The Dead Detective Agency (The Dead Detective Mysteries) Read online

  Abe must have seen the doubt on her face. “I liked Tori, and this—” he hesitated— “has made me realize we aren’t here forever.” His voice turned pleading. “Meet me at Martin’s, say five-thirty, for one drink.” He grinned boyishly. “To quote our supervisor, it will make you feel better.”

  Carmon was tempted. She had always been attracted to Abe, but he had seemed more interested in Tori. Now they had something to talk about, even if it was common grief for a friend. “All right,” she heard herself reply, and Abe’s expression relaxed, as if he had been holding his breath until she agreed.

  All afternoon as she wrote letters, filed papers, and finished the required reports, Carmon’s thoughts kept returning to Tori. Twenty-five years old, unattached, new to the area. Who would kill her? Mistaken identity? But Madison said the man had asked her name. Money was not the cause, since she hadn’t been robbed. The building where she lived promised no expensive items, large amounts of cash, or drugs.

  Her friend’s death made no sense. Carmon wondered if something at PLK might explain it, if a person knew where to begin. She vowed to be attentive to what people said over the next few days. The police had lots of crimes to investigate, but she didn’t want Tori’s death to become just another unsolved murder.

  Chapter Eleven

  In My Father’s House Are Many Mansions

  Once she was alone in her room, Tori broke down a second time. As soon as she closed the door, the realization of her situation struck again like a hammer blow, and she leaned her back against the wall. Unable even to stand, she sank to the floor and laid her head on her knees, sobbing. Never again would she see her friends, her family, or Mani and Dee, her cats. Who would take care of them?

  The day she adopted them from the shelter, Manic, a calico tabby, had demanded attention with persistent yowls, franticly pacing the small wire cage. Depressive, an ordinary gray tabby, sat passively in the corner of her prison as if she had given up hope. She was older, heavy and slow-moving, where Manic was thin as a rail and just out of kitten-hood.

  Unable to choose one, Tori had taken them both. Dee appeared not to like Mani, hissing and even taking an occasional swipe at her head, but when the mood struck, the two would play for hours, Dee running through the apartment like a kitten, sliding and scurrying across the tile to outrun the younger cat. Tori had no idea what brought about these mood swings, and she doubted Dee did, either.

  Her cats would end up in a shelter again, for who would want them? Even Manic was middle-aged now, and both were used to a quiet environment with a doting human. They would be lost anywhere else. A fresh spate of tears resulted, and Tori succumbed to grief again.

  When her sobs calmed to gulps, she sat exhausted, staring at the floor and trying to define her state. Limbo, she thought. Although not a Catholic, she understood the concept of a place between life and death where one waited for what she now knew was “The Process.” Everyone aboard this ship was being processed. How many had sat in Nancy’s office today and been told their lives were over?

  How many didn’t matter, because death is an event each person faces alone. What could she do?

  Her mother’s face rose in her mind, stoic and practical. It can’t be changed. Deal with it. Recognizing the truth of that, Tori got up, washed her face, fluffed her hair with her fingers, and left the room, determined to throw off her gloom. A last glance at the mirror revealed her hair still looked good, which was unusual. Notoriously fine and listless, it behaved today better than ever before.

  “A physical being of a sort.” Nancy’s words echoed in her mind, and she almost turned back as tears stung her eyes again. The Tori in the mirror was unreal, some sort of projected memory from the life that had been. Setting her jaw, she closed the door behind her. Better to move around. Think about it tomorrow, Scarlett O’Hara style.

  Tori spent the afternoon exploring the ship, starting with a look at the metaphorical River. Bypassing the elevator, she continued down the hall until she found a short metal staircase behind a windowed door. Up six stairs, a second door opened onto a deck, and she stopped in awe of what was beyond the brightly painted blue railing. The view was unlike anything she’d ever seen. She chided herself for the thought. Of course it would be.

  Currents flowed around her on many levels. No surface was perceivable, only colors blended together like clouds over the ocean as the horizon fades to invisibility. Nuanced colored light gently shifted from shade to shade. There was sensation of movement, rather like what she imagined space travel might be, a slight tugging on her insides, yet the vastness of the whole softened the motion to barely noticeable. Far off, hues of blue and green sparkled in and out of golden light, while closer to her, shades of pink, red, and orange moved in unseen currents.

  There was a faint sound, like white noise, somewhere in the distance. There were no waves, there was no water, but something ebbed and flowed in a way that melted away her tension. The whole was peaceful and awe-inspiring, making Tori feel calm but very, very small.

  After a long time she looked around, taking in the more prosaic setting she inhabited. The ship itself was remarkably like a ship. Aside from the fact it was massive—she couldn’t see either end—it had the usual gangways, bulkheads, and rails. A stamped metal plaque near a doorway caused a smile as she read:

  Maximum occupancy - 144,000

  Passengers wandered the deck, sometimes in twos but often alone, in quiet thought. Despite the lively crowd at lunch, she guessed the journey required periods of solitude for reflection.

  Leaving the rail, Tori walked down the metal gangway to F Deck and meandered along it. Here there was more activity. The usual games like shuffleboard, badminton, and bocce were popular, and an Olympic-sized outdoor pool sparkled in the light. In several small alcoves, people played checkers, chess, or Parcheesi.

  Tori took note of the books some people had. Not one was dedicated to self-help, diet, getting ahead, or understanding your mate. It took a moment to figure out what else was missing, the electronic sounds she’d become used to in life. No cell phones, palm pilots, laptops or hand-held games. Nobody appeared to miss them, but if everyone was as focused on understanding their predicament as she was, they would not. Why worry about a life gone forever, one that would soon be forgotten anyway?

  But she didn’t want to forget that life, the one taken from her for no reason. What had made someone want her dead? Carefully she went over every detail of the days before her murder. Had anyone been angry with her on Friday? No, not even Falk, which was a blessing. Jennise had been in a flutter about an upcoming audit, but that wasn’t unusual and had little to do with Tori. She’d spoken to the guy at the office, his name was…Her forehead puckered in disbelief. How could she not remember? He was nice-looking, fun to talk to, and now his name was no longer in her memory. Soon his face would be gone as well. Stop. Think about it later. Think about it tomorrow.

  Far down the deck now, Tori decided to return on a different level. Were they all the same, or did each one offer its own activities? Finding the elevator, she pressed the button for Deck C. A well-modulated voice came through the speaker, giving her a start. “The selection you have made is outside your assigned area. If your selection is correct, press the letter again. If not, please press a different letter.”

  Outside her assigned area? No one had said there were limits, and she had already seen Decks D and E. Would she be stopped if she went to C? Would someone object? Tori made a sound of disgust at her timidity. What can they do, Van Camp, kill you? She pressed C again. Her heart beat faster as the elevator glided upward. No, she reminded herself, your heart does not beat. It’s part of the show.

  The elevator doors slid open almost noiselessly. Peeking out, she saw nothing new. The corridor before her looked exactly like the one outside her room. Stepping out, she headed right, assuming the open deck would be in the same direction it had been on the decks below.

  It was, but there was nothing, no one. The deck was e
mpty as far as she could see in both directions. The same beautiful expanse lay before her, and enraptured again, she went to the rail to take it in. Watching the colors, she emptied her mind of everything and let peace settle over her once more.

  After a time she had the odd sensation someone was there, although she neither saw nor heard anyone. Movement swirled nearby without physical manifestation; voices she couldn’t make out whispered on the air.

  “Outside your area,” Tori whispered. What did that mean? “In my Father’s house are many mansions.” Was she in the presence of beings unlike herself? Did invisibility protect them from each other, preserve a sense of the familiar? Natural, she thought, to keep each guest’s comfort zone intact. No Star Trek-like mingling of life forms to complicate the already complex acceptance of death. Still, a whisper told her she’d know these beings, share their existence in a different context at some time in the future. Turning away, she left whomever, whatever, in peace and returned to Deck E.

  Stepping from the elevator, Tori met a man of about sixty waiting to board. He smiled politely and stepped aside to let her exit. It was reassuring to see another human. Another dead human, she corrected herself. We’re all ghosts, human or not, like the sailors in Poe’s story, going calmly about our affairs as we sail into the unknown. The feeling of despair returned, and once again, she felt tears threaten.

  Returning to her room, Tori paced restlessly for some minutes. She tried to cast off her dull mood by turning on the TV. A selection guide came up, listing an amazing number of old movies and shows but nothing current. No news, no Dr. Phil, not even Judge Judy. Nothing caught her interest, and she pressed the OFF button dejectedly.

  Within minutes, a recognizable knock sounded on the door. She opened it to find Cinda, her smile as bright as it had been this morning. “Hi, Ms. Van Camp. I came to check on how you’re doing.” Her tone was again the cheery-fake of the professional care-giver, and Tori understood why. Cinda was a Portalist, doing what it took to keep her artificial life going.

  “Okay, I guess.” That sounded weak and she added, “It’s a beautiful place.”

  “Heavenly, right?” Cinda chuckled once at the joke that was certain to be overused in these circumstances then got down to business. “Dinner is from six to eight, and there are three choices. The lounge is casual, there is formal dining in the Canaan Room, or you may ask for a tray to be sent here.” Her voice took on a lecturing tone. “Some people want to be alone the first day or two, but we recommend you mix with others. It’s healthier.”

  And compare death stories? Tori didn’t look forward to the prospect but acknowledged it was a bad idea to hole up in her room alone. At funerals, people gathered for support in their loss. Perhaps it was the same here. “Let’s go for formal dining.”

  “Super!” Cinda made a check on her clipboard. “Have a great time, okay?”

  It seemed almost normal to go to Mr. Li and request an evening gown. His glasses were perched at the tip of his nose as he deciphered the clues of a crossword puzzle. Once she selected a gown in blue with shoes to match, Tori said casually, “I understand you’re a Portalist.”

  Li peered at her over the glasses. “Yeah. I thought it was a good idea at the time.”

  “Are you sorry now that you stayed?”

  “Not sorry, really,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t even remember why I wanted to.”

  “But if you go on…”

  “I won’t be me anymore, I know.” He grinned and indicated his pudgy form. “But is this such a prize?”

  “You perform a service here.”

  Li set his clipboard down with a disdainful clatter. “A monkey could do what I do, if it could write. There’s got to be more.”

  “Can’t you change your mind?”

  “Oh, sure. That’s what heaven is, see? What you want. A person has to know what he wants, and some of us don’t. We’re afraid to let go, I guess.”

  Something she had read on a bumper sticker flashed through Tori’s mind: Let go and let God. Even here, it was hard to do, at least for some.

  Chapter Twelve

  Please Don’t Talk About Me When I’m Gone

  Martin’s was crowded, the noise level high. Carmon didn’t see Abe when she entered the bar. Embarrassed at the glances of the mostly male patrons, she took a seat in a booth, turning her back to the crowd. She had learned that avoiding eye contact discouraged most of the men who might approach her in a place like this. By watching the mirror over the bar, she’d see Abe when he came in. She flinched, however, when the mirror reflected a familiar form on one of the stools, eyes focused on the drink before her.

  Jennise must have given herself the early dismissal she had denied Carmon, since there were two tiny plastic skewers on the bar in front of her and one still in the glass she sipped from. Jennise looked up into the mirror just as Abe entered, squinting into the darkened room. He froze when he caught sight of the supervisor, possibly considering a quick about-face, but she called, “Come on in, Sweetie. Buy a lady a drink.”

  Abe’s body language showed reluctance, but he stepped forward, took out his wallet, and deposited a twenty on the bar. He failed to see Carmon sitting in the booth, but she had a clear view of the two of them in the mirror. Carmon wasn’t sure if she wanted Jennise to know she was meeting Abe. Hesitation made things worse, because once the conversation began, her position became even more embarrassing.

  “Step up, Sweetie and have a drink,” Jennise purred.

  “I’m fine.” Abe waved the hovering bartender away.

  “I’ve wanted to get you alone for some time.” Jennise leaned toward Abe and poked him playfully in the chest. “There are things you need to explain, young man.”

  Abe’s face stiffened and his lips made a taut line. “What things?”

  Jennise ignored the signals and lifted her chin archly, sipping the Manhattan and eyeing Abe over the rim. “Since you’re now a full-time employee of PLK, I looked into your background and found out some surprising things.”

  Carmon looked around the smoky room. When they discovered her here, listening to their conversation, what would Abe think?

  “I know some things too,” Abe said, an undertone of threat in his voice. “But I’m a nice guy when I can be.”

  Jennise stretched like a cat in a warm ray of sunlight. “You mean you’re nice to people who are nice to you?”

  “Something like that.” He didn’t sound like the Abe Carmon knew from the office. But then, she realized, she didn’t know him very well. He interested her; it was why she’d agreed to meet him, but her past relationships with men hadn’t turned out well. Had she focused on yet another Mr. Wrong? Still, Abe seemed different from the men she’d dated, most of whom only wanted to take her to bed. She told herself Abe was just irritated by Jennise, who could make a dramatic revelation out of something totally innocuous.

  The bartender approached Abe with change. While he and Jennise were occupied, Carmon slid out of the booth and moved to the doorway. Once there she paused, trying to decide whether to stay or go. She turned back just as Abe’s glance skirted the room. When he saw her, he left the bar quickly, as if glad for an excuse.

  Jennise looked around as well, registering surprise, and then managing a thin smile as she made the connection. Carmon knew she’d be sorry the next time there was some thankless task to be done at PLK. Ignoring his boss, Abe took her arm firmly. “Let’s skip the drink and find a restaurant. I’m starving.”

  Outside, the afternoon was pleasant, cool but not cold, with calm air and the scent of flowers from a bush Carmon couldn’t identify. Tori would know what it was. How could she not be here to enjoy spring? How could such a thing happen to her?

  Abe relaxed his shoulders with a slight roll. “The Plum Tree has good food, and it’s only a block from here. Shall we walk?”

  Carmon nodded, and they headed for the restaurant. Abe seemed lost in his thoughts, but he returned his focus to Carmon when they entered the r
estaurant. The atmosphere was definitely more pleasing, the mingled aromas of various foods tempting. Their server showed them to the table, and Abe commented, “We should have met here and avoided the Dragon Lady altogether.”

  “Was she giving you a hard time?”

  Abe watched her for a moment, assessment in his gaze. Finally he said, “Jennise doesn’t scare me. I have to be civil, but I don’t have to spend after-hours time with her.”

  The waiter approached with menus. Carmon watched Abe exchange pleasantries with the young man, wondering what Jennise had alluded to that made Abe angry enough to be rude to her. She was technically his supervisor, at least until he passed his licensing exams. The coldness he had shown was very different from his usual affable manner.

  Carmon was almost relaxed by the time the meal ended. Over three different kinds of chicken, Abe entertained her with impressions of people, some from work and others he had met in college. His depictions were funny without being cruel, and he apparently failed to notice that Carmon said little. He made no reference to PLK, to Tori’s death, or to Carmon’s personal life, and she was grateful for that. She gained an hour of peace, where Tori’s death receded and the rest of life didn’t matter, only Abe’s company and his flattering attention.