Forty-Four Box Set, Books 1-10 (44) (149 page)

He giggled and I could tell the vodka was working its magic. I poured him another. He reached for the glass but then took out his phone, snapped a picture of the drawing, and wrote a few lines.

“Mo’s on stage tonight, but she’ll get back to me eventually.”

“Good thinking,” I said.

David downed his shot and filled up again, offering me some more but I waved him off. I told him I needed to keep a clear head for the morning.

“Hey, are you going to tell Ty about what went down out there tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll catch him up tomorrow.”

I wasn’t looking forward to it. It wasn’t easy balancing honesty in a relationship with trying to protect the other person from needless worry. And that’s what Ty would do. He would worry and then I would feel guilty about doing what I did. And helping the ghosts was usually hard enough without the guilt.

“I think you should call him now and have him come over,” David said. “I wouldn’t mind a little back up tonight, if you know what I mean. I bet he could swing this bad boy something fierce.”

He held up the bat.

“We’ll be okay.”

“All right,” he said. “If you say so. But I think you should come and sleep in my room tonight.”

I laughed but then saw that he was serious.

“Come on. I promise not to put a move on you. I will be an absolute gentleman. And it would make me feel better having you right there. There’s plenty of room for the two of us and an army of Russian figure skaters. Your sister’s bed is like the best, softest, biggest bed I’ve ever slept in in my life. How much did that thing cost?”

“A lot. Kate knows how to take care of herself.”

David’s nerves and tongue finally started loosening up and he caught me up on a month’s worth of Hollywood gossip. By the time he was done, it was one in the morning.

I followed him as he stumbled down the hallway to his room, bat in hand.

“Okay,” I said. “But on two conditions. First, you have to move that turtle. And you better stay on your own side all night.”

“You say that now,” he said, giggling.

He stopped at the doorway and turned around. Then he leaned over and gave me a soft kiss on the back of my neck.

“I mean it,” I said, pushing him away. “Now and till the cows come home.”

“Moo…”

CHAPTER 35

Chef Dubois threw the plastic spoon in the trashcan and shook her head.

“When a chef performs with such a lack of concentration, it is the cuisine that suffers.” 

It was my sauce she had just tasted and my lack of concentration she was talking about. And the worst part, even worse than having 20 students eyeballing me as I stood there on the medieval torture device
du jour
, was that she was absolutely right.

I had been thinking about the tattoo man for hours, doing the measuring and stirring and melting on auto pilot. In the end my sauce crashed and burned. There were no survivors.

“
Mademoiselle
, this is not a sauce,” Dubois said. “It has not been done correctly in the beginning stages and does not earn a passing mark. I suggest that you begin again.”

“Yes, okay… ah, sure,” was all I could manage to say, sputtering out the words clumsily while my face grew hot and prickly.

I kept my eyes down as I heard those heels click away toward her next victim.

It left me feeling stupid and disappointed in myself. With my recent triumph in the lecture class, I felt like I had turned a corner. Now that felt more like a fluke. Like this was the real me. Abby Craig, Grade A Screw Up.

“Oh, c’mon,” I said under my breath. “You’re better than that.”

But maybe I wasn’t. They say the proof is in the pudding. In this case, it was in the sauce. And the sad part was that this wasn’t even rocket science. It was a fairly simple procedure that I had practiced at home without any problems. I knew how to make it smooth and creamy, not like chunky vomit. But knowing it and doing it with three hours of sleep were two different things. 

I went to wash out the pan and when I returned, the professor was finishing with Allison, who to my surprise was smiling a normal smile.

I turned on the burner.

Butter. Flour. Heat.
One Buffalo.
Focus.

I poured the liquid in slowly. I tasted it, added some salt, and then tasted it again. It was pretty good and had no lumps. But it didn’t matter, at least in terms of a grade. By the time I was finished, class had ended and Chef Dubois had left the kitchen.

I went back to thinking about the case. I had seen the man at the church for a few seconds. And he had seen me. From that one brief encounter he had somehow concluded that I was on to him. That I knew what he had done. It seemed a little paranoid, but when you’re a murderer on the run you can’t be too careful. Maybe he had seen me on my failed stakeout. And then again last night.

“You seem distracted,” Miguel said, coming over.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess.”

“Just don’t forget to find time to study for that nutrition test. It’s half our grade in that class. And the better you do, the better your internshi—”

He didn’t finish. The way things were going, talking about me and internships in the same sentence would be a joke.

“Yeah, I know. I won’t forget that test. It’s been weighing on my mind.”

We walked over to the restaurant and checked in. Then I went outside to call Ty. I told him I’d be over, but not until late.

“I’m going to try to go to the gym after Back Street. Then I’ll head home, pick up a few things, and then I’ll see you when I see you.”

“You know, Abby, you could use that drawer I cleared out for you and eliminate some of this back and forth business.”

I was quiet.

“You still there?” he said finally. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, suggesting that you store a sweatshirt or two in my house. I mean, who knows what that could lead to, right? I’ve heard that it can be a gateway drug to marriage. Best to proceed with caution.”

“It’s good to have a Plan B,” I said after a pause.

“What?”

“If the beer thing doesn’t work out for you, I mean. Because it sounds like you could try your hand at nag up, I mean stand up.”

I heard him laugh.

“Okay, but seriously, the drawer’s here for you whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll surprise you one of these days.”

The sound of heavy breathing came on the line.

“What is that?” I said.

“That’s me not holding my breath.”

CHAPTER 36

I had been conflicted about what to say to Charlie Modine when I saw him. I wanted to tell him that I had made contact with the tattoo man, but I knew that would just get his hopes up. I wasn’t sure that was justified. Basically, after a night of chasing a killer through the dark streets all I had learned was that he was still around. And that he didn’t want me around.

I was alone in the test kitchen, putting away dishes and thinking about maybe not telling him at all, when I smelled smoke.

“Long day?” Charlie Modine said.

“Yeah, and it’s only going to get longer.”

He took a drag and blew out a thick stream my way. I started on the silverware and decided to spill it.

“I saw him,” I said. “And I talked to him.”

“What did he say?” he said, his eyes growing large.

I gave him the rundown.

“So he threatened you?” he said, shaking his head.

He started pacing and cursing, his energy swirling wildly around him.

“Maybe it’s not so bad. I mean, why would he worry himself with me? He doesn’t know I’m working for a ghost. I don’t have any proof. I don’t even know his name. Bend’s not such a big place. So he saw me twice in the span of a week. So what? He can’t begin to think that I know he murdered someone three years ago all the way across the country. That’s crazy talk.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Modine said. “This guy doesn’t play around. Look what he did to my wife. I’m afraid you’ve crossed a line with him. The same one Sarah crossed. There might not be any going back.”

“But he warned me,” I said after a while. “Why would he bother to warn me if he was thinking of doing something more?”

“You gotta wake up, Abby. I get it, I get it. You’re naïve about these things. You live here in this sleepy little town in this cornpone state and you don’t know how things work out in the real world. That’s why you’ve got to listen to me. I would tell you to take his advice and back off, but it might not do any good. You’re past the point of no return on this thing. I’m sure of it. And ruby slippers aren’t going to get it done here. You’re going to need something more. A little help.”

At first I wasn’t sure what he was saying, and then it hit me.

“You mean like a gun?” I said.

He threw down the stub and adjusted his scarf.

“At least a gun. Don’t you see? Right now you’re the only one, the only one alive, who knows what he did. All this time he’s been thinking he got away with it. Killing Sarah. That he’s in the clear. Do you really think he’s just going to walk away and leave you alone?”

“Really, a gun?” I repeated.

I swallowed hard. Even as I whispered “Jesus,” part of me couldn’t help but feel that he had a point. I took in a long, deep breath.

Charlie Modine was right, I decided. It was time for some help all right. But not the kind of help he was talking about.

CHAPTER 37

It was time for a little help from the other side.

The next morning I hopped in the Jeep and drove over to the church again.

If Charlie Modine was right about the tattoo man’s intentions, there was no point in backing down. It was too late.

I would have to finish this thing.

The only problem was that I felt much closer to the beginning than to any kind of resolution. After all this time, trying to get some sort of lead that would tie the killer to the crime, I was nowhere. I had no address. I had no name. I had nothing.

I walked up the stone steps and waited, staring out past the city, the alpenglow lighting up the mountain in the distance to the west. Even though I could only see it in black and white, it was still beautiful. A subtle warming trend had drifted in, sending morning temperatures soaring into the low 40s. The snow was melting off trees and rooftops and falling in big clumps to the ground. It all whispered of spring.

A few minutes past seven, the priest shuffled out of the church, nodding when he saw me standing there.

“I was hoping you would come back, child,” Father Grady said, smiling.

I gave him a hug. He smelled of incense and ivory soap, just like when I was a kid.

“How are you?”

“No complaints,” he said, touching his chin. “Although I didn’t have time to shave this morning. I overslept.”

I didn’t know what that meant exactly, but the idea of a ghost shaving and oversleeping made me grin.

“Have you come for spiritual guidance?”

I looked up at the cross and my eyes lingered there a little too long, releasing a memory. I pulled myself away.

“In a manner of speaking,” I said. “I need your help.”

“Of course. Of course. How may I be of service?”

“I’m trying to track down a man who comes here sometimes. I need his name or an address. Something like that.”

“Oh dear,” he said, tilting his head and rubbing it slowly. “I’m not sure I can be of much help there. You see, even if I know him and no matter how much I’d like to help you, it wouldn’t be ethical. The church is a place of refuge, a place of sanctuary, and I cannot betray that trust. What would the Man upstairs say?”

“I wouldn’t want you to do anything that was wrong,” I said. “And I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble.”

“Well, why don’t you tell me more about what you’re up to?”

I smiled and nodded.

“I’m trying to help someone. Someone who’s in a lot of pain.”

“That’s admirable,” the old priest said. “But there are things far worse than pain, my child. Far worse.”

“It’s not just that. There’s more. It’s about righting a wrong and finding justice. And I think now it’s become a matter of life and death.”

“That does sound serious,” he said, wiping at his sleeve. “What can you tell me about this poor soul you’re trying to help? What is the nature of his pain?”

“He lost his wife,” I began. “She was killed.”

“I see, I see. Wait, was this man with you that one time, by your car? The smoker?”

“Yes, he—”

“I’ve seen him before, on more than one occasion,” Father Grady said. “He stays down on the street. He keeps his distance. But even from afar I can tell he’s a tortured soul. There’s something that’s weighing on him. Some terrible burden.”

I sighed and looked out. I knew he meant well, the kindness radiating out from his ghostly soul, but we were getting off track. I hadn’t come to talk about Charlie Modine. I needed something on the man with the tattoo.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s what I’m trying to do. Finding this other man would help to lift the burden.”

The priest clasped his hands behind his back and shuffled around on the stoop.

“No, I don’t think that’s true.”

I didn’t want to be disrespectful, so I kept quiet.

“You see, Abby, your friend refuses to acknowledge something he’s done.”

The suicide. Now it made sense. Of course Father Grady would know about the suicide.

“He has completely blocked it out. And until he accepts responsibility for his actions, he can never ask for forgiveness and he can never find his true place in God’s plan. This is where you can be of assistance. Help him see what he has done.”

I had heard that in the eyes of the Church suicide didn’t guarantee eternal damnation the way it had in the old days. It was still considered wrong, but compassion was supposed to have replaced a lot of the black and white judgment of the past. But, then again, Father Grady was
of the past
. Old school through and through.