by Josh Lanyon
Right?
Right.
“I’d love to,” I said. “Let me speak to my associate.”
Mel nodded, and I gestured to Natalie to follow me.
“So that’s the legendary Mel?” she whispered as we edged past customers busily reshelving books in the wrong slots.
“That’s right,” I whispered back. “Johnny Appleseed, Sasquatch, and Mel. And don’t let anyone tell you that Sasquatch isn’t one heck of a dancer.”
“He’s shorter than I imagined.”
I let that go. We came to a stop in front of the hard-boiled shelf: tough guys grimacing, meaty fists brandishing pistols or clenched in fury. “Listen, Nat, I don’t want you to freak out or anything. Someone tried to break in to the store last night.”
“What? Oh no.”
“It’s okay,” I hastened to add. “It doesn’t look like there was any real damage done. I don’t even think anything was taken, although you’d better have a look yourself.”
“My gosh, you could have been killed.”
Something I had strenuously avoided considering — and I didn’t want her reporting that theory in the wrong quarters, so I said quickly, “No. I’m sure the burglar had no idea anyone was here. The place has been deserted nights for nearly a month.”
“You never know,” she objected. “You’ve probably made a lot of enemies through the years.”
I think she intended it as a compliment to my sleuthing abilities. I said, “Uh…yeah. Either way, I’ve reported it to the police, but we need to get the locks changed. I’ve called a locksmith, and he’ll be here around two.” Not that I anticipated lunch with Mel lasting anything like that long — especially since I’d be wanting my afternoon siesta before long. Yet another annoying side effect of my surgery was the fact that I couldn’t seem to get through the day without one or two naps.
I showed Natalie where the plastic wall between the two sides of the building had been breached. She lost color. “You mean he could have been hiding in here after the bookstore was closed?”
“I don’t think so,” I reassured. “I think the construction crew would have noticed anyone loitering around the place.”
I sounded more confident than I felt. For one thing, I wasn’t sure the burglar wasn’t part of the construction crew, and when I got back from lunch, I was going to have a word with Fernando, the foreman. I knew what Natalie was thinking, and I didn’t blame her for being freaked. The construction crew next door usually knocked off at about three o’clock, so it was possible someone could have slipped inside after Natalie had locked up for the evening and was counting out the day’s cash.
She nodded, her blue eyes dark with worry. Crime was so much more fun when it happened to other people.
“Have you noticed anything weird lately?”
She shook her head.
“Anything weird in the last couple of weeks?”
“You mean, aside from you getting shot by that homicidal maniac?”
The guy who’d shot me had been a business acquaintance who had turned out to be an ex-lover of Jake’s — although that wasn’t why he’d shot me. At least I didn’t think it was. Although I’d hate to think I was shot on general principle.
“Yes. Besides that. Any indication that someone’s been sneaking in here after hours? Anything out of place? Are we missing any inventory?”
She slowly shook her head.
“Maybe it was a bum looking for a place to spend the night.” I didn’t really believe that, though.
“Or kids?” she suggested hopefully.
“Maybe.” I didn’t believe that either. I guessed I had a jaded impression of the younger generation. I couldn’t help believing kids and vandalism went hand in hand. At the very least I’d expect wall graffiti or to be short an erotic mystery or two.
If it wasn’t kids, surely the motive had to be theft. So why wasn’t anything missing?
Or was it simply that last night had been the intruder’s first visit, and he’d been caught in the middle of breaking in to my living quarters? That was the most reasonable explanation. That was what Jake thought, and Jake was the expert.
Natalie shivered at her own thoughts. I said, “Look, don’t worry. I’m going to talk to the contractor and tell him to keep a sharp eye out for trespassers. We’ll get these locks changed today. That should be the end of it.”
“Famous last words,” she said.
* * * * *
“Cat name badges?” Mel teased.
We were having lunch on the crowded rooftop patio at Café Santorini in Old Pasadena. I’d steered us away from any of our old favorites. I was already feeling way too nostalgic listening to Mel talk about his family and work. He taught film studies at UC Berkeley, and he loved his job. He always had. Something we’d had in common. One of many things.
I said gravely, “You bet. Mine says ‘Top Cat.’”
He burst out laughing. I laughed too, though I realized with a twinge that I was being disloyal to my hardworking stepsis.
I said, “In fairness to Natalie, she’s been great for the bookstore. She’s not nearly the ditz she appears to be.”
“She can’t be, because you’d never put up with her. I can’t see you with siblings. Let alone a sister. Let alone three of them.” He was still chuckling. “To be honest, I can’t believe Lisa finally remarried.”
“Yeah. Well.” I forked through the seared Pacific seafood salad, looking for the good bits. There didn’t seem to be any. Granted, I’d only had breakfast an hour earlier.
“I’ve been monopolizing the conversation, haven’t I?” Mel said ruefully.
I offered a quick smile. “No way. I’m enjoying myself.”
And I was, although I couldn’t seem to get past the weirdness of it. The weirdness that we were sitting here having lunch. The weirdness that Mel had turned up out of the blue at all. My stars were obviously aligning in a freaky configuration.
“But I want to hear about you,” Mel said, all at once serious. “What’s this about your last assistant being arrested for murder?”
“It’s kind of a long story.”
His warm brown eyes smiled into mine. “Are you in a hurry?”
It was unexpectedly hard to look away. “No.”
“I remember when there wasn’t enough bookstore traffic to keep you busy all day.”
“Me too. Thank God those days are past.”
“You’ve done really well, Adrien. I’m impressed.” He was absolutely sincere.
“Thanks.”
“You always were a stubborn bastard.”
We both laughed, and I remembered how much I’d missed him after he’d left. Funny how someone could be a major player in your life for years — and then be little more than a stranger. Was that how it would be between me and Jake one day?
To fill that suddenly empty place inside me, I spoke quickly, bringing him up to speed on the last three years — the general release, not the director’s cut. By the end of it he was very nearly goggling.
“I can’t believe I never heard any of this.”
I could believe it. Mel’s family hadn’t been thrilled at our relationship. Polite but cool was about the most I’d got from them. When it had ended between us, they’d been only too delighted to close the doors — and change the locks.
“So you’re like a…an amateur sleuth?”
“God no. I’m more like the hapless guys in those film-noir flicks we used to watch. I keep getting tangled up in bizarro events.”
“Oh yes?” His eyes lit with enthusiasm. I was speaking his language now. “Guy Pearce in L.A. Confidential or William Hurt in Body Heat?”
“I was thinking more like Woody Allen in Play It Again, Sam.”
“No. You’d be one of the classic lads. Farley Granger or Monty Clift.” The fond appraisal in his eyes took me aback. Maybe he was viewing me through the rose-colored glasses of the past. “The funny thing is, you always were as curious as a cat. And you loved a puzzle. You us
ed to read about murders in the paper and theorize who the killer was.”
“I did?” Now that was something I did not remember.
“I don’t remember you ever being right,” he admitted.
I laughed. Tried not to wince at the inevitable yank of stitches and wires.
“So,” he said slowly, “is it you and this ex-cop or you and this nutty professor?”
“Apparently I’m attracted to nutty professors.”
“That hurts.” He was chuckling, though.
I’d skimmed over a lot of the parts that had to do with Jake — old habits. I guess Mel knew me pretty well. Even after all these years. Maybe not so surprising, given that we’d been together five years, by far the longest I’d been with anyone. And we’d have still been together if he hadn’t dumped me.
“It’s nobody at the moment. I’m just…”
“Sure,” he said with immediate understanding. “You’ve been through the wars.” I could feel his hesitation before he asked, “And the doctors are sure that you’re going to make a complete recovery? Your heart’s okay?”
Once, this had been an area of discussion fraught with peril. Maybe after all this time it was only a tender spot for me. I said shortly, “They were able to repair the valve instead of having to replace it, which was the best-case scenario. So, yeah, everybody seems to think I’m going to be feeling better and stronger than I have in years.”
He automatically rechecked the empty breadbasket — expecting further miracles? — and said, “Adrien…”
I didn’t say anything. I knew what was coming.
“This is way overdue. I want to apologize for how things ended between us.”
Mel met my eyes, looked away again. “I’d like to plead age and ignorance, but that’s really not an excuse. I was…afraid.”
I shrugged. “We both made mistakes. We were young.” Not that it hadn’t hurt like hell — and still did sometimes — but I’d had a lot of time to come to terms with it.
“I know. I know you couldn’t care less at this point. It still needs to be said.” His eyes met mine, veered away. “It wasn’t… You were so sure you wouldn’t…” His lips tightened. “You took it for granted that you were probably going to die before you were fifty, and I was young enough and dumb enough to think you were probably right. And I…cared for you. You know that. And I couldn’t handle the thought…”
“It’s okay, Mel,” I said when he seemed at a loss for words. “Fifty seems like a lifetime away when you’re twenty. I wasn’t very realistic about my health or the future either.”
I didn’t bother reminding him that part of his decision had also been based on his family’s belief that he couldn’t really be gay, and even if he was, he was way too young to settle down — let alone commit to someone who was liable to end up as a complete liability.
“It was good what we had. It was special.”
It seemed to be my week for apologies from ex-lovers. I wondered if I’d be hearing from Guy soon. Probably not. Guy was comfortably certain that he was generally, if not always, in the right. The idea of that made me grin inwardly. “It was. It was also a long time ago.”
Mel drew a quick breath and sighed. “Yes. It was.” His brows knitted. “You look tired. I wasn’t thinking. Do you want to go?”
I nodded. “Sorry, but yeah. To be honest, I’m beat.” It was normal. They’d warned me in the hospital that I was going to find that I tired fast at first, that I’d need to plan for naps and plenty of rest. It was still aggravating. When was the feeling-better part supposed to start?
To my relief, Mel kept the conversation low-key and casual on the drive back to the bookstore. He parked in front and turned off the engine.
“This was… I wish we’d done this a long time ago.”
I smiled, although I was thinking what a bad idea that would have been at any point during the last three years. “It was great seeing you again.” I reached for the door handle. “Thanks for lunch. Let me know how your dad’s surgery goes.”
“Adrien?” Mel said quickly, “There’s a film-noir festival at LACMA this week. Thursday’s double feature is The Blue Dahlia and The Big Sleep. Assuming everything goes well with Dad’s surgery, would you want to see it together? You always loved Chandler.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t sure what he wanted. Sure, we had stayed friendly. That wasn’t the same as being friends. We had not stayed friends. I didn’t know if — even now — I could be friends with Mel.
“I hate to admit this, but I don’t know if I’m really up to —”
“We’d leave the minute you wanted to go. Totally up to you how long we stay. I — It’s driving me nuts sitting around that house. It would be good to get out for a few hours, wouldn’t it?”
Maybe. The fact was, I preferred staying home on my own and sleeping. Sleep was currently my favorite thing.
“We used to have a lot of fun at those things,” he added persuasively.
Sometimes that life seemed to belong to someone else.
“Can I let you know?” I hedged.
If he was disappointed, he hid it well. “Of course. I’ll call you tomorrow. How about that?”
I nodded reluctantly. I think part of my unease was that my instinctive response had been a jolt of excitement at the idea maybe Mel was… Well, I truly didn’t want to start thinking that way. Merely ego, wasn’t it? “Okay, then. Call me tomorrow, and I’ll see how I’m feeling.”
“Great.” He hesitated and offered that warm smile that showed the dimple in his left cheek. “Talk to you Wednesday.”
Nodding, I got out of the car, lifted my hand in farewell. Mel raised his hand in acknowledgment, pulled away from the curb.
I crossed the sidewalk, absently noting the art-deco black tile on the building’s facade. The old guy — Henry Harrison — was right. It was a beautiful building.
As I drew near the building, I heard two things: absolute silence from the construction crew — and Natalie screaming.
Chapter Three
I burst through the doors of Cloak and Dagger, and Natalie, who must have seen my approach through the windows, threw herself into my arms, sobbing.
“What is it, Nat? What’s wrong?”
She wept something into my shoulder, and I said bewilderedly, “What the hell happened? Did someone…?” I looked around. Obviously it was something more than a declined credit card or a missing shipment. My imagination boggled.
There were a few alarmed customers grouped nearby. Half the plastic wall was down, and the entire construction crew stood in the opening it made. I saw shocked, even pale, faces. Fernando called to me, “I think you better see this, Mr. English.”
“Okay.” I tried to detach Natalie. She clung harder. “Nat. Natty. I have to see this. Whatever it is.”
“No.” She raised a tearstained face. “You shouldn’t go up those stairs.”
Upstairs? I had quick, crazy visions of mysterious locked rooms and madwomen in the attic, which was ridiculous, since I’d been through the entire building and there were no boarded-up rooms or anything more sinister than mold beneath the window casings — which, come to think of it, was pretty sinister.
I tried pulling her arms from around my neck, and she latched back on like an amorous octopus. “Nat, there’s no reason I can’t walk upstairs. It’s not Everest.” I peeled her arms from around me.
She cried, “No. Don’t go up there. They found the body.”
I froze. “What body?”
“The body that old man told us about this morning. The trumpet player’s body.”
Clarinet player, though he was probably past caring. I turned to Fernando, and he said apologetically, “It’s true. We found a body in the floor upstairs.”
“A body in the floor?”
He nodded.
“There’s a body in the floor upstairs?”
Another nod. “A skeleton. He’s been there a long time.”
In the stricken silence
the cat stuck a cautious nose around the nearest bookshelf, whiskers twitching. He sensibly retreated.
“A skeleton?” Not that I really thought he could be mistaken about this.
A final nod.
“It’s horrible, Adrien,” Natalie told me. “Don’t go up there.”
“Which floor?”
Not that it really mattered.
“Third,” Fernando supplied.
Maybe it did matter. The third floor had been blocked off for the last decade or so. That was probably significant.
“Has anyone called the police yet?”
“We found him a couple of minutes ago,” Fernando explained. “We showed the lady…” He let that trail, probably realizing after the fact that “showing the lady” had not been the smartest move of the afternoon.
“All right. Now show me.” I thought quickly. “Natalie, you’d better lock up for the day.”
Bodies under floorboards would not be good for business. Not even at a mystery bookstore.
She assented, pulling herself together, and shepherding the remaining — and surprisingly reluctant — customers out. They went, offering helpful advice such as telling us to call the paramedics. Personally, I thought it sounded late for that.
The workmen shuffled in silence to the side as I followed Fernando through the part of the building still under construction.
We headed up the long staircase, the crew following at an uneasy distance while Fernando explained how they had been ripping up floorboards near the window in preparation for treating the mold.
“And there he was,” he finished glumly over the crunch of our shoes’ soles on bits of plaster and dust and paint.
This side of the building was three stories tall, as opposed to the two stories on the Cloak and Dagger side. We climbed slowly, Fernando clearly reluctant to return to the chamber of horrors, and me pacing myself. It was my building, and if there was a skeleton hidden in here, I was sure as hell going to see it.
