Reilly 13 - Dreams of the Dead (31 page)

“Wow,” they said. “Thanks. That’s the biggest tip we ever got.”

She didn’t waste time admiring her handiwork. Instead, she got busy on the phone. “Someone I’m wondering about,” she said. “How sick is the wife, exactly?”

T
he new chairs arrived at nine thirty Tuesday morning, three for the front office, two for Nina’s office, eight for the conference table in the library.

“Thirteen new chairs?” Nina said. “I don’t remember anything about that many.”

“Negotiated a deal for more chairs for the same money,” Sandy said.

In Sandy-speak, that meant Nina would be devoting a little time to some free legal advice for the owner of the shop.

The Russian deliverymen took out their box cutters and got to work on the boxes in the front office while Sandy continued to field phone calls.

All the chairs were the same, hypercontemporary, veneered to a high luster, with rounded arms and copper-colored upholstered seats. As the chairs were freed from their wrappings and placed around the office, the whole place seemed to sit up and straighten its collar, and even the Russians started to joke around. Nina gave them espresso to keep them going, and in an hour the makeover was complete. One more
Do svidanya
, and Nina and Sandy were alone again.

They sat in the new chairs across the room from Sandy’s desk. Nina stroked a hand along the smooth wood arm. “Very nice, Sandy.”

“Nice?”

“Fantastic. Really improves the look and feel of the place.”

Sandy seemed to like that better.

“Listen, I need you to cancel my ten-o’clock appointment this morning.”

Sandy looked at Nina’s schedule. “You mean the one at JoJo’s Beautiful You?”

“I can’t leave. All the disasters of the weekend have to be addressed. I can get a haircut when I’m dead.” Although once in a while while she was alive would be helpful. Buns didn’t work anymore. Even clips had a hard time keeping her flyaway blur of long hair controlled.

“You work seven days a week,” Sandy said, eyeing Nina. “Go on, you have one hour.”

Her hair must really need work. With this rare permission, and in spite of everything pending, Nina went down the street to the nearest haircutter, where she took out a picture of what she wanted and showed it to the stylist/owner, JoJo.

“Like you got, only shorter?” he asked.

“Well, you know. Like what I have, only work some magic on
it,” Nina said. They went to the sink and he washed her hair. “It’s so flat on top,” she said, eyes closed, his hands massaging her soapy scalp.

“Too heavy. Too long,” JoJo said, holding a handful. “Blow all over the place. Not even a style. Bet you wore it like this since you were a teenager.”

“You bet right.”

“You a young woman yet. This?” He fluffed a towel through her hair. “This is not right.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I have ideas.”

“Two inches off, blunt cut, like the picture,” Nina said, meaning the picture of the beautiful model with hair not at all as unruly as her own.

“I don’t tell you how to defend clients, agreed? So you trust me.” JoJo giggled, then installed her in his swivel chair and began razoring her hair in sections and giving her tips on how to avoid split ends.

Eric Brinkman walked into the beauty shop. “Sorry to interrupt. This couldn’t wait.”

“Sandy told you where I was?” Nina said, mortified.

“After I lobbied intensely and resorted to some low fibbing. You look like a judge with that white band around your neck and the black cape.”

“You want me to stop?” JoJo asked.

“God, no.” Having already invested a good twenty minutes in this venture, Nina said, “Give us a minute, okay?”

JoJo went to speak with the girl up front. Around them, hair-cutters clipped, absorbed in conversations with their clients.

“So, Eric,” Nina said, not happy to see him, her hair half-cut, a nylon bib covering her chest, feeling about as vulnerable and abased as any other woman on earth who looked like hell in front of an attractive man.

Eric stood in front of a shelf of hair products. He still wore his
sunglasses; outside, the fickle day had begun with a brilliant sun but had now degenerated into a white overcast that might mean snow showers. “I have an appointment in a few minutes, but I wanted to update you on the tip about the body.”

“Is this confidential?” Even though JoJo and the receptionist were far enough away for privacy, Nina was careful when she could be.

“All in tomorrow’s
Tahoe Mirror
, but I thought you might want to know ahead of time.”

“I do. Go.”

“First of all, I just came back from the hospital. Philip had a good night. No complications.”

“Thank God.”

“I also spoke to your friend Sergeant Cheney. He says the grave was thoroughly cleaned out except for the remains of part of a blue tarpaulin found under a couple of inches of dirt. The preliminary opinion of the forensics team is that there really was a body in there up to very recently. There were tree limbs moved, and the snow condition indicates the removal might even have happened within twenty-four hours before the digging equipment was sent in.”

“Did they find any evidence as to who it was?”

“Not yet, though they’re just getting started.”

Nina said carefully, “What about the tarp?”

“They’re looking at it today, testing it for body fluids, hair, that sort of thing. Evidently they only have a strip about six inches long that was accidentally left behind, so they’re not expecting much. The anonymous tip is the thing Cheney’s pushing right now. It has to be someone involved in the sale who didn’t want it to go through.”

Nina shifted in her chair. Quite a lot of hair had already fallen over her smock, and Eric seemed to be stepping on brown hair too. “That sounds like good reasoning,” she said. In the mirror, she looked strange. Halfway through a haircut, she thought. Normal kind of strange.

“The question is, did the same party who e-mailed the tip remove the body?” Eric asked.

“Why would someone do that?”

“I don’t know. It makes no sense on the surface. Maybe the forensics have been faked and there never was a body in there. I’m going to find out. Nina, don’t take this wrong, but I’m thinking van Wagoner is in this up to his eyeballs.”

“What? Why think that?”

“I suspect he sent the tip. Turns out, it’s a false tip. I don’t know what his game is, but he’s not trustworthy. I think you should separate yourself from him for the duration, Nina. He’s not on this case, but he acts like he is. I don’t like it.”

“You suspect he sent the tip. Any evidence of that?”

“I’m working on it.”

Nina thought, I am not going to out and out lie about this. What do I say? “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to tell Philip Strong about my suspicions as soon as the hospital okays, it and make sure you’re instructed to keep all further developments away from Paul van Wagoner, Nina. Sorry, but you’re going to be compromised otherwise. I know he’s your friend.”

“Why are you focusing so hard on Paul?” A female part of her felt vibes, the way he looked at her so intently, the way he was looking at the only part of her not covered by hair or cape, her feet in their extravagant designer heels.

“He appears so certain Jim Strong is dead,” Eric said reasonably, moving his eyes back to match hers. “I watch and I listen. He’s said it enough and I hear it in his voice. He believes it. He knows something. Stay away from him, Nina, please.”

“I have to think about what you’re saying. I may need more proof than—”

“You’ve got no business talking to him about my case.”

Nina raised a hand out from under her smock. “We’ll talk more about this.”

“We’ll stay in touch, okay? Meanwhile, I have to go. Be careful.”

The tinny bell rang as the door closed behind him.

“He’s upset,” JoJo said, returning. His scissors, razor, and comb flew around her scalp. “You got man trouble?”

“No. He’s a colleague.”

“Had that look. You know, when I was in Folsom, I saw men like that. Jealous. I ought to know,” the stylist said, and went back to his cutting. “He likes you down to your little toes.” JoJo wore a long-sleeved sweater, but starting at the right wrist a huge blue dragon poked its nose toward his fingers. “Hold your head straight, darling,” he commanded. “I did two to five for a drug offense. It worked out for me though. I found my religion and I learned how to cut hair. Also learned to avoid jealous men.”

“That’s interesting. I thought they didn’t allow prisoners to use scissors at state prisons.”

“Very dull scissors. Terrible haircuts. Now I have the best. I’m using a really good razor on you.” He set down the blow-dryer. “No more flat head. See? How do you like it?” He handed her a mirror so she could see front and back at the same time.

Nina didn’t recognize herself in the mirror, once all was said and done. However, on the bright side, she liked the woman with well-controlled thick brown hair that stared back at her once she recovered from the shocking change.

“It’s a really hot style right now called a shag. Vintage. Jane Fonda in
Klute.
You come back, we’ll put in some streaks.”

She tipped a pleased JoJo, then, walking toward the door of the salon, called Sandy.

“How’d you come out?”

“Radically altered, kind of like our office.”

“He is radical. That’s why I recommended him.”

“Thanks for the advance warning.”

“And here’s that address you wanted. She’s home right now. Why are you going there?”

“Paul asked me to talk to her. Said she wouldn’t talk to a man, didn’t trust them.”

“You should be focused on Philip and his troubles, not some random murder.”

“I should, Sandy. But Paul said something funny. He said the cases are connected. Said he could swear it. We couldn’t talk long enough for him to tell me exactly why.” Nina remembered that night, when primal instincts took over the Paul she knew. He had killed, and he could justify it. He could probably justify this.

“Well, don’t be long. You have things you should be doing.”

“I won’t.” Nina opened the door to exit the salon, and JoJo blew her a kiss.

“Beautiful you,” he said. “Tell all your friends!”

C
yndi Backus/Amore’s best friend lived in the Tahoe Keys.

Nina pulled up to a two-story stucco house that could have existed in Fresno and parked. She hadn’t spent a lot of time in this area in years, not since her first murder case. She stepped out, locking her RAV with a beep. Today, so close to the lake, she felt an almost balmy day sweep over her like warm water. Maybe spring had come to the lake at last.

The Tahoe Keys, a beachfront development on Tahoe’s shores that had been built in the early 1960s, held standard suburban houses with docks on small, man-made keys that fed into the lake. Euphegenia Delmonica, Cyndi Backus’s best friend, did not live directly on the lake. She lived on the cheaper side, across the street, a few steps away from the water.

Euphegenia did not open the door after the first ring. Nina could see herself being examined in the sidelight next to the front door. Finally, the door opened, slowly and suspiciously.

Nina introduced herself. Tall as a showgirl and as pretty, with a perfect nose, a nice rack, and a pink cashmere sweater over gray wool pants, Euphegenia wanted to look at Nina’s ID. Finally, she nodded at Nina and let her inside.

Right inside the doorway, without fanfare, Nina found herself dumped into a teal and purple living room.

“Take a seat,” Euphegenia said, and brought Nina a drink.

Nina accepted the glass, sitting on a chair with arms barely wider than her hips. “You’re—”

“Feel free to call me Genie.”

“Right,” Nina said, relieved. “Mind if I ask why you didn’t want to see the man who is investigating Cyndi’s death for the family? Mr. van Wagoner?”

“I used to like men. Not so much anymore. I look for a day when we can collect babies from sperm banks and dispense with the man thing. Leave them the hell out of the picture. Okay, granted, bed’s good, but then you’ve got—what?—a child to raise on your own for eighteen, maybe thirty years, and you’re stuck to a jerk for life who comes and goes full of demands, giving you not a damn thing.”

Nina heard a world full of pain behind the words. She wondered if Genie had a baby to take care of alone, but she heard nothing except a distant radio playing. Well, it was not her business to know who or what had hurt Genie so much. She thought of her life raising Bob, mostly alone, and remembered that Kurt was leaving. Partly to give herself a little time, she took the iPad from her bag and quickly reviewed the crime and the few details she knew for sure connected Genie with Cyndi. “I’m here to find out more about your friend Cyndi Backus.”

“A man killed my best friend. I hope he dies and roasts in hell for eternity. If you need to know my kindest thoughts on the matter.” Her green eyes sparked.

Okay, generally speaking, the murderer, in Nina’s limited experience, would not think and certainly wouldn’t blurt out such a thing. Nina took a breath and a moment to take in her surroundings.

The home appeared to have been remodeled sometime in the eighties. Beams on the ceiling, once brown, had been repainted beige. A glimpse of the kitchen from the living room revealed not contemporary granite but sparkling, aging Formica on the counter-tops with an electric-coil stovetop. Fragile-appearing, tall, angular windows in the living room showed no sign of replacement by more modern double panes. On the plus side, a view out those large windows revealed a partial view of the lake as blue as her brother Matt’s eyes.

“Tell me how you knew Cyndi.”

“How? How about how long? I knew her since we were fourteen. We met in our English class when we were in eighth grade with Mrs. Rappaport. Cyndi transferred up here from Inglewood, showed up two weeks into the first semester wearing a skirt so short it pretty much exposed her butt, along with thigh-high leather boots.”

“I take it that’s not the way most of your class dressed.”

“Oh, hell, no. But I had never met a girl like her, so sure of herself. So sure of her sexuality. She was a revelation to me. Most of the kids shunned her, but I made friends with her right away. Her mother liked me, probably because I revered Cyndi and she saw that.”