A Bogie in the Boat

by Elizabeth Hunter

  I was back at Caralt’s the next day, more determined than ever to finish the mural while the plumbers were still there. I did not want to be alone with Creepy Leo. I could feel Frank and Vincent hanging out, but I couldn’t see them. Every now and then, I’d get a whisper from the two ghosts, but they mostly left me to my thoughts.

  When I was painting, my mind entered this really clear place, especially when I was doing lines. I was focused on the details, but at the same time, my brain could wander, especially on murals where there was so much busywork. That morning, I let my mind roam to what I knew and what steps I could take that would make Leo Caralt land in a jail cell.

  I suspected Caralt had killed Gabby in the storage unit. I also suspected that’s where Vincent had found them, either in the act or right after. How had Gabby been killed? That I didn’t know.

  You need to call Raul.

  I knew there was evidence tying Vincent to a crime at Caralt’s—the baseball cards in the safe—but I didn’t know if that was enough to make him a suspect in their deaths.

  The police had already found the storage unit, but had they linked it to the murder? Was there any forensic evidence there?

  You could plant some.

  Yes, but what to plant?

  I really needed to talk to Raul. Would his sense of justice be enough to overcome his anger with me? Calling him was a bad idea. Texting him was a worse idea. I needed to ambush him if I wanted him to listen. I grabbed my phone and called Nan.

  “Lindsay? Is everything all right?”

  I put my brush down. “Yeah. Why do you sound like that?”

  “You never call, love. I assumed something must be wrong.”

  She was right. I usually texted. “No, I’m fine, but Raul is pissed at me.”

  “I know dear. I wish there was something—”

  “Can you call Grann Paulette and tell her to invite Raul to dinner at her house? Maybe… make it a requirement for her continued love and good graces?”

  “Does she know why he’s angry with you?”

  “I have no idea. But I can ambush him there and make him talk to me if I know when he’ll be at her house.” Grann Paulette lived just a few blocks from my nan and me.

  “I’m on it,” Nan said. “We’ll sort this out, love. Just finish that mural for that awful man as quickly as you can. I hate that you’re working at that house.”

  “Trust me, I feel exactly the same way.”

  I hung up and picked up my brush and paintpot again. I’d finished the gun, and that had been the last design element. With the major blocks of color finished and most of the shading done, the rest was all line work, and because it was manga inspired, the line work was all black. I didn’t need to worry about texture; this style needed to be as flat as possible. So after the line work and a little more shading, I’d be finished. I could kiss the creepy action figure dungeon goodbye and leave Leo Caralt to his eventual arrest. If I could stay focused, I’d finish in about two more days.

  Which didn’t leave me much time for snooping.

  I needed to find out how Gabby was killed. Vincent had been an overdose, but had he used the same method on Gabby? If Leo had surprised Gabby at the storage unit, how had he found Vincent? Vincent would have fought back. He was pretty built and would have been more than a match for Leo Caralt. That meant Leo had surprised Vincent in some way and overpowered him.

  My thoughts were too chaotic. I needed to simplify.

  Talk to Raul. Find out Gabby’s cause of death.

  Convince Detective Lee to go back to the storage unit and go over it with a fine-tooth comb.

  …something, something, something…

  Creepy Leo lands in jail.

  I had this. Totally, totally had this. I just needed to find out what the “something” was.

  The plumbing foreman walked into the office. “Hey!”

  I turned and smiled. “Hey yourself. What’s up?”

  There hadn’t been too much socializing between me and the guys working on the bathrooms. Other than the occasional inquiry about which facilities were open for business, we kept out of each other’s way.

  The foreman looked around. “That painting is really cool. The rest…”

  I could see him noticing all the boxed action figures in their tiny clear prisons.

  I whispered, “It’s a little weird.”

  He looked relieved. My thoughts must have mirrored his own. “I can’t imagine working in here.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be happy to be done.”

  He narrowed his eyes and dropped his voice. “Yeah, about that…”

  “You guys are nearly finished yourself, right?”

  He stepped closer and crossed burly, tattooed arms covered in silver hair. “I got a daughter about your age.”

  I frowned. “Okay. Cool.”

  “And I’m thinkin’ maybe only a couple of us are gonna be able to be here tomorrow, you know? With those cops visiting… How much longer you think you’ll be working on this painting?”

  “Two, maybe three days. But I’m hoping for two.”

  He nodded. “I’m gonna leave my card for you. And you call me when you’re gonna be here, you get me? It’ll probably be more… convenient for everyone if there was someone in the house with you when you’re working. Make sure you’re not using any bathrooms that aren’t finished and all.”

  My eyes went wide. Did the plumber just offer to babysit me while I was working at Leo’s?

  “So what you’re saying is that if I’m going to be here for another three days, you think that’s about when you guys are finishing up too?”

  He shrugged. “That sounds about right.”

  I had a feeling from looking at their work they could be done by the end of the day if they wanted.

  “I don’t want to cause any trouble,” I said quietly.

  The foreman grinned. “You know plumbers. We work on our own schedule, you know? Sometimes we get emergencies. Can’t help that.”

  Bless him. Bless him. Bless him. All Nickelback love was forgiven if I didn’t have to worry about being in Caralt’s home by myself.

  “Three days,” I said. “I think that lines up with my schedule.”

  “You just make sure it does.” He pulled a bent business card from his back pocket. “I’ll leave this here by your backpack, all right?”

  “Thanks…”

  “I’m Manny. My son is the younger version of me with the beard. His name is Junior. You just let us know and we’ll take care of stuff, you get me?”

  “I get you,” I said. “And my name is Linx. Thanks.”

  “No problem, Linx. Cool name.”

  “Thanks,” I whispered. “Really thanks.”

  He looked around the room. “That painting is very good. You got a gift, young lady.”

  Sometimes—not always, but sometimes—people were awesome.

  Grann Paulette shoved Raul out the door and onto the porch. “Go talk to your friend.”

  “Grann—”

  “You want my accras, you go fix things with your girl.” She shut the door behind him.

  I sat on the porch, rocking back and forth on the swing that faced the walking street in front of Grann Paulette’s house. She had lived on the narrow walking street past Electric Avenue for as long as I’d been alive, and her garden was an eclectic combination of vegetables, sculpture, and flowers that had always filled me with envy.

  Raul had grown up with his grandmother the same way I’d grown up with mine.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “You could have texted me.”

  “You wouldn’t have answered.”

  “You could have called.”

  I turned toward him. “And you could have called, but you didn’t. And you weren’t going to.”

  He sat next to me and pursed his lips. “I would have.”

  “How long?”

  “Eventually.”

  I shook my head. “Eventually doesn’t work for me. Are you mad becau
se I lied to you or because you think I’m nuts?”

  He took a deep breath. “Linx… I am a scientist.”

  “And I’m an artist. You think I don’t feel kind of nuts about all this too?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Okay, tell me this. All these years, when my nan or my mom mentioned seeing spirits or hearing them, did you just think they were lying? Or crazy?”

  He motioned back in the house. “I thought they were eccentric. Like her. The woman who goes to mass five times a week and lights a candle to Saint Anthony for my dad, who’s never coming back, Linx. Sometimes you accept people are who they are and… that’s all. But you’re asking me to believe you—my best friend since we were fifteen—can see souls and spirits. For real?”

  “Yes, for real.” I felt tears prick my eyes. “So you think my nan is a liar. Think my mom is nuts. Think that I’m crazy too.”

  “No, I don’t think you are, and that’s why I’m freaked out!” He dropped his voice. “I mean, aren’t you?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m Ghost Girl, remember? I’ve been living with this since I was thirteen. And I don’t see them every now and then like my nan and my mom. I see one spirit. All the time. His name is Frank Bogle, and he was a detective in the LAPD. He was killed in the line of duty in 1953. And he bugs the shit out of me to help him solve random crimes every now and then.”

  I felt Frank appear over my shoulder. “Keep going, kid. You’re doing great. Raul will come around.”

  Raul said, “So that’s why you’re always asking me weird questions, huh? Because you’re some kind of ghost detective?”

  I covered my face with my hands. “Not… I don’t solve mysteries for ghosts. I just, you know, every now and then Frank sees something or something falls in our lap. And we solve it. You know, just looking into things.”

  “Like this Vincent and Gabby thing?”

  “Vincent is a first,” I whispered. “I am freaked out about that. Because from the time I was a kid, it was just Frank and me. That’s the only ghost I’ve ever seen. And he’s pretty normal.”

  “Pretty normal?” Frank asked. “Kid, I’m not the one with pink hair.”

  “And then Mrs. L tells me there’s a body in the boat behind her house,” I continued, “and suddenly Vincent is there telling me he didn’t do any drugs. He’s dead, but he’s there.”

  “And that’s the part that freaked you out?” Raul’s eyes went wide. “Not being followed around by a ghost since the time you were— I cannot believe I am even saying this.” His head dropped back on the porch swing. “Linx, this is nuts.”

  “You know I’m not lying.”

  “I don’t know that, because if you’re telling me the truth right now, that means you’ve been lying for over ten years, Linds.”

  He never called me Linds unless he was really upset. When he broke up with his first real boyfriend, he called me Linds. When he got a letter from his dad, he called me Linds.

  Raul was really upset.

  “So who am I supposed to believe, huh? Lindsay then or Lindsay now?”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” I said. “I wanted…” I sighed. I was sick to my stomach. I understood why he was angry, but I didn’t know how to explain a fifteen-year-old’s reasoning.

  Raul said, “What did you want? Explain it to me.”

  “When we were kids, I wanted a normal thing. A normal place and person. You and Grann Paulette were the place. You were the person.”

  He looked over his shoulder. The smell of fried plantains drifted out the window, and Grann Paulette was singing along at the top of her lungs to Cesária Évora. Only it was in Portuguese, not French, so half of the words she mumbled. Though music streamed through the house, the radio was tuned to the Spanish news station.

  “This place was your normal?” he asked. “I suddenly feel more sorry for you than pissed.”

  I shrugged. “You didn’t talk about weird ghosts you’d had to deal with or why the dry cleaner on Venice and Main was off-limits.”

  Raul furrowed his eyebrows. “I use that cleaner.”

  “Which is fine, but if you’re my gran, you have to listen to the foulmouthed ghost who lives in the building and likes to make lewd comments about women’s dresses.”

  Raul had nothing to say to that.

  “All I’m saying is that I wanted a normal friend. You were my normal friend. You didn’t look at me and see Ghost Girl. You saw me and liked me. And when we first met, you were the only one who did. Do you really think I was going to mess that up by telling you I had the ghost of a dead cop hanging around me all the time?”

  “That would have put a damper on all the trespassing when we were kids.”

  “Trust me, I got an earful after every fence jump. Frank hates it when I do illegal shit.”

  Raul sat and rocked his heels back and forth, swinging us as the radio blared and more and more delicious smells drifted from Grann Paulette’s kitchen.

  He said, “I understand why you wouldn’t tell me.”

  “But you’re never going to see me the same way,” I said quietly.

  “Linx, how can I?” He turned to me. His eyes were soft and pled for my understanding. “How can I?”

  “I’m the same person I was before you knew.”

  “But if I accept what you’re saying and believe you… then I’m not the same person.”

  I nodded and stood, my heart fallen to my stomach. I shouldn’t have rushed this. I should have given him more time.

  “What do you need?” he asked quietly. “You wouldn’t have done this—asked my grandmother for a favor to see me—unless you needed something.”

  “You’re right.”

  He grimaced. “So what do you need?”

  “Gabby’s cause of death. I know she was dumped in the marina, but—”

  “Drowning,” he said. “But we got the toxicology back. She had a lethal dose of heroin in her system. She would have died just like Vincent if she hadn’t been thrown in the water. We found needle marks in her vein. Bruises on her arm. She was held down and injected. She didn’t have any other marks, so it’s likely that she’d never used heroin before. It probably would have taken effect in seconds.”

  “And Vincent?”

  “Again within seconds. But injecting someone who’s fighting you off is probably pretty difficult.”

  “So he’d have used something to knock them out?”

  “Probably?”

  “Could you use chloroform?” I asked.

  Raul laughed. “Do you really think I know what it would take to knock someone out, Linx? Ask your ghost detective guy.”

  Frank muttered, “Ether’s more likely than chloroform. And probably easier to get. Especially if all you want to do is knock someone out and you don’t care about making them sick.”

  “Would ether show up on a toxicology report?” I asked.

  Raul shook his head. “Not unless we were testing for it.”

  “Got it.” I mulled over the new information. So Leo had injected both Gabby and Vincent with enough heroin to kill them. “Is Leo an addict? How did he get his hands on that much heroin?”

  “Who’s Leo?”

  “The tech executive that I’m doing the mural for.”

  “Wait, that’s who you think killed these two people?” Raul’s eyes were the size of saucers. “And you’re working for him? What are you doing?”

  “I’m investigating Vincent’s death so that hopefully he’ll leave me alone! You think I want another ghost hanging around me all the time? No offense, Frank.”

  “None taken,” Bogie muttered. “That kid can get annoying.”

  Raul said, “So you’re investigating the guy you’re working for? Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, if you’re right, then you’re working for a murderer.”

  I muttered, “I didn’t know he was a murderer when I accepted the job.”

  “I think you need to tell Detective Lee about this,” Raul said.r />
  “Sure.” I snorted. “Hey, superhot cop. I know who killed Gabby and Vincent. I don’t have any proof or anything, but I’m pretty sure I know.”

  “Isn’t there anything that might set him on the right track?” Raul said. “I do not like you working for this guy.”

  “Don’t worry. The plumbers have me covered,” I said under my breath, all the while thinking about what Raul had said.

  “I don’t even know what that means,” Raul said. “Why are you talking about plumbers? Call the police.”

  Isn’t there anything that might set him on the right track?

  Was there? I’d already told Detective Lee I could see Vincent’s ghost. I mean, he already thought I was crazy. Maybe I could just call him up and tell him I thought the murder had happened at the ministorage. He’d probably ignore me, but maybe he wouldn’t.

  Either way, it was worth a shot.

  “Detective Christopher Lee,” a voice answered.

  I was expecting to hear the follow-up in his deep, sexy voice. I’m not at my desk right now. Please leave me a message.

  Nope. No message. It was really the dreamy detective.

  “Why are you working so late?” I sputtered. “I was just going to leave a voice mail.”

  He paused. “Linx?”

  “I didn’t think you’d be working at”—I glanced at the clock—“two in the morning. Why are you working at two a.m.?”

  “Why are you calling at two a.m.?” he asked. “Is everything all right?”

  “I… Yes, I’m all right. I had an idea.”

  Long silence.

  “You had an idea at two in the morning and decided to call me?” he finally asked. “What… what kind of idea?”

  Was his voice deeper? What kind of idea was he hoping for?

  “Um… I actually had the idea earlier in the day, but I didn’t want to bother you, so I was calling when I thought you’d be gone.”

  “So you’re avoiding me.”

  I said, “Didn’t you tell me I shouldn’t be interesting?”

  “Yeah, that was impossible advice,” he muttered.

  I sat up straight on my bed. “Wait, what?”

  “I just mean you’re…” He sighed. “What was your idea, Linx?”

  Okay, we’re leaving the passive-aggressive flirtation alone. Probably a good idea.