Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers

by Diane Capri

  “Wait a minute. You and Nick?” I looked at her carefully. “You have a son together?”

  “Yes, we do,” she said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  BECKY’S BOMBSHELL LEFT all of us speechless for several minutes after she headed back into the kitchen. I got pretty busy after that, pouring drinks. Bradley said he’d be back the following night to go over the specifics of Nick’s will. I told him I had a few questions for him and wondered if he’d have time to meet with me privately.

  “Between us, I’ve been delving a bit into what may have happened to Nick, or, you know, who may have killed him.”

  “You should be careful,” Bradley said. “Nick knew some unsavory types. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “Bradley is right,” Raquela piped in. “I would let the police do the detecting. I am sure they will get to the bottom of it.”

  “Of course I can answer whatever you need, but I do think you should allow the police to deal with this,” Bradley said, agreeing with his wife. “I can come over a little earlier if you’d like. Before it gets too busy. Raquela will be out of town so I have some free time.” He frowned.

  She smiled at him fondly. “Oh come on, darling, you know you love your free time. It’s only one night.”

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  Raquela waved a hand at me. “Oh you know, a little spa getaway. Some of my gal pals and I do a day or two either in Santa Barbara or Napa. Tomorrow we’re taking a jaunt down to Laguna Niguel and staying at The Ritz.”

  “Sounds nice,” I said.

  “It is lovely,” she replied. “I’ll be back in a few days with Bradley and see how everything is going.”

  “Have fun,” I said. You know in spite of all her plastic surgery, big jewelry, and flashy clothes, Raquela seemed pretty decent.

  “Sounds good. Thanks.”

  After they left, I didn’t see much of Becky. She buzzed around taking food orders, prepping in the kitchen, and serving patrons. I took care of the drinks. I still had questions for her … more than ever now. Thinking about Pietro made me anxious. I had not forgotten the possibility that he had recognized me and could show up any time. I had no clue what he and George were capable of, and I certainly hadn’t ruled out murder.

  The college crowd eventually showed up again and the place got packed. I only had time to play two sets. Candace and Mumbles drank themselves silly and didn’t even say goodbye when they staggered out into the night.

  I was busy clearing the last rounds when Becky walked through the kitchen door and waved. “I need to go home. I’m beat, and tonight was more than I bargained for. Do you mind locking up?”

  “Sure, no problem … hey, um, I was pretty surprised to find out you had a son with Nick.”

  She smiled. “Yes. So was Nick when I told him. He didn’t know either until a year ago.”

  “Really?” Wow.

  She nodded. “The thing is, I wasn’t in Nick’s life for many years, and a lot happened to us both back in the day. I knew Nick was pretty mixed up for a while there, and he once told me being a parent was not for him. So, I decided not to tell him when I found out I was pregnant. But there was no question about me keeping the baby.” She smiled fondly, clearly recalling her son. “When I told Nick, he was pretty upset with me, but he understood why I’d done it. Truthfully, I had no idea he would give this place to Joshua.”

  I recalled Jackson mentioning how many stories were buried in this place. Boy, he hadn’t been kidding. I wondered if he knew about Nick’s son.

  “Can I ask where he is? Joshua?”

  A proud look came over her face. “He’s in Africa. He works for the Red Cross.”

  “Did Nick ever meet him?”

  “No.” She glanced down at her hands, an uncomfortable look spreading across her face.

  I was starting to feel like I might be prying but I couldn’t stop myself.

  “Um, does he even know about Nick? I mean, as a dad?”

  “No!” she snapped, glaring at me. I took a step back and her expression instantly shifted to contrition. “Look, I’m sorry. I am not sure how I am going to handle all of this with my son. It really was unexpected.”

  “How do you think he’ll take the news?”

  “I don’t know. How would you respond? I am sure it won’t be an easy conversation.” Her shoulders suddenly sagged, and she looked incredibly tired. “I have to go lie down and think things through. It’s late. I’m sorry to leave you like this. You’ll be okay, right?”

  “I’ll be fine, Becky. Don’t worry about me. But I was also wondering real quick about something.”

  “Yes?”

  I could tell she was becoming aggravated with me, but I figured I had her as a captive audience for the moment.

  “When Pietro came here to see Nick and you went back into the kitchen with them, what happened?”

  Her eyes narrowed like those of a bird of prey ready to dive in for the animal it’s about to eat. “Why the inquisition?”

  I shrugged. “I’m curious and concerned. The police don’t exactly seem to be doing much investigating around who murdered our friend, and that Pietro character is a slimeball. I thought maybe he said or did something that night that could implicate him.”

  She shook her head. “I do care about who killed Nick, but you know what … I am a bit uncomfortable putting my nose into business it doesn’t belong in. The police have this handled. I think you should let them do their job and keep your questions to yourself.” She stopped for a moment, rubbing her arms absent-mindedly. “Jerks like Pietro SanGiacomo are not the kind of people you want to question. Do I think he could have murdered Nick? Yes. I think he’s capable of doing something like that. But I’m no detective and neither are you. As for that night in the kitchen, Nick owed Pietro some money. It wasn’t a ton. I had the money. I paid the debt. End of story. I have to go home now.”

  Becky left in a huff, and I was alone in the bar. I think I believed her story, but her hostility seemed surprising.

  I had everything cleaned up and was ready to go ten minutes later. But my brain was buzzing like I’d drank two espressos, and I knew I wouldn’t get any peace that night until I wrote everything down to see if I could answer a few of my own questions about Nick’s murder.

  I turned up all the lights and made myself a Shirley Temple. I even added a cherry. When my dad was in a good mood, he’d take us to Benny’s, which was the best restaurant in Brady (and a Denny’s knock-off). At Benny’s, we could order anything we wanted. Hannah and I always got the same thing: Shirley Temples and cheesy grits with shrimp. After Hannah disappeared, we never went to Benny’s again. But I always ordered Shirley Temples whenever I could.

  I didn’t have a notebook or any lined paper, so I tore a paper towel off of the towel dispenser in the ladies restroom. I sat down in Mumbles’s seat. Of all the regulars at Nick’s, he was the one who I felt most comfortable around. I figured maybe sitting in his chair would help me focus. I took out a pen and wrote down the reasons why people kill:

  Revenge

  Lust

  Love (see lust above)

  Greed

  Money

  Power

  Sex (see lust above)

  Then I thought about the various cast of characters

  Candace

  Becky

  Jackson

  Pietro

  George

  Mumbles (doubtful)

  Bradley (?)

  Simone (ugh, hated to think that)

  Dwight via Simone

  Why would Candace want to see Nick dead? Well, let’s see … he was the guy she was madly in love with almost thirty years ago. He cheated on her and she became an alcoholic. Revenge anyone?

  Becky. She’d obviously loved Nick or thought she had. She’d been his lover when he was engaged to another woman. She had possibly been involved in covering up Roger’s death. Becky had a son with Nick that she failed to tell him about for
twenty-eight years. And now, here she was in the bar, serving patrons and acting like the grieving widow. What if Becky and her son had planned it? Came back into Nick’s life, told him about his long lost son—off saving lives in Africa, how could he not leave that kid everything he owned—and rekindled the romance between them. And what if mom pulled the trigger out of … yes … revenge, rage, love, jealousy … there were a plethora of reasons for Becky to want Nick six feet under. Not least of which was the opportunity to further provide for her only child, who may or may not actually be gallivanting around Africa giving vaccinations to children and teaching about safe sex.

  Long sip from the Shirley Temple.

  Sigh.

  I needed some music to think by. I took out my new phone. Okay, I do have to give props to Simone for the gift. Pretty cool. I logged onto Pandora, and typed in “Ellie Goulding.” “Lights” came on. Much better.

  So, on to the next person on the list.

  Jackson.

  Now Jackson was just plain strange. He was a sexy, brooding weirdo who was totally obsessed with Nick. He wanted to script Nick’s story and was pissed off Nick refused to provide him any personal information. He seemed to have a chip on his shoulder, and I frequently felt uncomfortable around him. Also, Mumbles didn’t care for him much … and Mumbles rarely took a dislike to anyone. And then there was that night when he rescued me from George Hernandez. Yeah, I was grateful to Jackson for stepping in when he did. But knowing he was some kind of black-belt Ninja definitely made me wonder about him. Could he be a charming psycho … like Ted Bundy? It didn’t take much to attract the attention of a sociopath. I mean, I now watched Dexter, and it seems to me those folks kill others mostly because they can.

  I tapped the pen against my mouth, staring down at the next name on the list. Pietro SanGiacomo. Well that was pretty simple: money and anger. Nick owed him money. I wasn’t sure how much, but I assumed it was substantial, although Becky claimed she paid him off. She did sound rather convincing, and the conversation I overheard between Pietro and George had shown Pietro wanted George to let it all go now that Nick was gone. Granted, he sounded pretty upset when George told him about his sister. So maybe Pietro had more motive than I thought. But he had sounded truly shocked when George made the big reveal to him. I wondered, did Becky know about Nick and his bed buddy? Was Becky’s return the reason Nick had broken off whatever was going on between him and Sofia? Could Sofia, the mystery woman, have murdered Nick? I wouldn’t even know how to track her down. It wasn’t like I could ask Pietro for his sister’s phone number.

  As for George Hernandez—he of the bad temper—Nick supposedly stole his fish taco recipe and owed George money. And then George and Pietro had some illegal side gig going on. Could Nick have found out about that and threatened to call the cops if George didn’t back off? Maybe George got tired of waiting for Nick to cough up his fair share of the earnings from their fizzled out partnership. In any case, he also seemed like a good candidate.

  Then there was Bradley Verne. He’d known Nick since they were kids. Who knows what might have gone down back in the day? But I still felt he was my weakest suspect. Weak or not, he was definitely worth looking at. I had read enough books to know the least likely suspect often turns out to be the one who did it.

  I sucked down the rest of my Shirley Temple and used the straw to fish out the cherry. “Fade Into You” by Mazzy Star came on. God, I love that song.

  I thought suddenly of Lucas. Time to go home.

  I walked around to the bar sink and dumped out the ice from my glass. “I wish I knew what happened here. I wish I knew what happened to you, Nick.”

  I rinsed out the glass and set it on the counter, walking back around to the stool to grab my sweater and sling my purse over my shoulder.

  I moved towards the door. Suddenly, I felt an icy cold sensation pull at the back of my neck and yank on my long hair so forcefully, I thought it was being ripped out. I was momentarily paralyzed.

  Now, you know me … I am not one to swear. But every now and then, there is a time and a place for cussing. This was one of those times.

  “Oh, shit! What the hell?!”

  I forced my legs to move forward as the mysterious entity kept tugging on me from behind. I reached the door and quickly threw it open without bothering to shut off the lights. I locked the bar up from the outside and sprinted for my van parked across the street. Once inside, I started up the engine and peeled out of the lot.

  Driving up La Cienega towards Sunset, all I could think was my father had been right in his assessment about this city. Maybe it was not a city of angels after all. Maybe, it was demon- filled and, like Lucas had warned the other night, the dark side was out to get me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “TELL ME MORE about the portals and the tiers. How it all works.” Lucas and I were in my bed—no, not like that. But I can dream, can’t I? I was so happy when I came through the door and found him in my bedroom, especially considering what happened right before I left Nick’s. It was scary enough when someone followed me home, but at least it had been a human. Whatever was in the bar with me this evening was most definitely not. Actually, when I think about it, I am not sure which is worse.

  Anyway, Lucas was on my bed scratching Cass behind her ears. Mac was lying next to him. You know how in movies and books, animals are usually freaked out by the dead? Yeah, well, my two pets were definitely breaking the stereotype.

  “But first I have to tell you, I found out something about the eagle feathers.”

  “You did? How?”

  “It took some work, but I searched out a Native American spirit. Evie, I would like you to meet Hototo. It means ‘he who whistles.’ Hototo?” Lucas called out.

  A Native American man of about twenty-five or so slowly came into sight in front of me at the foot of my bed. At first I didn’t know what to say.

  “Evie? Are you okay?” Lucas asked.

  Oh sure. “Uh, yes.” I smiled and nodded, sitting up and smoothing my shirt.

  Hototo wore a pair of Levis and a light grey t-shirt. His hair was slicked back into a ponytail. He had the same purplish eyes as Lucas, only with a bit more gold flecks.

  “Hello,” Hototo said. “Lucas asked me to come and see if I could give you answers.”

  “Uh-huh.” Smooth, Evie. Real smooth.

  “He’s told me about your gift and how you found the eagle feathers as a child.”

  “Okay.” I couldn’t help wonder what the guy must be thinking seeing Lucas and I lounging around on my bed. Awkward. Focus, Evie!

  “Here is what I can tell you about the eagle feathers. They are sacred to most Native American tribes. No one is allowed to possess an eagle, alive or dead, or the feather from an eagle, unless they are of Native American blood.”

  “Oh! Well, as it turns out, I do have Native American blood in me. Cherokee.” I found my voice. “On my mother’s side.”

  “I know. You would not have received these if that wasn’t true.”

  “Right.”

  “The feathers are used in powerful healing ceremonies,” he added. “And even for shapeshifting.”

  “Whoa. Wait a minute. Shapeshifting?” Hototo laughed and looked at Lucas. “She’s cute.”

  “Hey!” I said. He winked at me. “I will try to explain shapeshifting. It may help in the future with the eagle feathers.”

  Hototo sat down in my desk chair and wheeled it closer to the bed. “You see, shapeshifting is the transformation, mentally or physically, of one’s self into an animal. Shapeshifters can regularly assume an animal or human form.”

  “Wait … you mean, like werewolves?” Both of them looked at me in surprise. “Should I even bother asking if vampires exist?” I let out a nervous laugh.

  “Yes, like werewolves, and no, vampires aren’t real.” Phew!

  Hototo glanced over at Lucas before continuing. “There are two types of shapeshifting: changing your light body in the astral plane to a po
wer animal, and changing your physical form on the Earth plane into a physical animal. My guess is your power animal is the eagle.”

  “Wait, you mean I can shapeshift?”

  Hototo shrugged his shoulders casually. “Possibly.”

  This was only a tad overwhelming.

  “Let me get back to the eagle for a moment. The white and black tipped feathers from the eagle,” he continued, “were often used on the masks of the Pueblo Indians to give the appearance of white and black clouds. The bald and the golden eagle symbolize heroic nobility and divine spirit. The eagle is the messenger from heaven and the embodiment of the sun spirit. I think you are a messenger of healing. Your sister’s disappearance was no coincidence, and you receiving the feathers wasn’t one either. The feathers are helping protect you, and they may also help you find your sister Hannah.”

  Now I was really interested. “But how?”

  “The feathers may carry memory in them for you to discover. They may guide you into seeing what happened to Hannah that night. I will try to track some of my ancestors and see if there is a way to access the memory. Or, if you learn to shift into your power animal at any time, then you may also find your answers.”

  “Okay then,” I said, trying hard to swallow what Hototo had told me. I looked back at Lucas, who smiled and shrugged. Me turn into an eagle? Feathers with memories? And I thought Bob and Janis getting high in my family room was bizarre!

  Hototo stood solemnly. “I must be going. I hope I helped,” he said.

  “Thank you.” I think.

  Lucas also thanked him, Hototo left, fading away until he’d disappeared entirely.

  The first thing that came out of my mouth as I buried my head in my palms was, “Spirits and power animals, eagle feathers, shapeshifting? I mean, I’ve had my so-called gift now for sixteen years and still haven’t gotten used to it. Now all of this. I can’t wrap my brain around it. I thought he was supposed to help.” I looked over at Lucas. “What happened to him anyway? How did he die?”

  “Hunting accident. Shot by his brother.”