Opal Fire Page 11

  He strolled around the office, eyeing awards, stories, and photos that lined the walls.

  His back was to me when he spoke again. “But this is a tourist town, and frankly, occupancy rates have been down, which means less revenue. Less revenue means cutting spending, maybe even jobs.” He stopped and looked at me. “I don’t want to see that happen to my town. Our location is central to the Midwest. Visitors can bypass us and head to Milwaukee, St. Louis, Chicago, but they don’t. They come here. And do you know why?” He turned to face me.

  “Chili dogs?”

  He shook his head, as if that were a serious guess. “They come here because they feel safe in our friendly little community.”

  I thought about Cinnamon threatening her customers with bodily harm, Monique handing out free Viagra with a whip strapped to her thigh, and Lolly operating at half-mast most of the time.

  I didn’t even feel safe in this town.

  Nevertheless, I nodded in agreement.

  “So, I’m not so sure that a story about a body discovered inside the wall of one of our quaint establishments would be good for business. Do you follow me?”

  “I know you’re not asking me to compromise my ethics, Mr. Mayor.”

  He laughed. “Nothing like that. But if you could wait until the weekday edition, I’d sure appreciate it.”

  I hesitated. Then said, “I guess I can do that.”

  The Mayor nodded and grabbed his coat, crossing to the door. When he reached the handle, he looked back. “Might be a good idea to leave out some of the specifics. If the killer is still in the area, we would want some leverage.”

  “I’ll talk to Leo about what he thinks is important in that regard.”

  “You do that.” He nodded and smiled before he left.

  Derek walked in a few minutes later. “No sign of the chief. I’m headed out.” I asked him to snap some photos for the copy before he went in search of a fresh pork product.

  It took half an hour to pump out a rough draft on the murdered girl. I omitted the details of the case—the costume, the suspected strangulation. I saved the file to a flash-drive, emailed a copy to Derek, so he could match a photo to it and tucked the drive into my bag. Then I left a message for Gladys to search the archives for any missing girls from the mid-eighties to nineteen-ninety. Something about the hair in my vision told me that girl was an old school Bon Jovi fan.

  The soap in the bathroom was like waxed paper but I used it to wash up anyway. I parted the blinds near the front door of the office and spotted a police cruiser at the curb, so I waited, then snuck out the back door ten minutes later.

  “Stacy Justice, you’re under arrest,” were the words that greeted me.

  CHAPTER 12

  “I am not amused!” I yelled through the bars at Leo.

  “You assaulted a police officer. That’s a felony,” he said and locked the cage. Then he was gone.

  I sighed and sat heavily on the bench, pouting and cursing Leo under my breath. He confiscated my bag, so I couldn’t even get any work done, or read the Blessed Book. Who was going to bail me out if he didn’t drop this? Birdie wasn’t around. I didn’t know what Cin was up to, but I was sure she had her hands full. Chance? Yeah, right, then I’d have two jailors to contend with. That’s when I remembered the note that was shoved in my pocket.

  I took it out and unfolded it.

  The text was printed in all caps. DOWN AND DIRTY, 1PM. COME ALONE. I HAVE INFORMATION FOR YOU.

  There was a clock across the hall and it read 12:53. Crap.

  I read the note again, running my hands over the penciled letters, willing a vision to come to me, anything that would indicate who it was from. I closed my eyes. Nothing. So much for these “gifts” Birdie was always ranting about.

  “Leo, you have to let me out!” I screamed.

  “Is that it?”

  I popped my eyes open and crumpled the note.

  “What?”

  “Is that the message Chance was talking about?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” I crossed my legs and tried to look demure.

  Leo held up my black leather satchel. “It’s not in here, so my guess is that’s the big secret you’re holding.”

  “The big secret is you’re an ass.” I made my way to the bars. “Let. Me. Out.”

  “Not until you tell me what that note business was all about.”

  “You’re abusing your powers, chief,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “I can wait all day.”

  “Well you just might have to,” I said and stuffed the paper in my mouth, chewed and swallowed.

  A vein throbbed in Leo’s forehead and he said, “You are just as stubborn as your grandmother.”

  I narrowed my eyes and said, “And just as powerful.”

  Not even close, but I was betting he wouldn’t call my bluff.

  For a split second, his eyes flashed uncertainty. Then his lips molded into a grin and he said, “You could have just flushed it, you know.”

  Before I had time to process that yes, there was a commode behind me, his radio beeped. “Hey, chief. We have a situation here.”

  Leo put the radio to his mouth, his eyes still on me. “What is it, Gus?”

  “Yeah, um, you need to get to the firehouse.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you remember Mr. Peterson was building a plane in his backyard? Yeah well, he thought he’d test out the engine so he drove it down here and now he can’t get it back up the hill.”

  Leo paused and blew out some air.

  “Why didn’t he just fly it?”

  “No wings.”

  Leo tapped the bars.

  “So call some of the CoPs and push it back up the hill.”

  “Already did, but Jed and Jeb knocked back a few and they’re arguing about which one gets to steer.” Gus paused. There was shouting in the background. “Hey, break it up!”

  Rustling came through the radio, followed by more yelling and then a buzzing sound.

  “Gus! Gus!” Leo demanded. There was another pause.

  “Hey Leo,” said Tommy Delaney after several seconds.

  “What the hell is happening, Tommy?” Leo asked.

  “You better get down here. Deputy Dog just tasered himself.”

  “Christ. I’ll be right there.”

  Leo was contemplating if the streets would be safer with me locked up and I shot him the deadliest look I could muster.

  “No,” was all I said.

  The door was heavy, but he slid it open with ease and pulled me to him for a lingering kiss, which my mind objected but my body didn’t.

  When we parted, I searched his eyes for an emotion.

  “Do I smell chili?” he asked.

  By the time Cin picked me up it was close to 2pm.

  “Drop me off at the corner, wait a few, then come inside,” I told her.

  Cin shot me a gaze over her sunglasses. “Who do you think you are, Nancy Drew?”

  “I just want to get to the bottom of this creepy little guy slinking around town.”

  “What’s with all the cloak and dagger stuff? And who meets at a bar at one in the afternoon?”

  “I know. Weird, right?”

  I hopped out and sprinted up the block then pushed through the double doors of Down and Dirty, hoping my liaison was still inside.

  Monique had done a little decorating since the other night. Velvet heart pillows were tossed in booths; plastic ruby lips hung from the ceiling and every table had those tacky valentine candies in crystal bowls.

  I scanned the bar. It was dark and glittery, with no sign of the mustache man. I walked through and checked the bathrooms just to be sure, then hopped on a stool next to Scully.

  Monique wove her way through a beaded curtain and sashayed up to the bar, wearing a red and white satin cupid costume with huge, heart shaped, feathered wings floating behind her.

  She aimed her bow and arrow at me and said, “You better be here to drink, bec
ause I’m not in the mood for any bullshit.”

  “Hello to you too, Monique. Still spreading the love, I see.”

  She blinked false purple lashes at me.

  Scully tried to order a beer and Monique interrupted him, “Don’t you have a home?” Then to me she said, “Can’t your cousin set up a beer tent or something on the sidewalk? This guy’s a pain in the ass.”

  Cinnamon walked in then and said, “Not as easy as it looks is it?”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake. What do you want?” Monique barked.

  A bemused smile spread across my cousin’s face as she sized up Monique’s attire.

  “Aren’t you supposed to return the costume when you graduate from clown college?” Cinnamon asked.

  “You see, this is why I want to douse you with gasoline every time I see you,” Monique fired back.

  Really poor choice of words. Before Cinnamon tried to implant a bar stool in her head, I said to Monique, “Monique has anyone been in here asking about me?”

  Monique opened the cooler and pulled out a Pabst Blue Ribbon, clipped the top open with her crimson talon and slid the beer to Scully. Then she turned to me and said, “Actually, yeah. Short guy, mustache, talks funny.”

  That was him.

  “What did he say?” I asked.

  Monique shrugged. “Just wanted to know if you’d been in here. He waited about a half hour then took off.”

  “Damn,” I said.

  “What, are you into trolls now, Stacy? Because I could take Leo off your hands.”

  I just bet she would. Monique would take the entire defensive line of the Chicago Bears if she could. Including the Gatorade boy.

  I felt Cin stand on point next to me and I grazed her hand, signaling that I didn’t need assistance.

  “Monique, I realize that it’s a short list of men in this town you haven’t tied up, held down or sent to the free clinic, but why don’t you just leave Leo alone. At least until he can update his vaccinations.”

  Monique smoothed out her feathers and said, “Very cute. So, you drinking or what?” Cin ordered us a round and Monique dug in the cooler for more beer.

  Before I had a sip, my cell phone rang.

  “What’s up, Gladys?” I answered.

  “Hello, Stacy. How are you?” Work or no work, Gladys thought it was rude to just get to the point.

  “Good, thanks. You?”

  “I’m fine. Picked up a nice chicken for dinner.”

  “Did you get my message?”

  “Maybe you come by for dinner, eh?”

  “Maybe. Gladys, did you find anything out?”

  “Sorry, Stacy. Nothing on the computer files about a missing girl.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Ya.”

  I ran my hands through my hair as I thought about that and a red bean fell out. “What about the hard copies? There have to be hard copies archived in the library at least.”

  “No. Gone.”

  “What do you mean gone?” Why was I repeating myself?

  “Ya. Gone. No hard copies.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Gladys didn’t know how to respond to that, so she didn’t. Instead she said, “So, you come for chicken?”

  “I’m not sure, Gladys. I’ll let you know, okay?”

  “Sure, sure,” she said.

  I thanked her and we disconnected.

  Cin was sipping her beer, staring at me. I grabbed her arm and dragged her into one of the private booths and drew the curtain.

  “Why does an historic town not have any newspaper records?”

  My cousin shrugged. “They were in the library for years, but the last fire chief thought they could be a hazard.”

  “Why?”

  “Because space is limited, so the librarians started stacking papers up the chimney. Then they forgot all about them until the high school put on A Christmas Carol and—”

  I held up my hand to cut Cin off. “Got it.”

  “What’s this about?”

  The story poured from me quickly. The girl’s clothes, the ‘K’ pin, the fact that someone must have reported her missing. I was sure there might have been an investigation and the paper would have covered it. The problem was I didn’t know if this girl was from Amethyst. If she was from another town, I wasn’t sure I’d find anything in the local paper.

  But I had to start somewhere.

  “Are you sure about the time frame?” Cin asked.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, conjuring up the image of the dead girl I saw in the mirror. It was still vivid, the hairstyle, the makeup.

  “Pretty sure.”

  “I think I can help,” Cin said, smiling wickedly.

  Scully was still perched on his bar stool when we returned and there was a young couple in the corner. The woman didn’t look too pleased as feathers smacked her in the face while Monique’s boobs entertained her date.

  “Scully,” Cin said, squeezing next to her ex-best customer. “I need a favor.”

  “So!” Scully said, still drinking his beer and not looking at her.

  “Dammit, Scully, you are dangerously close to pissing me off. Do not forget I am the only bartender in town who will run you a tab.”

  Scully frowned, his face a tree trunk.

  “What do ya want?” he asked.

  “I need you to let me and Stacy rummage through your newspaper collection.”

  Scully put his beer down. For the first time ever, I think.

  “No,” he said slowly. His watery eyes gaining focus.

  “Yes. It’s really important, Scully,” Cin urged.

  “Why should I?” he asked, squaring off with her.

  “Because I asked nicely, you toothless old crocodile!”

  That wasn’t the approach I would have taken, but my cousin had her methods.

  “Bah!” Scully said and turned back to the ale.

  Cin’s fist flexed and I was afraid she might cold-cock him. Instead, she bit her lip and I waited.

  “Okay. How about this?” She hesitated and looked at me. “If you do...” She scratched her chin. “I will...” Cin glanced around then bent towards Scully and whispered, “...erase your tab.”

  And that was when I discovered Scully had legs.

  When we got to Scully’s apartment over the bookstore on Main Street, the bubble of hope I held burst.

  The entire tiny apartment was floor-to-ceiling newspapers. No television, no kitchen table, no couch. Newspapers.

  I raised one eyebrow at Cinnamon.

  “It’s a hobby,” she said.

  “It will take all of my child-bearing years to go through these,” I told her.

  Cin shook her head, stepping over a short stack of newspapers with a coaster on top. “They’re sectioned by decade.”

  I wrinkled my brow. “How many decades are we talking about?”

  Cin called out to Scully, who had wandered into another room. Or maybe he was just lost in the maze, I couldn’t be sure. “Scully, how long you been collecting?”

  “Oh, ‘bout sixty years, I guess,” he called.

  “Want to order a sandwich?” Cin asked me.

  Two avocado turkey wraps and four hours later, we found it.

  “There!” I said to Cinnamon. Scully had fallen asleep on a futon that passed for his bed and was snoring. He woke with a start when I yelled.

  Cin had just pulled a stack of newspapers from a built-in bookshelf near the radiator and on the top, in a black and white photo, was Kathy’s face.

  I stared at the picture, so enthralled with the beautiful, haunting eyes of this young wisp of a girl that I nearly forgot to read the caption.

  She was wearing a taffeta dress and short black heels, a ‘K’ pin over her heart. The same pin that now lay on the coroner’s workspace. Next to her, his arm casually draped over her bare shoulder, was a tall football player wearing a bejeweled crown.

  The caption read: In a 42-14 sweep, the Amethyst Eagles beat the Briertown Bucks. Shown her
e is Matthew Huckleberry, homecoming king, and his date, Kathy Sims, of Culver City.

  Culver City. Clever Costumes. Bingo.

  Cin was reading over my shoulder and I heard a small gasp leave her lips. My eyes were glued to the page and I read the caption again.

  “What are you thinking, Stacy?” she asked softly.

  Matt Huckleberry was Huck’s son from his second marriage. The paper indicated he was a senior in 1989 and although I didn’t really know him since he was much older than me, he was a celebrity of sorts having carried the team to the state championship for four consecutive years.

  I looked over my shoulder at Cinnamon. “We have a name.”

  Cin groaned. “Huckleberry.”

  I traced the photo with my fingers. “No, cuz, I mean Sims.” I picked up the newspaper, studying the girl’s face. “Kathy Sims.”

  CHAPTER 13

  It was that time of year when the sky darkens so early you can’t tell if it’s dinnertime or bedtime, but I was sure it was getting late and Thor was probably turning blue. Cinnamon agreed to drive me home but she had to pick up Mario first at Angelica’s request.

  An only child myself, I supposed the bonds of sibling love were loosely tied.

  Cin led the way up the steps and I followed her. Aunt Angelica would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t at least pop in and say ‘hello’, so I did, against my better judgment.

  She was tinkering in her workshop, a rich marinara piping out the essential oils of basil and parsley. Pavarotti floated from the CD player.

  “Hi Aunt Angelica,” I said leaning in to kiss her cheek. She hugged me with one arm, concentrating on the sauce.

  “Stacy, my little cannoli, you stay for supper?”

  “Sorry, just tagging along for a ride,” I said.

  “Well, I fix a plate for you to take.” She reached for a ceramic bowl with pasta in it just as Mario walked into the kitchen.

  “Che curve,” he said. This was directed at me, although I had no idea what he said.

  Angelica heard it too and smacked her brother upside the head with a wooden spoon, so I assumed it wasn’t exactly an appropriate comment.

  Cinnamon’s annoyance quota for the day had been met, which she made clear by announcing, “Uncle Mario, we go. NOW.”