Final Call

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “I don’t know a thing about acting.”

  “Yes, you do. Every day you act. We all do.” His comment unsettled me, but I couldn’t pinpoint why.

  “With any luck, I’ll find Rosemary for you.” I pulled my hands from his and sauntered to the steps leading down from the stage, feeling Seaver’s eyes digging into my back. I hurried up the aisle, through the lobby, and to the front door where Jake was pacing.

  “There you are. I was wondering if you’d had another run-in with a man in a mask.”

  I laughed. “I think he had enough the first time.”

  “So, you up for a late snack?”

  “I can’t.”

  “What? You turning down food?” Jake brought a hand to his heart and staggered. “Never thought I’d see the day. Though I guess I can’t blame you after what happened tonight. Kind of feeling a bit sick myself.”

  “It’s not that.” I could always eat. “It’s Tawnia. She has plans to find where our birth mother’s mother lived. To see if we can contact her. She’s picking me up bright and early before church.”

  He gave me a half grin. “How do you feel about that?”

  “I do want to know, but now that we have a real lead . . .” I shrugged. “It’s just been so long. I want to know about my roots, especially since Winter and Summer are gone and they don’t have any extended family to speak of, and I’d like to learn more about Kendall. But at the same time, I wonder if I should leave well enough alone.”

  He snorted. “Like that will ever happen.”

  I punched his arm with a little more force than I’d intended.

  “Ow.” He took my hand. “Kidding. Of course you have to follow the lead, or you’ll always wonder. I’ll take a rain check for the food, but let me know how it goes tomorrow.”

  “I will.”

  I dropped Jake off in front of our stores where he’d left his car. “Call me if your car breaks down on the way home,” he said.

  Normally he would have kissed me, and for a moment I wanted him to. I wanted to feel normal, to not have to think of Cheyenne dying or about Rosemary out there somewhere, possibly fatally wounded. I didn’t want to think about a certain detective.

  He hesitated, as if he could sense my uncertainty, or as if he, too, wanted something more. Then he smiled and gave me a wave.

  I watched him go, torn between calling him back and going home to make myself a nice cup of lemon tea to drink in bed. Rain began falling again, and he hurried to his car, making my decision for me. I pulled back into traffic and began driving for a while without noticing where I was going.

  I was heading home. At least that’s what I thought, but ten minutes later as I looked around me, I realized my subconscious had other plans. Fortunately, my subconscious was better at directions than I was and when I stopped to examine the map on my phone, I wasn’t far off the mark.

  The section of town I was looking for was filled with small, older houses. Bungalows, really, some in a sad state of disrepair. Flowers in pots lined the porch of one bungalow, and though the contents were long dead, the colorful pots, illuminated by the streetlight, gave character to the house, which I suspected by the light of day might look rather garish.

  According to Erica, Cheyenne had lived here with her roommates.

  Shannon was going to kill me, especially if I let hints about Cheyenne’s death mess up his investigation. But I wasn’t here for Cheyenne. I simply wanted to know if any of her roommates had information about Rosemary. If she’d been the one hit by the hammer, she could be lying somewhere hurt, if she wasn’t already dead, and if she was out in this cold rain, her prospects would be worse. I couldn’t go home and curl up in my comfortable bed unless I at least tried the only lead I had.

  It was late, but these women were presumably single, like me, and that meant ten-thirty was early. They might not even be home yet from their dates or wherever they spent their Saturday nights.

  Flipping up my hood and pulling my coat tighter around me, I went up the uneven walk, my flat boots splashing in shallow puddles of rainwater. The smell of rain on the pavement filled my mind with images of clean. I wished it were warm so I could pull off these confining boots and feel the wet pavement on my feet.

  On the covered porch sat several wood chairs, one of which was broken. There was also a pair of soaked boots, which I hoped signaled that at least one roommate was home. Ignoring the bell, I knocked on the door in the off chance someone was sleeping; a knock was easier on the nervous system than a doorbell.

  My phone buzzed with a text, and I glanced at it. “Found glass in dishwasher. No fingerprints. Saving it for you.”

  Great. I guess it wouldn’t hurt for me to read the glass again. Simply washing didn’t remove imprints from most objects, perhaps because they were embedded deep within the atoms that weren’t overly disturbed by a little hot water. Many times I’d had to pass up great antiques for my store because of negative imprints I knew I couldn’t remove or stand to be around. I wouldn’t sell such things anyway, though no one would know the difference, at least not consciously. Clothing and other things made of fabric were the exception, as they lost a bit of themselves at every washing, making even strong imprints fade rather quickly—if anyone cared enough about the item to imprint something in the first place, which didn’t happen often.

  Though I never saw anything more on subsequent readings, I hadn’t been paying close attention the first time I’d read the glass because I believed the imprints had come from playacting scenes, not real life. They still very well could have—if one believed in coincidence.

  I didn’t answer the text. He’d catch up to me eventually. Shannon was like that. Always turning up when I least wanted to see him. Must be his profession.

  I heard a brief creaking, and the door opened abruptly with no footsteps to warn me. A woman stood framed by the light. She was tall and model thin, with long golden blonde hair and a figure I suspected hadn’t come naturally. Eyebrows plucked to perfection, makeup artfully applied, and a sleeveless red dress that screamed “Look at me!” In her hand she carried spiked heels.

  “Oh,” she said in a low, husky voice. Obviously she’d been expecting someone else. “May I help you?”

  “Sorry to disturb you so late. I’m an acquaintance of Cheyenne’s. Is this her apartment?”

  “Yes, but she’s not here. She had a performance tonight.” The woman peered around me into the rain, as though looking for someone. “She performs practically every night or is rehearsing. She’s an actress, you know.” She squinted at me and did a double take at my hurt cheek, which I ignored.

  “I just came from the theater.”

  “You did? Then why would you come here to see Cheyenne?”

  Oops. “The play’s over, so I came to ask her about my friend Rosemary. Someone mentioned that she and Cheyenne were friends. Said maybe Rosemary had slept here a time or two.”

  “Yep. She did. She was looking for a place to stay, and right about then one of our roommates up and got married, so she took over her contract.”

  I couldn’t believe my luck. “Rosemary lives here now?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah. Haven’t seen her in a few days, but I don’t keep the same schedule as Rosemary and Cheyenne. I leave for work while they’re still sleeping, and I’m home after they’re gone. Then I’m either asleep by the time they come home or still out if it’s the weekend.”

  Not much help there. “Look,” I said. “Here’s the thing. No one has seen Rosemary since at least Thursday. She didn’t show up for Friday rehearsal. Everyone’s worried.”

  The blonde’s brow furrowed. “That’s strange. Anyway, Cheyenne might be able to tell you more. She’s the one who knew her.”

  What to say to that?

  A familiar white Mustang drove up to the curb.

 
“Look, my date’s here. I’m sorry, but I can’t talk to you anymore, and I can’t let you wait here alone for Cheyenne. You’ll have to come back later. You understand.”

  Of course, I understood. I could be some wacko with a secret agenda and a gun in her pocket. “It’s not your date,” I said. “It’s the police.”

  She blinked at me. “Are they looking for you?”

  “Do I look like I’m running?” What was it about me that people thought I was a criminal? I was even wearing shoes, for crying out loud.

  “No need to be rude.”

  “I’m sorry. I just need to see Rosemary’s room. She’s missing, and she could be hurt.”

  The woman was no longer paying attention to me. Shannon and an Asian detective who had also been at the theater reached the porch, badges in hand. “I’m Detective Martin with the Portland police,” Shannon said. “This is Detective Huang. What has she told you?” He shot me a blistering stare.

  “Only that Rosemary is missing,” I said before the blonde could answer. “This is her apartment, by the way, and I’d like to see her room.”

  Shannon relaxed. “If you don’t mind,” he said to the blonde, “we’d like to take a look around.”

  She frowned. “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

  “Cheyenne’s your roommate, right?” When she nodded, he continued. “She’s been murdered.”

  The blonde gasped and put her hand to her well-painted lips. “Oh, no. How? Why? Who would do something like that?” She clung to the door for support.

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out. The sooner we take a look, the closer we’ll be to figuring out what happened.”

  “Don’t forget Rosemary,” I added. “She’s still missing.”

  That got the blonde’s attention. “Do you think we’re in danger, that they’re after all of us?”

  “Until we know more, we really can’t say.” An impatient note had crept into Shannon’s voice. “We won’t even know for sure what killed Cheyenne until they finish the autopsy.”

  The blonde turned a shade paler but still made no move to let us in.

  “Look,” Shannon added, “I know this is a surprise, but this is a murder investigation.”

  “Oh, of course. I’m sorry. Come in.” She opened the door wider, looking past us to the street outside. Her date was apparently late. “There’s no one else home at the moment.” She gulped as though remembering that Cheyenne would never be coming home. “What should I do?”

  “Just tell us which room was hers.”

  “And Rosemary’s,” I said, removing my winter gloves and stuffing them into my coat pockets.

  “Cheyenne shares with Courtney over there.” She waved a french-manicured hand toward a narrow hallway. “First door on your right. Rosemary’s in the end room with Bonnie.”

  I headed immediately to Rosemary’s room, but Shannon’s hand reached out to stop me. “I’ll go first.” He glanced at the other detective. “Huang, you start in our victim’s room.”

  Well, at least he hadn’t ordered me to come back after his investigation was over. Of course, that didn’t mean he was happy with me. “I can’t believe you came here,” he said when we were alone in Rosemary’s room.

  “I’m helping a friend.”

  “There’s a murderer loose.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Isn’t the first time.”

  Ignoring me, he scanned the room. “Nothing seems out of place.” He pulled on plastic gloves and opened a few of the drawers in the dresser. “Clothes are still here.”

  “Closet looks divided in two,” I added. “Half for each roommate. No big gaps.”

  “If she really is missing, it’s probably connected with the murder. I’ll need fingerprints before you disturb anything. I have more detectives coming.”

  “I can’t read imprints unless I touch things.”

  “I need to help process the other room. You’ll have to wait.”

  “Can’t he do it alone?”

  “He’s not that experienced yet.”

  Huang had been around for as long as I’d been consulting with the police, so what did that say about me?

  I rolled my eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  He wasn’t. The blonde’s boyfriend, or whoever she was waiting for, hadn’t shown, so I sat with the now-sullen woman in the small living room, waiting for the detectives. I learned her name was Mallory and that she worked as a paralegal at a law firm. I was a bit surprised that she wasn’t a model or a wannabe actress, and I felt a little chastened at my chauvinistic attitude. Just because a woman looked like a model didn’t mean she had aspirations to be one. Some beautiful women actually had sense.

  When Mallory arose to check the street once more, I went with her, more out of sheer boredom than anything else. As we emerged onto the porch, a shadow at the corner of the house caught my eye.

  “Did you see that?” I asked.

  “See what?”

  “I thought I saw someone.”

  She scanned the street. “There are no new cars out here.”

  I leapt from the porch, my leather boots squeaking and making me long to remove them. Around to the side of the house where the space between the houses made me feel almost claustrophobic. Had I really seen anything? Or was it just a shadow?

  My gut told me I had seen something, and investigating Rosemary’s disappearance made it my job to find out what. Adrenaline kicked in, overriding the frustration I’d been feeling with my enforced wait. After the attack in the prop room, I was itching for a fight.

  The rain was still coming down, though less convincingly. The dead grass beneath my feet felt soggy and unsteady. Rounding the back of the house, I spied a figure dressed in black, standing on a stepladder and doing something to the window.

  It was Rosemary’s room.

  “Stop!” I shouted, running toward him. This time he wasn’t getting away.

  The masked face looked at me, holding oddly still for what seemed like several long seconds. Then he launched himself at me from several rungs up the ladder. My breath fled in one gush as we fell to the ground.

  Chapter 7

  We struggled on the wet grass, dampness seeping through my jeans. He aimed a punch, but I moved my head to the side and used his momentum to push him off. I followed up with a kick—a difficult move from a prone position—and was rewarded with a fist to my right ribs. Ow.

  So he wanted to get serious, did he?

  I didn’t know much about wrestling, though we did some in our tae kwon do classes just to cover the basics. It was all about position and leverage. He grabbed my right arm, and I relaxed enough to set him off guard before I took hold of him with my other hand and rolled him over me to the other side. We tumbled like that several times, around and around on the sparse, waterlogged lawn, neither getting in a good punch. He wasn’t trained, I could tell that much, or at least not well trained, but he wasn’t giving up easily either. He was strong enough that I would have to wear him down. At least he didn’t seem to have a knife or gun on him.

  With a deft twist, he broke free and was up and running before I realized what he was doing. I dived after him, barely catching the bottom of his boot. For a moment, I feared I’d be left with only the boot, but he fell, splat, onto the soggy ground. I gave a low chuckle.

  He kicked at me and started to his feet again. I jumped up and landed a blow to his abdomen, halting his progress. A shove and a bit of maneuvering, and he was face down into the grass—mud now—where we’d been struggling.

  I jumped on top of him and twisted his arm around his back before he could roll away, forcing it up toward his shoulder blades. He howled.

  “Sorry,” I said quite insincerely, spitting out mud that had somehow worked its way into my mouth. My uncovered hand
s felt like ice cubes. Was this really the same guy from the prop room at the theater? Though he was dressed similarly, I couldn’t say for sure.

  “Are you finished?” asked a bored voice.

  I turned to see Shannon and Detective Huang standing behind us, the gleam of cuffs in Shannon’s hands. Even Mallory had braved the rain, though she now wore boots and held an umbrella; she must have been the one to give Shannon warning. I’d have to thank her later.

  “About time you got here.”

  A partial grin touched Shannon’s mouth. “You don’t enjoy mud wrestling?”

  From what I could see of myself in the lights coming from the surrounding houses, I was a mess. I was also freezing. “It’s fun. You should try it sometime.”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “He was trying to get into Rosemary’s room. He might be the same guy who attacked me at the theater.”

  Detective Huang picked up something from the grass, showing it to Shannon. “Looks like he did plan to get in.”

  Shannon squatted and snapped the cuffs on the arm I was holding before forcing the other arm in as well. “Glass-cutting equipment,” Shannon said to my captive. “You aren’t very smart, are you?” He motioned for me to get up and pulled the man to his feet. I tugged off his mask.

  I expected to see someone from the theater, though that didn’t make much sense once I thought about it. All of them would have had access to the prop room and the entire theater without resorting to a mask. This man I had never seen before. He was short for a man and slender, but his face was perfect, and his brown hair was cut in the long shag that seemed to be so popular among the twenty-something crowd.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man glared first at Shannon and then at me. “Either of you.”

  “Why don’t you tell us what you’re doing here?” Shannon asked.

  “Yeah, why don’t you?” Mallory’s husky voice was hoarse with anger. “You were supposed to pick me up half an hour ago.”