I yanked open the door. And I did see something weird. And I did run. Only not away from the magic room. In fact, I raced into the room and dropped to my knees.
Right next to where Vinnie was lying on the floor, moaning.
“Vinnie, are you all right?” After what Vinnie had told me the day before about his cancer and how much time the doctors told him he had to live, I assumed he’d taken some medication and gotten dizzy. Or had an attack of some kind. Until my eyes adjusted to the dim light in the windowless room and I saw the knife sticking out of his chest and the stream of blood that gurgled up around the edges of it and flowed to the floor.
“Holy shit!” Instinctively, I jerked away. But just as quickly, I had a full-blown attack of guilt. This was not the compassionate way to respond to a dying man.
And I knew beyond a doubt that Vinnie was breathing his last.
His eyes fluttered and opened. I couldn’t tell if he was able to see me or not. Still, a smile touched his lips. “Must…already be…in heaven,” Vinnie said. “You’re an angel.”
“Or not.” To prove it, I grabbed Vinnie’s hand and held on tight. “What happened?”
He managed to shake his head, but when he moved his lips, no words came out.
I told myself to get a grip and promised Vinnie help was on the way. I rummaged through my purse, grabbed my phone, and made the 911 call. When I was done, I took Vinnie’s hand in mine again.
“It’s going to be okay,” I told him. I was lying, but let’s face it, at a time like that, a little white lie provides a whole lot more comfort than the truth. “The paramedics will be here in a couple minutes. They’re going to take care of you, Vinnie.”
He rolled his head to the side and looked to where Damon was kneeling on the floor opposite me, and I don’t know where he found the strength, but Vinnie raised a hand in greeting.
That’s when I knew for sure that Vinnie didn’t have much time. One thing I’d learned in the paranormal PI game was that when living people (other than me) see a ghost, it means the end is near.
With that in mind, I knew I had to get Vinnie to talk.
I cradled his hand in both of mine. “What happened?” I asked him. “Who did this to you?”
“Who?” Vinnie drew the word out in one, long syllable. His voice was like the whisper of the wind. His chest rose and fell, and so did the knife stuck in it. It was too terrible to watch. And too horrifying to take my eyes off.
Even as I knelt there, frozen with horror, Vinnie dragged in a shallow breath and let it out slowly.
Then he went perfectly still.
“Vinnie?” I poked his shoulder with one finger, but he didn’t respond. “Vinnie, just hang on. They’re coming to help.” I heard the pulsing sounds of a siren out in the street. “Just a couple more minutes, Vinnie.”
But it was too late.
Vinnie’s hand still in mine, I sat back on my heels. “What’s going to happen?” I asked Damon.
He shrugged. “Since I never crossed over, I can’t say for sure. Unless Vinnie’s stuck here, too. By the look of that knife in his chest, I’d say he’s got some unfinished business for sure.”
No doubt, but before I had a chance to wonder what it meant and how I’d be involved, something weird happened.
As if a white light had been turned on behind it and its glow seeped through the plaster, one of the walls of Vinnie’s magic room began to shine. Little by little, the light intensified until I couldn’t see the wall at all. I squinted and covered my eyes with my hand.
That is, until I saw Vinnie rise out of his body. He walked over to the wall, and at the place where the light was its most blinding, he paused and turned. Smiling, he raised his hand and waved goodbye.
Right before he disappeared into the light.
I don’t know how long it took. I only knew that while it was happening, I didn’t move a muscle. I stared at the light, filled with emotions I didn’t understand and couldn’t name. I do know that it was all over by the time the cops and the paramedics burst into the apartment and hurried down the hallway and into the magic room.
That’s where they found me, kneeling on the floor next to Vinnie Pal’s lifeless body.
Word of a celebrity’s death travels fast.
By the time I answered questions from the cops, filled out forms for the paramedics, and made my way downstairs, there was a crowd gathered out in the parking lot. I counted four vans from local TV stations and a dozen or so reporters. One of them was talking to the doorman, and believe me, I made sure I snuck out of the building so he didn’t see me. I didn’t want to be fingered as the last person to see Vinnie Pal alive. Not on the six o’clock news, anyway.
By the time I got back to Garden View, I felt as if I’d been wrung out and hung up to dry. I dragged myself out of the car, fully prepared to hightail it to my office, shut the door, and hide out for the rest of the day.
I was on my way to do exactly that when I saw the ghost hunters gathered around one of the cars parked in the lot. They were listening to the radio.
“Did you hear?” Brian, the chief dork, accosted me where the sidewalk met the parking lot. “Vinnie Pal is dead.”
I stepped around him. “I heard.”
“You know what this means, don’t you?”
I knew, all right.
It meant that though the Lakewood cops who came in response to my call told me I was free to go, I was in for a whole bunch more questions, a thorough background check, and a close examination of my motives and what, exactly, I’d been doing in Vinnie’s apartment when he met his untimely end.
It meant that I wouldn’t get rid of the memory of that knife sticking out of Vinnie’s chest any time soon. Or, from the looks of it, the bloodstain on my good gray linen pants. Sad but true, and another thing I’d learned thanks to being PI to the dead: Blood does not easily wash out of natural fibers.
Of course, the news wasn’t all bad. I’d learned something helpful, too. I knew for certain Vinnie couldn’t have had anything to do with Damon’s death.
How?
No murderer could possibly cross over that quickly. Even one who had tried to buy his way into the Promised Land.
None of that was information I was willing to share with Brian, so I shrugged in response to his question.
“It means there’s even more reason to find evidence of Damon Curtis’s ghost,” he said, and how anyone could look so excited about a murder, I couldn’t say. Then again, Brian wouldn’t spend the next I-don’t-know-how-many-years trying to fall asleep with the image dancing through his head, the one of blood and knives and the way a person’s face gets chalky just before he buys the farm. “Vinnie’s mysterious death is really going to add to the Mind at Large mystique. Hey, maybe we can even find Vinnie’s ghost!” This was, apparently, a new thought, and anxious to share it with his fellow dorks, Brian hurried over to tell them.
That’s when I realized that one of the dorks looked awfully familiar.
Dan Callahan didn’t stay with the group to hear what Brian had to say. His hands tucked into the pockets of his black leather jacket, he strolled over, and even though he gave me a smile, I couldn’t help but notice that his gaze dipped down to the bloodstain on my pants.
A preemptive strike was in order. I asked questions before he could. “You taking up a new hobby? Or do you just like hanging around with the geek crowd?”
“You mean them?” Dan tipped his head toward where the ghost hunters were plotting strategy. “Just being friendly. Thought I’d give them a few pointers.”
“Because you know how to hunt ghosts.”
“If you’re asking, does that mean you believe in ghosts?”
“If I’m asking, it’s because I’d like to know what you’re up to. Do you know a lot about ghosts?”
“I know a lot about a lot of things.” There was a twinkle in Dan’s eyes that I would have found irresistible. If I was in the mood.
Maybe he sensed it. Or maybe he just
put two and two together and realized that bloodstains on a girl’s pant leg tend to blunt her good humor.
Before he got daring and decided to broach the subject anyway, I turned to head into the building.
“I could offer you a few pointers, too.”
Dan’s words stopped me in my tracks. I rolled my eyes. Which he didn’t see since I didn’t bother to turn around. “Let me guess, dark prophecies and vague warnings. Ghosts that go bump in the night. Been there, done that today, thanks very much.”
“I’m not talking about ghosts. I’m talking about that cop who’s waiting for you in your office.”
Just like he knew I would, I spun around.
Just like I knew he would, Dan didn’t stick around to elaborate. He was already walking away, and I wasn’t about to run after him. It was less humiliating and far more satisfying to grumble a word that shouldn’t have been used where the dead are supposed to be resting in peace. Childish? Sure, but it made me feel better and a little more ready to deal with the suburban cop who I knew was going to grill me about Vinnie.
The second I stepped into my office, I knew I was right about the grilling.
And wrong about the cop.
“For a woman who’s supposed to work here, you don’t spend a lot of time in your office.”
Quinn Harrison, looking like a million bucks in a charcoal suit, a crisp shirt, and silk tie the same impossible green as his eyes, was perched on the edge of my desk. Since Quinn didn’t have a politically correct bone in his body, he wasn’t embarrassed to have some of the papers from my desk in his hands. Even as I stood there, he thumbed through them one more time.
“Doesn’t your boss ever call you on the carpet for not being more industrious?” he asked.
Like the rest of the junk on my desk, the papers were nothing important, but I had my standards. I plucked the papers out of Quinn’s hands and tossed them back where they came from. “Don’t they teach you guys civility at the Police Academy?”
His thousand-watt smile lit up my office. “I missed that day.”
“And today?”
I crossed my arms over my chest and stepped back. Not that I was afraid of Quinn or anything, but when he stood, I didn’t want to be too close.
He stood.
I didn’t want to be too close. I took another step back.
“Today I got an interesting phone call,” he said. “It was from a buddy of mine. We’re supposed to play racquetball tonight and we needed to double-check. You know, to make sure one of us reserved a court.”
“Fascinating.” Everything about Quinn was fascinating, from the aroma of his expensive aftershave to the lock of coal black hair that fell over his forehead. And because I couldn’t let him know I thought so, I made sure I packed all the tartness I could into the word. “So you came all the way here to tell me that you’re as fit as a fiddle. It makes me feel guilty for eating that pint of Chunky Monkey last night.”
One corner of Quinn’s mouth pulled into what was almost a smile. “I like Cherry Garcia myself. And I didn’t tell you about the racquetball because I think you care. I told you because the guy I’m playing with is a friend of mine. Another cop.”
“If you’re looking to fix him up, I’m not interested. I don’t date cops.”
“A fact you’ve made perfectly clear.”
“Have I?” Is that what this was really all about? Was Quinn here about another date? Knowing Quinn, it seemed unlikely, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I tried for a sexy smile and hoped it wasn’t coy. “Maybe you just haven’t asked at the right time.”
“Maybe you’ve got blood on the leg of your pants.”
My hopes melted along with my patience. “You’re a pain in the ass.” I pushed past Quinn, opened my bottom desk drawer, and tossed my purse inside. When I was done, I sat in my desk chair, pulled the papers Quinn had been looking through closer, and tapped them into a neat pile. If he wanted to talk, he’d have to turn around.
He did. “My buddy was on a call today. There was a homicide. In Lakewood. Unusual for a suburb as nice and quiet as that.”
My hands stilled over the papers.
“He said he interviewed a woman at the scene. A stunning redhead, that’s how he described her. Call me an incurable romantic, I heard the words stunning, redhead, and murder in the same sentence and I just knew it was you.”
“No one has ever accused you of being an incurable romantic.”
“You got that right.” Quinn laughed. “I am incurably curious, though. Professional hazard. And right now, I’m wondering about this Vinnie Pal guy. Is he the one you stood me up for the night I called you about the ball game?”
So we weren’t talking about murder. We were back to talking about sex.
I didn’t want Quinn to see me breathe a sigh of relief, so I kept busy with the papers. “You came here in the middle of the day to ask about my love life?” I asked Quinn.
“I came here in the middle of the day because it looks like your love life and a murder might be connected. It’s that whole incurable romantic thing again. I can’t help myself. I’m worried.”
“You’re nosy.”
“I’m nosy and worried.”
“Vinnie and I weren’t involved, if that’s what you’re being nosy about. I took his class down at the Rock Hall, and he loaned me a CD. I was returning it. That’s when I found him.” It was the story I’d told the Lakewood police, and I was sticking to it.
The least Quinn could have done is pretend he believed me. He pursed his lips and tipped his head back, thinking. “It’s funny how you’re always around when people are dying,” he said.
“Not technically true. This is the first time I’ve actually been around someone who was dying. All the rest of them were dead by the time I got to them. As for me being there when Vinnie died, that was nothing more than a coincidence.”
I was saved from elaborating when Quinn’s cell rang. He listened for a moment, barked a quick “I’ll be right there,” and flipped it closed.
“Coincidence, huh?” Quinn started for the door. “Then maybe what just happened down at the Rock Hall is a coincidence, too. Alistair Cromwell, the Mind at Large drummer, he was down there and one of the spotlights on the stage fell. Practically took his head off.”
Chapter 10
“I can come with you, can’t I?”
Since I’d followed Quinn out of my office and down the hall to the main door, he shouldn’t have been surprised by my request.
Just like I shouldn’t have been surprised by his answer.
“No.”
“But I’m going to go anyway. You know I am. Since we’re both going to the same place—”
“No.” When he punched through the door and walked into the parking lot, I was right behind him. I stayed there while he unlocked the door of his unmarked police car.
“But you’ve got this whole car to yourself,” I said. I wanted to be in on the investigation and I knew that wasn’t going to happen unless I walked into the Rock Hall with Quinn, so I didn’t curl my upper lip when I peered inside the car. Utilitarian black vinyl seats, stripped-down dashboard…this was not the kind of ride I pictured for him. Then again, I suppose the car was standard issue for public servants. And since I was one of the public, it was time for Quinn to start serving.
“There’s no reason you can’t give me a ride,” I told him.
He yanked open the door and slid behind the wheel. “I don’t need a reason. The answer’s still no.”
I stabbed a finger toward where my Mustang was parked. “It’s not like you can keep me away. If you don’t take me, I’m just going to get in my car and drive to the Rock Hall myself. And have you seen the price of gas?”
I can’t say for sure because the sun reflected off his windshield and just about blinded me, but I think Quinn smiled. Then again, maybe it was a sneer. “Take the bus.”
“In this outfit?” Honestly, I’m amazed at men. They can miss the most obvious thin
gs. I sidestepped around the open driver’s-side door. Quinn couldn’t close it while I was in the way, so like it or not, he was in for a lesson in high style. “The sweater’s from White House Black Market. The pants are Nanette Lepore, from Saks, and good thing they were on sale, since I’m going to have to toss them. The shirt…” I fingered the collar of my white cotton blouse. “Well, I can’t remember where I bought it, but I know it cost me plenty. I’m much too well-dressed for the bus-riding crowd.”
Quinn stuck his key in the ignition. “Don’t worry about it. Mingling with the masses builds character. Believe me, I mingle all the time, and I’ve got plenty of character.”
Tombs of Endearment Page 13
