In one horrified glance, I took it all in.
And a funny thing happened.
The ice in my veins melted. Then again, maybe that wasn’t so funny because it was replaced by a surge of anger so powerful, I couldn’t have controlled it if I tried.
And I didn’t try.
In far less time than it took me to get upstairs, I was back outside again. I was just in time, too. Joel and his black Audi were about to pull out of a parking place. He was looking away from me, waiting for traffic to clear. I guess that’s why he was at a disadvantage when I jumped in front of his car and pounded on the hood.
Except for Quinn, who pretty much was off the scale, Joel could be as cool as any guy I’d ever met. But not when he was surprised. And boy, was he surprised! His eyes popped open. They were as round as marbles. His mouth dropped. It was not an attractive expression.
He hit the right button, and the driver’s side window glided down. “What the hell—?”
“Don’t you what the hell me, Joel Panhorst.” I marched to the side of the car, and three cheers for me, I must have looked hopped up enough to intimidate even Joel. The window had been all the way down. He closed it partway and leaned back and farther away, but not until he double-checked to make sure the doors were locked.
“How dare you?” My voice shook. So did my legs. I grasped the car door. “Who the hell do you think you are? How could you?”
Joel was a lot of things, but dumb wasn’t one of them. If he was, I never would have fallen in love with him. That was why I did so not appreciate it when he tried to act confused. “How could I…” As if it would help clarify the situation, he shook his head. “What are you talking about, Pepper?”
I choked on my anger. And my words. My hands were curled into fists, and I forced myself to relax. I flexed my fingers. And fisted them again. “No wonder you looked so surprised to see me,” I said. “You thought you could slink away before I got back.”
“Why would I want to avoid you when I came here to talk to you in the first place?” His mouth pulled into a thin line, and this time when he shook his head, it wasn’t as if he was trying to clear it. It was more like he was feeling sorry for me. “Maybe what people are saying is true. Maybe you are—”
“What?” He didn’t know I could move that fast. I didn’t know I could get my head through a car window that wasn’t open all the way. Eye-to-eye, we glowered at each other. “What are our old friends saying about me, Joel? That I’m a washed-up, down-and-out cemetery tour guide? Or are they just saying I’m crazy?”
He snorted. “They don’t need to say it. It’s obviously true. If you can’t afford professional help—”
“I don’t need professional help. Except maybe from the cops. Maybe when they show up, you can explain to them how you kicked in my door and trashed my apartment looking for that damned ring.”
As if I’d tossed a handful of ice cubes down his back, Joel sat up straight. He shivered. “Are you accusing me? You think I’d do something like that?”
“Oh, come on!” I live in a neighborhood that is traditionally Italian, and I don’t think it’s going out on a limb to say that many Italians are emotional and passionate. No doubt my neighbors, many of them longtime residents, had seen their share of operatic arguments before. That didn’t keep some of them from opening their windows and sticking out their heads. Or others from stopping on the sidewalk across the street so that they didn’t miss a word.
I welcomed the audience. Witnesses are a good thing.
My neck was cramped, so I wasn’t giving ground when I pulled back from the car and stood up straight. Just so Joel knew it, I kept a grip on his door. “Enough games, Joel,” I said. “Asking for the ring is tacky enough. Trying to steal it crosses the line.”
“You’re right. It does.”
Was I delusional? Did I just hear the great Joel Panhorst admit that he was wrong and I was right?
The very thought cheered me right up. Until Joel opened his mouth again.
“That’s why I didn’t do it,” he said, and he eased the gearshift into drive.
It took a moment for the message to sink in. “What do you mean you didn’t do it? Joel, this is important so you’d better not be bullshitting me. Are you telling me—”
“I’m telling you that you’re right, you’d better call the cops. Because I might have thought about it, Pepper, but you know me better than that. Unlike certain of your relatives, I wouldn’t take the chance of breaking the law, hurting my reputation, and destroying my family. I didn’t break into your apartment, and you know what that means, don’t you?” I was so stunned, I’d let go of the door handle, and Joel moved into traffic. When he sped away, his voice wafted back to me.
“If I didn’t do it, that means someone else did.”
The first thing I did when I got back upstairs was call the cops.
The second thing? I looked for the ring, of course.
In a day that had been filled with bad news, this was the one bright spot. The ring was exactly where I left it—in the toe of my slipper.
“Now you’re glad you listened to me, aren’t you?”
I didn’t need to turn around to know Grandma Panhorst had joined me.
“You bet.” I stuffed the ring back into my slipper and turned toward my bed. It was heaped with the clothes that had been ripped out of my closet, but of course that didn’t stop Grandma. She was seated on top of the pile, her legs crossed and one foot—and the pink, fuzzy slipper on it—swinging. “Thanks for the advice. About the ring in the slipper, I mean. If it wasn’t for you—”
“Any time, kid.” Grandma waved away my thanks with the hand that held a cigarette. “Wouldn’t want somebody to make off with my ring.”
There didn’t seem to be any point in being careful, so I scooped up some of the clothes on the bed and tossed them on the floor on top of the pile of necklaces and earrings that had been emptied out of my jewelry box. “Was it Joel?” I asked Grandma. “He said it wasn’t, but I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”
“That makes two of us.” Grandma finished her cigarette and flicked it away. “But as for this mess…” She brushed her hands together. “Sorry, honey. I can’t help you. I didn’t see a thing.”
“I thought you said you stayed with the ring.”
“I do. I mean, usually. But not when my program is on. Oprah. Don’t you just love her!”
“Then maybe it wasn’t Joel. But maybe it was.” I can’t say why this cheered me. Thinking that Joel had pawed through my clothing was less nauseating—at least a little—than thinking that a stranger had done it. Unfortunately, as much as I would have liked to go on believing that Joel was guilty, I remembered what he’d said right before he pulled away.
“Who else but Joel would have the nerve to try and prove his innocence by insulting my family!” The upshot seemed clear and the nausea factor ratcheted up. I shivered. “Maybe it was some stranger. That gives me the creeps.”
“You and me both. He could have swiped the ring.”
“And since it’s a family heirloom…”
I hadn’t meant to make this sound like a bad thing, but apparently the anger I was feeling seeped into my voice. Then again, who could blame me? My apartment had just been burglarized. It was only fair that Grandma cut me some slack. Instead, she clicked her tongue.
I knew she was offended, and rightly so. I apologized automatically. “I know. It’s not something I should take lightly. I mean, the whole thing about Paris and the Nazis and—”
Grandma’s shriek of laughter stopped me cold. “Who would be stupid enough to vacation in a country that’s about to be conquered?” she asked.
My head came up. I looked at her hard. “You mean—”
“Horse hockey,” she said. “Every word of it. You’d think someone would have figured it out by now. Then again, my son was always a trusting soul. A little stupid, but trusting. And my grandson…well, I didn’t want to be the one to brea
k it to you, but I guess by now you have it figured out. Joel was never the brightest bulb in the box. Truth is, kid, I’ve never set foot in Paris. Not in my life. And not since. What really happened is that me and Arnold, we ran off to Atlantic City together. My father would have had Arnie’s head if he knew we were in a hotel making whoopee, so we concocted the story about getting married in Paris. Back in the eighties when they started registering diamonds, we told the jeweler the same story we’d been telling our family all along. It kind of took on a life of its own, you know? Thank goodness they didn’t have diamond registration back when Arnie bought that ring off a guy we met on the board-walk. I bet it was hot.”
I’d bet it was, too. As a way of thanking Grandma for letting me in on the secret, I grinned. “I’m glad it didn’t get stolen again this time,” I told her. This cheered me up, and I would have stayed that way if another thought didn’t hit. Curious to know if I really saw what I thought I saw when I walked into the room, I jumped up and kicked aside the clothes I’d just shoveled off my bed. I knelt on the floor to take a closer look at my spilled jewelry. “My gold chain is still here,” I told Grandma, and just to prove it, I held it up for her to see. “And the birthstone ring my parents bought me that Christmas we spent in the Bahamas.”
I didn’t hear or see Grandma move, but when I looked up again, she was on the floor, too, kneeling directly across from me. She raised her eyebrows. “Expensive?” she asked.
“Expensive enough.” I did a little more excavating. My own grandmother had once given me her gold watch. It was thick and heavy and old-fashioned-looking and I never wore it, but call me sentimental, I’d never get rid of it. Just thinking it might be gone soured my stomach.
Not to fear. The watch was there, too.
“Funny, don’t you think,” I said, but I wasn’t laughing. “Somebody took all the trouble to break in here, but nothing of any value is missing. So why bother?”
Grandma pursed her lips. “You’re talking like a detective.”
“Am I?” Thinking, I tapped my top lip with my index finger. “Maybe it’s time I starting acting like one, too.”
Grandma shivered with anticipation. “Oh, are we going to investigate?”
“I’m going to investigate. I know this has got to have something to do with Damon and Vinnie and Mind at Large. Trouble is I can’t get close to the band anymore.”
“So what are we going to do?”
It was a legitimate question—well, except for the we part, but I ignored that for now because I needed someone to talk to and I didn’t want Grandma to get offended and vanish. The least I owed her for her advice about the slipper and the truth about the ring was a clear and concise answer. The kind she’d expect from a real detective. Maybe that’s why she looked at me in wonder when instead of saying anything at all, I hopped to my feet, the spark of inspiration in my eyes.
“I can’t get close the band,” I said. “But I can still get close to the next best thing.”
In a flash, Grandma was on her feet, too. She angled her head and squinted at me, just like she used to do back when she was alive and we talked about something that really interested her and she couldn’t wait to hear more. “And all this, it means what?”
I was sure I’d hit on the perfect solution, and I was so full of myself, I was already two steps ahead of her. I checked the time on the clock radio that was lying on the floor, upside down next to my nightstand. It was too late to do anything that evening and besides, I needed to wait for the cops and fill out a report about the burglary that wasn’t. But first thing the next morning…
I was already putting my clock upright and setting the alarm for the ungodly hour of six when I remembered that I hadn’t answered Grandma.
I hit the volume button on the radio so it would go off nice and loud and I couldn’t sleep through it and glanced at her over my shoulder. “The answer is simple,” I told her. “Coffee.”
No one should get up that early. Especially on a Saturday.
No one should have to go out when it’s still dark, either, but I knew I had no choice. Not if I was going to catch Belinda before she headed out for a day of coffee and Damon-worship. It was that or miss a chance at—maybe—getting my investigation off dead center.
Because I figured there was no way I was going to run into anyone I knew (or at least anyone I knew who I cared cared about how I looked), I slipped on jeans and a black sweater and sneakers, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and left my apartment before I could convince myself that I might be wasting my time.
As it turned out, I was. When I got to her apartment, Belinda was already gone.
Time for Plan B.
Next thing I knew, I was the first one in line at the City Roast coffee stand at the West Side Market.
The market is a historic landmark in Cleveland, but truth be told, it is not my kind of place. There’s a covered walkway outside lined with stands brimming with fruits and vegetables. Attached to that is a massive building where I stood. In it, vendors sell everything from meat to baked goods, cheese and nuts, and ethnic specialties. Oh, I’d heard all the rah-rah from people like Ella who shopped there religiously: The prices were impossible to beat, the food was the freshest in town, the merchants were friendly and helpful and they knew their customers and their customers’ preferences. But for a girl who’s used to shopping at stores where the food is neatly packaged, the aisles are wide and roomy, and music plays from the overhead sound system, the whole place is a little overwhelming. It’s big and it’s noisy. It’s what people call colorful when they’re being politically correct and what they really mean is that on any given day, you’re just as likely to see suburban shoppers in their minks inside the market as you are the homeless right outside its doors. Of course, it’s an up-close-and-personal experience with food in its least-processed stages, too. As I stood there waiting for my latte (skim milk, no whipped cream), a butcher walked by carrying the carcass of a skinned pig.
Need I say more?
Lucky for me, I wasn’t even halfway through my latte when I saw that my instincts were right on. I wasn’t wasting my time, after all. This was the first stop Belinda made each morning.
“Good to see you again!” Before she could say a word, I whipped out a five and plunked it on the counter to pay for whatever she was going to order. “You remember me, right? I’m Pepper. We were at your apartment and—”
“You were with us,” she said. “When Death tried to collect our souls.” Like a bobble-head doll that had been given a good jostling, she nodded, and hoping to establish some kind of rapport, I nodded, too. I don’t think she heard me groan; I was hoping that first thing in the morning, Belinda would be a little less crazy.
Rather than show my disappointment, I smiled. “That’s right. But I also found Alistair. Remember? And I was at the recording studio. And remember what I said there? I told the guys that I talked to Vinnie. He asked for my help. But there’s nothing I can do. Gene Terry won’t let me talk to the band anymore.”
“I’m with the band!”
It wasn’t the first time she’d told me as much, and just like last time, I had a hard time pretending I cared. “I know that,” I said, hoping to divert her from memory lane. All I really wanted to talk about was the missing photo of Damon. “You knew all the guys in the band, but you liked Damon the best.”
“Liked him?” Belinda’s face scrunched with confusion. “That’s not true. I didn’t like Damon. I loved him. And he loved me, too.”
Maybe the early hour was messing with my mind. There was no way I heard her correctly. “Are you telling me that you and Damon, you—”
“Screwed our brains out, every chance we got!” Belinda’s laugh was loud enough to turn heads. It was exactly the effect her words had on my stomach. I backed up and gave her a careful look, but like I said, she was so lost in the past, I don’t think she remembered I was there. “We fell in love. We’re still in love. He’s my—”
“Angel of death.
” This part of the puzzle clunked into place. Realizing it, I sucked in a breath. “That’s why you’re always hanging around Damon’s grave. It’s why the band lets you stick with them. You and Damon—”
“We’re soul mates.” Belinda’s eyes were as dreamy as her words. “Till death do us part. Only it didn’t. That’s why I stayed when Damon passed ahead of me into the arms of Death. To take care of him. To watch over him in his grave. He’s waiting for me.” Her expression was transcendent. “When my time comes, he’ll welcome me with open arms. My demon lover. My beautiful devil. My joy. My love. My all.”
Still mumbling and grinning, Belinda took her coffee off the counter with one hand and scooped up my change with the other. Right before she walked away.
And me? I was too stunned to do much of anything but watch her go.
Tombs of Endearment Page 22
