Ugh. “Oh, Knuckles. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know these were the people you meant…”
He pinched my cheek and smiled down at me. “How could you? But it’s all right, kiddo. I’m more worried about them than anything else.”
“So Suzanne’s your ex-girlfriend? Where does she fit in with Candice?” That was his deceased wife, who he talked about with great frequency. If the stories Knuckles told us about Candice weren’t exaggerations, we could all only hope to have the kind of love story they’d shared.
“I did have a life before her, you know,” he said on a jovial chuckle. “I guess you don’t think about things like that because you’ve only ever been a nun. Candice and me—we didn’t get married until I was almost thirty-two, had my Gwennie a year later. Did a lot of livin’ before that while I was making a name for myself as a tattoo artist. Suzanne’s from my sordid past.”
He was right. I guess I didn’t know much about what it was like to have a life that wasn’t cloistered. I’d just assumed he’d always been married to Candice, or it felt like that anyway.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I hoped he wouldn’t be too upset by my next question. “Define sordid past,” I teased, giving him a squeeze around his waist.
“She was twenty-one, and I was thirty. Met at a biker bar, had a wild fling, I broke it off and she went off to pursue her acting career. Which in LA means, she got a better offer. Probably from a big director.”
My jaw unhinged. This beautiful creature with the alabaster skin and fiery red hair falling down her back looked amazing for her age—or maybe it was just the lighting. But even if that were true, her body—and she was naked, so it wasn’t hard to see—was in primo shape.
“Wait. Are you telling me she’s fifty? Shut the front door.”
“Well, you know LA is the land of plastic surgery, kiddo. Seems like there isn’t much they can’t do these days. If you think she looks good now, shoulda seen her back in the day. But I gotta admit, she still looks pretty good.”
I snorted and nudged him in the ribs. “I’ll say.”
He patted his belly. “’Course, I’ve put on forty pounds since the last time I saw her,” he said in a tone that sounded quite self-conscious and totally unlike my Knuckles.
Was that regret I heard in my friend’s voice? Embarrassment? I wouldn’t have it. Knuckles is one of the finest men I’ve ever known.
“Forty pounds of love,” I joked. “You’re perfect the way you are, and I’ll bet you my morning coffee for a week, she isn’t nearly as kind as you are.”
I paused for a moment, wondering about these people and their lives. I thought I sensed bitterness in Knuckles’s voice when he talked about Suzanne.
“You’re a sweet kid, Trixie. Always lookin’ for the good in folks. It’s what I like most about you. That and your crazy convent stories.”
I chuckled and winked. “I don’t have to look far with you, mister. So…these people…did you know Agnar or any of the others?”
Crossing his big arms over his barrel chest, he shook his head. “Nope. Just Myer. We go way back. Like I said, he’s an entrepreneur—owns a bunch of restaurants all over the world, but his home base is LA.”
“I’m so sorry this is happening, Knuckles.”
“Me, too. For Suzanne. You know what happened to him yet?”
Shaking my head, I rocked back on my heels and tucked my hands into the bib of my overalls. “I’m not sure. At first I thought it was a heart attack, but if you listen to Solomon, he claims a car hit him. I think. I don’t know. You know what Solomon’s like. His stories are always a jumbled mess of a puzzle that needs putting together.”
Despite the circumstances, Knuckles gave me a warm smile. “But he’s a smart one, that guy. Smart as a whip—just a little quirky. I like quirky. Keeps me on my toes.”
One of the traits I loved most about my buddy Knuckles was his ability to accept a situation at face value with no questions asked, as he did with Coop, and then Solomon. He didn’t care that Solomon was way left of center, he accepted him and his quirks anyway.
Often, I’d find Knuckles bringing him leftovers from our dinners together the night before, or making sure he had a spare sandwich on hand in the shop just for Solomon.
“Solomon’s a good guy, but I’ll warn you, his story’s pretty nutty.” I explained what Solomon had told us about the steed of steel, which left me still shaking my head.
Knuckles let out a deep breath. “So you think he was hit by a car? He doesn’t look like a car hit him. There’s no blood. No marks on his body.”
This made no sense. Solomon had made it sound like he was ranting about a car, but Knuckles was right. He didn’t have any marks, suggesting a car had hit him.
“No, he sure doesn’t. I’m not really sure what Solomon meant. Maybe he meant a bicycle? I mean, if you’ll recall, he told me Fergus had been talking to someone about doing the laundry and it turned out, he was referring to money laundering. It could mean anything, but I won’t know until I talk to him again.”
As I watched Suzanne, crying uncontrollably while her friends rallied ’round, I thought of something else when Tansy parted the crowd and looked down at her, notepad and pen in hand. Something not so great that was sure to upset Knuckles.
Wincing, I asked, “You do realize the police always suspect the spouse first, right?”
He looked down at me and nodded. “Don’t you think I hear you watching all those mysteries at night on your laptop out on your deck while ya sketch? Sure I know she’ll be the likely suspect, but I’m not worried about it. Suzanne wouldn’t hurt a fly. She was always a greedy one, hopping from guy to guy until she found the one with the biggest wallet—it’s part of the reason we broke up way back. But that’s no crime, Trixie girl. But kill someone? She was greedy, but she wasn’t murderous. Besides, she was young and impulsive back in the day. With time comes wisdom, you know? She’s probably a whole different person now.”
Relief flooded my veins for Knuckles and his friend. “Good to know. I just want you to be prepared. Speaking of preparation, maybe I should grab some water bottles for everyone?”
Knuckles chucked me under the chin. “You’re a good egg, kiddo, but I got this. I’ll go get some water and see what Lucy-Goosey is up to. He’s probably hiding from all the drama out here and needs someone to talk him down. You do your nun thing. They look like they could use a sympathetic ear, and you sure are good at that. I’ll be right back if Suzanne needs me.”
He took his leave while I continued to hover around the fringe of their conversation. Slipping closer, but staying out of the streetlight, I tried to make myself seem available without appearing nosy.
There were three other people in their group besides Myer and Suzanne. Someone named Lucinda, a pretty brunette with chin-length hair and a heart-shaped face. An extremely handsome, chiseled guy named Edwin with the loveliest green-gray eyes I’d ever seen on a man, and still another gentleman who’s name I hadn’t quite caught, but was the largest of the bunch with a pot belly and a double chin.
Deciding I should see how I could help, I asked, “Is there anything I can get anyone? Are you all warm enough?”
Suzanne hopped up from her chair, not at all concerned that her blanket had fallen to the ground as she rushed toward me. “This is your shop, right?”
I nodded, noting how wide her red-rimmed eyes were when she latched onto my hand. “It is, and I’m so sor—”
“Did you see anything? Notice anyone or even anything strange? The detective said you tripped over his body, for bloody sake! How could this have happened right under your nose? Are you blind or just a moron?”
Grief does strange things to people. Everyone handles the emotion in a different manner. Anger was a common reaction, so I wasn’t at all upset with her harsh words. Rather, I patted her hand to console her and kept my tone even.
“I understand you’re upset, Suzanne, and I’m happy to answer any questions you have about what ha
ppened. I didn’t see anything, unfortunately, but of course, I’m so sorry for your loss and suffering.”
Her face went from anguished anger to outrage in seconds as she snatched her hand away. “Suffering? Suffering? My husband is dead and you tripped over him like he was a bag of nothing more than trash, you idiot!” she howled at me, her pretty face a mask of pain.
“Suzanne!” her friend Lucinda reprimanded, placing a hand on her shoulder. “This was horrible, but it’s not her fault she fell over him. He died right at the threshold of her store, for God’s sake. We don’t even know what happened to him yet. Stop before you say something you don’t mean. Stop right now!”
The handsome man named Edwin stepped forward, tucking a blanket back around Suzanne with tender fingers. “Lucy’s right, pretty. You’re tired and upset, and with good reason, but this woman’s hardly at fault,” he soothed as he eyed me from head to toe with his gorgeous gaze.
“Always with the drama. No cameras around for your close-up today, Suzanne,” the man whose name I hadn’t heard muttered. He sounded as though this was something Suzanne did on a regular basis—make a big deal out of things, but I could hardly blame her. This was a big deal. Her husband was dead, after all.
“Hush, Grady!” Lucinda chastised in a whisper-yell, her pretty face wrapped in distaste. “How can you even say such a thing? Her husband’s dead, you dolt. That’s pretty dramatic. Now, if you’re not going to help us, go away and keep your mouth shut. And cover,” she waved a hand at his exposed southerly parts, “that up!”
I backed away, realizing Suzanne was in no state of mind to receive heartfelt condolences or any sort of counsel. I raised a hand and waved off their reprimands.
“Please, no explanations or apologies necessary. I’ll just wait over there and if you need anything—anything at all, please don’t hesitate. We’re happy to help.”
I made my way to where Coop stood, her stance relaxed, her hands in the pockets of her jeans, and as always, in silent, quiet observation. “She’s not nice.”
I blew out a breath of pent up air, letting my chest expand with a cleansing release. “She’s just upset, Coop. Her husband just died. It’s to be expected. No worries.”
Coop’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not what I mean at all.”
My brow furrowed in confusion. “Then what do you mean?”
“I mean she’s not a nice person. Her aura is all wrong.”
“Her aura? Coop, I swear on all that fancy tattoo equipment in there, if you tell me you can see auras, I’m going to have you exorcised.”
Of course I was teasing, but listen, she was a demon after all. She has admitted to knowing things I never dreamed possible. Seeing auras isn’t so far out of the realm of possibility.
She pursed her lips, her eyes catching the light of the streetlamp, making them sparkle. “You know, Trixie Lavender, I’ve been thinking about exactly that. Maybe an exorcism is what you need? You certainly know people who can help. I’m sure not everyone at the convent is angry with you. Maybe we should call them and ask if they’ll perform one?”
My breath caught in my throat. I’d thought the same thing, too. But who would believe me? Who would believe my horrifying behavior was a real, honest-to-goodness possession?
A true exorcism is very rare. Typically, the person declared possessed is mentally ill, or so I’ve read, and medication is almost always the suggested route to start any investigation of possession.
The very last resort is a real exorcism like the ones you see in movies, and they’ve been wildly exaggerated by Hollywood. Still, it’s something I’ve often given thought to as a way to figure out what’s inside me and why, but I won’t lie and tell you it doesn’t scare the pants off me.
I bent my knee, placing the sole of my foot up against the brick of our building. My foot still ached from time to time since the bullet wound, especially if I was on my feet for too long, and stretching eased the ache.
“Maybe what I need is to help these people in this moment and worry about me later. So explain the aura thing to me. Are you serious? Can you really read them?”
Coop shrugged in her unaffected manner, her slender shoulders rising and falling. “It’s not really something you see, and if someone tells you otherwise, you tell them they’re full of baloney and cheese. It’s more a vibration, and Suzanne’s vibration isn’t a nice one. She radiates mean.”
“Well, maybe she’s just having a bad aura day. I mean, her husband’s dead, Coop.”
“It’s not like hair, Trixie. You can’t have a bad aura day. You either have a bad aura or you don’t.”
I’m almost afraid to ask about my aura…
I sighed into the night, fighting a yawn. It had been a long day full of very strange things. “Well, then, okey-doke. Auras aside, maybe she isn’t a nice person whether her husband’s dead or not, but she still deserves our sympathy and respect in a time so dire. So let’s put our best foot forward and see how we can help.”
“You’re a good person, Trixie. That lady was unkind to you and you continue to be kind despite her poor behavior. You are the epitome of do unto others.”
I blushed and waved her and her Bible quote off. I hadn’t opened the good book in months, and sometimes I felt dreadfully guilty about that. As though I’d turned my back on the one thing that had cared and nurtured me for so long. But then I remembered it was also the one thing that had condemned me forever.
Besides, I didn’t necessarily believe the Bible and its teachings hadn’t been misinterpreted—after all, humans had translated its teachings. My goal nowadays is less radical, far simpler.
I want to be the best person I know how to be. It’s all I can offer after losing everything, and I guess some scripture figures into that. I want everyone to believe in what they want to believe in, as long as the end result is a mentally healthy outcome.
Still, I was curious about what Coop had learned. “So tell me, Coop, what do you know about do unto others?”
“I’ve been reading the Bible and learning verses in order to better understand you and why you devoted your life to an unseen, unheard entity.”
Huh. I’d never thought of it like that before, but in its simplest form, it was true. I had handed my life over on pure faith—sight unseen—which probably comes off a little nuts when you strip down the act.
“Then I guess that makes you a good person, too, Coop DeVille.”
“Why?”
I reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “Because you’re interested in something other than yourself. That shows true selflessness. I’m proud of you.”
“Am I still selfless if I want to slice that mean Suzanne’s head off because she was so rude to you?”
I wrinkled my nose. “The slicing of heads is definitely not a good thing, but your motivation for it is spot on. How about we leave it at that?”
“I’m happy to leave it at that because it means I don’t have to doubt my wish to become like everyone else.”
I looked over at her as she leaned against the brick with me, pressing her back against the hard surface. “Never doubt you’re a good person, Coop. Never.”
She pulled her phone from her pocket, holding it up. “I think people are at least starting to notice I’m trying to be a good person.”
“What do you mean?” I asked as she held the phone closer to my face. I cocked my head as I looked at her phone, and saw Edwin’s name (his last name being Garvey, BTW) and number on the screen—as in, Edwin the man who was in the height of consoling Suzanne.
“While you were talking to Knuckles, that man over there put his phone number into my phone and called me honey. I don’t think he’d do that unless he thought I was a good person, do you?”
I couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing.
Oh, my sweet demon.
So many lessons, so little time.
Chapter 6
“Knuckles? Are you all right? Please be all right. I won’t sleep if you’re unwell emoti
onally. I’d hate it if you’re sad,” Coop said as we all sat together in the shop, decompressing after our incredibly tense night. She busied herself pouring us some coffee and in general, fretting over Knuckles.
While Coop fretted openly, I fret internally. Knuckles had been in a vulnerable space these last weeks. His emotions were likely heightened and exacerbated by seeing an old flame and it was showing up in his posture and the pained expression on his face.
Everyone had cleared out now. The bikers were off at the police station being questioned by Tansy and her team, but not before Suzanne had made a sobbing plea for Knuckles to help her find out what happened to Agnar.
And it had torn him up as she’d clung to him and cried, until her friend Lucinda had to pry her off Knuckles.
His normally cheerful face and jovial attitude were all dried up as he fretted over his well-preserved ex-girlfriend. But he lifted his mug and tipped it at Coop in gratitude. “I’m all right, Coop. Just a little worried about Suzanne.”
Goose slapped him on his broad back with a long-fingered hand. “She was always one for the drama, Knuck. I know her husband’s dead, but she really ramped up the carrying on. Funny how it was only when you were lookin.’”
What an interesting observation, one I hadn’t noticed and wished now I’d given more attention.
“You knew Suzanne, too, Goose?” I asked, pulling my stool closer to the small area we had set up for clients with a couch and tables, where everyone had gathered.
This was the second person who had dubbed her dramatic, making me wonder why she felt dramatics were necessary. Her husband had died. That was plenty dramatic, but of course, I didn’t know her the way these two did.
Goose nodded, running a hand over the black do-rag with the skulls on it that covered his balding head, his craggy face screwed up in distaste. “We all knew Suzanne. She hung around for about a year or so before she moved on to greener pastures—and that’s exactly what that girl did. Can’t tell me otherwise.”
Hit and Nun Page 7
