* * *
Steele was already locking in on the bright-smiling woman’s personality type. She was both maternal and attention-starved at the same time. Nothing kooky, she just wanted someone to talk to… or talk at.
She handed them coffee in dainty cups, setting them on matching saucers. She took a large plate of chocolate chips cookies, liberally sprinkled with nuts, from the counter opposite where they sat. “Here you are. Please take all you want. They will play havoc with my figure.” She did a quick spin that was far too cutesy for Steele. He wondered if this was her attempt at flirting. And if not, why was she trying to distract them?
“So officers, how may I help you?”
“We need to talk to Julie Vernon,” Steele said. “I gather she is your daughter?”
“Oh, Julie! She’s at school. I do expect her any minute now, though.”
“Of course,” Flynt replied. “She attends community college?”
“She does. She’s taking preliminary classes to be an accountant.”
Steele tried to imagine the girl he’d seen in the band photos crunching numbers. “How is the relationship between the two of you?”
He knew that most people would find this too personal—maybe even insulting. But this lady did not seem to care.
“We get along most of the time, though she hardly stays put when she comes home. She always goes out soon after school or work. A social butterfly, my Julie.” She followed this with a fluttery laugh, taking the plastic wrapping from the top of the cookie pile.
Flynt helped himself to one of the cookies and then took a second after a moment’s thought. Not wanting to seem rude, Steele also took one. It looked like some sort of oatmeal cookie. He checked it for raisins and saw none. Steele was a man of few pet peeves, but people ruining perfectly good cookies with raisins was one of them.
Just as he bit into his cookie, they could hear the front door opening and then slamming closed.
“Julie?” Mrs. Vernon asked. “Is that you?”
“Yes, mom,” came an answer in a voice that was like something out of a Disney movie. Steele imagined Snow White, kneeling in the forest as all of the little woodland creatures came rushing out of the trees to greet her. “It’s me, your perfect daughter.”
Mrs. Vernon shook her head in a girls will be girls kind of way. It was a gesture that made Steele fairly certain that Julie Vernon could get away with just about anything as far as her mother was concerned.
“Could you come to the kitchen?” Mrs. Vernon asked. “We have visitors!” she crooned and smiled at the detectives.
Steele wondered why the woman didn’t introduce herself. He decided to take the lead.
“I didn’t get your name, miss…”
“Oh, I am so sorry,” she said with a laugh. “Pattie. Pattie Vernon. I guess you already knew the last name.”
“We did,” Steele said. He shook her hand and moments later looked over his shoulder to see the perfect daughter step into the room.
Julie Vernon was nothing like Steele imagined. She didn’t have her mother’s dulcet tones, which explained why she was the band’s bass player.
One mystery down.
She was delicately pretty, yet exuding a sexual magnetism that could easily cause men to be strung along. She was also dangerous in that it was hard to gauge her age based on the natural beauty of her face and the youthful smile she wore. She could have been twenty-three, but she could have also been fifteen. Her blonde hair flowed down her back, nearly touching the waistband of a very short skirt that flared out at the bottom. Her striped blouse was buttoned all the way to the neck, a look that didn’t quite go with the hint of naughty in the skirt. She sported a backpack that showed the first cracks in the otherwise bubbly and pretty appearance. It was adorned with an Anarchy patch, as well as enamel pins sporting logos such as the Ramones, Bad Religion, and Black Flag. With the obvious sex appeal but the tiniest twinge of grungy darkness, she looked like a Senior Best nominee for “Most Likely to Get in Trouble.” Noah could easily see how this girl could be the top corner of a love triangle gone awry, with both Mark and Terry fighting to make it a straight line.
“Hello, Julie,” Steele offered.
Julie barely acknowledged him. She was too preoccupied with staring at Flynt with a raised brow. She was probably counting all of the things that were wrong with the man’s hair. Steele was just starting to get used to his partner’s appearance, but he understood how Flynt’s looks might be somewhat jarring to others.
Pattie broke up the awkward moment. “These gentlemen are police officers from…”
Steele wanted to be as non-threatening as possible and waved to Julie with the cookie in his hand. Smiling, he finished the introduction for Mrs. Vernon. “The precinct downtown.”
“Right,” Mrs. Vernon finished.
Julie seemed bored but polite. “Good afternoon officers, how may we help you?” Her tone bore traces of sarcasm.
“We’re conducting an investigation that involves your band,” Steele explained, circling vaguely around the point.
“What about my b—”
“Your drummer is dead,” Flynt said, absentmindedly.
“Good grief, Flynt,” Steele said under his breath—with just enough hiss for his partner to hear him. The next chance they got, he was going to have to sit his partner down and explain the art of tact and subtlety.
“Dead? Mark?” She looked genuinely shocked. Her bottom lip trembled as emotion took her over.
“Bloo…Bloody?” Julie stammered.
“Very,” Flynt replied.
“She meant his name,” Steele said firmly. “Flynt, do you want to wait outside?”
“Why would I—”
“Go, Flynt. Now.”
Flynt weakly smiled and stood up from the barstool. He took his cookies with him. He looked as if he didn’t mind being asked to leave, making Steele assume it happened many times with his former partner. It made Steele regret being so snippy with him.
Just as Flynt was out of the kitchen, Julie rushed forward and vomited into the sink.
“Oh dear, Julie which boy is he?” her mother asked. She was right there, all concern and sympathy. She held her daughter’s head back as she retched a second time.
When she was done, Julie rinsed her mouth out, spat into the sink, and then turned to face Steele. She was crying, that pretty bottom lip still trembling.
“What happened?” she asked as soon as she caught her breath.
“He was murdered.” He left it at that. Thanks to Flynt, there was no sense pulling punches now.
“Oh, God,” Mrs. Vernon threw her hand up to her mouth.
Julie retched again but managed to keep the contents of her stomach down this time. When she was able to draw in a confident breath, she asked: “Where?”
“He was found at the storage unit,” Steele said. “Do you have any idea what he might have been doing there by himself?”
“He liked to practice late into the night,” she said. “Terry was always so hard on him, telling him he was a terrible drummer and needed to practice.” She spoke like a woman that just woke up from a dream. She turned to wipe her mouth with a paper towel from the counter.
That little tidbit was news to Steele. He pried a little further, not wanting to tread on her feelings too much. “How would you describe Terry and Mark’s friendship? Did they get along?”
“God, no. They hated—” Julie caught herself. “I mean they weren’t really good friends, but Terry would never hurt Mark if that’s what you’re thinking. They all had their issues as most band members do, but nothing terrible.”
“Of course not.”
Loud sobs ripped out of Julie. Her mother hugged her tight. Noah looked down and focused on the grout between the kitchen tiles. He was always very uncomfortable with people’s grief.
Then, out of nowhere, Flynt was back in the room. He stepped to the counter quietly and grabbed three more cookies. He eyed Julie sadly and said, “S
orry for your loss.”
He then headed back out of the kitchen. Steele watched him go, wondering how anyone with such clueless regard for personal matters and manners could have ever made it onto the police force.
“Who did it?” the mother asked.
“We don’t know yet.”
“I hope you get them,” Julie sobbed. “I hope you catch whoever it is.”
“We’re trying to. That’s why we were hoping you could answer a few questions.”
She nodded. “Of course. I’ll answer anything I can.”
“When did you last see Mark?”
“Rehearsal, yesterday.”
“Did everything go well?”
“Yeah. We’ve been working on some new covers. Some Dillinger Escape Plan, a few Deftones tracks. We were sounding pretty good.”
“When did you leave rehearsal?”
“Six.”
“We have a curfew in this house,” Pattie said, adding her two cents. “Unless they have a show. And when they do have a show, either me or my ex follow her there. It’s not quite our scene, but we like to support our little girl.”
“Julie, can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Mark?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I really don’t.” She paused, doing her best to think. Steele could tell that she was legitimately trying to find something to tell him. “Well,” she finally added, “there was this time when we were practicing and just minding our business when that guy from the next unit over started trouble.”
“We’ve already been to see Miles MIller. Can you think of anyone else?”
Julie shook her head, and Flynt reappeared. “Mrs. Vernon?” he asked. “I don’t suppose you would surrender the recipe for these cookies, would you? They’re really something.”
Pattie nodded. For a moment, Steele wanted to grab his partner by the neck and shove him out the door, into the street. But then he realized that his partner’s idiocy was actually helping to put Julie at ease. He wondered if Flynt was behaving in such a way on purpose. If so, the man was much smarter than Steele was giving him credit for. Instead of kicking him out, Noah came up with a reason to keep him in the room.
“Flynt, do you have the pictures of the two thief kids? What did you call them? Jugglers?”
“Oh,” Flynt said, stepping closer and pulling out his phone. “The Juggalos, yeah.”
Before Flynt could even show the picture from the security cameras, Julie said: “Oh, not those two.”
“You know who we’re talking about?” Steele asked.
She glanced down at the picture and nodded. “Yeah. Josh and Ryan. They’re total wannabes. I don’t even think the older Juggalos like them. You don’t…” She sniffled, holding back tears. “You don’t think they killed Mark, do you?”
“They triggered the storage unit’s alarm last night,” Steele said. “But it was after Mark was killed.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Julie said. “They were trying to steal something?”
“That’s our assumption. So…any cross words or situations with those two?”
“Not really. Just…ugh. No one really likes them. Most people try to stay away from them.”
“Juggalos,” Flynt said. “Is it still even a thing?”
“Yeah, more popular than I thought,” Julie said. “There’s something of a little movement going on lately. I don’t get it.”
“Any idea how we can find Josh and Ryan?” Steele asked.
Julie came up with more than a few ideas. She named three different hangouts she referred to them as sideshows. Steele wasn’t sure if this was the actual vernacular used by the Juggalos or not. He took the name literally and pictured night scenes full of red noses and white face paint. Julie must have seen his confusion; she explained that was what they called venues that catered more to Juggalos than Punks. She also added that there weren’t many of them.
“Thank you,” Steele said. “That helps a lot. Just a few more questions, if you don’t mind. We just came from Terry’s house; he says the two of you are in a relationship. Is that correct?”
Julie nodded, though a bit hesitantly. Not surprising at all, Mrs. Vernon had something to add to this as well. “Such a nice boy.”
Steele decided not to argue against that point. “Is it serious?”
“What does that mean?” Julie asked.
“Well, the reason I ask is that we think Mark might have had feelings for you. Did you ever get that impression from him?”
“What?” She looked genuinely surprised. Maybe even a little baffled. “No. What makes you think that?”
“His poetry,” Flynt said. “And he wrote you a love letter. So…”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Steele said, trying to shut him up without being blunt or rude. “Julie, are you saying that Mark never made any mention of his feelings?”
“Well, now I’m not sure. He said a lot of nice things, but…” She looked down, shrugging. “I guess I didn’t know how to take them. I thought he was just being nice.”
“I wouldn’t feel bad about it,” Noah said. “He seemed like a pretty private person from what we can tell.”
Julie crossed her arms and seemed to try moving away from the whole romance idea. She still looked frazzled, like a very pretty deer in the headlights. “You’ll get them, won’t you?” she asked. “Whoever did it?”
“Yes,” Steele said. “Whoever killed your friend will be going away for a long time.”
Pattie closed a cupboard with a bang. She gave a sheepish shrug of apology and handed Flynt a thick index card. “Here you go, officer…”
“Flynt. Detective Flynt.”
“Yes. That’s the cookie recipe with chocolate and nuts. I double the chips. I also have one for the oatmeal, which your partner seemed to like. I have one with raisin as well and—”
Flynt interrupted. “No thanks. I hate raisins in cookies. It’s…gross.”
We do have something in common, Steele thought with a smile.
“Next time you’re in need of a haircut, I own Jack The Clipper, on Second Avenue,” Mrs. Vernon said. “Special discounts for my favorite detective.”
Is she flirting with him? Steele wondered in amazement.
“Maybe I’ll bring cookies,” Flynt replied, waving the recipe card.
“I think we’ve asked all we can for now.” Steele stood up and offered his best smile. Turning back to Julie he said, “If you think of anything else, please give us a call.”
He took a card from his pocket and wrote a number on the back, handed it to her and started towards the door.
“What about the key?” Flynt suddenly reminded him.
Good catch, Loverboy.
“Right,” Steele said. “Who has keys to the storage unit?”
“Everybody in the band, plus Paul and Tyler the sound guys. They keep some of their sound stuff in there.”
“Okay. Thanks again.”
“Bye officers,” Pattie said cheerfully, almost as if it were a social call instead of a murder investigation. “I mean, Detectives.”
Flynt turned and smiled from the door. There were cookie crumbs on the collar of his shirt. Pattie gave him a coquettish wave wiggling her fingers.
The detectives stepped out of the house’s cool interior, and into the increasingly oppressive heat outside. Steele squinted at the sun as he filed away everything they learned there into his own little mental file.
“Are you hungry?” Flynt asked.
“Well I just watched a young girl puke and cry over her dead friend,” Steele quipped, but then took a breath. “Yeah, sorry. We should eat.”
“Great. I know exactly where to go.”
Steele was worried about his partner’s taste but proud of the guy for actually suggesting a course of action, so he let it go. Plus, they had their mutual hatred of raisins in cookies, so there was that, too.
They got into the car and let Mindy show the way.
CHAPTER TEN
On the way to lunch, Ste
ele called in the new information Julie gave about the two Juggalos. Saying the word out loud made Steele feel like an idiot. He was well aware that the group was somewhat known for very minor gang activity and, in some cities, were even given the designation of a gang. But really, that was all he knew about them.
However, when discussing the new information, he discovered that there was already an APB out for them. Hopefully, the added details would bring the little troublemakers in sooner.
Five minutes later, Flynt and Steele were parking beside a Mexican place called Don Felipe Taqueria. Everything surrounding the restaurant felt neglected. The sidewalk was cracked and uneven, the parking meters were tagged with graffiti on their faces, and the nearest telephone pole hosted so many “missing pet” posters from over the years that it seemed to be made more of staples than wood.
Inside, however, was a perfectly clean and welcoming eatery. Steele quickly took note of the framed photos of uniformed officers that covered the wall to his right and realized why Flynt brought him here.
The hostess nodded and waved for them to take their pick of the many empty tables before them. Flynt took the lead, bringing them over to a booth that was up against the wall, bench on one half, two chairs on the other.
Before they could even speak, the hostess arrived with two glasses of water, chips, and salsa. The service was fast, but then again, the clientele was nil. They seemed to have missed the lunch rush. They were the only customers in the place. Flynt glanced around the room, searching for something. He looked a bit nervous.
“Looking for something?” Steele asked.
“No. It’s just that sometimes the other guys come here for lunch. Guess we’re kind of late.”
So he is nervous.
“Detective Flynt!”
A man’s voice called out from behind them. Steele turned and saw a Hispanic man moving towards them from the kitchen. He walked with a slight limp that most others likely wouldn’t have noticed.
Dead Beat (Flynt and Steele Mystery Book 1) Page 7
