Dark Waters (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries)

by Bartlett, L. L.

  “Whatever you guys are up to, I don’t want to know about it — at least not now. Tell me all about it when it’s over.”

  “You got it.”

  She bent down to give me a kiss. It was perfunctory, nothing more, and yet as she pulled back we shared what I would call a loving smile. Then, she was all business again. “Come on, Holly. Time for doggy day care.” She grabbed the leash and hooked it to the dog’s collar.

  The apartment seemed unnaturally quiet after she’d gone.

  For once, I was glad Maggie drank decaf coffee, and I decided to sack out on her couch. I must have conked out right away, because when I came to and looked at her living room clock it was nine-thirty. I checked my cell phone and was surprised to find that Sam hadn’t called. That was okay. I had another call to make.

  I reached for my wallet and pulled out the card I’d been given the evening before. I studied it long and hard before I worked up the courage to punch in the number and expected voice mail to kick in. “Hello.”

  “Father Mike? It’s Jeff Resnick. We spoke at The Whole Nine Yards bar last night.”

  “Of course. So, you decided to talk about your experience after all.”

  “Yeah — if only to get it behind me.”

  “Great.”

  “Are you free today?”

  “Yeah. Would you like to come over to the rectory?”

  “Uh,” I hesitated. It was less than a mile down the road, but ….

  He laughed. “I don’t blame you. Are you doing anything for lunch today?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “I’m loving those beef on weck sandwiches here in Buffalo. I’ll sure miss them when I’m reassigned. I have to be up at Sisters Hospital this afternoon. There’s a tavern near there that’s got some wicked-fresh horseradish. It’s call Ivy’s.”

  “I know the place.”

  “See you at noon?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  I hung up, wondering if I’d made a mistake. Why was I willing to talk to a stranger about what was bothering me and not to Maggie or Sam? Okay, Maggie wasn’t available to me for that kind of shit just yet, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to bare my soul to Sam. We were fine talking about his investigations, but we didn’t talk about personal stuff — ever. And Richard was on my shit list. No doubt, I was on his list, too.

  I wouldn’t need to talk to Mike Ryan if Brenda didn’t have houseguests. Before Evelyn and Da-Marr arrived, I could talk to her about anything. I’d really disappointed her by not warming to her houseguests. Disappointed? The word wasn’t strong enough to describe what she felt about that. Words weren’t necessary, either — I could experience it firsthand, and it wasn’t pleasant. She had no clue how much that hurt — that she’d chosen Da-Marr — someone she’d never met before — over me. I thought after what the three of us had been through during the previous eighteen months that we’d forged a bond that nothing could shatter. That I could be so wrong shook me.

  I replaced my phone and got up from the couch. I’d check on Herschel, and then it would be time to go home.

  I still wasn’t sure I wanted to face Richard.

  “I don’t care what it costs, I need this done today,” Richard said for the third time in less than an hour. He closed his eyes and let out an exasperated breath.

  “Our mobile unit can be there by three this afternoon.”

  “I’d be willing to pay more if it was by noon.”

  “I’ll have to look at the schedule and see what I can do,” said the manager at Erie County Glass.

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “I’ll call you back within ten minutes.”

  “Thank you.” Richard hung up the phone and looked up to see Da-Marr standing in the doorway of his study. “What’s up?” he asked, and it took all his self-control not to sound angry.

  “Aunt Evelyn says I can’t drive Brenda’s car anymore. Tell her I can.”

  No hello, no please. No nothing.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why?” Da-Marr asked, the anger in his voice was positively menacing.

  Richard shrugged. “She feels a certain responsibility toward you. As your guardian, I have to bow to her judgment.”

  “She ain’t my guardian. I’m over eighteen. And she’s wrong.”

  “About what?”

  Da-Marr stepped up to the desk. “I should be able to do what I want when I want.” He sounded ten instead of twenty years old.

  Richard leaned back in his chair, taking another tack. “We had some trouble overnight.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Da-Marr’s tone had softened; he sounded wary.

  “Last night my brother’s apartment was broken into.”

  Da-Marr said nothing.

  “Some vandal broke the bathroom window and got in. All the light bulbs were unscrewed and smashed. Not only that, but whoever did it also left three wasp nests in the living room.”

  “That’s weird,” Da-Marr said with little inflection.

  “Yes, it is,” Richard said, staring into the young man’s deep brown eyes.

  “Why didn’t you call the po-lice? Isn’t that what white people do?”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same question. You see, my brother is deathly allergic to bee and wasp venom. If he’d been stung, it could have been murder.”

  Again Da-Marr said nothing.

  “It’s going to take a lot of money to remedy the situation.”

  Da-Marr shrugged. “Hey, you got it.”

  “That’s not the point. My brother could have died,” Richard reiterated. “Whoever attacks him — attacks me.”

  Da-Marr’s expression remained impassive.

  “I’m sure you can understand my concern,” Richard pressed. “Evelyn tells me you come from a close-knit family. We have that in common. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my family.”

  Da-Marr shrugged.

  “I understand your parents and sisters have been worried about you getting mixed up with the wrong element, and that’s why your aunt has taken such an interest in your future.”

  “She treats me like a kid.”

  “I think she loves you very much and wants you to be successful.”

  “She don’t ask me what I want to do or be. Are you gonna let me drive Brenda’s car or not?”

  Richard shook his head. “Sorry. You know your aunt better than I do. She’s made a decision and I have no intention of crossing her.”

  Da-Marr turned away in disgust. “Pussy-whipped asshole,” he grated and left the room.

  Ungrateful idiot who can’t see a golden opportunity when it’s handed to him.

  The phone rang. Richard leaned forward to pick up the receiver.

  “Mr. Alpert, this is Bill at Erie County Glass. Our mobile unit can be at your house within the hour.”

  “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

  “No problem, sir.”

  Richard hung up and leaned back in his chair once again. Da-Marr’s question haunted him. Why hadn’t he called the police? He knew he’d better come up with an explanation before the next time he spoke with Jeff.

  Chapter 14

  Ivy’s On Main was a dump. It seemed to have changed hands at least twice since I’d come back to Buffalo some eighteen months before. Its proximity not far from UB’s south campus meant that the student foot traffic was high, and so was the rent, even if the décor sucked. At least the walls had recently seen a coat of paint, and the ancient tile floor looked like it had been pressure-washed since the first — and only time — I had darkened its door.

  As predicted, the place was full of students and others grabbing a beer with lunch. A table in the back was empty, so I snagged it. There were no individual menus. The bill of fare had been written on a blackboard in different colored chalk, featuring burgers, fries, and sandwiches. I had a feeling Mike and I would be ordering the same thing.

  It was already a little past noon, with no sight of Mike Ryan. Good thing, too. My phon
e rang. I looked at the number.

  “Hi, Sam. What’s up?

  “Did you get anything else off that piece of chalk?”

  Crap. With everything that had gone on in the previous sixteen hours, I’d forgotten all about it. I couldn’t even recall where I’d left it. Somewhere in my apartment. After my visitor the previous evening, I wasn’t even confident it would still be there.

  I answered simply. “No.”

  “Too bad. Are you doing anything important this afternoon? Care to take another field trip?”

  “Where to this time?

  “An auction of Jack Morrow’s personal possessions.”

  “Why haven’t I heard about this before now?”

  “Well, if you read my paper you might have,” he said sounding annoyed. “There’s a piece in this morning’s business section.”

  “Sorry. I only got as far as the comics.”

  “You need to expand your horizons.”

  “I’ve heard that before. Where and when?” He gave me the address and we agreed to meet at two that afternoon.

  “Can you bring your camera?”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “Good. See you then.”

  I ended the call just as Father Ryan approached the table.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Mike said, looking like he’d just stepped out of a men’s clothing store ad. His dark suit didn’t look like it had come off the rack, and the scarf around his neck looked like cashmere. He obviously hadn’t taken a vow of poverty.

  “They were gifts,” he said as though reading my mind and took the seat opposite me. “I have a rich aunt who dotes on me — I’m the son she never had.”

  The word aunt caused me to wince, painfully reminding me of Richard’s houseguests. Hadn’t Brenda told me that Evelyn had three daughters — no sons? Is that why she doted on Da-Marr? And what did her daughters think of that?

  “Have you ordered?” he asked.

  “Not yet.”

  Mike turned and raised a hand to get the waitress’s attention, dazzling her with a smile. Did Catholic priests with loving aunts also have their teeth whitened?

  “Are you ready to order?” asked the slim, blue-haired coed in black pants and shirt. Gold studs marred her nose and lip.

  “Beef on weck and a Molson for me.”

  I nodded. “I’ll have the same.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Mike leaned forward. “I wear the scarf to hide the collar. It’s just easier that way.”

  “I know you don’t have a lot of time,” I guessed, “so where should I start?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened. Maggie said you were stung by a bee.”

  I nodded. “The next thing I knew, I was on the ground looking up at the sky.”

  He shook his head. “If that was true, we wouldn’t be talking now.”

  I sobered. “Yeah. Well, as you’re an expert on this kind of stuff, I was kind of hoping you’d tell me what it all means.”

  “I don’t know that it means anything. You need to discover what your experience means to you. And you still haven’t explained it to me. Is there a reason?”

  I shook my head. “I saw the classic white light and it scared the shit out of me.”

  “Were you frightened before the experience, during, or after?”

  I hadn’t thought about it before now. “During and after.”

  He nodded. “Most people feel a sense of peace as they approach the light. But before we go into that, can you tell me more about what you remember and felt just prior to your experience?”

  I shrugged. “I remember looking at my hand and watching the bite turn into a welt before falling from the ladder. And then things get murky. I was being sucked into this glaring white light.”

  “Have you ever had an out of body experience before this? Did you see yourself, your surroundings, from above as your soul left your body?”

  I frowned. “My soul never left my body. I was aware that I was still me, but … not. I know that doesn’t make much sense.”

  His expression darkened. “Did you feel weightless?”

  I shook my head. “I could feel the pull of gravity.” I closed my eyes to blot out the sight of the bustling bar, to better concentrate, and felt my fists clench. “I was being sucked up, into the air, but it wasn’t.…” I had spent far too much time trying not to think about what had happened, and now I wasn’t sure what it was I’d gone through. I opened my eyes, finding Mike looking at me intently.

  “Okay, if you can’t tell me what it was, can you tell me what it wasn’t?”

  I let out a breath, unsure of how to answer. “I’ve gone online. I’ve read near-death accounts. Many people find it to be an enlightening thing. It wasn’t for me. Or is it that I’m just a coward and am afraid to face death?”

  “From what I’ve heard, you’ve faced death more than your fair share of times, so I don’t think that’s your problem.”

  I wasn’t sure I liked hearing that. How much had Maggie told him about me? But as I thought about it, it became apparent that I’d made this experience a problem. It nagged at me. I found myself thinking about it at odd moments. I’d let it bother me in waking hours, and it had reawakened the nightmares from the mugging, giving them a new and more terrifying ending.

  “What do you think is my problem?” I challenged.

  Mike laughed. “I have no idea. But I suspect you do.”

  “Now you sound like a shrink.”

  He shrugged, just as the waitress brought our beers. “Your sandwiches will be ready in a couple of minutes,” she said, and went to the next table to check on their progress.

  Mike turned back to me. “You don’t strike me a person of faith.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No apologies necessary. I may be a priest, but I don’t go around criticizing what people believe or don’t believe.”

  “That’s not exactly church doctrine.”

  “I prefer to think — or at least hope — that as time goes on there’ll be more forward-thinking leadership. Hey, Pope Francis took the first steps. I’m encouraged that more progress will happen in the coming years no matter who’s wearing the white cassock.”

  “You’re a heretic,” I accused.

  He laughed. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve been accused of.”

  “And the worst would be?”

  “Just don’t get into a poker game with me.”

  I couldn’t help but smile, but it was short-lived. A beer and a good conversation over lunch weren’t going to change the fact that I couldn’t seem to let this whole near-death thing drop. It was going to come back the minute I shut my eyes for sleep, and the flashback to the mugging was going to come back to slam me the next time I saw Da-Marr.

  Maybe I did need a shrink, but there was no way I was going to voluntarily go that route.

  True to her word, the waitress arrived and plunked down our sandwiches and fries, along with a bottle of ketchup and a pot of horseradish to share between us. “If you need anything else, give a holler.”

  “Thanks,” Mike said, and turned to his lunch. “This is what I’ve been waiting days for.” He removed the top of the roll and slathered on a generous helping of horseradish. I did the same before taking a bite. Ivy’s might be a dump, but they made a damn fine beef on weck. The horseradish was so pungent it brought tears to my eyes. Perfection!

  Mike swallowed his first bite, coughed, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “When your mind replays the sequence, how long would you say it lasts?”

  “Forever.”

  “Do you get stuck at a certain point in the nightmare?”

  I took a sip of my beer and thought about it. “As I spiral up into the blinding light, it gets bigger and bigger until it’s about to — ” I tossed my hands in the air and made a noise like an explosion.

  Mike took another bite and looked thoughtful. “Do you hear any sounds?”

  “Come to think of it, no.”

 
; “Some people describe celestial noises, although what they sound like changes from person to person.”

  I’d once thought I heard celestial noises after whacking my head after being pushed down a flight of stairs. Only for me, the sound was reminiscent of wind chimes.

  “Have you thought about writing down your experience? You might find clarity if you could put it down on paper.”

  “I don’t know if I’m looking so much for clarity or understanding.” Once I’d said it, I knew it was the latter, not the former. “Why did this happen to me? Lots of people go into anaphylactic shock and don’t see a bright light. When I got mugged, I saw the bat come at me, but it wasn’t a bright light I saw, it was — ” I stopped myself. “What else did Maggie tell you about me?”

  “Not much, really. In fact, she mostly talked about herself. She’s terribly afraid she’s going to lose her mother-in-law.”

  Then she hadn’t told him about my gift — not that I thought of knowing things about people, glomming onto their emotions, and sometimes experiencing clairvoyance as a gift. I sure as hell wasn’t going to mention it.

  “You were saying?” Mike prompted.

  I shook my head. “Nothing.” I took another bite of my sandwich.

  “Not to be a braggart, but if you’d like to read my dissertation, I’d be happy to loan you a copy.”

  “Not to be rude, but I don’t think so. I almost wish I hadn’t checked the Internet to read up on the experience. I think it may have colored my memory of the experience.”

  “That’s a valid observation.”

  “The more I think about it, the better I like your idea of writing down what I remember. Maybe I will get clarity and understanding.”

  He shrugged. “It can’t hurt.” Mike changed the subject. “So, what do you think of the Bills this season?” It turned out he was a Patriots fan, and we discussed past games and predicted the outcome of the upcoming game.

  When the check came, I grabbed it.

  “Thanks,” Mike said. “I’ve enjoyed our conversation. If you’d like to talk some other time, I’d be happy to meet again.

  “Thanks,” I said, leaving the invitation open.

  When we left the tavern, he went left while I turned right. I still had more than an hour to kill before I had to meet Sam. Up the street was a college bookstore where I knew I could buy a notebook.