Later that night, after dinner—angel hair pasta and broccoli with alfredo sauce from a jar—my phone buzzed while I helped Rachel load the dishwasher. Alex Portland. “Mr. Jurgen? I got a face shield, so just saw my grandfather. He’s not talking much, but I told him about the ring. And he got really upset.”
I wiped my hands on a towel. “Upset how?”
“He still can’t make words. He just started grunting, and his face got all red. The only word I could understand was ‘off.’ Like, ‘get it off,’ Maybe? I don’t know. Then the nurses made me leave because he was getting so agitated.”
“Is he all right?”
“He was okay, before I talked about the ring. Awake, and good blood pressure and all that. I can’t make any sense out of the numbers on all the stuff they have him hooked up to.”
“Right.” Staley had already been upset when he’d hired me. What was it about that ring? “Well, thanks for calling me. I hope he gets better.”
“Thank you. I’ll see him tomorrow. Maybe he won’t get mad this time.”
We hung up. Rachel closed the dishwasher. “What’s up?”
I leaned against the counter. “Want to go out for a beer?”
“Hello again.” Dustin remembered me, but he spent more time checking out Rachel. I couldn’t blame him. She wore denim jacket over a black sweater and tight jeans, and she looked hot. Especially in a mask with red and black stripes.
“My girlfriend and I were just in the neighborhood.” I emphasized “girlfriend.” I can be territorial, too.
We ordered beers. Rachel watched him set bottles on the bar and said, “Wow, that’s a cool ring.”
He grinned. “Thanks.” He held his hand out.
The red stone swirled and glittered, shining in Rachel’s eyes. She blinked, leaned back, and nodded. “That’s—something. Cool.”
“Yeah.” He winked. “Anything else to go with your beer? Something special?”
Was he hitting on Rachel in front of me? I put a foot on the floor, ready to leap up and—do something.
Rachel blinked. For a moment I thought she was going to order something, but after a moment she just shook her head. Dustin moved down the bar.
The scotch drinker was back again, nursing his Dewar’s through a straw under his mask. Another couple sat close together in stools across from us, a young man and woman drinking vodka tonics and casually making out as best they could with masks mostly down. No one for Dustin to flirt with.
I looked at Rachel. “You okay?”
She rubbed her eyes. “That ring. It’s—weird. I almost—never mind.”
“Maybe. Yeah.” She pulled up her mask for a sip of beer.
I watched Dustin. Two men came in, dropped their masks, and ordered beers. A few minutes later three women came through the door and sat at table in the corner. Right after them came the guy from the other night, in the knitted cap. Dustin poured him a brandy without asking.
Then one of the women walked up to order wine and take menus back to her friends. Dustin brought the wine out and took food orders. He smiled and made sure his ring was visible. It flashed in the firelight.
Rachel went to the restroom. Duston smiled as I reached for my wallet. “Thanks for stopping by.” Then he reached down to lift the Dewar’s bottle for the scotch drinker.
Then Rachel came back, wiping her hands. She took a look at the bar next to our empty glasses, then grabbed my arm and half-dragged me to the door.
Outside she turned on me. “Why did you give him that kind of a tip?”
“What? I only . . .” I patted my wallet in my jeans. “How much?”
“We had two beers. You left forty dollars!”
My mouth dropped open. “What?” I tried to think, but my memory of the last few minutes was a blank. Rachel standing up for the restroom, Dustin smiling at me, then . . . Rachel walking toward me as Dustin served the scotch. I try to be a generous tipper, but—“The ring?”
Rachel nodded. “Yeah.”
I wondered what else he did with it.
The next morning I skimmed through the news on my laptop while eating my cereal. COVID cases in the state were up. Property taxes in the city were going up. The stock market was going down.
One short item: The body of a man had been found halfway stuffed underneath a dumpster on the city’s west side, stabbed to death. Unidentified.
There were other murders, of course. Drive-bys and gang incidents. I check out all of them. I used to be a crime reporter.
An hour later I was running employment background searches when Rachel sauntered into our office with her morning mug of coffee. “That ring last night? It’s still bothering me.”
“You too?” I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. “Is it evil?”
“Not exactly.” She shook her head. “That bartender, though—I mean, he was up to something with it.”
I snorted. “You think? He was up to something anyway. And I was right there.”
“Yeah, but the ring made me feel it harder. I mean, I wasn’t going to do anything about it.” She punched my shoulder. “But it wasn’t just the usual flirting—I mean, I can handle that. This was different.”
“Yeah.” Rachel knew krav maga. “Then there’s that tip.” If Dustin had used the ring to get a forty-dollar tip out of me that I couldn’t include in my expenses, I wanted to know what else he was up to. “Let me see what I can find out.”
I finished one search, recorded the data, and then I called Alex Portland, putting it on speaker so Rachel could listen in while she worked.
“I’m sorry to bother you—Is your grandfather doing better?” It seemed like a good way to start.
“They say he’s sitting up and eating. I’m going over later today. What can I do for you?”
I tried to think of a safe question. Is the ring evil? probably wasn’t the best approach. “It’s about that ring again. I was wondering—well, let me put it this way, you mentioned that one of Mr. Staley’s collection pieces was haunted?”
She laughed. “He has a tea set that came from a haunted house, he said. He wouldn’t let me touch it—I was a little girl—but it did seem sometimes like the cups changed places when I wasn’t looking.” She giggled again.
“Did he collect other . . . supernatural objects?”
Alex hesitated. “Well actually, he used to tell me stories about some of his things when I was little. Like, he had a spoon that could make water go freezing cold in one second, and a necklace that if you wore it, no one could hear you talk. But he never let me play with any of them, so I don’t know . . .” Her voice trailed off. “You think the ring is magic or something?”
Time for the truth. “It seems like it has, well, an unusual effect on people.” I explained, and waited for her to ask if I was crazy. It happens a lot.
“Okay.” Alex paused. “I don’t want to ask him about it again after last time. What can I do?”
“You said he has records of where he bought his antiques from? Maybe we could look through them?”
“Uh . . . I guess so. Why don’t you meet me at his place? Seven o’clock or so?”
I glanced over at Rachel. She gave me a thumbs up. “That’s fine. I’ll be bringing an associate, if that’s okay. Her name’s Rachel.”
“Fine. See you then.”
We hung up. Rachel finished her coffee. “Looking through files? The exciting life of a private eye.” She winked at me.
“Yeah.” I only hoped this was as exciting as it got. As long as Dustin was just using the ring to get bigger tips and seduce women—well, the last part wasn’t exactly moral, but it could be worse.
We’d see.
Rachel and I met Alex at Staley’s apartment, the top floor of a four-story walkup. We all wore masks.
The orange cat met us too. He rubbed against Rachel’s boots until Alex picked up him and set him on her shoulder. “Trumpy loves attention, don’t you, Trumpy? She’s pretty lonely without grandpa here.”
The apartment was long and narrow and dark, like a cave. The living room was filled with bookcases stuffed with dusty hardcovers, as if he collected rare books too. No TV.
Alex took us into a study where Staley kept his antiques. The cat dropped from her shoulder and jumped up on a sofa, and immediately fell asleep, purring softly. More tall wooden bookcases lined the room, most of the antiques locked behind glass doors. Rachel and I peered at the collection.
A copper bell . . . a crystal figurine of a princess . . . a silver bowl . . . the tea set Alex had told us about . . . and lots more. Each piece was numbered. “Quite a haul.”
“He’s been collecting for years. All his life.” Alex sat down at a desk where several large leather-bound ledgers were stacked next to a laptop. I recognized the bookcases behind her from my Zoom meeting with Staley. She pushed her glasses up. “I had to ask him—grandpa—about letting you look at this stuff.”
“How’s he doing?” Rachel asked.
“About the same. He’s sleepy.” She yawned. “Me too. It’s been a long couple days.” She pulled a ledger from the top of the pile. “Let’s take a look. He uses the computer all the time, but he started recording everything in these books, so I guess he kept it up.”
I thought the numbering would make looking up the ring simple, but Staley had bought and sold items over the years, which made things a little more complicated. I peered over Alex’s shoulder while Rachel examined the shelves.
“This is where the ring was?” Rachel pointed at a bare space behind the glass. “How did Dustin get into it?”
“He forgets to lock it all the time.” Alex shook her head, turning yellowed pages.
Rachel pulled on the door. “Yep.”
I walked over to her. “Are you getting anything?”
She snorted. “It’s all over the place.”
Alex looked up. “What?”
“I’m psychic. A little” She shrugged. “And yeah, lots of these things are magical.”
“Wow.” Alex looked up and down the cases. “I always kind of wondered about all this stuff.” Then she looked at Rachel. “You’re really psychic?” She didn’t seem skeptical, just curious, as if Rachel had told her she was Buddhist. “What’s that like?”
“Like . . .” She looked at me. “Like wondering why everyone can’t see all the stuff I see.” Then she winked. “Sometimes.”
“Okay, here it is. Or was.” Alex pushed her glasses up again and slid the book toward me.
ITEM# 511 (31), silver ring, fire opal stone (orange). Purchased 2-12-19. Hogarth Antiquities & Curios, Boston.
Alex opened a smaller notebook. “Contacts. Some of this is on the computer if it’s not here, but—yeah, here’s Samuel Hogarth. Address, phone number.”
I pulled out my phone. What time was it in Boston?
The phone buzzed four times. Then I got an outgoing message from a chirpy young female voice. Hogarth Antiquities & Curios was closed for the day, but I could leave a message. So I did.
Alex closed the ledger and stood up. “Is that it?”
I nodded. “Thanks for your help. Sorry to bother you with this.”
“No, I’m curious now.” She led us to the front door, Trumpy pawing at her heels. “Let me know what you find out.”
“Let us know how Mr. Staley is doing.” I wished we could talk to him.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” She picked up the cat. “Say good night, Trumpy.”
The lock on the park gate is broken. The streetlight on the corner is dark. Perfect for them, even if it’s cold tonight.
Mario leads his girlfriend up a hill into a cluster of trees. Leesa giggles. “What if someone comes up here?”
“Nobody does. Especially at night.” It’s 11:30. Maybe later.
“Unless they’re doing the same thing,” She squeezes Mario’s hand.
He yanks his mask to kiss her, then lightly pushes her down into a pile of leaves next to a tree. He digs into his pocket. “Okay, here.”
Leesa takes the joint with a grin, then fumbles with her lighter. Once it’s lit, she plants it between her lips and inhales deeply.
Mario watches her lips, watches the smoke flow from her nostrils. Leesa hands the joint over, smiling. He licks his own rough lips and then takes a deep drag, enjoying the sweet fragrance drifting through the air.
Leesa laughs and kisses his cheek. It’s too cold out tonight to do anything more than smoke, but maybe—
Footsteps rustle leaves on the grass.
“Shit!” Leesa jumps up, ready to run.
He’s tall, in a leather jacket and gloves. Mario watches him slide one glove off. The guy points his hand at them. A ring glows red on his finger.
“Who the hell are you, Green Lantern?” Mario lurches to his feet.
“Stand still.” His voice is low and taut.
Mario and Leesa both freeze. Mario’s heart thuds. He hears Leesa breathing, see the steam of her breath drifting from her lips.
The man points the ring at her. “Go home.”
Without a word or a look back, Leesa runs down the hill. Mario’s eyes follow her until she disappears in the dark.
The guy reaches into a back pocket. A blade snicks out, jutting forward. He steps forward. “Take it. Press it against your chest.”
Mario can’t even blink. As if from a yard away, he watches his hand reach out and close on the knife handle. Brings it close. Feels it poke at his T-shirt. What?
“Push it in.” The guy smiles. He holds the ring forward, the orange light dazzling in Mario’s eyes. “All the way.”
No. It hurts, but he can’t scream. No. He feels blood on his chest, but he can’t look down. No. His heartbeat fills his chest, pounding pounding pounding. No. The blade is so cold. No . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment