Dead Man Talking (27 page)

“What?”

Quinn leaned nearer, all slick smiles and smelling like Flavio. He was too hot to handle, at least in public. In an effort to stay sensible and stay off Greer’s radar except to smile, wave, and look good, I stepped away from the table and out onto the lawn where the crowd wasn’t quite as heavy and there was more room to keep a safe distance. “Ella told you what happened to the art show, didn’t she?”

“Which doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.”

“Which you could have proven like a hundred times if you’d just picked up the phone and called.”

“Been busy.” He sipped his own glass of wine.

“Been annoyed.” I smiled sweetly.

“It’s always good to get all that messy stuff out of the way right up front.” He offered me his arm, and I took it. “I suppose you’ve got to stick around, right? Meet and greet, that sort of thing?”

“I do.” We did a turn around the lawn, and I smiled and nodded to the fans around us. “I suppose you want to know more about what happened to our art show.”

“You realize this is serious, don’t you? Ella says she can’t imagine who could have done it. But she’s worried. She says she thinks you might have a stalker and—”

“I knew that’s why you were here.” I couldn’t help it; disappointment seeped into my every word. “Or does your showing up have something to do with Bad Dog Raphael being here?”

He looked over his shoulder, found Raphael in the crowd, and took a careful look. “It does seem odd. One
day, you’re asking way too many questions about him, the next, here he is, live and in person.”

“Maybe he’s a
Cemetery Survivor
fan, just like you.”

“Maybe.” In one smooth maneuver, Quinn dropped my arm and stepped in front of me so that we were face-to-face. His voice dipped. So did his gaze. When he was done looking me over, he looked me in the eye. “Maybe I wanted to see you. Maybe I really did miss you.”

It was (almost) a remarkably straightforward comment from a man who was usually anything but. Is it any wonder I wasn’t willing to accept it at face value?

“You wanted to know more about the gifts I’ve been finding at the cemetery.” I could have kicked myself for letting that slip.

Especially when Quinn’s eyes lit. Once a cop, always a cop, even at a fundraiser. I could practically see him turn from mildly interested to plenty worried. “Gifts? Ella didn’t tell me.”

“Ella doesn’t know.”

“You’re being careful?”

I laughed. “I’m carrying a voodoo doll with me everywhere I go. Does that count?”

“I’m not kidding.”

“Neither am I.” My purse was inside the memorial so I couldn’t prove it by getting the doll for him to see. “I didn’t realize I had a problem until tonight. I’ll be careful.”

“Good.” He nodded. “Look, if you’re not busy later . . .”

We were on surer footing now. Or at least we would have been if I knew where I stood with Quinn. “I hope you don’t think that’s what you bid on,” I said.

He was not so easily put off. “Three thousand dollars is a lot of money,” he reminded me.

“And I’m worth every penny.”

Quinn backed away. “I bet you have people you’re supposed to be talking to.”

“And you? What are you going to do?”

He pursed his lips. “Oh, I think I’ll wander over and chat up Bad Dog. And while I’m at it, I might as well talk to some people and see what I can find out about the vandalism inside the memorial.” He looked in the direction of the long drive that loops around that part of the cemetery. “My car’s parked over there. I’ll meet you later.”

It wasn’t a question.

But then, he didn’t need an answer.

16

T
hat night gave me a better appreciation for why Sammi had been so mellow ever since Virgil was back in the picture. Not that I knew the details about what happened between Sammi and Virgil. Believe me, the almost-too-up-close-and-personal encounter I’d had with their love life at Team One’s tea was as close as I ever wanted to get. But I did know that by the time Quinn left my apartment the next morning, things were looking up.

I was in a good mood, and it sure didn’t hurt that we’d raised a whole bunch of money at our auction. Five thousand six hundred and twenty-five dollars to be exact, enough for us to earn the twenty-five bonus points we so desperately needed. Who said sex doesn’t sell better than tea?

I also heard from Ella that the Garden View trustees weren’t as mad about the auction as they were thrilled by the publicity we’d garnered at the event, including a
front-page picture (Reggie front and center with Ella racing up to claim him) in the next day’s
Plain Dealer.
Greer got some terrific footage, too. She even admitted it. With any luck, the next episode of
Cemetery Survivor
would show me and my teammates looking like the soon-to-be winners I knew we were.

The best part of the whole thing (well, not counting the Quinn part of the equation) was that plowing our way through the art show disaster and pulling off the auction made my team more of a team than ever. Suddenly, we were working together seamlessly, and by the middle of the next week, we finished the leveling and grass planting, got a trickling fountain up and going just as the judges came by for a look-see, and convinced the city that the tree-lined lane into our section needed re-paving.

Life was good. Quinn and I planned to see each other on both the following Friday and Saturday, and with all that taken care of, I was in a good place to take time for some serious sleuthing.

Did that mean I was going to see Dale Morgan, the guy in prison who might be able to tell me something about the coin buried at Lamar’s grave?

Not a chance! Instead I decided it was time to pay a visit to the scene of the crime.

The next Thursday, I had plans to get out of Monroe Street early, but we ran into a problem with a broken water line. If we let the water run all night, it would ruin our newly planted grass, so though I volunteered to stay there on my own, my team waited with me for the Water Department to arrive. By the time they took care of the leak, it was nearly seven, and that was later than I’d hoped to get started. But it was summer, and that meant it would stay light until around nine. If I was quick, I could use the time wisely. I left the cemetery and got
onto the freeway that snakes along Cleveland’s water-front, headed for the Lake View Motel.

I’m an upper-middle class suburban girl, born and bred, but even I know there are parts of the city that used to be decent and have now been swallowed whole by poverty and decay. That’s where I was headed. Sure enough, when I followed my MapQuest directions to the Lake View, I found myself in a part of town where I was surrounded by empty lots, boarded-up houses, and small factories that looked like they had been locked and shuttered before I was born.

The Lake View stood on a bluff overlooking Lake Erie. The view alone was worth a million bucks: blue water, puffy clouds, a couple sailboats. They say that from some places on the lake’s shoreline, you can actually see all the way to Canada, but here in Cleveland, the only thing visible when you look to the north is water. At that time of the evening, the sun was just slipping in the western sky, and its blinding light added stripes the color of my hair to the water.

Too bad that sunshine wasn’t blinding enough to block out the ugliness that was all that was left of the vacant motel.

I slowed the car and pulled into the pocked parking lot. The Lake View was a long, low building that extended out like an L from a center door with the faded words FRONT DESK over it. Once upon a time, it had been painted white with green trim. These days, the paint was faded, chipped, and cracked. Most of the picture windows that looked out at the parking lot were boarded. A few of the boards were missing, and in this light, the gaping holes left by broken windows looked like eye sockets.

“And you are being way too dramatic.” I reminded myself of this as I parked near the center of the building
and grabbed the file I’d gotten from Quinn. According to the photos in the file, Vera had been killed in room 12. I glanced around to get the lay of the land, and then headed off to my left.

The door to room 12 was either locked or rusted shut, but fortunately, it was one of the rooms that had a broken window and only a few scrappy pieces of board covering the hole. Luckier still, the window frame was no more than a foot up from the brick base of the building. Careful to keep clear of the sharp teeth of glass along the lower edge of the window, I stepped through the hole and into the room where, twenty-five years earlier, Vera Blaine had been beaten and shot to death.

I suppose since I have this Gift and all, I should be sensitive to vibes, or atmosphere, or something. Not so. The only vibe I got from room 12 of the Lake View Motel was the I-can’t-wait-to-get-this-over-with-so-I-can-get-out-of-here vibe. And that had nothing to do with the paranormal and everything to do with the place being rundown, dirty, and just plain disgusting.

The broken window and missing boards let in enough light for me to get a look around. There was no furniture and the rug was gone, too. The cement floor was pitted and wet in spots. If I squinted really hard and used my imagination, I could make out what must have once been beige paint on the walls. It was splotchy and scrawled with graffiti. Apparently, the neighborhood kids knew a good place to hang out and get high when they saw one. There were more than a few empty beer cans on the floor, scraps of a ratty blanket, and a pile of charred sticks that showed someone had once tried to light a fire in the center of the room.

There was no sign of that someone now, thank goodness, and just to make sure there were no critters lurking to surprise me, either, I clapped my hands and stomped
my feet. No scurrying, no squeaks, no squeals. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I’d remembered to bring a flashlight, and I dug it out of my purse and flicked it on, training its light on the crime scene photo I plucked out of the file.

I stood just inside the door where the photographer had been standing when he took the picture that showed the entire room, comparing the photo to the empty space in front of me. It would have been easier if the light was better.

The bathroom door was directly in front of me, and it was closed. If there was a window in there—and if it wasn’t boarded—I knew I could count on a little more light. As it turned out, there was a window that was maybe two feet square, high up on the wall. It was broken but not boarded up. Perfect, except that as soon as I pushed the door open, it swung shut again.

Frustrated, I went back out into the bedroom and looked for something I could use to prop the door. I grabbed one of the sticks from the almost-fire, wedged it between the door and the jamb and when the door stayed open, just like I wanted it to, I congratulated myself. “Good work, Pepper,” I murmured, and while I was in there, I looked around.

The bathroom was no more spectacular than the rest of the place. The toilet and sink were gone and the bathtub was filled with debris. The floor—or at least the parts of it that hadn’t been worn away by time—was black and white linoleum, the wallpaper was kitschy. It was dotted with pink flamingoes and green palm trees, and even though they were faded, they looked too playful and tropical to be part of the decay.

In spite of myself, I wondered what Vera had thought about those flamingoes.

And I shivered.

It was better to concentrate on the facts than it was to get mired in emotional details, and just so I wouldn’t forget it, I stepped back into the other room, all set to get to work.

I would have done, too—if I hadn’t heard someone walking right outside the door.

I hauled in a breath and stood rooted to the spot, watching as a shadow slipped under the door. I held my breath when the doorknob turned, and I thought about darting back into the bathroom and slamming the door, but one look over my shoulder at that window—and one thought about how small and how high up on the wall it was—made me change my mind. If I needed a quick exit, I wouldn’t find it in that direction.

The picture window was my best bet, and with that in mind, I grabbed another one of the sticks from the fire, darted over to stand behind the door, and held my ground.

“Pepper?” A voice from outside whispered my name, but this did not reassure me in the least. I reminded myself that the mugger who’d nearly sliced open my windpipe knew where I lived. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think he might also know my name.

I clutched the branch tighter.

“Pepper?” The voice called to me again, and a head and shoulders popped through the window. “Are you—”

I’d already shot forward, ready to administer a mighty blow, so it was a good thing I stopped myself just as I was about to bring the branch down on Absalom’s head.

“What you doing, woman?” He shot straight back, one hand clutched to his heart. “You nearly scared me to death!”

I leaned forward for a better look, just in case my
eyes were playing tricks on me. It was the first I realized Crazy Jake, Sammi, Delmar, and Reggie were with him. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Maybe we should ask you the same question.” Without further explanation, Absalom stepped over the windowsill into the room. Sammi was so short, it was clear she would do herself some serious damage if she attempted the move on her own, so Absalom lifted her up and hoisted her inside. The rest of my team followed.

Always the spokesman, Absalom shook his head. “Don’t seem like the kind of place a woman like you should be hanging out. What are you up to?”

It seemed only fair to counter with a question of my own. “How did you find me? And why would you follow me in the first place?”

Like he was amazed that I was being so dense, Absalom shook his head. “You been sneakin’ around for weeks, and we all had a talk about it.” Our fellow teammates acknowledged that he was right by nodding. “You’re going to get yourself in some trouble if you’re not careful. Can’t guarantee that voodoo doll I gave you is going to guard against every evil.” A shiver snaked across his massive shoulders. “Especially in a place like this.”