Eclipse (13 page)

‘It won't.' David saw that wasn't good enough. ‘In very rare cases, further treatment is needed, or a new lens has to be repositioned or replaced, but that is very unusual.'

‘What if the first surgery goes well, but I can't face having the second?'

‘Then I guess you'll have one excellent eye,' David said. ‘But you'd almost certainly need glasses.'

‘And in time I might lose the sight in the bad eye,' Mildred said.

‘If you decided not to have it done,' David said. ‘Does this mean you've made up your mind?'

‘It doesn't seem to me that I really have much of a choice.'

‘So you're going for it?'

‘I am.' She paused. ‘One request.'

‘Anything,' he said.

‘I'd like to have the rest of this week without doctors' appointments and without talking about it. I want to be normal.'

‘You've got it.' David said. ‘Whatever you want.'

‘I don't want anything, that's the whole point. I just want us to be us.'

‘I can't think of anything I'd like more,' David said.

At twenty past eleven, Billie Smith called Sam on his cell phone.

‘Sam, I need to talk to you.'

‘Bad time, Billie,' Sam said.

‘No, I mean I need to see you.'

‘We're seeing each other this evening,' he said.

‘I want to tell you something before rehearsal,' she said.

Sam had already begun worrying about his right to a future in
Carmen
with the investigation making such lousy progress. This wasn't helping.

‘Not possible,' he said. ‘I'm sorry, Billie.'

‘But I'm not sure it should wait.'

Irritation crept in now, made his voice a little harder.

‘Like I said, Billie, I'm sorry, but it's going to have to.'

Felicia Delgado was still sedated.

Sam called David. His father always his number one medical adviser of choice, particularly when it came to youngsters.

‘Aren't all these drugs potentially harmful?'

‘Sure, if it goes on too long,' David said. ‘Not to mention the poor child will have to start facing up to what's happened at some point. Is this her physician's inclination, do you know, or her father's influence?' He paused. ‘Not that a good doctor would listen to him if it was against the best interests of his patient.'

‘I haven't seen Doctor Pérez today,' Sam said, ‘but a nurse told me that when Felicia woke this morning, she was so hysterical they thought she might harm herself, so it was a case of restraints or sedation.'

‘That's rather different,' David said. ‘No one likes to restrain a child.'

Sheldon and Cutter had already called at the Miami offices of Gorgeous At Home, and were not hopeful.

‘The office manager was helpful,' Cutter said, back at the station. ‘Showed us their Miami operatives' files and photos. One redhead, but she looked tiny, and her hair was cut shorter than Riley's.'

‘Do the operatives work outside Miami-Dade?' Sam asked.

‘Never, apparently,' Sheldon said. ‘It's a territorial business.'

‘One more thing,' Cutter said. ‘Beatriz Delgado went to a hairdressing salon three days before her death.'

‘Her regular stylist,' Sheldon said. ‘She had her hair trimmed, and
then
she went right next door to the nail bar and had a manicure and pedicure.'

‘Did they remember what color?' Sam asked.

Cutter nodded. ‘They keep files for every client. Looked like the same bright pink as the day she died. And neither her hairdresser nor nail tech make home visits. Too busy at the salons, apparently.'

‘Want us to run checks on them?' Sheldon asked.

Sam felt his acetone lead leaking away.

‘I don't think so,' he said.

La Morrison was not pleased.

Billie Smith, her leading lady, was a no-show, with no explanation and no response from her phone.

Everyone else was at Tyler's tonight. Jack Holden was still complaining about his ailments. Toni Petit had come bearing homemade soup for his throat, and flowers from her backyard for their host, who had accepted them with reasonable grace. Carla Gonzales said she was in great shape, and the whole chorus was raring to go.

‘I'll be damned if we waste the evening,' Linda said.

Which meant that Carla was going to have to sing Carmen as well as Micaëla, and here was the corny old stand-in cliché, because Sam could almost see her willing Billie to drop out altogether so she could talk Morrison into recasting her own role and allowing a soprano to take over the lead – not normally done, but not unheard of.

Sam was a little uneasy after Billie's call that morning.

‘Anyone know where she works?' he asked during a break.

‘I think she said she was waiting tables,' Carla said.

Sam knew that much. ‘Any idea where?'

Carla shook her head.

Now he thought about it, that had been one of the things Billie hadn't volunteered in conversation that evening, or maybe he just hadn't been interested enough to press her.

No one here seemed overly concerned, other than for the production.

Which made Sam a little sad.

And a little guilty too.

He went into the house after his next scene, looking for the bathroom.

Clearly signposted, instructions within, like a scrupulously clean and remarkably well-decorated public john. Their host clearly fastidious and choosing to keep his property the way he liked it, and Sam couldn't blame him for that as he dried his hands on a small white towel from a generous stack, then placed it in the basket provided, lined with a plastic bag – hygiene high on Tyler Allen's priorities too.

Emerging from the washroom, he heard a sound.

The kind to stop a cop in his tracks.

Someone crying out. Male or female, hard to know.

Then a thump, like the sound of someone falling over.

Sam waited a moment, then moved down the dimly lit corridor that he assumed led to the main part of the house, and stopped at a closed door.

He heard another cry.

He looked back, saw no one, heard from outside the less jarring sounds of the
Carmen
chorus coming to a ramshackle halt, a couple of voices left stranded on high notes after the others had stopped.

Sam turned back to the door. ‘Hello?' he called, not too loudly, not wanting to disturb the rehearsal.

Hearing nothing, he tried the handle.

The door was locked.

‘OK, guys!' La Morrison was calling them to order.

Including him, if notes were to be given.

And this, whatever it had been, was none of his business.

He headed back outside to the yard, joined the rehearsal.

‘. . . like strangled bagpipes,' Linda was castigating the chorus, a few of whom grinned, then got serious again. ‘Nice of you to join us again,' she told Sam.

‘Call of nature,' he said. ‘Apologies.'

Tyler Allen appeared, coming from the side of the house, carrying two pitchers of fresh water. He set them on the table, then stopped to listen to notes.

He looked, Sam thought, flustered. ‘Everything OK?' he asked him quietly.

‘Why wouldn't it be?' Allen said.

‘Only I was using the bathroom and thought I heard some kind of upset from someplace in the house.'

Allen's pale green eyes were cool. ‘My cats. Two Siamese. They fight all the time, knock stuff over.'

‘Why not let them out here?' Sam asked.

‘They're indoor cats,' Allen said. ‘And they don't care for singing or strangers.'

‘Gentlemen!' La Morrison said loudly.

Sam held up both hands, palms to her, then zipped his mouth shut.

Siamese did have oddly pitched voices.

And if something else had been going on inside that house, it really was not his concern.

The sounds were still tweaking at his mind Friday morning, so first chance he had in the office, without knowing exactly why, he ran a check on Tyler Allen.

The guy had a record. Misdemeanors, mostly alcohol related. Accused of assault twice – once on a female, once on a young male – charges not brought. No good reason for Sam to nose any further. Tyler Allen was a formerly successful choreographer – currently amateur, which had to be tough on him.

Live and let live.

He called Linda Morrison at her clothing store just after nine to see if she'd heard from Billie.

‘Not a word,' Linda said. ‘In fact, I'm a little concerned about her.'

‘I have her cell phone number,' Sam said, ‘but no address.'

Linda said she had it on file, would call him back.

He mentioned it to Grace when she called him mid-morning.

‘If you're worried about Billie, go check on her,' she told him. ‘Though I was calling to say I thought we might do a family Friday tonight.'

It was a tradition they'd been keeping to a little less often lately: the family dinner to celebrate the Jewish Sabbath that none of them had missed without good reason while Judy Becket had still been alive. Though Grace, despite her own Catholic-Protestant mixed upbringing, had taken to the custom with pleasure, relishing the Beckets' eclectic nature.

‘Sounds good,' Sam said now. ‘And even if I do drop by Billie's place, I should still be home in time for dinner, otherwise you start without me.'

‘I just thought, with Mildred going into the clinic next Thursday . . .'

‘Is that decided?' Sam was surprised.

‘I only found out myself ten minutes ago because I called her to ask. She says she'll only come to dinner if we promise not to discuss her eyes. She's put a veto on the topic at home too.'

The day got away from him after that. Routine work, mostly, the dogged stuff that sometimes took the place of good luck in all kinds of investigations.

Nothing yet from the follow-ups on Gorgeous At Home.

Nothing useful from Aventura's CCTV.

Nor from Shade City.

Linda Morrison called at four with Billie's address, said her memory had been jogged by Toni Petit, who'd called to see if Linda had heard from her. Like the rest of the S-BOP company, Toni had never socialized with Billie, but she said she'd gotten the impression that Billie lived alone. Toni, raised in Louisiana, had also said that she couldn't imagine what was wrong with Florida men.

‘Which I said was sexist,' Linda said, ‘since living alone is probably Billie's choice.'

‘Probably,' Sam said.

He detoured on the way home, traveling alone since this was not police-related, and Martinez was dining with a cousin in from New York.

Not work, yet Sam had an uneasy feeling about Billie. Not exactly one of the hunches he was prey to, but
something
nonetheless.

She rented a room in a small house on SW 29th Avenue near 13th Street in Little Havana, not far from Woodlawn Cemetery.

A small, unattractive house.

A plastic glued-on plaque beside the front door informed callers that the entrance for B. Smith was at the rear.

Sam took a moment, wondering if maybe calling on her uninvited might be a little
off
, if maybe he ought to have made contact with her parents first. But he was here now, and Billie would probably not have thanked him for calling Larry Smith about her, and why worry her parents if there was no need?

The path leading around to the back door was dusty, a few weeds to either side, but not overgrown.

Sam knocked, waited, stepped back.

No lights inside, no obvious signs of occupation.

He walked back around to the front door and knocked.

No answer here either, but he could hear a TV game show, so he persisted, finally rewarded by a slow tread moving toward the door.

‘Who is it?' A woman, suspicious sounding.

‘My name's Sam Becket. I'm a friend of Billie Smith's.'

‘Can't you read?' She was irritated. ‘Her entrance is out back.'

‘I tried that, ma'am,' Sam said. ‘She didn't answer.'

‘Then I guess she's out.' Her voice was Southern, slow.

Being out of jurisdiction and here, in any case, on private business, Sam had no justification for using his police status, but there was no way this woman was going to let him in if he did not.

‘Ma'am, I'm a detective with the police department. I need to ask you a few questions, so I'd be grateful if you'd open the door.'

She was silent for a moment.

‘Do you have a badge?'

‘Yes, ma'am.'

There was another pause while she slid a safety chain into place, and then the door opened a little way.

‘Show me,' she said, hardly visible in the dim light beyond the door.

Sam held out his badge.

‘Detective, huh?' she said.

‘That's right, ma'am. From Miami Beach.' No point lying over this. ‘And this is not official business, but Ms Smith is a colleague of mine, and I'm concerned about her.'

‘She's a cop?' The woman sounded almost shocked.

‘No, ma'am. All I need to know is when you last saw her.'

‘I don't know,' she said. ‘She has her own entrance, so she can come and go as she pleases.'

‘Do you remember seeing her in the last few days?' he persevered.

‘I don't think so.'

Sam gave her a moment. ‘Ma'am, would you mind very much letting me take a quick look at her apartment? Just so I can see there's nothing wrong?'

‘I don't know. It's her place. She pays the rent.'

‘I'll take full responsibility,' Sam said. ‘Goes without saying.'

‘Let me see that badge again.'

‘Of course.'

She took another look, sighed, then removed the chain, opened the door and let him in. ‘I don't have the key to her front entrance, but there's a connecting door we can use.'