Taurus Eyes

by Bonnie Hearn Hill

  I had already located the club where Cookie still played. I took a cab and got there early.

  “ID?” squawked the sequined blonde at the entrance.

  “I’m here for dinner,” I said.

  “This is still a nightclub, dinner or not. I can’t let you in without ID.”

  Just then I caught the eye of an older guy. He was dressed formally in dark slacks and a long-sleeved shirt in a deep sapphire shade. The Afro had been trimmed and also lightened by an invasion of gray. But the large, expressive eyes were the same.

  “Cookie?” I asked.

  “Hey.” He nodded without smiling. “How’d you know me?”

  “Your album. My dad has the LP, and I really just wanted to watch you perform.”

  “Let the kid in, Bernie.”

  “Whatever,” the blonde said. “If there’s trouble, it’s on you, Cookie.”

  It was a small place. A tiny bandstand with a gleaming piano was at the back of the room, and dark red booths lined each side. The lights were too dim for me to see much more. Only a few people sat at the round tables in front of the bandstand.

  I followed him inside, where he settled into a booth behind a candlelit table that held only a short glass with the remains of a drink in it.

  “May I join you?” I asked. “It will just take a minute.”

  “Hey, I got you in the front door. What else do you want?”

  “Just to talk to you about Sean Baylor.”

  “Forget it.” He shook his head. “There’s already way too much stuff about him going around right now.”

  “In a way, I’m part of that stuff.”

  He gave a sigh that could have been disgust or weariness, maybe both. “Okay, okay. Sit down. Want a Shirley Temple?”

  “Water will be fine.”

  He motioned for the waitress, and I noticed that the ring on his right hand had a stone the same color as his shirt. “Water for the kid and another one of these for me, Bernie.” Then he returned his attention to me. “So, how are you involved, and what are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I’m looking for information about Sean Baylor,” I said, “and I’m not going to lie to you. It’s an assignment for Writers Camp.”

  “Everything you’re hearing, all this ghost stuff, it’s a crock. If you had anything to do with spreading it, you should be ashamed.”

  Our drinks came, make that his drink. He toyed with the glass, kind of flirting with it. Watching him, I could almost feel his thirst; I could almost taste it. Scorpio was a Water sign, and water took the easiest way, the path of least resistance. I wondered if he was drinking to forget, or maybe just drinking to cope with this night in a less-than-crowded club.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with spreading the story,” I told him. Not yet. “I was at the restaurant when we heard the music, and one other time on the beach.”

  He picked up the drink he had been eyeing. He sipped, swallowed, and smacked his lips. “I don’t know what you did hear, but I can tell you what you didn’t.”

  I noticed a slight slur in his voice and hoped the alcohol would loosen him up.

  “Would it be okay if I do have that Shirley Temple?” I asked him. “You look about ready for another one too.”

  “Might as well,” he said, and finished his drink. “Then I’ve got to go on.”

  “Do you perform any of the songs you sang at the festival?”

  “No one wants to hear me do the Baylor stuff now.” His voice cracked with what I guessed was supposed to be laughter. “Sean B. was the star. If it hadn’t been for him . . .” He stopped and called out, “Hey, Bernie. A Shirley Temple and one more of these.” I wondered what he was going to say. That Sean Baylor was the only reason that he got within inches of stardom? That Baylor’s death triggered the descent that had landed him in a string of places like this?

  “You were saying?” I asked.

  “I don’t remember, and it doesn’t matter anyway. Sean B. would be the last person to haunt this town.”

  Bernie delivered the drinks. This time Cookie didn’t flirt with his. He just tossed it back.

  “How did he die?” I asked. “Do you think he was murdered?”

  “Let’s not go there, okay? I don’t know any more than anyone else about what happened.”

  “But you had played together at the festival. Was he arguing with anybody, a woman maybe?”

  “Yeah, maybe. There were always women, and so there were always arguments.”

  “Did he have a special one?”

  He stared into his empty glass. “They were all special for as long as it lasted. You’ll understand that someday if you ever fall for a musician.”

  My flesh went cold. There was no way he could know about Jeremy, but still that street-smart cynicism and those weary eyes sent a shiver through me.

  The blonde approached our table again. “Another one, Cookie? You have time.”

  He glanced at me. “Go ahead,” I told him. “I’m fine.” Encouraging him to drink was not my greatest moment. Jaffa had warned us about six-pack journalism, as he called it. I rationalized by telling myself that this was Cookie’s nightly habit. All that had changed was that I was here trying to get information out of a tight-lipped Scorpio. Tight-lipped until it came to those little shot glasses, that is.

  “Do you remember who Sean was seeing at the time?” I asked.

  “No, and it wouldn’t matter anyway. Bottom line, I just think he made a bad decision. Lots of things can happen on a sailboat at night.”

  “Did he go there alone?”

  “I don’t remember. Like I said, there were always fights when women were around.”

  “What was her name?”

  He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  I knew it.

  “And they fought because of another woman, maybe?”

  “Women, plural. Kid, you’ve got some imagination. Don’t be writing about any of this. My official story is that Sean B. left alone for the boat.”

  This meant that he hadn’t.

  Bernie arrived again and slid another glass toward Cookie, then discreetly removed the empty ones.

  “Was there anyone who would have benefitted from his death?” I asked.

  “How the hell should I know? I don’t even care how he died anymore.”

  “Why are you so certain that his spirit isn’t the one people have heard at the restaurant?”

  “I told you. It’s a crock.” He downed his drink with the ease of someone who had been doing it for a very long time. “Sean B. was like my brother, okay? He’s dead, all right, but he’s no ghost. If he was, he’d be trying to find me or Ren, not a bunch of strangers in a restaurant.”

  “Who’s Ren?”

  “You’re pretty good.” He lifted his head, and for the first time, looked at me with respect. “She’s his sister. Now, I really do have to get ready to go on.”

  “So where is Ren now?” I asked.

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re welcome to stick around, but I’m finished answering questions.”

  “Do you think she would be willing to talk to me? I’d like to interview her.”

  “Kid,” he said, “she won’t even talk to me.”

  NOTES TO SELF

  Cookie’s fondness for what my gram would call drowning his sorrows is Water sign all the way. Unhappy Water sign, that is. It’s clear to me that he’s dealing with guilt issues. His best friend died. He’s still around but nowhere close to where he might be if Sean had lived. And the way he dismissed the women! Sean Baylor had to have had a woman in his life. If he was a true Gemini, he was in love with being in love.

  Cookie let me stay around because, he said, they needed to “fill the room.” It wasn’t very full, but he was so good that I wished I could just enjoy his music and not worry about what I have to do next. And what I have to do next, of course, is figure out a way to talk to Baylor’s sister. I wonder what sign she is.

  15

  BE PREPAR
ED WHEN DEALING WITH THE SIGN OF

  CANCER. ALTHOUGH SOME CANCERS DEAL WITH THEIR

  EMOTIONS, MANY CARRY HEAVY BAGGAGE, ENOUGH

  THAT THEY CAN MAKE THEIR WATER SIBLINGS, SCORPIO

  AND PISCES, APPEAR IN CONTROL AND ALMOST

  ASSERTIVE BY COMPARISON. CANCER, ALTHOUGH OFTEN

  AS PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE AS THE OTHER WATER SIGNS,

  CAN ALSO BE DANGEROUS. THESE CRABS ARE

  EXTREMELY PROTECTIVE, AND MANY HAVE MOTHER

  ISSUES. THREATEN ONE OF THEIR OWN, AND YOU’LL BE

  TAKING YOUR LIFE—LITERALLY—IN YOUR HANDS.

  —FEARLESS ASTROLOGY

  Finding Ren Baylor online was easier than I had thought it was going to be. In addition to sitting on several nonprofit boards, she headed the Baylor Foundation for the Creative Arts. Her birth date was June 28. Cancer. Was she donating money to the arts in memory of her brother, or was she motivated by some other emotion? I would find out as soon as I could figure out a way to talk to her.

  When I saw Jeremy in class that Tuesday, he gave me a look that wasn’t as much nasty as disinterested. And disinterested hurt a little more than nasty would have. I remembered how terrible he had been to me. He, who had suggested that I was playing Baylor tunes on the beach, and who knew where else? He, who might have been “researching” with Vanessa over the weekend. I wanted to tell him about Cookie, but, since we weren’t exactly speaking, I wouldn’t be able to, not today, at least. There was still that little matter of his weekend research with Vanessa to discuss.

  We’d barely gotten started when Jaffa called me to the front.

  “I don’t know what this is all about,” he said, “but they need to see you in the admin office.”

  “ Why?”

  “I don’t know. Get back as soon as you can. These administration people have no business interrupting my workshop.”

  I found my way to the right office.

  “Your name?” the clerk inside asked.

  “Logan McRae.”

  “She’s the one.”

  I looked in the direction of the harsh voice and spotted a tall woman in a rust-colored coat about the same color as her sleek bob.

  “You can go with Ms. Baylor.” The clerk pointed toward an open office door.

  I nearly stopped breathing. This woman in front of me must be Sean Baylor’s sister. As much as I had wanted to find her, I wasn’t sure how I felt about her finding me.

  “You spoke with Cookie Burke last night?” she asked, and I knew he’d told her.

  “Yes,” I said, “and I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Fine.” She turned her back on me and swept into the room.

  I followed. Sean Baylor’s sister. I couldn’t believe my luck. Or was it my bad luck?

  Once inside, she closed the door and sat at the head of a long table. I thought about it, okay, mulled it, and decided to sit at the other end. When I did, I really saw her for the first time.

  She had one of those sharp, thin faces that would always be able to pass for pretty, regardless of her age.

  “So, Ms. McRae,” she said. “I understand you’ve been asking questions about my late brother.”

  “A lot of people have,” I told her.

  “But none of them has thought to trace the connection to Cookie Burke. My compliments.”

  “Cookie told you I was there?”

  “How I found out is of no concern. All that matters is that the questions you are asking about my brother are causing me a great deal of pain.”

  “That’s not my intention,” I said.

  “His death destroyed our family right along with his promising musical career, and it’s hurtful to have anyone making a mockery of all that.” She cleared her throat and nailed me with her pale-eyed gaze. “Let alone a naïve college student.”

  High school, but I wasn’t about to correct her.

  “That’s not what I want to do. I’m just trying to figure out what really happened that night.”

  “He fell off the boat, of course.”

  “Cookie suggested he had an argument with a woman.”

  “Don’t trust him. He used Seanie too, like all the rest of his so-called musician friends.” For a moment, I thought she might burst into tears, but she was far too controlled for that. “Cookie was the worst.”

  “So he wasn’t the one who told you that I came to see him?”

  She shook her head. “Stop asking pointless questions. All that does matter to me—and it matters very much—is that you will no longer contribute, in any way, to the gossip about my brother.”

  “This is not about gossip,” I said. “I’m sorry you had to get involved.”

  “How could I not be?” Her voice caught. “I live this every day. I see his clothes, his car, his sailboat. I just cannot bear another reminder.”

  “Meaning?” I asked.

  “Meaning that if you don’t stop whatever it is you think you are doing, I will talk to the school administrators. You know what will happen then, don’t you? The Baylor Foundation finances all of the arts programs here.”

  In spite of her martyred expression, I knew that I had never encountered such a dangerous enemy. Next to Ren Baylor, Vanessa was a minor irritation.

  “How did you get in here anyway?” I asked. “Isn’t it against the rules to take a student out of class?”

  “Whose rules? I donate a great deal, ask for nothing in return, and am welcome, indeed admired here.” Her thin lips curved into a smile. “Not that I need to explain myself to you. I believe the clerk had the mistaken impression that we were already acquainted.”

  So she had faked that. “I still can’t believe they just had me taken out of Jaffa’s workshop,” I said. “What did you tell them when they asked you why you wanted to talk to me?”

  That dismissive sigh again, as if I was unworthy of a response. “Nobody asked.”

  “Well, I think I’d better get back now. Jaffa isn’t going to be happy about this.” I met her eyes and made sure she got the message I didn’t have the nerve to speak. And I will tell him.

  “Don’t cross me, Ms. McRae.” She rose from her chair. “If you even attempt to continue this nonsense, you will find out what I’m capable of.”

  And with that final threat, she stalked out of the room.

  NOTES TO SELF

  Jaffa wasn’t happy that I returned to class so late. If only my Mars in reluctant Pisces hadn’t held me back from telling Ren Baylor that she couldn’t stop me. I know that she will attempt to get me kicked out if she thinks I am going to stir up unhappy memories for her. Yet, I have no choice. If I am going to have Henry Jaffa for a mentor, I have to deliver on my Sean Baylor story. And it has to be a better one than Jeremy is going to turn in. It certainly has to be better than Vanessa’s fake one on astrology.

  16

  IN MANY OF LIFE’S CHALLENGING MOMENTS, WE MUST

  JOIN FORCES WITH THOSE WHO ARE THE MOST UNLIKE

  US. FIRE MUST TEAM WITH AIR. AND EARTH WITH

  WATER. GET THE IDEA? WE ARE ALL CONNECTED, AND

  IN DIFFICULT TIMES, WE MUST MAKE THOSE CONNEC-

  TIONS WORK.

  —Fearless Astrology

  Fearless Astrology made sense, as it almost always did. I was willing to team up with anyone if I must. If it would help me unravel the mystery of Sean Baylor. And if it would help me land Henry Jaffa for a mentor. I couldn’t stick around in the room tonight, though. Candice was having a barbecue on our patio. I decided to skip it and go for a walk to think about what to do next.

  I left the dorms late that afternoon, glad that it wasn’t as cold as it had been. My yellow hoodie should be enough to protect me from the weather.

  “Logan, wait.”

  Jeremy stood just outside the building. He was still dressed in his East Coast clothes. I didn’t know whether I should run to or away from him. This Aquarius had already learned the painful lesson of Jeremy charm. Might as well just pretend to be friendly.

&nb
sp; “Hey,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you. I was hoping you might be looking for me, too.”

  I didn’t want to think about whether or not he was right. And I certainly didn’t want to deal with the challenge in those sexy blue eyes. I didn’t want to remind him that he had accused me of faking Baylor music. “Actually,” I said. “I just needed a break.”

  “I get that. Am I wrong, or is there always a party going on in your room?”

  “Mostly right. Candice is cool, so of course everyone wants to be around her.”

  “So would you like to take a drive?”

  “What?” Where had that come from?

  “Dirk’s going to the barbecue, and I have his car again. I thought maybe we could check out 17-Mile Drive. Do some research.”

  “How did you and Vanessa happen to miss that last weekend?”

  “Don’t,” he said. “She only talks that way to upset you. Dirk’s the one she likes.”

  “But he’s into Tati.”

  “Let’s just say that Dirk has a problem making up his mind.” He gave me that look he had the first night when he had reached out and grabbed me. “I’m not that way.” Taurus, I thought. Loyal.

  “So you weren’t doing research with Vanessa?”

  “Not the way she tried to make it sound, and I don’t think I need to explain myself. Sean Baylor once owned a home on 17-Mile Drive. I’m heading over there. Why don’t you come with me?”

  No harm. If we could find where Baylor had lived, it would make up for Jeremy’s nasty remark about not having to explain what he was doing with Vanessa.

  At the end of Cannery Row, we passed the Monterey Bay Aquarium and began our drive around the peninsula. Ocean View Boulevard stretched out next to the Pacific. The view was more amazing with Jeremy than it had been in the past.

  “I heard about what happened with Baylor’s sister today,” he said. “What did she have to say?”

  The Taurus wasn’t even looking at the magnificent view.

  “How did you find that out?”

  “Everyone’s talking about it.”

  “Meaning Vanessa?”