That was true. Lazlo did talk about his ex-wife, whose life he’d turned upside down when he’d returned from the Gulf War. Lazlo had suffered from some serious PTSD upon his return to the states, and it had turned his life inside-out, yet, according to him, he’d received little to no help from the VA. Not an unfamiliar story in this day and age.
Now, instead of growing old with his beloved Hazel and watching his son turn into a man, he’d run away and hit the streets in order to keep them safe from his emotional outbursts. But whatever effects of the war he’d once suffered, the streets had beaten him into a bizarre sort of submission.
Still, Lazlo had been a good guy for the most part. He’d always been so helpful with the other men, likely because he knew what it was to suffer from an affliction he had no control over. If nothing else, he’d been one of the more coherent men at Peach Street, and one thing had always been clear—he loved Hazel and his son Jeremy to this day.
“I just wish I had better records on the guys who come to the shelter. You know, like their full names, medical histories, where they come from, family, etcetera? But getting information from them means I have to become the Gestapo, and then I become the enemy because I’m prying, and they won’t trust me. It’s a double-edged sword,” Higgs said with an exasperated sigh.
I heard the frustration in his tone and sympathized. Just getting Solomon to a doctor when we’d had our go round with a killer had been a feat on par with wrangling a herd of greased cats.
Trust and information didn’t go hand in hand. You either had one or the other with these souls who’d been beaten down by society, and if they gave you any information, you were forever after dubbed suspicious as a figure of authority who could take their freedom away.
“I get it. No worries. I’ll handle our boy Jeff. You go soothe the savage Madge, and tell her I said to pipe down about this Organ Grinder business. She’s going to give Solomon nightmares for a year.” I paused then and took another look around the enormous room. “Speaking of, where is my liege?”
Higgs flipped his long ponytail over his broad shoulder and smoldered a glance in the direction of the kitchen. “He’s dressed as Jack Sparrow. Last I saw him, he was in the kitchen with Griffin, who’s dressed as Tricky Dick Nixon, mask and all. They’re still a little uncomfortable with such a large crowd, but I think if you go and coax them a little, because they’re pretty sweet on you, they’ll make an appearance.”
“Jack Sparrow, huh? Well shiver me timbers,” I joked, shooing him toward Madge, who we’d found the most adorable Hello Kitty (her favorite) costume for. “Go get Madge, and I’ll handle the rest.”
Higgs dropped a quick kiss on my cheek, and despite his outlandish costume, I decided he was cute no matter what he wore. “Thanks, Trixie. You’re a lifesaver. Save a dance for me, would you?” And then he was off, pushing his way through the crowd to collect Madge and her wild imagination, but his request made me smile.
I swung by the table filled with scrumptious appetizers and knelt near Jeff. Tugging at his ear, I whispered, “Hey, if I sneak you some cucumber sandwiches, will you get away from the table so Higgs doesn’t have a heart attack, worrying about who’s food you’re going to steal?”
Jeff leaned back into me and let me scratch his spine. “Get me some of those wicked-good sweet-and-sour meatballs and I’ll sit on that cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs Madge’s lap all night long like a good boy.”
“She’s not cuckoo, she’s just vibrant and excitable, Jeff. Please be kind to her. She really loves you.”
He let his head hang between his shoulder blades in remorse. “I’m sorry, Trix. I love her, too, okay? She gives the best massages, but sometimes, she’s just kooky. That’s all. Now, about those meatballs…?”
“Consider it done.” I scooped him up and tucked him under my arm. “Man, pal, what are you eating these days? You’re like a bag of cement.”
“Hey! Don’t you fat shame me, lady! I’ll have you know, this belly took me some serious begging under the table. I do some of my best work right at Higgs’s feet,” he joked, his Boston accent more pronounced when he defended his weight.
Chuckling, I managed to grab a plate and throw some meatballs on it, along with a bacon-wrapped shrimp, and wandered off to the kitchen to find Solomon and Griffin.
They were easy enough to locate by Solomon’s pirate hat, something I’m sure he was thrilled to have. He even had a ratty wig with dreads like Johnny Depp wore in the movie. I don’t know who helped him dress, but he looked amazing, leaning against the refrigerator and hesitantly eyeballing the crowd in the next room.
Now, if I could just get him to have a conversation with me in the year 2018, instead of the tedious medieval speak he was so fond of or talking like a pirate, I’d feel like I was gaining ground. But he was most comfortable when he could play a role, so I went along for the ride rather than upset him.
“Ahoy, mateys!” I saluted he and Griffin, who lifted his mask to identify me, giving me a shy smile as I set Jeff on the floor with the plate.
Griffin was a sweet soul. Timid and not prone to much chatter, he was in line every night at five at the shelter to wait for a bed, his arms wrapped around a dirty green duffle bag, in which he kept his most prized possessions.
What struck me the most was how observant his hazel eyes were and how well-spoken he was. His eyes were bright and unfettered by alcohol or drugs, his words were clear and succinct.
I didn’t know the full story on him yet, why he was homeless or where he’d come from and such, but he was so gentle and sweet when he was with me, I tried not to push too hard because of that trust issue I mentioned earlier.
“Ahoy, lass!” Solomon greeted with a wave of his hand. “Well, shave my belly with a rusty razor, it’s the devil herself! How be ye this fine eve?”
“Hi, Trixie. You look very pretty tonight,” Griffin said just above a whisper.
I curtsied and grinned at them both, eyeing Solomon and wondering exactly how he’d managed to line his eyes with charcoal all by himself. “Thank you, fine sir. Listen, you two scallywags, there’s some yummy food out there. I know you’re not fond of crowds, but how often to you get to enjoy weenies in a blanket?”
Griffin rubbed his belly, his plastic suit—made to mimic a business suit like one Richard Nixon would have worn—crinkling under his touch. “I love weenies in a blanket. I haven’t had them in a long time, but my mother used to make them at Christmas.”
I reached out and gave his arm a squeeze of encouragement for sharing a fond memory with me. Unlike Solomon, he didn’t shy away when you touched him if you kept it light and noncommittal.
“That’s good to hear, because there are plenty. Now remember what Higgs said, right? He said you guys should try and mingle just a little—even if it’s only for a few minutes. A lot of those people worked hard to make tonight happen, and being thankful and gracious is always appreciated.”
Solomon, who had a plastic sword in his very swashbuckling pants, pulled it out and held it high in the air. “Blimey, lass! We cannot risk it! What if that scurvy bottom dweller the Organ Grinder mingles amongst us? He’ll steal our insides right out from under us!”
I fought an aggravated sigh. Madge had really told a doozy with this one. She’d stirred them up but good. “Listen, Captain Jack, do you think I’d let the Organ Grinder take your insides? I mean, seriously. Not a chance. You do remember I’d never willingly let anyone hurt you, right? So how about you two give me your hands and I’ll go with you?”
Griffin was the first to offer his hand to me, but Solomon backed away in a shuffle of boots, his free hand up in the air as he did the familiar stress-related wiggle of his fingers. “No, lass! I say no! I need me insides!”
I grabbed the steel countertop and squeezed, biting my tongue to keep from speaking sharply.
“Captain Jack, there is no Organ Grinder. Madge made up a scary story to frighten you. You know how much she enjoys teasing you guys, right? And it’s almost
Halloween. It’s the perfect time to tell spooky stories. Also, might I remind you, wasn’t she the one who told you they were giving out free baths at the car wash?”
Solomon paused for a moment, cocking his head, his coal-lined eyes latching on to mine. “Aye, she did,” he mumbled. “They chased me out of there like the bilge-sucking rats they be!
“Yes, I know they were cruel, and Higgs gave them a good talking to. But was that even a little true, Solomon?”
“Nay!” he squawked. “She told tall tales! Tall-tall tales!”
I nodded my head. “Exactly. That’s all this business about the Organ Grinder is. A tall tale.”
Griffin lifted his mask from his face, his eyes skirting mine. His question was quiet and thoughtful. “But what about Lazlo? And Skinny?”
I frowned and cocked my head. “Skinny? What about him?”
Griffin pointed to his side, his eyes full of concern. “He said he saw somebody cuttin’ open one of the new guys, Trixie. Saw it with his own two eyes. He did, I swear! He says the Organ Grinder took the guy’s insides, and now Skinny’s gone, too.”
“See?” Solomon shouted, backing away, his frail body trembling.
Skinny had seen someone remove a man’s organs? Skinny was also notorious for his abuse of barbiturates. To hear he’d told the Hawthorne Bridge crew that a man’s insides were missing… It could have been said under the influence.
Skinny was as elusive as they came in the homeless world, but I saw him at least once a week in and around Cobbler Cove. I made a mental note to ask him about this curious story the next time I saw him. More than likely he’d made it up, because making up cool, spooky stories came with a badge of honor from the guys under the Hawthorne.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I gave them a sympathetic look. “Listen, gentlemen, I don’t know anything about this story Skinny’s peddling. I do know, there’s no Organ Grinder by the food table. Just some nice people who’ve donated some terrific food to the cause. So give me your hands and we’ll go mingle for a little while, and in return, I’ll look into this Organ Grinder business, okay?”
“Promise me, lass?” Solomon asked.
I held up my pinky finger. “Pinky swear,” I said with a smile.
Solomon barely touched my pinky, and he avoided my eyes, but we made skin-to-skin contact for a brief second, sealing our deal.
Reaching down, I took the plate from Jeff, now wiped clean, and scratched his ears. “Follow us, Jeff. We have some partying to do. Guys?” I said, holding out my hands. “Let’s boogie.”
They each took a hand, albeit reluctantly, while Jeff followed behind us. As we entered the rec room, the music playing, the two men spied the table brimming with food and suddenly all was right with the world.
They let go of my hands and drifted away, Solomon with his hands in the air so as not to touch anyone, and Griffin with his eyes downcast, but at least they were mingling.
Someone came up behind me and tapped my shoulder, making me turn around to find a very handsome vampire. “Good even-ing, Miss Lavender,” he greeted in a pretty good imitation of Count Dracula, clacking his pointy fake teeth together.
I recognized the voice instantly and smiled. “Oz, is that you under all that hair gel?”
He’d slicked back his hair and drawn a widow’s peak at his hairline, but I had to admit, he looked very good in a cape and fake teeth.
“It sure is. I’m going to have to spend an hour in the shower just to get it all out, but you…” He grabbed my hand and twirled me around. “You, Miss Lavender, look fabulous.”
“Well, thank you, kind sir,” I batted my eyelashes at him and gave him a coy smile. Though, to note, when Oz complimented me, I didn’t feel as shy as I did when Higgs praised me. And I would spend more time wondering about what that meant, but there were weenies in a blanket to be had.
“How’s your father?”
Oz and I had connected briefly and shared a cup of coffee, but he’d taken a bit of leave when he’d been called home after his father had a serious heart attack, and we’d lost any ground we’d gained since.
“He’s much better now. He’ll have to knock off the jelly donuts and potato chips, but my mother has him under lock and key.”
“I’m so glad to hear he’s better.”
“Care to dance?” he asked as the strains of “Hotel California” began. He held out his arms, his look hopeful.
I stepped into his embrace, a little unsure about how I was going to pull this off. I hadn’t danced in what felt like a hundred years. “As long as you don’t like your feet. Remember, I’m an ex-nun. We didn’t do a lot of cha-chas at the convent.”
“Not to worry,” he said with a handsome smile and a wink. “My mother taught me how to dance. I’ve got you covered.”
“Then I’d love to, Mr. Dracula.”
I didn’t have to worry about my dancing, Oz swept me up and on to the dance floor under the moody light twinkling above us, and he wasn’t kidding when he said his mother taught him how to dance. He tripped the light fantastic as though he were fresh off Dancing With The Stars.
Just as we circled the floor—me laughing at how clumsy I was, and Oz teasing me about how clumsy I was—there was a shift in the vibe of the room.
The chatter of happy voices faded away and the clink of glasses ended abruptly seconds before a female’s scream pierced the room with a sharp pitch.
As we both turned around, scanning the dance floor, a woman screamed out, “He’s dead! Oh, my goodness, he’s dead!”
Chapter 3
Oz instantly stepped to my side, cupping my elbow and pulling me away from the direction of chaos where the woman who’d screamed stood in front of someone I couldn’t see.
“Wait here,” he ordered in an authoritative tone I hadn’t heard from him, not even when we’d met at our last crime scene.
As Oz hit the bricks, his tall frame wending through the crowd, I saw Higgs, his Nicki Minaj ponytail glistening under the spooky lights. He’d parked himself in front of the woman—dressed as a nurse, by the by—his face grim.
Someone else whooshed in, a blonde woman with a green T-shirt and matching green bow around her head. She was followed closely by a very tall, very aristocratic gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair, who, even in a T-shirt that read “envy” in capital letters, still managed to look like the epitome of class and sophistication.
“I already made the call, Tansy,” I heard Higgs say as he pointed over his shoulder. Which, though I couldn’t see for myself, probably meant the person truly was dead.
Forgetting that Oz had told me to stay put, where do you suppose I was headed? For the body, which, as I made my way toward Higgs, I now saw was sitting in a chair at one of the tables pushed off to a corner of the rec room. But I couldn’t see all of him, and it was making me itchy with interest.
I’m not even going to pretend my curiosity wasn’t at an all-time high. That would be a disservice to us all. Did I want to stick my nose in the middle of this?
You bet.
Should I? Probably not. First, because what were the chances this was another murder? Pretty slim, I’d say. I mean, in mere months I’d encountered three. A fourth was really pushing the odds.
Second, because Higgs had given me a good talking to about the difference between solving a real murder and solving one on a Netflix crime-watching binge. In real life, he’d said, people shoot real bullets, and my foot could tell you that was the truth.
Though, I’d sworn to him I never meant to get involved in the last standoff with a killer. I’d honestly only been there to get some evidence for my dear friend Knuckles. I maintain I had no idea I was walking into another scenario involving a killer…er, make that two.
And Higgs was right. I truly am ill prepared when facing someone with a gun. I’m also woefully out of shape. Even if I’d managed to survive two shootouts, it surely wasn’t because I had abs of steel.
So I’d promised to be even more careful than I�
��d ever been before and try to keep my curiosity curbed enough to keep me out of danger if we ever had another murder arise. But I did tell him I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t speculate and theorize if I ever ran across another crime scene, and then I’d joked that the likelihood of me seeing another murder scene after witnessing three bordered on almost impossible.
Yet, here we were once more. Not that I’m saying this is a murder scene. Not at all. There could be a million different reasons why someone would scream, “He’s dead,” right?
And I was dying to see. So I weaseled my way through the crowd of people whose hushed whisperers swirled all around me.
I managed to make it to Higgs, who’d moved the crowd surrounding the chair where the alleged dead man sat forward a few feet. That was also when I realized the blonde woman in the green T-shirt was Detective Primrose.
As people began to disperse a bit, moving off into small groups, I eyed Tansy’s shirt, and the one the elegant man next to her wore. That was when it hit me.
“Oh, I get it! You guys are green with envy, right?” I said, maybe just a little too loudly under the gloomy circumstances. Then I winced and put my hand over my big mouth in shame.
Higgs’s eyes twinkled as Tansy eyed me. “By George, she’s got it,” she said dryly. “But I’d expect nothing less from Cobbler Cove’s star sleuth.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, horrified at my rude outburst, even though it didn’t stop me from trying to peek around the tall frame of the man she was with so I could get a real glimpse of the body.
Who was it, for heaven’s sake?
“Are you a part of this, Miss Lavender?” Tansy asked, pointing to the foot of the body, just poking out from behind her.
I gave her a shocked look, my eyes widening as I planted my hands on my hips. “Do you mean am I a part of this party? I sure am. I’m partying hearty tonight. I’ve had two glasses of punch and like six or seven weenies in a blanket. Oh, and one handful of Cheese Nips.”
She fought a smile and popped her red lips. “I think you know what I mean, you little minx. Do you know what’s happened here?”
House of the Rising Nun Page 3
