Grounds to Kill Page 12

  I got a decaf latte and sat sipping it quietly in my car. I wished I had my laptop so I could Google what other people had to say about Zelma Turnquist. As it was, I only had my gut instinct that told me she was one-half showman and one-half accurate. Half was good enough for me at this point, however. She’d told me I needed to find a key to find the killer. I thought about that and looked through my own key chain. I had one key for my apartment and another for the building front door, a third for Merlot’s and the spare for Mallory’s. None of the keys looked full of possibilities.

  I spotted Dad’s backpack in my rearview mirror and frowned. There wasn’t a key inside, was there? Being homeless pretty much meant you didn’t really need keys. Still, I was drawn to the pack and I found myself tugging it into the front seat with me, and, once more, going through the items inside. I’d tossed out all the trash, old batteries and old food, but I’d stuffed the flyers back inside and they took up the majority of the space. I also kept the picture frame wrapped in Dad’s old T-shirts in the pack. Once I took out the flyers and the frame there wasn’t a whole lot left except the loose change I’d stuffed back in one of the smaller outer pockets. I took out the change now and went through it again, but no key was hiding in the jumble of coins. I took the coins, placed them in my purse and replaced them with a ten dollar bill. I could use the change for laundry money.

  I found myself once again driving up and down the downtown streets and peering into alleys. No Dad anywhere. Finally I gave up and headed back to Mallory’s.

  When I woke up it was because Mojo was making whining noises near me on the sofa. It was nearly ten and she needed to go out, but I felt groggy and disoriented. I slipped my bare feet into my shoes and snapped on Mojo’s leash. We stepped outside and onto the grass. I took a deep breath of the breeze blowing inland from the Pacific. The distinct Seattle fragrance: smog, sea water and seagull poop. Divine.

  Mojo was also sniffing the air and taking her time. I took my cell phone from my pocket and scrolled through my messages. There were a couple of texts from Mallory. The first told me that she’d left early for work so she could drop off Beth on the way. She also mentioned I could help myself to the soy milk in the fridge and the vegan nut cereal in the cupboard. Oh yum. In her second text Mallory gave me Zelma’s contact information and said she had an old laptop at work that I could borrow and if I wanted it, I was to let her know and she’d bring it home later. My Blackberry was distinctly void of any messages from Mitch.

  Mojo and I went back inside and I dialed Mallory.

  “I’ll take the laptop,” I told her.

  “Good. I should’ve thought of it last night, but it slipped my mind,” she said. “I’m at work till four, so I’ll be home with it before five, unless we get a sudden rush before closing.”

  Mallory worked at Sidecar for Pigs Peace, a vegan store in the University District. It was a general store that sold everything you could want as long as you didn’t want to have any product of animal mutilation. “So what happened to Beth last night?”

  “I drove her home,” Mallory said. “I talked to her this morning already. It’s amazing how she can totally poison her body and be fine the next day. What’s your plan for your day off?”

  “I’m going to search for Dad. Check the shelters, alleys, park benches. That kind of thing.” I wasn’t even aware I’d made that decision until the words were out of my mouth.

  “What are you going to do if you find him?”

  “Well, I guess I’ll tell him about Misty and ask him about the frame and stuff. Give him a chance to at least know the evidence against him before I call Detective Kellum and tell him what I’ve found out.”

  “I’m glad you’re going to call the detective,” Mallory said gently. “I know he’s your dad, but if he really is violent he might not even be able to help himself. You might have to save him from himself.”

  She was just saying out loud what I’d already thought.

  “I know,” I told her. “If they just arrest him based on the picture frame and the flyers, he has no way of defending himself and I really feel like he’s innocent.”

  “Sure. I get that. I’m just worried you’re protecting him when you don’t know all the facts.”

  It sounded like she thought he was as guilty as a leather-wearing, bacon-eating carnivore. I told her I’d see her later at her place for the laptop then I disconnected and planned my day.

  After showering, walking Mojo again and searching Mallory’s cupboards for non-existent coffee, I decided to dial Zelma’s number.

  I got her voice mail and her cheery voice came over the line,

  “I’m not able to take your call, but please don’t make me read your mind. Leave a message and I’ll call you back.”

  Oh, brother.

  “Hi Zelma, this is Jen. We met last night. I wanted to ask you some more questions about the key you mentioned. I hope you can give me a call back.” I left my cell number.

  Next, I searched my purse and pulled out the most recent picture I could find of Dad and hit the streets of Seattle.

  I started with a transitional house on South Washington, because it was close to Merlot’s and I had a feeling Dad stuck close. I visited half a dozen places showing Dad’s picture and describing Jack Hamby as a disheveled schizophrenic homeless man. Basically everybody had seen him, or dozens just like him, but nobody could say when he was last around. It was early afternoon when I remembered that the woman who had Dad’s backpack had mentioned getting it at the Bread of Life Mission. It was only a few blocks away from where I was now.

  I parked in a lot just beside the three-story brown brick building with the familiar neon sign proclaiming Come Unto Me and then below that it said Bread of Life Mission. The volunteers were very kind and wanted to help, but they didn’t know where to start.

  “We serve over seven thousand meals a month,” said the young woman with espresso skin and warm brown eyes. She looked at the picture and tapped the paper with her finger. “He does look somewhat familiar, though.”

  She walked off for a minute, then came back with an older man she introduced as Melvin.

  He looked at the picture and announced, “Yup, that’s Jack. He’s here a few times a week for sure. Sometimes just for the chapel service in the evening, sometimes for a meal and other times he grabs a bed.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?” I asked, both relieved and excited.

  “Oh, he stayed last night. Gone now, though. Most of them hit the streets bright and early.”

  “But he stayed here last night?”

  “Yup. Sure did.”

  Finally I seemed to be getting somewhere even though I was obviously too late to reach Dad there today.

  “There’s been a death in the family,” I told him. “His daughter. So I’d really like to reach my dad and let him know.”

  “Well, we can tell him you’re looking for him, but that doesn’t mean...” his voice trailed off.

  “I know he’s sick and he doesn’t talk so it’s hard to communicate.”

  “True, I usually just write things down for him.”

  “Does he reply?”

  “Sure. Sometimes he’ll write me a note back. He just doesn’t like to talk, because, you know, he’s worried about listening devices and the like.”

  I was totally embarrassed to admit that I’d never even thought of communicating with Dad by writing things down.

  “As a matter of fact, just this morning he wrote me a note asking me to make more copies of his Lost Dog flyers. That’s something I do a lot for him. Also, he wanted to know if I’d seen his backpack,” Melvin added.

  “I’ve got his backpack,” I said. “I got it off a short woman, maybe my age, who was missing some teeth. She was pushing her shopping cart with the backpack on top so I recognized it and convince
d her to sell it to me for five bucks and my hoodie.”

  “That’s Alice,” Melvin said with a frown. “She’s a bit of a klepto. If it isn’t nailed down, she’s liable to just pick it up and toss it in her cart. I’ll have to have a word with her about this kind of thing. Jack was really upset about his backpack being gone. He was tearing the place apart looking for it and I had to promise him that I’d put it in the safe if I found it.”

  “You’ve got a safe?”

  “Well, no,” he said sheepishly. “Just told him that so he’d feel better.”

  Melvin was a good man.

  “Do you think I could leave him a note and you could pass it along to him?”

  He said he would and brought me a sheet of paper and a pen. I couldn’t exactly leave a note asking my father if he’d killed Misty, so I just told him I had his backpack and asked him to come see me at work as soon as possible.

  “He’ll be real happy about the backpack,” Melvin said.

  “There was nothing of value that I could see,” I admitted. “Couple of T-shirts, batteries and loose change.”

  “I think he was especially worried about a key,” Melvin said thoughtfully.

  That stopped me cold.

  “A key? There was a key in the backpack?”

  “I think that’s what he wrote.”

  “What was the key for?”

  “I have no idea,” he shook his head. “Like you said, it looked like nothing of value was in that pack. To us it’s all junk. To him it’s valuable. Could be a key he found lying in the gutter or might belong to something he thinks is important.”

  I left my cell phone number with Melvin and asked that he give me a call if Dad came back.

  I started to leave and then turned back to Melvin.

  “The police might be looking for him too.”

  Melvin nodded sadly.

  “Well, sometimes it’s not a bad thing if they get locked up, because usually they’ll get sent for some treatment.”

  I left Bread of Life after making a small donation. As I was walking to my car, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Detective Kellum. I left a message telling him that I had some important information for him and asked that he call me back. After I hung up from the Detective, my cell rang and it was Zelma Turnquist.

  “You wanted to know about the key, right?” she said in a quick, business-like manner.

  “Right. You mentioned that I need to find the key to find the killer.”

  “And that’s not self explanatory?”

  “Well...no,” I said. “How do I know where to start looking for a key? And what is the key for? Is it a house key, a car key, or what?”

  “This isn’t an exact science, you know,” she said with annoyance. “If you want to try another reading for more details, you can come by my place. I charge fifty bucks for a half hour.”

  She rattled off her address and I told her I’d think about it. Basically there wasn’t a lot to think about, because I didn’t have the fifty dollars. I just gave twenty to Bread of Life and that only left me with another twenty until payday tomorrow.

  As I disconnected the call from Zelma I walked around the corner and into the parking lot where I stopped short at the sight of my blue Neon. Someone had written “Die Bitch!!!!” in red spray paint across the side of my car.

  I spun around on my heels to see if I could spot a vandal running around with a can of spray paint. All I saw was a mailman wearing his regulation short-sleeve shirt and blue shorts.

  “Did you see who did this?” I shouted at him while pointing to my car.

  “Nope,” replied the mail carrier, continuing on his way, head down.

  Broad daylight and nobody saw a damn thing.

  I whimpered as I looked at the massive letters that started at the rear fender with “D” and made it all the way to the front of my car by the third exclamation point. I didn’t own a lot of things, but I loved that little car and this ticked me off big time. I couldn’t even afford the deductible on my insurance.

  I was about to call Detective Kellum to let him know about the attack on my car, but figured it could wait until he called me back.

  With nothing else to do I got behind the wheel and drove around a bit to see if I could spot Dad wandering the streets. I even took a slow drive past Merlot’s in case he’d set up panhandling across the street, but there was nobody there. As I slowed past Merlot’s, I glanced inside and caught a glimpse of the back of Mitch’s head. Just seeing part of him made me hot all over.

  Eventually I’d have to give serious thought to what one passionate kiss could mean for my ability to work next to him. Worst case scenario could mean things ended badly if we pursued a relationship and then I’d end up looking for another job. I didn’t want another job. Even though, truthfully, Mitch was a much better barista, I loved it at Merlot’s, and he could flirt anywhere. So before we had our first date or slept together, I already had our breakup planned out and who got to keep Merlot’s. If only I was that organized with the rest of my life.

  I pointed my vandalized Neon back toward Mallory’s. Once inside, I spent five minutes rubbing Mojo’s belly and then played Attack Duck with her. It’s a simple game that involves me throwing her tiny stuffed duck and shouting, “attack!” She scampers after it and returns it all slobbery. It took only a few throws before we were both sick of the game. I sat down on the sofa and eyed the orange backpack I’d brought in from the car. Everything that had been in it was now spread out on Mallory’s coffee table. I picked up the pack and decided to go through all four zippered pockets one last time. Once all the pockets were unzipped and inspected, I even grabbed the pack from the bottom and shook it upside down. When I did that I definitely felt something small slide around inside. I flipped it over and looked inside the main pouch. Nothing. I tipped the pack again and there was still something small sliding around. I took the pack and turned the entire main pouch inside out and that’s when I noticed a tiny slit in the lining near the bottom seam.

  After tilting, rolling, and fondling the pack like an old lover, I finally was rewarded with my prize sliding through that small hole. A small silver key!

  I jumped up and down holding the key up high like a prize fighter with a trophy. Mojo ran over and barked at me until I stopped. After a few minutes of celebration, I stared hard at the key willing it to give up all its secrets. Nothing. I frowned on account of this was not exactly all the answers as I’d hoped.

  “If only you could talk,” I said to the small silver key.

  Turning it over and over in my hand I ogled the key until I was sure it would melt under my hot glare. It was definitely not a house key, car key or safe deposit box key. That only ruled out three out of a million possibilities though. I needed to keep it in a safe place. That got rid of my apartment and car, because those were trouble magnets these days. I tucked it in my bra and felt confident until I took a step and it started sliding around. Apparently a B cup wasn’t sufficiently fleshy to hold it in place. I settled on tucking it inside the rubbery snug iSkin cover of my Blackberry and then put the phone in the front pocket of my jeans.

  I couldn’t wait to share my discovery with Mallory, but had an hour to go before she was off work. To kill some time I got out Mojo’s brush and hair detangling spray and gave her a good brushing. She put up with it for all of five minutes before jumping off my lap and rolling around on the carpet until she looked like a deranged Don King.

  My cell phone began vibrating in my pocket, and I scrambled to get it out only to see the call was from Arthur. I frowned and let it go to voicemail. When I listened to his message, I heard him sucking up. He apologized and asked to take me out. He even suggested Mama’s for dinner which was a low blow, because he knew I was a sucker for Mama’s chili rellenos and Cuervo Cadillac margarita. My mouth was watering and my stom
ach growled. I made myself a sandwich using Mallory’s soy cheese and fake salami. It was not nearly the same thing.

  Just before four o’clock I took Mojo for a walk. When we strolled past my car, I was shocked all over again to see how bad it looked with “Die Bitch!!!!” in bold lettering. The sun was shining and a lot of people were out. Every person who walked, cycled or drove by my vehicle slowed and stared. I decided to wait inside.

  Mallory slammed the door shut behind her just before five.

  “What the hell happened to your Neon?” she demanded.

  Her T-shirt choice today was pink with black lettering that said Proud to be Meat-Free Organic.

  “I went checking out homeless shelters looking for Dad, and while I was inside Bread of Life my car got tattooed.”

  “That’s horrible.” She gave me a hug. “I hope it was just some random freak and not something to do with the Misty situation, because then it goes from being rotten luck to crazy dangerous.”

  “I know. It’s the first time I ever hoped I was the victim of a random vandal attack, but there is good news out of all this.” I smiled, dug out my phone and peeled back the cover to reveal the small silver key.

  “The key!” she exclaimed. “Is it the one I think it is? The one that Zelma said would help us find the killer?”

  “I hope so.”

  I explained about Melvin at the shelter saying Dad was upset about his missing backpack because of the key and that I called Zelma, but she needed fifty bucks.

  “And now that I have the key, I don’t need Zelma’s input on where to find it, right?” I said. “What I need to figure out is what the key is for.”

  I looked hard at my left hand willing an itch.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  “Zip,” I replied.

  She asked to see the key and I handed it over. She turned it around in her hand before she admitted she hadn’t a clue and placed it between us on the coffee table. We sat staring at it, deep in our own thoughts.