There were plenty of innocent explanations. In any event, I’d found what I’d come for. As soon as I got home, I’d call Michael and . . .
And what? When I stopped to think about it, there wasn’t a whole lot Michael could do. Even if he agreed to question Dennis about parking on our street, which was unlikely in the first place, what would that get me? Parking wasn’t illegal, and I couldn’t say for sure that it had been Dennis.
With a resigned sigh, I turned and headed back again in the direction I’d come. If I wanted to know more about Dennis Shepherd, I’d have to make inquiries myself. And at the moment, Luke Martin was my best shot.
Martin’s house, a deeply weathered brown shingle, faced sideways on the lot. The entrance was down a path that ran parallel to the driveway. I made my way boldly along the walk, then hesitated at the door when I saw the placard over the bell.
We do not sign petitions, answer surveys, give to charity or buy anything at the door. If you don’t have an appointment, please don’t bother ringing.
I shifted my weight. He’d invited me, hadn’t he? Anytime but Thursday evening. Without giving myself time to reconsider, I punched the bell.
A moment later, Luke Martin’s gruff voice boomed from over my shoulder. “What is it?”
I jumped, turned to my left, in the direction of the sound, and noticed a small grill mounted on the wall.
“Hi,” I called out. “It’s Kate.” I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to address the grill or the door, so I tried doing both. “Remember me from a couple of days ago?” There was a stretch of silence during which I imagined him racking his brain for a woman named Kate.
Feeling my face redden, I added, “I was the one tailing your neighbor’s girlfriend.” I was still talking to the speaker grill when Luke Martin himself opened the door.
“Hey,” he said with a grin. “I never expected to see you again. Come on in.”
He wheeled his chair back, pulling the door open further. I stepped inside, pleasantly surprised at the sleek and simple beauty of the decor. Bare hardwood floors, sparse furnishings, lots of natural light, and a stunning array of paintings and photographs.
“Did you decide to take me up on that offer of a latte?” he asked.
I cleared my throat. “Actually, it was more the other part.”
“The other part.” He put a finger to his forehead. “You mean, information?”
I nodded.
He waved his hand in a theatrical gesture of disappointment. “I should have guessed.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m not about to let you off the hook, though.” He raised his gaze to mine and I caught a glint of amusement in his eyes. I began to relax. “Since you’re not dead set on coffee, how about mulled cider instead? I’ve got some already made. That way we won’t have to go out into the cold and damp.”
“Cider sounds good,” I told him, eyeing the painting in the hallway. A mountain meadow filled with wildflowers, and beyond them the snow-capped peaks of early summer. I could almost feel the rustle of wind against my skin.
I stepped closer. “This is beautiful.”
“It’s one of my favorites.”
“You painted it yourself?”
He laughed. “Hardly.”
“Someone you know?”
“I’ve met him, but I hadn’t when I bought it.” Luke Martin rolled his chair to a position where he had a better view of the painting. “The Wind River Mountains in Wyoming. You ever been there?”
I shook my head.
He stared at the picture for a moment longer. “My magic carpet,” he said softly. “It takes my mind where my body can’t go.”
My eyes slid from the painting to his strong, almost Slavic profile. I would like to have known how he came to be in a wheelchair.
“I’ve always loved the mountains,” he said. “The exhilaration of being alone in the wilderness is one of the things I miss most.”
Before I could fashion a suitable reply, he turned his chair abruptly. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get our cider and be right back.”
Luke Martin disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with two heavy ceramic mugs. “You changed your hair,” he said, handing me one.
Self-consciously, I touched the topknot of rigid curls. In my concern about the red Mustang, I’d forgotten Marlene’s makeover.
“It looks nice,” he added, without conviction.
I laughed. “No, it doesn’t. And it certainly doesn’t look like me. I just haven’t had a chance to wash it out yet.”
He laughed too, a full, rich sound that dispelled any lingering tension about my visit. “I did like it better loose.”
I took a sip of cider. It was warm and spicy and not too sweet. “You said you were a writer. What do you write?”
“Most of what I’m doing these days involves computers. Articles for computer magazines, some technical stuff— and, of course, the great American novel.”
“About computers?”
“About everything but.”
“Are you close to finishing?”
“The novel? I don’t know. Some months I think I’m almost there, and then the next thing I see is how it needs to be changed. Like Mrs. Winchester and her mystery house. Maybe I’m simply afraid to declare it done.” Luke Martin set his mug on the wooden chest that served as a side table, then crossed his arms. “So what’s your interest in Denny? I take it you’re not with a collection agency or some such thing.”
“Is he a deadbeat?”
“Not that I know of. But like I told you the other day, I don’t know him well.”
I wondered how best to explain my interest in Dennis Shepherd. The story was so convoluted that no matter what I told him it was bound to come out jumbled. Finally I said the first thing that came to mind. “His parents were the legal guardians of a fifteen-year-old girl, a student of mine, who was murdered last week.”
Luke’s eyes clouded. “Jesus, how terrible.”
“You might have heard about it. They found her body in Tilden Park.”
“Are you talking about the Parkside Killer? It’s been in the news all week. He killed another girl a couple of weeks ago, too.”
I nodded. “Only it might not be a serial killer. That’s only one theory.”
“And you’re looking into it?”
“Certain aspects anyway.”
He ran a hand along his jaw. “How come?”
“I knew Julie Harmon. She asked for my help just before she was killed, so I guess I feel guilty as well. In retrospect, I realize that she was troubled by something but I have no idea what. And there are a string of things that don’t make sense, too many to go into at the moment.”
“And Denny?”
“Julie wasn’t happy living with his parents. In fact, she thought she’d found an alternative arrangement.”
I filled him in a bit on Julie’s background and her excitement at the prospect of leaving the Shepherds. Luke listened attentively without interrupting.
“I don’t know exactly where Dennis fits in,” I said. “For one thing, Julie caught him searching her bureau drawers. And he didn’t seem particularly fond of her, for another.” I took a breath. “And he was parked on my street the other day, near my house. None of this makes sense objectively, I know, but it has gotten under my skin. I want to learn more about him.”
Luke frowned, sipped his drink. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to help you much.”
“Anything you can tell me, I’d appreciate it.”
“Well, he goes by Denny rather than Dennis. Moved in less than a year ago. He’s fairly quiet, except for when he plays the saxophone. Keeps to himself mostly. He’s got a job and goes to school, so I guess that doesn’t give him a lot of time.”
“Friends?”
“I’ve seen people around, but I never paid much attention.”
“Except for the women.”
The corners of his mouth twitched with humor.
“Right, except for the women. They’re the only ones who visit with any regularity.” Luke paused. “At first there was just the one.”
“Did she spend a lot of time there?”
“No. I don’t think so anyway. She might have spent the night once or twice, but then sometimes she wouldn’t show up for a week or so.”
“Is she the one I saw the other day?”
“No, that’s one of the others. She started showing up about four or five months ago. That’s when I started taking note, really. A kid his age, not exactly an Adonis, and he’s stringing along two, maybe three gals. I guess I found it curious.”
“You said you saw a young girl there as well?”
He nodded. “She stood out as being different from the others. Different look, different attitude. And she didn’t have a key the way the others do.”
I wished I’d thought to bring a picture of Julie. “Can you describe her?”
“Blond, slender, kind of a regal bearing.”
The description fit. “Did she stay long?”
“Couldn’t say for sure, but I don’t think so. One time I can tell you about for certain, she was only there ten minutes or so.”
I slid back in my chair, running my fingers over the worn leather upholstery. “What’s your impression of the guy?”
“Before you showed up, I’m not sure I’d taken the time to form one. We nod to each other when we pass on the street, which isn’t that often, mumble about the weather if we happen to retrieve the morning paper at the same time. I invited him over to share a pizza one rainy night when I couldn’t get my demons into their cages alone.” He paused. “Figuratively speaking.”
Our eyes met and Luke gave me an apologetic smile. “Do you have a lot of demons?” I asked.
“Probably no more than the next guy. Or gal.” Another smile, self-conscious but not without humor. “It’s just that they are terribly ill-behaved at times.”
I’d had similar moments, although I had a feeling that Luke Martin’s demons were far more obstreperous than mine. “From what little I’ve seen, you appear to handle them pretty well.”
“I guess so. Most of the time. But it’s been a lot of years getting there.”
There was a moment’s silence, and then before I realized what I was doing, the words were out of my mouth. “What happened? With your legs, I mean.”
He gave me a quizzical look. “I thought you wanted to know about Denny.”
“I do.” I nodded vigorously, feeling my cheeks grow red.
Luke’s gaze drifted to the maple outside his window. “My story isn’t all that interesting.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t really mean to ask.”
“Hey, it’s not a problem. Most people pretend the wheelchair’s invisible. Like it’s an embarrassment. That drives me nuts.”
I sipped my cider and kept silent.
“Anyway,” Luke said, pushing the hair off his forehead. “Denny came over one night. We had pizza, talked a little, watched some stupid made-for-TV movie as I recall. We don’t have a lot in common, so the conversation was kind of stiff at first. The where’d you move from, what do you do for a living kind of stuff.”
“What did he say about himself?”
“Let’s see.” Luke scratched his chin. “Denny said he was a goof-off in high school, wished now he’d applied himself. He’s at a junior college, but hoping to transfer next year.”
“Do you know what he’s studying?”
“General stuff, I guess. His dad is apparently a real bear. Wanted Denny to go to some small Bible college in the Midwest. Said the old guy just about disowned him when he refused.”
It sounded like Walt, but not Dennis. “Funny, I wouldn’t have guessed Dennis had the mettle to go against his parents’ wishes.”
“It was his dad’s wish primarily. I got the feeling theirs has never been the easiest of relationships.”
“Did he seem bitter about it?”
“More resigned than anything.”
“How about Julie?” I asked. “Did he ever mention her? Anything about a cousin or someone who’d moved into his family home?”
Luke shook his head. “If he did, I don’t remember it.”
“What about his job? Did he talk about it?”
“Sales of some kind. Macy’s, Mervyn’s, some place like that. It’s just part-time while he’s going to school. You want some more cider?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” I leaned forward with my arms on my knees. “Tell me, based on what you saw of Dennis, did he strike you as . . . as stable?”
Luke threw back his head and laughed. “What’s stable? Especially at twenty. He didn’t act like he was on drugs, or about to take a dive off the Golden Gate, if that’s what you mean. On the other hand, he’s not going to win any awards for charisma or social grace.”
I sighed. I’d been hoping for something more.
Luke set his cup down and wheeled the chair forward a couple of feet. “Look, if you’re so interested, let’s go talk to him.”
“Talk to him?” My voice spiraled to an ungodly pitch.
“Yeah. We’ll go borrow a cup of sugar or something.”
“He might recognize me.”
“All the better. You can ask him what he was doing parked in front of your house yesterday.”
“It wasn’t in front, really. I mean, not right in front—”
“Heck, I’ll ask him if you want. You can pretend to be surprised, like you didn’t know he lived next door.”
“I don’t know if—”
“But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You’re bothered by the fact that he was parked across from your house. And beyond that, you’re wondering if he might not be implicated in the girl’s death. Right?”
The man was perceptive, if not particularly cautious.
“That’s why I really don’t think ...”
But Luke was already at the door. “You coming, or am I doing this alone?”
I sighed and, against my better judgment, followed. When we arrived at Dennis’s front landing, I held back, afraid that Luke might find the step something of an obstacle. But without so much as a pause, he pulled the chair onto its rear wheels and propelled himself up and over.
“That’s impressive,” I said.
“That’s nothing,” he replied, with the merest hint of a smile.
“But I still think this visit is a stupid idea.”
He grinned and didn’t answer.
The doorbell hung loosely by a single wire. Luke tried it, and then after a few moments knocked on the door. I stood off to the side, torn between a mesmerizing curiosity and a strong desire to flee.
The landing was cramped, in part because the mailbox was just that, a wooden box sitting on the ground by the side of the door. Ever the snoop, I peered in. Time magazine, a mailing from a national music club, a supermarket throwaway, and an envelope of gray linen. With calculated nonchalance, I reached down and turned it over. And then let out a squeak.
“What is it?” Luke asked.
“A letter. Addressed to Julie Harmon at this number.” As I was holding it out for him to examine, the door suddenly opened and a familiar-looking woman with flaming red hair glared at us. She had a heavy jaw and strong features that, although not unattractive, seemed somehow mismatched.
It took only a moment for me to recognize her as the woman I’d followed the other day after she’d emerged from Dennis’s house. Surprisingly, she seemed to have no difficulty recognizing me either. Her face registered shock, then indignation and something else that was hard to read. Her eyes flickered from my face to Luke’s and then to the letter in my hand.
And then, in a voice that was recognizably Dennis Shepherd’s, she said, “Well, what is it you want?”
Chapter 20
“Denny?” Luke’s voice cracked with disbelief.
“Denise,” the figure at the door replied. “At the moment, anyway.” Denny-Denise turned and pointed a finger accusingly in my dir
ection. “And you! What is it with you, anyway?”
I stepped back, too astonished to do more than sputter. “I, um ...”
With a forward lunge, he grabbed the letter from my hand. “And now you’re going through my mail?” He gave me a scorching look. “This is too much. It’s just really too much.”
Luke cleared his throat. “Uh, maybe it would be best if we talked inside.”
“I don’t see why.” Denny, who was sounding more and more like Denise, crossed his arms over an amazingly well-endowed chest. He continued to glower in my direction.
“Fine,” Luke said. “If that’s the way you want it, we’ll talk out here. I’ve got my chair, I’m comfortable. And I’m sure our neighbors would like to hear more.”
Dennis glanced at Luke, cursed under his breath, then stood back, holding the door open. Luke popped another wheelie up and over the doorsill, and propelled himself inside. I followed, my heart racing.
We stepped into a room furnished, if that is the proper term, almost exclusively with fish tanks and a colorful variety of shimmering fish. There were three large rectangular aquariums, two cylindrical vats, and one bowl, whose sole occupant, a bug-eyed goldfish, observed us with curiosity. Dennis sat in the only armchair and folded his skirt around his knees. I took a straight-back chair near the door.
For a moment nobody said a word, and then Luke burst out laughing.
“I don’t see anything particularly funny about this...” Dennis paused. He scowled and gestured toward me. “This She-Devil with a bee in her britches. She harassed me at work, followed me the other day—”
“I’m sorry,” Luke said. “It’s just that...” He struggled to contain another bout of laughter, only partially succeeding. “Aw, Denny, you sure had me fooled. These gals I’ve seen coming and going, this mini-harem of yours . . . it was you. In drag.”
Denny’s eyelids dropped to half-mast, revealing lids of periwinkle. “I don’t see that as particularly funny either. Nor what concern it is of yours.”
Luke grinned and held up his hands in a gesture of accord. “It’s not. And I’m not laughing at you, buddy. I’m laughing at myself. I can’t tell you the nights when envy was breathing so hard down my neck I didn’t sleep a wink.”
Murder Among Us (A Kate Austen Mystery) Page 16
