by Jane Tesh
Lassiter returned carrying a large dog-eared notebook. He handed it to me and sat down. “You a musician?”
“Not really.”
“Then it won’t make much sense to you.”
I opened the notebook. First I thought a party of ancient ants had raided their last picnic: tiny black dots and scribbles filled pages of lines. I turned the page. More dead ants.
Lassiter gave a rusty chuckle. “If you can’t read music, it must look like a mess of nothing to you. It’s just a few tunes, not very original. Had to make my own staffs. Couldn’t afford the fancy paper.”
I looked through page after page of Lassiter’s cramped notation. “Why would Byron Ashford be interested in your first compositions?”
Lassiter’s tone was scornful. “Guess he was afraid Laura Gentry might’ve squirreled away a secret song or two that belonged to his great-grandfather. Laura never wrote in my book. Hell, I didn’t show it to my own mother. Too embarrassing.”
“But you said you copied Laura’s songs at first to get the hang of writing music, right?”
“There are a few of them in there, but nothing Byron Ashford hasn’t heard.”
“Would you show me those?”
He took the notebook and thumbed through the limp pages. “Here’s ‘Field Mouse Dance.’” He handed the book back to me.
“Field Mouse Dance” looked exactly like the other clumps of ants. “And this is a copy of Laura’s original song? Would you mind if I made a copy of this? I’ll need it to compare with Ashford’s version.”
He shook his head. “This notebook doesn’t leave my house.”
“All right,” I said. “I’ll bring Ashford’s version with me tomorrow. You’ve still got your piano here?”
“Course, but don’t count on me to play anything.” He flexed his bony fingers. “Haven’t been able to play much in a long time.”
A brilliant plan formed in my mind. “Don’t worry about that, Mister Lassiter. I know somebody who can play the piano.”
***
I picked up a burger and fries and drove to Greenleaf Forest feeling pretty pleased with myself. Kary wanted to help on a case, and I’d found the perfect thing for her to do. We’d take a leisurely drive up to the mountains. She could play the ants for me and tell me how to decipher their strange tracks. And then—well, something was bound to happen.
As for Pamela’s locket, I’d recalled how one of my mom’s rings had slipped down a heating vent. Wouldn’t hurt to check the bedroom vents of the Vincent house.
I drove into the driveway of the country home, parked, and got out. A man was using a garden hose to wash some window screens propped against the porch. He was of average height and slim, with light brown hair. He was wearing dirty sneakers, torn jeans, and a plain green shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Was this Mister Love Machine?
“Nick Vincent?”
He looked up. He had that same abstracted air Camden gets sometimes, that oh-the-dream’s-over-I-can-wake-up-now look. His green eyes brightened his calm face.
“You must be David Randall. Nice to meet you.”
We shook hands. I wasn’t sure how such an ordinary-looking guy had managed to snag a babe like Pamela. Must be the eyes. Women are always going on about Camden’s eyes. It’s a girl thing. Either that, or Nick Vincent knew a special sex trick.
He turned off the hose. “Any leads on Pamela’s locket?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I offered to buy her another. That didn’t go over well.”
“Not when it’s a favorite trinket.” I’d been through this several times with both wives. “Getting your spring cleaning done early?”
He grimaced at the screens. “We’ve had them off during this nice weather, but Pamela wants them back on now. She said if the screen had been on the bedroom window, the thief might not have gotten in.”
“I wanted to check something in your bedroom.”
“Go on up. I want to finish these.”
I went up to the yellow bedroom and looked for heating vents. There was one right under the window, but the grate was way too small for anything the size of a locket to fall through. I looked out the window, feeling the cool breeze. No screen certainly made it easier for the thief—if that’s what had happened to the locket.
I came back outside. Nick Vincent was shooing the black birds from the feeder.
“Scram! Leave some for the cardinals.” He turned to me. “Any luck?”
“No, sorry.”
His shoulders slumped. “I can’t believe I lost it.”
“What makes you think you lost it?”
“Because I lose everything. And if I’m not careful, I’m going to lose Pam. One day, she’s going to get fed up with me and pack her bags—if I haven’t lost them, too.”
“I doubt it’s that serious.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Want a beer?”
“Sure.”
We sat on the porch, drank our beers, and Nick told me everything he’d misplaced since they’d moved to Greenleaf Forest. I could understand the flashlight, extension cord, paint roller, and coffee cups, but when he got to the lawn mower and spare tire, I knew I was dealing with someone who was one doughnut shy of a dozen, as Rufus would say.
“It’s ridiculous, I know,” Nick said, “but I’ve always been this way. I get distracted and forget where I put things.”
“Well, you don’t have any security around your place. It’s possible somebody checked out the house and decided to have a look inside. Nothing else was taken, right?”
“Not that we know of.”
“Where’s Pamela today?”
“Grocery shopping. That’s usually my department, but we swapped chores today. She doesn’t mind going to the store, but it takes forever because people like to stop and talk.”
“She has a lot of friends?”
“Hundreds.”
“Has Pamela ever received any weird letters or phone calls?”
“I’m pretty sure she’d tell me if she did.”
“Usually beautiful women have at least one admirer who’s a little cracked.”
“That would be me. I still don’t understand what she sees in me.”
“Trust me—you’ll never figure that out.”
“Well, there’s the age difference, too.”
They both appeared to be in their late twenties. “Age difference?”
“Ten years.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Pamela’s older. You’d never believe it, would you? She could’ve had any man in the world, and she wanted me.”
“I’m sure you went down kicking and screaming.”
“From the first time I saw her, I was lost.”
“I know how that is.” I took another drink. “Anybody have a grudge against you? You haven’t lost anything vitally important, have you?”
“Nobody’s got a grudge.” His gaze went to the shadowy wood that surrounded the house. “I’d call that locket vitally important, though.”
A white Camry drove up and parked. Pamela got out and pulled a bag off the front seat. Nick and I went to help with the groceries.
“Well, I’m glad I bought more beer,” she said. “What are you two talking about?”
Nick kissed her cheek. “You’ll be happy to know we’re talking about you.”
She put her other arm around him and gave him a kiss. There was no way to tell which was older. They were a perfect match. Would Kary and I look as right together? Would I ever have the chance to find out?
I carried a bag of groceries into the kitchen and set it on the table. Thinking of Kary made me want to be home when she got in from school.
Pamela put some packets of seeds on the counter.
“Nick, you were going to pull that ivy out of the flower bed for me.”
“I’ll do that right now.”
I helped Pamela fold the paper bags. “Nick happened to mention the age difference. I never would’ve guessed.”
“Not quite ten years. He’ll be twenty-nine this year, and I’ll be thirty-eight.” She said this with all the confidence of a woman who knows she’ll always look terrific. “It was love at first sight. I saw Nick at an office party. I’d been invited by a friend. Nick was standing with another man, his boss, I think.” She chuckled. “The boss thought I was coming across the room to him. I can see him now. He sort of pushed Nick to one side, puffed out his chest, and stepped forward—poor guy! I went right past him to Nick, who looked at me with those beautiful eyes—oh, I can’t tell you how I felt. My search was over.”
My search was over. I couldn’t have put it any better.
“If you don’t mind me asking, has the age difference been a problem?”
“Not at all. Oh, occasionally he’ll mention something I’ve never heard of, or I’ll say, you remember when such and such happened, and he’ll say no, and then I’ll remember he was only six at the time. But we’re soul mates. I think I could’ve been a wizened old Asian woman and Nick a seven foot Masai warrior, and we still would’ve found each other.” She gave me a keen gaze. “But your question wasn’t an idle one, was it? Who is she? Does she feel the same way about you?”
“I don’t really know how she feels about me. And she’s engaged to someone else.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. I didn’t want to talk about this. “I’m going to check out some pawn shops for your locket.”
“That sounds exciting. May I come along?”
“If you like. Foster’s, Limited, on Tenth Street is usually a good bet. Let me have a look first, and I’ll call you if I see anything that looks like your locket.”
She thanked me. I waved good-by to Nick tugging at the ivy and got in my car. On the ride back to Grace Street, I wondered why I’d let the age difference between Kary and myself stand in my way. Things were working out great for the Vincents.
Chapter Eight
“The Lass From the Low Countree”
When I got to the house, I thought I’d get some peanut butter crackers and plan exactly how to approach Kary. When I came in sight of the island, I saw Camden lying on the sofa, and this huge woman leaning over him. She was the biggest woman I had ever seen, easily six five, well over three hundred pounds. I didn’t even want to think about what she was doing.
“Hey! Back off!”
She moved like a glacier, two tiny eyes gleaming in a broad fleshy face surrounded by lank brown hair that fringed over her forehead. Her expression was grim. She wore a massive pair of green shorts and a shapeless brown tent top she must have ripped off a circus. She had something in her hand that looked like a towel.
Good lord, I thought. Some mammoth maniac has broken in and she’s strangling him with a dishrag. How am I going to get him away?
“Back away, I said! Leave him alone.”
“You Randall?” Her gruff voice sounded as if she’d smoked since conception.
“Yes, and who the hell are you?”
She shifted her attention back to Camden. “It’s okay. It’s Randall.”
I managed to get around her to the sofa. I saw now she was pressing a dishcloth to his shoulder. Camden’s eyes were open. “It’s okay, Randall. A little accident, that’s all.”
“He just walked right out into the traffic like a blind man,” the woman said.
Camden looked up at me, his eyes full of concern. “I don’t remember. I woke up on the sidewalk.”
The woman straightened. It was like watching the continents shift. “Yeah, I may have yanked a little hard, but I had to act fast. Pulled his arm out of joint, didn’t I, Shorty?”
“Walked into traffic?” I couldn’t believe it. “Where?” Grace Street had hardly any traffic.
“Out on Food Row. I’d walked over to get some burgers for dinner. I have no idea what happened.”
Food Row! It was a miracle he wasn’t a smear on the highway.
The woman glanced at me. “This happen often?”
I felt she deserved an explanation. “Usually, when he has trances, he doesn’t go anywhere. He just zones out. Sleepwalking is something new.”
She screwed up her face in disbelief. “Trances?”
“He’s clairvoyant.”
She gave a snort. “So how come he didn’t see himself almost becoming roadkill?”
“I never see my own future,” Camden said.
“What were you seeing when you took your Stroll of Death?” I asked him.
“Nothing. Just like last night. Nothing.”
“Oh, brother.” Where the hell was all this leading?
The woman heaved herself toward the kitchen. “I’ll get some more ice.”
“Do you mind if I ask who the hell you are?” I said.
She fixed me with her little eyes. “My name’s Angie Dawson. I happened to be heading toward the 31 Flavors when I saw Junior here drifting into the westbound lane. Said to myself, it seems a shame to let such a cute little guy become a hood ornament, so I reached out and grabbed him, brought him home. He said you’d be home soon, but I thought I’d hang around to make sure. You got a problem with any of that?”
“No,” I said. “Thank you.”
I watched as she maneuvered herself around the corner to the kitchen. Then I faced Camden. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I told you already. After Tamara dropped me off, I worked on the gutters for a while and then decided to get some cheeseburgers for dinner. I remember walking over to Food Row. I remember thinking Wendy’s might be better than the Quik-Fry, and the next thing I know, I’m lying on the sidewalk with my arm nearly out of its socket, and Angie is saying, ‘are you okay?’”
“Were you able to walk home?”
“With her help. I was really disoriented, but she knew where Grace Street was.” His eyes were larger than ever with worry. “Randall, I’ve never blacked out like that. When I have those really deep visions, I’m always seeing something, even if it’s something I don’t understand.”
“I wonder why you couldn’t have been rescued by something human.”
He started to give me a withering reply, but was interrupted by Angie’s slow return to the sofa. She had a sort of shuffling walk, arms swinging forward as if to propel the rest of her. I couldn’t imagine how she’d been able to react fast enough to save him.
“Okay, kid, here’s some more ice. If your pal’s going to stay, I’ll get on home.”
I took the ice and wrapped it in the dishtowel. Camden thanked her and was going to say something else when Rufus came in the front door and saw Angie, and Angie saw him. They stopped and stared at each other. I swear I heard an audible “boinnng” as their eyes met. Rufus looked as if one of his construction buddies had whacked him with a two-by-four. Angie’s eyes glowed with the delight of a tyrannosaurus rex spying a limping stegosaurus.
Like me, Camden had difficulty controlling his expression. “Angie, this is Rufus Jackson. Rufus, Angie Dawson. She saved my life this afternoon.”
Rufus came out of his stupor. He grinned. “She can save my life, too, if she likes.”
“In your dreams,” Angie replied, but she grinned, too.
They shook hands. Camden and I winced at the crackle of bones, but this hearty exchange of strength sealed Rufus’ fate. His smile now took up his entire face.
“What’s all this about saving Cam’s life? You okay, Cam?”
“Fine,” he said. “I just wasn’t paying attention.”
Angie decided to be equally modest. “Wasn’t no big thing. He’ll be more carefu
l next time.”
“Well, I was just on my way to the Crow Bar for a drink,” Rufus said. “I’d be mighty pleased to buy you a drink to show you my appreciation. Cam here’s a good friend of mine. You can tell me all the details.”
“I believe I’d like that,” she said.
The two of them lumbered out to Rufus’ car, a blue Bigfoot truck with the obligatory giant wheels, gun rack, deer lights, and mud flaps printed with silver silhouettes of naked women. He’d rejected my offer of a pair of fuzzy dice, saying that would be tacky. They managed to squeeze in, looking pleased with themselves and ridiculously shy. If the giant tires sank a bit, it wasn’t noticeable.
I came back to report this to Camden. He sat up and slowly rotated his shoulder, wincing. “As Rufus says, a perfect match. She must have been fated to come here.”
“Don’t start with that,” I said. “You don’t know what’s going on any more than I do.”
“Just don’t tell Kary about this. She’ll fuss.”
“As long as you agree to see a doctor. I don’t like this blacking out business.”
“What kind of doctor? You think a doctor would know what’s going on? A witch doctor, maybe.”
“I’m sure there’s one in town.”
“It’s this damn talent.” He rubbed his forehead. “I suppose as I get older, it’ll manifest itself in all sorts of screwy ways. That’s something to look forward to.”
“You’re really cheering me up.”
“On top of everything, I didn’t get the cheeseburgers.”
“Well, if you’ll stay put, I’ll go get some.”
“I’ll stay right here.”
Because it was past five, it took me about thirty minutes to drive to Food Row, get the cheeseburgers and drive back. Camden was still sitting on the sofa, but he looked so odd, I said, “Camden? You okay?”
He gave me an unfriendly stare, stood, and drew himself up. “My name,” he said in a cold voice, “is John Burrows Ashford.”
Holy shit.
Okay, I’d play along for now. “David Henry Randall,” I said with equal stuffiness.
