Day Shift (Midnight, Texas #2) (23 page)

“Now that that’s settled,” Magdalena said, her voice sharp to demand his attention, “have you and Miss Charity had an idea about how to tell the police where to look?”

“Anonymous phone call?”

“From where?”

“I could drive to a town between here and Dallas and find a pay phone.” Olivia sounded doubtful.

“Yes, but there aren’t any isolated ones anymore. At least, not any that you could assume would function. There are some at rest stops, but those are usually under camera surveillance.”

“True,” Olivia said. “Okay, cell phones are out. We could buy a phone, but I suppose they keep serial numbers somewhere?” Of course Olivia had a burner phone in her apartment, but she wasn’t about to admit that to a lawyer. “What about an anonymous letter?”

Manfred grimaced in distaste. His grandmother had gotten some. That was a very bad memory. The viciousness of them, the cowardice of people who wouldn’t reveal their names, had nauseated him.

Of course, if he sent one, it wouldn’t contain an accusation. It would be a statement. “The jewelry of Mrs. Goldthorpe is in the globe in her husband’s study in her house.” Something simple and declarative like that, with lots of nouns. But still . . . that was a last resort.

Magdalena said very reluctantly, “I have a client. The police say he sells illegal drugs. I say they haven’t proved it. But he told me there’s an app on his phone that can turn it into a burner. It’s legal. He might show me how that works.”

Manfred let out a gust of breath. “So, you’ll call them soon?”

“He has an appointment this afternoon,” she said. “If he keeps it, I just may ask him to show it to me.”

Manfred had never appreciated how much more difficult sneaking around had gotten. Surveillance cameras, cell phone records that showed where you were when you made a call, advances in lab testing . . . but he wondered how much of the available technology (which must be expensive, both the investment in equipment and in technicians who understood how to use it) the average law enforcement department could actually finance and employ. Would this poor county have access to forensic labs that could tell you what ream of paper a sheet of computer paper had come from, and where it was sold? Would they view hours of surveillance footage to determine who’d bought that paper? Manfred was skeptical. He’d watched plenty of television shows where police departments not only could unearth this very specific information but could do it instantly. He didn’t believe that could be the truth. So maybe this would be the right way to go: having his lawyer make a sneaky phone call. Simple enough.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do that. I’m ready to be rid of this situation and get back to work. Especially now that I owe my lawyer more money.” He smiled, though he was pretty sure it wasn’t a happy smile.

Olivia said, “So that’s it? After all the trouble we went to, that’s the end?”

“What else do you want to do, honey?” Magdalena asked, genuinely interested. “You want to break Lewis’s neck?”

Olivia looked at Magdalena with an expression that chilled Manfred. “That would be a start,” Olivia said.

“No need,” Manfred said, though there’d been moments when he could have throttled Lewis himself. This had turned into a personal mission for Olivia, though he wasn’t sure how or why. “We’ve got a plan, and if Magdalena will make the phone call, we should be seeing the result soon.”

“We have a deal,” the lawyer said, standing up. “I’m sending you my mother’s phone number today, and you’re honor-bound to call her and set up an appointment to meet in person.”

“Honor-bound,” Manfred agreed. He didn’t believe he’d ever heard anyone say that out loud.

Without another word, Magdalena left.

“She didn’t even let her car air out,” Olivia observed. “Iron woman.”

She began prowling around restlessly. “Did you ever get a chance to talk to Barry? After we started back yesterday?”

“No, but it looks like I will now. Here he comes.”

Barry knocked on the door before Manfred could swing it open. “Hey, man,” he said. “Listen, I was just going to tell you about yesterday.”

“Please. Olivia was telling me you had some things to share. And I’ve got to pay you.”

“It’s really cool to tell stuff to someone who’ll believe it.” Barry stretched and yawned. “My grandfather came into my room to wake me up last night. He kept wanting to go home.”

“Where to?” Olivia asked.

“That’s the thing, he’s lived about twenty different places. Texas. Nevada. California. Longest in Vegas, where he was a blackjack dealer
at one of the casinos. Till Eva Culhane snatched him up and brought him here.”

“I wonder why? It’s like Tommy and your grandfather and the ladies are just camouflage for something.”

“Those are good things to wonder about, but let me get this stuff off my chest first.” Barry made a sweep with his hand, indicating he was ready to unload.

“Okay, man, go ahead.”

“This is what I learned yesterday on our little trip to Bonnet Park. First, the maid, Bertha, is scared to death of Lewis, right? She thinks he’s going to kill her one of these days. He’s getting increasingly off the rails mentally and emotionally, and he’s getting more and more specific. Like, he wants his tea in a certain glass with a certain type of straw and a sprig of mint with three leaves on it. Shit like that. So she’s scared, and she’s glad he’s sleeping out in the pool house so she doesn’t have to see him all day, every day. She thinks he’s unworthy to inherit so much from his folks. She thinks her own son is far superior.”

“So she’s got no loyalty to Lewis,” Olivia said.

“On the contrary. Bertha can’t stand him. But she’s also determined to stay with the job as long as she can, because she wants to know what Lewis is up to. Somehow, when Mr. Goldthorpe died, her son didn’t get what she thought he would. She thought he’d get enough to start up his own landscaping business, buy a couple of trucks and mowers, and hire people. But instead, everything went to the wife. Rachel. There’s some test that has everything hanging in the balance.” Barry had closed his eyes while he related all of this, as if it would help him remember Bertha’s thought better.

“So Bertha was expecting a legacy she hasn’t received,” Manfred said. “Anything more pertinent?”

“Here’s the really good stuff. When we went into the study and Lewis was so upset, he was thinking about his mother and how scared he’d been that she would say something about Bertha to the psychic—you, Manfred. And he was wondering if Rachel’s will was going to mention Bertha.”

“Why would it?” Manfred sat for a minute. “What’s the connection? Has Bertha’s son been romancing one of Rachel’s daughters? But they’re both married women.”

“And they’re at least fifteen years older than him, going by appearances,” Olivia said. “I guess the son and Lewis could be having a thing, though I can’t imagine anyone being genuinely interested in Lewis sexually.”

Barry snickered. “I can’t, either.”

“You can hear people’s deepest secrets,” Olivia said. “Manfred can talk to dead people. I feel very plain compared to your skill set.”

“What I do has its weak points,” Barry said. “People don’t always think in an orderly way, with background. They know all the background. So you’re left with lots of gaps. You have to be careful not to fill them in yourself.”

Olivia said, “Your life must be one long trail of disillusionment.”

He nodded. “You’re about right. That’s a good way to put it.”

Manfred was trying to think of something positive to say when Barry stood up. “Okay,” he said. “I think that’s it. I just wanted to tell you that and collect my money. I got to get back to Shorty. He’s not having a good day. I think moving him from Vegas was a mistake. Mrs. Whitefield says he’s seemed mentally fuzzy ever since he arrived. When I’d call him in Vegas, he wasn’t that off base.”

Manfred got out his wallet (stocking up on cash was another thing he’d done in Davy) and handed Barry the agreed amount. As soon as the door closed behind the telepath, Olivia said, “What’s really interesting is what they’ll decide to do with Shorty once
they’ve found he actually has to go into some kind of home and they can’t really keep him in the hotel any longer. If all the old people are just window dressing, what’s going to keep them from dumping them out in the desert? What could be the purpose of this?”

Manfred nodded. “I could swear Lenore Whitefield isn’t a villain. She really believes she’s there to keep her guests happy until they move on to their final destination. Ah . . . that sounds way more gruesome than I intended. What I’m trying to say is, she doesn’t have any designs on them.”

“Yeah, I get that, but the fact is that only the guests staying there who are doing contract work for Magic Portal are real, actual paying guests, and of course whoever is crazy enough to stop in Midnight. I guess the hotel might get to be a sort of destination place since it’s been converted so cleverly, but it’s not really a period piece, is it? It’s a modern version of a motel, fitted into an old shell.”

Manfred said, “This whole town is a shell.”

“What?”

“There are more storefronts boarded up than open. How does anyone here live? How does Home Cookin stay open? How does the Rev survive on what he makes burying dogs and cats and performing weddings? How does the Antique Gallery and Nail Salon make a profit? You have to leave here to make your living. Why don’t the others?”

“You left out Fiji and Bobo,” Olivia said.

“Fiji inherited the house. She’s got almost no overhead. And she sells some spells online, as well as the crap she carries in the shop. Plus, the Thursday night classes are paying propositions.”

“She sells things online? Really?”

“Yeah, I helped her set something up about four months ago, and I got a friend of mine to design her website.”

“You’re a man of secrets.” Olivia did not seem to think that was a good thing. There was a long moment of silence before she said,
“Sometimes I think about that, too. But I have no way of knowing how the others get along, and I’m not going to ask them. We don’t ask many questions here, and I like it that way. Call me if the police actually get into the house and find the damn jewelry in the globe. I need to go do stuff.”

And she left, too. Manfred said, “Dammit.” He’d finally said things out loud that he’d wondered about for months—and said them out loud to Olivia, of all people. And she’d blown him off and gotten out the door as fast as she could.

T
he town fell silent again at dusk. Everyone did the same things they’d done the night before, even though some of the tension had gone. Fiji called Manfred to ask him if he wanted some homemade bread, and when he said yes, they met in the middle of Witch Light Road. There was still plenty of light; they talked a little. Though the heat radiated off the road, it was still pleasant to be outside, to be confident that nothing was lurking . . . yet.

“Mr. Snuggly won’t come out of the corner of my bedroom,” she said. “He’s gone into scaredy-cat overload.”

“One more night of this, you think? After tonight?”

“I think so.”

“What, exactly, are we so afraid of?”

“Well,” Fiji said, “it is the full moon.” She looked at him significantly, obviously expecting Manfred to pick up her meaning.

“It’s been the full moon lots of times since I moved here, and I’ve never had to do this before.”

“Then you should ask yourself, ‘What’s different about this time?’” she said patiently. “Here’s the bread. There’s beer in it. Enjoy.” She cast a quick glance over at the pawnshop, perhaps hoping that Bobo would emerge. She turned to go back to her house, calling good-bye over her shoulder.

Manfred raised the bread to his nose. It had the most wonderful aroma. He wondered if baking might someday be included in his skill set, because he would do anything to make his house smell like this. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A police car was driving very slowly down the street. The driver was looking from side to side. There was someone else in the front seat. Manfred saw that the passenger was Shorty Horowitz.

“Shit!” Manfred said. He flagged down the car. It pulled into his driveway. He didn’t know the driver, but it was a sheriff’s department uniform.

“You know this man, sir?” asked the deputy.

“Yes, where was he?”

“I found him on the Davy highway just north of here. He says he has a grandson here? Someone named Barry Bellboy?” The deputy said this very carefully, as if he suspected he was the butt of a joke.

“His grandson is over at the hotel,” Manfred said. “I’ll bet he’s going nuts.”

He looked over at the hotel and saw Barry standing in the hotel doorway, looking from one direction to another, obviously terrified. Manfred waved his arms and pointed at the patrol car. Barry came running across the intersection like there was no such thing as traffic, and in a second was standing by the car, panting.

“Oh, you’ve found him! Thanks so much.”

“You Barry? He do this a lot?” asked the deputy.

At least it’s not Gomez,
Manfred thought.

“I’m Barry Horowitz. He’s never done this before,” Barry said. “God,
I couldn’t find him anywhere. I was really, really . . . scared.” He leaned down to look across the deputy at the errant Shorty. “Granddad, where’ve you been? Why did you leave?” His voice sound gentle, and he’d put the fear away somewhere.

“Barry?” Shorty turned to look at his grandson. He seemed puzzled.

“That was part of the problem,” the deputy explained. “He kept telling us your name was Bellboy, and I put out a call to search for someone of that name. Of course, there wasn’t anyone in this area called that.”

Barry didn’t seem to be able to speak. He looked stricken.

“You ready to take your grandpa back home?” the deputy said, looking a little worried.

Barry had recovered his vocal cords. “Okay, Grandpa, you ready to go back to the hotel?”

“All right. If they’ll give me cake for supper and let me take a nap.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Whitefield won’t mind giving you some cake, if she’s got one made, and you can sure take a nap in your room.”

“Barry took a nap,” Shorty said. “But it was time for me to go home.”

“That was my big mistake,” Barry told the deputy. He seemed to have recovered his wits. “He woke me up last night with this ‘going home’ theme, and I dropped off to sleep this afternoon. He gets worse the closer to night it becomes. Sundowner syndrome, they call it.”

“Sundown,”
Manfred said significantly. The deputy looked at him oddly, but Barry got Manfred’s drift.

It was very close to nightfall.

“Thanks so much, Deputy . . .” Barry paused.

“Nash. Glad to help. Glad we found the old guy before he came to harm.”

After some well-meaning advice from Deputy Nash and more profuse thanks from Barry and more disjointed statements from Shorty, Barry and Manfred extricated Shorty from the car and waved while the deputy backed out and turned right to go back to Davy.

“Go, go, go,” Manfred said. “Do you need to stay at my place?” He made the offer reluctantly, but he made it.

“We’ve got the time,” Barry said. “I don’t know what the urgency is, but we’ll be inside in four minutes, maximum.” He began to coax his grandfather toward the hotel, promising cake and ice cream and many naps. Manfred stood in his doorway watching.

Finally, the tall man and short man reached the double glass doors to the hotel.

Manfred heard a sound coming from somewhere close, a deep sound, one he could not identify. But it made him think of the zoo again.

In an instant, he was in the house with the door shut behind him. And he locked it. And he drew the curtains tight.

After he had gotten his breathing under control, he noticed that the message light on his cell phone was blinking. He had two messages. The first one was from Magdalena Powell. “I did the thing I said I was going to do,” she said. “Have you called my mom yet?”

The second message was from Fiji. “What the hell is with the cop car?” she said.

Manfred returned her call.

“Yeah?” she said breathlessly.

“Barry’s grandfather went walkabout,” he told her. “The cops returned him. Deputy Nash was confused because Shorty kept telling him that his grandson’s name was Barry Bellboy. Weird, huh?”

“He’ll have to do something about Shorty.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s thinking about that right now.”

“Did you tell Barry that? About the Bellboy thing?”

“The deputy did. Barry freaked out.” Manfred reconsidered his terminology. “Actually, he was scared shitless.”

“That’s pretty strange. Well, have a good evening and enjoy the bread.”