Medium Rare: (Intermix) (4 page)

“Nonsense,” Skag intoned, beginning his slow fade. “You’re intrigued by the mystery. Which should only get more interesting as it goes along.”

She started toward the hall, then turned back to where Skag had almost disappeared. “If you can check on Alana DuBois’s contacts, couldn’t you also check on William Bradford’s?”

For a moment, Skag’s face seemed to flicker, like a TV screen on the blink, and then he faded completely. Rose frowned. She could swear that before he had, she’d seen something she’d never seen before.

Skag looked distinctly worried.

Chapter 5

“You paid her rent?”

Annoyingly enough, it looked like Skag was right. Delwin wasn’t going to accept the whole rent stratagem as easily as she’d hoped. He was staring at Rose incredulously.

“I thought you’d like to see Alana DuBois’s things before her landlady threw them out.”

“Why? She may have nothing to do with Bradford. She could be a complete fraud. Did you find out anything about her?”

“Not yet. But you won’t know anything at all if you don’t find her.”

“Right. But going through her possessions isn’t the same as finding her, is it?” He raised an eyebrow, giving him a mildly satanic look. His eyes seemed to change color slightly when he was pissed—from good bourbon to something more like sherry. Unfortunately, the Medici nose stayed the same.

“It may be the best you can do. She seems to have disappeared.”

Delwin blew out a breath. “Which doesn’t necessarily mean anything sinister has happened to her. She may just have run out on her rent. Or she may have taken off to Nuevo Laredo with her boyfriend.”

“True.” Rose dropped her purse next to Delwin’s only remaining chair. Looked like he hadn’t gotten that second desk yet. “But there’s more.”

He narrowed his eyes. “There’d better be.”

Prick.
“Alana DuBois was working as a medium. She conducted séances for one of the local clubs.”

“Clubs? They have some kind of spiritualist group around here?”

“Not that kind of club. A bar.”

“A bar that does séances?” At least he was looking more curious than annoyed now.

“They do ghost tours. You know, famous San Antonio haunted sites—the Menger Hotel, the Alamo, the Governor’s Palace.”

“And the séance is on the tour?”

“It’s the climax of the tour. The club is called Nightmare on Novalis. It’s on . . .”

“Novalis, yeah, I figured that one out.”

“Good for you,” Rose snapped, then took a quick breath. Best not to antagonize the boss this early in their relationship. “As I say, they set up séances. From what I hear, they use an old storefront near El Mercado. More atmospheric than the club, I guess. Anyway, since it’s supposed to be such a hoot, nobody takes it all that seriously.”

Delwin frowned. “No medium could do a cold reading without some information. Do the people at the séance fill out questionnaires?”

“I suppose so. I don’t know, but I can probably find out. The point is, this wasn’t really a serious séance. Ms. DuBois wouldn’t have had to do any real work.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Trust me, Ms. DuBois wouldn’t have done any real work no matter what kind of séance it was supposed to be.”

“Whatever.” Rose gritted her teeth. “Anyway, the séance took place, and sometime afterward Ms. DuBois disappeared, leaving all her worldly possessions behind, according to her landlady.”

“Did DuBois tell her landlady she was heading for the séance?”

“Not directly. Apparently, she wore a full-length red velvet cape when she was doing her medium thing. Her landlady said she was wearing it when she took off that night.”

He grimaced. “Terrific. A medium who thinks she’s Little Red Riding Hood. I’m less and less anxious to talk to this dingbat.”

“Normally, I might agree with you, but she disappeared.” She blew out a breath. “Doesn’t that make her a little more interesting?”

“Maybe. The club where she worked might have a line on her.”

“I can go there and ask. They know me.”

“You’ve been to this club?” He gave her an incredulous look.

She suddenly knew exactly what he was thinking.
A dowdy nobody like you goes clubbing?
She took a firmer grip on her patience. “Yes, Mr. Delwin, I’ve been to the club. More than once.”

Delwin had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. But only slightly. “Then you can introduce me. I’d like to talk to the people who hired her.”

Rose paused. The Nightmare was one of the places where she picked up the occasional client for Locators. Augie Garcia, the manager, might not know exactly what Locators did, but he knew enough to inadvertently say something that might make Delwin suspicious.

“It’ll have to be during the day. I have commitments in the evening.”

Delwin gave her another one of those looks that seemed to say:
You do something in the evening besides watching Lifetime?

Oh, just screw it. Screw him. Which might be sort of interesting.

She caught her breath. Where the hell had that thought come from? “When did you want to go there?”

Delwin shrugged. “How about now?”

“Sure.” Rose managed not to sigh.

***

The best Evan could say about Nightmare on Novalis was that it didn’t look as bad as he’d expected. True, fake spiderwebs did hang from the corners and a stuffed Frankenstein doll was propped up behind the bar, along with some plastic skeletons along the far wall. And it was the middle of the afternoon, which made everything look a little more tawdry. But hell, he’d seen worse.

He’d worked in worse.

The bar was mostly empty. Not surprising, given that it was only a little past three. A couple of men in shirtsleeves sat at the back, half-empty beer glasses on the table in front of them. Evan gave the room a quick once-over—tables in the middle, booths along the sides, bar stretching along one wall across from the entrance. Ordinary.

One wall had been painted with phosphorescent paint. It glowed with a faint blue-green luminosity under the track lighting. Probably black lights, which meant anyone sitting nearby would resemble a zombie. But maybe that’s what the management of the Nightmare wanted—if you came to a place like this, maybe you didn’t mind looking like you’d been dead for a while.

The bartender was loading beer into the cooler, deliberately not looking their way. He was maybe five-foot-five, with slightly rounded shoulders and a somewhat concave chest. If any drunks gave him trouble he’d have to either use sarcasm or a sawed-off pool cue. Given the man’s physique and the Nightmare’s ambiance, Evan was betting on the latter.

Rose Ramos strolled easily across the room toward the bar, as if she’d been in the place a few times before. Apparently, she hadn’t been exaggerating about knowing her way around. The bartender nodded at her. “Hey, Rose, what’s up?”

“Not much, Rudy.”

She slid decorously onto a barstool. Evan suddenly got a glimpse of her nicely rounded behind, like a perfect apple. Why the hell would she want to hide that under those baggy khaki slacks? The woman had the worst fashion sense he’d ever encountered.

Rose didn’t even glance his way. “Who’s doing the booking for the séances these days, Rudy? Suzanne?”

Rudy shrugged. “Suz quit. Moved to Austin. Augie’s doing it himself.”

Evan caught Rose’s quick frown. Whoever Augie was, he didn’t think Rose liked him.

The bartender turned in Evan’s direction, his expression stony. “Can I get you something, mister?”

Evan shrugged. “Negra Modelo. You want anything, Ms. Ramos?” He put a little extra emphasis on the
Ms.
, just to see if he could get a rise out of her.

Rose blinked and then turned back to the bartender. “Give me a club soda and lime, Rudy.”

The bartender pulled a beer out of the cooler while Evan slid onto a stool beside Rose, trying to fold his legs under the bar. “So who’s Augie?”

“The manager. He’s part owner of the club.”

“Okay, I’ll swing back this evening and talk to him.” Evan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the slightly tacky surface of the bar. Oh yeah, real classy joint here.

Rose shook her head. “He won’t talk to you—you’re a stranger. They don’t take to strangers too well here. I’ll talk to him.”

Evan got the feeling she wasn’t exactly ecstatic at the idea, but for some reason she was even less enthusiastic about letting him do the talking. The bartender placed his bottle on the bar and slid Rose’s glass on top of a coaster.

Other than serving him beer, the man continued to studiously ignore Evan’s existence. The bartender focused on Rose again. “What do you need to talk to Augie about? Maybe I can help.”

Rose glanced up at him, smiling. “Maybe. So the club’s still doing séances?”

He paused, staring off into the darkness at the back of the room. “I don’t mess with the mediums much. Not my kind of people, you know?”

“We just wanted some information, Rudy. It’s nothing serious. We’re trying to find one of the mediums—we might want to hire her. Alana DuBois? You remember her?” Rose’s voice was warmly reassuring.

Rudy licked his lips. “Nope. They’re all alike to me.”

Right.
You didn’t need to be an expert to know that was bullshit. Evan wondered if Rudy disliked mediums in general, or one medium in particular. Suddenly, Alana DuBois seemed a bit more interesting than she had before.

As Rose leaned forward for another question, the swinging door on the other side of the bar flew open with percussive force, enough to make Evan brace himself.

A man paused in the doorway, filling the space for a moment before walking toward them. His shoulders and chest rolled with muscle beneath his Pantera T-shirt. His long black hair was pulled back tightly. His legs were so heavily developed they almost bowed under their own weight.

If the guy had looked even slightly angry, Evan figured he’d need to start throwing chairs in self–defense. Fortunately, he was smiling.

“Rosie,” he rumbled, “
Que paso
, babe? Long time no see.” He sounded a lot like a talking landslide.

“Augie.” Rose smiled tightly. “Good to see you again.”

She didn’t look like it was really all that good. Evan decided not to question why he felt that was a good thing.

“You looking for referrals?” The man-mountain raised his eyebrows. “’Cause if you are, I might have someone . . .”

“We’re looking for somebody, Augie.” She talked over him quickly, her voice almost drowning him out.

“Looking for somebody?
We
?” He turned, glancing at Evan for the first time.

“Augie, this is Evan Delwin. Evan, Augie Garcia. The manager.”

“Delwin.” Augie Garcia engulfed Evan’s hand for a quick shake that left him flexing his fingers, then turned back to Rose. “So who are you looking for?”

“One of your mediums.” Evan raised his voice slightly until Garcia turned back to him. “Alana DuBois. She been around lately?”

Garcia’s eyes narrowed a bit as he glanced at him. “They’re not ‘my’ mediums, mister. They’re contractors. Work for individual events. Not on salary or anything.” He turned back to Rose. “What do you want her for?”

“We just want to talk to her,” Rose soothed. “Maybe hire her. She’s not in any trouble, Augie.”

Not yet.
Evan cleared his throat. “How do they get paid?”

Garcia glanced back at him. He looked faintly pissed at being interrupted again, and Evan wondered just how far he could push his luck before he ran the risk of being flattened.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just wondered if Ms. DuBois had picked up her paycheck. We heard she did a séance for you recently.” Evan gave Garcia a professional smile.
Nothing to worry about here, big guy.

Garcia was unimpressed. “I don’t know you, Delwin. What makes you think I’d tell you about how I pay my contract help?”

“You do know me, Augie.” Rose’s voice was like warm milk and honey all of a sudden. Evan found himself thinking of balmy summer nights, the swish of air from a ceiling fan grazing across bare skin. For a moment he thought he smelled night-blooming jasmine.

He blinked. Rose sat watching Garcia with a bright smile, like she was getting ready to read him
The Cat in the Hat
at the library
.
Evan felt a quick jolt of exasperation. He was getting really tired of being blindsided by a freaking librarian every time he turned around.

Garcia chuckled with a sound like tectonic plates shifting. “Yeah, Rosie, I know you. You want to know how I pay my help?”

“If you don’t mind, Augie.” She picked up her glass of soda and took a small, ladylike sip.

“They work on commission, so much a head. The guests pay me, then I pay the help—the medium and the woman that cleans the building and sets things up for the night.”

“And did Alana DuBois pick up her last paycheck?” Rose widened her eyes to peer at Garcia across the rim of her glass.

His brows moved together slowly. “No, as a matter of fact. She was supposed to come by the next day, but she never showed.”

“So you haven’t seen her since that night?” Evan leaned into Garcia’s line of sight again.

“Nope. Called her about the check, but she didn’t answer.”

Evan felt a slight prickling across the back of his neck. He didn’t know any medium who’d leave a check behind.

“Could we have her number?” Rose said in her Cat in the Hat voice. “I mean, I’ve got one, but I don’t think it’s working.”

Garcia shrugged. “Sure, I’ll give you what I got. Come on into the office.”

Evan got to his feet to follow her, but Garcia gave him a long look. “Sit down and finish your beer, Delwin. I’ll give Rosie the number.”

The bartender moved to the opposite end of the bar as Garcia ushered Rose back through the door. The next five minutes would have passed in complete silence if one of the men at the back of the room hadn’t come up to pay his tab. Finally, Rose and Garcia reemerged.

“Thanks, Augie.” Rose dimpled. “I appreciate this.”

“Any time, Rosie,” Garcia rumbled. “Come back and talk to me later, okay?”

She smiled. Evan pushed up the corners of his mouth into something in the general smile family, then headed toward the door, telling himself it really wasn’t any of his business why Garcia would want Rose Ramos to come back later.

Outside on the street, he blinked in the sudden onslaught of sunshine after the dimness of Nightmare on Novalis. “Friendly little place.”

Rose shrugged. “You’re a stranger. I told you they wouldn’t say anything to you.” She opened her purse and pulled out an eight-by-ten-inch glossy. “I got this from Augie. Alana DuBois. Maybe ten or fifteen years ago judging from the hairstyle.”

Evan studied the print. Alana DuBois had slightly brassy hair with the kind of permanent that left it in clouds of frizz around her face. He really hoped that style represented a ten-year-old fashion decision and not her current taste. He flipped the print over. The back side was stamped with the name and address of a Dallas photographer.