The Mystery of the Curiosities Page 11

  “It’s a nice place. They have a cake called Murdered by German Chocolate.”

  THEY DID have the murder cake.

  In fact, Tall, Dark, and Bitter seemed to get a kick out of menu names and didn’t miss a beat from beverage to dessert. The café was up on Twenty-Eighth Street, squished between a yogurt shop and a bank. It was dim inside, with dark-colored walls and tables, and those funky, paper-looking light fixtures from IKEA. There were couches and coffee tables near the back, and a long bar and register to the right as I walked in. A big, fancy chalkboard hung behind, decked out with their colorfully worded menu.

  Most of the tables were full with early lunch-goers, so I took a seat at the bar. I had to squint hard to read the menu from that far away. Jumpstart the Ticker Espresso, Double Shot Heart Attack, Murder She Latte—I was hesitant to drink the coffee here.

  “Howdy,” a young guy said as he slid into view in front of me. “Help you?”

  “Uh, I guess,” I said, looking at him. Was this Roger Trim? He was young enough, but there were several employees mingling about. “I think I’ll stay away from those coffees and get some lunch.”

  “I suggest the Flat on the Freeway Burger.”

  I nodded. “Do I need a tetanus shot first?”

  He smiled. “It’s just a turkey burger. But it’s really good.”

  “Sure.”

  “Want Brains with that?” He leaned over the counter. “Curly fries with ketchup,” he whispered.

  “Ah. Why not. Dead freeway bird and brains, please.”

  He chuckled and wrote the order on a menu pad. “I’ll be back with it soon.”

  I pulled out my cell as he walked through a door that must have led to the kitchen. I picked Max from my contacts and gave him a call.

  “Yo, Sleuthy McSleutherson.”

  “No, it’s Sebastian.”

  “I think I have Sleuthy on the phone,” Max answered.

  I sighed. “Can you send me a picture of the guy?”

  “If by doing so, are you going to do something illegal, and does that make me an accomplice?”

  “No.”

  “Why do I not believe you,” Max said absently.

  “What do you want in return?”

  “A raise.”

  “Fat chance. I’m homeless. If either of us is getting a raise, it’s me.”

  “I’ll take some of TDB’s cake, then.”

  “Done.”

  “All right, I’ll send you a text. Just don’t creep on the guy.” Max hung up.

  My phone vibrated a minute later and a picture loaded. Yup, same guy, except his Facebook profile picture was of him with two straws in his mouth—walrus imitation, I guess. Now I was here, found the guy, and just needed to get a conversation going about his dead girlfriend.

  Sure. That’d go over well.

  I pushed up my old sunglasses and typed into the Internet browser. Sure enough, I found Meredith Brown’s murder mentioned in the news headlines. None too classy either. Suspect Stripper Served Justice! Murderous Mommy Found Dead!

  I bet Calvin was thrilled about those.

  Roger came out of the kitchen a few minutes later with a big plate and set it down in front of me. “Here you are.”

  I glanced up and took the only chance I saw. “Have you seen the news today? This exotic dancer they found dead at the history museum? It said she was a suspect two years ago when her daughter was murdered.”

  Even with my less-than-stellar vision, I could see Roger’s expression slide right off his face. He looked a little sick. “R-Really? Who was she?”

  I feigned ignorance and looked at the phone again. “Meredith Brown.”

  “Holy shit.”

  I looked up. “Did you know her?”

  “That bitch—” He immediately clamped a hand over his mouth and glanced at the patrons nearby. “No, it’s nothing. I, uh, sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I insisted. “You should sit down, though.”

  “I’m fine,” he said defensively, but he looked like he was having trouble holding it together. “Does it… say how she died?”

  “Er….” I glanced at the article. It did not, and Calvin probably wouldn’t appreciate that information being leaked by moi. “No, sorry. Were you acquaintances?”

  Roger looked up and snorted loudly. “As if! She was… was… my girlfriend’s mom. She killed my girlfriend,” he whispered, and now I felt like shit because his eyes were starting to well up.

  I grabbed my napkin and handed it to him, then watched Roger wipe his face. “Oh. I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I really am.”

  “It’s fine, man. You didn’t know.” He tossed out the napkin and handed me a new one from a container. “But I won’t pretend to be sad she’s gone. She treated Wendy like shit. And finally Wendy had had enough, and she was going to move in with me, and we were going to go to school together up in Vermont. We had it all planned out.”

  I nodded. “Why didn’t the police arrest her?”

  “I don’t know. I told them she killed Wendy. With a hammer, dude,” he said, sounding very much like a kid again as he spilled his guts to me. “I can’t… even think about it that much without wanting to barf. I told the police they had been fighting, that her mom was a piece of shit. She was dating the sleazy creep who owns the strip club she danced at.”

  “But how did you know it was the mom?” I tried gently, keeping my voice low.

  Roger frowned and leaned on the bar top. “I mean, I wasn’t there to see it, but it couldn’t have been anyone else. She hated Wendy. Resented having a kid. Everyone knew it too. My girlfriend was amazing. She was so smart. She was going to be a lawyer. Can you believe that?” He picked up a rag from under the counter and scrubbed vigorously at a stain that wasn’t there. “You won’t see me shedding a tear for her mom.”

  “Whatever happened to the hammer?”

  Roger shrugged. “I always thought Meredith gave it to Ricky.”

  I felt myself lean closer. “Why?”

  “I spent more time in the same room with that ass-clown than I ever wanted. He always used to brag about the safe he kept in a little room somewhere behind the dancers’ dressing room. Ricky was always saying that if cops ever came after him, they’d never find anything. Whatever anything was supposed to mean…. Meredith had him agree to her bogus story, so I figured she ran to him after, he hid the hammer in his safe, and it hasn’t been seen since.”

  THE DOOR to Ricky’s was locked. And it had started raining again.

  I moved to a nearby doorway, standing under the little awning and watching my target. No one came or left. I guess lap dances weren’t popular at just after one on a workday. The sky cracked and roared, and a bright flash of lightning tore in between skyscrapers. The rain came in a sudden torrent, rushing down the streets and into drains, washing out the sidewalk, and causing other pedestrians to make mad dashes for awnings like I had.

  “Jesus,” I swore, stuffing my hands into my pockets and suppressing a shiver as the wind picked up.

  What am I doing?

  Being a busybody, that’s what I was doing. I wasn’t somewhere safe, like I should have been. I wasn’t listening to Calvin, and I hadn’t learned my lesson. I wanted to see this through to the possibly bitter end.

  I wanted to prove Meredith Brown killed her daughter, just like the note told me to do. Because I wanted to know what would happen next. I wanted it to bring me closer to who had blown up my home and killed people. And I wanted to understand the Barnum connection when there appeared to be no rhyme or reason.

  So I stood there scowling and waiting.

  The violence of the sudden storm eased over the course of about thirty minutes, but it was still coming down at a steady and freezing rate when a big delivery van came to a stop, double-parking outside of Ricky’s. A guy jumped out of the passenger seat and moved around the back to hoist up the door. From my view it looked like furniture inside, and I suspected some sort of party rental shop. A second man
came around the back from the driver’s side, and they both started pulling carefully packed items from the van.

  The door to Ricky’s swung open next, and a guy stepped out briefly to shout something I couldn’t make out, motion with his hands, and then prop the door open for the movers. He vanished back inside afterward. I perked up, watching for someone else to come out or something to happen, but the door just stood open, and despite the rain, the movers took their sweetass time.

  I stepped out from under the awning, hunching my shoulders as rain found its way down the back of my collar. I walked by the front door, glancing inside. It was dim and hard to make much out, but no one stood there to block me from entering.

  “Should have had this shit delivered on pallets,” one mover griped. “Cheap fuck.”

  “I’m too old to be breaking my back like this,” the other said.

  All right, so they weren’t paying any attention. I looked back at the door and took a step inside before I could think too much about the consequences.

  The club’s lights were low. The place was bedazzled with Valentine’s Day decorations, which was a little strange if you asked me. Loads of gaudy paper hearts and cupids hung from the ceiling. The tables had fake candles and what looked like plastic rose petals thrown across them.

  How romantic.

  I hastily walked through the throng of smaller tables and past the main stage. A stairwell near the back led upstairs, but once I got close, the sign indicated Private Parties. Not what I wanted. Definitely not. I found another door, though, and that said Employees Only, so I walked right in.

  I entered a short hall with three more doors. The first stood ajar and I peeked inside, but it was only a supply closet. The door right beside it was closed, and I could hear a muffled, one-sided conversation. My gut told me it was the same man who’d gone out to greet the movers, since I hadn’t seen any other employees yet.

  Maybe he was The Ricky?

  I moved to the right side of the hall and glanced into the last open door. It was a fairly large dressing room, dark except for one of those makeup mirrors turned on near the back. It cast a weird, sort of uncomfortable glow in the room, and if I hadn’t heard the office door opening behind me, I might not have gone inside.

  “Yeah, I’ll give you a call back,” Suspect-Ricky said as he walked into the hall.

  I dove into the dressing room, bumping into chairs and getting tangled in a robe left on the floor. I looked behind me to see his shape silhouetted against the brightness of the hallway.

  “Yesterday,” he said. “Meredith was my best goddamn dancer. No. Split her bookings between Abby and Jess. They should be able to handle it.”

  The show must go on, I guess.

  “Look, I’ve got guys moving shit in here for the V-Day shindig. I need to go pay them. All right, yeah, bye.”

  I stumbled farther into the room and ducked behind a rack of clothes when Ricky turned in my direction. I held my breath, peeking behind a few garments to see him enter and make his way directly toward me.

  Oh fuck.

  Don’t look this way, don’t look this way, I silently chanted.

  Ricky walked right by the clothing rack and went to the wall. I moved aside a few clothes to peek out and see what he was doing. Ricky pushed aside a table and hoisted a big potted plant out of the way. He crouched down near the floor and lifted something. Suddenly a small portion of the wall swung open.

  Hidden door?

  I perked up.

  I could hear Ricky moving about inside. Getting in once he left seemed easy enough, but the problem was the safe. How could I get the evidence without getting caught and then having it dismissed by a court because I was an asshole? Lying would only make it worse, but I was seriously considering some not-totally-outrageous storylines as to how I could have found the hammer—if it were there at all.

  I fumbled my phone free from my pocket and pulled up a text message. I never thought this recently learned tool would be handy, but I sent Calvin a map of my current location. He’d warned not to find me at a murder scene, and if one were being technical, I wasn’t at one.

  Calvin’s name immediately popped up on the screen, phone buzzing in my hand. I canceled the call and put it back in my pocket. Sorry, honey, not now.

  A woman entered the room just then, crying. She dropped her bag and coat on a chair and wiped her face while walking to the secret room. “Ricky!” She sounded like the same young lady who answered my call the day before.

  “What?” Ricky snapped from inside the room. “I’m busy!”

  “Ricky, I just read in the papers! Meredith, she’s—she’s—”

  “I know, baby,” he called.

  I frowned. Baby was my pet name, thank you very much, sir.

  The girl stood in the open doorway to the room. “Aren’t you going to do anything?” she protested.

  “What the fuck do you expect me to do? She’s dead,” Ricky barked.

  Damn. What an asshole.

  The girl sniffed and gingerly wiped under her eyes. “I knew it. I knew she shouldn’t have left with that guy! He must have… oh my God, poor Mere!”

  “What guy?” Ricky asked, and I’m glad he did, because I almost jumped out of the clothing rack and asked myself.

  She glanced up, staring at Ricky, who was still hidden from view inside the room. “T-There was a guy on Wednesday afternoon who picked her up when we were having a smoke outside.”

  “Who was this guy, Gracie?” Ricky asked, sounding more and more pissed by the second.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think Meredith knew him.”

  “But?”

  “But, I mean, she got in the truck with him. I don’t know why. Poor Mere!” Gracie started sobbing again.

  “You fucking bitch!” Ricky shouted. “You saw the guy and didn’t tell anyone? Meredith was my prize!”

  “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t realize something was wrong!”

  Inside the room, I heard Ricky drop something and then metal grate against metal. The first thing I thought was “He has a gun in his safe.”

  “Ricky?” Gracie asked, her tone hesitant and decidedly scared. She took a step back from the doorway.

  And then Ricky lunged out of the room, wielding a hammer and swinging at the girl’s face. She screamed and stumbled back, tripping on her own feet and falling to the floor. She curled into a ball, trying in vain to protect herself.

  I didn’t have a second to think. A second would have been too long. I dove out from the clothing rack and tackled Ricky from the side, throwing him to the floor and away from Gracie. He swore and swung the hammer, which was still in his grip. I struggled against him, trying to get his arms under control.

  “Get out!” I shouted at Gracie, not bothering to look and see if she was already gone. “Run!”

  I heard her cry and gasp and then the clicking of her heels pounded the floor as she escaped.

  “Get the fuck off me!” Ricky snarled, and he got his foot on my chest and shoved hard.

  I flew backward and landed on the floor. Ricky appeared over me with the hammer. He reached down, grabbed the front of my jacket in one hand, and lifted me toward him. I fought and tried to shove him, but he had a better position and I couldn’t reach his arm when he pulled the hammer back.

  Man… I was one shitty warrior. Save the girl, get bludgeoned for my efforts.

  Ricky brought the hammer down. I struggled and fought violently, managing to miss being smashed over the head. Instead he got me in the side. It was enough to make me gasp and lose my hold on him. I fought to catch my breath, and Ricky raised the hammer again.

  A deafening shot pierced the room.

  My ears rang.

  Ricky stumbled, dropped the hammer, and crashed to the floor.

  My breath was heavy sounding, muted, and weird. I collapsed onto my back and tilted my head to look at the door upside down.

  Calvin lowered his SIG P226.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “I W
AS supposed to buy Max some death cake.”

  “What?”

  “Murder cake, I mean.”

  Calvin let out a long sigh.

  I was sitting at one of the tables in the front of Ricky’s club. There were police everywhere, and paramedics were bringing him out on a stretcher from the back hall. The fuck was damn lucky Calvin was a good cop and had given him a not-too-serious wound. I turned to watch Ricky get wheeled by. He flipped me the finger.

  I raised my hand to shoot the gesture right back at him, but Calvin put his hand firmly over my own, stopping me.

  “Sebastian. I can’t decide if you’re purposefully trying to get yourself killed, or if you’re only trying to put me in an early grave.”

  “You caught me. Am I in your will so I benefit from your riches?”

  Calvin pushed his coat open to rest his hands on his hips. “Yes. You get my dirty laundry and PlayStation.”

  “Score.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked next, staring down at me.

  “Sleuthing.”

  “No shit.”

  “I found the hammer,” I pointed out. “Meredith must have given it to Ricky after she killed her daughter. He kept it in a safe. Do you think there are still fingerprints or DNA?”

  Calvin clenched his jaw, but after a moment of mental counting to ensure he didn’t strangle his idiot boyfriend, he said, “There’s old blood and fingerprints on it. It’ll match Meredith and her daughter, Wendy, no doubt.”

  I nodded. “So… case closed.”

  “Why did you come here?” Calvin asked again.

  “I talked to the old boyfriend,” I said, looking up. “He’s the one who knew about the safe.” I offered Calvin an awkward smile. “Want me to tell a convincing story? I came by to ask about their Valentine’s Day show. I got lost looking for an employee, walked in on Ricky getting ready to beat the shit out of that girl—” I pointed over toward Gracie, who was being questioned by Quinn. “And then… you know.”

  “Real believable.”

  “Is it because I’m gay?”

  “Don’t be cute.”

  “We can say I was inquiring for Max. He’d probably like a lap dance.”