In the Dead of Night (22 page)

It’s probably a good thing she’s only visited our rehearsal room in the daytime. I doubt she’d be nonchalant if she visited the place late at night. Ignoring the likelihood of crack hangouts and other nefarious activities sheltered within the row of deserted warehouses next to our building is like saying Hell is just a campfire. Maybe that’s how she deals with me being there. She’d never try to sway me from pursuing my music dreams when the best shot to make them happen is holed up in Quagmire’s little hangout.

And what about the ninja dude or the owner of the Buick who seems to have a fetish for me? At best, it’s some sick obsession...unless I’m the means to some other end.

Vito Travini’s lucky number eight?

“You’re so silly,” she said, chuckling before she came back over to me. This time, she wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me close. The thing that always makes me think of what I’d
really
like to do with her, alone…later on. “Ed’s convinced that Mr. Travini has left the area. Apparently he’s finished with what he came for.”

“How so?” I asked, frowning. Yeah, I confess to being either amazed or annoyed when she does that…reads my thoughts. This time a little annoyed. “Is this just Mr. Ed’s apple fritter gut feeling, or does he have some facts to back up his assertion?

“Well, smartass, he actually does have some evidence,” she said, pulling away from me. She’s probably annoyed by my annoyance. Her tone got a little bit icy too. “A dark Buick SUV with an insignia matching the one you described was found near Paducah, Kentucky yesterday. The plates were removed, but the VIN matched a recent purchase by Vito Travini. He bought it in New Jersey right after his release from prison.”

“So, it’s not really a van, then?”

That was more a statement than a question. It had to be the same vehicle, but I needed additional information to confirm this as true.

“Not exactly, but Ed said it’s big enough to look similar to a van—especially at night. He told me his contacts on the east coast said this is a classic example of ‘Mafia M.O.’,” she said. “Ditching the vehicle in plain sight in a bordering state is their way of saying ‘hey, we’re done for now...and you better not give us a reason to return’. Blood residue found inside the SUV is being analyzed. If it belongs to Candi or one of the others, Ed told me the Nashville PD will seek to impound it.”

“So, what does your gut tell you? Do you believe we’re really in the clear, and the killer is long gone, satisfied by the seven lives he stole from us?”

Such senseless deaths, as I thought again about our lost friends.

“I’m not sure,” she said, looking away for a moment while shaking her head sadly. “Let me think on that for a little while.”

Her cell phone chirped. Once, and then followed by three more chirps. Text messages from someone.

“It’s Jackie.”

She shielded her handset from the sun so she could read the four messages. In reality one long message that could only be transmitted in sections.

“How are she and Angie doing?”

“Apparently
very
well,” she told me, and then her face lit up. Actually, her mouth dropped open first. “Jackie’s talking about a local television station that wants to do a weekly talk show centered upon the paranormal. Paranormal investigations—what we do! And, they’re really interested in
our
group—NVP—hosting the series!
Can you believe it??”

She nearly shrieked this last part, perhaps unaware of the potential damage to anyone’s eardrums nearby. Namely mine again. Even so, my excitement wasn’t far removed from hers.

“Are you serious??”

“Yes!”

“That’s wonderful news, Fiona!” said Stella, stepping out of the pool with Ryan right behind her.

“I’m hungry, Mommy!” he announced, focused on his growling tummy.

“Me, too!”

Isn’t that how it always works? Little brother’s urgent tone came out shriller than Ryan’s.

“Why don’t I fix you some grilled cheese sandwiches?” Stella suggested, wrapping both boys with towels as they stepped into their flip-flops. She grabbed a towel for herself. “Would you like anything, Jimmy? Fiona?”

“A grilled cheese sandwich sounds pretty good,” I told her, still trying to wrap my mind around Fiona’s announcement. “Do you need any help in the kitchen?”

“No, I’ll take care of everything—you and Fiona just relax with the boys in the living room, and I’ll call you when everything’s ready.”

I must admit, a guy could really get used to such pampering. Fiona warned me it would be like this when we decided to move in for the week. Sort of like the Siren affect on Odysseus and his men, or was that some other Greek myth I’m referring to?

“Thanks, Auntie…I think I’ll pass on the sandwich. Maybe I’ll dip into the wonderful stew you fixed last night,” said Fiona, still reading the texts from Jackie. She smiled even more while nodding her head. “It sure looks like things might
finally
be looking up for us!”

“Well, I sure hope so!” said Stella, motioning for us all to follow her inside her wonderful home after waving to the Goodlettsville cop parked inside her spacious carport. “Lord knows you two could sure use a break!”

***

The day disappeared quickly. Before I knew it twilight had arrived, and instead of planning lunch, Stella and Fiona cleaned up after dinner.

The good news is we’ll be able to rejoin the NVP gang tomorrow night at Tom’s place. One of Nashville’s finest will be in attendance, but I believe we can ignore any smirks or cynical remarks while we review the findings from our last three investigations. I’m a little miffed at myself for not getting a picture of that damned mist last week. So far I’ve only told Fiona about it…and I gave her such a summarized version of events that I’m not sure even she understood the full impact of the experience. I sometimes assume her gifts will fill in the blanks, but it doesn’t always happen.

I look forward to finding out more about the TV series, and I’m assuming we’ll work out the details for the two investigations this week. Then on Wednesday, I’ll rehearse with the band—our final run-through before the big gig on Saturday. I would’ve liked to get one more practice in before the weekend, on Friday, but Mongo has a country gig that night he can’t get out of. Frigging traitor.

Other than the fact Fiona and I must return to our day jobs this week, I’d be feeling really good about this week’s prospects, given all the music and paranormal research excitement going on. But the thing that Fiona told me earlier, about giving her some time to ponder our safety?

After dinner, we all went back outside. The pool area’s an amazing sanctuary, complete with a natural rock spring and waterfall that also feeds the pool. A great place to relax at night, either sitting on the extended patio or in the spa I mentioned earlier.

Not tonight. That fantasy disappeared as soon as my wife brought her tarot cards outside with her.

Stating she felt burdened to ‘take a look’ at what’s going on around us, she normally reserves this kind of reading for her clients and friends outside the immediate family. It’s definitely not a good sign she was doing it for us that night.

I tried to distract myself by playing with the kids in the pool, while Stella relaxed in a lounge chair nearby, sipping a glass of wine. All the while, I wondered what Fiona was picking up from the other side. She chose a table near the pool’s deep end, beneath one of the security lamps. The glow provided sufficient light for her to conduct her reading despite the table’s umbrella. I could see enough of the cards’ reflected surfaces to detect the cross formation she favors.

Some readers say her ‘flow and follow through’ are incorrect. Maybe unorthodox in traditional occult terms, yet Fiona is always accurate. Always.

“Well, Ed’s right about Vito Travini,” she said afterward, out of earshot of the kids and her aunt. She placed her cards back inside her purse. “The cards and my guides gave me nothing about him.”

She shrugged her shoulders, but the wan expression on her face told me this really bothered her.

“What is it, babe?”

“I’m not sure... it’s kind of weird that I didn’t pick up anything on him.” She studied my face before going on. “If he
was
here, I should’ve picked up on his energy—especially after everything Ed shared with us. I got nothing, and my guides were silent.”

“Maybe he’s so long gone from here that he took his black-ass aura with him,” I teased, which was met by a reproachful glance. “Okay, I have no idea what to think about all of this.”

She nodded pensively, and then sighed. Deeply, as if her soul might dissipate if she drew another breath.

“The killer is
still
here…somewhere in our area,” she said, her voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “The guy I’ve seen since this all started? He’s never left.”

The dude with red hair.

Chapter Twenty

“So, do we tell everyone the details from your card reading last night?”

6:30 p.m., Monday evening at Tom’s place. Fiona and I’d just arrived in Stella’s Cadillac, hoping a different vehicle might bring us some luck against the red-headed killer dude still here…somewhere in Nashville. Honestly, that reason was secondary to the fact Stella insisted on Fiona driving her car, since it rarely gets taken on trips of twenty-five miles or more. Ed thought it’d be a good idea too.

Yeah, he showed up in Goodlettsville that afternoon. Though I’m never gonna fall in love with the guy, I think we’re beginning to develop some level of mutual respect. In other words, we’re not nearly as standoffish to one another. The real test will come if we ever have to interact outside of Fiona’s presence. The fur might fly if that happens.

“I don’t know,” she replied, pausing while she finished parking the car inside Tom’s carport. “Tonight might not be the right time to say anything, especially when everyone’s excited about the television show and the fact we can get together again, after a week in isolation from one another.”

Good point.

“But, if this guy goes on the attack again…could you live with yourself by not saying anything?” I persisted. She regarded me for a moment, her eyes welling with tears. I almost moved to smooth over what I just said, but she stopped me.

“I’ll tell them,” she said, dabbing at her eyes so her mascara wouldn’t run. “Just let me do it my way tonight, okay?”

“Sure,” I agreed, making sure I sounded compassionate. Sometimes I don’t, even though I feel empathetic. I’m a bit jaded after spending the last five years at my day gig. “I’ll follow your lead. Should I say anything to remind you if we’re about to leave and the opportunity hasn’t presented itself yet?”

“No…no, that won’t be necessary,” she assured me. “I’ll make sure to do it before we leave.”

That settled, we prepared to join the others. I assumed everyone was there, since Jackie’s SUV sat parked in the carport along with Tony’s truck. Tom returned home last night. The only other person present was the lone metro police officer standing outside the back gate. His patrol car occupied the space between the SUVs. He smiled and waved to us as we got out of the car.

“Fiona and Jimmy…Alea?” he asked, motioning for us to come over to him.

“Yeah that’s us,” I said. Beyond him I could see the tops of Justin and Tom’s heads on the other side of the fence. “Do we need to sign anything to get in?”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” he said, smiling sheepishly. A definite sign this guy had a good personality.

My luck with cops hasn’t worked out so well. Maybe it’s the hair, earrings, and such. Driving a fast car and a Harley does little to help matters, I’m sure. So when I meet a police officer that doesn’t seem immediately hung up on appearances and other external bullshit, I sincerely appreciate it.

Jerry Sloan is the cop’s name. A veteran of sixteen years, as Tom would tell us later, Officer Sloan stands just an inch or so shorter than me and looks like he works out some. Sporting sandy brown hair with the kind of thick moustache Ed should have, instead of the pussy tickler he prefers, Jerry’s intense green eyes make him look like he should be shaking hands at a political rally instead of writing speeding tickets and guarding potential murder victims. But, I was glad to have him there.

“I believe your friends are waiting for you inside, and I’ll keep watch out here if you need me,” he advised, flashing a perfect row of pearly whites.

Even Fiona noticed the man’s physique and charm, raising an admiring eyebrow as we moved through the gate to our buds on the other side. The same rules apply to her as me…lookin’s ‘A-okay’.

“What up, Ale-e-a-a-h-h-s-s?”

Justin was the first one to greet us, with warm hugs for us both. Jackie and Angie quickly followed, squealing ‘it’s Fiona and Jimmy!’ like nubile girls at a Jonas Brothers concert. If not for the separation and the strange circumstances we all found ourselves in, I might’ve avoided the initial contact with our female partners in the paranormal investigation biz  that night. Both girls gave me impulsive pecks on my cheeks, which made me feel like a little kid seeing a long lost aunt for the first time. Good thing the guys weren’t so carried away. Just a quick handshake with Tony and a pat on the back from Tom, our emotionally repressed duo.