6th Sense Read online

  "No, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted to see her. You know where she went?"

  "Nope. I mind my own business and don't bother prying into anyone else's." He folded his arms across his bony chest as if to show me just what a stand-up guy he was. Since it had only taken him about ten seconds to spot me peering in her window, I had a feeling he spent more time than he cared to admit prying into his neighbors' business.

  "You live around here?"

  "Yep. That's my place, right across the street. In another month, them roses will be full bloom."

  "They must be beautiful," I said. His kitchen window was directly across from where we stood. I wondered how often he'd stood there, watching the goings-on at number seven Elm Street. He must have read my mind.

  "Can't say as I was too sorry to hear her boyfriend got it, though. He was a real nasty fella. Used to knock her around some, which I never could cotton to. He got what was coming to him, I'd say." He toyed with the bill of his cap.

  "When did she leave?"

  "Yesterday. She and another blond, looked just like her, they been piling stuff into a truck all week, load by load. Didn't have no man to help 'em either, though the other one, she was big enough to carry most the stuff herself."

  "Did they say where they were going?"

  "Didn't ask. Like I said, I mind my own business around here."

  I did my best to suppress a smile and thanked him for his time. I'd passed a gas station earlier and now I headed straight for it, hoping the phone booth still had its phone book inside. It did.

  If the big blond that helped Stella move out really did look just like her, there was a good chance they were sisters, I thought. Since there was no man helping them, I took a chance that the sister wasn't married. I looked under Cane in the phone book, crossing my fingers. There were twelve listings and ten of them were distinctly male names. One name, Toby, could have been male or female, and the other just listed the initial K. I tried that first and got a twelve-year-old named Katie who was very eager to chat. I tried Toby next and was rewarded with a husky female voice on the other end.

  "Is Toby there?" I asked.

  "Yeah?" She waited while my mind raced. The address was listed in the phone book. I could do this better in person than over the phone.

  "I'm sorry. I must have the wrong number," I said, slamming down the receiver. I leaped into my Jeep, grabbed the Thomas Brothers and headed back to Interstate 5.

  Toby's neighborhood was somewhat nicer than Stella's. The houses were old with little rectangles of untended lawns in front. Weeds poked through cracks in Toby's driveway and the house next door had a rusted Chevy truck jacked up in the front yard, one tire missing. I smiled at a growling black Doberman chained to a tree in her front yard and left him a wide berth as I made my way to the front door. The door was ajar.

  "Hello? Anyone home?" I straightened my reddish wig and pushed the glasses up on the bridge of my nose.

  The door creaked open a fraction of an inch and two dark blue eyes glared out at me.

  "Uh, hi. I'm looking for Stella. Is she in?"

  The woman snapped gum between her front teeth and continued staring. Her white-blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, revealing an oily forehead and pasty complexion. Her pinched features were not softened by the liberal use of eyebrow pencil and mascara.

  "Who wants to know?"

  "I'm Jane Oliver. Private investigator. Actually, I'd like to talk to her about what happened last Wednesday night. Are you Stella?"

  I was pretty sure she wasn't. The woman Maggie had described was younger and more timid. This one looked like she'd as soon knife me as let me through the door.

  "I'm Stella," a soft voice said behind her. Grudgingly, the woman moved aside to let Stella through.

  Her unadorned face was puffy from recent tears, but her resemblance to the older woman was striking. With her shoulder-length blond hair, she was a kinder, gentler version of her sister. A child tottered behind her, his chubby fingers wound around the fabric of her pants. A fading yellow bruise circled his left eye.

  "Can I come in? It won't take but a minute. Or if this is a bad time, I could come back." When Attila wouldn't be hovering over us, I thought. But Stella motioned me in and I followed her across the cluttered room to a checkered sofa. The room was in disarray with boxes piled on the floor and tables, but otherwise it seemed clean and well-cared for. A framed photograph was propped on an end table and I studied it with interest. A younger, beaming Stella was holding the baby in her arms, and a man I assumed was Hector stood behind them, his dark eyes glowing with obvious pride. He didn't look like someone who would beat his girlfriend and their child, I thought. But then, who did? He was short in stature and slight, with a pencil-thin moustache above gleaming white teeth. He wore his black hair pulled back in a ponytail and sported a gold stud in his left earlobe. He was dressed in a black silk shirt that looked more expensive than the clothes Stella wore. I tore my eyes from the photo and looked at Stella.

  "I'm so sorry about what happened," I started.

  "Who sent you?" Toby demanded. Stella sat on the sofa, pulling the baby up to sit in her lap, but the sister remained standing, her arms crossed in front of her.

  "I wish I could tell you," I said. "I've been hired to find out who really killed Hector and I, for one, don't believe either of you had anything to do with it. Let's just say that I'm here to help. I know how difficult this must be for you." I tried to project sympathy and competence at the same time. Hard to do with those silly glasses slipping down my nose.

  "You're not with the cops, right?" the sister asked, looking me up and down.

  "Right. Like I said, this is a private investigation."

  "Good," the big woman said, her arms still crossed in front of her. " 'Cause those fuckers don't got no idea what's going on! Assholes tried to act like Stella had something to do with it. Not that she didn't have good reason to want that son-of-a-bitch dead. After what he done to her and the baby."

  "Toby, no. Don't say that." Stella held her hands over the kid's ears, shooting her sister a pleading look. Tears welled in her eyes.

  "Okay, okay. Don't start crying again, Stell. Let me take Junior for his nap. I didn't mean nothin' by it." She plucked the child from Stella's lap and carried him into the other room, crooning at him in a voice I'd have never guessed she owned.

  "Don't mind her," Stella said, dabbing at her eyes. "She's just overprotective. How can I help you?"

  "I'm trying to find out what really happened to Hector that night. I was hoping you could shed some light."

  "I already told the police. He left the apartment about five-thirty for the Bird Dog. That's a bar he and his buddies always hung out at. I told him that if he was going to get all drunk again to not bother coming home. Hector got nasty when he drank. I didn't want him hurting Junior. Anyway, when he stormed out the door, I made up my mind to leave him. After he left, I threw some clothes together and called Toby to pick me up. I didn't even find out what happened until the next day." The tears pooled in her eyes again, but she seemed determined not to let them fall. Like a woman who'd already cried too much, I thought.

  "It was one of them drunken bums he hangs with, you ask me," Toby said, marching back into the room. "Guy I know works at the station said the cops found the bat in a dumpster about a block from where he was found, no prints or nothin'. And he was only a block away from the Bird Dog when someone got him. Probably pissed someone off in the bar and they followed him home. But the cops don't have nothin' to go on so they started harassing us. But Stella was with me the whole time and I'll swear to that in court. Plus, all anyone has to do is take one look at her to know she couldn't do it. Hector was strong, even if he was kinda scrawny. No way she could take him, drunk or sober."

  Which was probably true, I thought. But Toby was a different matter. She looked strong enough and mean enough to take anyone she had a mind to. And she made no pretense of grief over Hector's demise.

  "
Did the cops say if Hector put up a fight, or if he was hit from behind?"

  Toby frowned. "They weren't exactly giving away information. My friend at the station says it looked like someone jumped him, though. And it wasn't no robbery. His wallet wasn't even touched."

  "Just the two of you at home that night?"

  "Look, the cops already went over all that. What we watched on TV, what we ate, everything. I ain't about to go over it all again for some wannabe cop. You got a badge or something, proves you're who you say you are?"

  I dug a phony card out of my jacket pocket and handed it to her.

  "Big deal. I could get a batch of these made up myself." She smacked her gum, bright eyes boring into mine.

  I moved my horrible flowered jacket back, revealing my shoulder holster, the thirty-eight tucked safely inside. Stella's eyes grew round. Her sister blew a bubble.

  "Okay, so maybe you are a detective. I still don't know who sent you. Why should we tell you anything?"

  "Because if you're as innocent as you say you are, then you should want whoever did kill Hector apprehended, right? Besides, the sooner I can find out who did it, the sooner the police will leave you two alone."

  Stella looked at her sister, who shrugged her consent. "What else do you need to know?" Stella asked softly.

  "Where were you two the day before yesterday?"

  The women exchanged a glance. Toby stepped in before Stella could answer. "Let's see. Day before yesterday. That would be Thursday, right? Oh yeah. Me and Stella took the kid to the mountains just to get away for the day. We had the service on Wednesday and Stell was pretty torn up. We hiked around, had a picnic, like that. Later we got some more stuff from the apartment and came back here."

  "Anybody see you up there? In the mountains?"

  "Just the other people doing the same. Don't know their names, though. Why? What happened Thursday?"

  From the look they'd exchanged, I had a feeling they knew exactly what had happened on Thursday. Somehow I didn't think they'd actually gone to the mountains. But had they been down in Gold Beach pushing an old man over a cliff? Or was there something else going on? I felt sure there was something they weren't telling me. Was it possible that after killing Hector, the two of them had conspired to kill Maylene Macintyre’s grandfather to deflect attention away from the first murder? Or maybe they'd made a pact to kill all the evil-doers in the world, starting with the ones they knew about. I looked at Stella's doe-like eyes and doubted she could kill a fly. I looked at Toby and knew anything was possible.

  "What if I told you the police had proof that you didn't go to the mountains on Thursday?"

  "I'd say you were lying." Toby smirked. "We were there, weren't we, Stell?"

  "What kind of proof?" Stella asked.

  "Let's say someone saw you somewhere else entirely. Got your license plate and everything. It doesn't do you a whole lot of good to lie. See, the police are funny that way. They think if you lie about one thing, you're just as likely to lie about another. Then they start thinking you're lying about everything." Kind of like I was.

  "We didn't go to the mountains," Stella blurted.

  "Shut up! Damn it, Stella, I swear to God!" Toby spit the gum into her palm and heaved it into an empty box on the floor.

  "If I'm going to help you, I need to know the truth." I trained my eyes on Stella, ignoring Toby's clenched fists.

  "I — I did something I shouldn't have." She looked at Toby, who rolled her eyes. I nodded encouragement. "I took something that Hector had, that was worth some money, and I — I sold it. I mean, I didn't know he was selling, I swear. But when I found it, what was I supposed to do? Tell the police? Flush it down the toilet? He didn't leave me and Junior anything. Nothing! He was gone and we didn't have anything. And then I find this big stash! I swear, I knew he got high, but I had no idea he was selling. Then I started thinking, if that's all Hector could leave his son, who am I to deprive him of it? You saw him, ma'am. You gonna tell me Junior doesn't deserve a break? You gonna tell me that?"

  No, I wasn't. "Was this here in town? Or over on the coast?"

  Toby narrowed her eyes. "The fewer details you know about that, the better. She shouldn't have told you in the first place. If you're finished, I'll walk you out."

  Subtlety was not Toby's forte. She led me outside and when the Doberman saw her, he began straining against his leash, wiggling his rear and whining for her attention.

  "See you around, detective," she said, snapping a new piece of gum between her front teeth.

  "Take care of your sister," I said. We exchanged a grimace that no one would've mistaken for a smile. I didn't trust Toby any more than she trusted me, but I was glad Stella had her.

  Chapter Five

  Driving back along the Umpqua River, I watched great blue herons cruise the banks, their ungainly wings flapping inches above the surface as they scanned the depths below for an early supper. Occasionally an osprey would plunge into the water from high above, reemerging with something clutched in its talons.

  I listened to a Tracy Chapman CD and sang along, the open windows blowing my hair while the afternoon sun warmed me. I'd stowed my gun and disguise in the back and it felt good to be in my own clothes.

  Still, I was glad I'd worn the disguise. If Stella ever returned to the therapy sessions, I was pretty sure that she wouldn't recognize me.

  I hadn't learned much from visiting them though, and I couldn't eliminate either one as suspects. I could picture big Toby with a baseball bat. In fact, I could imagine the whole scene. Stella calls Toby, in tears and finally ready to leave the asshole before he comes home drunk again and takes it out on her and the kid. Toby gets ticked off, decides to deliver a message to Hector herself, let him know he's not welcome in her sister's life anymore. She waits for him outside the Bird Dog and follows him down the street. When she finally confronts him, he gets abusive, calls her an ugly whore or something equally charming. Maybe Toby's brought the bat, just in case, to scare him. And since she's got it in her hands, she takes a swing. Maybe not to kill him, but just to let him know she's not a pushover like her sister. Only the bat meets his skull and he goes down. And then, maybe she can't stop herself and she just keeps swinging the bat. When she sees what she's done, she has the presence of mind to wipe her prints off the bat and toss it in a nearby dumpster.

  I freeze-framed the image and shook my head. No way Toby would've had the presence of mind to do that. She'd have been in a rage, out of her mind. She'd have blood on her. She'd be worried someone would see her. And where was her truck? Back at the Bird Dog? Or maybe she'd parked it down the street and waited for Hector to walk by. Maybe the whole thing had been premeditated. But Toby didn't seem like the pre-meditative type. I could picture her swinging the bat, full of rage, out-of-control. But I couldn't see her wiping her prints off the bat. Someone more in control had done that. Stella? Had Stella been with her? Waiting in the truck? No way. Stella loved the bastard. The question was, did she love her sister more? Would Toby kill to protect Stella? Possibly. Would Stella help cover up the crime to protect Toby? If not, who had wiped the prints off the bat?

  By the time I reached the coast, I was famished. Since it was too soon to join Martha and Tina for dinner, I checked the list of Maggie's clients, remembering that one of them lived on a boat somewhere on the harbor. Sure enough, a Donna Lee Kramer had listed her address as the Sea Gypsy on Harbor Drive. Just a stone's throw from Martha's harbor-view condo. I headed in that direction.

  The Harbor Marina sat at the end of Harbor Drive, a string of cement docks hosting an assortment of fishing boats, tugboats, yachts and dinghies. Quite a few of the vessels looked lived-in. I parked in the lot, pulled on a Seahawks cap and got out to stretch my legs. Since I didn't plan on actually talking to Donna Lee, I felt I could forgo the wig and glasses.

  I found the Sea Gypsy moored to the third dock. It was a teak and brass schooner that was easily one of the nicer boats in the marina. It had a decidedly femin
ine touch, with geranium pots lining the dock, a black-and-white tomcat sprawled along the wooden bow, and a string of newly washed laundry dancing in the breeze between the mainsail mast and the jib.

  In stark contrast to the sleek craft, there was a stubby fishing vessel tied up in the slip next to hers. A seven-foot, steel-gray shark swung slowly from a giant hook hoisted above the stern, and blood still dripped from its mouth into the water. A ruggedly handsome man in black rubber boots and waders was hosing off the deck with one hand, holding a Budweiser with the other. I watched as he drained the beer, crumpled the can and lobbed it at the shark. The can bounced off and fell into the water.

  Just then an attractive redhead poked her head out of the Sea Gypsy and called out to the man that his supper was ready. He turned off the hose, popped open another beer and leaped onto the walkway between the two slips. Obviously, the fisherman was Donna Lee Kramer's boyfriend. I did a quick about-face and headed back to my Jeep before either one could get a look at me.

  I spent the better part of the next hour at one of my favorite wine shops, replenishing my own stock and choosing a few nice bottles for Martha and Tina. Then, realizing I was almost late, I headed for their place.

  Martha's condo overlooked the north end of the harbor. It wasn't really big enough for two people, and since Tina had more or less moved in, space was cramped, but it had one of the nicest views in Kings Harbor and they hated to give it up.

  Tina brought me a glass of Chardonnay and handed Martha a beer, gracing us both with a kiss on the cheek. She was a strikingly attractive woman with ebony skin and short-cropped hair, walnut-colored eyes that gleamed and a contagious smile. Martha was smitten and had been since they'd met. They were emotional and physical opposites yet seemed perfectly suited. I thought of Martha as a lumbering, huggable bear, and Tina an exotic, elegant cat.

  "Mart says you're seeing Maggie again?" Tina's eyes were wide as she curled herself into the sofa. She caught my look at Martha and laughed. "Okay, so she didn't say you were actually seeing her. Something about working a case?"