A Ghoul's Guide to Love and Murder (22 page)

“Wow,” I said. “The agent's a little touchy.”

“He is but it might be for good reason. His agent said that a few of Rick's fans have tried to crash his locations before by posing as the police,” she said. “He said he wouldn't tell me anything over the phone but he would relay a message if I wanted to leave one.”

“Did you?” Heath asked.

“Nope. I figured it'd be better not to tip our hand that we're looking for him.”

I drummed my fingers on the counter. “Don't you think the agent will call Rick anyway and tell him that you called?”

“He might, but maybe not. He made it sound like Rick was totally unavailable to anyone for the next forty-eight hours.”

“That's more than long enough to unleash hell on us,” Gil moaned.

“It's also more than enough time to track his ass down and get the dagger back,” I countered.

“Anyway,” Olivera said, to get us back on track, “Gil, I can't find the paper that I wrote down the residence on for the IP address you gave me. Can you give it to me again?”

“Sure,” Gil said, lifting the phone to consult it. After a moment he said, “Four-ten Forrest Street.”

“Great,” she said, “I'll check it out. You guys stay put.”

She hung up abruptly, and once again we were all left to stare at one another. “She's crazy if she thinks we're not going to meet her there, right?” I said.

“What?!” Gil exclaimed. “No way, M.J.! Rick might be there, lying in wait!”

I nodded. “Yes, Gil . . .
with
the dagger!”

“Oh, shit,” Heath said, sliding off his chair and moving around to the kitchen. “We gotta go!”

Gilley stood there with his mouth open, as if he couldn't believe we were dashing off to meet Olivera. “Are you people
crazy
?”

I shoved his magnet-lined vest into his chest. “Get dressed or stay here and take your chances with whatever might show up, Gil.”

He paled. “I'm moving you to the table at the back of the reception hall with Michel's crazy uncle Max and his flighty sister!”

I flashed him a toothy smile. “Promises, promises.”

Heath tapped my shoulder as Gilley and I glared at each other, and I got busy getting ready. Gil could come or he could stay, but Heath and I had to get to Olivera before she went all guns-a-blazing again.

As I was pushing my foot into my boot, I saw Gilley angrily duck into his vest. He was muttering pretty good under his breath too. “Maybe you should drive,” Heath said to me.

I grabbed the keys from the dish by the sink. “Good call, honey.”

We arrived at the address that Gilley had tracked to the IP address from Sullivan's computer and I was surprised to find a nice, fairly well-kept house with yellow siding, freshly painted shutters, and a wreath on the front door. “This the place?” I asked Gil as I pulled the SUV to a stop in front of the house.

“Yep,” he replied. “At least, according to the address I got from Sullivan's computer.”

I looked around for Olivera, but there was no sign of her. The driveway did have a car parked in it, though.

We stared at the residence for a little while, waiting and watching in silence as my windshield wipers swiped back and forth against the steady rain that'd be with us for the next couple of days. “Think someone's home?” I said.

Gil pointed over my shoulder. “There's a light on in the front. And a car parked in the drive. Odds are pretty good that someone's home.”

The door to the house suddenly opened, and an elderly woman with a hunched back, blue hair, a housecoat, and brown slippers stepped out. Opening up an umbrella, she proceeded to walk down the front steps. As she shuffled along, she eyed us a little suspiciously before heading to her mailbox to retrieve the mail.

“Wow,” Heath said drily. “Rick looks taller on TV.”

“Ha!” Gil chuckled. “And younger. The miracles they work with stage makeup.”

I frowned. “Seriously, you guys, will you quit it?” We needed to keep our focus, because even though this old woman had come out of the house, it didn't mean someone else wasn't inside with Oruç's dagger. “Gil,” I said, thinking of a possible connection between the old woman and our prime suspect. “Did Rick ever mention his mom?”

“Not that I know of. But I never watched past the
third season, which, frankly, was beyond boring after Rick got his ass tossed down the stairs.” Gilley chuckled again at the memory. “So epic!”

“Shhh!” I told him, staring at the woman. Her body language seemed off to me, but that could've been because we were parked across the street from her house, engine running and watching her every move.

Before heading back inside, the old woman made a point to pause and frown at us.

“Come on,” I told the boys as I got out of the car to trot over to her. “Excuse me,” I said, holding my arm up over my head to block the rain. “Do you live here?”

“I do,” she said, clutching the handle of her umbrella.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, but we're looking for someone. Does anybody else live with you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know that?” she asked me. I realized that I probably should've introduced myself before asking about who lived in the house with her.

“Sorry. I'm Mary Jane Whitefeather, and that's my husband,” I said, turning to point to Heath, who was coming up behind me. “And that's my best friend, Gilley, in the car.”

She shrank a little away from me. “I don't know
who you are,” she said. “And I don't know why you're asking about who lives here.”

I tried to think of a quick explanation as to why we needed to know but couldn't readily think of one. “A friend of ours is in trouble, and he gave us this address to pick him up, but I don't see him anywhere around.”

“He gave you my address?” she said, utterly confused.

“Yeah,” I said. “I think he was just trying to text me an approximate location. He must've seen your house number and used that to let us know where he is.”

“I haven't seen him,” she said.

“Maybe someone else in your home saw him?” I said. “I mean, if you'd like to go in and ask the other members of your household if they've seen a guy, about five-ten, with brown hair, walking around . . .”

The old woman backed even farther away from me. I'd spooked her.

In desperation I said, “Does Rick Lavinia live here?”

“I think you should go,” she said, pointing to my car. “This is private property and you're trespassing.”

“Okay,” I said, holding up my hands in surrender. “I'm really sorry to have disturbed you. Thank you, ma'am.”

With that, I turned and grabbed Heath's hand. He hadn't heard most of the conversation, thank God, because I'd really botched it. “Does she live alone?” he asked me as we headed back to the car.

“I can't tell,” I said. “And now I've spooked her.”

“So what do we do?” he asked.

“We head back to the car and wait to hear or spot Olivera.”

As we were just about to get into my SUV, another car pulled around us and into the driveway. I glanced at it, wondering if it was Olivera, but the person who got out of the car wasn't her; it was a man in his midforties or thereabouts, with thin brown hair and a mustache.

For two seconds I wondered if we were wrong about Rick, and this was the guy who'd been behind the theft and the murder, but then something else about him caught my attention. I knew him.

Heath motioned with his chin toward the man. “Isn't that . . . ?”

“Murdock,” I whispered. “The security guy from the museum!”

At the same moment we recognized him, he must've recognized us, because he paused as he was walking toward the house, did a double take, then quickly fumbled his keys, which fell to the ground.

“Yo!” I said, as I thought about what he'd done, the danger he'd put innocent lives in, and especially the danger his actions represented to my unborn child. “Murdock! Where's the dagger?”

Murdock hastened to bend over and retrieve his keys, but they slipped again from his grasp, and all of a sudden he just left them there and bolted. Heath took off after him like a rocket, and I gave chase too.

The three of us tore down the street, getting pelted by the rain, which made it tough to see. Murdock had a good lead on us, but Heath runs like he was born to
it. I watched him pull away from me, his stride so smooth it looked effortless. His arms pumped steadily, his legs moved so fast they were a blur, and he quickly closed the distance between him and Murdock. A few more strides and he'd tackle him, I was sure, but the security guard had a trick up his sleeve neither one of us saw coming. He wheeled to the side, grabbed an empty garbage can that was left at the curbside, and hurled it at Heath.

My husband must've been focused only on closing the distance between him and Murdock, because he was slow to react, and the garbage can struck him in the shins. With a grunt of pain, he went down. I cried out because Heath had hit the pavement hard, but he rolled to the side, grabbed his knee for a moment, then struggled to his feet. I reached him just as he took one limping stride forward. “Ohmigod! Are you okay?” I asked, coming up next to him.

“That
asshole
!” Heath growled through gritted teeth.

Meanwhile, Murdock was regaining his lead, and he ran as fast as he could down the street, taking a sharp right at the corner. Heath took another sort of limp-hop and groaned.

“Honey! I think you're hurt!”

“I'm fine!” he told me, hopping a few more steps as he tried to walk off the pain, and then he began to jog a little as I kept pace with him. We were still losing ground to Murdock, but at least we were keeping him in our sights. “There!” I said, pointing to Murdock as Heath began to pick up speed.

At the moment that Heath began to regain his
stride, edging away from me, a car came around the corner and pulled up next to me. “M.J.!”

I turned to look and was shocked to see Olivera behind the wheel and Gilley sitting next to her.

I pointed ahead of me toward Murdock. “He went that way!”

“Get in!” Olivera yelled.

I slowed as she did and yanked open the back door even before she'd come to a stop, which, honestly, she never really did. By this time Heath had worked through the pain of his fall and was sprinting all out after Murdock, who had just ducked down a side street lined with commercial-looking buildings.

Olivera pressed down hard on the accelerator and took off after him. We caught up to Heath, who was baring his teeth and running with a speed I'd never seen from him. He appeared mindless of the three of us in the car and just kept chasing the security guard.

At one point, Olivera had to punch the brakes to allow Heath to cut in front of her and chase Murdock down the alley behind the commercial buildings. “Don't lose him!” Gilley yelled at Olivera.

“Shut it, Gillespie!” Olivera said, turning the wheel forcefully to get around Heath and follow Murdock without hitting my husband.

As we made the side street, the car bounced hard—the alley was unpaved and heavily potholed. Olivera had no choice but to slow her speed or she'd wreck her frame, and Heath passed right by us as he gained even more ground on Murdock. The alley then narrowed and it became impossible to pass Heath. We had to
settle for driving behind him and trying to follow Murdock's movements.

At last Murdock reached another alleyway that cut back through to the commercial side of the street, and he turned sharply once again. Heath was maybe twenty yards behind him. We pulled up to the narrow alleyway and considered our options.

For me, it was a no-brainer. I popped the lock and pushed my way out of the car, rounding to the back of it, then chasing after my husband. Behind me I heard the roar of an engine. Olivera was going to try to go around the building and cut Murdock off on the other side. Good.

Heath blocked out all signs of Murdock racing away from us, so I just followed Heath and waited to see him launch himself at the guard to bring him down. But abruptly, Heath stopped and pulled open a door to the building on our right. I determined that Murdock must've gone inside to try to evade us. The door banged shut after Heath went in. I reached it five seconds later and pulled on the handle. It opened and I dashed inside.

I quickly discovered that I'd run into an auto mechanic's garage and nearly came up short when I saw all the mechanics who'd stopped their work to watch as first Murdock ran past them, then my husband; and then they all turned to look at me.

Murdock seemed to have a good understanding of the layout of the place, because he zigzagged around cars, carts, and tires to reach the front door and pull that open too. Heath weaved, dodged, and jumped
over the same obstacles as Murdock, but he was slowed by them more than Murdock had been.

I stopped gawking and gave chase again too, following right behind Heath and trying to mimic his route.

Heath reached the front door and pulled it open to head back outside after Murdock, but as I watched, I saw my husband go down
again
! And then I realized that that son of a bitch Murdock had put another trash can in his path, right in front of the doorway.

I silently vowed to strangle Murdock with my bare hands if Heath needed medical attention. When I reached him he was on his side, clutching his hip. “I'm gonna
kill
that son of a bitch!” he groaned as I kicked the can out of the way and bent to help Heath.

“Babe,” I said, panting for air. “Can . . . you . . . walk?”

Heath let go of his hip and stumbled to his feet. He lifted his chin and stared at Murdock, who was running steadily and without slowing toward a building across the street. One I recognized. “Oh,
shit
!” I swore.