Caught Off Guard Page 9

  He strolled to the window and, light still pointed at me, signaled me to put my window down. I complied.

  “What are you doing?” He lowered the beam, sweeping it around the inside of my Wagoneer. Rain dropped off his wide-brimmed hat. A clear plastic poncho covered his uniform.

  “Waiting for someone,” I said.

  “For two hours?”

  I didn’t know whether to tip my hand and say I was a PI or act like a worried friend. I figured a 50 percent chance the lady with the curlers had tipped the cops to my job when she called in to report me. Nobody else would have known how long I’d been there.

  “He left yesterday and hasn’t come home. He didn’t leave with a bag.” I was guessing about that. “And he has information about a crime. I’m concerned for his safety and hoping I’m wrong. Only way I’ll know he’s okay is if he shows up here,” I said, playing the public-safety aspect.

  Cop guy shook his head. “Nope. No loitering. You’re freaking the neighbor out.” He wiped a line of waiting droplets from his hat’s brim. “Listen, I don’t want to be standing out here in the rain. And if I have to do it much longer, it’s gonna make me grouchy. When I get grouchy, I tend to make other people’s lives miserable. You can ask my wife if you don’t believe me.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Move on. Move on now, or I’m gonna get grouchy and give you a ticket. Or worse, take you in. Understand?”

  I nodded. “Understood.”

  We waited, glancing at each other.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Start your car and get out of here. If I find you in another spot or loitering across the street, I’m not going to be happy.”

  I turned LC’s engine over. “Can I cruise by at a respectable speed occasionally?”

  The cop closed his eyes briefly. “Space it out so the neighbor doesn’t call it in again, you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He gestured like I should get going.

  I pointed at his car. “Um…”

  He pointed the flashlight at me. “Don’t get smart with me.”

  I shook my head.

  The cop walked to his car and, once inside, backed it up. I pulled LC out of the spot and cruised through the lot at a slow speed before exiting, the cop behind me.

  Not looking for any more trouble, I drove to AJ’s to pick up Simon.

  What a waste of a day.

  On the way home, I got a text from Lockett: Anything? Give me some good news.

  I didn’t respond.

  12

  Saturday

  Simon and I popped over to the dog park on the way home to toss a ball and burn energy. I was the only one there. The rain was a fine, steady mist, which was likely what was keeping any others home. I wore a rain hat with a four-inch brim—I wasn’t a fan of umbrellas—and a rain shell, but by the end of our hour there, my jeans-clad legs were soaked, and my mood was as wet and heavy as my pants.

  “Hey,” I asked Simon, who shook the water off his coat, “wanna trade lives?”

  After he licked my hand, I scratched him behind the ears. “I bet you miss AJ. Don’t you worry, buddy, we’ll get through this together. This is me having a positive mindset.” I tapped my temple.

  Simon panted happily, likely hoping a treat would fall from the sky or my hand. He didn’t care that I sounded like Precious, but having said I was going to be positive was already changing my mood. I couldn’t dwell there—I had to be on to the next thing.

  “Come on, handsome, let’s go home.”

  He jumped into LC’s front seat, and I lowered the window so that he could hang his head out. Parked outside my apartment were Precious’s SUV and Leo’s truck. Simon and I climbed the stairs and found no one waiting on my balcony. I assumed they were all inside.

  “Does everyone know the passcode to my place?” I asked the dog.

  He wagged his nub of a tail.

  Inside, Leo, Lockett, Toby, and Precious were sitting in the living room. She was dressed in a slinky black T-shirt dress with thigh-high boots, her hair in a high ponytail. The men were in dark-washed jeans. Toby had on his typical ironic T-shirt; Lockett was in a Hawaiian-print shirt that was too summery for our winter season, and Leo had on his typical Henley.

  “What’s all this?” I went to the kitchen to set Simon up with food and water.

  Precious stood, clasping her hands in excitement. “We’re going to a disco. I’m meeting a potential client, and he’ll be in downtown Portland at this outdoor disco.”

  “Sounds cold,” I said, still in my wet jeans.

  “It won’t be. It’s got lots of fires and stuff. Come on. Get changed. We have to leave in forty minutes.”

  Dinnertime hadn’t come, and I wondered what kind of disco started so early. A geriatric one?

  Precious must have read my expression because she said, “We’re having dinner first. My treat. Hurry. Wear something cute.” She grabbed me by the arm, dragged me to my bedroom, then pushed me through the door.

  Sixty minutes later, we were in downtown Portland, eating at a Brazilian Steakhouse. I was dressed in black leggings and a thin, black, long-sleeve T-shirt patterned with a mass of white, yellow, blue, and green paisley. When stretched, the material was translucent, but the T-shirt was thin enough on its own that the pattern made my arms look tattooed. Over it, I wore a black puffy vest and had finished the outfit with mid-calf boots. Pinned to the inside of the waistband of my leggings was my secret pouch where I stored my handcuff keys. For good measure, I had tucked a small pocketknife in the small sack too. I’d seen it in my backpack, and something told me it would be better off hiding in the pocket, so I moved it. Slipped into one boot was mace, in the other a stun gun. Leo would’ve been proud of my preparedness.

  Having put only a handful of buffet food on my plate, I sat next to Lockett and was caught off guard by his plate, heaped with food.

  “How do you shut it off to enjoy yourself?” I asked. “To have an appetite?”

  He was seconds from stuffing a bite of bacon-wrapped steak into his mouth. He paused to say, “It doesn’t do me or them any good to be all moony because I’m free and they aren’t. That could change in a second. But also, I need to be my whole self so that I can be my best for them. Relaxing is part of that.” He crammed the steak in.

  I nodded. He was right, of course, but actually relaxing was harder than not.

  After dinner, we drove to Waterfront Park, off the Willamette River. In the open space, a large, football-field-length deck had been constructed. Lanterns swung from the riverside railing. Large firepits surrounded the dance floor and heated the space.

  To enter, we were funneled between two folding tables lined with bulky, thick-armed men, likely bouncers. Taking our money and handing out headphones were a handful of women dressed as cats, each one’s outfit a onesie. A Siamese cat, thick pointy-eye makeup and all, was strapping yellow wristbands onto patrons.

  Precious stepped up to the table. “I’m on the guest list. Erika Shurmann?”

  A calico cat with one eye done up in black and the other in silver flipped through some papers and tapped midway down the page with a coffin-shaped black nail. “Yep, I see you right here. Total five, right?”

  Precious nodded. We were given bright-green wristbands that said VIP along with our headsets.

  Calico Cat Girl said, “There are two channels, one for each DJ. Enjoy.” She showed us how to change the channel then was immediately done with us.

  Ahead on the dance floor were clusters of people moving to music no one but they could hear, along with anyone else on the same channel. Some headphones were glowing blue and others red. That corresponded to the different channels, I assumed, because those with blue seemed to be dancing in sync but not with those with red headphones. Looking into the scene from the outside was kinda hysterical.

  I elbowed Leo. “Look, there’s a guy over to the right in the white T-shirt with an alien on it. His headphones have no color. You think h
e’s not hearing any music and just dancing to his own beat?”

  Leo shook his head. “I’m not so sure about this.”

  I agreed. “I kinda feel ridiculous. Maybe we can bail and head up to the Hyatt for drinks or something.”

  Precious grabbed me by the elbow. “I heard that. And no one is bailing. Come on, let’s get seen.”

  We followed her across the dance floor toward the DJs. They were encased in separate booths, both apparently soundproof. I didn’t recognize one of the DJs, but the other was Lil’ Megalodon. His small dreads were sticking up, a jogging headband woven between them. He was wearing headphones, but only one was over an ear, leaving the other exposed. His body moved in tune to the record he was spinning. Blue light ran around the perimeter of his booth. Red light ran the perimeter of the other DJ’s booth. Dressed in jeans, with holes at the knees, a Stanford sweatshirt, and Doc Martins, he glanced up, saw Precious, smiled, and gave her a chin nod.

  I put my headphones on and clicked to the blue channel. “Mozart’s the foundation. It’s pretty good,” I told the group.

  The others put their headphones on. I stopped Precious before she could click hers on and moved one side off my ear.

  “Is Lil’ Megalodon your potential client?”

  She smiled widely and stepped close to quietly say, “Yeah, he’s had a rough few weeks and trouble with his agent. He said he was having trouble letting go of the anger and thought maybe I could help him get perspective, and he’s looking to scale up, but he’s unsure about decisions. He’s had his agent since college but now doesn’t trust him.”

  “He doesn’t care that AJ is your client too?”

  She shook her head. “You and I are going to dance and have a good time, and I’m going to get a sense of Lil’ Megalodon the rapper, and when he and I meet tomorrow, we’ll decide if we should combine our superpowers.”

  I laughed while scanning the crowd. “This silent thing is kinda weird. I’m even more self-conscious about dancing.”

  Precious pulled me toward the guys, who were standing by the rail overlooking the river. “Let’s dance,” she called and dropped my hand to take Lockett’s.

  Toby clicked his headphones to blue and swayed with the music. “I should have brought Lady M!” he yelled then moonwalked, albeit poorly, away.

  Leo flung an arm around my shoulder. “Shall we?”

  I shrugged because dancing with Leo would be weird. Even though Leo had taught me how to shoot a gun, wiped away my tears, and even taken a bullet for me, dancing was like moving into a zone I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

  Leo paused. “You know how to dance, don’t you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course. I’ve been out dancing with your brother hundreds of times.”

  Leo faced me, palms up and out, waiting for me to take them. “What’s the hang-up? What’s the difference between me and Hue?”

  “Nothing,” I said and put my hands in his.

  But Hue’s hands had never made me aware of my girly bits.

  By the second song, I started to relax as the group danced together, laughing and switching our channels to see if we were in or out of sync with each other.

  Lockett spun me around like the song suggested, right round round, and I ended my spin facing Lil’ Megalodon, his gold-framed shark’s tooth reflecting beams of colored light.

  His sweatshirt was glowing in the dark, and I had to read it three times before something hit me.

  I spun back and grabbed Toby by the arm. Removing one side of his headphones, I asked quietly, “What college did you say McVay went to?”

  “Stanford.”

  13

  Monday

  Sunday was spent catching up on sleep, going over my notes from AJ’s interview, waiting for Toby to finish his looksee into Lil’ Megalodon, and wearing Simon out at the dog park.

  The following morning, Precious texted and said she was taking on Lil’ Megalodon—whom she referred to thereafter only by his real name, DeShawn Cook—and was very excited. Leo texted and asked me to meet him at the new coffeehouse, which coincidentally was having its grand opening that day.

  Replacing How Ya Bean, a Wind River staple for the past six years, was Java Magic.

  The former owner of How Ya Bean had gone to prison for an undetermined amount of time, pending her behavior. I couldn’t help but think Java Magic was doomed simply because of its predecessor.

  The coffee shop’s sign was glittery and kitschy, with streamers of metallic colors cascading down.

  I stood on the sidewalk and looked in through the large plate-glass window. The crowd was a decent size, with none of the Mommy Mafia I’d had a run-in with at the beginning of the school year. Since their fair leader had been eighty-sixed to pursue crime in the afterlife, the hunter-boot-and-puffy-vest moms had probably gone somewhere else to practice their snark.

  My mother rushed out the door with a medium cup wrapped in a cardboard protector.

  “Hi,” I said. “What do you have there?”

  She kissed me on the cheek. “Tea. You look lovely.”

  I was wearing leggings, ankle-high winter boots, and a long tunic-style sweatshirt that looked more sporty than sloppy. My winter coat was thin but well insulated, so I had it open to stay cool.

  “Why aren’t you having tea in your office?”

  Mom, a lawyer by trade, was the mayor of Wind River and very picky about her tea. If she did takeout, it was coffee.

  She pointed at a cable utility van parked outside her office at the town hall. The garish Java Magic sign had distracted me so much that I wasn’t noticing the obvious.

  “We’re having the lines upgraded to improve our internet speed.”

  My eyebrows went up. The internet speeds downtown did lag at times, for reasons we could only guess. Some people speculated the clouds were the reason. Others attributed the slow speed downtown to the lines being a million years old, before the lines were fiber optic.

  “Will the entire downtown get this boost or just the mayor’s office?” I asked.

  Mom smiled. “This block, to start.”

  “Yes,” I said and gave her a thumbs-up. Since I lived over the newspaper, which was across the street from the town hall, I was getting an upgrade.

  Mom smiled. “I’m glad I could make your day. But for now, the tech guy is in my space, so I’m going to go pester your dad. Want to come for dinner?”

  “Can I bring Simon?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay. See you later.”

  After she crossed the street to Dad’s, I turned back to the coffeehouse. I loved when someone else made my coffee, but the vibe that place was putting off didn’t make me want to get coffee there, which was stupid, no doubt. But metallic streamers like the ones on the sign were also hanging from the ceiling inside, covering the walls with rainbows.

  Leo came up beside me. “I’m sure it’s harmless to go in. It’s coffee.”

  I grunted in frustration. “I’m only drinking black coffee. Nothing fancy.” I pointed at the sign. “If that’s any indication, then I think black coffee might not even be on the list.”

  Leo chuckled. “We’ll never know if we don’t go in.”

  I gave him a push. “You first.”

  We entered, and the bell over the door made a jaunty little jingle, one that could get annoying quickly.

  A lady my age, early thirties, wearing a green floral long-sleeve dress that nearly touched the floor, rushed to greet us. “Welcome, welcome. Let me take a look at you so I can get a sense of what you should be drinking.”

  Whoa. I was going to decide what I wanted, not some stranger with a French braid and no makeup, who smelled like patchouli oil and looked like she should be churning butter or something. I had a feeling that we didn’t have the same sort of taste buds as I would never be caught dead in a green floral dress. She probably put lots of sugar in her black coffee.

  “I like to read your aura. At Java Magic, we like to help you make your day
the best. The food you eat, the drinks you consume… They can affect your day and your aura.” She put a palm out toward me. “Yours looks to be straightforward—coffee, a mild roast with sweet notes and a healthy splash of half and half.” She moved her hand toward Leo. “You’re simple, black coffee for you too, but you want an exotic brew. I have a Peruvian blend that I think you’ll just love. Bold, nutty, with a slight peppery taste.”

  Leo said, “Wow. Sounds good. I’ll try it.” Dressed in his uniform, he stuck out his hand. “Leo Stillman.”

  She dropped hers into his, all dainty like. “Lark Ogilvy. I’m the owner.”

  Leo asked, “What brings you to Wind River?”

  Lark held her arms out wide. “This opportunity. I’m from Portland, but it’s too expensive there.”

  I jumped into the conversation. “You had a shop there?”

  She shook her head. “Worked for a shop and got lots of practice. I would try out a variety of concoctions. Used to give them away to the homeless, so I think I have a good sense of what works for people and not.”

  I guess I was being shortsighted by assuming that I had different food expectations from a homeless person’s.

  “We’ll grab those drinks, Lark. And good luck. I hope you like Wind River,” I said.

  From a large pocket in the front of her dress, she took out a Post-it note and a Sharpie. She wrote Leo’s coffee order on one sheet, peeled it off the top, and slapped it onto his chest, right over his badge. She did the same to me then gestured for us to continue to the counter.

  “Let’s take these to my balcony,” I said after we got our coffees, the barista having snatched the sticky notes from our shirts and pressed them onto our takeout cups.

  Minutes later, we were kicked back in deck chairs, looking down at the activity in town. The town was relatively quiet, the occasional person going into the newspaper or the corner market. The yoga studio was letting out, and those patrons were flocking to Java Magic. I got us two mugs to put our coffees in because coffee from a mug instead of a paper cup is better-tasting coffee. I kicked my feet up to rest on the deck railing.