A Ghost to Die For (8 page)

“Proper use of calling cards required particular rules. For instance, only a person’s name could appear on the card, thus leaving the disclosure of any other information to the discretion of the individual. And while custom did not dictate the exact size of a calling card, it was customary for cards to be about the same size as our modern business cards are today. By the late 1800s, calling cards had garnered such high favor, that even the more notorious members of society had taken a fashion to them.

“Reportedly, one such celebrity was the stage entertainer, Ruby Red. Miss Ruby, as she was called, was a flamboyant red-haired beauty, and self-proclaimed gentlemen’s escort. Ruby designed her own cards of the finest ivory linen paper stock. Each card was trimmed in a crimson ink border and the center was engraved in crimson ink with the singular name of Ruby. From the music halls of San Francisco to the opera houses of San Diego, it was generally known that possessing a calling card of Ruby’s was a souvenir of her companionship, rather than a mere means of her introduction. Considering Ruby’s unique use of her personal cards, it is not a leap of the imagination to speculate that Ruby Red lent an exotic definition to the social transaction of calling cards.” Alex laughed. “In other words, Miss Ruby Red was a high-priced call girl.”

“Some how, that does not surprise me. When was that article written?”

“It says here, this information was extracted with permission, from the original article by Audrey Sinclair, contributing editor to the Old West Gazette, first published and copyrighted, October issue, 1982.”

“That’s recent enough. Is the Old West Gazette still being published?”

“I don’t think so. I do believe it was published here in San Diego. I can find out for you. A colleague at the university would know. Anything else?” Alex asked.

“Not much in that article was about Ruby, yet she was important enough to use as an example. Still....”

Alex leaned in closer and said, “I now that look of yours, your wheels are spinning, close your eyes Shannon, let you thoughts flow.”

I closed my eyes and tried to relax. Alex was right, my brain was racing and my thoughts kept returning to that article, but why? Why?
Why?

“Send Claire,” I whispered.

“What?”

“My dream, or nightmare, or whatever you want to call it, that’s it. Oh, it is perfectly clear, don’t you see, Alex, it is not the phrase of
send Claire
, instead, the dream is about the last name of Sinclair. I’m sure of it. Audrey Sinclair, the editor who wrote that article, I need to get a hold of her.”

“Okay, we will, if we can. Shannon this article was written thirty years ago.”

“Move over, let me at Google. If Audrey Sinclair is still around, I’ll find her.”

It took me all of ten minutes. “Bingo, here she is. Says here that after the Old West Gazette folded in 2002, Audrey retired and now only writes occasionally. And get this, she resides not far from here in Pacific Beach.” I turned to face Alex. “I’m going to Pacific Beach tomorrow. First thing in the morning I’ll call Audrey. Do you want to come with me?”

“What if she won’t see you?”

I rolled my eyes and said, “Alex, that is not an option.”

Chapter 14

That morning we left at eight. Alex drove and I told him about my conversation with Audrey Sinclair.

“Here’s the directions,” I handed him the slip of paper.

Alex glanced at the few sentences. “Seems straightforward. I know this area of Pacific Beach, it’s upscale. Should take us about fifteen minutes.”

“Good. Audrey said she only had a few minutes to spare. Evidently she has some kind of crazy busy agenda for this morning. Anyway, I should warn you, Audrey sounds, uh, rather, shall I say, squawky, like a parrot. Hoarse, loud voice. Oh, and she cackles.”

“How old is she?” Alex asked.

“I can’t say, not for certain. Audrey said that after the Old West Gazette folded, she wasn’t disappointed. She had known it was just a matter of time and that she didn’t need to work, anyway. She was ready to retire. Alex, that was in 2002. Do you suppose she could be quite elderly?”

“Did she sound old?”

“Yeah, she sounded ancient, but very loud and like I said, she was squawky.”

“I gather by your description you’re trying to be diplomatic and say Audrey does not strike you as a genteel elderly lady, like my Aunt Dora?”

I laughed and said, “See, you do know me, and quite well.”

“Okay, so Audrey Sinclair is not genteel and maybe she is loud, even crass, but she did agree to meet with you. How did you manage that?”

“I was honest. I told her I was researching Ruby Red and that I enjoyed her article and asked if she had more information. She said she’d give me copies of her file. It was old news anyway and she no longer cared about it. But she added that I had to be there at eight, sharp.”

“Good, how about three minutes early, we are here.” Alex drove into a winding driveway. We came to a stop in front of an elegant beach estate. The large home was soft peach-hued stucco in the California Spanish Colonial style that had been so popular in the 1940s.

Alex pressed the doorbell and a maid costumed in white answered. We followed her into a lovely sun-drenched living room. A very elderly woman was seated and then she stood and introduced herself. I knew by the voice, that she was Audrey Sinclair.

Audrey was a stark contradiction to the understated elegance of her home. She wore a fuchsia pink tunic that had glittery Bingo cards plastered across the front, underneath the tunic, she wore spandex skinny jeans in lime green. Her hair was obviously a bleached-platinum and her makeup would have taken first prize for the best ghoulish Halloween party mask. The overall effect was of an ostrich wearing bright pink feathers and stage makeup with purple eye shadow, extra long false eyelashes and bright orange lipstick, on a face that was unnaturally tan and deeply wrinkled. A one-word description of
cartoonish
came to my mind, and even
that
was an understatement.

“Mr. Alexander Blackthorne,” Audrey screeched. “I’ve so desired to make your acquaintance. When your friend telephoned me and said you were investigating the Ruby Red files, I knew that finally, the world would stand and pay attention to my stories about her. All this time, and to think you have an interest in my writing. Ha, it’s about time, I’d say.” Audrey punctuated her statement with a loud cackle.

Alex was embarrassed, but he handled it smoothly. Okay, so I forgot to tell him that I had to drop his name to get Audrey to agree to this meeting. But Alex recovered and slammed the ball into my court.

“Actually, it is I who am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Sinclair. Your files will be of priceless assistance to our research regarding the life of Ruby Red. You see, my friend, here, Shannon Delaney, is the one who is the real sleuth in this matter.” Alex had his hand on the small of my back and with his last word, he nudged me forward.

“Yes, Miss Sinclair, it is gracious of you to share your information. I know you said you have a busy morning planned, so, not wanting to take any more of your time than necessary, were you able to locate your files on Ruby Red?”

“Of course I did. I’m old, not feeble.” Audrey ignored me. She reached behind her, grabbed a file folder and turned around and offered it to Alex. From that point on, I did not exist. And Audrey’s attention did not waver from her fixated puppy love gaze upon Alex’s face. I tuned them out. I could hear her screeching and Alex’s polite and calm answers, when he could get a word in edgewise. But mostly, I just let my eyes wander over the room. And that was when I spied the painting.

It was positioned on the wall, six feet away, behind Alex. I walked over to it. Could this really be a genuine Auguste Renoir? The scene of two women at a cafe table in a French market square looked vaguely familiar. The scene had Renoir’s characteristic stamp of one woman depicted with red hair, she was leaning close over the table, sharing a chat with the other woman, a brunette beauty. The red-haired women’s face was in three-quarter profile, while the other woman faced the onlooker. The era was the late 1800s, and the market square backdrop behind them was typical of the Renoir Impressionism style, busy merchants displaying their wares. And in the far away backdrop was a body of water, it could be a calm sea, a lake or a river. This scene nagged at my brain, it was so familiar to me. I leaned into the painting to see if I could discern a signature, and that was when I heard Audrey squawk.

“Don’t get too close to that, missy. You might damage it with your breath.”

I spun a round. Audrey was glaring at me. “I’m so sorry. I was admiring it. Is it a Renoir?”

“No. It was painted by a student of his and that’s all I know about it.” Audrey dismissed me with that statement and that moment was the perfect pause for Alex to speak up.

“Miss Sinclair, I do apologize for being in hurry, we must get on our way. But I promise that as soon as I see my Aunt Dora, I will let her know you asked about her.” Alex’s charm was dripping honey from his lips and Audrey lapped it up.”

“Of course. No offense taken, Alex. My maid will see you out.” Her maid appeared instantaneously and saw us out.

In the car, Alex turned to me and said, “I take it, you mentioned my name in your phone call this morning to Audrey?”

“Alex, honestly that is all that I did, I simply said that you, by name, and I, by name, were interested in Ruby Red. I had no idea Audrey would be so charmed by your company. Her ambush took me by surprise.”

“Took you by surprise? How do you think it made me feel? I hope you used the time you spent behind my back wisely.”

“Oh, don’t be so snide. As a matter of fact I did. Thanks to you blocking her view, I was able to sneak a couple of photos of that painting.”

“And why so much interest in that painting?” Alex asked.

“Something about it is familiar to me. She said it wasn’t a Renoir, and I did not see a signature, but it nags at me.”

“How could it be related to the Andalyn Dixon and Ruby Red mystery?”

“I can’t imagine.”

Alex laughed. “I doubt that. Shannon, if anyone can imagine a connection it is you.” He looked at his watch and then said, “Let’s stop for coffee and breakfast. I now a small cafe in Mission Beach that has a great view. We can go over the file Audrey gave me.”

“Hmm, coffee, yes that sounds good. Caffeine is just what I need to get my little gray cells to wake up.”

Chapter 15

The Sea Vista Cafe was perfect. The view was spectacular and at this time of the mid-morning, we had our choice of tables. Alex led the way to a corner window table that provided a view from each side of the corner. We sat next to each other, at right angles facing the windows. We each had an unobstructed view of the ocean, though I suspected Alex chose this seating arrangement for using his notebook computer. By facing the window light, window glare could not block out images on the computer’s screen.

A balding middle-age man named Walter gave us menus and said he’d be back in a moment. He also greeted Alex by name and asked about Atlas. I wasn’t hungry, but Alex was. Walter returned and Alex ordered a breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast, with black coffee. I and asked for coffee with cream.

“You ate already?”

“Yeah, a little. But I didn’t drink my usual two cups of coffee. So, you and Atlas come here often?”

“Often enough, and usually in the off hours, like now. That way we can sit outside at a patio table, enjoy the view and not be bothered by curious onlookers who want to pet Atlas.

I laughed at that comment. “Yeah, I know what you mean. The other day when I took Atlas for a walk, it did not take much time for me to get tired of people commenting on the size difference between us. I guess people never stop to think of how many times I’ve heard someone tell me to put a saddle on Atlas and ride him.”

“You know, there is a walking path you can take from the house that cuts through most of the busy part of the neighborhood, it’s a shortcut, a footpath alley that empties out near the Van Wyck house.”

“I had no idea. And the Van Wyck house was our turnaround point, if only I had known. Where is it, Alex?”

“Two houses down on the left, it looks like a private garden walk, so you probably have never given it a second look, it’s really a public easement. It’s been there since before Blackthorne House was built. In the latter part of the 1800s, it was a handcart path for the local vendors and merchants to use for delivering fresh produce and goods in the neighborhood. Now, it is a popular path for foot traffic, walkers and joggers alike. Try it next time.”

“I will, and what a relief it will be not to be gawked at.”

Walter brought Alex’s breakfast. To make room for his platter and toast, Alex moved his computer notebook over to my place setting. I set aside my mug of coffee.

“How about you open up the computer and load your pics to it. I’ll munch and you bring up the photos?”

“Sure.” It took only a minute and a thumbnail index page popped up on the screen. “There’s only seven photos, I’ll bring them up in the order I snapped them.” The first three photos were pics the displayed a full frame of the painting. Alex leaned toward me to get a better look.