“And you’ve never done something so ridiculous that it bears repeating?” I asked, with a mock-offended tone.
People burst out laughing as they continued on their way. I looked down at the dogs.
“Well? This had better be good.”
“Oh, it is, Zachary,” Jillian answered, using a low, soft voice. “Guys? Do you see him?”
“I do, indeed,” Vance said, as he silently returned my backpack.
“Who do you see?” I quietly asked.
“Our mystery man is right over there!” Jillian excitedly told me, in a hushed tone. “Do you see that Chinese take-out place across the street?”
I shielded my eyes and looked for myself. “The Dragon’s Den?”
“Apparently, our mystery man doesn’t feel like cooking tonight,” Vance observed. His phone was out and he was tapping out text messages just as fast as he could.
“Are you sure it’s him?” I anxiously asked.
“Sherlock and Watson spotted him first,” Jillian said. “They both jerked awake like someone had hit them with a cattle prod.”
Tori pointed north. “We’re pretty sure he was headed south, on Esplanade, when he ducked into that little restaurant.”
“Did anyone make eye contact?” Vance wanted to know, as the four of us headed toward the tiny eatery.
The girls shook their heads no. Sherlock and Watson, I’d like to point out, had switched to their Clydesdale personas and were threatening to hurry me along, whether I wanted to or not. Wrapping their leashes securely around my hand, I reined them in and, when they finally turned back to give me a look commonly referred to as corgi stink eye, I waggled a finger.
“Easy, guys. If he’s in there, we don’t want to spook him.”
“Agreed,” Vance said.
“Maybe the guy is just hungry,” I decided.
Vance gave me a condescending look. “Zack, he’s responsible for poisoning dozens of people, plus putting a toe tag on one of them, remember? It was a premeditated attack, and Red, here, is our prime suspect. Don’t forget that.”
“Well, how do you want to handle this?” I cautiously asked, as we positioned ourselves by an empty table on the restaurant’s patio. “Should one of us go in?”
“The only one who will go in will be the one who’s presently armed,” Vance responded, matter-of-factly.
This took me by surprise. “Wait, you brought your gun? On vacation?”
Vance looked back at me as he headed toward the restaurant’s front door. “Does this look like we’re still on vacation?”
Once Vance had disappeared into the Dragon’s Den, Tori looked at me and shook her head.
“It’s not his service revolver, but the smaller .38 he carries on his ankle. I tried to tell him he wouldn’t need it, but to be fair, he does on this particular occasion.”
“I’ll give you that. Whoa, heads up! Vance is back. Hey, pal, what is it? You look pissed.”
“He’s not in there,” Vance informed us, scowling. He handed me a To-Go menu. “I cased the place. It didn’t take long, ’cause there’s not a lot of room in there. Zack, he wasn’t in there.”
“Maybe he was an employee?” Jillian hopefully asked.
“I asked about that, too,” Vance said. “All of the staff have been there since about noon, and no one has left the place since they got there. Too busy.”
“All three of you saw him go in there,” I said, looking at my three companions, who nodded. “And now he’s gone? Could he have slipped out the back?”
“There isn’t a back door to the place,” Vance told me. “I checked.”
“Maybe not for customers, but I’ll bet they do for employees,” I argued. “Is there a possibility he slipped through the back and out that door?”
“Let’s go see if there is a back door,” Jillian said.
Several minutes later, Vance was cursing like a sailor.
“How did I miss this?”
“What I want to know,” Jillian began, as she threw another dark look Vance’s way after another expletive was shouted to the heavens, “is how did our guy know to even use the back door in the first place? Wouldn’t that suggest he knew he was being watched?”
Vance stopped ranting and stared at Jillian with disbelief.
“What?” my fiancée nervously asked. “It’s a valid question, isn’t it?”
Vance’s face softened and he took several deep breaths. “Sorry. Yeah, Tor, I know. I owe the swear jar back home a bundle. Well, I can afford it now.” Tori chuckled, but didn’t say anything. Vance looked at Jillian. “You just asked the million dollar question. It sounds like we were set up.”
I pointed at the dogs. “They don’t seem too concerned. Sherlock? Watson? Mr. Red Hair managed to give us the slip. Again. Would either of you care to take up the challenge in whether or not he can be found?”
Sherlock shook his collar, looked at his packmate, and immediately veered left. There, just to the side of the discreet doorway leading into the back of the Dragon’s Den was a large green dumpster with a heavy black plastic lid. Sherlock and Watson trotted over to the waste bin, looked back at me, and promptly sat.
Driven by curiosity, I gently propped the lid up to peer inside. A foul stench wafted out. Actually, I think the air shimmered, much like a heat wave. That’s how badly it stunk. With watering eyes, I yanked my shirt over my nose and handed the leashes to Jillian. Looking inside, I quickly forgot about the noxious fumes.
“What is it?” Vance asked. “What’d you find?”
Sensing I had found something worthwhile, Jillian handed me a napkin, so that I couldn’t contaminate my find. Holding the item firmly in my hand, I turned back to my friend. I held the item up, for everyone to see.
It was a latex mask.
“I think I know why he was able to give us the slip. Our mystery man has been wearing a mask this whole time!”
SEVEN
“Are you trying to see how many times I hear your name on a daily basis?” Detective Martins demanded, as he and his consultant exited their car. “What is it you think you’ve found?”
Vance turned to point at the Dragon’s Den directly behind them. “Our friend, the red-haired mystery man, was spotted a little while ago, inside this restaurant.”
Martins’ eyes widened with disbelief. “You’re kidding. And you four just happened to be outside?”
“We find it suspicious, too,” Vance confirmed. “I know this sounds weird, but if I didn’t know any better, then I’d say this punk was tailing us. He wanted us to spot him.”
“Tell me you know which direction he went,” Greg Plinth implored. “Tell me you and your team of forensic specialists …”
The consultant didn’t make the gesture, but I could easily picture him adding the air-quotes signs around the forensics specialists jab.
“… were able to tail him back to his secret lair.”
“Enough, Greg,” Martins snapped. “Samuelson? Do you have anything to back this up?”
Vance turned to point at the dumpster. “It’s over there, on the lid.”
Martins and Plinth wandered over to the dumpster. Snapping on latex gloves, Detective Martins gingerly lifted the latex mask and let out an exclamation of surprise.
“Our suspect was wearing a mask. That little miscreant has been playing us for fools.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Vance said.
“Did you see him drop this in there?” Greg asked.
Vance and I, and even Detective Martins, stared at the consultant as if he had just started talking in tongues and his head had twisted all the way around.
“He’s ditched the mask,” Martins said, growing angry, but thankfully much of that anger appeared directed at his companion. “I’d say he knew you four were out there, and that he wanted to make a clean getaway.”
“Then, why ditch the mask?” Jillian asked. “Won’t you guys be able to check it for DNA? Why would this person want to leave something like this behind?�
��
“Maybe he didn’t have a choice,” I suggested. “He had to have seen us out there. If so, he would have recognized Vance and would’ve seen him entering the restaurant. He knew he had to get out of there.”
Detective Martins nodded. “We’ll take the mask and see if we can get anything off of it. Prints or DNA, I really don’t care. Anything would be helpful at this stage. So, what’s next for you guys?”
I turned to look back at the restaurant. Appetizing smells were wafting my way, and I’m sure I was moments away from having my stomach growl at me.
“Hey, I’m thinking we’re going to find someplace to have lunch.”
Vance laughed and we bumped fists. “Glad I wasn’t the only one thinking it.”
“Do you guys like dogs?” Martins asked, as he softened his voice.
I looked down at the corgis and nodded. “Obviously.”
It was the detective’s turn to laugh. “No, not those, but dogs. Hot dogs. There’s a fantastic little place just up the street. They’ve got a great selection to choose from.”
I nodded. “Thanks, amigo. We’ll take you up on that. If you get any hits on that mask, would you let us know?”
The consultant’s face immediately frowned, which suggested he was all for withholding any information until the wager had been won. Martins, on the other hand, was nodding.
“I will. Oh, Mr. Anderson, there’s one more thing.”
The four of us had just started moving in the direction we were told to go when, in unison, we all turned.
“Yes?”
“Stop calling us.”
I gave him a two-fingered salute. “I’ll do my best.”
Ten minutes later, we were two blocks north. In front of us was a prime example of a two-story Creole townhouse. The building was painted a vibrant, tropical blue color, which included the second floor. From what I could tell, the structure was built using the brick-between-posts style common in Creole construction. The second story had a huge balcony encompassing the entire upper floor. Protecting the balcony was an ornate wrought-iron railing, which had iron support beams running down to the ground below every seven feet in order to help support the weight.
“That’s the kind of balcony I’d love to have,” I said, grinning. “Then again, that style might look rather weird back in Pomme Valley.”
Jillian looked up at the second story and shook her head. “Gallery.”
“Huh?”
“That, up there? It’s a gallery, not a balcony.”
“What’s the difference?” Vance wanted to know.
“If there are support beams running down to the sidewalk below,” Jillian explained, as she pointed at the closest one, “then that means the city can tax the building’s owner, since the sidewalk belongs to the city. In this case, you can see that the gallery runs the entire length of the floor. It’s quite common with these Creole-style buildings.”
“Personally, I love it,” I said. “Reminds me of Disneyland.”
Tori nodded. “New Orleans Square. It’s my favorite land there. This is clearly where Disney drew his inspiration.”
Vance pointed at a couple of empty tables on the second floor. “Want to grab those? Tori and I will go order some food.”
“Are we allowed up there?” I asked. “Don’t forget about Sherlock and Watson.”
“Oh. I’ll ask.” Vance ducked through the doorway. Moments later, he was back. “Yep, same rules as PV. As long as the dogs stay on the patio, or in this case the balcony …”
“Gallery,” Jillian, Tori, and I interrupted.
“Whatever. As long as they stay on the gallery, then they’ll be fine. The cashier said there’s a spiral staircase right around the corner.”
Once we had our food in front of us, and we put out another bowl of water for the dogs, the four of us clinked our bottles together.
“I can get used to this, pal,” Vance said, after he took a drink from his beer.
“Good,” I told my friend. “Just so you know, book royalties never stop. As long as the interest remains, and the books sell, we’ll continue to get those royalty checks.”
“I’m in the wrong line of work,” Vance mumbled, more to himself than anyone. “Tor? Are you sure you don’t want a bite?”
“That is disgusting,” Tori returned. “I know full well you ordered an alligator dog. I’m not coming anywhere near you until you brush your teeth.”
Vance hooked his foot through Tori’s chair and pulled her close. “C’mere, baby. Show me some love!”
“Oh, ewww! Gross! You nasty man.”
It might’ve sounded like Tori was upset, but she was giggling like a school-girl. Holding Jillian’s hand tightly in my own, we sat there, on the gallery of this Creole building, enjoying the view, the food, and the companionship. No one said anything. No one needed to.
Once we were done with lunch, and after being assured by the waitress that we would be able to remain on the gallery just as long as we’d like, the subject of tomorrow’s activities came up once again.
“So, whose idea was it to use our hotel’s convention center to host another book signing?” Jillian asked. She took my hand. “Was it you, Zachary?”
“Believe it or not, it wasn’t. I really don’t want to face another group of people, but MCU has been dropping some serious money on promoting this book, so I feel like I should, at the very least, try to do my part.”
“Are they going to bring in any of the other authors?” Tori wanted to know.
“I know the other MCU authors will be there. I don’t know about any other publishing companies. As far as I’m aware, MCU is the only one doing this.”
“Do you think there’ll be another attack?” Jillian worriedly asked.
“I sincerely doubt it,” Vance scoffed.
I shook my head. “Richard, at MCU, assures me that there’ll be plenty of security there. I doubt very much that they’ll put any of us at risk.”
“Without the big-name authors,” Vance began, “will there be enough people there to warrant hosting one of these signings?”
I stared at my friend with mock outrage. “Thanks a lot, pal.”
“That’s not what I mean. Oomph! Damn, Tori, that one hurt. Look, I’m not trying to be a jerk or anything, I was just curious.”
“One thing I’ll say about my publisher,” I said, as I reached down to give the dogs a scratching, “is that they know what they’re doing. If they organize this thing, then that means people will show up. We just have to play our part. And, if no one does show? Well, I’ll bring a deck of cards.”
Vance laughed. “You’re on.”
“Woof.”
Surprised, I glanced down at Sherlock. He was on his feet and staring intently at the steady flow of traffic passing beneath our feet.
“What is it?” I asked the dog, leaning down to stroke the fur on his back. “Smell something good? Or do you still smell Vance’s nasty …”
“Hey!” Vance protested. “Don’t knock it ’til you try it!”
After scanning the area and not finding anything which stood out, I pocketed my phone and sat back in my chair, reaching for my drink at the same time. That’s when I heard a whine, followed by someone shaking their collar, which usually meant Sherlock.
Pausing with my cup halfway to my mouth, I leaned forward and noticed both dogs seemed to be staring at the same fixed point in space, down at street level. However, thanks to the throngs of people slowly passing under us, I couldn’t tell what they were staring at.
“Their heads aren’t moving,” Jillian said, as she studied the dogs. “Everything down there is. I don’t know. Can anyone tell what they’re barking at?”
I started scanning the street when my eyes opened wide with surprise. There’s no way. He wasn’t that ballsy, was he?
“Oh, you’re not gonna believe this.”
Vance appeared at my side. “What? What’s the matter? Do you see something?”
“Yep,” I confirmed.
“I don’t want to point right at him, but I think you guys should know I believe Tweedledee is back.”
“You’re kidding,” Vance scoffed. “He’s a wanted man. I don’t think he’d be stupid enough to try tailing us again.”
“There’s a guy across the street,” I whispered, even though the tables next to us were empty, “and he appears to be leaning against that trash can there. You should be able to spot him. Einstein is still wearing the exact same outfit. No, you’re looking too far to the left. Umm, if I were to face him in that direction, he’d be at about 2:30.”
Vance looked across the street and searched for public garbage cans. A few moments later, I heard my friend spit out a soft curse. There, next to a small specialty bookstore, Vance had spotted our shadow.
“I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. It sure looks like the same guy. I mean, he obviously had another mask on him, unless he’s naturally red-headed with dreadlocks.”
“Can you see tattoos on his neck?” Jillian wanted to know.
Vance nodded. “Yep. I’m no expert, but they look the same as they did the last time. Can anyone see his shirt?”
The girls casually glanced over. Jillian started nodding. “Oh, I see him now. Black jacket, black pants, and black boots. I can’t quite tell what color his shirt is, I’m sorry.”
After a few moments, our notorious friend shifted his weight from his left leg to his right, which just so happened to cause his jacket to flare open, as if a gust of wind had caught it.
“Yellow,” Tori reported.
“The same shade as before,” I recalled.
“He’s staring straight at us,” Jillian added. “He knows we’re here, Zachary. Why does he keep following us? He has to know the police are out looking for him. Why did he come back?”
“He wants us to notice him,” Vance softly murmured. “He wants us to know he’s following us.”
Our mystery man must have decided he had lingered long enough to make his point. Moments later, he had joined a large group of identically dressed tourists and headed back the way we had come.
“Time to go,” Vance reported. “We are not losing him again.”
“Why does he keep revealing himself to us?” Tori asked, as we hurried down the spiraled stairs.
Case of the Ragin' Cajun Page 11
