Inherit the Dead

5 CHARLAINE HARRIS

Gil’s Gas & Auto office windows were shining through the pelting cold rain. The garage bay doors were down, but that wasn’t surprising on a day as miserable as this one. Perry saw lights coming from the narrow windows in the bay doors, too. There were two trucks parked to the right of the building, and a Lincoln in one of the customer slots. Perry pulled the collar of his trench up, flung open his car door, and dashed to the entrance. A bell rang as he pushed open the door and practically jumped into the office.

Like every garage in the world, this place smelled of oil and metal and rubber, and it was none too clean. The coffee in the pot was past stewed, the Formica on the service counter was chipped, and the middle-aged woman leaning against it was equally past her prime. But she didn’t like to think so. She was retrieving the keys to the Lincoln from the extended hand of a man half her age, a tall and brawny stud in mechanic’s overalls.

The woman and the stud both turned startled faces toward Perry, whose trench coat was dripping copious amounts of rainwater onto the floor. The water could only improve the dirty linoleum, Perry figured. It was obvious from the woman’s body language and the way the mechanic was smiling as he handed over her keys that the two had been in deep flirtation. The woman’s seductive slouch vanished like a raindrop in the desert as she turned to look at Perry. The mechanic’s face went completely blank. There was a moment of silence, broken only by the drip of the water from Perry’s coat.

Finally, the fortyish woman broke the little silence. Turning to the stud, she said, “Randy, when you get the part for the car, give me call. I’ll bring the car in myself.” She did everything but write her phone number on his hand.

“No chauffeur?” Randy asked. His overalls were tight, dark blue, and his name was stitched on his chest in red. He looked good in them, and he knew it. Even in the chilly weather, his sleeves were rolled up to exhibit muscular arms, tattooed with dark pseudo Japanese patterns.

“No chauffeur,” she said, looking at him in a very meaningful way. “I’ll come… in person.”

“I’ll call you,” Randy said, grinning. “That part should be here in a couple of days.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” she said, fluttering her fingers, and passed Perry in a waft of Blu. She picked up a Burberry umbrella propped by the door and, stepping out and snapping it open in one practiced move, she hurried to the Lincoln.

“Can I help you?” the mechanic asked. “I’m a little short-handed today. Our girl’s out, and we’re closing soon.”

Perry approached the counter. He could see now that there was a space heater on by the desk behind the counter. The office felt warm and cozy. To Randy’s right, a door was open into the service-bay area. A car was up on a lift, and there was another Gil’s Auto employee under it, looking up into the car’s workings. He was older and thicker than Randy Hyde, his hair graying. He was what Randy would be in fifteen or twenty years.

“I hope so,” Perry said. “I’m Perry Christo. I’m a private detective, and I’m looking for a woman.”

“Aren’t we all?” Randy laughed. “But I haven’t got a spare one. Only car parts.” Randy was handsome as well as brawny, which was maybe the answer to what Angel, a girl with money, was doing with a guy like this. The mechanic was blessed with absolutely regular white teeth, thick wheat-colored hair, and a jaw and nose like a Greek god’s. There was no denying that Randy exuded vitality. But his hands and nails were embedded with dark lines of grease that all the scrubbing in the world wouldn’t remove.

“Like I said,” Perry repeated, “I’m looking for a woman. A specific woman. If you’re Randy Hyde, I’ve heard you know her very well.”

Randy pointed to the embroidered name on his chest. “I’m the only Randy here. Like I said, I ain’t got a woman in the shop at the moment, but I do know a lot of women. And I know plenty of them very well.”

“I’m sure you do, but I’m trying to ascertain the present whereabouts of only one: Angelina Loki,” he said flatly.

The humor went out of Randy’s face, and he raised the flap to come out from behind the counter. The space suddenly seemed much smaller as the two men confronted one another.

“What makes you think I might know where Angel is?” Randy asked. He was close enough for Perry to see golden stubble on his cheeks. Perry was rooted to his spot on the floor.

“A little bird told me,” Perry said.

“I bet it was a little canary,” Randy snarled. “And I bet she’s named Lilith Bates.”

Perry shrugged. “Does it make any difference? I need to talk to Angel.”

“Why?”

“Not your business, grease monkey.” Perry tossed out the insult, hoping to get a rise out of the guy.

“Grease monkey — really? You want something from me, and this is the shit I get from you? Some detective.” Randy was sneering, but there was something else in his face. Maybe a trace of genuine hurt. But it was gone as fast as it had surfaced, and now Randy’s face showed only anger. It was clear Perry had touched the right nerve.

“Okay, I was out of line,” Perry said. “But I do have to find her. There are legal issues involved — I can tell you that much. And I understand that Angel and you have hooked up in the past.”

“Maybe we have before, and maybe we did two weeks ago,” Randy said. “But I haven’t seen her in a week. I can’t help you.”

“You can’t help me, or you won’t help me? I’m not looking to screw her up. This is all to her advantage.”

“Easy for you to say. How do I know what you want? You’re not from around here — I don’t know you. And Angel would have called if she’d wanted me to tell you anything. So unless your car’s thrown a rod, leave.”

“Not without your answering some questions. Angel hasn’t called anyone. She’s vanished off the face of the earth, as far as her family knows. That’s why I’m looking for her, and I need your help.”

Randy seemed to think about his next move for a minute. “Hey, Uncle Dirk,” Randy called, and the other mechanic ambled into the office from the bay. He brought a gust of machine smell with him. He closed the office door behind him and leaned on the counter. Up close, it was apparent he was even bigger than Randy, and had maybe two inches on Perry. He had a long scar around his neck, and a small, tight beard. His hair had once been as blond as Randy’s. The two men were obviously fish out of the same gene pool.

“You the owner?” Perry asked.

“That would be Gil, and he ain’t here. I’m the manager.” He angled his chin at Perry but spoke to Randy. “What’s this guy want? He don’t look like our usual clientele,” Dirk said, looking at the visitor with cold blue eyes. Dirk was tattooed, too, but his tats were probably prison ink. “Our customers can afford something better than that heap out front.”

“He’s looking for Angel; he says she’s missing,” Randy said. “How long’s it been since she called me?”

“That blond bitch with the legs?” Dirk said.

Randy nodded.

“She called you about two weeks ago, am I right? From that no-tell Memory Motel. You couldn’t figure out what she was doing in a place like that, no matter how famous it is.”

“See?” Randy turned to Perry. “She called me. I didn’t go looking for her.”

Perry didn’t understand why Randy thought that cleared him of any wrongdoing, but he appeared to believe if Angel had sought him out, he couldn’t be accused of harming her. “Did you join her?” The detective did his best to sound neutral, but the thought of the delicate girl in the picture in his wallet in a liaison with this sex machine in a jumpsuit… it made him sick.

“Sure.” Randy shrugged, a big movement from his broad shoulders. “I needed my chain pulled, you know?” He smirked at the two other men. “I didn’t go back to my place for a week, at least. That Angel knows tricks most pros don’t know.”

Perry’s fists clenched, a reaction that didn’t go unnoticed by Uncle Dirk or Randy. But his voice came out calm enough when he asked, “So all you did was have sex, for a week?”

Randy shrugged. His hand played down the front zipper of his overalls. “What can I say, Mr. Detective? I’d bang her in the morning, come to work, go to the motel for lunch, bang her again, and after we ate some dinner at night we went another couple of rounds. I got stamina, and I got assets.” Uncle Dirk laughed and reached for a rag to wipe his hands.

“Did she get any phone calls that you can remember? Mention any plans?”

Those questions seemed to sober Randy. The facile braggadocio slipped away. “She really missing?” he asked.

“Yeah, she’s really missing.”

“She got some phone calls, sure. But she didn’t tell me who she’s talking to, and I didn’t ask. That’s her private shit. I know Lilith called her a couple of times, though, because Angel told Lilith what we were doing when the phone rang. She put in a lot of details. She wanted Lilith to be jealous.” His smile returned.

“You and Lilith…?” Was Randy lying? Or was Lilith? Perhaps the woman had protested just a bit too much.

“Every now and then she needs her oil changed,” Randy said. “She gives me a call. We do quality work here at Gil’s Auto.” His leer was automatic.

Uncle Dirk said suddenly, “You going to tell this guy what happened? Her running out?” He seemed to take a malicious pleasure in that.

Randy swung to face him, and the warm, oily air in the shop office became tense for a few moments. Then Randy relaxed. And so did Perry, who’d been holding his breath without being aware he was doing so.

Randy turned away from his uncle and spoke to Perry. “Yeah, okay. If you’re really sure that Angel’s in trouble.”

Perry felt a frisson of excitement. Maybe now he’d get a piece of information that would lead to discovering the missing heiress.

“The last night we were together at the motel, a week ago,” Randy began. “She’d picked me up here at work. My truck was running rough, but Uncle Dirk and me didn’t have time to work on it — we were too busy with jobs that paid.”

Dirk had poured himself a mug of coffee and was sipping it cautiously. He nodded, as if he was letting Perry know he confirmed Randy’s narrative. He still looked amused. Randy said, “About midnight, she got a phone call. We’d just gotten to sleep, so I didn’t catch everything she said. She went into the bathroom, left the door open just a crack. She sounded really upset.”

“Do you know who she was talking to?” Perry leaned on the counter, fighting a wave of weariness.

“Nope,” Randy said. “All I heard was some mumbling, and then she threw her clothes on and left.”

“When she came back, did she tell you what had happened?”

“She never came back.”

There was an uneasy silence until Uncle Dirk said, “And that’s the whole story.”

“Did you hear from her again?” Perry’s sleepiness had vanished. He was alert now, and more worried about Angelina Loki than he’d been before.

“Not exactly. After work that day, I went back to the motel and found out she’d gotten all her stuff. Or someone had. When I talked to the asshole who runs it, he said my girlfriend must have been pretty disappointed, to run out on me that way. And I owed him a night’s pay on the room.” That had rankled — it was obvious.

“You sure you didn’t drive her somewhere yourself that night?” Perry was skeptical about the story’s details. “Or maybe follow her to see what she was up to?”

“If I’d driven her somewhere, I’d have had to walk back to the damn motel in below-freezing weather. I could have gone home just as easy. Why would I stay there? And I didn’t follow her, either. I fell back asleep.”

“Why didn’t you take Angel to your house in the first place?” It was the first time Perry had thought to ask this obvious question, and he realized he needed some rest more than he’d thought.

Randy flushed. “She didn’t want to stay at my place,” he said. “I told her she could stay at the house; I got a little place on Oyster Street. But she said people were looking for her, and she needed to be somewhere she could just walk out of. I guess she was right… because that’s what she did.”

“You haven’t heard from her since?”

“Not a word.” Unexpectedly, Randy kicked the counter. The violence of the motion and the resounding thud of his boot hitting the old wood caused the other two men to jump. Uncle Dirk said, “Shit, Randy!”

“I’m worried about Angel,” Randy said. “She’s here, then she’s not. It’s not like we see each other steady, or anything. But she’s never done something like that before. I was half asleep when she left that night, but I did ask her if she wanted me to go with her.”

“What did she say?”

“She kind of laughed and said she wasn’t scared, and she’d be back the next morning in time to take me to work.”

“He called me at seven thirty,” Uncle Dirk said. He’d finished his coffee and was ready to get back to work. He stood in the doorway, shifting from side to side. “I picked him up, brought him here, watched him answer the phone all day hoping it would be her.” The older man shook his head, maybe disgusted that Randy had been blown off by a woman.

“You were worried,” Perry said.

“Hell, yes, I was worried.” Randy looked angry, embarrassed, and resentful all at the same time. “I shoulda gotten up to go with her, or made her stay. I shoulda… I don’t know what I shoulda done. Something.”

“Did the motel desk clerk say that Angel herself had come back to get her things?”

“No. When I went straight to the room, I found out it was locked, and her car wasn’t there. I went to the office to see if she’d checked out.”

“Had she?”

“He told me after he left the office for a second to go to the john, he came back and found the key on the counter. The maid told him the room had been cleaned out when she went in to make the bed.”

“That car isn’t fixing itself,” Uncle Dirk said abruptly. Apparently, he was tired of Angel and her problems, or maybe Perry’s disruption of the shop routine. He went out into the bay after shooting a pointed glance at his nephew.

“Yeah,” Randy said, “I gotta get to work. Listen, I hope you find Angel. She’s world class in the sack, and I… yeah, I feel kind of bad about her going out into the night like that. At the time I didn’t think anything of it,” he said, changing his tune, “just mysterious rich-people shit. But now… ” He shrugged again.

“Thanks for your help,” Perry said.

“Yeah, right,” Randy said heavily, and went back to work.

Perry hunched down into his trench coat again for the short sprint to his car. The rain was still pelting down, and Perry felt cold to his bones. He sat in thought for a moment, then pulled out his cell phone to call Henry Watson. When he’d been on the force, he and Henry had been close, and after Perry had become a private eye they’d cautiously maintained a friendship.

“Watson,” said a gruff voice. In the background, there was a lot of noise. With the pounding of the rain on the car at his end, Perry could barely make out what Henry was saying.

“You got a minute?” Perry said loudly.

“Let me get out of this,” Henry said, and a moment later the noise abated to a tolerable level. “I was on the street,” Henry explained. “I’m in a lobby now.”

Perry said, “I need a favor, and I’ll tell you why.” As briefly as possible, he explained the situation to the cop.

“So you want me to run a check on this Randy Hyde?”

“Yeah, if you can. I’ll owe you the best bottle of Scotch you can find.”

“I can find a pretty good bottle.”

“I’m counting on it. This Randy, he seems genuinely concerned about Angel, but on the other hand, he’s quick with the kicks and punches. Lots of room for something bad to have happened. And can you run her mother and father? Julia Drusilla and Norman Loki? I can’t imagine them having records, except maybe Loki for pot, but the minute you don’t check—”

“Yeah, it’ll come back to bite you on the ass,” Henry said. “Okay. In my copious spare time.”

They chatted for a minute more, Perry asking after Henry’s new kid and new wife, Henry admitting they were all doing great and trying not to sound as proud as he was of his wife’s career and his kid’s being gifted. Just as the conversation was winding down, Henry said, “Wait a minute! I know a local out there, on the force. We were together at a gunshot-wound seminar. His name’s Arthur Gawain, and he’s a strange bird. But I think he’s a good cop. Give him a call. He should definitely know where the bodies are buried in East Hampton.”

“Thanks,” Perry said. Some local insight could be a big help. The area cops always knew plenty of stories that never made it into a courtroom. Perry had gotten tight with a couple of cops in Southampton when he was on the Derace McDonald case, but Southampton was not East Hampton, and that case had been two years ago. He was thankful for the new contact. “Got his number?”

He scribbled it down as Henry read it off. “Thanks, Henry, and give my love to Maria,” he said.

When he’d hung up, he sat in the car for a moment. Through the small windows in the doors of the service bay, he could see movement, and he knew Randy and Dirk were back at work. As he himself should be. With a sigh, he raised his phone and dialed Detective Arthur Gawain.