“So stress turns you into an ass?”
Emory tilted his head and raised his right shoulder. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
“Are you stressed now?”
“A little bit. Honestly.”
“Then we better get you something to calm your nerves.” Jeff waved him inside to the reception area. As he headed toward the bookshelf door to his office, he asked, “What kind of man are you?”
What kind of question is that? Emory followed him through the door. “What do you mean?”
“Vodka? Gin? Whiskey?”
Jeff stepped in front of the bookshelf beside his desk and pulled on the Nancy Drew book, The Secret in the Old Attic. The bookshelf was another hidden door that led to a narrow room with two copper staircases. One staircase spiraled up to a second floor, while the other went down, Emory presumed, to a basement.
“Gin.”
Jeff ascended the nearer staircase. “That stuff’s nasty.”
“What is this space?”
“This place used to be a speakeasy. When I bought it, this part was hidden behind a five-foot-tall painting that opened like a door. He pointed to the other stairs. “That leads to where the bar was.” He pointed up. “And this is where the prostitutes did their business. Now, that one goes to our storeroom, and this one goes to the living room in my apartment.”
Emory followed him into his apartment. “It’s really an amazing place.”
Jeff smiled at last. “Thank you. I’ve gone into major debt getting it the way I want, but I had a clear vision in my head, and I wasn’t about to compromise.” He made a beeline for the kitchen. “Martini or with tonic?”
“Tonic.”
Jeff mixed drinks for them both. “So tell me you didn’t hitch.”
“What?”
“From Barter Ridge.”
Emory shook his head. “Bus.”
Jeff handed him a gin and tonic and clinked the glass with his own vodka cranberry. “Cheers.”
After taking a sip, Emory coughed and sputtered, prompting Jeff to ask, “Are you okay?”
“That’s a strong drink.”
“Sorry. I like them that way.” Jeff focused his laser-green gaze on Emory’s seared brown eyes. With cranberry-wet lips, Jeff said, “I forgive you.”
Emory’s vocal cords knotted within the binds of Jeff’s stare. When he finally opened his mouth, he could only wiggle them free enough to utter, “I…” He gulped his drink for lubrication and ended up choking again.
Jeff took the drink from him and placed it on the counter beside them. “Let’s go out.”
Freed once Jeff looked away, Emory asked, “What?”
“It’s Friday night, and we both need to blow off some steam. When’s the last time you went to a club?”
“I’m not into the bar scene.”
“I know a place you’ll love. It’s not like the others.” He looked down at Emory’s clothes. “First, we need to fix what you’re wearing.”
“We can swing by my place so I can change.”
“No need.” Jeff stepped within a few inches of Emory and compared their bodies. “We’re the same size, basically. I have plenty of cool clothes you can wear.”
Emory faced down to avoid Jeff’s eyes. “I couldn’t do that.”
“It’s no problem.” Jeff headed into the bedroom. “I’ll find you something.”
Emory reached for his gin and tonic but opted against taking another sip of the powerful drink. “You have any water?”
From the bedroom, Jeff told him, “There’s some cold water in the fridge.”
Emory preferred room temperature, so when he saw a couple of unopened bottles on Jeff’s desk, he decided to take one. He flipped open the top and took a giant gulp.
Jeff returned from the bedroom carrying a pair of designer black jeans and a jersey-knit rust-colored shirt with long sleeves. “What do you think of this look?”
Emory frowned at the selection. “It’s not really my style.”
“I know. It’s perfect.” Jeff placed them on the couch for him. “I also have a pair of great boots for you and a jacket.”
“Sounds…good. Oh, I forgot to tell you that I started looking into your problem with the TSA.”
“You did?” Jeff gave Emory his undivided attention. “What did you find out?”
Seeing how delighted Jeff was that he had followed through on his request made telling him that he didn’t have much to report even more difficult. “Your name is on the no-fly list, but the reason for it was redacted.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen that before. You have no idea why you’re on it? No connection with any person or organization that could have ties to terrorism?”
“Nothing.” Jeff held up his right hand. “I swear.”
“Don’t worry then. I have some friends in the Tennessee Homeland Security office. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“Thank you.” Jeff flashed him a warm smile. “We better get ready. I’ll dress in the bedroom if you’re okay changing in here.”
“Sounds great to me.” Once Jeff disappeared behind the bedroom door, Emory changed clothes and transferred his wallet and pill bottle into the pocket of the pants he was wearing. He piled his old clothes onto the couch, hiding his keys and his holstered gun underneath them.
Jeff opened the door and stepped out holding a pair of black boots and a navy linen jacket, which he placed on the coffee table. “You look great. I knew that combo would work for you.”
Emory didn’t even look down at his own attire, as his gaze was locked on Jeff. He was wearing a clover-green polo shirt that made his eyes pop, like a pair of lightning bugs hovering on a windless summer night. The elastic bands of the short sleeves squeezed against his striated biceps in a lopsided battle to maintain their shape and, although not meant to be tight, his dark jeans couldn’t conceal the sculpted contours of his muscular legs.
“Damn,” Emory thought, and then he realized he said it out loud. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
Jeff pointed. “Right in there.”
Emory retreated to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He dug out his anti-anxiety medicine from his pocket and took one pill, downing it with the rest of the bottled water.
Sheriff Rome turned his truck onto the driveway of the Algarotti Smoky Mountain Springs factory. He killed the headlights, depending instead on the diffuse amber glow from the staggered lampposts to guide him. He drove around to the back of the building, past the natural spring and to the loading dock – just a quick round before he went home to crawl into bed with Lula Mae. When he turned the back corner, however, he noticed something alarming.
A black van was parked at the dock, and the rollup door in the building was open maybe two feet. The sheriff shifted into reverse and parked his truck out of the line of sight. He exited the vehicle and turned the volume down on the radio attached to his belt. Drawing his gun from its holster, he crept toward the rollup door.
Peering inside, he could see no one except a man lying face-down on the floor about thirty feet in front of him. Sheriff Rome squeezed under the door and hurried to the man. He turned him onto his back and realized it was the foreman. He touched his neck for a pulse. It was faint but there. On the ground next to him rested a broken coffee cup. Did he have a heart attack? He reached for his radio, but a powerful jolt arced his back and curled his arms.
The sheriff fell onto his side and rolled onto his back, his muscles convulsing. He saw someone wearing a black ski mask standing above him, holding a stun gun.
Placing the weapon on the floor, the stranger picked up a bottle of purplish water with an open sport top, which he forced between the paralyzed sheriff’s lips. The bottle’s contents gushed down his throat.
Once the bottle was empty, the man again hit the sheriff with the stun gun. As he convulsed, the back of his head banged against the floor in rapid succession until he lost consciousness.
CHAPTER 22<
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AS THEY STEPPED out of the Uber, Jeff explained to Emory, “This is a mixed club of universal acceptance. They play experimental music that’s a fusion of folk instruments and trance – unlike anything you’ve ever heard before.”
Emory could hear Jeff speaking, but he felt no need to respond. He stared at the neon sign above the door to their destination, “If Tomorrow Comes.”
Jeff grabbed his arm. “Are you okay?”
“What?” Emory made vague eye contact with him. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You seem a little…off.”
Emory looked like he was going to speak, but the sound didn’t come for several seconds. “I feel, I don’t know, weird. Guess I’m nervous.”
Jeff laughed and moved his hand to Emory’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine. I’m here.”
After a short wait in line, the two left Knoxville behind and entered a fantasyland. As Jeff pulled him through the crowd, Emory’s eyes danced around the club to take in the whole spectacle. Knotty wood walls reached up to a ceiling of unnatural blue, streaked by laser spectrum lights in frenetic succession. Bar pods shaped like perfect dew drops were interspersed on the leaf-colored floor, and inside each pod stood a crimson-shirted bartender.
Emory’s gaze shot to the stage, which looked like a pier that had been built in the wrong place. The word “Timbrance” glowed above the performers, and he assumed it was the band’s name. Apart from the female singer, dressed like a lake nymph, the remaining members played instruments – an electric dulcimer, a synthesizer, an accordion and Cherokee drums. The ethereal yet driving beat impelled the dancers on the floor. Couples of same and opposite sexes, as well as singles and groups, moved together like budding fields bending to opposing winds.
“Wow!” Emory exclaimed, but he couldn’t even hear himself over the music.
Jeff turned a happy face toward him. “What do you think?”
“It’s really ama-a-a-azing!” Emory yelled back in a tone both animated and odd. His eyes drifted to the wait staff, who wore iridescent uniforms as they glided through the crowd like fairies, bringing nectar for the visitors to their forest sanctuary.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m great.” Emory didn’t want to say it, but he wasn’t nervous. In fact, he was on the verge of euphoria – as if his blood cells had stopped flowing and started dancing through his veins. He was focused yet adrift, the same as when attempting to accomplish even the simplest task within the fluidity of a dream.
Jeff said something to him, but he had no idea what it was. He nodded anyway as Jeff left his side.
Emory started watching the band from the edge of the dance floor, which was silvery blue like a mountain lake with a giant yellow strobe light hanging overhead to simulate the sun. He found himself fixating on the spidery fingers of the dulcimer player as he taunted the melody inside the silky strings. The rhythm permeated Emory’s skin and attached to his muscles like strings on a marionette, moving them with each confident pull of the beat. He had forgotten all about Jeff by the time he popped up with a drink in each hand.
Jeff handed him a gin and tonic. “Looks like you’re ready to get on the floor.”
Emory sipped half the drink with a single suck on the straw and shook his head. “I don’t dance.”
Jeff looked down at Emory’s hips pivoting on his legs. “You might need to tell your body that.” He grabbed Emory’s drink and placed it alongside his on a nearby table.
“Hey, I wasn’t finished with that.”
“Let’s dance.” Jeff took his hand and led him to the floor. Emory didn’t want to go, but he seemed unable to make his body stop walking. Once they reached about one-third of the way into the crowd, Jeff stopped to face his partner, releasing his hand. He began to translate the music’s rapid tempo into a charmingly masculine dance that pulled Emory’s lips into a sweet grin. Emory danced with moves harmonious to Jeff’s, prompting a matching grin. Emory’s attention shot up to the streaks of laser light overhead. He lost himself staring at them. Eventually Jeff put his hands on Emory’s face and turned his attention back to him.
As he watched Jeff, Emory thought about Wayne’s suspicions. Could Victor have had another reason for hiring him, this hyper-hot PI? Is he friends with Pristine? Is he my friend now? God, look at him. Why do we keep spending time together? Is he keeping tabs on me, on the investigation? Emory’s head spun. Without warning, he slipped from the dance floor and zigzagged to the front door.
Once outside, he lost his balance and had to put a hand on the burly bouncer’s chest to keep from falling. The bearded man, who looked like a scary mountaineer, placed a steadying hand on Emory’s shoulder and asked, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Fine.” Emory stood on his own.
The bouncer took out his cell. “Stay here. I’m going to call a ride for you.”
Emory took a few steps and waved at him. “That’s okay. I’m going to walk.”
Jeff bolted from the club. “Where are you going?”
“I need to go home now.” Emory’s eyes looked everywhere but on Jeff.
Jeff ran in front of him and forced him to stop walking. “Why?” Emory swayed away from him. “Are you drunk?”
Emory shook his head and slurred, “I don’t understand. Why are we here?”
“We were dancing. Would you look at me, please?”
Emory focused on him as best he could. “From the moment I first saw you, you know, when you smiled at me, it was like you had decided our fates.”
That statement brought a confused smile to Jeff’s face, a look Emory could no longer resist. With both hands he pulled Jeff’s face to his and kissed him full on the mouth. As soon as their lips parted, Emory told him, “God, I hate your eyes.”
Jeff scowled at him. “What?”
“Your eyes, they make me do things I shouldn’t want to do.”
“Hey guys.” Jeff and Emory looked at the bouncer, who was pointing his thumb toward the door of the club. “You should get back inside if you’re going to do that. Not too safe out here.”
Jeff waved to him. “We’re just going to head out now.”
Emory pushed away from Jeff. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me about Pristine!”
“You know, you are totally confusing me tonight. What about Pristine?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re friends with her?”
Jeff’s face froze like a child caught in a lie. “We should get you home.”
“I can get myself home.”
“No you can’t. Your keys are at my place.”
The bouncer held up his cell phone. “Ride’s coming now. He’s right down the street.”
As Emory thought about what to do, he stared at the bouncer and told him, “You know, you have a great beard.”
The bouncer snickered at the remark. “Thanks buddy.”
Jeff waved at the arriving cab. “Time to go now.” He helped Emory into the back seat and got in the other side.
During the short ride, Emory nodded off, and his head rolled until it came to rest on Jeff’s shoulder. His next conscious moment came when Jeff slapped him awake once they arrived at Mourning Dove Investigations. Jeff walked behind him up the spiral staircase and helped him to the couch. When Emory saw his clothes where he had left them, he remembered something Jeff said earlier. “How did you know I left my keys here?”
Standing in front of him, Jeff didn’t answer his question. “You seem more than drunk to me. What are you feeling right now?”
Emory thought for a few seconds as his head bobbed side-to-side. “I feel…” He squinted like he was trying to think of the right words. “Really weird. I’ve never done drugs, but I imagine it would feel…” With sudden realization, he looked up at Jeff through half-closed eyes. “Did you drug me?”
Without hesitation, Jeff answered, “Yes.”
Panicked, Emory looked for his gun underneath the pile of clothes. He found the holster and reache
d for the gun, but it wasn’t there. “What did you do to my gun?”
“Why? What are you planning to do with it? You should rest.”
Emory fought his way to his feet and tried to leave.
Jeff wrapped an arm around him and forced him to the bed. He pulled off his boots and clothes, except for his underwear, and made him lie back.
“No,” Emory protested and tried to get up, but he was so woozy now, he could no longer keep his eyes open. He could feel something tightening around his wrists.
Sheriff Rome awoke in freezing darkness with the roar of running water above his head. He could move, but he found the act of ordering his body to do so almost insurmountable. His mind tangled itself into strings of random, unfinished thoughts that seemed beyond his control. He struggled to open his eyes, and when he did, the information filtering through a single slit of vision took him more than a minute to process.
He was lying in the snow with his back to the sky and his head turned to his right. He tried to lift his face from the ground, but he couldn’t keep it up. The few seconds of elevated vision did allow him to see the back of the water factory. He now realized he was in the woods behind it, somewhere near the natural spring. He also noticed that the black van was gone.
The sheriff heard something that panicked some clarity into his head – the yipping of coyotes approaching from the woods!
He willed his right hand to slide over the snow to his waist. He ran his fingers along his belt to find the gun in his belt holster. It was gone.
The yipping grew louder.
With his right hand, he pushed against the ground with all his might. His elbow buckled twice, but he kept pushing until he rolled onto his back. He bent his right knee above him and reached a shaky hand toward his ankle. His spatial perceptions were deceiving him, so he missed his ankle three times before connecting.
The coyotes growled from mere yards away.
The sheriff found the pistol hidden inside his ankle holster. He fired three shots in the general direction of the coyotes before blacking out again.
Murder on the Lake of Fire Page 12
