Peppermint Soul (Liza McNairy Mysteries Book 1)

by Dan Glover

  Paula had been a twin herself, only her little sister had been born with a birth abnormality and died before she turned a year old. Her name was Patricia... Paula and Patty... and when she was little she used to dream about Patty... how pretty she was and how smart. The two of them would have tea parties while sitting together with all the stuffed animals that Paula had inherited from her sister after her untimely death.

  As she grew older the dreams had stopped. But lately they were resurfacing... recurrent nightmares where Patty was screaming for help somewhere in the house and no matter how she searched Paula couldn’t seem to locate her. She could smell the smoke billowing up from down below... the house was on fire and Patty couldn’t get out and when Paula tried to take a deep breath to shout out her name she gagged on the fumes of burning plastic and the stench of flesh on fire.

  Kicking herself awake with the screams of Patty still echoing in her ears and lying there in the dark it'd take her several seconds to reorientate herself to her surroundings, to get a firmer grip on reality... to know that none of that had happened. It must've been some movie she watched before bedtime or perhaps a story she'd read during the day. Yet the dreams were so real, so compelling, she began to wonder if there really was something to past lives.

  "Do you believe

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  "In reincarnation, Hank?"

  She could talk to him in ways she'd never been able to with Allen. Hank took her seriously while Allen... well, he didn’t. Allen was set in his ways and that included foisting his beliefs upon his wife and children to the point where they weren’t allowed to even voice an opinion if it differed from his.

  "Yeah... no... I don't really know, Paula. I mean, sometimes I think when we die we just wink out. That's it. Done. Finito. But then I get to wondering where does the part of us that is us go? It must go somewhere. So yeah, maybe we are reborn. Only if that's the case, why doesn’t anyone remember their past lives? That's the part that always stumps me."

  They were sitting in some dive bar and Hank kept looking around as if he expected to run into someone he knew and would then have to explain why he was with a woman who wasn’t his wife. He was always like that when they were out in public. Sometimes she wondered why they didn’t go away someplace where no one could possibly know them but what with Hank being with the Sheriff's Department he was probably known all through the county and maybe even the state.

  "I've read where some people do remember, Hank. Especially little kids. Sometimes they know things about the past no one could know unless they were really there."

  She wished for it to be true and for some reason it was important that Hank wanted it too. He was more than just another man. Hank had been there for her when no one else was, not even her own husband. Did he sometimes tell her what she wanted to hear? Of course he did. But rather than finding him obsequious and pandering, she appreciated the effort he put in to try and see her side of things.

  It was loud in the bar... too much noise to talk quietly. She was waiting for Hank to suggest they go elsewhere. Somewhere that they'd be more comfortable in each others' company. But he kept ordering drinks and belting them down so quickly she couldn’t keep up.

  "Did you ever hear of a man named Edgar Cayce, Paula? He claimed he could go into a trance and tell people about their past lives."

  She shook her head. The name sounded oddly familiar but between the jostling of the crowd and what passed for music being played by the house band, she couldn’t think straight. Why'd she agree to meet Hank here? She supposed she just had to get out of the house and when Hank called it was as good an excuse as any to see him again, to talk about the case, to see if there were any new developments.

  "Get me out of here, Hank. Take me somewhere. Anywhere."

  Only there weren’t and she knew it the moment she set eyes on the man. He had an air of resignation hovering about him. He wore it like a cloak. Like he felt guilty. And he should. It'd been his job to find the twins. That's what he got paid to do. That's all he was paid to do. Yet, nothing. Day after day, year after year, the same old news. Oh... we're shaking the bushes, Paula. You'll see. It could be any time now.

  Once at his apartment, her head was throbbing and her ears ringing. Hank was drunk. And like always, when he got like that, he wanted to screw but he couldn’t. His little problem... oh yeah. She knew all about that. Maybe it was his way of remaining faithful to Sally. If so, it worked to perfection. Only tonight, she had plans of her own.

  Chapter 36—Running

  (In Circles)

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  "I worked with Hank Lupo for years, Danners. He never missed a single day of work. That man is a machine."

  They'd gone by the office to drop off their passports as he requested but Marcy had no idea what they were talking about. As far as she knew, no one in the State's Attorney's office had contacted Detective Lupo. After talking with her for a few minutes it became obvious that Lupo was simply using the threat of their imminent arrest as a ploy. But why?

  "He's afraid we're getting closer to the truth, Liza."

  "Come on, Danners. I told you... Hank Lupo is strictly by the book."

  "Sure he is, Liza. That's how he was able to locate a new liver for Marcy so easily."

  He had a point. She knew a lot of people but not a one could accomplish a feat like that. Unless Hank simply wanted Marcy to believe it when in fact he really had nothing to do with procuring a new organ for her... a way to keep her beholden to him... to do things she wouldn’t normally do, like alter files and tamper with evidence.

  How much did Danners suspect? She ought to just tell him about Hank Lupo and his proclivities for helping others. But perhaps now wasn’t the time. She felt like they were already losing their grip on things. Better to keep up the pretense, at least for now. Deflect the blame, as it were.

  "What if someone put Hank up to it, Danners? Remember that phone call you received?"

  "Possible, Liza... but that would mean it's someone on the inside. One of Hank's superiors. Who's that guy he works for? Roy Presley? Something like that?"

  "Captain Presti... old school. Him and Hank go all the way back to the military. They both served together in the Navy. I always thought that’s how Hank got the promotion to detective so quickly. He had an in. Yeah, Roy Presti... he's a scary sort of guy."

  "Scary how, Liza?"

  "You'd have to meet him, Danners. From what I understand, he and Hank are both full blooded Sicilian. Their families worked together for generations, even when they lived back in the old country, on that fucking weird ass island. Hank has sort of gotten away from all that, but not Presti. He's still shit deep in the life from the word I heard."

  "You mean he's connected?"

  "I didn’t say that, Danners. But maybe. That's what's scary."

  "Strange... the man who called threatening us sounded Italian... could it be Presti?"

  "Honestly, DanDan, I wouldn’t put it past him. He doesn’t have an accent, though. From what I understand his family's been here three generations. Has Cooper found Paula Picany yet?"

  "He'll find her, Liza. Allen's paying his fee. He's as anxious as we are to talk to her. I get the impression she runs around on him. This isn’t the first time she's gone missing for a few days."

  "I keep thinking about the other night in Rambo's. I swear Hank was with a woman who looked just like Paula. And now they both vanish... coincidence?"

  "Hank Lupo hasn’t disappeared, Liza. According to Marcy he texts into the office several times daily. Says he's home sick."

  The ponies run. The girls are young. Remember, Lizzi?

  I do remember, Lissi. Promises to keep and a thousand kisses deep.

  "Let's go by his place, Danners."

  She'd been to Hank Lupo's Glendale home on numerous occasions during her tenure on the force. Back in those days the man was known for his parties. Now, though. she wondered what they'd tell his wife if Hank wasn’t there. No sense in shaking the woman up but on the o
ther hand she deserved to know something might have happened to him. He'd be there. He had to be there.

  "No, Liza... Hank isn’t home. Someone called from the department. They said he had to go out of town unexpectedly. Something about a prisoner exchange. He'll be gone all week. You should know that, though... right?"

  Sally Lupo had lost

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  Weight since the last time they met. Christ... the woman must have weighed two hundred pounds back then. Maybe more. Now, she looked positively willowy. Say that three times when you're drunk, Hank. Liza recalled how she used to feel a pang of sorrow for Hank having to come home to that every night. But then again she supposed everyone made their own beds.

  Sally had all but accused her of having an affair with her husband. It'd been at the annual Christmas party where all the cops dosed themselves with copious amounts of liquor and told each other how bad they were. Hank had asked her to dance. She should have said no but she didn’t. The next thing she knew, Sally Lupo was in her face daring her to take a swing. Christ, Hank had to get between the two of them. Did Sally even remember that night?

  "I'm no longer with the Sheriff's Department, Sally. We're working an old case... one your husband is helping us out with. We'll stop by next week. Sorry to bother you."

  "So now what, Liza?"

  "Let's get in touch with Cooper. See if he's made any headway. Then we need to talk to Marcy again, Danners."

  Danners had warned her about Hank Lupo and she had defended the man. Was it out of a misplaced sense of duty? Of camaraderie? Now, she realized her mistake. Still, she hated to think he might be right. But long ago Liza learned to trust her intuition about Danners... more so than her logical sense of things. While they were at the office maybe they could find something of Hank's... a personal item. She would have asked his wife but she could hear the worry working the woman's voice.

  Dammit. The case was getting away from them. They'd been on it for months and were nary a step closer to solving the twins' disappearance than they were the first day. It seemed the harder they tried tracking down what few leads remained, the more roadblocks were thrown up in front of them. Like someone didn’t want them to know the truth.

  How did the good doctor Olay fit into everything? Even if he'd been part of the transplant team that saved Marcy's life, from the look of things he no longer worked as a surgeon. It bothered her more than she let on that he was also Paula Picany's prescribing physician. But she knew Danners would bust his shriveled up balls to prove her wrong if she disagreed with him. She loved the old queer dearly but the man sometimes needed a fire built under his faggot ass to get him motivated.

  She needed a little down time. Just a bump. Something to steady the nerves. She really ought to quit but now wasn’t the time. It'd only interfere with things. She sensed Danners looking at her out of the side of his eye, like he knew. Of course he did.

  "Do you want to stay over tonight, DanMan? I could use the company. And it'll save you from having to drive home through rush hour traffic. We can pick out a couple movies on Netflix and gorge on pizza."

  There were times when she needed Danners more than she cared to admit

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  And tonight was one of them. The man comforted her in ways no one else had ever done. Maybe it was his way of never expecting anything of her other than her company and she appreciated that. He'd never once tried to hit on her even though she'd given him ample opportunities. Maybe the man really was queer. But why did he stare at her when he thought she wasn’t looking?

  "I'd love to, sweetie. You must've read my mind. I was dreading the drive home."

  Ah, if only I could, DanMan. If only I could. The hell with a penny. I've give a hundred dollar bill to know what goes on inside that thick skull of yours. Maybe it's better not knowing, though... huh? Some things are better left alone and what we have might well be one of them.

  "Mrs. Bickle's staring out the window at us again. She must think you're my boyfriend as much time as you spend here."

  "I'm better than any old boyfriend, lover."

  You got that right, DanDan. I'm with you for life. There's nothing you could do or say to drive me away from you. I don’t care if you fuck every man in Los Angeles, I'll still be head over heels about you.

  "You know that, right?"

  "Know what, Liza?"

  "Oh, I'm just thinking out loud again, Danners. You know me. Hey, why don’t you pick out a movie for us to watch and order up a pizza with everything on it while I take a bath. I'm feeling dirty after our trip downtown."

  Yeah... take a bath... that's the ticket. And cook up a spoonful while I'm at it and shoot that junk right into my veins. Sure will make the night a whole lot smoother, Dan the Man. Too bad you don’t partake or we'd make a party out of it. No... it's better that you don’t. I worry enough about your silly faggot ass without you chipping.

  He knew what she was doing. Danners always knew. She could see it in his eyes. He wanted to say something... to tell her to stop... but he wouldn’t. He loved her too much for that. He knew how much she needed these little moments of hers. And if perchance one day she actually did get a bad bundle, well, she imagined he'd be joining her shortly in the hereafter.

  "You know I can't live without you, Liza. Right?"

  I do... and I'll say the same thing if you ever get around to asking me the right question, DanBoy. You know I will. Why don’t you? Is it fear that I'll reject you? Or do you think I'll accept and then you'll be stuck with me forever and ever? Either way, we're joined at the hip, partner. Ain't no way I'm leaving you and you know it, don't you.

  "Hush now... I'll be out in a half hour or so and I expect pizza, big boy."

  Chapter 37—Drunk in the Morning

  (Stoned in the Afternoon)

  He'd divorce her cheating ass this time. It'd be tough on the bitch, too... she'd finally understand how good she had it. Who was it this time? Some beach bum surfer dude? Maybe the local butcher? You could never tell with Paula. But when the door opened and she walked in, Allen couldn’t decide whether to slap the piss out of her or to take her in his arms and never let go.

  He ought not to have gotten drunk in the morning but lately it'd become a ritual. The alcohol not only dulled the pain of being alone but muddled his mind. He searched her face for signs of her infidelities but she only looked tired. Like she hadn’t been sleeping. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something, but the words didn’t come. He was afraid if he started in on her that she'd leave again and this time she might not come back.

  So he said nothing as he watched her walk by him without a word trailing a hand across his chest. He listened as footsteps led upstairs and heard the door to her bedroom open and shut... a second later the sound of the shower. If he hadn’t drank so much he might go to her but he knew they were past all that.

  He couldn’t blame Paula for fucking someone else when her own husband hadn’t touched her for years. The thing was, every time he thought about making love to his wife he saw another man there first. He never anticipated that. Is that why he'd taken up drinking? No... that had started long ago, even before the girls.

  He was his own father. Always there for the family but never close. A strong provider yet weak when it came to any meaningful relationship with either wife or children. If his life magically transformed into something good and real and right would the drinking stop? Of course not. He'd only find other reasons to continue the boozing. He collected excuses like other men hoarded gold and silver.

  Did Paula know she was being watched? Probably. She had that woman's intuition, that second sight that he admired so much. The man was doubtlessly right outside even now. Stalking her... biding his time, making his reports. What did McNairy and Forthright hope to learn? Paula was the epitome of the good housewife. Other than an occasional slip up. Just more money, that's all it amounted to.

  It was useless. The girls were gone and not even God could bring them home again. And even if He performed
that miracle, how long would they stay? He'd forgotten to ask about the bear. Paula hadn’t said anything more about it but he'd made a mental note to ask McNairy to give it back as soon as possible. It belonged here, not out there somewhere floating around in the world.

  "How well do you know your wife, Mr. Picany?"

  The question had caught him unawares. How well did anyone know anyone else? Christ, he'd been married to the woman for the better part of his life. If anyone knew her, he should. Yet when he considered the circumstances of the last twenty years, he realized he'd slipped into a fog. He didn’t know much of anything, not that he ever had.

  "I know she could never harm those girls, if that's what you mean, Ms. McNairy."

  "I'm sure your right, Mr. Picany. I never meant to insinuate that she's in any way responsible. But is it at least in the realm of possibility that she knows more about their disappearance than she lets on?"

  "I'm afraid I don’t follow."

  "We all exist within a cacophony of information, Mr. Picany. Our minds can only process so much. Sometimes we become overwhelmed by it all and seek solace in drugs, in forgetfulness. But those things we know... they're still there. We've simply covered them up."

  "You're saying Paula might know who is responsible for our daughters' disappearance? I doubt there's even a chance, Ms. McNairy."

  "I'll give you that, Mr. Picany. But your wife has her secrets. Would you agree?"

  He did. McNairy was right. Just like he had his. Goddamn it though... how long was this going to take? When he hired the pair of them he anticipated a quick resolution. Of course they both cautioned him against that... repeatedly stressed that wasn’t how they worked. These things took time. In the end all their work could well be for naught.