by Jane Tesh
Sim picked a large piece of glass from the top of a cassette display. “Well, if he’s a real superhero, he’s out patrolling the city every night. Plus he’s probably got this magical sixth sense about crime.”
All this talk of superheroes gave me an idea. “You sound like someone who enjoys comic books.”
He shrugged. “I’ve got a few.”
“Know anything about them?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty good.”
“You know Comic World in the Fair Oaks Mall?”
“I go there all the time.”
“I need an expert’s opinion on some comics. Would Mister Royalle let you have the afternoon off?”
Sim thought it over. “I promised him I’d help Carlene clean up, but I get off work at five today. Comic World’s open till eight, if you want to go later.”
“Meet me over there after work.”
“Does this have something to do with the crime?”
“No, this is another case I’m working on.”
I could tell Sim liked the sound of this. “Yeah, sure, I’d be glad to help.”
“See you at five-thirty.”
I asked Carlene if she wanted us to stay. She said her relatives were coming by with some plywood to patch the hole until she had a new window put in.
“I’ll be all right, David, thank you.”
Sim continued his sweeping. “And I’m here if she needs anything.”
“I’ll talk to you later,” I told Carlene. “I think these two robberies are definitely connected.”
***
We went across to Royalle’s. Gert Fagan was cleaning the glass cases and paused, her dust cloth in one hand, a spray bottle of glass cleaner in the other.
“Isn’t that awful about Carlene’s? Thank goodness she wasn’t there. Is she all right? I told Sim to stay as long as she needed him.”
“She’ll be okay.”
“I’ve been trying to think of anyone who might have a grudge against us,” she said. “I’ve gone over our customer list and our special orders for the past two months. Everyone has been satisfied with his or her jewelry.”
“So no one’s come to the door to fling a defective bracelet at your heads?”
“That’s right.”
“No one casting longing glances at a ring he can’t afford?”
“No one. It’s very upsetting. Oh, J.C. is here, if you want to talk to her.”
I expected J.C. Chapman to be a young man, but she was a severe-looking young teenage girl, her red hair pulled back in a tight bun. She wore no make-up and no jewelry. She had on a black dress and a black sweater. She came right up to me and shook my hand.
“I’m Josephine Clifford Chapman, but everyone calls me J.C., because I absolutely hate the name Josephine. I don’t know what my parents were thinking, because there’s no one named Josephine in our family. I’ve been a part-time employee here for the last four years. I’m very dependable, and everyone likes me. As you can see, I don’t wear jewelry, so I’d have no reason to steal any. I’m not allowed to lock up, so I don’t know where the alarm is, and neither does Sim, in case you’re thinking he had anything to do with this. I really think you ought to be looking somewhere else for the criminal, because it isn’t any one of us, and by the way, you’re really good-looking.”
“Thank you,” I said. “No further questions.”
J.C. gave me an approving nod and went back to the cash register. I caught Gert’s eye. She was smiling.
“J.C. is very forthright.”
“I appreciate that.”
***
Our next stop was Boyd Taylor’s house. His sagging face brightened when he saw Camden.
“Didn’t think you’d come.”
He stood aside to let us enter his depressing little house. The debris hadn’t changed. He pushed a pile of newspapers off the green sofa.
“Have a seat. Get you guys a beer?”
“No, thanks,” I said. Camden shook his head.
Taylor looked at me and then at Camden. “I don’t know how this works. You need to go into a trance or something?”
“I’ll just sit down for a minute.” Camden sat on the arm of the sofa.
Taylor’s eyes gleamed with hope. “You gotta know I didn’t do it.”
“I’m not sure of anything.”
“I had no quarrel with Jared. I came over to see about the car. I was in the house calling for help when you came by. Didn’t you sense that, or something?”
“Seeing Jared like that was a shock.”
“Yeah, but you must’ve gotten some kind of vibe about the murderer. He must’ve just left.” Taylor paced in front of the sofa. “Look, man, I’m desperate to even half believe this crap. Didn’t you see anything that could prove it wasn’t me? I mean, what’s my motive here? Why would I kill the guy? And if I did, why not jump in the car and drive the hell away?”
Camden looked up at the craggy face. “I don’t know, Boyd. I wish I did. Things are pretty confused right now.”
Taylor looked around the cramped room in frustration. “Do you need a crystal ball? A Ouija board? What does it take?”
“What were you wearing that day?” I asked. “Sometimes he can pick up things from an object of clothing.”
“My jacket, I guess.”
He dug a battered-looking khaki jacket from a heap of clothes near the door. Camden took it, but after a few minutes, shook his head.
I could tell Taylor was getting frustrated. “Give him a minute,” I said.
He ran his large hand over his face, pulling it down into more lines. “God Almighty.”
“Give me your hand,” Camden said. He held the large hand, stiffening slightly as he did. “It’s okay. We’re all under a little stress.”
If he said Boyd’s the murderer, I was ready to run, but he shook his head.
“The anger’s there and a lot of sadness, but—”
He took so long to answer, I said, “But what?”
Camden’s gaze was thoughtful. “But no blood.”
Taylor sat back. “Told you I didn’t do it.”
“Boyd, we’ll do all we can to help you,” I said, “but you can’t depend on any miracles from the Great Beyond.”
“Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “I thought—well, I have to try everything I can think of.”
Once Camden and I were back in the car, I said, “He didn’t do it, did he?”
“No. But you’re going to have to prove it.”
Chapter Nine
“And Thy Words Unto the Ends of the World”
Sim Johnson hadn’t arrived at Comic World yet, but to my surprise, Brooke Verner was there, flipping through an issue of “Danger Woman.”
“Brooke, what are you doing here?”
She put the comic back on the shelf. “Gathering clues. The Avenger’s bound to be a comics fan. How else would he know how to dress?”
“I thought you knew all about the Avenger.”
“I just report his moves.”
I started to say something else when I heard Camden say, “Hello, Wendy,” and I saw a gorgeous woman come down the aisle.
I’m often amazed by the women Camden knows, or who know him. Amazed, because he’s settled on Ellin. Wendy Riskin was a tall sizzling redhead in a black form-fitting dress and black tights and acres of gold bracelets. She shook back a mass of magenta curls Medusa would’ve been proud to own and put all ten sharp little red nails on Camden’s shoulders.
“Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages. You are going to Flaming Panels, aren’t you? I told everyone you’d be there, and don’t give me any of your lame excuses about not driving. Tor, you’d better have the new ‘Silver Wonder,’ or I’m calling down all my power
s on your pitiful little store.”
Tor was already groping through the file cabinets. “It’s here, it’s here, hold on.”
“And could we please have some decent music on in here? Sounds like somebody in the last stages of emphysema.”
Tor wasn’t going to argue with her about anything. “You can change it, if you like.”
She strode to a small closet between two racks of comics, rooted through the CDs, found one she liked, and popped it into the player. Something electronic with a heavy beat echoed through the store. “That’s better.”
Camden introduced Miss Flame Thrower. “Wendy, this is David Randall. Randall, Wendy Riskin, also known as the Goddess of Destruction.”
“Better believe it,” she said.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Destruction.”
She smiled and looked me up and down. “Pleasure’s all mine.”
“It could be.”
“Oo, a flirt. You don’t meet many of those these days. Everyone’s so PC. Are you by any chance Cam’s detective friend? Are you hot on the trail of a master criminal today? Perhaps a major fiend who wants to rule the world?”
“I’m looking for the Parkland Avenger.”
“The Avenger?” She dismissed him with a wave of her red-tipped fingers. “Pooh, what an amateur.”
Brooke turned. “An amateur? What makes you say that?”
“Skulking around at night. That’s for babies. Skulking in broad daylight, now, that’s more like it.”
“Is that what you do?”
Wendy wasn’t put off by Brooke’s tone. “Yeah. I skulk. I’m a damned good skulker. Ask anyone.”
“Do you know anything about the Avenger?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you. You’d rat on him.”
“You’re wrong. I’m on his side. I think it’s about time someone upheld the law in Parkland.”
Wendy laughed. “Seems to me this guy’s just getting in the way. Maybe you oughta hire someone more competent.”
“Hire someone? You think this is all a set-up?”
“Sure, why not? Some doofus runs around in a cape, you write the stories, get some publicity. Sounds like a set-up to me. Not a very original one.”
By now, the women were eye to eye and snarling.
Wendy’s comic book flapped in Tor’s shaking hands. “Take it outside. Wendy, please. My other customers.”
She looked around. “What other customers, Tor? Are you counting those two nerds in the back, hoping to find a ‘Superman Number One’ in your bargain sacks? Let me finish off this skinny twerp.”
Brooke swelled. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Big deal.”
“Maybe you’re protecting someone. Maybe you’re the Avenger.”
“I’d like to see you prove that.”
Wendy was definitely fit and she knew all the superhero lore. Still, reports indicated the Avenger was a man. Reports written by Brooke. Were Brooke and Wendy in this together? Judging from the dirty looks, I’d say no.
“Whoever this guy is, he’s really stupid. He’s getting in the way.” Wendy took the comic book Tor held out like a peace offering. “Give me that.” Then she gave Camden a kiss that left every male in the store reeling. “Sayonara, boys.” She sauntered out.
Camden steadied himself on the counter. “I don’t think Wendy is the Avenger.”
Brooke glared after Wendy. “With all that extra weight, she’d never be able to leap from rooftops.”
She made her exit as Sim burst in. “Sorry I’m late! Where’s the stuff you wanted me to see? Hi, Mister Norris.”
Now that the dueling divas had left, Tor calmed down. “Afternoon, Sim.”
“I’m going to look at some comics for Mister Randall, if that’s all right with you.”
“They’re in the back.”
I took Sim to the back and waited as he carefully inspected each one of Jared Hunter’s comic books. Occasionally, he’d make a remark like, “Wow, ‘Tales of the Styx,’ number thirty. You don’t see that every day,” or, “I used to have this!”
When he finally came to the end, I said, “What do you think?”
“Well, it’s a nice collection, but I know lots of guys with better. I don’t think this guy was real serious. He bought what he liked. There’s no theme or anything. He doesn’t have just superheroes or DC or Marvel. He’s got a little bit of everything.”
“What would you guess a collection like this would be worth?”
He looked at the boxes, frowning in thought. I could see him mentally adding. “I’d say about five hundred dollars. The ‘Danger Ranger’ is in mint condition, and ‘Betty and Her Pets’ is an acquired taste, if you know what I mean, so, depending on who wants them, maybe six, seven hundred, tops. How come you didn’t get Mister Norris to price them for you? He’s an expert.”
“I wanted a second opinion.” And someone who wasn’t directly involved with Jared Hunter.
Sim looked flattered. “You ought to see my collection. It beats this one all hollow—although, I wouldn’t mind having the ‘Tales of the Styx.’” He dug through the boxes until he found the comic. “Think anyone’d mind if I read it?”
“No, go right ahead.”
I went back to the counter. Camden was looking through more of Tor’s sketches.
“Find anything?”
“Sim thinks the collection’s worth about six hundred dollars. That sound right?”
“Yeah, the kid’s got a good eye.”
“You planning to sell it?”
“Thought I’d keep most of it. There’s a show next month in Asheville, so I’ll probably sell some of it there.”
Sim came up to the counter. “Guys, this is kinda funny.” He held up “Tales of the Styx.” “What’s this supposed to be?” He opened the comic. A torn piece of paper was stuck inside.
I pulled it out. The paper had a faded imprint of lines and arrows. “Well, at first glance, it looks like part of a map. Know what this is, Tor?”
He gave the paper a glance. “No.”
Camden and I went to the back with Sim. We opened all the comic bags and looked through each comic, but we didn’t find any more pieces.
“A map to what?” Camden asked. “You think it came with this particular comic, and you were supposed to collect all the pieces?”
“I would’ve remembered a contest like that,” Sim said. “It must belong to guy who brought in these comics. You could ask him.”
Camden had to look away.
Sim lowered his voice. “Did I say something wrong?”
I put the comics back in their bags. “The man who owned these comics was murdered. I’m trying to find out why.”
Sim dropped the comic he was holding. “Murdered? Over these?”
“We’re not sure.”
“But there’s nothing valuable here, not really, unless this is some kind of treasure map, and then you’d need the rest of it.”
We went back to the counter. “Mind if I take this?” I asked Tor.
He was sketching and didn’t even look up. “Go ahead.”
I thanked Sim for his help. He said he’d keep an eye out for any more clues. “Sim’s on the trail, but Tor didn’t seem very interested,” I said as Camden and I got into the car. “You getting anything from that paper?”
Camden held the piece of paper for a long while. “It really is part of a map.” He turned the paper sideways. “The writing here says ‘Old P.’”
“Old Parkland, maybe? Now that would be interesting, considering most of the recent break ins have been in the Old Parkland district.”
“Randall, I can’t believe Jared was planning a series of robberies.”
“First let’s find out if
this really is a map of Old Parkland. Don’t you think Mom would enjoy a trip to the history museum?”
“That’s a great idea.”
I got out my phone. “I have another great idea. I’ll ask Kary to do some research on Old Parkland at the library.”
“If you don’t ask her to do something soon, she’s going to be breaking down doors and taking names.”
“I’m not sure how deeply I want her to get involved.”
“She’s already involved.”
“The library should be safe enough.” Kary must have been in class because her phone went to voice mail. “Kary, I need whatever information you can find on Old Parkland. A map would be especially helpful. We found a piece of map in one of Jared’s comics. Thanks.”
Camden gestured for the phone, and when I handed it over, he added, “It’s a real clue this time, Kary.”
I took my phone back. “And not busy work, I promise.”
***
At the studio, Camden paused to talk to Bonnie and Teresa, the two attractive women who take turns hosting the PSN television shows. I found my mother in Ellin’s office doing her specialty: interfering. When I heard their topic of conversation, I paused just outside the doorway to listen. Mom was trying to play Cupid.
“Why in the world are you hesitating, dear? It’s obvious he’s crazy about you.”
Ellin sounded a lot calmer than usual. “I don’t know. I know in my heart he’s the right one for me, and I want to make this work. He’s just so different from what I had in mind.”
“Different in what way?”
“In every way. I’ve always had this idea of the man I’d marry, and Cam doesn’t fit a single characteristic.”
Mom laughed. “Oh, I see. Yes, I always planned to marry a man just like Cary Grant.”
“I take it Randall’s father wasn’t like that?”
“Not at all. Henry was never serious. Sometimes I wanted to smack him, but he would’ve laughed at that, too. He was a big cheerful man, not at all brooding. Handsome, very lively and talkative. I suppose it was from all those years tending bars and talking to the customers. My goodness, how I miss all that chatter. I never thought I would, but I do.”
