Tansy Taylor (13 page)

“Okay, so here’s what we know. Buster was killed here. We think it has to do with something shady that was going on here at the dealership with Mr. Big. His body has not been found yet, so the police still think he is simply missing, even though they know that it was a suspicious disappearance. You, Blackeyes, we know were found here in the trunk of a car that was recently brought to the lot. I overheard Mr. Big and a Russian dude, who I will call Russian dude just to keep it simple, talking about some sort of deal that was going down day after tomorrow at the port. I’m hoping I can find out more, since it seems to be related. They mentioned Buster during the conversation, but I’m not sure exactly how he fits in. Sorry,” I said, looking at Buster. “That’s all I’ve got so far.” Blackeyes was making some sort of sign, he looked like he was trying to walk backward or do some version of the moonwalk. We were back to charades.

“Backward?” He shook his head causing the lock of hair to flop again. He started doing it again, only more animated. It was a sight to see-large hairy boxer clad man doing some exaggerated version of a Monty Python silly walk.

“Back up?” I really hoped I was getting close. He pointed at his nose again, indicating that I was right. “Back up what?” I asked, looking around. He was shaking his head. He held a hand up like a sock puppeteer and had it start moving like it was talking and pointed to me with his other hand.

“What the hell do you want?” I pulled on my pink hair. “Why am I sitting here behind a dumpster at a used car dealership talking to ghosts?” Both Buster and Blackeyes looked at me like I was going crazy on them. I slumped back down and put my hands on my head.

“Sorry guys. I’ve just had a rough week.” Blackeyes nodded and pointed to me while touching his hair. I rolled my eyes, even a mute ghost saw the need to comment on my hair. “Yes. The hair is just the tip of the iceberg though.” I sighed trying to refocus on what he was trying to communicate.

“So you wanted something backed up. You want me to back up?” I looked back at the wall behind me, there was nowhere to go. “Oh wait! Was it something I said?” He started to point to his nose again but it was my turn to hold up my hand. “Stop! I get it. Please stop tapping your nose! This is not charades!” He shrank, literally, a couple of feet in front of me. I closed my eyes and sighed again. “Sorry Blackeyes,” I sighed. “I honestly don’t know what has gotten in to me, other than a bad day. I apologize, let’s start this again. I said something that was important to you.” I thought back to what I had covered. “Port? Mr. Big? Russian dude?” The last one had him bringing his hand to his nose, but he stopped and turned it into a thumbs-up. I smiled.

“Okay, thanks. So you are tied into the Russian dude somehow?” He pointed to himself. I was confused. He was not the Russian dude that I had seen with Big.

“You’re not the dude I saw. That guy was a big blond behemoth dressed to the nines in a slick suit that if I had to guess, was probably Armani. Although, don’t hold me to that because while I do enjoy a Coach bag every now and then, I am definitely not a fashionista.”

He was shaking his head again. I could tell that his frustration rivaled my own. Buster, who had been quiet this whole time, suddenly jumped up.

“He’s a Russian dude too! Not the Russian dude, but another Russian dude that works with the big blond Russian dude!” He had suddenly overcome whatever fear of the ghost he’d had and went over and hugged him, if you could call it hugging, since he sorta went through him.

“So do you know the Russian dude then Blackeyes?” He nodded vigorously and made choking motions at his throat. “He killed you?” I was flummoxed. Why would one Russian dude kill another Russian dude? Unless, they were both Russian mob dudes.

“Were you in the mob?” I asked.

He nodded solemnly.

“Do you know who killed Buster?” I crossed my fingers and bit down on my lip. Could this scary-ass ghost have the answers?

He reached out to Buster, his creepy eyes letting go what appeared to be a tear, if ghosts could cry. He slowly nodded yes and then pointed to himself.

“Aw, man! Why’d you have to go and do that? I don’t even know you, do I?” Buster kicked dirt at him, and then turned so that Blackeyes had a great view of his back.

Blackeyes shook his head. He looked defeated and had shrunk back down to a more manageable size. I decided to try and help.

“Well, if he knows the boss, and he’s Russian, my guess is that he was a hit man and it was his job to kill you, for whatever reason. Blackeyes nodded.

“So, I don’t suppose you know why you killed Buster?”

Sadly, he shook his head. Great, no help there.

I took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s go over a few more things.” Before I could get any further though, Blackeyes motioned for me to stop. He moved around so that he was facing Buster and got down on his knees. He hung his head, and then looked up at him and mouthed something. From my angle, I couldn’t see what he had said.

Buster looked thoughtful for a moment, and then slumped his shoulders and reached out for Blackeyes’ shoulder, letting his translucent hand hover above it. “I suppose there’s no reason not to forgive you now. What’s done is done, and can’t be undone. I forgive you.” Blackeyes smiled, and then looked around, focusing on me.

I gasped. His eyes had turned from the inky black to a startling blue. He smiled, and mouthed, “Thank you.” I noticed that he was now dressed in a very nice, yet understated suit; not a bad improvement over the comical boxers.

“No problem,” I smiled back at him. “Now, I really want to ask you a few questions.” Before I could though, he started to vanish into what appeared to be a glow that grew brighter as he grew dim.

“Wait! You can’t leave yet! Where is Buster’s body? I need to find out more about the mob and Big and the connections!” He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Great,” I said to myself as he disappeared into the light. I slapped my hands helplessly at my side.

I glared at Buster. “You just had to go and forgive him.”

He shrugged. “So, I guess he’s off to wherever ghosts who have it all figured out go off to, huh?” Buster slumped down against the dumpster. A rat scurried through his leg and I squealed. He just sat there, moping.

“Don’t worry. We will figure this out and give you whatever closure you need to get you to where you are supposed to be.” I tried to be empathetic while keeping watch for the rat or any of his other furry friends.

“It’s not fair! He kills me, I forgive him, and he goes off to the light. How does that work? Buster wasn’t half bad at throwing fits of his own. He leaned back and I could only see the lower half of his body-the rest had disappeared into the brick wall.

Chapter Eleven

My euphoric mood lasted until I crossed the park and took out my car keys.

“AAAGH!! My car! What is going on with my car?” I stood flapping my hands in the air; then, when that didn’t seem to be drawing enough attention, I added in running around in circles. My poor car sat there, on blocks, windows shattered, and a nice fire roaring on the driver’s side seat.

“Dude, is that you’re car?” A teenage zit stood beside me, pants bagging around his knees pointing at my car.

“Blah!” I yelled and continued running around my car, flapping my hands, trying to figure out what I could do.

“Time for marshmallows!” Munchie had appeared with what appeared to be a stick with a marshmallow attached, waving it through the shattered window. I caught his eye and he threw his head back and cackled with his croaky throated laugh.

“Get water! Call 9-1-1! Do something!” I yelped at no one in particular.

“Hey! What’s going on?” It was Detective Smith from the other day. He jogged up to the ugly scene.

I pointed and mimed, the smoke was choking my words from coming out of my mouth.

“My car,” I finally was able to sputter.

“This is your car? Oh, man. Does someone have it out for you?” He looked from me to the car, his face reflecting the seriousness of the situation.

If I could’ve talked I would have told him that Bill Engvall was trying to hand him a sign.

I heard sirens heading our direction but I knew it would be too late. Damn, my favorite 80’s collection of CD’s was in there. It had taken me eons to collect all of those classics! Sure, I could probably download them in mere moments off of iTunes, but it just wasn’t the same as going down to Millennium Records and hunting through the aisles of used CD’s. At least my phone was in my back pocket, not the car as I’d told Sam.

“Bummer.” I said. I think I was in shock. I sat down on the curb and tried to take stock of what had been in the car. My CD’s; my final paycheck; my ice scraper; a coupon for 50% off my favorite Chinese buffet. Nothing of great value, I supposed. I could definitely get my check replaced but the rest were a loss; not that I really needed the ice scraper anymore, since I no longer had a car. For the second time that day, I put my head in my hands and wondered what I had done to upset the gods.

“Excuse, me? Are you the owner?” A hunk of a fireman was standing there, looking at me with what I took as a hint of pity. He was holding a large fire extinguisher. White foam cascaded over the driver’s side door, my car was rabid.

I nodded. “That would be me.”

“Sorry about your car. It definitely looks like arson. It also looks like whoever did it left you a note on the other side of the car. You’ll want to take a look before they tow it off. I’m sure the police will want a statement.” He gestured over to the burnt hull of my car.

Smith held out his hand to the fireman, “Detective Smith, Portland PD, thanks for the quick response.”

“Arnie Renolds,” the fireman said shaking hands, “no problem, we get a lot of calls in this area, unfortunately. The station house is just a few blocks down.”

Perplexed about what the message could be, I got up and headed around to the other side of the car. Detective Smith and Arnie followed me.

“Stop asking questions.”

I read the words that had been scratched into my driver side door. Hmm, I had a pretty good idea why the words were there, but no idea who had scratched them and torched my car. I wasn’t sure that I really wanted to find out.

“Oh my gosh! Tansy! Are you okay?” Callie was running up the street.

I shrugged. “I’m fine, but I think old Bess is history.” I had gone over the edge of sanity, and all I felt was numb.

“Man, I heard the sirens and then a customer came in and said that some chick with pink hair had her car burnt to a crisp and I knew it was you so I ran right over.” She threw herself at me and wrapped her arms around me tight.

“Umph!” She had a firm grip and didn’t seem too set on letting go. I pulled my arms up and tried to pry her off.

“Callie, I’m fine, but I think that someone wants me to stop sticking my nose into Buster’s murder.” I whispered.

She turned and took in the message on my door. “Oh, my! It does seem a bit to the point.”

“Ya, I think it’s time to get some help from a professional, what do you think?” I nodded toward Detective Smith, who was talking to one of the firefighters. Sam had joined them, he must have heard the commotion and came over from the dealership. He caught my eye and tilted his head in a look of concern. He finished up his conversation and then headed over to where we were standing.

“So, a wrecker is on the way to take your car to the police impound. One of their detectives is on the way over. I think that it’s probably safest to play ignorant about the message on your car.” His eyes bore into mine, a strong warning.

“There’s already a detective here, and he’s already seen the message. I have no idea what to say!” I was overwhelmed and really had no idea what I should do-come clean with Smith or go along with Sam.

“Just play dumb. Tell them maybe someone got the wrong car. I don’t know, make something up. You’ve been doing pretty well with that so far this week.” He had an edge to his voice that I wasn’t sure how I should take, but it definitely had my hackles raised.

“What? You don’t want me to tell them that I think this is totally related to my unauthorized, totally unsafe investigation into Buster’s disappearance?” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not an idiot, Johnny.” I made sure that his pseudonym came out doused in sarcastic sauce.

He took hold of my shoulders and leaned in until he was just centimeters from my face. His eyes drilled into my own. My breath caught in my throat.

“You’re not an idiot. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just telling someone who’s just watched her car get completely crispified and who may or may not be in a bit of shock, that it would be best to make sure the police do not think that you know anything remotely concrete about who may have done this.” He paused and then gave me a quick kiss. It jolted me back to the fringe of reality. I stepped back, anxious to get some space between us.

“Oh. Thanks.” I blew a wisp of pink hair f my eyes and then grabbed a handful of my hair and had a closer look.

“Just great.” I fingered my hair, examining the crispy black ends.

“Oh, yikes.” Callie frowned and reached out for my hair. “Well, I think it may just be soot and ash, not actually burnt.” She ran her fingers down the strand and the black came off. “See, not that bad!” She smiled and fluffed my hair. “Why don’t you come back to the diner and I’ll close out and take you home?”

I nodded and then turned my attention back to Sam and our date later that night.

“So, we’re still on for tonight?”

“Of course, unless you’d rather a rain check.” He winked and gave my shoulder a squeeze.

Detective Smith stepped in front of us, arms crossed as Callie and I started back to the diner.

“So, you want to tell me why someone would scratch threatening words into your car, vandalize it, and then set it on fire?” He flipped out his notepad. He meant business.

“I really, truly, have no idea.” I stared at the ground, only looking up to steal a glance at Callie, who was intently examining her fingernails.

He turned his sharp focus on Callie. “How about you? You have any idea why someone would be interested in doing this to her car?”

Callie shook her head. “Nope.” Both of us continued to examine the cracks in the sidewalk.

Detective Smith sighed. “Why do I get the distinct impression that both of you know more than you’re saying? Maybe I should take you down to the station for questioning? Would that suit you better?” His temper flared in his words, his outward demeanor still the consummate professional.

Both of shook our heads. “No sir.”

“I really need to get back to my shift officer.” Callie said, nervously checking her watch. “I ran over when I heard Tansy might be hurt, I had to make sure she was okay, but now I really have to get back or my boss will ream me.” She chewed on her lower lip and nervously shifted back and forth from one foot to the other.

“You work over at the diner?” He asked, gesturing down the street in the direction of Dixie’s.

“Uh-huh. I do.” She replied, still looking at the ground.

“What time’s your shift over?”

“Four, sir.” She checked her watch again and glanced nervously down the street.

“I’ll see you at four then, if that works for you? I’ll just come take your statement once your shift is over.” He had an answer for everything, it seemed.

“Kay, thanks.” She gave a slight smile to Detective Smith and then gave me a big hug. “Sorry Tans, but I gotta get back. You’ll come see me later, right?” She gave me a wink, making sure to hide it from the detective.

“Sure thing. I’ll see you later this afternoon.” I returned her hug and then she was off. She looked like a waitress out of the fifties, cute diner uniform and apron, complete with the white tennis shoes and bobby socks. She even had a matching sea-foam green bow in her hair.

“She seems sweet,” Detective Smith said to no one in particular as he watched her swishing ponytail disappear around the corner.

“Now, back to you and your toasted car.” He looked down and gave me a slight grimace.

I glanced up at him. He was tall. I hadn’t realized how tall when we were talking in the park the other day. And he had really nice teeth, not to mention warm brown eyes. Not my normal hunky type, for sure, but not exactly hard on the eyes.

“Shall we have a seat over here on the bench?” he motioned over to an old bench.

I sighed. “I suppose.” I wasn’t sure yet what questions he’d have for me, but I was nervous none the less. I got the feeling my acting skills were about to be put to the test. I sat down and took a good look at the detective. He was reviewing his notes. I studied his old school steno pad; it was small enough to fit into his suit coat pocket. He continued to make notes in a very neat and precise print. I peered closer, all capital letters, interesting. His dark grey wool trousers and a white button down shirt were quality. He had on an understated black and grey tie that was done in a subtle polka dot pattern. I looked down towards his feet-black socks and black shoes, shined to a nice finish. I leaned in slightly and casually sniffed, he smelled good, like a man. I didn’t recognize the aftershave, but it was a nice woodsy scent. I closed my eyes and pictured a Stetson-wearing cowboy riding across the fields on his trusty horse.

He cleared his throat and I opened my eyes to find him watching me.

“So, how do I rate? On a scale of one to ten?” He winked at me and then went back to being all business. I felt the scarlet heat flash up my neck and onto my cheeks.

“Eight point five.”

“Why not a ten?” His eyes focused on his notes, but a hint of a smirk hung on his lips.

“Well, you’re too serious, for one. I like a bit of fun. Also, you seem a bit on the scrawny side for my taste, although some girls find long and lanky attractive I suppose.” I wrinkled my nose at the thought of wimpy arms. I liked my men with some muscle. Not a lot, but enough to hold onto.

Detective Smith chuckled. “Do you want to know my assessment of you?”

What was this? Was this flirting? I did not need to travel down this road right now; time to change subjects, fast.

I cleared my throat. “What about my car? Will you take fingerprints? I didn’t see anyone taking fingerprints. What if whoever did this left fingerprints? How will you find them?” I found myself rattling away, I couldn’t seem to stop. The panic was back. Someone had destroyed my car, probably the same person or people that had killed Buster and the other Russian mob guy. Now they were torching my car and writing threatening messages!

“Whoa! Hold on! You okay?” He put his hand on my shoulder, in an effort to comfort me. “It just hit you, didn’t it?” It felt nice and soothing. I let out a sigh.

“I’m fine. Let’s just get on with it. I have to figure out what I’m going to do for a car. Not that it matters much, since I got fired this morning. It’s not like I have anywhere that I need to be.” My voice cracked and I was sure I was within seconds of losing it.

“You got fired and your car got torched? All in the same day?” He tried to stifle the guffaw, but I heard it in there.

I shot him a dirty look. My self pity had morphed into disbelief that an officer of the law would be so callous. Now I was mad. “Seriously? You’re laughing at my situation?” I tensed, sprang up from the bench. I could spit nails.

“Don’t feel like crying now that you’re pissed off at me, do you?” He gave a chuckle again and winked.

“No,” I scowled. “Thanks.” Damn, he was good. I sat back down.

“Now, let’s get down to business.” He made a notation on his notepad.

For the next fifteen minutes I felt like I was under intense scrutiny, which of course, I probably was. I mean, it’s not too often someone intentionally torches the car of a nice, down to earth, unemployed psychic. I was pretty sure that I’d convinced the detective I really had no idea as to who could have possibly done this.