Death with a Dark Red Rose Page 8

  I pointed at him. “Listen, you’re going to be a little bit mad at me, but I have to bring some other felines in the house. I think Sam is going to stay here until he’s better, and he misses his little guys. So you’re going to be locked out of the blue bedroom for a while, and they’ll be locked in, and they shouldn’t affect your routine at all. Okay?”

  He twitched a whisker at me and then turned back to his view.

  I nodded, grabbed the keys, and went out the front door, locking it behind me. I marched down Camilla’s pebbled driveway and turned left onto the bluff road, walking downward until I got to the next driveway—the one belonging to Sam West’s house. I walked up to his door, flooded by memories of the various times I had stood in front of his house, for reasons good and bad.

  On the porch I picked up a couple of packages on his stoop, then unlocked the door and went in. Two playful kittens, one orange and one black-and-white, came tumbling down the hallway. They weren’t tiny anymore, but they were still young and adorable. I moved swiftly into Sam’s kitchen and set the packages on his island. I went back to the door to retrieve his mail from the box, and I brought that to his island, too. He could sort it when he felt better. Then I turned to the cats, who had followed me to the kitchen, then to the door, and back to the kitchen.

  I bent down to scoop them up and kiss their fuzzy ears. “I missed you, too. Sam’s not the only one who loves little Geronimo and AB.” They purred loudly, and I laughed. “Let’s get you a little taste of food, and while you’re crunching I’ll grab your litter box and your travel case.”

  The cats seemed amenable to this plan, and ten minutes later they were stowed in one kitty travel bag (they both fit inside, which allowed them to nestle together). I picked up their little litter pan in one hand and the bag in the other, went outside, set down my burdens, locked Sam’s door, picked them up again, and started toward Graham House. “Whew. Just two little kitties, and look at all the arrangements we have to make!” I said to them, peering through the mesh in the bag. They seemed less afraid than curious, and they looked out with wide eyes.

  At Graham House, I went once again through the process of setting down, unlocking, and picking up, and then we marched up the stairs to my room, where Sam was still asleep. I set down the kitten bag, stowed the litter pan in a corner by the window, and shut the door of the room before Lestrade could barge in. Then I opened the bag and let the kittens wander out, which they did almost immediately, driven by their curiosity. They found the windowsill first and stared out at the leaves of the tree just beyond the glass, and at the rippling waves on the lake. Arabella jumped down on the floor, padded around for a bit, and then leaped on the bed, where she discovered Sam. She strolled up to his head and sniffed his hair, then tucked against his side and closed her eyes. “Good, Arabella. You help me watch him,” I said.

  Geronimo looked out the window for a while longer, then joined Arabella on the bed. He always had to one-up his sister, so he sat directly on Sam’s stomach, curling into a ball and looking like a little golden cinnamon roll. I laughed but scooted him off. “I’m trying to cool him off, not put a furry little cat body on him,” I said. “Just guard him, the way your sister is doing.”

  Geronimo glared at me with leonine disdain; he relocated to a spot between Sam’s feet and curled up once again.

  I paused for a moment, enjoying the sight of Sam with his beloved kittens, both of whom he had rescued from hunger and homelessness. He didn’t like to be away from them for very long, a fact that added another layer to my deepening love for him.

  Sam was still asleep, and the cloth I had placed on his head before visiting his house had now lost its coolness. I removed the washrag and felt his forehead. A bit better, but still feverish. I went to the bathroom, rinsed the rag and made it cold again, then brought it back and put it once again on his heated skin; I ran my cool, damp hands through his hair.

  The doorbell rang; I left the room, carefully shutting the door behind me, and ran to the front door. I could see a delivery truck through the window, and I realized this meant that Camilla’s covers had arrived. I opened the door and greeted the woman in khaki garb. “Sign here,” she said.

  I did, feeling excited, and the woman helped me bring in the various boxes, which we set in the living room. I knew they would make Camilla curious, but they were too big to hide, and I figured Adam could come up with some kind of story for her.

  I thanked the woman, who moved swiftly back to her truck and drove away. I closed and locked the door, then jogged back up to Sam, who was in the same position, sleeping, still guarded by his little cats.

  For about twenty minutes, I sat beside him, worrying over his weakened state. His biggest ally, I knew, was sleep, and that was something he could give to himself. I stood up, restless, and arranged the items on the bedside table so that everything was within his reach: phone, water, notepad, pen. On the pad I had written, “I’m meeting briefly with Belinda. Text me if you need anything! Back soon.”

  I backed out of the room, making sure once again that the cats stayed in place and Lestrade did not come in. The latter was actually nowhere to be seen; I was surprised he hadn’t sniffed out the new occupants of his room by now.

  By the time I got downstairs, I had received a text from Belinda: I’m out front.

  9

  In the car, Celia studied the back of her aunt’s head and realized that her hair was naturally blond. And in that instant a snatch of dialogue came back to her, years old, in which her mother had told her how, as a girl, she had envied her sister’s black hair, dark as a raven’s wing . . . for the first time, Celia’s stomach clenched with fear.

  —From Danger at Debenham Station, a work in progress

  IN THE CAR, I felt relief on many levels. First, because I had been with Sam and felt so connected to his illness, I had begun to feel almost feverish myself, and the brisk fall air felt good against my skin. Second, because Belinda’s car, so ominous-looking the day before in her driveway, now reclaimed its positive connotations, especially with Belinda’s smiling face behind the wheel. Third, without Camilla in the house I had been longing for someone to talk to—someone who wasn’t Sam but who would be willing to listen to my blissful ramblings about Sam. Belinda was willing to do this as long as I gave equal time to her ruminations about Doug.

  I studied Belinda’s profile as she pulled out of the driveway. “Thanks for picking me up. I am going stir-crazy without Camilla.”

  “How’s Sam?”

  “Feverish and sleeping. I think he’s going to need a few days to get over this, but I am very impatient for him to be well. I’m not good with illness; I don’t know how Allison does it.”

  “We all have our strengths,” Belinda said with a wise expression.

  I laughed. “You crack me up. How’s the research coming?”

  She frowned, thoughtful now, and left the bluff road, turning left on Wentworth Street. “Plasti-Source has been investigated more than once by the EPA. I haven’t yet found all of the complaints or rulings, but in at least two cases, one in Michigan and one in Ohio, they had to make alterations to their plant procedures before they were allowed to open for production again. I also found something about a lawsuit, but it seems that some sort of settlement was reached and the results were sealed. Since the Blue Lake building has been stalled, I’m wondering if they’re currently being investigated, or maybe sued again. I’ll ask Doug what he found out when he went to the Stafford plant today. Carl said that the plant makes some noxious fumes when they’re in production mode. But I don’t know if that just means it smells bad, or if he thinks it’s truly detrimental to the health of employees, or maybe the whole community. The company has locations throughout the Midwest, but they haven’t been around that long. They opened their first plant in 2011.”

  “Hmm. I can’t tell you how sad I am to think they’re opening that big ugly thing here.
I hope Doug finds some terrible violation and the mayor persuades them to move to some other place.”

  “Yes.” Belinda looked thoughtful. “Anyway, Carl is back in Stafford and back on his meds.” She darted a look at me. “I’m sorry again about the whole thing.”

  I reached out to touch her shoulder. “It was nice meeting him. Really. He’s adorable.”

  She beamed at me. “He’s always been my little boy. I mothered him, I guess because there were five years between us. And he’s the youngest, so you know how that goes.”

  “Not really. I’m the oldest and the youngest. And the middle, if that’s possible.”

  She laughed. “A family unto yourself.”

  “It seems fitting that Sam and I would get together; we’re like the two orphans of Blue Lake.”

  “Except you have a perfectly fine dad.”

  “True. He is wonderful. Hey, I think that’s it on the left,” I said, pointing at an awning on the corner of Wentworth and Bookman Drive. The lettering said, “Blue Lake Games—Come In and Play!”

  “Right. I’ll park here, but we’ll have to cross the street,” Belinda said, tucking into a space in front of a home goods store, to which she pointed. “And I might need to go in there and buy a pasta strainer.”

  “Hey, before we go into the game store, there’s something you should know,” I said. I told her about my visit to Elena’s coffee shop, and what Elena had said.

  Belinda’s blonde eyebrows rose high. “I’m going to call Carl about that. See if it matches what she told him.”

  “Good. A part of me thinks this is all some big misunderstanding and we’ll feel like we were doing this for nothing. Then another part of me feels like there’s something . . . insidious at work.”

  “Ooh, that is writer language.”

  “Yeah, I guess. But let’s scope out the situation in Blue Lake Games; then we can see if there’s anything else to ask Carl.”

  Belinda parked the car and paid the meter, and we crossed the street together to enter Blue Lake Games. There were fewer than ten people in the place, but it still felt crowded, with bodies, machines, and large cardboard advertisements for games yet to come. One of these cutouts was called “Blood World,” and the letters of the title were written in a dark, dripping red.

  “Yuck,” I said.

  A young man approached us. Everyone in the store was a young man except for a middle-aged woman who was murmuring something to the manager about a game her son wanted for his birthday. The person who stood before us was probably about twenty; he had longish brown hair and the ambition of a mustache, which sported about twelve hairs. “Can I help you ladies find something?”

  Belinda shrugged. “We’re just kind of looking around. I want to get a game for my brother, but I’m not sure where to start. He’s been in here before; his name is Carl.”

  “Carl Frailey?” asked the man. “Sure, I know him. He comes in with Luis.”

  “Yes, that’s them. Is Luis around? He can probably tell me what Carl would like.”

  The man shook his head. “Naw, I haven’t seen Luis for a few days. Which is weird, because he reserved a game to buy on the day it came out. Blood World—see the sign? It came out yesterday, and I thought for sure Luis would be here first thing after work. He must have had something with his job or his family or something.” He scratched his jaw and shrugged.

  Belinda glanced at me, then said, “That’s too bad. Does Carl like any games in particular? Or has he had his eye on one?”

  “Come back here,” he said. He led us to the back wall, where a sign said, “New Releases.” All sorts of video game covers demonstrated various exciting scenarios: knights in battle, wizards making magic, lions fighting men in a coliseum, athletes playing basketball, cowboys riding a dusty trail with guns held over their laps. “Carl usually shops here. I know for sure he’s got some of these already, or Luis does. They kind of share each other’s games so it’s less expensive.”

  “Sure, sure,” Belinda said.

  I shook my head. “I can’t believe Luis wouldn’t have come in for that game. That’s not like him.”

  The young man turned to me. “You know Luis?”

  “We’re in a book club together.”

  Now he scratched his arm. I wondered if he scratched parts of himself when he felt uncomfortable, just for something to do. “Yeah, it’s surprising. He’s a regular in here. Although he was kind of weird the last time we saw him.”

  The hair on my arms stood up slightly. Something wasn’t right . . .

  Another person had joined us. This guy was a bit older—perhaps in his late twenties, so around my age or a little older. He had disheveled blond hair and a goatee. His Blue Lake Games polo had come untucked from his khaki trousers. “You guys talking about Luis?”

  “Yes, Luis Castellan. He and my brother Carl come in here a lot, I’m told,” Belinda said.

  “Oh yeah, we know Luis and Carl.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Alan. I’m the manager here.”

  “Nice to meet you, Alan,” I said, shaking his hand. Belinda did the same.

  A burst of noise behind us made me jump. Some players were looking at a demo of Blood World and shouting with excitement at some detail of the game.

  “This is a great place,” Belinda said, pretending to scan the game covers. Or perhaps she was really scanning them, if she wanted a gift for Carl.

  “Yeah, we’re doing pretty well,” Alan said. “We’ve been here seven years.”

  “This gentleman,” I said, gesturing to the younger man, “was telling us that Luis was sort of strange last time he was here.” I peered at the boy’s name tag and added, “Perry was telling us, I mean.”

  Alan nodded, exchanging a glance with Perry. “Yeah, he was kind of odd that night. What I would call restless.”

  “Isn’t he usually restless? Especially surrounded by video games?” Belinda asked.

  Perry shook his head. “No, Luis is super laid-back. Like really Zen. But last—what was it? Thursday?—he came in after work and was kind of pacing around like a tiger in a cage.”

  “Did he say why?” I asked, picking up a game called Gemma’s Odyssey and staring at the beautiful cartoon woman on the cover.

  Alan straightened some boxes on a nearby table. They seemed to be plastic toy figures of popular video game characters. “He didn’t say why. He was being all weird and mysterious. I think—oh yeah, he asked Perry if he had ever felt disillusioned.”

  “Yeah. I had to look up that word later,” Perry admitted with a grin. “Luis said he was disillusioned.”

  Alan laughed. “Yeah, he said that, but then suddenly he was talking classic rock with me. Asked me if I knew Uriah Heep. I said yeah, man, one of the best bands to come out of London in the sixties. Then we got to talking about Pink Floyd, the Clash, Queen. Or I guess I brought them up. Once I get started on British rock, man, I can talk all night.”

  “So he was talking about disillusionment and music?” I asked. I noted that Belinda was gripping a video box cover but staring at us with wide eyes.

  Alan shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. He was even mumbling about how he needed to quit his job. At the time, I just figured he was tired, you know. Everyone’s busy at work these days, and then they come in tired at night. That’s why we stay open until nine, so people can come after work.”

  Belinda held up two boxes. “Which of these would Carl like better?”

  Perry and Alan laughed. Belinda blinked at them, not getting the joke. Finally, Perry took pity on her. “He hates those Space Origins games. He thinks they’re a total rip-off, which they are, man. He does like Captain of the Storm, though.” He pointed to a second box, which sported a cover with a bold-looking warrior standing at a ship’s wheel in a thunderstorm; one of his giant hands was on the wheel, and the other held a magic wand, sparking out green stars. />
  She nodded. “Does he have this one?”

  Perry shook his head. “I don’t think so. He’s only bought a couple in the last few months, and they were both in the Vicious Viking series.”

  “Okay. I’ll take it. His birthday is next month; don’t let him buy his own copy,” she said with a sudden smile that clearly dazzled both men.

  “No problem,” Alan said. “I can ring you up at the front.” She followed him to the cash register, and I was left standing with Perry, who was still looking at Belinda.

  “I didn’t know Carl had a sister,” he said in a wistful tone.

  “She’s spoken for,” I said, feeling mischievous.

  Perry turned red. “Oh, I mean—I just didn’t know—but I guess she’s dating someone, huh? She would have been a good person for Alan to ask out. He just broke up with his girlfriend.”

  “She’s dating Doug Heller,” I said. I loved dropping Doug’s name because he was a bit of a celebrity in Blue Lake since he had arrested Nikon Lazos.

  Sure enough, Perry brightened. “That cop? The one that was on TV? Wow, that’s really cool.”

  I sighed. “I wish you guys knew where I could reach Luis. I wanted to ask him something about book club.”

  “Well—like—isn’t he at home?” Perry asked.

  “No. He hasn’t been there for days.”

  “That’s weird. I know Carl said once he has a cabin somewhere. Maybe Luis—”

  I shook my head. “We were at the cabin yesterday. He wasn’t there.”

  “Wow, so he’s kind of—missing?” Perry looked concerned about this, but he was also distracted by a group of gamers who had formed around a demo of Blood World; he looked like he wanted to join them.

  “I don’t know. But thanks for the information. If we see him, we’ll tell him you’ve got his game.”

  “Cool. Nice to meet you,” Perry said, and then he drifted toward the gamers, leaning in to see what they found so alluring on the demo screen.