Death at the Wheel (25 page)

"You're grinning like a fool," he said.

"Don't call names."

"Is there any more bread?"

"Not for you. You're getting love handles."

"Puhleez?"

"Oh, all right. But only if you tell me what the Connecticut police said about the accident."

"Nothing. They aren't revealing any details. Not even to me."

"Well, thanks for trying."

We worked our way through the potatoes and the bread and the fish and the salad and a substantial portion of the lemon cheesecake and opted for an early bedtime. We were just drifting off to sleep when the doorbell rang.

"I'm not answering it," I mumbled, burrowing deeper into the covers.

"No one rings the bell at this time of night unless it's important."

"No way. Probably bad guys. I've had enough of bad guys this week. I'm sleeping."

"You want me to answer it?"

"Sure. Scare away the baddies and come back to bed. It's cold without you."

The bell rang again. Whoever it was wasn't going away. "I'll be right back." He reached for his pants.

All the commotion had broken the thread of sleep. I gave up, pulled on a robe, and followed him. The door was open, letting in a blast of chilly air. Standing on the step was a young girl in a brown leather jacket. Pale faced, with lank brown hair. Her nose was purple and she was shivering.

"I need your help," she said through chattering teeth. "May I come in?"

 

 

 

Chapter 18

 

Karen Osgood looked like a born victim—her shoulders had a perpetual defensive slouch and she flinched at quick movements like an abused animal—so I was amazed that she'd had the courage to seek me out. But she had, and now she sat on my couch, adding a whole new layer of complication to my life.

Her first words, after declaring that she needed my help, were delivered with a belligerent thrust of her head. "I'm sorry to burst in on you like this but I didn't know what else to do. You've got to help me find Jon. I think something's happened to him."

I was still struggling to get my eyes open but Andre, a policeman to the bone, was awake, aware and alive. "Why did you come here?"

The girl flinched and looked at me. So far she'd avoided looking at Andre. "You are Thea Kozak, aren't you?" I nodded. "Because," she told Andre's shoes, "she's investigating his cousin Cal's death. And Jon was with Cal that weekend... they were taking that driving course together... that is, Cal was treating him to a driving course... and then Jon disappeared. In all the confusion after Cal's car crashed, Jon checked out of the motel and disappeared."

I didn't want to hear any of this. I could feel the first black fingers of a headache reaching into my brain. I had too many headaches lately. Probably a brain tumor. "I don't understand. Why me? How did you find me? Why didn't you go to the police?"

"I went to see Julie." Her voice dropped like someone had pulled the plug. She leaned wearily against the door jamb, her face as white as the paint. "She gave me your name. Could I come in? Please? It's cold out here... and I've been driving all day."

I didn't want this problem-bearing stranger in my house in the middle of the night, but thanks to my mother, my manners are pretty hard-wired. I stepped aside and motioned her in. Andre stood silent but I knew his mind and his eyes were already on the case.

I turned on the living room lights and settled her on the couch. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?"

"Tea, please." The slight catch in her voice suggested tears weren't far away. "And... could I have something to eat?" She said it in a rush, clearly embarrassed at the audacity of her request.

We were all silent as I fixed her a sandwich, and one for Andre as well, since he was always hungry. Tunafish. At least I always have that. She seized the plate greedily. "Thanks," she mumbled around a mouthful. "I haven't eaten all day."

We waited a little longer while she finished chewing. As soon as she was done, Andre pounced. "You got Thea's name from Julie Bass?"

Karen flinched like he'd accused her of a crime. "Yes." Her voice was almost a whisper. "When Jon didn't come home I called her but even though I left a couple messages, she never called me back. I waited a week... I didn't want to be any trouble or anything. Julie was always nice to me but Cal... well, I could tell he didn't think I was good enough for Jon. He made me feel stupid and ugly. So I didn't want to talk to him... but finally I couldn't stand it any longer. I was so scared. That's when I tried to call Cal at the bank and they told me he was dead and that Julie had been arrested."

"Don't you read the papers?" Andre asked.

"Sometimes. Not always. Not those first few days when Jon didn't come back. When I wasn't working I was..." She hesitated. "Drinking. Anyway, it's only a local paper. It doesn't pay much attention if it's not local news."

She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and scrubbed at her nose. "I couldn't believe it. That they could think Julie was the killing type, with her so darn refined she don't even like to raise her voice. I mean, it's silly, isn't it?" She looked around for a response, but we didn't have one. It was late. We were weary. We just wanted her to get to the point.

"Well, she wouldn't kill somebody and not especially somebody she loved, like she did Cal," she said defiantly. "So then I called the police and they said she was at Framingham. So I found out when visiting hours were there and I borrowed my father's car and drove down to see her. To ask if she knew anything. She was a wreck... you should see... never mind. But she didn't know what happened to him. She said she was surprised that Jon had been there but I'm not sure I believed her. She said maybe you'd know something. That you were trying to find the real story. So do you? Know anything about Jon, I mean?"

She stared at me with sorry eyes that begged me not to disappoint her. I shook my head. "I've never heard of Jon until just now."

The tears in her voice were in her eyes now, brimming over and trickling down her face. She made no move to wipe them away. "It's not like Jon not to come home..." She hesitated. "Or at least call. Not after all this time."

"He's disappeared before?" Andre said.

She stared at the tips of her scuffed Doc Martens. "Well, yeah. Sometimes. But he'd always call... after a few days. I mean, he'd never go away for weeks like this and not get in touch."

"Does Jon have a job?"

"He's a musician," she said defensively. "He has gigs."

"But not that weekend?" She shook her head. Slowly, confused, as if she wasn't sure. "What about the following week?"

"That's when I started getting worried. At first I figured he was just holed up with the rest of the band, working on songs or something. They'd do that sometimes…" Her glance challenged us to accept that as normal. "But he'd call... when he remembered that I get worried. Only then I get this call from one of the guys, wanting to know where he was... saying that he'd like... not shown up or anything. That's when I began to get the feeling..." She broke off and ducked her head nervously, watching us through her hair as though she expected an attack.

"What feeling?" I said.

She just sat there, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. Finally she said, "My mood ring turned black. And then I got this weird hollow feeling like I was all black inside, too. I get intuitions," she said defiantly. "People don't believe me, but I do."

At this rate, we'd have a coherent story by dawn. "Did Jon call you while he was at the course?"

She shook her head. Her hair had fallen forward, hiding her face. From behind the curtain came a small, sad voice. "No. He wouldn't have. He was mad at me, see, because we'd had a big fight about him going. About the money, see. About him paying for the course."

"Was it a last-minute decision to go?" I asked.

"Well, yes and no. Cal had asked him a couple months ahead and Jon said no, but then the weekend before he called Cal and said he'd changed his mind. He wanted to have an adventure, see. He was blocked. Thought it might help with writing songs to do something different like that. Only I got real pissed at him because he was supposed to help my sister move and they were going to pay him and everything. And we needed that money. I can pay the rent and all and I don't mind, but Jon's always needing something like strings or picks or a new bridge or some CD he's gotta have to study their technique. So I told him he shouldn't go, he should stay home and earn that money."

She shook her hair back from her miserable face. "He said Cal was paying and it was something he had to do. Then he told me to fuck off and left. I haven't seen or heard from him since.” She put her hands over her face. Through her sobs, she said, “And he always comes back."

"What makes you think he didn't just take off on a whim to go have another adventure?" Andre said. "Or because he was mad at you?"

"'Cuz that's just how he is. He wasn't all that mad," she said. "He says sometimes I act too much like his mother. I'm used to that. He always comes back. He needs me. I take care of him." She blew her nose again, her words punctuated by little hiccupping breaths. "Anyway, it's not that. The one thing in this world that Jon really cared about was his band, Live Bait. Even if he was going to... going to..." She sucked in a breath and continued in a shaky voice. "...leave me, he'd never leave them. And none of them has heard from
him
either. Not a word."

"I wish I could help you," I said, "but I don't know anything about Jon. What's his last name?"

"Bass. Like Cal."

"Did you file a missing persons report?" Andre asked.

"Oh yeah. With our local police. They were real concerned. Said if I was patient my wandering minstrel would come home."

"What about the Connecticut police?"

"Pretty much the same thing," she said bitterly. "They said they'd ask around but I had to understand they were real busy with a murder on their hands."

"We're going down to Connecticut tomorrow. I'll be glad to see if I can get you any more information." I had her write down her name and address and a phone number where I could reach her.

"Do you have a picture of him?" Andre asked.

She pulled out her wallet, took out a photo, and paused, staring at it. Slowly, reluctantly, she offered it to Andre. "You'll give it back, won't you?"

"Of course." He handed the picture to me. Jon Bass was a younger, stockier version of Cal, with slightly longer hair and a mustache.

"Is this a recent picture?"

She nodded. "Christmas."

"How are Jon and Cal related?"

"Cousins. Their fathers were brothers."

"He still has the mustache?"

She shrugged. "Far as I know." She yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth, and bent down to untie her boots. "I hope you don't mind if I crash here. I'm bushed. No way I could drive back home tonight." Off came the shoes and socks. Her feet were dirty.

Over her bent head I looked at Andre and made a helpless gesture. What was I supposed to do, throw her out in the street? He grinned and mouthed "Mother Thea." I made a face at him. It looked like we had an overnight guest. Sometimes the audacity—or obliviousness—of the young astounds me. Here was a girl so timid she cowered if you looked at her, yet she saw nothing odd about inviting herself to spend the night with total strangers, and it hadn't occurred to her that it might be an imposition. Such utter self-absorption makes me feel like an old fogey. So I said an old fogey thing. "It would have been nice if you had called first."

She cowered, but her answer was unsatisfying. "I didn't have your number," she said. "I forgot to get it."

"Then how did you find me?"

"Your mother."

I gave up. Reforming the lost generation was beyond me. Miss Manners could do it. "You can sleep in the guest room. The bed's made up. I'll get you a towel and there are spare toothbrushes on the second shelf."

"That's okay," she said, fishing one out of her purse. "I brought my own."

"You want to borrow a nightgown?" She was maybe 5'2"and couldn't have weighed much over a hundred, so she would have disappeared in anything of mine. I was just being polite.

"S'okay," she said. "I don't wear one."

Andre and I said quick good nights and retreated to the bedroom. He had a malicious grin plastered on his face that infuriated me. "Look," I said, sounding about as defensive as Karen had, "I didn't ask for this. What was I supposed to do?"

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to. It's all over your face."

"Your problem is that you're just too tenderhearted."

"Who answered the door?"

"It might have been important...."

I narrowed my eyes and gave him my best hard-boiled P.I. glare. "You think this isn't important?"

He slipped a chilly hand into the front of my robe. "I know what's important."

"Hey!" I grabbed his wrist. "Are you trying to change the subject?"

"We have a quota to meet," he said, kissing me. "Store it up for the long, cold week."

"I really don't give a damn about anybody else's problems," I said, kissing him back.