by John Gaspard
If he wanted to be a seven-year-old North Oaks spoiled brat, that was fine by me.
I reached the finale of the act—turning the white rose into a snowstorm—and was greeted by a tremendous round of applause. Well, as tremendous as you can get from thirty tiny pairs of sticky hands clapping together.
Then the parents set down their drinks and joined in, giving the ovation a bit more volume. I feigned surprise at the crowd that had appeared before me, then grabbed two longs strands from the ball of yarn on the table in front of me. I tied one to each of the floating balloon heads and presented them, with a bow, to the first two kids who had come over for the show. This produced yet another round of applause.
“That was terrific,” Candy said as she escorted me back to the front door. Good thing she did, as I could have easily gotten lost in the maze of halls and doorways.
“Glad you liked it. The kids seemed to like it, too,” I said, hefting the suitcase and the boom box through the wide front door. “Sorry I couldn’t entice the birthday boy into the fun.”
Candy looked around and then whispered, “Oh, screw him, the privileged little fucker. I hope he chokes on a Lego.” Then she handed me my check, smiled sweetly and closed the door.
After I made the short hike back to my car and got everything loaded into the trunk, I checked my phone to see if I’d received any messages from Deirdre. She hadn’t called back, but I did find an enticing text message that had come from Megan about ten minutes before.
“Hey, where are you? Are you interested in having some fun? Megan.”
I sat in the front seat and quickly typed a response. “Just finished a gig in North Oaks. Fun – yes, please.”
I waited, impatiently, and a few moments later I got a response. “Perfect. I’m at the Wabasha Caves. Can you join me? Megan.”
That was intriguing, I thought, but it didn’t stop me from quickly typing a response. “I can be there in 20 minutes,” I wrote. I hit send and started the car.
A smarter man—one less smitten by a beautiful woman and pumped up on the adrenaline rush that comes after a great show—might have recognized the warning signs in those text messages, the clear signs that something was amiss.
Clearly, I was not that man.
Chapter 19
The sky had turned silver-gray and it looked like the snow that had been threatening for days was finally going to arrive. I pulled my car into The Wabasha Caves’ virtually empty parking lot and parked next to the only other car in sight—Megan’s small, green Mini Cooper, which was parked slightly askew near the front entry.
The main door to The Caves looked closed as I approached it, and then I noticed that it was propped open with a worn, red brick, which matched the cobblestone-style walkway that led from the parking lot.
It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dark foyer, which was lit only by a small, bare bulb over the box office window, which was shuttered. The main room straight ahead of the lobby was completely dark, but I could see some light to my right, down the corridor to the bathrooms.
I turned and headed in that direction.
“Megan?” I said, momentarily surprised at the echo that bounced off the walls as I moved toward the light, which appeared to be coming from up ahead and around the corner.
I remembered that chamber as the one where I’d had makeup applied before the fateful television broadcast with Grey. I moved more confidently toward the light, and turned into the large cavern. The room was lit by a single light, an old-fashioned beer sign showing a smiling bear touting the benefits to be found in the land of sky blue water. The flowing stream in the two-dimensional sign actually produced the illusion of motion, casting a shimmering light throughout the room. This provided a festive look to the cavern, but did little to cut the murk that emanated from the dark corners.
Even though she was heavily silhouetted in the dim light from the beer sign, I recognized Megan standing behind the far end of the bar. I moved toward her.
“Thanks for the intriguing invitation,” I said as I ran my hand across the smooth, cold surface of the bar. “I mean, I like the mood lighting and all.”
“Eli,” she said.
If I’d been really listening, I would have heard the stress in her voice, but I was already onto the next subject.
“Well, you’ll be happy to know that not only did I just have a great show, but I may have also cracked the murders,” I said as I arrived at her end of the bar. I pulled up a stool and sat down.
The shimmering water in the beer sign was doing interesting things to her face, making it look as if she were crying.
“Turns out, Arianna’s assistant, Michael, was killing all the psychics to direct attention away from his desire to get Arianna out of the way. The Ambitious Card was just a flourish to hide the real trick he was doing.”
Megan shook her head sadly. “No,” she said quietly. “That’s not it.”
“Well, I might be off on some of the details,” I admitted, “but I think I have the general concept figured out.”
“Yes, you do,” said a voice from behind the bar. I looked around, surprised to hear another voice, but didn’t see anyone.
And then Pete, who had been crouching behind Megan, slowly stood up. He was holding a gun and it was pointed at Megan. “You’ve got the concept right, Eli, you’re just a little off on your identification of the players.”
I looked from Pete to Megan and for the first time I saw the fear in her eyes. And, finally, moron that I am, I recognized that it wasn’t just a trick of the light from the beer sign.
She actually was crying.
“Hey, buddy,” I said to Pete, trying to sound as affable as possible, “Take it easy. If you handle that gun the way you handle a deck of cards, someone’s gonna get hurt.”
“Thanks for the advice, but I’m actually counting on someone getting hurt,” he said as he took Megan’s arm and pushed her out from behind the bar. He clutched her tightly as they rounded the corner and stood in front of me. “And thanks for responding to Megan’s text messages, although you’ve probably figured out by now that I sent them.”
I nodded as the other shoe dropped and I realized where I had screwed up. “Abbreviations,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s what was wrong.”
“Pardon me?”
“I should have realized that the texts weren’t really from Megan. There were no abbreviations.”
Pete looked from me to Megan. He actually looked hurt.
“My wife and I don’t text each other,” he said, “because she told me once she didn’t like it. But apparently she really likes texting with you,” he said, making it sound almost kinky.
He gestured toward a small, silver flashlight resting on the bar. “Pick that up and turn it on,” he said.
I did as instructed. “You know, Pete, if this is about Megan and me, I think you’re blowing it all out of proportion.”
“Don’t worry about that, Eli,” Pete said. “Your relationship with my wife is just icing on the cake. Now head over that way.” He gestured with the gun toward the darkest corner of the room. I turned and pointed the flashlight beam ahead of me.
The ceiling sloped down as we got closer to the far wall, and, in the dim light of the flashlight I finally saw a door set back within the murk. It was nearly the same color as the cavern walls, making it practically invisible until you were right on top of it. I heard the rattle of keys and turned to see Pete tossing me a key ring. I grabbed the ring out of the air.
“Unlock the door,” he said flatly.
There were two keys on the ring. I focused the flashlight on the door with one hand while trying one of the keys with the other. The first key didn’t fit at all. The second key slid into the lock roughly and on my initial attempt it refused to turn. I gave it a hard twist and could feel the vibration of the old tumblers in the lock as they slipped into place. I gave the handle a hard tug and the heavy, solid door swung open slowly.
The space on the other side looked e
ven darker and danker than the room we were in.
“Go in,” Pete said.
I stepped into the pitch-black space and turned to see Pete pushing Megan in ahead of him. She stumbled up alongside me, trembling. I wanted to put a comforting arm around her, but under the circumstances I felt it was best to wait and see how this played out.
I held up the key ring. Pete shook his head.
“You can hang on to that,” he said. “You’ll notice that there’s not a lock, or even a doorknob, on this side of the door. So the keys will do you little good, but they will at least explain how you were able to get in here.”
I pointed the flashlight toward the door and saw that he was correct. An old, rusted metal plate was welded to the door where a lock and door handle should have been.
“I’ll take that flashlight now,” Pete said, holding out a hand to me, while he kept the gun in his other hand pointed in my general direction. I handed it to him and he stood back, partially closing the door, holding just a small opening with his left foot. “Don’t want to let too much air in here,” he said. “Sorry about the gloomy setting, but it was the best I could do, under the circumstances. The pattern must be maintained.”
“The pattern?”
“Sure, you know…the psychic with second sight stabbed through the eyes. The hypnotherapist who is murdered in his sleep. And on and on. And now, the psychic who works with crystals is found dead in a cave full of them. And, as an added bonus, the murderer dies along with her.”
“So, you’re going to lock us in this room?” I asked.
“Well, yes, but to the police it’s going to look like you accidentally locked yourselves in this room,” he said, putting an odd emphasis on the last word. “But what’s interesting is that this isn’t a room, is it Megan?”
She shook her head slowly. “No, it’s not.”
“What is it?”
“It’s the entrance to the rest of the caves. The part that’s not open to the public.”
“That’s right, honey. It’s the rest of the caves…a few miles of tunnels and nooks and crannies and maybe even a couple places where one could fall from a great height and do considerable damage. And you know what’s interesting about these caves?” he asked. Neither of us answered him.
I couldn’t see his face—he was silhouetted by the dim light coming from the cavern behind him.
“What’s interesting,” he continued unabated, “is that over the years the St. Paul Parks Department has systematically sealed off all the outside entrances to these caves. You know, to keep bums and homeless people out. However, every few years someone finds another way in and they wander about for a while and then you know what happens?”
Again, we stared back at him, unwilling or unable to answer. He didn’t seem to mind.
“They die,” he said. “They die because all the entrances are closed up and there’s no air and before they know it they’re only breathing carbon monoxide…only they don’t realize that…and a little while later they get tired and fall asleep and die. Which, essentially, is what’s going to happen to the two of you in the next hour.”
My mind was doing its best to figure out what was going on, but I couldn’t make all the pieces fit. “This can’t be just about me and Megan,” I said finally. “Because there was no me and Megan until well after Grey and Bitterman were killed. So, if it’s not about us, what is it about?”
“Real estate,” Megan said in almost a whisper. “It’s all about money and real estate.”
“Bingo,” Pete said.
“Real estate,” I repeated as I looked around the dark space. “Really?”
“Not this real estate,” Megan said softly. “Not the Caves. My corner. The stores.”
“Here’s something interesting,” Pete said as he leaned casually against the doorframe, still holding the door open a bit with the toe of his shoe. “When Megan and I were in couple’s therapy, I learned that finances are the one thing that couples are most likely to argue about.” He looked over at Megan. “And that certainly is true in our marriage, wouldn’t you agree?”
Megan didn’t say anything in reply, but I could sense her fury just below the surface.
“When Megan inherited all that property from her grandmother,” Pete continued, “I was all for unloading it. In fact, I even found a consortium that was looking for a corner just like ours, and they were willing to pay well above market price to get it. Unfortunately, my dear wife, and I should point out, you are still my dear wife, as no divorce papers have yet been signed, wanted to hang onto it for what she called sentimental reasons. She said I could sell the caves, if I wanted, but not her precious corner.”
“So this is all about money?” I asked.
“Not just money, Eli. A lot of money. The consortium’s plan was linked to federal money for a new light rail line and some state money for new housing and some city money for park improvements. We’re talking millions here, for the right developer. They were looking at several locations, but ours was favored. But I couldn’t get Megan to sell.”
“So you had to get rid of Megan,” I said.
“Yes, as it turned out. But in reality nothing would have happened if I hadn’t bumped into Grey in the parking lot after his show that night here in The Caves. We’d crossed paths before, and so we started chatting. He knew about the consortium and said he was putting together his own plan to bring to them, including ideas for another location. I needed time to convince Megan and didn’t need that old faker screwing up my plans, so I followed him home.”
“You stabbed him and used my playing card as the flourish.”
Pete shrugged. “It was right there in his pocket, so I figured why not? Then, at the reception after Grey’s memorial, Bitterman started talking about a meeting he was supposed to have had with Grey. I couldn’t take the chance that he was putting together his own deal, so I got some rat poison from the car, emptied out a couple of Ibuprofen capsules, refilled them with the poison and put them in his sleep apnea machine.”
“You carry rat poison in your car?”
Pete chuckled. “I’m a real estate guy, trying to unload a bunch of friggin’ caves. You bet your ass I carry rat poison in my car. And because I’ve religiously followed the rules that you taught me,” Pete continued, “I also always carry a deck of cards. So I left a King of Diamonds under the machine. At that point, as far as the police are concerned, there’s a pattern…someone’s knocking off psychics.”
“And you’re one ahead,” I said, “because now if you do need to kill Megan, it will just look like one in a series.”
“Exactly. And on the other hand, if I can finally convince her to sell the property, I don’t have to kill her and at the same time I’ve successfully eliminated the competition.”
“I guess that’s what they call a win-win,” I said dryly.
“That’s exactly the way I looked at it,” Pete agreed. “The problem was, Megan was insisting on the divorce, and as soon as those papers were signed, there was no way I was getting my hands on the property. Then I remembered that Megan had consulted two different psychics, and both of them had, bless their hearts, recommended that we get divorced.”
“Arianna and Franny,” I said.
Pete’s silhouette nodded. “Those would be the two.”
“So you decided to continue the series?”
“I needed a couple more to make sure that no one made the connection to the real estate angle. And I also needed more suspects besides you.”
“That’s where Boone came in.”
“Yes, Mr. Boone. That boy was born to be a suspect.”
“So how did you get Boone to go to Arianna’s apartment?”
“Didn’t have to. He had a standing appointment at her place, same time every week.”
This gave me pause. “Really? A weekly appointment? What was that all about?”
“I have no idea, but saw no reason not to use it to my advantage. And I thought it wouldn’t hurt to have yo
u there as well.”
“So it was you who called Franny, pretending to be Boone?”
“That was me…know what I mean?” he said, doing a dead-on impression of Boone’s verbal tic. “Now, I hope you both understand that the longer we talk, the more precious oxygen you’re using up in here. I helped things along by coming in earlier and starting a couple fires further along in those passages,” he added, gesturing toward the darkness behind us.
“I’d like to have it all make sense in my head before I pass out and die.”
“Have it your way.”
“So how did you get in and out of Arianna’s building without showing up on the security tapes?”
“Real estate, Eli. Don’t forget what Megan said. This is all about real estate. There’s a furnished unit for sale on Arianna’s floor. I made an appointment to show it to a couple earlier that day. I came into the building with them, but let them leave on their own. Then I just stayed in the condo until it was time for the Boone and Arianna show. Then I took care of the two of them. After you arrived, I whacked you on the head and returned to the unit down the hall. The next day, I had another showing set up. I buzzed this new couple in, showed them around, and then left with them. Nothing out of the ordinary about that…the place is always crawling with realtors.”
Another pause. I wanted to keep him in with us as long as I could, but I was running out of conversational gambits. “So, the idea is that the police will find us in here and assume that we got locked in when I was attempting to kill her?”
Pete nodded. “Something like that. They may find another way to spin it. But the most incriminating piece of evidence against you will be that after you die, the murders will stop. Of course, that will be because I’ve stopped committing them, but that’s not how the police will read it.”
He shone the flashlight on my face, and then on Megan’s. He was quiet for a long moment. “What a cute couple,” he said. “It’s kismet that you found each other. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have one more loose end to tie up in Minneapolis. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he added as he stepped through the door, “but I think I’ll say my good-byes now.”
