“Nope. I brought you a jelly doughnut from Bill’s fridge. Might be a little stale.”
Lola regarded the coffee and days’-old doughnut. “What are you not telling me? We’re not taking another road trip to some unknown part of New Jersey, are we?”
Been there, done that yesterday. I explained my plan of action and promised Lola a free lunch at the Windjammer if all went well. If it didn’t…I shuddered.
“Are you sure this is the right thing to do? Asking Carlos to explain his past and his actions on Halloween night?”
“It’s either this or wait till Bill shows up and questions him about Daryl Wolf. Someone is going to find out that the Johnsons are the Villariases. Unless they have already.”
Lola removed the lid of the container.
“Remember, if all else fails, I say ‘Johnson and Johnson’—”
Lola giggled. “That was so smart, Dodie. You are one clever detective.” She patted my arm and sipped her lukewarm coffee.
I smiled my appreciation. “—and we see his reaction.”
I drove alertly to the other end of Etonville, slowing as I approached the turnoff to Carlos’s rented home. Even on a sunny day like this, the Hanratty house loomed large and eerie, ghostlike, as if it held secrets that had never been divulged. Curtains fluttered at upstairs windows. There was a dark green Subaru parked in the gravel driveway, and the front door appeared to be open. I came to a halt and switched off the engine.
Lola had finished the jelly doughnut and was now downing the rest of her coffee. She smoothed her hair and adjusted her denim jacket. As usual, she looked like she belonged on the cover of Cosmopolitan, her leggings topped by a light knit sweater, her blond hair in a casual ponytail.
“Ready?” I asked.
Lola slipped on her designer sunglasses, completing her model-like ensemble. We walked across the porch and approached the front door. Which was, indeed, open. Only the screen door blocked our entrance. From within, we heard classical music playing and smelled the rich aromas of herbs and spices.
“He must be home. The car’s here, the door’s open, and something smells in the kitchen.” I peered through the screen and rapped on the doorjamb. “Hello?”
No answer. I knocked again, more firmly, and we waited.
“I guess they must be busy. We should go,” said Lola, and turned away.
I plucked at her arm. “Don’t you want to see an end to the Carlos mystery?”
“If it means going back in there, then no,” whispered Lola.
“Come on. No guts, no glory.”
She got a lungful of air and repeated: “No guts, no glory.”
I tapped on the door a third time, then gently twisted the handle. It wasn’t locked. I opened it a smidge and surveyed the entrance hall. No activity in the parlor or dining room. Only the music originating from somewhere else. The kitchen? “Carlos?” I called out, taking one step into the house.
“Where are you going? This is trespassing!” Lola said.
“I’m not breaking in. The door’s open,” I rationalized. A windy gust caused the bare branches of the trees in the front yard to clack against each other.
“I’m staying on the porch,” Lola said.
I poked my head in farther. A plastic bag on the chair where I’d left my purse the night of the cast party had “Halloween Costumes Super Store” written in gold lettering across the front of it. I recognized the name of the shop, which was located in Creston. “Keep a lookout and let me know if anyone approaches—”
“Can I help you?”
Startled, my hand flew into the air and slapped the open screen door as Lola jerked upright, backing into the doorjamb. We collided. Bella, a basket in one arm, a shears in the other, stood in the front yard and regarded us warily. “Can I help you?” she repeated.
My face flushed crimson, embarrassed. Why hadn’t I anticipated Bella being in the house? Lola lowered her eyes, equally mortified.
“Hello,” I said as offhandedly as I could manage. “We were looking for Carlos.”
Bella laid the shears on the pile of greens in the basket. Her curly hair fell freely, her eyes open and inquisitive. An apron covered her T-shirt and jeans. “I see,” she said quietly. The two words spoke volumes. “Would you like to come in?”
“No! We need to be going—” Lola stuttered.
“Yes, thanks,” I said.
Bella brushed past me, indicating that we should follow her. “Have a seat.” She pointed to the parlor. “I need to take these herbs to the kitchen. The last of the season.”
Lola and I sat uneasily on the worn velvet upholstery of the chairs.
“Now what?” she hissed.
I shrugged. I had to think of something.
By the time Bella returned a few minutes later with a tray holding a steaming teapot, cups, and a plate of cookies, Lola and I had calmed down and I had gotten my bearings.
“I don’t think I thanked you formally for hosting the cast on opening night,” Lola said serenely, accepting a cup of tea and an oatmeal cookie.
“It was our pleasure.” Bella eyed Lola and me over the rim of her cup.
“This is delicious,” I said.
“Rose hips. From my herb garden. I keep a pot brewing all day long.”
“That must be the pleasant smell coming from your kitchen,” I said.
“That and a few other herbs for my business,” Bella said.
“You grow herbs for…?” I asked.
Bella’s face expanded in a smile. “I make lotions, shampoo, healing salves, tinctures.”
“That’s ambitious. You sell online?”
“Certain products. I have a list of customers.” She sipped her tea. “Herbal beauty products and healing remedies are very popular now.”
“I’m hooked on chamomile,” Lola said. “In the morning I need my caffeine, but there’s nothing like a cup of herb tea for a pick-me-up midafternoon.”
A momentary pause, while we all nodded agreement and swallowed the hot liquid. We chatted for a few minutes about the weather in New Jersey this time of the year, no hint about anywhere else they’d lived, about Dracula and how well it was going. About Bella’s tarot card reading and Walter’s over-the-top reaction. We laughed, and once again there was a momentary pause.
“You said you wanted to speak with Carlos?” Bella asked.
“If it’s not inconvenient.” I glanced around the parlor as if he might appear out of thin air.
“I’m sorry, but he’s at work.”
“Work?” Lola asked, surprised.
“Of course. He left early this morning.” Bella looked at me, then at Lola. It was a Monday morning after all, she seemed to be saying.
“Of course,” I echoed her. “Carlos never did say where he was employed.”
Bella frowned. “It’s a new job. At an office in Clifton. Management.”
“That’s nice,” Lola said.
“What did you want to see him about?” Bella asked.
I hesitated to ask her the same questions I might ask Carlos about the Villariases’ name change and Carlos’s mother and Lennox.
“We are considering changing the time of the brush-up rehearsal Wednesday,” said Lola in a rush.
I could have kissed her for coming to our rescue. “Earlier,” I said.
“Later,” Lola chimed in simultaneously.
We were dangerously close to becoming the Keystone Kops. I set my cup on Bella’s tray and rose. “We’ve kept you away from your garden long enough. Thanks for the tea and cookies.”
Lola followed my lead. “Please tell Carlos that Penny will be emailing the revised schedule.” She paused. “Oh, I forgot. Carlos doesn’t have email…”
That was news to me.
“Penny will call him.”
“I’ll let him k
now,” Bella said, ushering us to the door.
“Thanks again.” Lola’s relief was palpable.
“By the way, has Carlos ever played Dracula before? In another theater?” I asked.
Bella’s warm smile dissolved into a thin, tight line. “Why do you ask?”
Lola’s features displayed the same question. “He plays the role so…naturally. It fits like a glove,” I said.
“Carlos had a lot of acting experience in college. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
We moved down the front steps and into my car, Bella watching our progress. As the engine of my MC came to life, she closed the door. And locked it, I imagined.
I backed out of the driveway, Lola shivering. “Talk about uncomfortable. And what was that about Carlos playing Dracula before?”
“Trying to pry some backstory out of Bella. Where he went to college. Where he acted before. He is a natural when it comes to Dracula.” Lola herself had said the same.
“Yes. He’s very realistic.”
Lola never said acting was “natural,” only “realistic.” It was a Walter thing. Naturalism involved mumbling and stumbling around the stage, according to the director. Realism required the actors to incorporate the details of life with precision and planning. I didn’t see much difference. Any way you sliced it, Carlos inhabited the role of the vampire as if he was born to it. “No email? Who doesn’t have email these days?” I mused. “It’s almost like he doesn’t have a past, doesn’t want anyone to trace his whereabouts.”
“Except for his mother,” Lola reminded me. “Surprised he has a job in management.”
I knew “management” was the generic term for positions in many different kinds of businesses. I’d had a degree in management and I ended up in restaurants. Bella might have been deliberately stonewalling us. “He’s gotta work somewhere. Somebody has to pay the rent on the Hanratty place.” I had a sudden brainstorm. “Rent!” I shouted.
“What about it?”
“Maybe the rental agent knows something about the Villariases. I remember Walter saying someone in his office found it for them,” I said.
“I suppose I could ask Walter who the agent was.”
“Perfect!”
I dropped Lola off at Snippets to retrieve her car. I had about an hour before the lunch rush and another stop to make. I was determined to flush out the Villariases/Johnsons….
12
I headed for the highway that ran between Etonville and its next-door neighbor, Creston, a larger city with a variety of neighborhoods from upscale to blue collar. I had gotten to know its downtown shops—a café for out-of-Etonville getaways, a jewelry store that played a part in one of my early investigative adventures—as well as its soup kitchen, where the Windjammer had donated food. Older, run-down areas with small, single-family homes and faded apartment buildings were mere blocks from multimillion-dollar houses. Creston included it all. I also knew that Halloween Costumes Super Store, the location printed on the bag in the foyer of the Villariases’, boasted hundreds of outfits to buy or rent, suitable for any dress-up occasion.
I left Route 53 and drove to Gardiner Avenue, two streets over from the central shopping area. I found a space a few doors from the costume business and marched briskly to my destination. I had no time to kill.
I entered the store, nearly empty this morning, and scanned the aisles of costumes. Racks of movie-inspired clothing, zombies, vampires, ghosts, and traditional pirates, cowboys, and nurses outfits. There were also heaps of clothing scattered around the place. No one was at the checkout counter, so I ambled down an aisle until I found a young man with a clipboard, taking inventory. He counted sailor uniforms, gave the costumes a once-over, made notes, and moved on to the next items.
“Excuse me.”
The clerk looked up and swept one hand over his half-shaved head, then tugged on a large gold hoop in his ear.
“I’m looking for a Phantom of the Opera costume.”
He studied me skeptically. “Halloween’s over, lady.”
“Right. But I have an event…a theater thing, and I need to go as a famous stage character. I figured the Phantom was a great idea.”
He frowned. “What about a princess from Frozen or a witch in Wicked?”
“I’m kind of set on Phantom,” I answered.
The young man gestured for me to join him at the checkout counter. He tapped keys on his computer, tugged on his earring some more. “We had four full costumes. One bought, three rented, all of ’em out.”
I knew where one of them was located. “What a shame. My good friend rented one from here and we were going to wear them together.” Did that even make sense?
“Two Phantoms?” he asked, confused.
“Maybe you remember him? Carlos Villarias? Tall, dark-haired, handsome. In fact, he’s playing Dracula at the Etonville Little Theatre right now. Maybe you’ve heard about it?”
“Nah. Not into theater.” He typed on his computer again. “Carlos Villarias. Phantom costume. Still outstanding.”
“Did Carlos pick it up or did you ship it to his office?”
“Picked it up.”
“I thought maybe he gave you his work address…he has a lot of stuff delivered there.”
“No work address. Do you want to see other costumes?” he asked, getting impatient.
“I’ll wander around.”
The clerk pointed off to the left. “Show costumes are in aisle three.” He stepped from behind the counter, then stopped. “You said Etonville?”
“Yes.”
“If you know the guy who rented the Grim Reaper costume, tell ’im I need it back this week.”
Yikes. That train had left the station, seeing as it was locked up in an evidence box in Bill’s office. It wasn’t my place to remind the clerk of that fact.
“We’ve got a Walking Dead party we’re doing and I have to pull together the wardrobe.”
My instincts kicked in. “What’s his name?”
He consulted his computer. “Mr. Smith.”
Guess the kid had no reason to be suspicious about the name. “Did he give you an address?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Said Etonville and threw a coupla hundreds on the counter.”
“He bought the costume?”
“Nah. Said he didn’t want it beyond Halloween. Said he’d bring it back. Go figure.” The guy tapped a few computer keys. “We don’t usually do cash transactions, but he was okay. Said he didn’t have a credit card. Left me a huge tip.” The clerk finally smiled.
My mind calculated as the kid kept explaining how the store was responsible for some high-end shindig next weekend and was attempting to collect the inventory they’d rented out for Halloween.
“Do you remember what day Mr. Smith rented the Grim Reaper costume?” I asked casually.
He once again consulted his laptop. “Halloween morning. Had it in stock because somebody returned it. Changed their mind.”
So Daryl Wolf got his costume at the last minute. What did that mean? He didn’t know about the Halloween party until…when? “Think I’ll pass on the costume for today,” I said.
He tried to convince me to look into the witch from Wicked, but I waved him off and left.
I dashed back to the Windjammer in time to open the door to a crush of Etonville folks. You’d have thought it was coupon Monday, the way customers scrambled for their favorite booths, bumping the competition aside to claim their territory, settling arguments by pointing to other tables.
“What is going on?” I asked Benny.
“Beats me,” he said. “Could be the change in the weather? Everybody out and about because the mercury hit seventy?” He chuckled.
Or maybe it was the slider specials that had lured patrons out of their homes. Today’s menu featured the seven-layer, Tex-Mex version. On top of the mini
burger, Henry had piled refried beans, guacamole, tomatoes, spicy sour cream, salsa, and a smattering of olives. Only a couple of inches wide, the slider was stacked tall.
I spent the next two hours gliding around the dining room, seating customers, riding herd on the servers, and accumulating compliments for Henry’s mini sandwiches.
“Henry’s outdone himself with these.” Right.
“It’s so high I can’t get my mouth open wide enough.” Yep.
“Like a burger and a taco all in one.” Kind of.
“And no garlic.” Oops!
“I’ll sit at the counter,” said a voice behind me.
Gillian handed a menu to Mr. Chicago. He plopped onto a bar stool, asked what the special of the day was, and made the same decision as most everyone else in the restaurant. The Tex-Mex slider.
“Still in town,” I said, leaning against the bar.
“Kind of like Etonville. Nice people.”
“True. No place to get back to?” I asked, trying for total nonchalance.
Mr. Chicago tore the paper off a straw and slowly took a sip of his soda. Equally nonchalant. “Not at the moment. So…what else do you do besides manage this place?”
“I help out next door sometimes. At the theater.”
“The theater. Yeah.”
Two could play this game. “What do you do? Besides eat at this place?”
Mr. Chicago laughed, appraised me like an expensive piece of jewelry in a glass case. “I’m in regional sales. Plumbing,” he said.
“Plenty of that action in North Jersey. Enjoy the rest of your stay. I hear Chicago can get slammed with icy rain and sleet this time of year.” I was sure I’d read that somewhere. Which made me think about Bill…I wondered how he was doing and what he had unearthed, if anything.
Mr. Chicago stirred the ice in his drink. “Can it?” As if he wasn’t aware of the Windy City’s weather patterns. As if he didn’t live there. Hmmm…
Benny delivered his lunch, and he fell on it like a starving man, wiping the salsa and sour cream from his mouth.
My cell pinged. I peeked at the text. Bill: how are u? brrr cold here. productive trip. C u in two days. miss u. Bill’s simple, heartfelt message made me think of my great-aunt Maureen’s assessment of romance: Love is a lot like a backache…it doesn’t show up on X-rays, but you know it’s there. I missed Bill too. I needed to tell him that more often.
Killing Time Page 14
