The Dead Detective Agency (The Dead Detective Mysteries)

by Peg Herring

  “How about the old guy who called us? Did he check out?”

  “Too arthritic to hold a .44 much less pull the trigger. He’s pretty cut up about it too.”

  “Ex-husbands, ex-boyfriends, or other enemies?”

  “None of the above. The girl moved here a few months ago from a small town outside Seattle, Washington. From all accounts she was well-liked, intelligent, and not one for partying.” He tapped the notes with a stubby finger. “Nothing I saw indicates drug or alcohol abuse.”

  “Great. No evidence, no apparent motive, no witnesses who actually saw anything. The guy shows up, does the girl, and leaves. Where do we start?” Jaime’s lower lip pushed upward in a characteristic expression of puzzlement.

  “It could be a crazy,” Madison mused. “But why that girl, that apartment, that day?”

  “Something at her place of employment?”

  “I talked to them.” Madison rubbed the furrow between his eyebrows. “Met her supervisor. Quite a piece of work.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The woman needs a Valium salt-lick in her office. One of those people who’s all a-bubble with apparent empathy, but when you look closer, she’s all for herself. Plus she has a critical case of noblesse oblige.”

  “Didn’t like dealing with dirty coppers, eh?” Jaime affected a James Cagney sneer.

  “She wasn’t rude, more like patronizing, and very willing to help us do our job. In case you’re wondering, the murderer was—” He parodied Jennise Bowdlin’s nasal whine—“a madman. He’ll be easy to spot because he’ll look…well, mad.” He grimaced disgustedly. “The guy just happened to have a .44 with a silencer on him when he slipped a cog.”

  “It’s comforting,” Jaime explained with a dismissive wave. “A crazed druggie wins every time over someone you know.”

  “Ms. Bowdlin’s real concern is who will take up the slack in the office. She’s already short one employee, so she hopes we don’t pin the murder on someone there and make it two.”

  “Good help is hard to find, especially when they go around shooting each other,” Jaime pronounced, this time in a priggish-female parody.

  “Before I got out of there she was asking how soon she could clear out the victim’s office. She needs to reassign it ASAP. One minute she was moaning in grief about poor Tori, and the next it was onward and upward.”

  Jaime shrugged. “Anyone else help you out?”

  “The best friend is pretty shook up, insists the girl was a straight arrow. There’s an intern who might have been hot for her, but he says they were just friends.” Madison circled Abe Gougeon’s name in his notes. “I didn’t meet the senior partner, Amos Pollard. Receptionist said he was unavailable.”

  “Avoiding you, maybe?”

  “You used to be such an innocent.”

  “Knowing you has resulted in the acquisition of a suspicious nature.” Jaime rocked back in his chair. “No one at her work had a theory about why she was killed?”

  “None other than Ms. Oh-It-Must-Be-a-Madman.”

  “And it could be, Chuck. Sometimes they’re not explainable.”

  Madison nodded in reluctant agreement. “I know. But when somebody dies like that, we should find out why, don’t you think?” Turning his attention back to Tori’s picture, he finished, “She’ll never know what we find out, but we should try, anyway.”

  Chapter Nine

  Michael, Row the Boat Ashore

  After Tori left her first meeting with her counselor, questions arose she wished she’d asked. Making her way along the corridor, she ran her fingers along the wall as if assuring herself of its existence. She struggled to take it all in, unaware that she spoke aloud.

  “So I’m dead, but I still have physical being of a sort. In some weird way I can feel, eat, drink, and sleep. Over the next few weeks, my old life will fade from memory, unless I will myself to remember.” She paused, recalling Nancy’s revelations. “I can go on to whatever is next, or I can become a Portalist and stay on the ship indefinitely.”

  “You don’t seem the type to want to stay in limbo.” She turned to see a familiar face, the handsome man from the spa, Michael.

  “I might,” she answered with a frown. “I can’t imagine giving up everything I’ve ever been.”

  “You’ll understand it better by and by,” he said with a twinkle and a hint of the old hymn tune in the cadence of his voice. “Nancy is very good, but she can only take you a step at a time. This is by far the biggest thing that ever happened to you, so don’t expect to make a quick decision. Once you’re comfortable with the changes, you’ll have a sense for what’s best.”

  Again, Tori was struck by the serenity of his gaze, her immediate feeling of assurance in his presence. “I hope so.” She was intrigued by his assumption she should go on. “Why wouldn’t I want to stay here? You did, and the others I met today, even Nancy.”

  He straightened and came toward her in a gliding sort of amble that brought John Wayne to mind. He looked like a Mike, not a Michael, and a little like her sister’s easy-going husband, who had been an awe-inspiring tackle on the football field and a sweetheart everywhere else.

  “Have lunch with me. I’ll answer your question over…I’d guess you’re an iced tea person.”

  Tori shrugged. “Might as well enjoy this place before I forget who I am, right?”

  The lunch area buzzed with people helping themselves to every kind of mid-day delicacy. They seemed pretty happy for dead people, but Tori guessed some were farther along in The Process than she was. That brought another old hymn, “Farther Along,” into her head, and she found herself humming it. An elderly man in front of her in line turned and joined in: “Cheer up, my brother, live in the sunshine,” he sang. He gave Tori a wink as he picked up his tray. “Couldn’t do this yesterday.” Death for some was a relief, she realized.

  Tori chose an oriental chicken salad with poppy-seed dressing to go with her iced tea and waited for Mike, who ordered from the grill. He added wedges of lemon to their drinks with tiny tongs. As they moved away from the food line, she noticed the noise level in the room was high. Nobody knew anybody, but they were rapidly getting acquainted. Most appeared willing to put earthly cares behind them, and discovering death was vacation-like seemed to be a bonus.

  Mike found a table off to one side, out of the hubbub so they could converse in normal tones. Diving with gusto into the French dip and fries he had ordered, which smelled wonderful, he demolished the meal in no time and looked up with a hint of embarrassment.

  “I love to eat. It’s the one thing about life on Earth I could be jealous of.”

  “You mean you never had a life?”

  “Not like yours.” Mike wiped his hands on a snow-white napkin, leaving greasy smudges, and then looked up at her with a grin. “I’m what you would call an angel.”

  Tori was briefly stunned, but then her first impression of Mike became clear, the feeling of assurance, of perfection. An angel! “You seem normal. I haven’t heard one thou or shalt.”

  Mike laughed. “I suppose I’m like people because I spend so much time with people. Those of us who work at the Portals pick up speech patterns and habits from those we assist.” He indicated the empty plate. “I also learned to enjoy food, although I have no use for it.”

  Tori wanted to ask about wings but told herself not to be both rude and naive. “Are all the workers here angels?”

  “No. That’s what led me to caution you back there.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his full stomach, looking very human. “Some who stay between the Portals do it for the goodies. They can have anything to eat anytime they want it, anything to wear merely by asking for it. They decide this is their idea of heaven and choose to go no farther. But it isn’t good for people to have no purpose, even here.”

  “So you put them to work?”

  “Right. Some make good employees. Others need to be watched, which was what I was doing this morning when we met. Young Megan ha
s problems with discretion, so someone has to be nearby to remind her it isn’t her place to give out details.” Mike grinned. “Having a Portalist work force is a little like the Edsel—it seemed workable in the corporate office but is problematic in practice.”

  Corporate office? Tori thought. The present situation gave the phrase a whole new meaning. “And Mr. Li?”

  “Not a bad sort, just undecided.”

  “So he’s not a criminal who can’t go to the next plateau until he has atoned?”

  “Those beyond redemption are not Portalists. We would never expose guests to evil.”

  “Do the evil ones go to hell?”

  “Hell isn’t a place, Tori. It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.” Mike propped his elbows on the table, chin on his knuckles, and proceeded to elaborate. “The universe makes use of all kinds of energy, and human life is one kind. Life is never wasted. The energy released by the death of any life form is used over and over.”

  “Very efficient.”

  “Would you expect anything else in a system so old and so well-tended?” Mike admonished gently. “Of course energy is both positive and negative, and most times the two balance. The negative protects life, saying ‘no’ to harmful interactions, like a live power line or a tiger shark.”

  “Yin and Yang, Good and Evil, the Dark and Light sides of the Force.”

  Mike nodded, but Tori felt silly putting her dim understanding into words when he obviously knew the situation much better than she did. Pressing her lips together, she vowed to listen and not contribute puny human ideas as Mike finished his explanation.

  “Sometimes negative energy becomes dominant in a being, squelching the positive. That being is destroyed for the good of all.”

  Tori shivered. “Sounds pretty permanent.”

  “It is.” Mike stacked their dishes. “But very few life forms have no good in them. The process here refines energy, making it once again pure. What you call death is the first step. Your life force has moved to its next stage, so to speak.”

  “Then I won’t be terminated?”

  Mike laughed. “A nice girl like you? No way.”

  “There was the time I stole ten dollars from my mother’s purse,” she confessed.

  He leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table in a gesture of finality. “Your heinous crimes will be dealt with later. Right now, why don’t you enjoy the ship’s amenities while I check on my Portalists? I’m responsible for everything on board this tub, so I’m kept busy.”

  “Michael, row the boat ashore,” Tori sang to herself as he left. It wasn’t like her Sunday school teacher had described it. After a second, she realized the old woman knew that by now, for she’d been eighty when Tori was seven. She must have made the crossing years ago.

  Chapter Ten

  I’ll Be Missing You

  Essential tasks at PLK Investments were accomplished in hushed tones after the detective’s visit and the news of Tori’s death. Carmon Calley was quiet all morning, but she noticed Abe Gougeon moved restlessly around the office, as if concentrating on his work was impossible.

  Lunch in the break room was subdued. Carmon heard no teasing, no stories of impossible clients, no laughter. When the others returned to their work, Abe appeared at Carmon’s desk, where she had remained since the interview with the detective.

  “Look,” he said diffidently when she looked up in surprise. “I know you and Tori were good friends.” Carmon lowered her eyes, concentrating on re-wrapping the untouched sandwich before her in its waxed paper. “You talked with the detective?”

  “Yes.”

  Undeterred by her terse reply, Abe sat down opposite her, leaning an elbow on the smooth, fake-wood surface. “Me too, but there was nothing I could tell them.” He rubbed a hand through short, spiky hair. “Nobody here would kill Tori, right?” He regarded Carmon closely, as if willing her to discuss the murder. “Did she ever say anything that might indicate she suspected anybody here of…dishonesty?”

  “No.” Tears threatened. Carmon produced a wadded tissue and blew her nose, substituting anger for sorrow. “It’s so pointless.” She rose from her chair, sending it backward into the file cabinet with a dull thud.

  At that moment, their supervisor came by. Seeing Carmon’s red eyes, Jennise lunged at her with arms outstretched. The hug was a tricky maneuver with the ever-present clipboard, but determination won out. “You poor thing! I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

  Suffering the embrace only long enough to be polite, Carmon glanced at Abe, and then looked away when he rolled his eyes. Taking firm control of her own emotions, she murmured, “Thank you,” and stepped back from Jennise, who stood too close for Carmon’s comfort. With sudden decision she added, “I think I’d like the afternoon off.”

  Jennise’s expensively highlighted head jerked as if someone behind her had pulled an invisible bridle. Carmon saw her calculating the cost of this catastrophe in lost employee hours. “Sweetie,” she said, her voice taking on a false tone of supplication, “I really need you to finish those reports. She was your friend, but you can’t help her now, can you?” Reaching out, she smoothed Carmon’s hair, causing her to shudder involuntarily. “Work will take your mind off it.” Jennise put a heavy hand on Carmon’s arm. “Can you stay? It would help me a lot.”

  Carmon nodded despite her unwillingness. Again she glanced at Abe, whose glower showed disapproval. Whether he was upset with Jennise for bossiness or Carmon for giving in to it was unclear.

  Abe turned to go, but Jennise wasn’t finished. “I know that policeman spoke with both of you.” Her tone conveyed the dislike she’d taken to Madison. “I was interviewed as well, of course. As head of staff I know things no one else knows.”

  Not if the staff can help it Carmon thought. Seeing the same thought in Abe’s eyes, she dropped her gaze to the bland industrial carpeting.

  “Did either of you have anything to tell Detective, um, the detective that was helpful?”

  Neither answered for a moment, but finally Carmon said, “I don’t think so.”

  Jennise’s bright eyes examined them in turn, and her head tilted sideways like a parakeet working on a seed ball. Finally, she accepted that was all the response forthcoming.

  “Well. This incident has upset us all, and the fact there must be an investigation makes things worse. I want you to know—” She took Carmon’s limp hand in hers—“I am here for you. If you need to talk, if you need to cry, if you just need to sit in silence, come to my office. You too, Abe.” She reached out and patted Abe’s shoulder, giving them each a look apparently meant to convey concern. Carmon thought it mostly resembled neurosis.

  “I didn’t know her that well,” Abe said, and Carmon looked at him in surprise. She had seen him joking with Tori, had felt a hint of jealousy at Tori’s easy responses and the light in Abe’s eyes. Not that she resented her friend’s gregarious nature, but Carmon found it impossible to summon the relaxed, teasing manner that put men at ease. No matter how attractive she found them.

  Jennise smiled slyly at Abe. “I thought she was taken with you,” she purred. “I’ve seen you two leaving together.”

  Abe stiffened at her tone. “We walked to our cars together once or twice, maybe. No more than that.”

  “Well, it’s still a shock,” Jennise insisted. “You young people have no familiarity with death, don’t know what a toll it takes on a person.” The contradiction between her refusal to let Carmon leave work and her description of death’s drastic effects escaped Jennise, as her paradoxes usually did. “I’m available.” She turned again to Carmon and touched her arm. “Come to me. I want you to.”

  “I will,” Carmon lied.

  Jennise narrowed her eyes in what she imagined was sensitivity. “I’m not just saying it.”

  “I know.” Carmon noticed Abe said nothing.

  “Some supervisors say they’re there for you, but they don’t want the bother. I�
�m not like that.”

  “I know.” You sound like a mynah bird, Carmon chided herself.

  Jennise beamed at them both for a moment longer, and then took herself away, her version of a mission of mercy complete.

  Abe watched her go. “If anything could make me feel worse, her comfort would do it.”

  Now back in control, Carmon made no comment, waiting for a clue to his visit’s purpose. Abe turned, his face serious. “Listen. I’m not asking you out or anything, that doesn’t feel right. But when you get off work—I mean, Tori’s death hit me too. I wouldn’t mind spending some time talking about it.”

  Taken by surprise, Carmon stared. Abe had worked at PLK for a full year. In that time he’d shown little interest in her. Suddenly he was anxious to talk?