Now that I thought about it, Racy Ladies didn’t sound like a legit name for a whorehouse; it was more like a catchy name for a tourist attraction. Which it was.
But I wanted to be sure. “Was it here in Rawhide?”
“Well, of course.” She shaded her eyes and squinted at me.
“Who are you, anyway?” She pushed the tray and TV aside and squirmed restlessly in the bed.
“I’m a friend of the Kid, Kate,” I said, readjusting the pillow behind her head and smoothing the covers. “I just wanted to know what the Plumber Street house looked like, is all.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” She huffed querulously, motioning me to the dresser. “There’s pictures over there. In the top drawer.”
I got them, eagerly thumbing through to see if any showed buildings. “I think I’m staying in the Plumber Street house, Kate. It’s been turned into a bed and breakfast—a kind of hotel. I might even be in the room you used.”
“Is that right?” she asked, but I wasn’t certain she understood.
“Here, is this it?” I took a small, severely cracked photograph to her and adjusted the light over her shoulder. The picture showed three women standing in front of a house that looked very much like The Racy Ladies Bed and Breakfast.
She held the picture up close to her thick glasses. “That’s it. And this here is me,” she put her finger on one of the women, “and that one on the end is Clarise Bagwell; she run the house. The Kid couldn’t stand her. He used to sneak in the house all the time. We’d feed him dinner, take care of him. He never paid for anything. Hid out there a time or two when the law was after him. He knew every hidey-hole in that place. Used to hide his stuff all over that house.”
Something, the secretive connotations of “hidey-hole” maybe, sparked an instant memory, something I’d completely forgotten: being wakened in the middle of the night by strange noises.
“What did he hide?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, clothes and things,” she said cagily. “His belongings.”
Loot was probably more like it. I remembered the fright I’d felt, thinking someone had been in my room, Madam Juju. If the Kid had been accustomed to hiding things there in the past, could he have done so now? Would he have had the guts to enter the room even with Max there? If so, I thought, he must have been desperate. Why? What did he have that he needed to hide?
“He hides stuff in here, too,” Kate said.
“What?” I’d been lost in my own thoughts.
“He hides things in here. Doesn’t think I know what he’s doing, but he can’t fool me. My eyes may be bad, but there’s nothing wrong with my ears.”
“Here? He’s hiding things here in your room?” More jade?
She threw back the covers on the bed, and moved her legs slowly over the side of the bed.
“Wait,” I said. “What are you doing?”
“I’m getting out of this bed. People die in bed. I’m gonna sit in my chair.”
“I don’t think you…” But there was no stopping her. I rushed to help, afraid she might fall. Taking her arm as she slipped out of bed, I got her settled in the recliner with an afghan over her shoulders and lap.
“Look in that bottom drawer over there,” she said, with the eagerness of a child. “He put something in there; let’s see what it is. I want to know what he’s up to.”
So did I. I was certainly as curious as she. The dresser was cheap and the drawer hard to open; they needed some WD-40 around here. I remembered the Kid struggling to get the thing closed, and how slickly he’d covered his actions by pulling out a sweater for Kate when I appeared. I hadn’t suspected a thing. If he’d brought something in with him, it must have been under his jacket.
“This is a sorry place to hide anything,” Kate complained. “I shoulda told him that. People’re always snooping around. Steal ya blind is what they do. I heard tell from a lady down the hall that…”
She chattered on and I got the drawer halfway open, crooked, but open far enough to run my hand under the piles of soft clothing. Nothing. Impatiently, I jerked harder and the blasted drawer came all the way out onto the floor. I swore under my breath, and picked the thing up to put it back on the glides. If I hadn’t been on my knees with my nose practically to the floor trying to see how to fit the drawer in, I wouldn’t have found the newspaper-wrapped package in the empty space under the drawer. I grabbed it, and uncovered a long, flattish green vase beneath two layers of newspaper wrapping.
Its elegance took my breath away, even with dirt still clinging to the cuts and hollows of the carved dragon handles. I remembered something Hildy had said about the “feel” of jade, and for a moment sensed what she meant. The cool stone caressed my fingers and became one with its beauty. I wanted to hold it forever, contemplate the artistry and the play of light on the subtle colors.
“What are you doing down there?” Kate’s words pulled me from my trance. Quickly, I wrapped the treasure up in the dirt-sprinkled paper. My covetousness shocked me. I’d never wanted to own anything as much as I wanted that vase. Reluctantly, I put it back where I’d found it. It seemed well enough hidden from casual nursing home thievery.
I’d have to tell the authorities about it, but was afraid Dwayne would see Kate as an accomplice, particularly with her background. She’d be better off not knowing the piece was here. I rocked the drawer back in place and shut it.
“What are you doing?” she asked again.
“Just closing the dresser drawer.” I hoped she’d forgotten what she’d ask me to do. Could I be so lucky? I rose and went back to her chair. “Don’t you think you ought to get back in bed? It’s really late.”
“No, they’re going to bring me my lunch on a tray. Then nobody can steal my food.”
Good, I thought, she’s off on another track. But then the old threads began connecting and she said, “When’s the Kid coming back? Where is he?”
I sighed. “I don’t know.” It was time to get out of here. “Look, I have to leave now.”
“What did you find? What was in the drawer?”
“Nothing; you were wrong; the kid didn’t hide anything there.” The less she knew the better.
“Did you take it?” Her voice was ripe with suspicion. “Are you stealing from me, too?”
“No, but I’m worried about the Kid, Kate. Can you tell me anything more about who’s after him? Is it just one person, or a bunch of people? What did the Kid tell you? I need to know who’s after him.”
She began to fret again, picking at the stitches in the afghan folded over her lap. “I don’t remember,” she said, fear beginning to build in her voice and on her face. “I don’t know who you are. You’re hiding things from me, aren’t you?”
I touched her soft cheek, and ran my hand over her tufty hair. “It’s okay, Kate. Please don’t worry. Everything will be all right.” May God not strike me dead, I thought. “I’m going to get your lunch now.”
I stopped by the dimly-lit desk where the two aides were drinking coffee and chatting.
“I’ve been visiting with Kate,” I told them. “She insisted on getting out of bed and into her chair. I don’t know if you want to put her back in bed or not.”
“I’ll go check on her,” the older woman said. “It’s not unusual. She doesn’t sleep much at night.”
“Could you take her some kind of a light meal now?”
The two looked dubiously at each other. “Well,” one said listlessly, “I guess we could get her some cereal. She likes Cheerios.”
“And how about some toast and jelly?” I suggested impatiently. “Anything to make her feel like she’s getting a treat.”
“There might be some of that cake left, too,” the blond said, warming to the thought of a late-night snack.
“Thanks. I think she’d really enjoy that, and if there’s any problem about the cost, I’ll be glad to pay.” I gave them my name on a piece of paper.
I suppose I was taking a chance that Kat
e might blow the whistle on me, alarm the aides about me stealing things from her, but I couldn’t worry about that now. I had to talk to Max.
The jade vase had obviously been buried in dirt, but it wasn’t anything I’d seen before. Had the Kid recovered this piece when Phoebe took him to the country?
What had Phoebe meant when she said she had something to show me? If it had been that vase I could understand her excitement, but I couldn’t imagine the Kid turning it over to her. Maybe she’d spirited away a different piece when the Kid wasn’t looking? I just didn’t know. Again, it seemed more and more apparent that another person was involved. Sheila’s dark-haired man? Phoebe could have been working for him, and perhaps murdered by him. If that unknown person had been lying in wait for the Kid at his ranch to find out where his jade was hidden, then the chances were great that the Kid was either dead, or lying in a ditch somewhere, alive, but unable to help himself. How long could he last out there on his own? I had to get Max.
I scurried back to the hospital wing.
“Still up and around?” the night nurse asked as I passed her desk. “You probably ought to get some rest now.”
“Yes,” I said. “The exercise did me good. I think I’ll really be able to sleep.”
“How’s the head?”
“Not bad. Pounds a bit if I move too suddenly, or bend over.”
“Well, we have some Tylenol if you think you need it.”
“Yes, please.” I might as well get what help I could, because I had no intention of staying in bed the rest of the night. I took the medication when the nurse brought it and let her tuck me in. When she left, confident I was settled for the night, I bounced back up and quietly changed into the clean jeans and T-shirt Max had brought for me. I slipped down the hall and out the front door, with no problem. If they wanted to sue me they could.
The brisk wind whipped my hair and brought gooseflesh to my arms. Now and then a strong gust tweaked my nose with the faint scent of wood smoke. I wished I had a sweatshirt. If it weren’t for the wind I would have enjoyed the odd sensation of walking through quiet residential streets in the middle of the night without fear.
There were no cars on the street, though I could hear traffic closer to the center of town. An occasional house showed the glow of a television between a crack in the curtains, or even a front door left open to catch the cool night air.
I hurried as I got closer to Racy Ladies, pushing against the wind, worrying about how I’d get into the place. I had a key to Madam Juju in my pocket, but the house itself would be locked at this time of night. I could always ring the bell and have Rocky or Florie let me in, but I thought they might feel obliged to report the whereabouts of a wayward patient to dear old Dwayne. I wouldn’t risk it unless I had no other choice. I didn’t want to get caught up in endless stupid arguments about why I needed to spend the night in a hospital bed.
If only there’d been phones in the rooms, I could have called Max to open the door for me. On second thought, I was sure he wouldn’t be at all pleased with what I had in mind. Best to take him by surprise, too.
As far as I could tell, Racy Ladies was dark, except for a lone light in the vestibule; this was not surprising for past midnight. I decided to check all the doors first to see if one could have possibly been left open. Rocky claimed to lock everything at eleven o’clock, but…
He didn’t lie. All the doors were tightly secured. I stood on the side porch off the parking lot feeling frustrated, when it dawned on me that the window to one side of the porch railing was to Sheila’s room. The curtain was drawn, but I could see the row of stones lining the sill. Weird as she was, I couldn’t imagine that Sheila would give a damn one way or another if I’d skipped out on the hospital.
I got a handful of gravel from the parking lot and leaned over the railing, tossing pieces at her window. Nothing stirred. Impatiently, I threw what remained in my hand with enough force to wake a deaf person. Again no response. She must be out. Now what?
I straddled the railing and leaned over to get a closer look at the window. It was the old-fashioned type with a thumb lock that holds the top and bottom sashes together in the middle of the window. The sashes weren’t evenly lined up, so I figured the window couldn’t be locked. Wrapping and weaving my legs and feet between the porch rails for support, I reached farther over and pushed up on the sash. Much to my surprise the window opened easily. I hesitated a moment, but quickly convinced myself this couldn’t be considered breaking and entering as long as I officially had a room in the place. More like being locked out, I’d say. And no one could accuse me of sneaking, which implied a certain amount of stealth and quiet. It’s a wonder I didn’t wake the whole neighborhood.
The rock collection on the windowsill clattered to the floor when I slid across the sill on my stomach and when I turned my legs loose of the porch railing they banged against the side of the house with the resonance of a kettle drum. The few minutes hanging upside down, to say nothing of the fall to the floor, set my head to pounding again, and my injuries set up a howling of their own. That last shot of Tylenol had been a good idea.
Dragging myself to my feet, I shut the window, replaced as many of the stones as I could find, and limped painfully toward the door. Just as I grabbed the knob, the door jerked open from the other side, pulling me face to face with a towering Indian wreathed in curls of smoke that snaked across the dark cavernous face and high up into the air.
Twenty-Two
I think I screamed. I know I wanted to, but all I could hear was my pounding heart. The curls of smoke drifted away and I recognized Sheila Rides Horse blocking the door like a monolith. She put her hand on my chest and pushed me back into her room.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice rumbled.
I stumbled back, eyes wide. “What are you doing?” I gasped. She wore her beautiful doeskin dress with a simple headband across her forehead. In one hand she carried a smoking herb bundle and in the other a wand of eagle feathers with strands of bundle-tipped rawhide dangling from the bottom.
“Purifying,” she said, wafting the herb bundle much as a priest would wave a censer. Then she sighed and flipped on the light switch. The apparition disappeared into stolid Sheila. She looked dreadfully tired. She wiped her eyes with the back of the hand holding the feathers. “I’m making peace with my background; maybe that will help. I purified the house.” She held the bundle high, wafting curls of smoke to the four corners of the room. “And what are you doing in my room?”
I lifted my face, inhaling the essence of sage, basil and other herbs I couldn’t identify. Regaining some courage, I spoke quickly.
“I’m sorry, Sheila.” Nervously, I gave her the aw-shucks-we’re-such-great-buddies smile. “All the doors were locked and I needed to get in to see Max. Your window was open”—just a tiny stretch of truth—“so I came in that way. I didn’t bother anything, really.”
She didn’t seem terribly interested. She looked me over carefully. “You got hurt; you could have been killed. I told you to be careful.”
I am being careful, I thought, sidling toward the open door.
“Did you see the dark-haired man?”
“I’ve seen nothing but dark-haired men,” I said caustically.
“Have you found the King of Swords?” she demanded impatiently. This was nothing but serious business as far as she was concerned.
“No,” I said, equally serious. “I did not see the person who bashed me in the head. I’m worried about Kid Corcoran, Sheila. Do you know where he is?”
She went to the window, opened the curtains and stared silently into the night. “He’s under the stars,” she said tonelessly. “Lying on the ground. There’s a dome nearby, and buildings collapsing.” Her voice rose with anxiety. “The Tower! The old man is there.”
“Is he dead?”
Another lengthy pause. “I don’t know.” She turned away from the window and rubbed her eyes. Her voice returned to normal. “His power is gone, but t
hat doesn’t mean he’s passed on.”
“I need to look for him.”
“You need to stay away. You need to hide. Be careful.”
I’d heard this before. I started out the door and stumbled on a stone that darted off my shoe. Sheila snatched it up.
“It’s not a new one, Sheila. I knocked your collection off the window sill when I came through. I picked most of them up.”
“Why stones? It’s like they’re falling out of the sky, trying to tell me something. Why am I being sent stones?”
She wasn’t really asking me, but it seemed obvious and I didn’t need cards to tell me so. “Jade,” I said. “Jade is a stone, a rock.”
“But it was a bush I saw,” she said, still perplexed. “I had a vision, a warning vision. A strange, flesh-colored plant, whose branches were hard as stone, but they grew, wound around me, tried to take my life.”
I edged toward the door, afraid she was wigging out again, then it dawned on me what she was talking about.
“The lotus bud! I’ve seen it. It’s not a plant, Sheila, it’s a jade carving of a lotus bud.” I held my cupped hands upright in imitation, fingers spread and curling. “Buddha’s Fingers.”
“Yes, that’s it,” she said with wonderment. “Jade. I’ll be damned. So it’s about money after all.” She grinned, but it wasn’t a pleasant sight. “I been looking in all the wrong places. Now I can find the bastard.” She pushed me out the door unceremoniously. “I need to go.”
“But the Kid—” The door shut in my face.
I couldn’t get rid of the picture of the Kid, lying injured, or worse, on the ground. A dome, buildings falling down. I supposed it could mean a city, or town. But I’d last seen him in the country and the small weathered barn was as close to collapsing as any building I knew about. Not that I believed in Sheila or her visions, or second sight, or whatever it was called. But she reinforced my fears; I had to do something. I rushed through the dimly lit halls, inhaling the lingering scent of sage, and took the stairs two at a time up to Madam Juju.
Frogskin and Muttonfat (A Thea Barlow Mystery, Book Two) Page 17
