Metaphor for Murder (Mystery Writer's Mysteries Book 3) Read online

  I texted again, but Barb spoke before I pressed Send. “Are you joining us for load testing tonight?” Barb paused then added, “There was also a woman named Tiffany in my dream.”

  I leaned back and caught Don’s eye to see if he knew what Barb was talking about. Integration? Load testing? I gasped and clamped a hand over my mouth, just as quickly removing it to text Barb. You’re getting Ozzi’s texts from work too! There must be a problem at his office!

  Barb said, “You’re getting .... Oh.” She looked up and smiled brightly at the psychic. “Sorry. I’m having a senior moment. Will you excuse me a moment?” She let go of both the psychic’s hand and Don’s and headed toward the restroom. I followed her.

  When we closed the door behind us she laughed. “Oh, good grief. That was ridiculous.”

  “You recovered nicely,” I said. “So proud of my little nerd.”

  “I’m old, not stupid.” She handed Ozzi’s phone to me and I saw a dozen messages scrolling past. “So what do you think that was all about? It sounded like she was pumping us for information about that author.”

  “That’s what I think too. But I’m not sure why.” The messages kept scrolling. “I gotta get this phone back to Ozzi. Looks like his project is blowing up.” I held the door for her. “Unless you really have to ...?”

  “No, just had to leave the table before I started laughing. Let’s go.”

  I sent her off ahead of me so I could get a photo of the psychic. But when I turned the corner she was gone. Barb was standing by Don’s side as he threw a few bills from his wallet on the table.

  Lavar and Tuttle hurried over. “Landsakes, who was that?” Lavar asked.

  “A psychic,” Barb said.

  “A psychic, my a...unt Sally!”

  “Your Aunt Sally is a psychic?” Barb cocked her head at him and he blushed. I never actually knew black men could blush until I met Lavar.

  “No ... I just ... I meant ...” Lavar looked at me for help.

  “She’s old, Lavar. Not stupid. She knew what you meant.”

  Barb laughed and placed her tiny hand on his bulging forearm. “Some people say cursing is the sign of a small vocabulary. But I think it’s a sign of a creative thinker. You keep doing you.”

  “Be that as it may, what was all that?” Tuttle asked.

  Don shrugged and looked at me. “As soon as we figure it out, we’ll let you know.”

  I didn’t want to drag Lavar and Tuttle into this, whatever this was. “Just somebody trying to scam a couple of worried pet owners.”

  “Pete not back yet?” Lavar’s brow wrinkled and he drew Barb into a bear hug. I always worried he’d crush someone with his exuberant love.

  “He’ll be back,” I said, more confident than I felt. “I’ve gotta get Ozzi’s phone back to him. See you guys later.”

  I hurried back to Ozzi’s apartment, debating with every step whether I should wake him up or not. By the time I got there, I decided it wasn’t my call to make, no pun intended. I woke him, explained briefly what happened and brewed some coffee. Before I left I scrambled him some eggs and buttered two pieces of toast, making him promise to eat before he rushed to his office.

  Back at my apartment I checked the clock. Still plenty of time to get to Union Station. I remembered the map of the city in my pocket and took it with me upstairs to Don and Barb’s.

  “I meant to show you this earlier.” I unfolded the map on their dining table and smoothed it. “I’ve been getting some calls about Pete and have been marking them on here. I’m going to start checking them out.”

  “We’ve had some too.” Don rewound then played back the ancient answering machine next to their landline. As we listened, if any locations were mentioned, I marked them on my map. I was disheartened to hear most of their callers wanted to know the amount of the reward too. I was also disheartened to hear how many calls they got asking them to buy pet insurance, contribute to mega-churches, and support the NRA.

  When the messages were finished, Don handed me a piece of paper. “We quit answering the phone for fear we’d be on it when something important came in about Pete. But these are some of the things people told me.”

  I added those locations to my map and assured them I’d check them out. I could do many of them on my way to Union Station. Deep down, I knew Peter wouldn’t be in any of them because I was convinced not one of these callers ever saw him—or any other dog, for that matter—before they called, asking about the reward. Maybe it was a mistake to have put that on the flyers. But maybe, just maybe, someone saw the Braid with him, or could give us the license plate of his matte black El Camino, or had actually scooped him up when the Braid wasn’t looking, in some miraculous moment of psychic phenomenon.

  Yeah, right. That could happen.

  “If you talk to anyone who calls, be sure and ask if they saw a car. I want to know about any black El Caminos with matte finish. There can’t be too many of them around. But don’t describe the car to anyone. Make them describe it to you.”

  I planned my route between home and Union Station, noting with a scowl that nobody had given their actual home address in their messages. Just “at the corner of this and that” or “outside the gym on 5th.”

  Oh, Pete. Please be okay.

  As I expected, none of the marks on my map showed me Pete or the El Camino. The few people I spoke with confirmed my suspicions, that none of the callers had any real connection to the locations they gave. I was more sure than ever the callers were opportunistic scammers.

  Arriving at Union Station, I exchanged the map for my I heart Denver baseball cap and threaded my hair through the opening in the back.

  I sat outside with one leg crossed on an out-of-the-way bench under the canopy and watched to see who, if anyone, would show up: Martina, Lakshmi, or Cecilia. I didn’t even know if a train would be coming through. Would they look it up and see through my ruse? My foot bounced so much I had to place it flat on the ground so as not to knock me off the bench. It kept bouncing so I walked inside to the timetable on the wall and studied it to see if there was an estimated time for any arrival. It showed a passenger train coming from Memphis on its way to Seattle. I returned to my inconspicuous bench and tried to be equally inconspicuous as I scanned the crowd.

  The train pulled in about ten minutes early and began disgorging passengers. The area became crowded with happy reunions and beleaguered tourists so I stood on the bench, balancing against a concrete pillar I could also peek around.

  The third car of the train was directly in front of me, about twenty yards away. The station was behind me. The outdoor plaza was busy with more than just the train passengers, exactly like when Ozzi and I were here on Saturday. People walked through the plaza from all directions because Union Station was also the hub for the bus terminal and the light rail trains around Denver. Everyone was busy getting to or from some place. Except me. I stood hugging the concrete pillar, hoping to see whichever of Lapaglia’s girlfriends were going to show up.

  The arriving passengers were beginning to thin out and they let the departing passengers waiting in the snaking line begin to board.

  I prepared myself for the eventuality that none of the girlfriends would show up when I heard voices I recognized behind me.

  “I wonder why she wanted us down here,” Cecilia said.

  “You can’t imagine the song and dance I had to do to get the afternoon off work,” Lakshmi said in her pixie voice.

  “I know. Me too. She better have a good reason for this stupid field trip.”

  I assumed they were talking about me. I kept my back to them and watched as they rounded the corner to my right, strolling toward the train. No sign of Lapaglia and it didn’t sound like they expected him here. They sounded more curious as to why I texted them, which, admittedly, made more sense. I watched them as they stopped close to the train, scanning the area, probably searching for me rather than Lapaglia.

  The departing passengers had mostly wound through th
e snaking queue and had climbed on to the train.

  Still no Martina, though, which made me believe my theory about her hiding Lapaglia might be confirmed. I climbed down from the bench, brushing the concrete dust from my hands, and headed toward Lakshmi and Cecilia. Before I finished mentally composing my apology for getting them down here on a workday, I saw Martina stalk up to them, chest ricocheting between chin and belly. They spoke quietly, but by Martina’s twisted face, I knew she was angry. I wanted to get closer to hear, but I also wanted to see how it would play out. I stepped behind a concrete pillar closer to them and peeked around it. Still couldn’t hear. I searched the area but there was nowhere closer to them where I wouldn’t be fully exposed. Maybe I could lean against those trash bins or bend down to tie my shoe over there—

  The Braid was taking long strides in my direction, his eyes trained on me like lasers.

  Sixteen

  I didn’t want to draw his attention to the three women I had tricked to get down here. He had been violent with me and maybe with all of them too. Perhaps he’d been stalking me this whole time and didn’t even know they were here. I wanted to keep it that way.

  I eased around my pillar, hidden from his view. I prayed he’d come around behind me. As soon as he moved in that direction, I took off at a sprint toward the train. I knew the sudden movement would draw his attention to me and away from the girlfriends. And maybe it would draw the girlfriend’s attention, too, and they wouldn’t be caught by surprise by the Braid if he decided to accost them.

  I raced up the steps of the first train car, thankful it was unattended, expecting to travel back several cars and jump out again where I’d be less exposed. If I timed it right, I could disappear back into the station or veer toward the light rail trains or the underground bus terminal.

  Fighting the crowded aisles from the first car to the second, I earned more than a few expletives along the way. “Sorry!” I said to all of them, but I knew they did not accept my apologies. Fighting to open the door between car two and car three, I was just about to put all my effort into it, when I saw the Braid fighting his way through the crowd in car three right toward me. He didn’t even bother with apologies to the people I knew were cursing at him and his rudeness.

  I turned around to make my way back through car two, which was even more crowded now. It seemed everyone who had been finding their seats earlier had now commenced opening all of their carry-on luggage to extricate everything they needed for the duration of their trip.

  I glanced backward. The Braid was almost to the door between the cars. There was no way I was getting through that crowd in front of me. Just then a woman emerged from the restroom. She barely got out before I pushed past her and dove inside. “’Scuse me! Emergency!” She didn’t need to know what kind of emergency it was. She could use her imagination, but it probably wouldn’t include the Braid. I slammed the door and locked it behind me. I leaned on it to catch my breath.

  I heard angry voices, recognizing the Jersey Shore accent of the Braid. I couldn’t hear whom he was arguing with. It might have just been a cranky traveler, but I hoped it was a train employee who would throw him off.

  Suddenly the train lurched, knocking me into the sink, almost literally. If there had been water in it, my butt would be soaked. I reached across the toilet and opened the tiny porthole window. The train was backing out of the station. The Rockies in the distance slowly inched by.

  Seems I was headed for destinations west. How soon would they kick me off? Would they at least wait until the next station? What would happen when they discovered my credit card was maxed out and I couldn’t buy a ticket even if I wanted?

  The train was creeping along, but I didn’t dare leave the safety of the restroom since I had no idea if the Braid was still on the train or not. If he was, I knew he’d be waiting right outside this door. Thinking he was leaning on the other side of it made me scramble closer to the window. The restroom was minuscule, but at least with the window open I was getting a hot breeze and a picturesque view. My personal observation car.

  I wondered how long I could sequester myself in here before someone jimmied the door open. The rail yards were a part of Denver I never saw. As we picked up speed, I knew we had cleared the station and were officially on our way.

  I kept my fingers crossed that the Braid had been thrown off before we left Union Station and that I could jump off at the next stop. I decided to make the best of my unfortunate situation and tried to get comfortable. With my feet on the closed toilet seat, I was able to perch on the edge of the insufficient counter running around the sink and gaze at the Colorado landscape pass by the window.

  I called Ming to report another Braid sighting. The connection was bad and I felt I had to whisper, in case the Braid was listening at the door. Eventually, I got Ming to understand who I was and why I was calling. He told me he had no information for me.

  “Would you tell me even if you did?”

  He either pretended he didn’t understand me, or he really didn’t. Either way this conversation was over, but not before I heard the words “active imagination” through the static.

  The handle on the door jiggled, immediately followed by loud open-palmed banging. My heart seized and I covered my head with my arms.

  “I’m in here!” I yelled, embarrassed by my overreaction. “Might be awhile.” I didn’t know if they heard me, but the jiggling and banging stopped. I went back to gazing out the tiny window. The hot air felt good on my face, but wasn’t refreshing. I wondered where exactly the next stop was and how I was going to explain to Ozzi I needed him to pick me up there.

  I also wondered what it meant that all three girlfriends came to Union Station. Were none of them harboring Lapaglia? Or were they curious as to what I had planned? Planned, however, wasn’t quite the right word. My plan, such as it was, didn’t go much further than seeing who showed up, then confronting the girlfriend who hadn’t showed up.

  I stared out the window, a bit hypnotized by the rhythmic clattering of the wheels on the tracks. As the train slowed a bit around a curve, I saw a huge billboard for a resort. It had a drawing of a rustic-looking cabin and the tagline, Lose Yourself in Lost Valley—escape for a day, a week, or a month. It listed the amenities, which seemed quite appealing, especially the spa and daily happy hour. I’d love to go there.

  With a jolt, I realized that every time Lapaglia took the train to and from Denver, which Annamaria said he did a lot, he saw this sign, maybe more than one, if train billboards were the same as highway billboards.

  Did Lapaglia finally take the sign’s advice?

  Seventeen

  After lots more rhythmic clattering, some more banging on the restroom door, and perhaps a bit of nodding off on my part, I felt the train rumble and screech to a stop. I couldn’t see the name of the station due to some ancient cottonwoods drooping leafy branches over the sign. I knew I had to get off the train here, though.

  Unsure if the Braid was on the train with me or not, I opened the door a crack and peeked out. A swarm of people wearing matching blue baseball caps with “Anderson Family Reunion” stitched across them crowded the aisle, clearly gathering their belongings to disembark here. I tugged my blue I Heart Denver cap down as low as I could and hurried to join them. I insinuated myself between two pre-teen girls and an older woman, perhaps their grandmother. The two pre-teens held hands and were fidgety with excitement. I suspected they were cousins who didn’t get to see each other very often, because why would you be that excited with your sister?

  The older woman struggled with a suitcase. She said, “Brianna, would you help me get this down?”

  “Let me get that for you.” I sprang to her side, lifting down the bag and using it to shield my face from the Braid, should he be nearby.

  “Why, thank you so much!” she said. I ushered the two girls in front of me and she followed behind. I hurried off the train behind the two girls who took off after some other members of their group already wa
iting in a knot by the door into the station.

  I dropped the suitcase next to them and yanked open the door. The older woman called, “Thanks again!” and waved at me when I turned my head. I waved back then ducked inside the station. The ladies’ room was just inside and I zipped into it, locking myself in the stall nearest the door. Lots of women came in and out. The other two toilets flushed, sinks ran, hand dryers whirred.

  But soon it was silent and I knew I was alone. I realized I had better avail myself of the facilities just in case. How inconveniently stupid to have been locked in two separate restrooms for hours and not take the opportunity to do some availing.

  I crept out of the stall, washed my hands and face, and then inched open the restroom door, peering out with one eye. Nobody. I stepped around a dry erase sandwich board sign handwritten with arrival and departure times next to a huge faux ficus tree. I checked the clock on the wall. The train had continued on its journey ten minutes ago.

  I didn’t hear any voices but wasn’t convinced the Braid wasn’t skulking around here somewhere just like I was. I squinted through the plastic leaves of the ficus but didn’t see anyone. Wary, I noted all the exits.

  I took one cautious step and then another. Still nobody. No voices. In front of me stretched two rows of rustic wooden benches, ornate arms bisecting them at regular intervals. Antique-looking light fixtures hung from the ceiling, fan blades rotating lazily. An empty fireplace broke up the wall to my right, ash and soot stains crawling on the brickwork in all directions. Beyond the benches was a curved archway with dark wood trim around it.

  The whole room harkened back to the Old West. I took a few more tentative steps, fully expecting the Braid to jump out at me. But he didn’t. Either he got off the train before it left Denver, or he didn’t see me get off here and was on his way west to Seattle. I was glad I had thought to close the door of the restroom when I hustled off the train. Maybe he thought I was still there.