by Dorien Grey
Elliott knew he was flying totally blind, going with the moment. He had no real idea where he was headed. “Are you familiar with the name Jim—or James—Babcock, by any chance?”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe so. Should I be?”
“No, I was just wondering. Do you happen to know the name of Bill’s company?”
“I have his card somewhere,” she said. “I could try to find it for you. I think I have one for Aaron, too, if you would like it. I can bring them to you when I find them.”
“I’d appreciate it. And now I’d better get back to work. I hope the noise doesn’t disturb you.”
“Not at all. I’m grateful to you for going so far out of your way to accommodate me.”
* * *
Shortly after lunch, there was a gentle knock on the Wolinskis’ door, which had been kept closed to cut down on the noise. He opened it to find Mrs. Reinerio holding two business cards, which she handed him.
“I found them,” she said.
Thanking her, he slipped the cards into his shirt pocket without examining them.
It wasn’t until he was home, getting ready to toss his shirt into the hamper, that he remembered to retrieve the cards and look at them more closely. The first was an expensive-looking white card with an embossed logo of a shooting star, the tail of which bore the words Future Com. The black printing underneath proclaimed “Bill Somers, Database Administrator,” with his email address, business address, phone number, and website address. Elliott didn’t have the slightest idea what a database administrator might be, but it sounded impressive.
The second was a simple grey card with the words Stiles Investments, and beneath that “Aaron Stiles” and his phone number and an email address.
He remembered Mrs. Reinerio had mentioned that Aaron had sold his business about the time he met Bill.
After dinner and short conversations with both Cessy and Steve, he went to his computer and typed in the website address. The web page that appeared was both impressive and, as far as he was concerned, pretty much unintelligible to the ordinary man, including him. He gathered Future Com specialized in providing and setting up customized computer systems and software for nontraditional medium and smaller businesses. The looks of the site gave the impression the business was very profitable for its owners.
He wondered what had happened to Bill’s share of the company if, as Brad had told him, Bill had no family. He might well have left it to Aaron. But since Aaron had died before Bill’s body was discovered, he had no idea what might have been the legal disposition of Bill’s estate.
He wished now he’d done his research before he’d talked with Cessy. He would have spoken to Brad and asked him exactly when Bill’s body had been found. Perhaps he could then check the obituary columns published at the time and see whether Bill had been listed and, if so, if the information held any clues. He wasn’t sure how that could be of any use, but it couldn’t hurt to look.
Of course, he could always have John ask Aaron, but really preferred to keep as much distance as he could between his daily life and the paranormal.
* * *
I’m sorry it still bothers you.
I don’t know what you mean.
Yes, you do. Me, and Aaron, and things that go bump in the night.
It’s not that. Not really. I accept that there’s a lot more going on than I could ever grasp. I just like to keep my life as uncomplicated as possible. I don’t want to start blurring the lines between your world and mine.
Well, I can ask Aaron about Bill if you’d like. If I’m able to get through to him, that is.
Still problems?
Yes, it’s like trying to unwrap the world’s largest ball of aluminum foil. But as I say, he is coming around little by little. I’ll see what I can find out. What, specifically, would you want to know?
Mrs. Reinerio said Bill was distracted the last few times she saw him. See if Aaron might know why. And more about why Aaron thinks Bill’s business partner might have had something to do with his death.
Anything else you’d like to know?
Yeah…how many angels can dance on the head of a pin? How high is up?
Very funny. Good-night, Elliott.
CHAPTER 5
Sandblasting and tuckpointing done, the wooden filigree gingerbread removed, stripped, and repainted a dark rose to match the new shutters, a subcontractor found to create a parking area at the rear, new furnace ordered, entrance security camera and monitors in each apartment awaiting installation, bids out on new windows, exterior doors, plumbing fixtures, dishwashers, appliances, carpeting, scheduling the installation of each—Elliott handled it all with a deceptive casualness.
That days would pass with no contact from John no longer bothered him as it once had; he took that as a positive indication of the stoicism he was developing towards the decidedly unusual turns his life had taken over the course of the past year. Even some of the few things he had gathered regarding wherever/whatever it was that John was, were beginning to make some degree of sense. The idea of time being viewed differently by those no longer physically bound by it had a certain logic.
He had, in fact, become totally acclimated to having John in his life. However, the prospect of ever having direct contact with Aaron or any other non-corporeal being did not appeal to him. He was satisfied to stand at one end of a bridge to John’s world. He had no desire to become the bridge itself.
That evening when Cessy called he asked to talk to Brad and, as casually as possible, asked him if he might remember exactly when it was that Bill’s body had been found.
“July fourth, two thousand four,” Brad answered without hesitation.
“Wow! You’re good!” Elliott said, truly impressed.
“The only reason I remember is because I got called away from a family picnic to go check it out. You were there, remember? You had to take everybody home.”
“Ah, yeah—vaguely.”
“I see you’re still gnawing on this Somers bone.”
“Sorry,” Elliott said, “but you know me—something gets my attention, and I get really nosy about it.”
“And exactly what are you nosy about here?”
Elliott couldn’t see any particular reason not to let Brad know his suspicions about Bill Somers’ death, so he did, tailoring the story to avoid mention of Aaron’s lingering presence in his new building.
“I know we talked about this before, but I really can’t stop thinking about it. Something just doesn’t seem right, though I have no idea exactly what, and it really bugs me.”
“Well, I’ll admit there are quite a few loose ends I’d have liked to have seen tied up, and as I said before, I’m not convinced it was a suicide. But we only have the time and manpower to go so far, and since there was no real evidence that it wasn’t suicide… It’s a shame about his partner, Stiles, but with him dead now, too, and no relatives to pursue the case, it’s pretty much closed. Unless we had some really strong new evidence to look into…”
“Do you mind if I do a little poking around, if I get the chance?” Elliott asked.
He could almost see Brad grinning. “I thought you said you had no interest in being a detective.”
“I don’t. But as long as I wouldn’t be interfering with anything you’re doing…”
“I’m not so sure that would be a good idea,” Brad said. “If Somers’ death wasn’t a suicide, that means someone had to have killed him. I don’t want you messing around with something that could put you at risk.”
“I can appreciate that, but it also means there might be a murderer out there you’re not actively looking for. Don’t worry, I know my limits, and I won’t go getting into any trouble.” The long pause that ensued indicated Brad wasn’t convinced, but Elliott forged ahead. “Is there anything else that struck you as unusual during your investigation?”
“Not really, or we’d have followed up on it. We investigate every questionable death to the best of our abilit
y. As I say, everything pointed to suicide. In the end, there was just nothing solid enough to indicate that Somers hadn’t killed himself.”
Elliott sighed. “Yeah, I understand. And thanks for indulging my curiosity. I really appreciate it.”
“Not a problem. Again, I strongly advise you to just let it drop, but knowing you…if you should find out anything, be sure to let me know.”
“I will. And thanks again.”
* * *
There’s one thing to be said for being…where l am.
I’d imagine there’d be several.
Yeah, I guess that’s true.
So, which one are you referring to?
Patience. I find I have a lot more of it now, though I still have a long way to go.
You’re talking about Aaron?
Yes. The former me would have given up on him after about ten minutes. But the poor guy really needs help on a lot of levels. If I could just get him to pull himself together and get him to concentrate, we’d be a lot further along.
He still hasn’t fully realized that speaking with your mind is quite different from speaking with a physical voice, and as a result he’s having a hard time separating words from thoughts and impressions and emotions. It’s sort of like panning for gold—you have to sift through a lot of extraneous material to find what you’re looking for.
I did piece together enough to know that, while Bill tried to keep his business life and his home life separate, Aaron knew Bill had been increasingly unhappy with his business partner, Babcock, and thinks he was getting ready to dissolve the partnership. I can’t imagine Babcock would be very happy about that. I’ll try to find out more, if l can.
You’re a saint.
Elliott felt the tingle of John’s laughter.
I’m afraid the only thing I have in common with a saint is that we’re both “beyond the pall,” as the Victorian novels so quaintly put it. So, you’re going to contact Babcock?
I do wish you’d stop that.
Stop what?
You know damned well what.
Sorry. I guess discretion is something I’ll have to work on.
Yeah, please do. I’m really uncomfortable with the idea of your reading my mind.
I am sorry. As I’ve told you before, it’s not so much that I’m reading it as that we’re all in here—me and your thoughts—and I can’t help but trip over them every now and then.
Well, please try to avoid them.
Will do. And now I’d better go see if Aaron’s made any more progress.
* * *
Elliott awoke feeling almost as tired as when he’d gone to bed. He found the idea John knew his thoughts deeply disturbing on a number of levels. First, despite his having fully accepted John’s existence, some small part of him still remained uneasy with the idea of anyone else being in his mind. Although John’s explanation of how he was able to know what Elliott was thinking actually struck him as reasonable, he still found it disturbing.
He’d read somewhere that everyone has a physical personal space that extends out about a foot from the face, and when someone intrudes on that space—probably where the expression “getting in your face” came from, he thought—the reaction is extreme discomfort. So, having John inside his head was really pushing the envelope.
Nothing should be more private than one’s own thoughts, and with John wandering around “tripping over” them, his weren’t. It wasn’t, he told himself, that he believed John was deliberately spying on him—that line of thought led directly to paranoia. He wasn’t quite sure how to go about keeping his thoughts out of John’s way, but he determined to try.
He was positive the idea of talking to Babcock was his own—he remembered thinking idly about it just before he’d gone to sleep. The question was when and how he might do it. He certainly had no intention of taking time off from work—just as he had never spoken to John aloud, he was determined to keep his regular life as normal as possible.
All his life he had prided himself on his practicality, to the point, at times, of being concerned that he might be teetering on the brink of becoming stodgy. All that ended when John entered his life, and he had to admit that he rather enjoyed this new element. The prospect of being involved in resolving another mystery was one he rather guiltily welcomed.
He was in a generally good mood when Steve called that evening, and a call from Steve always boosted his spirits even further. They talked in generalities for a few minutes until Steve said, “There’s something I wanted to talk with you about.”
In Elliott’s limited experience, that particular sentence never boded well.
“Yeah?” he asked. “What’s up?”
“I got a letter today from Gil Larson, a friend from back home. He wants to come out for a visit.”
“That’ll be nice. When’s he coming?”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Steve sounded mildly uncomfortable. “We were sort of seeing each other before I moved here. We’re just friends now, and I’ve…well, I’ve mentioned that I was seeing someone, so I’m sure he’s not expecting anything, but I wanted to let you know. I can always tell him I’d just as soon he didn’t come, if…well, if you might feel uncomfortable about it. He asked me to recommend a hotel, but I wouldn’t feel right about that, when I’ve got the sleeper sofa in my studio. But I—”
Elliott laughed, though he didn’t really feel like it, and that fact bothered him, though he didn’t like to admit it.
“Relax!” he said. “I’m really flattered that you’re being so considerate of me, but I trust you. You’re a big boy.”
“You’re sure?” Steve asked. “I mean, you’ll like Gil—he’s a great guy. But as a couple we weren’t going anywhere, and we both knew it. I just didn’t want you to think…well, you know, you and I haven’t, uh…”
Elliott could sense Steve’s mounting nervousness, and it pleased him, though the anticipation of Gil’s visit did not.
“No, we haven’t,” he said, surprised to hear himself adding, “…yet. But I promise you, the day Cessy starts registering our china pattern at Marshall Field’s, then I might start objecting to visits from old boyfriends.” Like many Chicagoans, he still refused to acknowledge that Marshall Field’s had been taken over by Macy’s and “robbed” of its name.
“Whew!” Steve said. “I don’t know why that was so hard. And I wasn’t trying to pin you down to anything.”
“I know you weren’t. So, when is he coming?”
“He wants to come a week from Saturday, and asked me to call tonight to confirm.”
“Kind of short notice, wasn’t it?”
“That’s Gil,” Steve replied. “But like I said, you’ll like him.”
“I’m sure I will,” Elliott said, not quite sure how truthful he was being.
After they’d hung up, he tried to figure out just what his reactions had really been. He had never been the jealous type, and he didn’t want to start now. But then, he’d never met anyone quite like Steve before. Everything had been going so smoothly between them, he’d never had to consider how he would react to any potential threat to their relationship. Now he did, and he was less than happy with himself for letting it disturb him as much as it had.
* * *
Don’t worry about it.
Steve?
Of course, Steve. You know how he feels about you.
What is this—Days of Our Lives? You and Cessy make a great team.
Maybe this old-boyfriend visit is a good thing.
Steve’s a big boy. He can do what he wants. It’s none of my business.
Riiiiight. And exactly who is it you think you’re talking to, again?
Well, I’m not exactly the clinging-vine type. Somebody said the best way to hold a bird is in an open palm.
Maybe it’s time you and Steve sat down for a talk.
He’s never indicated he wants one. I’m not sure I do.
Baloney! He hasn’t because you haven’t.
<
br /> Point, I guess. Well, we’ll see how the visit goes, and maybe then I’ll think about it. So, what’s going on with Aaron?
Nice segue. If I were still corporeal, I would have gotten whiplash from it.
Sorry, I just need time to think. So—about Aaron? Nothing more on the problems between Bill and Babcock?
I’m afraid not, other than that Bill was increasingly unhappy with Babcock.
Any specific reason?
From what I could tell, probably money. I caught the phrase “champagne taste on a beer budget,” so I’d assume Babcock was spending too much money. But, again, no details. I did .find out that’s how Bill and Aaron met, by the way.
Yeah? How’s that?
When Aaron still owned his marketing company, he considered using Future Com‘s services. He met with Babcock and couldn’t stand the guy. Future Com was just starting out and needed the business, so Bill tried to get him to change his mind. He didn’t, but they began seeing one another, and that was that. I learned all this more in the form of a movie than as a spoken conversation, by the way. He’s still not big on words.
Well, I’d give that about a minus four as a motive for Babcock to murder Bill.
I agree. But I’m pretty sure there’s more. No idea what it is, but I’ll keep digging.
Thanks.
My pleasure. Have I mentioned that I think we make a pretty good team?
I think you’re right.
* * *
Despite his determination not to let looking into Bill Somers’ death interfere with his work, Elliott found himself, during his coffee break Friday morning, pulling Bill’s Future Com business card out of his wallet and calling the number from his cell phone.
“Future Com,” a pleasant female voice announced.
“Mr. Somers, please,” he said, just to see how she would respond.
“I’m sorry, sir, we have no one here by that name. Could someone else help you?”
“Yes, Mr. Babcock will do.”
“One moment, sir. May I say who’s calling?”
“This is Elliott Smith of Elliott Enterprises.”
