The Hunger Pains (An Eat, Pray, Die Humorous Mystery Book 2)

by Chelsea Field

  I cursed my lack of spy training again. “I don’t know.”

  “Right. Well it’s not much to go on, but it’s a start I guess. I’ll call in the team and see what they can find on his computers. Given his whistle-blowing website, that’s our best bet.”

  “It’s also pretty much the one place he interacted with the outside world,” I pointed out.

  “Speaking of the outside world, as Earnest’s grieving girlfriend, you better go and pay a visit to Mrs. Dunst.”

  My chest hurt when I thought of her. “Okay. Then what?”

  “Then you maintain your cover and leave the case to me.” His face was its customary blank mask, with none of the understanding I’d credited him for earlier.

  “But I can help. I know Earnest. I might’ve seen something important—”

  “I’ve got your number if I need it,” he said, dismissing me.

  I had a few suggestions for what he could with that number, but I walked out the front door before I verbalized them. Could my inside knowledge really help find Earnest’s killer? Or was I convincing myself of that as a way of avoiding my sorrow?

  It couldn’t just be an excuse to spend time with Connor again.

  I wiped the scowl off my face when I saw the neighbor from the other ground-floor apartment in the tiny shared garden. We’d chatted a few times, and I knew he had two jobs and an elderly mother he cared for that had him coming and going at odd hours. He might have noticed something. “Hi, Humphrey, have you seen Earnest lately?”

  He was gently transferring delicate seedlings into the turned-over soil, and I stopped to watch. The slow, methodical movements showed a different side to the man I usually saw rushing in or out. He was fifty going on eighty, his face prematurely creased, and his wide shoulders bent under the strain of too many demands and insufficient time. Because he was a good half foot taller than me, this was also the first occasion I’d had to notice his hair was thinning on top.

  “Yes, actually. I saw him last night.” He patted the soil down around one seedling and moved to the next. “Or this morning, I should say, if you can call one a.m. morning.” He looked up with a shy smile. “Sorry, you don’t mind if I keep working do you? I need to head out in half an hour.”

  “No, of course not. Do you have any idea what he was doing up and about at one a.m.?” I tried not to show how desperately I wanted to know the answer to that question.

  He lifted another seedling from the planter box. “I didn’t ask, but he seemed to be heading out.”

  “Was he with anyone?”

  “I don’t think so. At least, not that I saw.”

  That didn’t seem possible. Unless he fell off the wagon. Which would mean his death really was a tragic overdose. “How sure are you? Did you see him clearly?”

  “Well, it was dark and I’d been helping Mother, so I was tired too, but I’m pretty sure since I was so surprised.” He peered up at me. “Earnest moved in, what, a few years ago? But I’ve only seen him out of his apartment a handful of times and never alone.”

  I pasted a smile on my face. “Well, thanks very much for your help. I’ll keep looking then.”

  He waved me a grubby goodbye, and I wondered whether to tell Connor what I’d learned or let him do his own damn legwork seeing as he’d just kicked me off the case.

  I also wondered what could have compelled Earnest to break his fifteen months of sobriety and use heroin… or break all precedent and leave his apartment alone without it.

  For Earnest’s sake, I texted Connor what Humphrey had said. Then I focused on steeling myself for what was ahead and drove to Mrs. Dunst’s house, picking up flowers on the way. I’d been to her home a few times before to drop off or collect things for Earnest. She still mothered him in every way he’d let her, and she’d welcomed me with open arms, delighted that her son had met someone who accepted him, agoraphobia, drug addict past and all.

  As I stepped up to the timber and stained glass front door, lilies in hand, I’d never felt like such a fraud.

  “Izzy, oh darling, come here.” She pulled me into her ample bosom. “They told me you found him. You poor thing. I can’t believe he’s gone.” Her bosom heaved against me in giant sobs, and my chest ached in response.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Dunst.” I hugged her tightly. “So sorry.”

  She got the heaving under control and pulled back, wiping the tears away briskly. “Oh and you brought flowers. How lovely of you. Come in, come in. I’ll find a vase for them.”

  “I don’t want to intrude at such a painful time. I just wanted to pay my respects and drop these off.”

  “Nonsense. You’re not intruding, and I’d welcome the company. You loved him too.”

  Her words made me even more uncomfortable, but I couldn’t leave her on her own if she wanted someone to mourn with. She wiped her eyes again, and I wished I had a clean handkerchief to offer her. Connor would’ve had another one. Maybe because he wasn’t very competent at offering comfort through other means. Or maybe because he was in the habit of making people cry.

  “Can I make you a cup of tea while you’re getting a vase?” I asked.

  “Oh. Yes, that would be nice, thank you.” She grabbed a tissue from a box on the hallway stand and blew her nose. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without him, you know?”

  “I know.” It was painfully easy to understand. Her life orbited around his. Only yesterday, I’d been talking to Earnest about whether we could convince her to take a holiday while I took over some of her caretaker jobs. It felt like forever.

  I rattled through the honey-colored oak cabinets for mugs and tea bags. The cozy warmth of the timber seemed too cheerful for the occasion, the neatly stacked shelves too ordered. The grinning squirrel canister that guarded the sugar would benefit from being dropped on the floorboards.

  Mrs. Dunst watched me without seeing. “I can’t work out why he fell off the wagon. He had you, after all, and he was less anxious lately.”

  Probably because he had me, but not for the reasons she thought. “I guess something might have happened with his job?” I didn’t know what else to say. My gut said Earnest didn’t kill himself, but I wasn’t going to mention the possibility of foul play. Not until the police had concrete evidence.

  She huffed. “That website of his. I’ll never wrap my head around why he thought it was a good idea. Why focus on conspiracies and deceit if you have an anxiety disorder?”

  I handed her the cup and took the lilies she was still clutching. The long stems looked bruised.

  “I think he saw it as important. His way of making a difference to the world, even though he couldn’t enter into it.” I plonked the flowers in a jug of water. It would do for now. “Why don’t we sit down?”

  She allowed me to lead her to the glass dining table and sat when I pulled out a chair.

  “You really got to know him well in a short time,” she said. “Maybe understood him in a way I never could. Would you… would you help me plan the funeral?”

  My guilt hurtled upward like a well-shot spitball. “Oh, Mrs. Dunst, I couldn’t. I mean, I only knew him for a few months. You’ve looked after him and loved him his whole life. I’d feel like an impostor.” All true. Especially the last part.

  “No, you’d be nothing of the sort. I’d appreciate it. And I think it’s what Earnest would have wanted.”

  Crap. How could I say no to that?

  She reached out and grabbed my hand. “Please, Izzy?”

  “Okay. If you’re sure that’s what you want, I’d be happy to help.”

  Her face lit up, and my heart shriveled a little inside me. I was a horrible fraud, and I was going to hell.

  4

  I couldn’t face Commander Hunt’s scorn when I was already feeling wretched, so I decided to delay giving my statement until tomorrow. I drove home, trying not to think about Earnest, or about Mrs. Dunst, or about the funeral.

  I trudged up the two flights of stairs to my apartment. It was
outdated and tatty, but familiar and comfortable like an old favorite sweater, and I couldn’t wait to get inside.

  My key was out, ready to go, and I was concentrating on the hot shower I was going to take and the novel I was going to escape into with Meow curled by my side. But as I walked past Etta’s door, I heard a deep rumble of laughter that made me lose control of the motor function in my legs.

  I regained control in time to stop myself collapsing and peeked in the window. Sure enough, Mr. Black was squeezed into one of Etta’s recliners.

  The recliner looked like it was about to explode at the seams under his incredible bulk, and I wouldn’t blame it one bit. It put the traitor button on my jeans in a whole new light; never mind that his bulk was mostly muscle. I drew away from the window and leaned against the wall to collect myself.

  I hadn’t told Etta what Mr. Black did for a living. To be fair, I thought I’d seen the last of him. I took a few calming breaths. Okay, I told myself. It’s not so bad. I didn’t know what he was doing here, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t to bust my kneecaps.

  My loan payments were all up to date, thanks to Connor pulling some strings to organize two months of advance pay from the Taste Society. And to Earnest for making the job so easy that I hadn’t been fired yet.

  I desperately wanted to continue on with my prior plan of shower, book, and bed, but my conscience wouldn’t let me. Until Etta knew the truth about Mr. Black, I needed to play chaperone. Not that I knew exactly what might go wrong, or what I’d do to stop it if it did, but it didn’t matter. Due diligence and all that.

  I stayed squished against the wall as I rummaged through my bag. While I no longer kept the SABRE Red pepper spray on my person at all times, I had taken to carrying it and the Taser in my bag. I’d never be able to retrieve them in time in the event of an actual emergency, but if I was stupidly, knowingly about to put myself in danger, like now, at least I could arm myself first.

  Pity about this morning at the drug dens when I was too stupid to even know.

  I knocked on the door, and Etta swung it open, her cheeks flushed. Behind her was an apartment that was the mirror image of mine, except hers had been renovated this century. The kitchen and living area were fitted out in white, gray, and turquoise hues. The counters and coffee table were gloss white, the appliances stainless steel, and abstract monochrome prints stood in place of my 1960s tropical wallpaper. There was also a real, tastefully decorated Christmas tree freshening the room with its pine scent.

  My housemate, Oliver, was on the charcoal linen sofa opposite Mr. Black, with Dudley’s head resting in his lap. They all smiled at me, even Mr. Black. Lucky I’d braced myself before knocking, or I might have had the type of accident it’s only acceptable for two-year-olds to have.

  “Izzy, so glad you could join us!” Etta chirped. “We’re having a welcome party for Dudley. Just a quiet one, of course, so we don’t stress him out.”

  Dudley was still using Oliver as a pillow. His placid response to the ruckus of my arrival was to open one eye and give another of his halfhearted tail wags. I went over to pet him, partly because he was adorable and I couldn’t resist, and partly to procrastinate interacting with Mr. Black. “Yep, sure wouldn’t want to stress you out, hey boy?” He sighed in satisfaction under my hands.

  Oliver grinned at me. He had one of those boyish faces that would’ve made him a good leading man for Peter Pan, and unkempt, shaggy blond hair that was always flopping into his eyes. Though he was in his midthirties, I liked to tease him about being a bartender who didn’t look old enough to drink.

  “I heard you carried Dudley up the stairs this morning,” he said with the fancy British accent that made every word he uttered seem both dignified and more intelligent than mine. “I would’ve enjoyed seeing that.”

  I groaned and rubbed my back. “Have you done the honors yet?”

  “Nope, Mr. Black has been kindly helping Etta all day.”

  I finally looked up at the Hulk himself, shocked as usual by how big he was up close. Breathe. He’s not trying to kill you this time.

  With his tan skin, generous mouth, and soulful brown eyes, Mr. Black was quite attractive if you didn’t know what he did for a living. And if you had a thing for shiny-skulled giants with a jagged scar on their left cheek. Which Etta did, apparently.

  He gave me a nod. “Nice to see you, Ms. Avery.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to say the same, so I asked, “How’s your wife and daughter?” I’d never met them, but as it was for his daughter and the sake of her Disney Princess watch that he hadn’t broken my kneecaps, I felt quite fondly toward them.

  “Oh, they’re both real good. Thanks so much for asking.”

  “Well, uh, thanks for carrying Dudley all day. I’m not sure my back could’ve dealt with doing it again.”

  “It’s no trouble. I’m always happy to help out a sweet old lady like Etta.”

  I saw Etta stiffen in my peripheral vision. “You mean a smoking-hot lady like Etta, right?” I asked.

  Etta had been drooling over Mr. Black from day one, and despite the thirty-year age gap, I’d suspected they’d slept together after I spotted him leaving her apartment with his shirt buttons askew. She’d explained away the buttons with some implausible story about a fish tank though, and I’d never known for sure.

  Mr. Black scratched his head. “Uh, right.”

  Wow. The fish tank story was true. I was super glad he was faithful to his wife, but I wasn’t certain how to do damage control with Etta. Her posture was still rigid.

  Oliver jumped in. “Izzy, before you stopped by, we were talking about bringing Meow over to say hi to Dudley. Do you think you could go get her? I would, but well, you know…” He gestured to Dudley’s head in his lap.

  I turned to Etta. “What do you think? I know you wanted to keep today nice and calm.” I thought it was a bad idea, but a distraction was clearly needed.

  Etta looked at Dudley, and her shoulders softened. “Well, like you said this morning, he seems pretty relaxed. And it would be good for them to meet. I’m hoping they can be friends since Dudley didn’t have much of a chasing instinct, but I’ll put him on a leash while they get used to each other.”

  “I’d like to see your cute cat again,” Mr. Black chimed in. “As long as she won’t poop in Etta’s shoes.”

  Etta and Oliver’s heads swung my way, and I pressed a finger to my lips while Mr. Black looked around the room, probably for shoes. I might have told him a little white lie about Meow’s pooping preferences, but it was for a good cause. He’d been thinking of taking her home as a kind of safety deposit to make sure I’d come through on my end of a deal we’d struck.

  “Okay. I’ll go get her then, I guess.” I returned a few minutes later, Meow in my arms. This time when I came through the door, Dudley’s head shot up.

  Etta tightened her grip on his leash.

  Meow thrashed her way out of my grasp and leapt onto the top of Mr. Black’s recliner. Her fur looked like she’d put her paw in a light socket, and she was hissing like the leaky radiator in my former junk heap of a car.

  For a split second I thought she was protesting Mr. Black’s presence and was mentally congratulating her for being the only one with discernment when I followed her slitty gaze and saw Dudley quivering behind Etta’s legs. He must have flown off the couch as soon as Meow moved. “Um, Oliver, do you know if Meow has any history with dogs?”

  “Nope, she’s a rescue so… crap, you’re bleeding!” Yes, even the word crap sounded dignified.

  I looked down at my arms. He was right. I was bleeding. Not all that much, but Meow had gotten in a couple of good, deep scratches.

  “Oh dear, you better see a doctor for that,” Etta said. “Cat’s claws can have all sorts of nasties in them.” She patted the still trembling Dudley. His tail was tucked so far under him that it almost reached his front legs. “I might get him out of sight so they can both calm down some, and then you better take her home agai
n.”

  Lucky me.

  Dudley shadowed Etta into another room, and Meow shrank down to her normal dainty self. With her gray fur and bold black stripes, I’d always thought she looked like a miniature white tiger that had been playing in the fireplace. Judging by my ribboned flesh, she’d hold her own in the grasslands of Southeast Asia.

  “Sorry, Iz, I can take her,” Oliver said, springing to his feet.

  I gave Meow a few cautious strokes, and she started purring. I took that as a sign it was safe to pick her back up. “No, it’s okay. I might as well take her and get myself cleaned up.”

  He squeezed past me and scooped her up anyway. “I’ll help then.” Maybe he was feeling guilty. Or maybe he didn’t want me to bleed on Meow.

  Ten minutes later, I returned to Etta’s apartment, smelling of antiseptic. Meow was smugly eating a second dinner, and Oliver was getting ready for work.

  I found Etta on the landing, a cigarette between her fingers. “Why are you out here all alone?”

  She breathed out a lungful of smoke. “Now I’ve got Dudley, I’m making myself come outside. I don’t want him to have any ill effects from the secondhand tobacco.” She inhaled one last time before stubbing it out. “Let’s head in.”

  Dudley was on the couch, looking like his usual chilled self. The hulking menace of Mr. Black was missing.

  “Where’s Mr. Black?” I asked, my neck prickling as I pictured him coming up behind me.

  “He wasn’t feeling well, so he went home. Doesn’t like the sight of blood, apparently.”

  My jaw fell. “That’s impossible!”

  Etta eyed me. “Nothing impossible about it at all. It’s a common phobia.”

  Oh boy. If I was ever going to tell her the truth about Mr. Black, now was the time. And I had to tell her, or Mr. Black would become a repeat guest around here. If she forgave him for calling her old, that is. But would she forgive me for not telling her in the first place?

  “Why are you pacing about all worked up like that? I hope you didn’t catch some weird disease from that cat scratch.”