The storm raged off and on, easing for a while as a tease, then ramping up again, flinging splatters of heavy rain against the walls. The thunder and lightning came and went with the downpours, and combined with all the other sensory input involved with a typical night, it triggered a wide array of synesthetic experiences that left me with a splitting headache.
Cora Kingsley showed up around six, unwilling to let a little weather keep her from her nightly manhunt, though I wasn’t sure if it was a criminal or romantic manhunt she was conducting at that point. She brought along her laptop and I expected her to set it up at one of the tables, but instead she made her way over to the area of the bar where Duncan was working. She climbed onto a stool and, after ordering her standard glass of chardonnay from Duncan, she went to work on her laptop. Figuring her reason for sitting at the bar was so she could ply her feminine wares on Duncan, I hung around to observe and eavesdrop, easy enough to do since we weren’t very busy, and figuring it would provide some cheap entertainment. That’s when I discovered that my assumption about Cora’s motive was way off base.
She took the wine Duncan poured for her, sipped it, and said, “So tell me, Duncan, how long have you been in the Milwaukee area?”
“A month or so.”
It was a safe enough answer since it was essentially true and would cover him in case Cora had run into him about town somewhere before seeing him here at the bar.
“And where did you come from?” Cora asked, taking another sip.
“New Hampshire.” This was an answer we had worked out earlier. Duncan said he grew up in Newport and figured it would be a safe cover story in case anyone started questioning him about the area. “I grew up in a town called Newport.”
“Did you?” Cora said, smiling. “Live anywhere else between there and here?”
“I spent some time in Chicago,” Duncan said vaguely. “Can I get you something to eat tonight, Cora?”
His segue was a smooth one, but Cora was a woman on a mission and not about to be deterred.
“Ah, then that would explain this,” she said. She turned her laptop around so we could view the page she had up. It was an article in the Chicago Tribune detailing a high-profile murder case from last year. Highlighted in the article was a name, a detective who was working the case at the time and the subject of Cora’s Internet search: Duncan Albright. “I always do a little background check on any men I meet who I find interesting. And look what I found on you. Old family friend, my ass. It seems you haven’t been totally honest with us, Detective.”
“Busted,” Duncan said with ironic good cheer.
“I take it you’re investigating Ginny’s murder,” Cora said, looking smug. “And that means you think the killer might be someone who comes into the bar.”
“Cora,” I said, ready to apologize for the ruse. But she held her hand up to silence me, never taking her eyes off Duncan. Then she got down to Cora business. “Are you married, Detective?”
“I am not,” he said. “And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t call me that.”
“Ah, hoping to maintain your façade?”
“For a little longer, yes. People are bound to uncover the truth sooner or later but I’d like to keep up the charade as long as I can. I’m sure a woman of your stature is capable of discretion in many matters, this one included?”
I smiled at Duncan’s cleverness as I realized he was flirting with Cora—the surest way to buy her cooperation.
“That I am,” Cora said. “I’ll play along for now. And I’d like to help. I have a large number of online connections and access to an assortment of unusual databases. You’d be surprised at some of the background information I can dig up on someone.”
“Not surprised at all,” Duncan said. “I pegged you as a multitalented woman the minute I met you.”
Cora blushed beneath his praise, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “Tell me something. Am I still a suspect?”
“You are, but you’re pretty low on my list,” Duncan said.
Cora looked thoughtful for a moment before narrowing her eyes. “So do you think I might have killed Big Mack, too?” Duncan didn’t verify or deny; he simply shrugged. “Interesting,” Cora said.
The two of them stared at one another for several long seconds. If Cora was bothered by the fact that Duncan considered her a potential double murderess, you couldn’t tell it from the expression on her face. In fact, if anything, she looked pleased.
It was Duncan who finally broke the silence. “If you dig up any good info on anyone, I’ll see to it that it gets followed up on. If it pans out, I’ll make sure you get credit for it.”
“Fair enough,” Cora said. She grabbed her laptop and turned it back so the screen was again facing her. She started hitting keys and said, “Want to give me some names?”
“Al Capone,” Duncan said.
I bit back a smile. Cora sagged in her seat and shot Duncan a wounded look. “I thought you were taking me seriously,” she said. “I really can help, you know.”
“I am taking you seriously,” Duncan insisted, studying her closely. “I want to see what you can dig up on the man and his time in Milwaukee. I think it might have some bearing on this case.”
For the first time Cora looked at me. “Is he serious or just playing with me?”
“He’s serious.”
“Fine,” Cora said with a roll of her eyes. “I get it. You want to test me first, see just how extensive my resources really are. Well, just you wait, mister. By the time I’m done, you’ll know everything there is about our Mr. Capone, from the size suit he wore to his favorite foods.”
She placed her hands over the keyboard of her laptop and started typing. “Might as well bring me a sandwich while I’m at it. A BLT will do nicely. Easy on the mayo. And throw in a side of waffle fries. Light on the salt.” She shot a flirtatious look at Duncan. “I need to watch my girlish figure, you know.”
Duncan and I turned away and headed for the kitchen. Once we were inside I said, “You don’t take Cora seriously, do you?”
“Oh, I believe she’ll come up with some good stuff. But I also think she’s a bit of a kook.”
“I think she truly wants to help,” I said, laying out the lettuce and tomato slices for Cora’s sandwich.
“I don’t disagree,” Duncan said, popping bread into the toaster. “But again, that’s one of the best hallmarks of guilt. As I told you before, perpetrators often want to inject themselves into the investigation to see if the cops are on to them.”
“So how do you tell that from simple morbid curiosity?”
Duncan shrugged. “If you can find an answer to that question, you might put me and a lot of other detectives out of work.” He cocked his head and stared at me for a few seconds before adding, “I should probably be worried because I think this little quirk of yours just might be the answer.”
His comment got me to thinking. What if I could figure out a way to do that? Could my synesthesia be used in some way to tell the difference? I thought it might be possible, but first I’d have to focus more on my synesthetic reactions so I could better interpret and understand them. And after years of trying to ignore and suppress them, I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that.
The remainder of our time fixing Cora’s plate was spent in silence. When we left the kitchen, I saw that Cora had traded her spot at the bar for a table. “I got this,” I said to Duncan, taking the food from him.
I carried Cora’s plate to her table and set it next to her computer, stealing a glance over her shoulder at the screen. All I saw was a search page of results dealing with Al Capone. “Cora, do you really have the ability to do background checks on people?”
“You betcha, honey.”
“Have you ever done one on someone you know, someone from here, like the suspects you plugged into your little whodunit game program?”
“I have looked up a couple of people from here on occasion, mostly men I considered dating. That included Tad o
nce, though I soon figured out that he would never leave his wife. But no one else from the group I was with yesterday. Why? Is there something you want to know about someone?”
I hesitated, certain Duncan would be angry if he knew what I was about to do. But I decided to go ahead with it anyway. “Yes, there is. Do me a favor and see what you can dig up on Lewis Carmichael.”
“He took care of your dad when he died.”
“He did, yes.”
“Well, then he couldn’t have killed your dad, and the hunky detective seems to think the two deaths are connected somehow, doesn’t he?”
I took a cue from Duncan and neither confirmed nor denied. I shrugged.
“Is Lewis a suspect in Ginny’s murder?”
“He’s on the list because his name turned up in her database. One of many, I might add. It’s probably nothing, but I’d like to see what you can find on him.”
“Will do, honey. Give me a day or so and I’ll let you know.”
“And one more thing,” I said, glancing over at Duncan, glad to see him busy taking other orders. “Keep this one just between you and me, okay? No need for the detective to know.”
Cora flashed me a knowing smile. “You got it, honey. This one will be just between us girls. But I’d like a small favor from you in return.”
I nodded and braced myself, knowing anything was possible when it came to Cora. What would it be? Duncan’s private phone number? Free chardonnay for a year?
“Either give poor Zach a chance or kick him to the curb, would you?” she said. “If you could see the way that man looks at you, the hunger in his eyes. It kills me to watch him. He wants you, Mack, and he’s been very patient about waiting until you feel you’re ready. But he won’t wait forever. And if you don’t want him, let him go so I can have a try at him.”
I smiled, knowing she was right. It wasn’t fair to keep stringing Zach along, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to make a commitment to him either. My initial reluctance had been because I was so drained by my father’s death, but lately I’d felt as if I might finally be ready to open my heart to someone again. Zach was the obvious choice, but now Duncan Albright had dropped into my life, muddying up the waters.
Cora seemed to read my mind. “I know that detective is a cutie, and no doubt he’s made a play for you the way he has the other women.”
“The other women?”
“Well, yes. He’s been flirting up me, Missy, Debra, and anyone else he thinks might give him some information. It’s quite flattering and all, but it’s pretty obvious he’s only doing it in an effort to manipulate all of us. You know, get us to feel special and all up-close and cozy so we’ll divulge all of our deepest, darkest secrets to him.” She glanced over at Duncan and sighed. “With those looks and that hint of an accent he has, which I’m not sure is even real, by the way, I’m betting he solves a lot of his murders by flirting.” She smoothed her hair down, her hand lingering on her neck, still staring at Duncan. “Hell, one wink and a smile from him my way and I’m ready to confess to stuff I haven’t even done.”
Cora finally shifted her attention back to me. “So, give Zach a chance, Mack. He seems like a decent enough guy and you’ve been on your own long enough.”
“I’ll give it some thought,” I said, turning away to hide the deep flush I felt creeping down my face and over my shoulders. Her words made me feel stupid and naïve. Of course Duncan’s only interest here was to catch a killer. How could I have been so foolish as to fall for his flirtatious banter?
I left Cora and headed for my office, needing a place to hide for a few minutes to get myself together. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, my eyes squeezed closed. My mind flashed back to the moments I’d shared with Duncan, moments I thought had indicated a mutual attraction. There were plenty of times he appeared to be flirting with me, but when I thought back to the specific incidents I could remember, I realized he was also asking questions each time. Had he simply been buttering me up, hoping I’d drop my guard and say something incriminating? And what about parking outside at night after the bar closed? Was that because he was concerned about my safety, or because I was his primary suspect and he wanted to make sure I didn’t get away? Were the cops tailing me to protect or to watch? Had I misread everything in my own misguided attempt to convince myself that my attraction to Duncan was reciprocated?
I shook my head and mentally chastised myself. I’d spent so much time devoting myself to my father and the bar that here I was in my mid-thirties with only a handful of dates in my past, and single. Dad had pushed me several times to get out and socialize more and I suspect that was half the reason he started sending me to various conferences and conventions a few years ago. I’d resisted his attempts, but I wasn’t immune to the pressures of my singleness. I’d always dreamed of having a family of my own someday, and now that my dad was gone that need was even stronger. My biological clock was ticking loud and clear, and unlike some people I could actually hear it.
It was time to do something about it.
Chapter 26
Sundays are typically a slow night—most people are gearing up for the workweek and not interested in partying—and the weather was making this Sunday night more of a bust than usual. Even the draw of a murder in the alley out back wasn’t enough to bring people in. I wondered if it was the weather doing it, or if Ginny’s murder was already yesterday’s news. Then I felt guilty for wondering if the public notoriety train was pulling out of town, taking my extra income with it.
Riley came in at a little after seven—his closing time on Sundays—and after giving me a quick hug that again triggered a vision of those silvery, round drops, he settled in at a table. “Hey there,” he said as I approached his table. “How’s your day going?”
“It’s been slow. I think the weather is keeping people away.”
“Yeah, I had a busy morning, but it faded out once the storm hit. A lot of people who came in asked me about the murder and I sold a bunch of crime novels. Coincidence, you think?” His wry grin made it clear he didn’t think so. “You know, I hate to say it but this murder thing hasn’t been too bad for my business.”
“I know what you mean,” I said. “Tonight won’t be stellar, but the last two nights I did way more than my usual.”
“It looks like your friend is catching on quick,” Riley said glancing over my shoulder. Duncan materialized at my side with a drink in hand.
“Your usual, an extra dirty martini,” Duncan said, setting down a coaster and a drink.
“Rather presumptous of you,” I said, my tone a bit irritated.
Riley waved away my comment and took a sip, after which he gave Duncan a thumbs-up. “Perfect.” Then he shifted his attention back to me. “Any big breaks in the case?”
I shook my head.
“Any more cops come around?”
“Not as you’d know it,” Duncan jumped in. “But I’d bet money those two fellas who just took a seat at the other end of the bar are coppers.”
Riley and I turned to look. I recognized the two guys Duncan was referring to as two of the uniformed cops who were here on the day of the murder. I wondered if their presence here now was for business or pleasure. They weren’t in uniform so I guessed it was the latter, but I wasn’t sure how all this undercover stuff worked.
“How can you tell they’re cops?” Riley asked Duncan.
“The military style haircut, the general demeanor, the way they watch everyone else. It’s a dead giveaway.”
Riley eyed Duncan curiously. “Had some dealings with the law, have you?”
“You might say that,” Duncan said. “More than I cared to. When I was younger, I used to hang with a cousin of mine who had a knack for getting into trouble. I ended up guilty by association.” I wondered if this was true or if Duncan was making stuff up as he went along. Was this like his flirting, just another of his ploys to get people relaxed so they’d talk?
“Did you do any time?” Riley asked.
/>
Duncan shook his head. “Nah, I got lucky. Then I got smart and started hanging out with a better class of friends.”
The front door opened and Tad Amundsen came in along with a fresh gust of rain-drenched wind. He had to work to get the door closed and once he did, he stood there a moment, dripping water onto the floor.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Poor Tad looks like a drowned rat.” I headed for the door, thanked Tad for braving the weather, and then handed him the bar towel I had draped over my shoulder so he could dry his face.
“It’s a nasty one out there,” he said. When he was done with the towel he handed it back to me. “Thanks, Mack. You’re a gem.”
Duncan appeared at my side and after acknowledging Tad with a nod, he said, “What’ll you have tonight?”
“I’m thinking an Irish coffee sounds good,” Tad said, settling in at a nearby table. “And as long as I’m going Irish, why don’t you bring me a corned beef sandwich and a side of fries to go with it.”
“Coming right up,” I said. I turned to Duncan. “Can you make his drink while I get his food?”
“Two shots of Irish whiskey in a mug of black coffee, topped off with whipped cream. Piece of cake.”
“If you want basic and boring,” I said. “Dress it up by sprinkling a few drops of green crème de menthe on top of the whipped cream.” I turned and headed into the kitchen, tossed an order of fries in, and went to work on Tad’s sandwich. I hadn’t gotten very far when Duncan came in.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know. You seem different tonight, more distant. Are you angry with me?”
Murder on the Rocks Page 24
