I gave him my card and asked him to call me if he thought of anything else. On the walk back to my car I couldn’t help but smile. My ego had gotten a much needed boost.
It was still too early to try Angie at the bar, so I drove home and spent a few hours channel surfing. I didn’t bother changing clothes. Dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and gym shoes, I’d fit right in. I moved my Glock from its regular spot on my belt to inside my purse. There was no need for me to announce I was armed. Not that I’d be the only one. Ever since Ohio passed the concealed carry law, even soccer moms were heavily armed. Though the law allowed people to carry a concealed gun inside a bar, the person was not allowed to drink. So what were they doing in a bar if they weren’t there to drink? The law made little sense to me, but then the lawmakers didn’t ask for my opinion.
The Spitting Parrot earned its name twenty years ago from the original owner. Otis Barnes kept his parrot, Spike, in the bar. Spike had the disgusting habit of spitting seeds at people as they entered the bar. Eventually a health inspector threatened to shut the place down if the parrot wasn’t ousted. Otis shut down the bar for several weeks. When he re-opened the bar, he renamed it The Spitting Parrot. Sometime during those weeks the inspector disappeared. Everybody figured Otis was involved but there was never any proof. Spike and Otis lived the rest of their lives in a double-wide trailer behind the bar. They died a few days apart. Rumor was that just before the funeral, Otis’s sons hid the bird in their dad’s coffin.
To this day the place was still run by his two sons. Since they took over, the place was cleaner, but the clientele had gotten worse. If you were looking for a nice guy or girl to meet the parents, go someplace else. If, on the other hand, your type was the ex-con, then this was the place for you.
By the time I arrived there were only a few empty seats. I grabbed the lone empty stool at the bar. The bartender’s arms, covered in tattoos, looked like an ad for one of the local gangs. When he made his way to me, I swapped a five dollar bill for a bottle of Coors Lite.
I picked up the bottle and looked around the room. It soon became clear I was in the minority. There was more ink showing in there than on all three of the bookcases I had in my living room. I did technically fit in, but my little tattoo was small and in a spot usually covered by clothes. Besides, the people in this bar would laugh their butts off if I tried boasting about mine. There was nothing scary about a butterfly and a book with the words ‘Let your dreams take flight.’
To celebrate my eighteenth birthday, my best friend, Melissa, got her hands on an assortment of alcohol. Of course we had felt it necessary not to let any of it go to waste. She and her mom lived over a tattoo parlor. Her mom was working the night shift at the hospital. To get our first tattoos we only had to stumble down a flight of stairs and hand over some cash. That weekend had started out great but went straight into the toilet, which was where I spent Saturday, Sunday, and most of Monday. It was the hangover to end all hangovers. My parents thought it was the flu, or at least pretended it was. I swore to God if I survived, I’d never get that drunk again. Ten years later and I’d kept that promise. Sort of, well, I’d tried to anyway.
Man, just being in this place had me reaching for a pack of Capri Menthol cigarettes. I quit six months ago thanks to my mother’s nagging, I mean, heartfelt concern for my well-being. I especially wanted one while driving, after eating, and after sex. Not that I’d had a whole lot of that last one lately. It had been so long even some of these guys were kind of looking good.
Fortunately, before my libido could take over, I spotted a red-haired waitress in a too tight t-shirt, a black skirt that barely covered her butt, and two-inch spike-heeled shoes. The small nametag identified her as Angie. I watched as she effortlessly moved from table to table, taking orders, delivering drinks, and ignoring the occasional ass grab. These guys didn’t realize how lucky they were. If I’d been their waitress, they’d have ended up with a pitcher of beer dumped in their laps.
Two hours and lite beers later, Angie walked out the front door. A minute later I stepped outside and found her a few feet from the door smoking a cigarette and fending off the rather crude advances of yet another admirer. I really didn’t think her meager hourly tips and wages were worth that kind of harassment, but what did I know. One thing was for sure, the waitresses at this place had better be escorted to their cars each night. The jerk finally got the message and went back inside the bar. I could smell the alcohol from several feet away. This guy was a DUI waiting to happen.
“God, what a jerk,” I said with what I hoped was a sympathetic smile.
Angie smirked. “He’s not as bad as most of these guys.”
“Swell, that’s good news.”
“Are you applying for the waitress job?”
“Ugh, I was thinking about it,” I lied.
“Don’t let that scare you off. It’s not a bad place to work and the tips are okay.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Almost five years.”
“Wow, that’s a long time to work in those shoes every night.”
Angie glanced down at her shoes and back up at me before answering. “At first my feet hurt like hell, but then I got used to it.”
The breeze sent the smoke from her cigarette into my face. I sucked it in like a drunk downing their first drink of the day. Angie noticed and offered me a cigarette.
“Thanks, no, I’m trying to quit,” I said, a frown on my face.
“I hope you have better luck than I’ve had.”
“Thanks.” This totally sucked. She seemed so nice. The few drug dealers I’d had the misfortune to be around were total bastards. It was time to get this over with and go home. “Angie, I have a confession to make, I’m not here about the job.”
“Oh, look, you’re great and all, but I don’t date women.”
Oh my God, she actually thought I was hitting on her. How the hell did I get myself into these things?
“No, I’m a private investigator. I wanted to talk to you about your ex-boyfriend, Brian.”
“Oh jeez. Look, I heard about what happened but that’s it.”
“Why did you break up?”
“We just did, no reason,” she said, tossing her cigarette butt on the ground.
“That’s funny, because I’ve dumped and been dumped and there’s always a reason.”
“There wasn’t.”
“Really? I heard it was because of your drug problem.”
“Drugs? Are you kidding me? I don’t do drugs. I’m clean.”
“So you’re not using, but what about selling?”
“No way, I’m done with that stuff and selling is too dangerous.”
“So then what happened?”
“Oh hell, I guess it doesn’t matter now. He was hanging out with a bunch of losers. I warned him to stay away from them, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”
Before I could ask who the losers were, the door slammed open. There in the doorway stood the bartender, glaring at us. “The girls are swamped. You here to work or what?”
“I’m coming, jeez,” Angie replied.
“Wait, I just need another minute.”
“Sorry, I gotta go.”
“Can we talk again, soon?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Here’s my card. How about breakfast tomorrow? I’ll buy.”
“I guess, one o’clock at Max’s Diner on Main.”
“Perfect,” I replied, avoiding making eye contact with the irritated, very muscular bartender.
I got in my car and pulled out of the parking lot. Ten seconds later flashing lights appeared behind me.
“No freaking way.” I pulled over to the curb and rolled down my window.
“License and registration please.”
I looked up and found myself staring into a bright light. “Brandon, turn off the flashlight.”
“So, ma’am, have you been drinking tonight?”
“Call me ma’am one more time, a
nd I’m gonna kick your butt.”
I could have sworn I heard him chuckle before ordering me to step out of my vehicle. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”
“I’m just doing my job, sis. Step out of the car.”
“Shit,” I said, opening the car door and stepping out onto the street.
“Nice language.”
“Do you honestly think I’d drive drunk?” I asked, no longer sure he was just giving me a hard time.
“No, but I had to make it look good. So, did you talk to Angie?”
“I’m sorry, but weren’t you the one who said we couldn’t discuss this case?”
“Oh, come on, Kim, you know I had to say that or Michael would have reamed me a new one.”
“I guess.”
“So, what’d Angie say?”
While I was quick to get myself entangled in one mess after another, I wasn’t eager to get my brother mixed up in another of my messes. “She didn’t say much.”
“God, you really suck at lying.”
“Shut up.”
“Kim, you need my help.”
“No, I don’t. Besides, if you got caught helping me, there isn’t a police department anywhere that would hire you, not even Dad’s.”
“That’s my business, not yours.”
“Fine, and this is my business, so butt out. If we’re done, I’m outta here.”
“Include me or…”
“Or what?”
“I’ll tell Detective Tompkins you’re interfering in his case?”
“Go right ahead, he already knows.”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” I said, feeling like I’d had this argument before.
Brandon called my bluff and reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Like every member of the Murphy family, Brandon had the Lakeview Police Department on speed dial. His finger hovered over the button, taunting me. I grabbed for the phone and missed.
“Ah, too slow. So what’s it gonna be?”
“All right, you can help, but I’m in charge, not you.”
“Fine,” he said.
“Oh, and you can’t tell anyone.”
“That’s too bad because I’d planned on them putting it on the morning news.”
“Funny,” I said. “Max’s Diner at one o’clock.”
“Cool, I’ll be there.”
“So, can I go now, or are you going to give me a field sobriety test?”
“Go. I know you’re not dumb enough to drive drunk.”
“You’re a good cop,” I said.
“I know. Be safe.”
“You too.”
Glad to escape, I drove home, careful to pay attention to all of the traffic laws, even the posted speed limits, which I normally tended to think of more as suggestions than actual laws.
Chapter Five
Tuesday
I was being chased by a giant cigarette when an incessant buzzing penetrated my subconscious. According to the alarm clock it was only six o’clock in the morning. No sane person would visit at that ungodly hour of the day. Fearing a family emergency, I got out of bed and rushed down the stairs. The buzzing began again.
“All right, already, jeez.”
I looked through the peephole and grimaced. What the hell was he doing here? For a moment, the idea of going back upstairs and crawling under the covers was oh so tempting. It was just too bad Grant was a cop and had probably already spotted my car parked in the back lot. A sudden banging on the door confirmed my suspicion. He’d never leave. There was only one way to make this problem go away, so I opened the door. Without a word, Grant stormed past me.
“Come on in,” I muttered.
“You just couldn’t stay the hell away from this case!”
“There better be a good reason you’re yelling at me at six o’clock in the morning.”
“Oh there is. Your fingerprints are all over my crime scene.”
“We already had this conversation. You know the only thing I touched was the lamp I tripped over.”
“I’m not talking about that crime scene. I’m talking about the one I just left.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Where were you between ten last night and four this morning?”
“Wait a minute. What’s going on?”
“Answer the question.”
“Not until you tell me what happened.”
“Kim, where were you?”
“Jeez, fine. I was at a bar for a couple of hours then I came home and went to bed,” I answered, trying to be as vague as possible. There was no way I was bringing Brandon into whatever the hell was going on.
“Alone?”
“Yes, alone,” I snapped.
“Too bad, at least you could have had an alibi.”
“An alibi for what?”
Not bothering to answer my question, Grant pulled a pen and small notebook from his suit pocket.
“I need times, places, and names of witnesses. If you have any.”
This was bad. Very bad. He still hadn’t told me what happened. The image of an orange jumpsuit and a bunkmate named Big Bertha caused my heart to race. I took several slow, deep breaths. I opened my eyes, with no memory of having closed them. “What happened?”
“Adam Mullen was found dead this morning.”
Grant said dead, but what he meant was murdered. This also meant I was a prime suspect—again. Otherwise, he sure as heck wouldn’t be here wasting his time yelling at me. Crap.
“How?” I finally managed to ask.
“You’re not in a position to ask questions. How did your fingerprints end up in Mr. Mullen’s home?”
“He was a friend of Brian Lewis’s, the dead guy in Lindsay’s apartment.”
“I know that.”
“Well, I went over to Adam’s to ask him about Brian’s murder.”
“Did he give you anything helpful?”
“Not a thing. Didn’t you talk to him?”
“No one answered the door when I went. After seeing the place, I can understand why he didn’t want to let a cop inside.”
“Yeah, I was only there a short time and I was afraid I’d get a buzz by just being in the same room.”
“I’d have paid to see that.” Grant smirked.
“Grant, he was fine when I left.”
“You had means and opportunity.”
“Fine, but what about a motive? I just met the guy. You can’t believe I killed him.”
“Kim, if I thought for a second you murdered him, we’d be having this conversation in an interrogation room instead of your apartment.”
He believed me. Tears streamed down my face. The last time, he hadn’t believed me, but this time was different. He wasn’t demanding a DNA test, an airtight alibi, and my fingerprints. Though, actually, he already had those, what with them being on file thanks to our previous encounter and my subsequent arrest.
I wasn’t sure why his belief in me was so important. I’d have to think about that later, but for now there was another dead body and a killer out there somewhere.
Grant left and returned with a handful of tissues. “Here, wipe your face.”
Just great, as if things weren’t bad enough, Grant got to have a front row seat to my crying fit. My eyes would undoubtedly be red and puffy.
“Thanks.” I used the tissues to wipe away the tears. It was just too bad they couldn’t make the burning in my eyes and the pounding in my head disappear.
“I’m still going to need that list of names.”
Unfortunately, it was a short list: the bartender and Angie. Though odds were the bartender wouldn’t remember me, I put him down anyway, just in case. This so didn’t look good for me but I refused to put Brandon’s name down. I got myself into this mess and I’d have to get myself out.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. So how did Adam die?”
“We’ll have to wait for official word from the doc, but it looks like blunt force trauma to the back of the head
.”
“Yuck.”
“Do you smoke?”
“Not anymore. Why?”
Grant’s cell phone rang before I could ask about the weapon. He glanced at the display.
“Shit, I’ve got to go, but we’re not done.” His look locked onto mine and for a moment I completely forgot how to breathe.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Sure, fine,” I choked out between coughs.
“All right, I’ll get in touch later.”
He left me there, embarrassed, confused, and preoccupied with inappropriate thoughts about the whole getting in touch comment. Crap.
Working out held no appeal, so I went upstairs and crawled under the covers. The next time I opened my eyes it was nine o’clock. With my priorities set, I started a pot of coffee and started for the stairs and a much needed shower, when the doorbell rang. Assuming it was Grant back for round two, I yanked the door open. Unfortunately, Lindsay stood on my doorstep looking perfectly groomed and pissed off.
“I paid you good money to find the monster that has ruined my life and instead you spend the day in bed.”
“Lindsay, I didn’t get to bed until after four this morning and I’ve already had a conversation with the police about your case today.”
“Good, you have been working. So what have you found out?”
“Right now I need a shower, some coffee, and a jelly donut.”
“All of that can wait. Well, maybe not the shower.” She sniffed. “But I need to know what you’ve learned.”
“I haven’t had breakfast, but, more importantly, I’ve had little sleep and no caffeine. Also, I’ve been interrogated by the police more times in the last few days than you can imagine. So maybe you can give me a break and I’ll be happy to fill you in later.”
“Fine. I didn’t feel like going into the office today, so you can reach me at the hotel.”
“Great, I’ll call you.”
Glad to have Lindsay and her overbearing perfume gone, I went into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Nothing else was going to get accomplished until I sucked down some much needed caffeine.
Death By High Heels (The Kim Murphy PI Series Book 1) Page 5
