04 - Shock and Awesome (42 page)

 
   
"Later then,
Lexi
."

 
   
"Bye."

 
   
I stared at my phone for a moment, my frown deepening. Did I just agree to a date? I sucked in a long breath and grimaced into the rearview mirror. This day was never ending... wait. Was that...?

 
   
Aidan Marsh's car pulled into the driveway, halting in front of the garage doors.

 
   
Oh, hell. I'd had enough of today. Solomon might want to marry me, Maddox wanted a date, Ben hated me, and Justin, I mean Ken was a fraud... Today seriously sucked. As if accusing the wrong guy weren’t bad enough, now I had a date with my ex. On the upside, I assisted MPD in catching a fraudster, and it was only a matter of time before Lord Justin cracked, so Solomon's real objective of networking with local law enforcement was achieved.

 
   
I could go home, order a pizza and drink the biggest glass of wine ever just as soon as this day was over. Before I knew it, I was hightailing it out of the car and across the street, only slowing to a jog when the
Schuberts
' neighbor exited his car and popped the trunk. I skidded to a halt just as he came around the other side. Between us, the trunk opened all the way. I looked at him, and he at me quizzically. We both gazed into the trunk.

 
   
No dead bodies. Hurrah! Just a heap of grocery bags.

 
   
The man flapped his hands and cocked his head, demanding "What do you want?" tacitly.

 
   
"Do you kill people?" I asked. Oh, my mother would be so proud of that one, but it just didn't sit well my saying “Hi” and “how are you?” and all that jazz, when I really only wanted to know one thing. There was something familiar about his hand movements. He repeated them and I frowned.

 
   
"Am I being
Punk'd
?" asked the man in a strange accent, scanning over his shoulder for cameras.

 
   
My nose wrinkled. "No! It's a genuine question."

 
   
"Oh." Aidan Marsh scratched his head.

 
   
"You don't need to think about it. It's a pretty easy question."

 
   
The man continued to frown and stared at me a long while. "No," he said finally, the syllable sounding slightly off key.

 
   
"Okay." I rocked back on my heels and almost stuck my hands in my jacket pockets so they didn't flap around aimlessly. Instead, I refrained just in case he was lying and I had to defend myself right there on the street before being dragged inside and strapped me into the torture chair in the garage. "Are you sure?"

 
   
"Yes," he said, very slowly; then, "No."

 
   
"Yes or no?"

 
   
"Yes, I kill people. I mean, no, I don't!" His shoulders slumped. "And yes, I'm sure. It's my dog."

 
   
"Your dog kills people?" I gave him a look. The one I used a lot when I was temping, usually upon discovering the dumb-ass filing systems and foot-high backlogged files of my temporary employers. It was the look I reduced to three letters: WTF?

 
   
"No! He's just a nuisance." At that, the dog in question galloped around the car and sat at his owner's feet. He was big and really cute. He looked up, panting, and his tongue rolled out. The dog’s, that is. Not Aidan Marsh’s tongue. He just looked confused. We both watched the dog. The man scratched the dog between the ears and his ears went up and down. Again, the dog’s, not the man’s. While they bonded, I took a closer look at the lettering on the dog's vest. It read "Assistance Dog."

 
   
"Why's your dog an assistance dog?" I asked. The man ignored me, only scratching the dog's head. I waited. After for-freaking-ever, I coughed. The dog looked at me, then nudged his owner. It was only when the man lifted his head that I noticed the small devices tucked behind his ears. Hearing aids. Sign language. Of course!

 
   
"You said something?" he prompted.

 
   
"Yeah, but... are you deaf?"

 
   
"Dead?" He frowned. "No."

 
   
"Deaf."

 
   
"Yes, definitely deaf. Mostly. I can hear some loud noises though without my aids."

 
   
"Oh." We looked at each other some more. The dog barked. I really didn't know what to say. The situation had me stumped. Sure, we confirmed he wasn't a killer, and neither was the dog, but the hearing situation really threw me. It explained the strange inflections when he spoke though. "So..."

 
   
"You don't need to raise your voice," the man said. "It won't make any difference."

 
   
"I wasn't going to!"

 
   
"So, what do you want? Does this have anything to do with the
Schuberts
next door?" He raised a hand and waved, and I looked over my shoulder. Sure enough, the
Schuberts
were standing on the porch. It was no ruse so he could whack my head off and let the dog eat me. What a relief! The
Schuberts
gave a confused, half-baked wave, more like a flap, in return. "Has Barney been making strange noises again?" Aidan stared down at the dog, then looked over to me. "Oh, jeez, he has, hasn't he? What the hell did he do now?"

 
   
"There's been a lot of strange noises coming from your house," I answered, turning to him. I opted to go with the truth because there really wasn't anywhere else to go. "Machinery. Screaming."

 
   
"Screaming?" The man seemed genuinely puzzled. I flapped my hands around, then stuck them around my throat and mimed screaming while simultaneously strangling myself. Judging by the bewildered expression on his face, as well as Barney's, my demonstration didn't seem to help matters much. Go figure. "Who are you?" he asked at last.

 
   
I stuck my hand out. "
Lexi
Graves, Private Investigator."

 
   
"Aidan Marsh. Confused." All the same, he shook my hand.

 
   
"That makes two of us." I looked over my shoulder to where the
Schuberts
waited patiently. "Four."

 
   
"Pardon? You said something."

 
   
"Oh, right. It doesn't matter."

 
   
"I hate it when hearing people say that. It's really annoying. See how you like missing what people say because they don't bother to turn their head towards you."

 
   
"I thought you had hearing aids."

 
   
"The batteries are weak."

 
   
"You're really grouchy, you know that, right?"

 
   
"You would be too if Barney woke you at five a.m. every day, by licking your face."

 
   
"Nice." Barney stuck his tongue out and some slobber hit the floor. I wondered if his rough tongue had exfoliating qualities. Somehow, I didn't think Aidan gave two hoots. "So about these strange noises?" I asked, just as Aidan reached into the trunk and pulled out his groceries. He set them on the ground at our feet, then reached in again. This time, he pulled out a brand new and very shiny hammer. The clawed end looked lethal. He set it on top one of the bags and pulled out a couple more tools that seemed threatening. "Maybe later," I said, stepping back.

 
   
"Not the serial killer thing again," sighed Aidan, giving me a sideways glance. "I make furniture, okay? I have a workshop in the garage. Sometimes I use power tools."

 
   
"And the screaming?"

 
   
"You are so fixated on screaming. I don't know. Barney sits on the TV remote a lot. Two nights ago, I found him watching a horror movie. He's really weird. I tried to get him into
Marley and Me
, but he refuses to watch it. That might be a good thing. I tried Disney cartoons too, but he always switches back to the horror channel. If anyone has serial killer tendencies, it's him."

 
   
Barney barked and edged forwards in a butt-shuffle. For a mad dog, he sure was cute with his thumping tail and tongue-lolling expression. He stuck his head forward, sniffed my hand and gave it a good, long lick, leaving my hand very wet. I ran it down my skirt, glad we'd shaken hands already, and doubly glad that it was still attached to my arm.

 
   
"So what about all the blood in your garage?" I persisted.

 
   
Aidan set the grocery bags on the ground and frowned. "Blood?"

 
   
"Yeah, you know, red stuff." I mimed stabbing myself in the heart and spurting blood everywhere.

 
   
"You don't have to keep miming. I've seen blood before. I'm deaf, not exsanguinated. Come see the workshop." Leaving the groceries where he set them, Aidan shut the trunk and picked up his shiny new tools. He rounded the car and pulled the keys from his pocket, searching through them until he found the correct one. He stuck it in the lock, then rolled the garage door up and over, revealing what did indeed look like a workshop. Still, with all the neatly assembled tools on the walls, and the throne-like chair, as well as the mysterious red stain on the floor, it did look like a killing workshop. I wondered if Aidan would blame that on Barney too.

 
   
Aidan beckoned me closer. I took another look at the
Schuberts
, craning their necks, and I nodded towards the garage. I figured I was okay. If Aidan didn't let me out, they'd know where to find me. If they tried to rescue me, and he captured them too, I would have company at least. Really, there was a bright side to everything. Maybe if the PI thing didn't work out, I could become a life coach.

 
   
I stepped into the cool climes of the garage and looked around, jumping when Aidan nudged my arm and pointed at the floor. "Red paint," he said. He walked over to the chair and ducked behind, its huge frame hiding him completely. When he reappeared, he held a bucket of paint. It was a nice brand; no wonder the color looked so rich. "It's for a fancy club in New York. They want two of these things, painted red, leather buckles, the works."

 
   
"Whatever for?"

 
   
"Who knows? I prefer not to ask. Some of my clients are... odd. Here, this is my portfolio. Take a look." Aidan handed me a thick folder and I opened it to page after page of stunning furniture. A master of both wood and ironwork, Aidan did rustic as easily as wildly contemporary. "You made all these?" I asked incredulously.

 
   
Aidan nodded. "Every piece. I keep some in the studio in the garden if you want to see?"

 
   
Looking up from the collection, my eyes went around the garage, taking in all the power tools. I guess this explained the noise. The
Schuberts
would be so pleased. I wondered if Aidan would give me a discount. "How are you at making
windowseats
?" I asked. "I'm buying the house next door."