I thanked him, hung up, and placed one more phone call. After all, I had hired Sam Spade to do some investigating for me. He answered the phone like a stockbroker. “This is Sam Spade. How may I help you?”
“Hi, Sam. It’s Lily. Just thought I’d check in to see if you’d made any progress with Johannes.”
“One Johannes Herzberg recently checked into the Hyatt.”
“Seriously? The Hyatt on the Embarcadero?”
“Unfortunately, I staked the place out all last night, but he never left his room.” I heard the pages of a book flipping, and could have sworn he was looking something up. No doubt reading out of his handbook. “Yeah, here it is. . . . Overnights are extra.”
“You didn’t mention that in our fee negotiation.”
“True. But I figured you wouldn’t want to miss the chance to catch him once I had him in my sights.”
“Fine, keep on it. And hey, while you’re there, keep an eye out for a man named Sailor, dark eyes and hair, generally bad attitude. Last seen in jeans and a black T-shirt.” I wouldn’t put it past Sailor to use his contacts to track Clem or my father down to the Hyatt.
“It’s . . .” More pages flipping. “Um . . . If I’m looking for more than one missing person, the rate increases.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I shook my head and looked down at my watch. “Tell you what. I’m on my way over to you.”
• • •
Sam looked much less out of place here in the Hyatt’s grand lobby, filled with businesspeople and upscale travelers. His suit and tie and briefcase fit right in, as a matter of fact, not to mention his expensive haircut and clean-shaven, healthy, all-American good looks.
When he spotted me, he practically ran across the wide lobby to greet me. He was excited, flush with success.
“He’s up on the sixth floor. You can see him from here,” he said, gesturing overhead.
The Hyatt was built with a massive central atrium, so the rooms were accessed by catwalks overlooking the bar and lobby.
I looked up, and, indeed, there was young Johannes, leaning over the railing, looking down.
“What’s he doing?” I asked.
“That’s an excellent question. Pondering his fate, perhaps? You never told me why you were looking for him.”
“Good point. Okay, I’m going to go talk to him. You stay here and watch the elevators in case he comes down in the interim, all right?”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
• • •
It was shocking to see how much Johannes had changed since I had seen him at the Gem Faire. The once strapping young man hunched over the railing, eyes twitching and vacant. He swayed slightly, as though barely able to support his own weight.
It took a great deal of energy to hold the ring. I was betting that Johannes was loyal enough to Griselda to try to get the ring someplace secure after she gave up her life trying to keep it safe.
“Johannes?” He looked up as I approached him on the catwalk. “What are you doing here?”
“Someone, they rent a room for me. Sent me a note to say it was paid . . . I don’t know who. Was it you?”
I shook my head. My money was on Gene.
“Johannes, tell me: What did you do with the ring?”
“I couldn’t hold it any longer; it was making me sick. Still my hands shake. See?” He held out one trembling hand. “So I got it to a powerful Hexe. She can hold it, but she can’t do what’s necessary. I feel a little better now, but still not well.”
“You can trust me, Johannes.” I concentrated, hoping he would understand that I truly wanted to help him. “Tell me where the ring is. Who has it?”
He studied me for a moment. “Griselda had a list of names of people who might be trusted. You were on this list. But then . . . after what your father did . . .”
“What did he do?”
“I saw him with the athame. Standing over Griselda.”
A sudden chill passed through me, like I had been doused with cold water. Then something else occurred to me. “Are you sure it was my father? How would you know that?”
“Carlotta told us the story, that your father lost his battle with the demon. She told us he was badly scarred from the fire. But she said he had a daughter who came to Germany once, a witch powerful enough to take care of the ring. That is why you were on the list.”
“But what—”
Johannes’s eyes grew huge.
A tsk sound came from behind us.
I swung around. Gene was strolling casually toward us.
“Leave him alone, Gene,” I said, placing myself between the two men. I was acutely aware that I had nothing particularly useful with me: no brew, no charms or protection other than my medicine bag. “He doesn’t have it.”
“Oh, but he knows where it is. And you’ll tell me, won’t you, young Johannes?”
Suddenly Gene’s eyes shifted over my shoulder, and he grinned.
I swung around. Johannes was climbing over the railing.
“Johannes, don’t!” I cried.
Chapter 20
“Bitte . . . please forgive me.”
He tumbled over the side.
I lurched for him, grabbing one arm just as he went over the rail. I braced against the half wall, feeling as though my arms were being pulled out of their sockets. I wouldn’t be able to hold him for more than a few seconds.
Onlookers from below screamed as they watched him dangle six stories up.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. The folly of youth, am I right?” said Gene as he looked at Johannes with greedy eyes. “They’re so impulsive, so emotional. That’s what’s great about young people, though, don’t you think?”
There were shouts from below, and I heard a far-off alarm.
“Help me,” I implored. I knew Gene was evil, but he wanted information from Johannes. In the heat of the moment, I hoped he would want to keep the young man alive for the sake of finding out the ring’s location.
I could feel Johannes slipping from my grasp. He wasn’t hanging on to me; he dangled like deadweight.
And then with a sudden wrench, my fingers gave out.
Our contact was broken as he slipped from my grasp. I leaned over the railing but squeezed my eyes shut. Unfortunately I couldn’t close my ears; I heard more screams.
Arms wrapped around me from behind. Thinking it was Gene, I tried to twist free, but it was Sam Spade. My very own private investigator. He eased me down to the floor. I felt the blood rush from my face and was engulfed by nausea.
I couldn’t think. All I knew was that I had to find a way to stop Gene from the havoc he was wreaking around town, but the regular police would be no help at all. What would I accuse him of? Being at the Gem Faire and teaching kids to fire dance for free, and then being nearby when Johannes . . . jumped? I am here, too, I thought. But I wasn’t strong enough to hold him, to stop him before . . .
Another wave of nausea hit me, and I saw black spots. I put my head between my knees and concentrated on breathing.
“Lily? Lily!” Sam was saying. “Listen to me. They put out a net below him. Lily, do you hear me? Apparently this isn’t the first time they’ve dealt with a jumper. He’s going to be okay. Let me see your arm.”
“He’s not . . . dead?”
“No, but unconscious, apparently. They’re working on him now. Let me see your arm.”
Until that moment I hadn’t realized I couldn’t move it. I looked at it as though it didn’t belong to me.
“I was an Eagle Scout,” he said. “Trained in first aid. Want me to pop it back in?”
“What?” I still wasn’t thinking straight. But without asking again, Sam positioned himself in front of me, one hand on my shoulder and the other holding my forearm. He pulled and twisted. I felt a stab of pain and a tingling sensation, and still felt that strange sense that it was someone else’s arm. But I was able to wiggle my fingers.
I looked around the hallway. Gene was long gone. But he had left his card,
marked with an invitation to the fire dance that night at the setting of the sun.
• • •
Before that, I was supposed to meet Carlos at six o’clock to look through Griselda’s things. I showed up at the Heart and Dagger before the appointed time. Sailor was already there, already imbibing. I strode up to the bar, didn’t say a word, and ordered a shot of Jameson.
Sailor raised his eyebrows and looked at me askance. “You’ve become a drinker in my absence?”
“I’m working on it,” I quipped, intending to down the whole shot but managing just a single throat-burning swig. Nonetheless, the heat felt good. I still hadn’t reconciled what I had just witnessed: the visual of Johannes going over that railing would, I feared, remain vivid in my mind until the day I died. I felt sick to my stomach every time it came back to me.
Apparently, the net had saved his life. However, he was unresponsive and was taken to the hospital, where he would remain on a close suicide watch. Sam Spade promised me he would stay with Johannes and raise a huge stink if anyone tried to come near him. Gene wasn’t all-powerful, after all, and since Johannes wasn’t beholden to the demon, they wouldn’t be able to read his mind or hurt him from afar.
I believed Johannes had carried his burden with him as best he could, forfeiting his own health for it. And he’d been about to tell me where I could find it until Gene showed up. I imagined Johannes knew Gene would get the information out of him, one way or another, and tried to put an end to it before he could say. He had been willing to sacrifice himself to keep the ring safe.
Somehow the idea that Griselda, and Carlotta, for that matter, had done the same didn’t seem as bad. They were mature witches, aware of what they were doing and the dangers they played with every day. Like me. Johannes seemed like . . . an innocent.
I hoped to blazes I could stop Gene and his henchmen before they got to Johannes or found the Ojo del Fuego.
I downed the rest of my drink. The tightness in my gut uncoiled slightly, and the ache in my shoulder receded a bit.
Sailor gestured to the bartender to refill my shot glass, but kept his puzzled gaze on me.
“You okay there, tiger?”
“I’ve been better.”
“Listen, Lily—”
Just then Carlos arrived and interrupted him. “So reassuring to see my supernatural crime-fighting crew getting snockered right before I take them into the evidence room.”
“Sorry, Inspector,” I said, erring on the side of politeness. “It’s been one hell of a day.”
His eyes rested on Sailor. Sailor returned the look, one of pure male challenge and recognition of the rival. Rival for what, I wasn’t sure. But it was clear the men didn’t care for each other. So what else was new?
“Let’s get going while you’re still sober. This bar is open till two in the morning, so you could come by afterward and tie one on.”
As Carlos led us both back to the Hall of Justice, I gave him a brief outline of what had happened with Johannes, who was an official person of interest in the Gem Faire murder. He asked a number of pointed questions, but agreed to send over police protection.
Carlos brought us into a small, enclosed room. On a table sat several boxes full of jewelry and a few other small items. On a second table were items from Griselda’s room at the Morning House B and B.
I didn’t expect we’d find anything and wanted to make short work of it. Johannes told me he had gotten the amulet ring into the hands of a Hexe, a witch, and I believed him. If only he’d told me who before flinging himself over the railing.
While Sailor concentrated on reading the jewelry, I rummaged rather dispiritedly through stacks of miscellaneous items. There was paperwork for the fair and receipts from shipping. But then I unearthed a number of letters, like the ones I had seen on Griselda’s desk at the inn. The handwriting looked the same as in the list of witches’ names I had taken from Zeke.
I picked up a letter I had seen before; it wasn’t written by Griselda, and was instead from her sister, Carlotta.
“Can you read this?” I asked Sailor, handing him the note.
“I don’t read German,” he said, handing it back.
“I thought you understood all languages? You said something about understanding your landlord’s Cantonese . . . ? ”
“That’s if someone’s speaking and I can read their thoughts. Written language is a whole different ball game. Only thing I can tell you about German is they capitalize just about all the nouns.”
I looked over at Carlos, who shrugged and shook his head. “Took enough French in high school to order a café au lait, but that’s about it.”
The only part written in English was the last sentence: “If All Else fails, remember to have a Pleasant Day.”
“Why would the last sentence be written in English?” I wondered aloud. Both sisters were native German speakers. Neither man ventured a theory.
“Carlos, I meant to ask you: Was Griselda wearing jewelry when she was found?”
“In that bag there.”
Sailor had just emptied an evidence bag chock-full of tarnished silver jewelry—along with one yolk-yellow woven hair amulet. That must be the charm she had been using to mask her supernatural abilities, I thought.
Sailor hunched over the pieces, concentrating. After several moments of watching for a reaction, I realized I was just gazing at the way his lashes swept down over dark eyes and how his large hands fondled one item after another with long, graceful fingers.
Concentrate, Lily.
Also among Griselda’s papers was a CityPASS and a tourist map of San Francisco stamped with Compliments of Morning House. Written in red pen were directions on how to get to the Cow Palace by public transit. There were several red circles around various locales in the city, including the corner of Haight and Ashbury—where my shop was—and a location near Fisherman’s Wharf that might have been the Wax Museum. Finally, a red arrow indicated the Bay Bridge, which led to the East Bay and Oakland. Renna lived in Oakland.
According to the shipping receipts, Griselda had sent the heavy boxes of jewelry directly to the Cow Palace. So she and Johannes bought CityPASSes to get around the city on public transportation. Nothing suspicious about that.
Except that Johannes didn’t have a pass until Monday. Or, more likely, he’d simply lost his at some point in all the confusion.
There seemed so much I didn’t know about all of this. I decided to turn it around and try to specify what I did know. Griselda was killed Sunday during the jewelry show. Someone ransacked her room. Johannes moved to the youth hostel on Ellis. Already he wasn’t looking well, according to Dwight at the front desk. Tuesday Johannes met up with Shawnelle and they went sightseeing.
That was four days ago. He could have gone to meet anyone, hidden the ring anywhere since then. He had referred to the powerful practitioner as a “she.” It wasn’t much, but I should check in with Aidan and check on the list Zeke had, to see how many women were on his list of practitioners who might be strong enough to hold the ring.
I looked up to find Sailor’s gaze on me. I lifted my eyebrows in silent question. He shook his head.
Nothing. No fire opals, no magical rings. I had expected a bust, but it was no less disappointing for having been anticipated.
Before we left, I turned to Carlos.
“The man I mentioned seeing at the Gem Faire, Jersey Gene with the Jelly Beans? He was at the Hyatt today when Johannes jumped over the railing. He threatened him.”
“Threatened him how?”
Good question. I tried to remember exactly what he said. The thing about Gene was that it was clear he was up to no good, but it was hard to pinpoint anything. Had he even spoken to Johannes, or just looked at him with that creepy smile?
“It was . . . an implied threat. Gene also teaches kids to fire dance in Golden Gate Park—in fact, I’m headed over there right now. This guy’s bad news.”
“You don’t like fire dancing, I take it?”
>
“Trust me on this one: I imagine most fire dancing would be beautiful, but this isn’t like regular old dancing. I don’t know what he’s doing, but it’s not normal. And it’s not good.”
“You have anything on him other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“Not really.”
“A last name, maybe?”
I shook my head. “But I think he’ll be in the park in an hour with the fire dancers.”
“Tell you what. I’ll speak with Inspector Leibowitz and see if it rings any bells. And if I get a chance, I’ll stop by the park, or at least send over a couple of uniforms, see if anything’s up.”
“Thank you.”
“SFPD, here to serve.”
• • •
I couldn’t talk Sailor out of going with me to the fire dance, but at least he conceded to let me cast over him, to keep him free of the demon’s thoughts.
Oscar lurked silently on my kitchen counter while I looked up a spell in my old leather-bound Book of Shadows and brewed.
Once the concoction had boiled and concentrated, I had Sailor drink a thimbleful and then instructed him to wash his hands, face, and hair with the brew.
Afterward, Sailor stood in the middle of my kitchen, arms outstretched on either side, while I chanted.
Unfortunately for me, he was supposed to be bare-chested for this part.
“Could you take off your shirt, please?”
“With pleasure,” he said with a sardonic smile as he started to unbutton his blue chambray work shirt. “You sure this is part of the spell?”
“Just do it.”
He handed me the shirt and I placed it on the counter, trying my best to ignore the way it was warm from his skin and carried his scent. If I’d been alone I would have held it up to my nose and cheek to revel in it. And then I probably would have slept in it.
I was one pathetic excuse for a witch.
His chest was well muscled. His skin had a natural olive tint. Black hair grew across the width of it, tapering down to his stomach. I was in the middle of spell casting and concentration was crucial, but there was no way I could look at that chest and not remember the one hot, steamy, glorious night we had shared.
Tarnished and Torn: A Witchcraft Mystery Page 23
