Peril for Your Thoughts (Mind Reader Mystery) (11 page)

What the hell is it with these two? Damn woman doesn’t listen any better than her roommate.

“Boy Wonder?” I mumbled from behind his hand.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean boy, Boomer, you found me,” I amended, calming myself so he would let me go.

It worked.

“Don’t scream and I’ll let you go. Can you handle that?” he asked in a low voice.

I nodded furiously. He let me go and I lurched forward, inhaling a huge breath and biting my tongue at the urge to ask him when the last time he washed his hands was. Pressing my lips together, I turned around to face him.

“I thought I told you to wait for me?” he asked with exasperation. “I get Jaz not listening because, well, Jaz is Jaz. A hot-headed, stubborn woman. You, however, are supposed to be the cool, level-headed one. What were you thinking?”

“That I would try to get some information and save time while you were doing your thing at work. I’m sorry, but I—”

“My
thing
at work?” he sputtered. “It’s called police work, and I’m damned good at it.” He crossed his arms.

I held up my hands in a passive gesture. “I know, I’m not saying you’re not. I’m just saying I …”

He started to pace before me. “If you had waited, I would have told you that Scott Parks’ body was released to his widow. The coroner has finished his autopsy, and—”

“He’s not dead!” I cut him off this time with a swipe of my hand.

He stopped and gaped at me. “Come again?”

“That’s why I almost screamed. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” I rubbed my temples, feeling a whopper of a headache coming on, and then tried again.. “I saw Wilma come out of the funeral home with an urn. I talked to her briefly, and then I left. Only, I didn’t really. I doubled back and was spying on her. She kept standing there, so I thought she was waiting for a cab.”

“I’m guessing she wasn’t?”

“No, she was waiting for a man, but not just any man.”

“Then who pray tell did you see?”

“Her dead husband. He’s either a ghost, or Scott Parks is still alive.”

Boomer and I ran around the bush to the front of the funeral home, but Wilma Parks and her ghost of a husband were no longer there. The streets were empty, the sun shining bright in clear blue skies, a slight cool spring breeze in the air. A typical spring day, only it was anything but.

“You sure you weren’t seeing things?” Boomer asked, scratching his head.

“Positive. My vision is 20/15. Better than average. I’d know Darrin aka Scott anywhere. They’ve gone, but Wilma said she wasn’t leaving until tomorrow. Maybe we can still catch them at the hotel.”

“Come on. I’ll drive, but this had better not be a wild goose chase, Cat Girl.” He gave me a knowing look. “That’s right, I heard the Boy Wonder crack. For the record, I’m not Detective Stevens’ sidekick any more than you are his leading lady.”

I gasped. “Yeah, well Jaz will never be your Bat Girl either, so there!” I spat, then gritted my teeth, frustrated I let him get to me. But unlike Jaz, I wouldn’t miss him one bit if I never saw him again. “Look, let’s call a truce, okay?”

“Fine,” he said with a shrug of his shoulder as though my words hadn’t gotten to him, but I could tell he was as frustrated as I was.

“What about my car,” I asked, happy to change the subject.

“We’ll pick it up later. Let’s go. We’re burnin’ daylight.”

I followed him to his car, pulled out a tissue, and opened the passenger door. Inspecting the interior and deciding it looked decently clean, I spread the tissue out over the seat and sat down. He eyed me warily.

“Problem, Cat Girl?”

“What? These seats are leather. I can only imagine the chemicals they were treated with and what that can do to a person’s body over time. I’m not taking any chances.”

His brows shot sky high, and his look said it all:
You can’t be serious, and if you are, then you’re seriously crazy
. If he told me not to worry because I had nine lives, I’d have to
holy hit him, Batman
and not think twice about it. Thankfully, he didn’t say a word. He just put the car in gear, and took off toward the Clearview Motel.

A few minutes later we pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine. “You ready?” Boomer asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” I responded, reaching for the door.

“Remember,” he warned. “Let me take the lead.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.” I saluted him.

“It’s Detective, but whatever. Just remember who wears the badge.” He climbed out of the car.

Badge of arrogance
, I thought. But I didn’t say anything as I quickly followed his lead.

We walked inside the two-story motel to the small lobby that was in dire need of remodeling. Peeling white paint disgraced the walls, worn carpet covered the floor, and faded lumpy chairs sat in the lounge beneath a TV that had to be from the eighties. But the town of Clearview was small and didn’t have many other options: a quaint bed and breakfast place on the lake, some cabins in the campground, and Larry Miller’s motel.

“Detective Matheson, what can I do for you?” Miller asked, his thinning combed-over hair just as much in need of a makeover as well. His small round spectacles sat perched on the end of his bulbous nose, and his too-small eyes squinted jovially.

“Hey, Larry. How’ve you been?” Boomer shook his hand and then leaned against the counter in an open, friendly way that invited conversation.

“Oh, I’m gettin’ by, same as the rest of us, I suppose. My gout’s been acting up a bit. Must be we’re due for a storm.” He winced and rubbed his leg. Larry loved attention and reminiscing about the old days, but once he got started, it was nearly impossible to get him to stop. “Why, did I ever tell you about the time—”

“Oh, my goodness, would you look at that?” I said, pointing out the front window.

Both men looked outside, then back at me with startled expressions.

“Silly me, I thought I saw Elvis.”

Boomer frowned.

Larry puckered his brow.

And I laughed nervously.

“I once saw Big Foot, you know. On a hunting trip. And I know lots of people have seen Elvis, but never here in Clearview,” Larry said in wonder.

“Stranger things have happened.” I shrugged, then winked at Boomer, but his Boy Wonder Catdar must be off, because he wasn’t reading me loud and clear. In fact, he didn’t seem to be reading me at all. “Isn’t that right, Detective? Haven’t we seen stranger things right here in Clearview just recently? I’m sure Larry would love to hear all about it. He loves a good story, don’t you, Larry?”

Boomer narrowed his eyes at me, clearly not happy with my interfering. But if I hadn’t interrupted, we would have been here all day with Larry telling stories from his past. If Boomer ever wanted to become Batman, he needed to step up and take the lead. And now would be a good time.

“The floor’s all yours, Boy—Boomer.” I smiled sweetly and, embracing my inner Jaz, threw in an eyelash flutter for good measure.

He just shook his head. His expression morphed from one of relaxed conversation to that of stern disbelief. And suddenly, Boomer didn’t look so boyish. He looked like a big, intimidating man. My smile vanished, and his turned smug. The vibrating undercurrent from his stare warned me payback would be coming.

He put on his professional face and focused on Larry. “What Ms. Ballas is getting at, Mr. Miller, is that Elvis isn’t the only one she thinks has returned from the dead.”

“Oh, my word, you don’t say,” Mr. Miller said in awe. “Please, go on.”

“I’m sure by now you’ve heard about poor Scott Parks.”

“Who?”

“Darrin Wilcox,” I interjected, earning myself another scowl. I pursed my lips, looking down and inspecting my nails.

“Darrin Wilcox is an alias Scott used while in town. His real name was Scott Parks. I believe he stayed at your motel.”

“Oh, yes, I know him. He was the man that was found dead in Ms. Alvarez’s shop, right?”

I nodded. Boomer snapped his gaze in my direction, and I pointed to my lips, making the locking sign and throwing away the key.

“Yes, Larry, he was. The thing is, Ms. Ballas swears she saw him with the widow Wilma Parks earlier today outside of the funeral home. Do you know if either of them are here? We’d like to ask them some questions. If he is Scott Parks, then who is the widow carrying around in the urn?”

“The widow isn’t staying here. She’s out at the bed and breakfast. I guess this place isn’t fancy enough for her.” Larry smoothed his comb-over before adding, “But the other guy is.”

“Who, Mr. Parks?” Boomer asked.

“No, he’s dead.”

“Are you sure?” Boomer took out his notebook.

“I’d bet my motel on it. The feller you probably saw was the other guy?”

“What do you mean other guy?” I asked, not caring if I got another dirty look.

Larry looked at Boomer for the okay before answering.

“What she said,” Boomer repeated, not caring that it had come from me at the moment. We were both too captivated with this new piece of information.

“When Darrin checked in, I gave him his key, and he went to his room and then stepped out again. A while later, he came back in and asked for another room. I thought he was a little slow in the head, if you know what I mean. So I asked him if something was wrong with the room I already gave him. That’s when the other one walked in. I sure as shoot thought I was smack dab in the middle of a Doublemint Gum commercial.”

“Wait, what are you saying?” Boomer asked.

“That wasn’t Scott Parks we saw with Wilma. It was his brother,” I said in shock. “Scott Parks had a twin.”

“You never call, you never write, you never visit …”

“Ma, we live in the same town,” I said through my cell phone, regretting answering the stupid thing in the first place. Especially since Detective Matheson sat beside me as we drove to Flannigan’s Pub that evening.

He stared straight ahead at the road, but I saw his lips twitch ever so slightly.

“Are you eating? You’re too thin, you know. Your cousin, Yanni, could blow you away with his leaf blower. It can happen. I know these things. Or maybe it was his power washer. Yiayia Dido said she saw it on TV. The Discovery Channel, I think. Anyway, the point is you’re not taking care of yourself.”

“It was the Weather Channel and it was a tsunami, Ma, not Yanni.” I took a calming breath. “I promise I am taking good care of myself.”

A smothered chuckle came from the other side of the car, but when I glared in that direction, Boomer’s face was expressionless and he still stared straight ahead, eyes on the road.

“I’m really worried about you, Kalliope. Your Aunt Tasoula said she heard from Mrs. Flannigan’s daughter’s friend while cutting her hair that someone trashed your car and robbed your house.”

“It was Jaz’s car, and no one took anything from the house, so it technically wasn’t a burglary.” That earned me a sharp frown from Boomer. I rubbed my temple. “And Jaz never reported that, Ma, so how … never mind. The point is, we really are fine.”

“You might be fine, but
she
isn’t. Eleni said she saw you at Vixen’s. Now there’s a classy lady, that Anastasia. It’s about time you switched teams. I bet Ana would let you design wedding dresses in her shop. She—”

“I did not switch sides, and I am not designing wedding dresses.” This conversation was giving me a headache. “I gotta go, Ma. I got a date with a mystery man.” I hung up, knowing I was going to pay for that one later. At least it would keep her busy for a while, so I could focus on solving this murder and getting my life back.

“Wow.”

“Don’t say a word, Matheson, or I’ll tell my mother my date was with you.”

That shut him up and made his fair skin grow even paler. He didn’t speak again until we pulled into the parking lot of Flannigan’s Pub. Boomer and I had decided to retrace the victim’s last steps before he died. We knew he had checked into the
Clearview Motel, and we knew he had a twin who had also checked in on the same day. We also knew he’d gone to Flannigan’s and argued with Johnny Hogan, who had threatened him, before meeting Jaz for dinner. Twins were a lot alike, so we were banking on Scott’s twin having the same tastes and habits.

We walked inside of the Irish pub and struck gold. Sitting at the empty bar was the man I had seen earlier with Wilma. Scott’s twin. Even from this distance I could see they were so nearly identical, it was uncanny. If Scott were here, I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. It dawned on me that if I couldn’t tell them apart, then the odds were that the citizens of Clearview couldn’t tell them apart either. Which begged the question what kinds of misunderstandings had taken place before Scott’s death. This mystery man just might hold the key to answering a lot of our questions. If only we could get him to cooperate.

Boomer and I started to walk over to him when I stopped short. Boy Wonder stopped beside me and gave me a curious look. “Let me take the lead on this one. Something tells me he responds better to a feminine touch.”

Boomer opened his mouth, and I knew he was about to make a snarky remark over the word
touch
, but at the last second he must have changed his mind. Or remembered our truce and his promise to Detective Stevens. He fell back and gestured for me to take the lead.

I undid the top button of my blouse and pulled the clip out of my hair, shaking the strands loose. Taking the seat right next to the man, I smiled up at the bartender, Mr. Michael Flannigan himself. He grinned back in surprise, his gaze shooting between the two of us with curiosity, devouring every detail to spread to the gossip mill as soon as I walked out the door, no doubt.

Oh the joys of living in a small town.

“What can I get for ya, lass?”

It was a bit early and not even the weekend, but I was willing to play the game. “A glass of chardonnay, please.” I turned to the man next to me. “Hi, my name is Kalli.” I held out my hand without so much as a wince this time.

“Bobby,” he said, eyeing me carefully. He shook my hand, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt he wasn’t Scott. Scott had oozed heat and sexuality, while this guy didn’t have to think anything for me to know the only thing on his mind was hatred and revenge.

I quickly let go with a nervous laugh, discreetly rubbing my hand on my lap. “Okay, good. I’m not seeing a ghost. You must be Scott Parks’ brother,” I said and then wiped off the edge of my glass before taking a sip. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” He relaxed a bit and held up his mug of beer. “To Scott,” he said. “May he rest in peace.”

“To Scott,” I seconded and clinked glasses with him, then casually turned mine around to sip from the side that hadn’t touched his. He didn’t notice, thank goodness.

“I didn’t realize Mr. Parks had any family, other than his poor widow.” I swirled the contents in my glass, watching the way the soft amber lighting reflected off the golden liquid.

“He was a hard man to track down.” Bobby grunted softly as though reliving some private memory. “I came in yesterday as soon as I heard.”

“That’s an outright lie,” said a deep voice from behind us.

I nearly let out loud on a groan. What was Boomer doing? He had no room to criticize Jaz and me. He had no patience at all.