?”

“Family. You know, a mom. A dad. The people who raised you. Do they live in Dallas?”

He stared at me like I’d grown a second head. He finished chewing and leaned back against his seat, staring ahead at the windshield. I looked away and bit down on a messy piece of chicken.

“My dad split when I was six. My mother passed away when I was in high school.”

“Brothers? Sisters?”

“Both.”

“So there are more of you out there?” I said, trying to get a smile.

“My sister lives in Austin.”

“And your brother?”

“Killed in action.”

My initial assumption that he might like some company seemed far from accurate, and the shortness of his replies told me that he wanted me to leave.

“What about you? What’s your story?” he asked.

“You know my story. I worked at Pierot’s in Philadelphia. Fell in love. Got lied to and left.”

“That guy was a part of your life, but the way I’ve been figuring, there’s a lot of life that you’re not talking about.”

“What else do you want to know? I came to Dallas to start over. And then one day after I was done swimming, I found a dead body under the wheels of my car. You were there. You know the rest.”

I sat, silent, waiting for Tex to badger me into talking. I waited for three minutes, if the clock on the dashboard was to be trusted. As it turns out, three minutes is a relatively long amount of time.

“My parents died in a car crash when I was twenty-one,” I said. “I remember because it was the night before my midterms. They were the only family I had. When they were gone, it was just me.”

“What about your extended family? Aunts? Uncles? Cousins?”

“My parents were both only children. When they died, I was on my own.”

I stared at the empty containers scattered inside his car. Not only had I not gotten Tex to open up, but I’d succeeded in exposing my own old wounds. This wasn’t going well.

“I should be getting home,” I said. I picked up the empties and opened the car door.

He reached a hand out to stop me before I was out. “I’m here because I can’t sit around at home wondering what’s going on. Kate Morrow was abducted from this store.”

“You’re planning to make the parking lot your new residence?”

“Not just here. One of the other women was abducted from the bowling alley on Turtle Creek Boulevard. Another from the Mexican restaurant on Greenville, and another from the Cineplex.”

“So you’ve become a one-man surveillance operation.”

“There has to be something we’re missing. Officially, I’m on leave. Unofficially, I can sit in a parking lot and look for something unusual to happen.”

“Has anything unusual happened yet?”

“Aside from you showing up with the Chinese food? Not really.”

I smiled. “Are you going to be here tomorrow?” I asked.

“I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow.” He hesitated. “But maybe I’ll be back here tonight.”

“Okay, well, maybe I’ll bring you dinner.”

We held each other’s stare for a few seconds but neither of us moved. When I opened the door a second time, Tex didn’t stop me from leaving. Halfway to my car, the Jeep started. Tex pulled up next to me and rolled down the window.

“The Chinese takeout was a nice touch,” he said. “Next time bring eggrolls.” He smiled and drove away.

I stopped at Mad for Mod for the references of other contractors that Hudson had left for me and drove home. Effie and her boyfriend Chad sat on the front steps. Rocky lay on the sidewalk, legs spread out behind him, paws in front, face on the ground. He looked pooped.

“Sorry I’m so late. Something came up.”

“Madison, you remember Chad, right?”

I looked at the guy and smiled. “Yes, nice to see you again.”

He nodded his head once.

“I have to talk to Madison,” Effie said to him. “Alone.”

“I’ll wait by the car,” Chad said without looking at her. He pulled himself up with a hand on the loose metal banister and walked to the car parked by the curb.

I took Chad’s place on the steps. Rocky stood, turned around, and laid his head across my lap. “How did things go today?” I asked.

“Officer Nast was great. She took me to the police department and told them she wouldn’t let them talk to me without her. When we were done she gave me her phone numbers and email and told me I could call her anytime I wanted to.”

“Did she tell you she wasn’t a police officer anymore?”

“Yes, but she’s a security officer now so I’m still going to call her Officer Nast.”

“I’m glad things worked out.”

Effie reached out and rubbed the top of Rocky’s head. Her lips were pressed together, making their normally rosy shade turn white.

“Effie, what’s on your mind?”

“Chad thinks it’s a good idea if I move in with him. You’re not here every night, and even though I know you put in all those security devices, I don’t want to stay here alone.”

“I understand,” I said, because I really did. Even if I said I would stay in the building, we’d have separate schedules. Coming and going to the mostly empty complex would still have a solitary feel.

“I’m going to get my stuff over the weekend. I paid my rent through the end of the month, but once I’m out, I won’t come back. I know I should have given you sixty days. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t even worry about that. You can stay here as long as you want. If you decide to get your own place, let me know and I’ll write you a referral. You’ve been a very good tenant.”

“Madison, there’s something else.” She looked down at her feet. They were pointed toward each other, and the rubber of her worn-out sneakers was peeled away in two places. She reached down and pulled off a piece, tossed it to the side, and looked up at me. “I know you said Lt. Allen couldn’t have been the person who approached me last night, but I’m still scared of him. I know he comes here to see you and I don’t want to see him.”

“I thought when you saw him on the news, you knew it couldn’t have been him.”

“Yes, but I can’t help it. I’m still scared of him. That’s why I think it’s a good idea that I go with Chad.”

I looked at her boyfriend, leaning against his Prius, using his thumbs to type something on the screen of his phone. He was a tall, skinny guy in a faded Kiss T-shirt and ratty jeans, but to her, he was her protector.

“You can come visit Rocky whenever you like,” I said.

“Maybe he can come visit me?” she asked.

“Sure. When you’re ready, you give me the address and we’ll come by.” I stood and helped her up after me. We hugged. She got into Chad’s car and he pulled away.

And then there was one.

I drove back to the studio to check out my Asian-themed inventory. Before I moved to Dallas, Mad for Mod had been a vacant storefront on Greenville Avenue. The storage locker behind the shop had been in disrepair, with the doors falling off their hinges and the roof leaking in five places. In addition to the locker, the property came with a Dumpster, four parking spaces, and an unfortunate red zone in the front that had led to more than one parking ticket.

Half of the interior of the studio was staged with furniture to demonstrate the styles of room I’d design if a client hired me: Nelson bubble lamps, Saarinen tulip chairs and tables, low sofas with classic right angles, and the occasional bachelor bar, all filled the space. I’d recently rotated the inventory from the storage locker and set up Tiki windows, with collections of mugs, hula girls, Polynesian lamps and ashtrays. I even found a couple of old blowfish lights in the trash when La Calle Doce renovated, and put them to good use, suspending them from the ceiling and using battery-operated dollar store flicker lights to illuminate them.

The other half of my studio was my office. Less than half, actually. A narrow hallway led to the back portion of the store, and my office sat on the left-hand side. One wall was covered floor to ceiling in cork squares where I pinned inspiration pictures and stills from Doris Day movies for potential rooms. Cleo and Dan Tyler had taken a particular liking to the cork wall.

Two weeks ago I’d pinned the four paint chips from Paintin’ Place to the top of the cork wall. At the time I’d thought surrounding myself with the swatches would keep me from forgetting them. Maybe I should go with famous architects. Paul McCobb yellow. Yellow like corn. On the cob. Corn on the McCobb Yellow.

I was losing my mind.

I sat behind my desk. It was a patchwork of surface, drawers, and mismatched legs from different pieces of furniture that were otherwise unsalvageable. Two Barcelona chairs sat opposite the desk. A molded fiberglass desk chair sat behind it. Cabinets next to the desk held swatch books and blank sketch pads, an electric coffee pot, and an industrial-sized box of vanilla wafers, my current favorite afternoon pick-me-up snack.

Rocky curled up on his fluffy dog bed and chewed on his rope bone. I located a list of contractors from the file and left messages with the first four on the list. The afternoon sun was high in the sky, bringing with it the perfect amount of sun to illuminate the storage locker. I put the paper aside and planned to try again later.

I filled bowls with food and water for Rocky and left him in the office while I went out back to root through my inventory. I amassed a pile of bamboo, paper lanterns, and stacks of pillows with vintage Oriental needlepoint patterns. The bright sun had brought an uncomfortable level of heat and humidity with it, but I was too lost in the project to quit.

“Excuse me,” said a voice from the doorway.

I looked over my shoulder. A strange man in a dark uniform blocked the exit. I was wrangling a long red tufted cushion between a table and a bookcase when I turned to face him.

“Can I help you?” I called.

“Dunno. Are you Madison Night?”

“I am.”

That’s when I saw the knife in his hand.