Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (230 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

TWO WEEKS PLAYING and singing at Nick’s taught me quite a bit, including how to make his famous tacos (except for the fish, his top secret recipe). I’d also learned how to pour a stiff drink or two. When my mama and daddy called every other day, I found myself telling little white lies about eighty percent of the time. I told them a story about a fancy resort I was playing at out in Malibu and how Cass and I were doing just fine.

I guess in some ways we were. The hours at Nick’s were great—six to midnight every night but Monday (bar was closed … Nick said he needed a day off, but I had a sneaking suspicion there was more to it than that). The pay wasn’t great, however. I made eight bucks an hour plus tips, and the tips were, well, on the meager side, considering patrons like Candace and her sidekick Mumbles.

Speaking of Mumbles, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how he got his nickname. He was a stout old guy with deep lines across his forehead and around his visible eye. Nearly bald, he never took off the eye patch. He was a character. Don’t know how he got the patch, but one day, I’m sure I’ll get the backstory. If I can understand it, that is. I think his accent is Irish—hard to say, though.

One warm evening I slapped him on the shoulder as I came in, guitar strung on my back, Cass tailing me. I hadn’t thought about it before I did it—it was a light pat but he was wearing a tank top so the shoulder was bare, which meant no barriers. Now, I realized pretty much anyone who sat at that bar day after day probably had some significant trauma in their life, but what came rushing at me in a wave was pretty intense. There was no vision of anything, but I could hear something awful— black, loud, and scary as … well, you know. It was only two seconds worth, but I yanked my hand off his shoulder like I’d burned it and brought both my hands up to cover my ears. I began shaking my head frantically, trying to rid myself of the pain and confusion. That had never happened before. I had only seen traumas before, never heard them.

Mumbles was staring at me with his one eye, a look of concern spreading across his face. I quickly pulled myself together and shot him a weak smile.

“Hey, Mumbles. How’s it going?”

It’s hard to tell but I think his answer was something like, “Good. Yep. Okay … don’t know, really. You? Your ears covered! Okay?”

I decided to mumble back, “Good. Okay. Think so anyway. Ears are fine.” And that was the beginning of my strange and unexpected friendship with Mumbles.

Candy—who preferred to be called Candace even though she revealed to me one night her name was really Barbara— always sat two seats away from Mumbles. I think she’d once been beautiful. She had deep-set brown eyes, long, white-blonde hair, and a terrific smile, but time, a hard life, and booze had taken a toll on her. It’s funny what people will reveal after they’ve had a few drinks. It didn’t take long before I knew all about Candace’s four husbands, her hopes of being an actress, her daughter who hadn’t spoken to her in eight years, and her cat, Goldy. I didn’t have to touch Candace to quickly understand the traumas in her life.

I also learned a bit about Nick himself. He didn’t exactly have as many showbiz contacts as he’d initially indicated. Turns out, he was the child star of a seventies show called
Next-Door Neighbors
. He didn’t talk much about it, but I know he played the precocious kid named Jeff.

I didn’t know much about actors or actresses. We were not allowed to have a TV in the house growing up. The only exposure I ever really had to television was the one in my mama’s beauty shop.

One Tuesday night, not too long after I started at Nick’s, things were a bit busier than usual. Some of the college kids from USC liked to pop in on occasion. I had just finished playing a set, and decided to take a break and grab a bite to eat. I sat between Candace and Mumbles. No one ever sat between them but me. Candace smiled. She was already a good three sheets to the wind and it was only nine o’clock. Then again, she’d been pretty bombed around six when I set up for the night. She patted my knee. Fortunately the jeans I had on were a good barrier. “You are such a pretty girl, sweet pea. And so talented! Isn’t she, Mumbles?”

Mumbles bobbed his head up and down slowly “Yep. Pretty.”

I smiled at them both and then scanned the bar. “Thank you. Hey, where’s Nick?”

Candace spun around on the red vinyl and pointed to a booth near the kitchen. “He’s visiting with some old friends,” she said.

Nick was seated across from a woman who, from where I sat, looked Hollywood pretty. She had a too-perfect, plastic quality about her, but whoever had done the work had done a good job. She sat next to an older, handsome guy … he was probably about fifty. Nick appeared kind of uncomfortable, but he was having a drink with them and the conversation looked light and cordial to me. I decided to get my own tacos.

It was one of those nights when things simply felt out of place and a little off. Candace excused herself to go to the bathroom when another woman who she seemed to recognize walked in. The woman was an attractive redhead—petite, probably close to Candace’s age, but again, hard to tell age since guessing Candace’s actual age was nearly impossible.

Candace glanced at me. “I’m going to the restroom to put some lipstick on.”

Hmm. Now that was a first.

The redhead sat at the end of the bar. A few minutes later, I saw Nick come back behind the bar and head over to her. He kissed her on the cheek and they hugged. He looked happy to see her. I contemplated getting up to introduce myself when someone sat down next to me. Someone I had noticed in the bar before.

“Hi. I’m Jackson.”

I turned to face the guy. He could frequently be found in a back booth with his laptop open, sipping a tall glass of iced tea. I’d seen him speak with Nick a few times but decided not to force an introduction … partly because he was always so focused on his computer, and partly because of how intimidated I get around hot guys (and yes, he was hot).

“Hi,” I said, looking into his brooding, dark eyes. Yeah, I know. I sound like the heroine of a romance novel. But what can I say? He had nice eyes. He also had deep brown, disheveled waves of hair … very sexy. And, he was talking to me.

I started to stick my hand out and then thought better of it, “I’m Evie.”

“I know. I asked Nick.”

“Ah, so you know Nick?”

“Well, yeah. I love that guy. If I could only get him to star in my film project.”

Film project? Nick? I shook my head. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry. I get so excited sometimes. I never imagined I’d be hanging out with Nick Gordin.”

I felt like I was missing something crucial but decided not to pursue it. “Nick’s great. Thanks to him, I now have a steady job.”

“You’re an amazing singer. I love coming in to listen to you while I work.” He nodded down at his ever-present laptop.

“Thank you. That’s really sweet.” I could feel the heat rise to my face big time. I hoped the dim lighting made it hard for anyone else to see. “Um, so tell me about your project.”

“It’s a documentary for my film class. I’m in a graduate program at the USC film school. My subject is childhood stars and what happened to them. Nick would be perfect for it. His story is so fascinating.”

“It is?” I asked. I knew there was something more to Nick, and Jackson seemed to have a line on it.

“Oh, yeah.”

Candace came back at that moment. “Excuse me. That’s my seat.”

He glanced up at Candace, “I’m sorry,” then looked back to me. “Do you want to sit over there with me?” he asked, pointing to his usual booth. I started to say yes when I heard Nick calling my name.

“Evie, come meet a friend of mine.” He beckoned me from the other end of the bar, where the redheaded woman sat.

I glanced back at Jackson. “Rain check?” I asked.

He nodded. “I actually have somewhere I need to be.”

There were those brooding eyes again. Had I blown it? “Oh, okay.”

He smiled, then (be still my beating heart!), “Rain check definitely.”

I turned away as I felt the blush reappear and headed over to Nick and Red.

“Evie, this is, uh, well this is my good friend Rebecca Styles.”

“Friend, huh?” Rebecca raised an eyebrow and started laughing. She faced me. “You can call me Becky, hon.”

“I’m Evie.”

Nick nodded slowly, “Beck is in town, maybe to stay, right?”

Becky took a quick sip of her drink before answering. “That’s the plan. I’m looking for a place. I wanted to come home to be close to old
friends
. New York has been wonderful, but I needed a change of pace.” She smiled widely at Nick.

Okay, clearly something was going on here, but once again, I was missing whatever it was. Not to be cliché and all, but you could slice the sexual tension with a knife. I looked back and forth between Nick and Becky.

“Hey, Beck, do you remember Bradley Verne?”

“Of course! You two still friends?”

“Yeah. That’s him and his wife I was talking with. I don’t think you’ve met her. They got married, you know, after…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but Becky nodded as if she understood completely. “Want to say hello?”

“Sure.” Becky smiled politely at me and picked up her glass of wine. The two of them headed back to the booth where the other couple sat.

I walked into the kitchen to fix dinner. On the way there, I couldn’t help but notice Candace’s glare fixed on a seemingly oblivious Becky. Things around the bar were getting awfully interesting.

CHAPTER FIVE

AS FOND AS I was of Nick, Candace, and Mumbles, I still had a major problem: the money (or lack thereof). I loved singing nightly at Nick’s. I love to sing, period. And play the guitar. But fifty bucks a night (and that was on a good night) was not going to get me far. Cass and I were still holed up in that motel. It stank. It was loud. And I was way over it. However, choices were few and far between. I’d been on the apartment hunt every day in my spare time. Studio apartments in L.A. ran at least twelve hundred a month and most landlords wanted first and last month’s rent (and this wasn’t even in the nice parts of town). On top of that, most didn’t rent to dog owners and if they did, they wanted at least a month’s worth of cash for the deposit. You do the math. That five grand from Betty LaRue was looking like chump change.

Late one night, lying on the creaking, uncomfortable motel bed with Cass, I found myself in tears. Cass scooted closer to me and practically licked my hand off. When the tears didn’t stop coming, she stood and licked my entire face dry (so to speak). I couldn’t help but start laughing, which only wound Cass up even more as she twirled in a circle, her tail swinging back and forth wildly, smacking me in the face with each twirl.

“Easy, girl. Easy. Stop! Stop it!” I laughed even harder, and then a knock at the door sobered me up real quick.

Cass started barking and the knocking grew louder. Uh-oh.

“Just a minute,” I yelled at the door and then hissed at Cass, “Stop, stop, shhh!”

“This is the manager. Open up the door! Do you have a dog in there?”

I tried to sound as innocent as possible. “No. No. It’s just the TV.”

“Open this door, or I will call the cops!”

I closed my eyes and cringed. This was not looking good.

“Cass, get down,” I whispered. “Down.” She growled. Not at me, but at the door. I got her off the bed and locked her in the bathroom. I cracked the door open and there stood the manager—ugly, overweight, spectacled, and in a wife beater with his paunch exposed and hanging over ill-fitting sweats. Lovely.

“Hi!” I put on my best fake smile. “Is there a problem?”

He crossed his arms. “You have a dog here.” A statement, not a question. Crap.

“No. It’s the TV,
Animal Planet
.”

“We don’t get that channel. And the dog you don’t have is scratching on the bathroom door. I’m not deaf. You need to get out.”

“What?”

“No dogs. No cats. No birds. No lizards. No pets! Get.”

“Now?”

“Did I stutter?”

The beginnings of panic unfurled in my chest, “I-I can put her in the van for the night.”

“Nope. Get. Out. Bye-bye.” He wiggled his pudgy fingers at me, and then accidentally dropped his keys. I bent down at the same time he did to grab them and my fingers grazed his. I yanked my hand back but it was too late. I saw the manager in a car with a tiny little girl. He looked much younger, a lot less weight on him, and he was happy. They were singing “Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head.” Rain splattered against the windshield, and in an instant, something hit the car. It went black and then I saw the manager crying over the child. “No, Sara! No!” She was covered in blood and very still. I pulled my fingers back and stood up.

“You got ten minutes,” he said.

“I’m sorry.” It was all I could say.

He frowned. “I was going to charge you for the night as well and keep the cleaning deposit. I can’t rent the room until it’s fully cleaned and fumigated. Pets have fleas and I am running a nice place here. I can’t allow someone to stay in this room after a dog has been in it.”