Tahoe deep, p.10
Tahoe Deep, page 10
part #17 of An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller Series
“That’s what I said. But you told me to tell you,” Street said.
“I shouldn’t have,” I said. “As a scientist, you must have shockproof, titanium armor. If you want to be happy, it’s better to have an ignorant view of the world. Where all is sunny, and the grass is green, and the flowers and hummingbirds cavort as if in a Disney movie, and there are no critters having sex inside of me.”
“You won’t find a Disney fantasy with mites,” Street said.
“So I gather. The inside of my eyelash follicles is not sunny.”
“No. Neither are mine.”
“So we carry these critters around with us,” I said. “Do they harm us?”
“Not much, as far as we’ve been able to tell.”
“Except emotionally.”
Street took her time responding. “Just knowing about them makes you, what?”
“Queasy.”
She nodded. “Me, too. A little bit. But I remind myself of all the other parasites that live on and in us. Arachnids and insects, too.”
“Which you won’t tell me about, now,” I said.
“Now that I know you get queasy over a few little mites, maybe not.”
“Thanks.”
Street reached a tweezer toward the splintered wood, carefully pulled out the threads, and put them in a vial. She labeled the vial and added it to her fridge.
When she was done, I said, “One thing I should mention is that the shooter threatened me over the phone. He mentioned you.”
“In what way?”
“He said he knew where you lived and worked.”
Street started as if she’d experienced a slap. “But of course, you won’t drop your investigation.”
“I will if you want me to. And I don’t mean that to seem like a baited statement. I would go for the idea, but I might be able to capture this guy, which would be a very good thing. If I don’t pursue him, this bad guy might go on wreaking destruction.”
“Then you should keep going.”
“Are you sure?”
“I have Blondie. You and Spot come by frequently. I keep my doors locked. At night I pull the blinds. During the day, I pull the sheer drapes. I’ve been through this before. It comes with the territory.”
“The territory being a boyfriend in law enforcement?”
“Yeah.”
“You could go away. Take a vacation.”
“I appreciate it, but I’ve got work. You’ve warned me. That’s enough to make me prepared.”
“Do you want Spot and me to stay?”
“Thanks, but no. I’ll be careful. I promise.”
I stood up to go. “Thanks so much for your help. I now have a lead in the form of a mite found in Daniel Callahan’s door, a mite that attacks lemon trees. But I’m not sure how to follow it.”
“I know of an arachnid specialist. I’ll contact him tomorrow and see what he thinks.”
“This bug science is pretty hot stuff, huh?” I said.
“Like - what were your words - something like animal heat and gravity pulling you closer and closer until you fall into my clutches?”
“Yeah. Like that. Maybe we should do something about that.”
“When you next stop by.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The next morning, I called Street and told her I was headed off to learn about the dead man, Colin Callahan, whose body had washed up on El Dorado Beach.
“You’ll still be careful about locking doors and such,” I said.
“Yes. But I am heading out. I called the woman you told me about, Daniel’s neighbor Mae. I’ve been thinking how she’s sort of all alone in helping Daniel. That would be no big deal in normal times. But with this violent assault, these are extraordinary times for her. I thought it would be good for her to get some support. So we’re having lunch at Artemis, a little Greek restaurant over by the “Y” in South Lake Tahoe.”
“Good idea. And kind of you. Be vigilant.”
We said our ‘I love you’s’ and hung up.
I’d gotten Colin Callahan’s address off his driver’s license: 910 Nocturne St., Citrus Heights, which was a residential area in the urban/suburban area east of Sacramento.
From my cabin on the East Shore of Tahoe, I thought the fastest route was Truckee to Interstate 80, up and over Donner Summit, then down the west slope of the Sierra. As always, traffic was heavy, with enough big rigs and summer tourists to fill eight lanes even though there were only four.
I turned off on Sunrise, drove south a couple of miles, and then zig-zagged over to Nocturne.
Colin’s address was on a block filled with townhouse buildings laid out such that the connecting walkways ambled this way and that through plantings of bushes and trees and around patios outfitted with barbecues in case the residents wanted to have cookouts. It reminded me of a condo-style hotel, not fancy, but nice and with a homey feel.
Each building had eight units. Unit 910 was on the lower level of building H. I drove to a distant corner of the closest lot, where there were three parking spaces partially under the convenient shade of a large oak. I parked so that I was two-thirds in one space and one-third in another and completely in the shade. I hoped to leave before the residents all came home from work. I left all the windows open. It wasn’t the standard security procedure to protect your vehicle from smash-and-grab break-ins, but my old Jeep posed no temptation except possibly the excitement of petting a dog that was substantially bigger than a mountain lion.
When I got out, Spot looked at me with droopy bedroom eyes, then lay his head down on his front paws.
Colin Callahan’s door was inset into a corner and tucked under the deck of the entrance of the unit above. Despite the sun of midday, the light didn’t penetrate to the door. I knocked.
After a minute, the door opened. A man in his early thirties stood there wearing shorts, flip flops, and a rolled towel wrapped over his bare shoulders. His hair and skin were wet as if he’d just gotten out of the shower or a pool. He was holding a Monster Energy drink.
“Yeah, what?” he said. “I ain’t buyin’ nothin’.”
The man had a hard body, electric blue eyes, and cheekbones sharp enough to cut your knuckles if you struck him. He looked like a movie star. But his squeaky voice and bad diction made him sound like he wasn’t smart enough to run a vacuum cleaner.
“Hi, I’m Owen McKenna and you are…” I held out my hand to shake.
He scowled at me. I couldn’t tell if he was excessively dense or calculating.
I waited.
“Brand.”
“Brand,” I repeated.
“Jay Brandon Morse. My friends jus’ call me Brand.” He shook my hand.
“Hi, Brand. I’m looking into the death of Colin Callahan. I have this as his address. Was he your roommate?”
The man stared at me as if he didn’t comprehend. “Whoa, Colin died?”
I made a single nod.
“Really? Dead? That’s real bad for me. Now I’ll never get paid. I can’t believe it.”
“Colin owes you money? How much did you lend him?”
“Three hundred seven dollars. But I didn’t borrow him the money. That would be dumb. I invested it. He said I’d double my money. It was guaranteed.”
“Doubling your money?” I said.
“Yeah. I’m getting six hundred seven dollars back. ’Cept, now I pro’bly won’t get it.”
“If your money doubled, you’d get six hundred fourteen dollars back.”
The man frowned and squinted like he thought I’d said something suspicious.
“Anyway, I need that money. I get twelve hundred a month as manager, but I have to make it pay for everything.”
“That would be hard, paying rent and all.”
“Not counting rent. I get free rent as manager. It’s the bonus for my responsibility. That’s the management package. The free-rent bonus and my salary.”
“You manage this condo complex?”
“No. There’s eight condos in the building. I just take care of this one and the one next door.” He pointed at the wall behind the TV. “I have my roommates and there’s three renters next door. I collect the rent, and I do the chores.”
“No doubt that’s a lot of work,” I said even though it didn’t seem like much.
“Just taking out the trash is a big job. My roommates fill garbage cans full of beer cans and pizza boxes and other stuff. They’re supposed to help. But they’re always off at work. Or too tired ’cuz they just got home from work.”
I looked past him at the condo. The living room was dominated by the giant TV screen. An aged, puffy, faux-leather couch sprawled along the longest wall of the room. One squat leg was broken and had been replaced by a red brick. Two worn metal folding chairs were at the end of the room. Between them was an overturned cardboard box with some car magazines on it. On one of the chairs were some dirty socks.
“Where do your roommates work?”
The man stared off, visualizing. “Tom works construction. He’s a framing carpenter. Jordan works yard maintenance. He says it’s back-breaking. And I’m thinking, it’s carpenters who do real work. Lumber is heavy, right? But anyone can push a mower and rake leaves.”
“Probably still back-breaking,” I said. “What did Colin do?”
Brand rolled his eyes. “Yer gonna laugh. Colin was a treasure hunter. He’d track down stuff that was cheap. He had a word for it. Undervalued. How’s that for fancy speak? He’d buy it and then resell it on Craigslist and eBay.”
“He didn’t have a job?”
“No. He said jobs tied your hands and took up all your time. You couldn’t do stuff if you were stuck in a job. As long as he pays the rent, I don’t care. Jacky Wormack stopped paying the rent. I raised it twenty-five bucks, and he takes a walk. Moves to Merced to live with his old man. All to save twenty-five bucks a month. Now I got Jordan. I hope he stays.”
“Where do you work?”
“I just told you. I’m the manager. It’s a big responsibility.”
“What company do you work for?” I’d never heard of a manager who just managed two condos.
He shook his head. “No company. Jus’ my ma. She owns these two condos. She’s a tough boss to work for. She calls herself a real tough nut. Says I better be a tough nut with the renters, too. Now with Colin dead, I’ll have to clean out his room and show the place to other renters. I jus’ did that with Wormack’s stuff. Talk about chores. So how’d Colin die? Pro’bly drown-ded to death searching for sunken treasure. Am I right?”
“I don’t know. His body was found washed up on a beach in Tahoe.”
“Wow, that’s like a creep-out movie.”
“Was Colin looking for a particular treasure?” I asked.
“Yeah. He found some letters from his aunt. No, not his aunt. His aunt’s aunt. How’s that for weird?”
“Yeah, that’s weird,” I agreed. “But an aunt’s aunt would be the aunt of one of his parents, right?”
Brand frowned. “I never heard Colin talk about any parent. I don’t think he had parents. Maybe they died when he was really young. At least, he never said anything about them.”
“How’d he get letters from his aunt’s aunt?”
“Someone sent him a footlocker from some relative who died. So Colin reads the stuff and starts talkin’ about sunken treasure. He said he was going to find it.”
“What gave him an idea about treasure? Did you see what the letters said?”
“No way. Colin was all about privacy.”
“But he told you about the sunken treasure.”
Brand looked confused. “Yeah. That wasn’t part of privacy. That was like a guy bragging on a secret.”
“Is that when he got his shipwreck tattoo?”
“Yeah.”
“You knew the tattoo was about a shipwreck?”
Brand hesitated, and his sharp cheekbones flushed. “Yeah. That’s what he said.”
“Who was the tattoo artist?”
“I dunno. Colin went away for a few days and came back acting all sore. I asked why. So he took off his shirt and showed me. Man, what a dumb tattoo. All these colors that look weird on skin. He said it was a picture of a shipwreck. But all I saw was weird shapes. He had this tube of ointment, and he wanted me to rub it on his back. Talk about gross.”
“Why’d he get the tattoo?” I asked.
“How would I know? He was jus’ into everything ’bout shipwrecks.”
“What was the ship?” I asked.
“I dunno. But it wasn’t an ocean ship. It was a lake ship. You said his body was on a Tahoe beach. So the shipwreck is pro’bly in Lake Tahoe, right?”
“What kind of car does Colin drive?”
“A brown, ninety-seven Volvo.” Brand started nodding his head. “I know. A regular guy most likely drives a used pickup, right? Ford or Chevy. Mine’s a two thousand four Silverado. Four-wheel-drive. White. Chrome wheels. I’ve almost got it paid off. But Colin is pretty weird that way, driving a Volvo. Go figure.”
“I drive an old Jeep,” I said. “Is that weird?”
“No, that’s not weird. That’s pretty cool. At least you’ve got four-wheel. Like if you go up to Tahoe in the winter.”
Behind Brand, on the side of the kitchen counter, was a book. The title on the spine said, ‘Sanford Meisner on Acting.’
I asked, “Who’s the actor?”
Brand was slow on the uptake. “What do you mean?”
I pointed behind him. “That book about acting.”
Brand turned around. “Oh. That’s Colin’s. He was, like, a dreamer. He thought maybe he’d go to Hollywood after he found his sunken treasure. He could use the treasure money to pay for a movie. And he’d be the star. He even took acting lessons way back.”
“Where did Colin park his car?”
“In the condo lot. Where else?”
“Can you show me where?”
“No. You don’t get a regular space here. You park wherever you can find a space.”
“Have you looked for Colin’s car?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because he hasn’t come home for awhile,” I said.
“Colin never came home for awhile. That was what he did. Go away for awhile. Come back, pay rent, go away again. It’s a treasure hunter thing.”
“Did you and Colin get along?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Because you sound removed about him,” I said. “You don’t sound like he’s a buddy.”
“These guys are my roommates, not my homeboys. And I already said that Colin was weird. But we got along. Like, brothers can argue but still be brothers, right? You always got your bros.”
Brand took a deep breath. He clenched and relaxed his fists as if following a relaxation exercise he’d learned in a class.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I watched the man with the movie star looks, trying to sense whether he was stupid and sincere, or smart and deceptive. I wondered why he hadn’t thrown me out of his house.
I asked, “When did Colin get the tattoo?”
“A couple of weeks ago. Colin isn’t into going shirtless, so what’s the point of having his back tatted up, anyway? When I first saw it, I thought, ‘dude, you’ve got the art display and you ain’t ugly, so show it off.’ But he’s shy. It’s kind of pointless. If I had a tat, I’d show it off. But I’m saving my body for the future. Pretty soon, it will be cool to not have tats.”
“Did Colin ever mention Ivan Manfred? He goes by the name Ink Maestro?”
“No. What’s a maestro?”
“It’s like a master. He presents himself as a tattoo master.”
“That’s weird. Why not jus’ say tattoo master?”
“Good question,” I said. “Where do you think Colin might have gone to find tattoo artists?”
Brand shrugged his shoulders. “They’re on every corner. There’s one a half block from here. Or maybe he went to one of the tattoo expos. I heard about a big one in Oregon. Then you could meet them and see if they’re real.”
“What’s that mean, real?” I asked.
“Like, if they’re good. One guy told me about motel inkers.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Tat lowlifes. They haul their machines in their pickups. They go from place to place, and sell their ink cheap. I heard you get killer diseases from those guys. My body is my temple. I don’t want a disease.”
“Do you think Colin went to one of those motel inkers?”
“Naw. Colin was always spending like he was upscale. Lots of money. He pro’bly went to a real artist with a clean studio and extra clean needles. What’s that called. Sterilized.”
“Can you give me the names of his friends?”
Brand guffawed. “Colin didn’t have friends. He knew some shipwreck hunters. I wouldn’t call them friends. More like scammers trying to get you to give them money so they could go scuba diving and search for treasure.”
“Like you giving Colin money?”
“I told you, that was an investment.”
“Did he ever find sunken treasure?”
“Naw. Well, him and a bunch of other guys went diving off Cabo. There was something there. Maybe a wreck. The other guys thought it was nothing. Colin said it was special. But all he brought up from the bottom was a chunk of wood. He called it Spanish galleon wood. That’s a ocean ship. He dried out the wood and cut it up into pieces and varnished them and sold them on eBay. Genuine galleon paperweights, he called them.”
“When did you last see him?”
Brand thought about it. “A few days ago. He comes and goes. Mostly goes. I don’t think he slept here barely at all in the last month.”
“Where has he been?”
“I don’t know. I s’pose he was looking for the treasure in the aunt’s aunt’s letters.”
“If you had to guess at the treasure,” I said, “what do you think it was?”
