Twister

by Barbara Block

Genres: Mystery

Synopsis

"Skillfully carries readers to a satisfying conclusion, Robin Light is an engaging amateur sleuth whom readers will look forward to meeting again."--Publishers Weekly Full of hairpin turns and gritty, non-stop action, Twister marks the second appearance of Barbara Block's hip, outrageous redhead, Robin Light--an amateur sleuth with a soft spot for puppies, parakeets, bunnies and boas. . .and a knack for finding herself at the scene of the crime. Robin is just getting Noah's Ark, her Syracuse pet shop, settled into its new digs after a disastrous fire when her old friend Lynn Gordon appears in her white linen suit and matching Jaguar to whisk Robin away to the wrong side of town. Robin figures she's just along for the ride. . .until Lynn is found kneeling over a dead body and confession to a crime Robin is certain she didn't commit. As the city seethes--and temperatures climb--the crime trail twists and turns and finally heats up to reveal shocking ties to another murder. . .and Robin finds herself caught in a deadly game of cat-and-mouse. It is a game she intends to win. . . If she survives long enough. . .

Release date: November 19, 2014

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 242

Sample

Maria was crying. She’d been crying for the last five minutes. Her name, her address, her age—eight, and the fact she’d lost her dog were the only bits of information I’d managed to get out of her so far. But at least her sobs had subsided to a quiet weeping.

“We’ll find him,” I repeated as I patted her on the shoulder. God, it was hot out on the street. Ninety at least.

“Her,” Maria corrected as she rubbed her eyes with grubby hands. Dirt streaks ran down her cheeks. “Her name is Gomez.”

“And what does Gomez look like?”

“She’s this big.” She held out chubby hands to indicate a dog that weighed twenty pounds at the most. “And she’s got brown fur that sticks up.”

“Anything else?” I could hear my knees creak as I shifted my weight. I’m too old for squatting.

“She has two white paws and a big white star on her chest and she sleeps on my bed every night.” She smiled for an instant, then she remembered that Gomez was gone again and her face began to crumple.

“Don’t worry,” I said quickly to forestall another bout of weeping. “Did she have a collar and tags?”

Maria curled a lock of long black hair around a finger and looked down at the sidewalk.

“It’s okay,” I reassured her. “It doesn’t matter. She probably just went for a walk.”

Maria shook her head dolefully. “She was in the backyard. My mommy put up a fence for her and everything.”

“She could have dug underneath it.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What did your mommy say?”

“She’s at work.”

“Is there anyone else at home?”

“No.” Maria’s lip began to tremble again.

“Did you call your mom and tell her?”

Maria studied the grass growing out of the crack in the concrete. “No,” she whispered.

I straightened up. Pins and needles ran up and down my leg. I pointed to Noah’s Ark. “I’ll tell you what. You go inside that store and tell the man behind the counter to call your mother and we’ll see what she says, okay? And then we’ll go from there.”

“What if he won’t call?”

I smiled. “He will. Just tell him his boss, Robin Light, told him to. If he has any questions he can come out and talk to me.”

Maria’s eyes widened. “This pet store is yours?”

I nodded.

“Wow. You’re really lucky.”

“Sometimes.” I pushed her gently toward the door. “Now go on in there and make that call.”

The girl nodded and ran off. Nothing like trying to set up a window display and seeing some little girl standing in the middle of the street crying to ruin your concentration I thought as I went back to trying to decide whether to put the bags of colored gravel next to the hexagonal or rectangular aquariums. Of course in the old store I hadn’t gotten to do window displays because there hadn’t been any display windows.

The shop had been located in a Victorian house five blocks away. The new Noah’s Ark was in a plain-Jane commercial space, but I loved it. It didn’t have the character the old place had, but it was cheaper to heat and easier to keep clean. I was just thinking about how the fire hadn’t been all bad when I saw Lynn Stanley driving down the street. Or rather I saw her white Jag. It stuck out like a movie star at K Mart.

Come to think of it, she usually did, too. But not today. Strands of blond hair were escaping from her French braid, she wasn’t wearing jewelry, and she had a smudge of dirt on the collar of her white suit.

I waved and she stopped.

“Finally come to ask me out to lunch?” I inquired as I ambled over to the parked car. “You’ve been promising for long enough.”

Lynn and I were unlikely friends. Had been for seven years. A testament to the old saw, ‘opposites attract.’ She was the rich beauty queen and I was the slovenly working lady. But we enjoyed each other’s company.

“No.” Lynn fiddled with her sunglasses. “Actually I have to see somebody on Otisco Street.”

My eyebrows shot up. “That’s a little out of your way, isn’t it?”

Lynn licked her lips nervously. “Robin, have you ever done something truly stupid?”

I laughed. “Let me count the ways.”

“Because I have. God, have I ever. You see this guy ... I gave this guy something ...” She paused to take a deep breath. “Something of Gordon’s.” I groaned. Gordon was Lynn’s husband. He had a bad temper and collected guns. Not a good combo. “I have to get it back before he finds out.” I noticed her hands were shaking.

“You want me to come along for moral support?” I asked. She looked like she could use some.

“Would you?” She gave me a weak smile.

“Be right back.” And I dashed in the store to tell Tim to hold down the fort.

He was standing in front of the counter, wiggling his eyebrows and his ears, while Abbott, our tokay gecko, was walking around the top of his shaved head. Maria was giggling and petting Pickles, the store cat. Tim blushed when he saw me.

“Her mother’s on the way,” he said in as gruff a voice as he could manage.

“Fine.” I ruffled Maria’s hair, told Tim I’d be back soon and left.

“So who is this man?” I asked when I got in Lynn’s car.

Lynn didn’t answer.

“Somebody interesting?”

Lynn put her foot on the gas and took off by way of a reply. I didn’t press the issue. I figured I’d see him in a few minutes anyway.

Lynn drove down the streets as if she was running the course at Watkins Glen. The air-conditioning hadn’t even had a chance to kick in by the time we reached Otisco. Lynn honked the horn and nosed the car through a group of kids playing baseball. Once we parked they converged on us like ants on a sugar cube.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I think it would be better if I went in there alone,” she said as she turned off the motor.

Actually I did mind, I wanted to see what was going on, but I couldn’t say that. It would have been too crass.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll come back down if I need any help.” She slipped her keys in her purse, one of those small jobbies you can just carry a lipstick and a credit card in, and got out of the car.

The kids parted like the red sea to let her through. The white linen suit Lynn was wearing didn’t exactly hide her assets. She was a babe with a capital B. Unfortunately their awe didn’t extend to me. Possibly it had something to do with my baggy jeans and T-shirt. Or the fact that I looked like a beanpole. Or the way my red hair was pulled back in a ponytail to get it off my face and neck in the heat. Or maybe it was the beads of sweat on my upper lip. Or the way my features disappeared without makeup. Or my freckles. Or all of the above.

“Hey, lady.” A hand plucked at my belt as I got out. I looked down. A little kid, wearing a plaid shirt and striped shorts, was staring up at me. He pointed at the car. “I seen one of these in the movies.”

“I bet you have.” I moved onto the pavement. The kids, ten of them, moved with me.

Another tug at my belt. “It cost a lot?”

“A lot.” I wiped the sweat off my face with the back of my hand. I’d have given anything for a cool shower.

“How much is a lot?”

“More than you’ll ever see in your life,” a kid wearing a Raiders baseball hat cracked.

The other kids laughed and poked one another in the ribs.

A little girl of about five or six worked her way to the front of the crowd. “How about giving us a ride?” she asked.

“This yours?” a voice behind me asked.

I half turned. It was Manuel. “Of course it’s not mine,” I replied.

“ ’Cause if it was I’d ask you what you been stealing.”

“Cute.”

Manuel might be a neighborhood punk, but at least he was my neighborhood punk. We’d spent time together in the hospital. He’d been getting over a blow to the head and I’d been recovering from burns I’d received when someone had tied me up, left me in the old Noah’s Ark, and set the building on fire. And since the same person had done both things, we’d developed a bond.

“I like the hairstyle,” I told him.

Manuel preened. Since I’d seen him last he’d gone from a skinny teenager with bad skin in baggy pants and a fade to a skinny teenager with bad skin, sideburns, a pompadour, black jeans, a white T-shirt, and a garrison belt. The fifties revisited. He ran his hand over the Jag’s hood.

“Boy, if I had something like this . . .” Manuel’s voice faded away as his fancies took flight.

I glanced at my watch. Four minutes had passed since Lynn had gone in the house.

“Listen, Manuel.” I interrupted his daydreams. “Who lives in there?”

“Nobody special.”

“What do you mean nobody special?”

“Just some guy.”

Manuel was echoing Lynn’s words. “Some guy.” What guy? God. Was she having another affair? But I couldn’t imagine her sleeping with anyone who lived in a house where the porch was jacked up on cinder blocks and the windows were either boarded up or covered over with plastic. Lynn tended to go for the satin sheets, champagne, and red roses type. Whoever lived here looked as if they’d have trouble buying her a beer.

I lit a cigarette and thought of another explanation. Maybe this guy had been working for her and taken something of Gordon’s and she’d come to get it back. No. She’d explicitly said she’d given him something. I sighed. When she came out I’d ask. I checked my watch again. Lynn had been in the house for six minutes now. I decided to give her another nine before I went in and got her. I didn’t want to interrupt anything, but she had said she’d be right out. Plus I had to get back to the store. I had order forms to fill out, cages to clean, and most importantly, a shipment of lizards to pick up at the airport. It was days like this that made me wish I was still a reporter. I took a puff of my cigarette and rechecked my watch.

A whole minute had passed. The next time I glanced down at my wrist two more minutes had gone by. The hell with it. I threw my cigarette on the pavement and ground it out with my heel. I just couldn’t stand waiting any longer. I handed Manuel ten dollars, told him to guard the car and went inside the house.

The door slammed behind me with a dull thud. I took a breath. The air felt viscous, as if I was breathing in pudding. Beads of sweat stung my eyes. I blinked them away and took a good look around. I was standing in a large, square entrance hall. Five feet in front of me was a staircase that led to the second floor. The first ten steps were visible, but after that they angled off and were lost to view. A small room lay off to my right, a larger one to my left. The room straight ahead connected up with the kitchen. Everything was paneled in dark wood.

Lynn was nowhere in sight. Neither was the guy she’d come to see. I yelled for her, but didn’t get an answer. Jesus, where the hell was she? What the hell was she doing? I could feel myself getting more irritated and jumpier by the second. But then again, I reminded myself as I walked into the room on the right, Lynn never did have a sense of time. She never hurried. Anywhere. Ever. For anyone. She just wafted through life like a butterfly on the wind, stopping whenever and wherever she wanted, assuming that whatever she needed would always be waiting. The benefit of being a babe.

I should only be so lucky I thought as I fingered the venetian blinds covering the bay windows. The motion sent what must have been a year’s worth of dust into the air. I sneezed and turned away. Except for several cartons stacked by the far wall, there was nothing here. Nor did it look like there had been for some time.

I wandered across the hall. Although the room was larger, it was equally dim. Two wooden chairs stood over by the fireplace. Next to them was a collection of weights and a steel bar. A sweat-stained weight belt was draped over it. A pair of fingerless gloves lay on the floor along with a water bottle. I took a closer look. The plates were twenty-fives and fifties. The gloves were ripped with use. The water bottle had Atilla’s Gym printed around the middle. Lynn’s friend, whoever he was, was a serious lifter. Atilla’s was where the big boys went.

Next I went into what had once obviously been the dining room. The room contained more furniture than the other two. A beige couch lay against one wall. A fancy television and a stereo sat not too far away on wooden crates. A small Oriental, a good Kurdistan by the looks of it, lay between them. The three items appeared as out of place as tea roses in a bed of weeds. But I didn’t think too much about the disparity because by then I was getting nervous. I mean Lynn had to have heard me by now. But then again maybe she hadn’t. Old houses like this had thick walls that blocked out sounds.

I walked into the kitchen. The room was long and narrow. Dishes were soaking in the sink. Two dented-up pots sat on an old white stove that looked like it had been in use since the thirties. A scarred wooden table was pushed against the far wall. Half of it was piled with cartons full of papers. The rest of the space was taken up with weight-lifting magazines, cans of protein powders, amino acids, and bottles of vitamins. The medicinal smell of brewer’s yeast hung in the air.

A small window gave a view of the backyard. Next to that was a door leading to the outside. Another door sat catty-corner to it. I went over and opened the second one. The room had obviously been intended as a pantry, but somewhere along the line someone had converted it to a half bath. In the back there was a set of steps that led upstairs. I stepped back out, closed the door, and opened the other one, thinking that perhaps, for some reason, Lynn had gone out of the house the back way.

But when I took a look it was obvious she hadn’t. Six-inch spaces gaped where pieces of wood had rotted away. I put my foot on one of the remaining slats and bore down. The board groaned and wobbled and I quickly took my foot off. As I closed the door a flash of lightning shot across the sky. It looked like the storm the weatherman had been predicting for the last couple of days might be arriving after all. I was standing there watching the sky darken and trying to decide what I was going to do next when I heard a creak.

Then I heard it again.

I called out.

Dead silence.

I held my breath. I heard my heart beating as I stood there straining to hear. Something. Anything. But there was nothing. It’s probably the house I told myself as I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. The boards are settling or the beams are cracking in the heat. Everyone tells me that’s when I should have gotten out of there and called the police. And in retrospect they’re right. But second sight is always one hundred percent correct and it was a thought I never seriously entertained. For one thing I was too busy trying to convince myself that nothing was wrong. And anyway, I didn’t think they’d come—not for something like this.

It had been a tough July in Syracuse. First it had rained for days on end, then it had grown hot and humid. It had been in the nineties or above for the past two weeks. Mold grew, the garbage stank, dogs snapped, and people fought. Down the block from the store we’d had one knifing and three shootings in the past week. The sound of the police sirens had become a constant litany as they sped by to answer one call after another. I was beginning to feel as if I were in L.A. So unless it was an emergency—as in shots fired and someone lying bleeding on the ground—I figured it might be hours before a blue and white rolled up. And I wasn’t prepared to wait till then.

The back steps were narrow and curvy and I went up them slowly. I emerged on the second-floor hallway. Rooms, at least eight of them, radiated off to either side. The hallway was broken in the middle by the master staircase that led down to the entryway below. It was even hotter up here than it had been downstairs. The only sounds I heard were the kids playing outside and the crackle of the plastic over the windows. I yelled out for Lynn again. Again I didn’t get a reply. By now I was getting seriously concerned. I only hoped something was wrong, because if she’d heard me all this time and hadn’t answered I was going to kill her.

I entered the first room with my heart pounding. But it was empty. No one was there. The space was small, made smaller by two boarded-up windows. Directly across was another doorway. When I walked through it I found myself in another, even smaller room which, judging from the rods going from one wall to another, must have been used as a closet. I was just turning to go when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I screamed and whirled around.

“Sorry,” Manuel said sheepishly.

“Jesus. What the hell is the matter with you?” My heart was still pounding.

“I was just checking on you. You were taking too long. Wouldn’t want you getting lost.” He grinned and gave me a playful punch.

I gave him a much harder punch back.

“Hey, watch the tattoo,” he protested rubbing his forearm. “It’s fresh.”

I was still angry enough not to apologize.

He stroked one of his sideburns. “So what’s the story? Where’s your friend?”

“I don’t know. I can’t find her or the guy she came to talk to.”

He cupped his hands and put them around his mouth. “Oh, Freddy,” he yodeled. “Put on your fingernails. We’re waiting.”

This was not what I needed right now. I pointed to the door. “Just go out the way you came in,” I ordered.

Manuel twisted the heel of his shoe into the floor. “Okay. That was pretty dumb. I’m sorry. Let me stay.”

“No.”

“Come on,” he whined. “Be a pal.”

I sighed. “Oh, all right. But no more funny stuff.”

I mean what the hell. I could use the company, he was here already and the truth was: he had probably done and seen more in his sixteen years than I had in my forty.

We went through the next three rooms together.

It didn’t take us long.

The first room was empty.

So was the second.

Then we got to the third.

Lynn was kneeling on the far side of the bare room. Her head was lowered, her arms were stretched out on the floor, the palms of her hands were down. She looked as if she was offering obeisance to some unknown God. It wasn’t until I took a couple of steps in that I saw the man lying under her.

He was splayed out across the oak slats. The upper half of his body was outlined by a petal-shaped pool of blood. A few tendrils of the stuff had begun winding their way down the cracks in the floor.

“Shit, that’s the guy who lives here,” Manuel whispered in my ear as I crossed the floor.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

I squatted down next to Lynn. She didn’t move, did nothing to indicate she was aware of my presence.

“She okay?” Manuel asked.

“I don’t know.”

I put my hands on her shoulders, raised her up slightly, then twisted her around. Her jacket was smeared with red. My stomach knotted. I thought she’d been shot. But when I asked her where she was hurt she told me she hadn’t been in a voice so low it was practically inaudible.

But the guy underneath her sure had been. The left part of his chest was pulped. I thought of strawberry jam and felt the bile rising in my throat. I fought it, swallowing hard. A few seconds later when the nausea had subsided, I reached down and touched the man’s shoulder. Though the odds against it were high, there was an outside chance he might still be alive. His skin was warm under my fingers. I fumbled around for the pulse in his neck for what seemed like forever. But no matter where or how hard I pressed I couldn’t detect any movement.

The man was dead.

I turned back to Lynn and asked her if he had been like this when she came in. She didn’t answer. I don’t think she even heard what I was saying. She seemed to be looking right through me. Her eyes were glassy. Tears rolled down her cheeks and onto the lapels of her suit.

“You want I should get the cops?” Manuel asked. He was standing right beside me, looking dazed. He’d definitely gotten more than he’d bargained for.

I nodded.

He lingered for another moment before he took off. I could hear his feet thumping down the stairs as he ran and the sound of the downstairs door slamming against the wall as Manuel threw it open. Then, except for a torn piece of plastic sheeting from one of the windows flapping in the wind, it was quiet again. Outside the first drops of what promised to be a torrential downpour began to fall. I turned back to Lynn.

“You want to tell me what happened?” I asked again, pleaded really, but all I got was an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

As I sat with Lynn cradled in my arms waiting for the police to come I kept stealing glances at the guy lying on the floor. No matter how much I didn’t want to look my eyes kept being drawn back to him. He was in his mid to late twenties. His hair was light brown with blondish streaks that could have come from a bottle or the sun. He had a strong jaw, a chiseled nose, odd, amber-colored eyes. And he was movie star handsome. Even in his present state that much was apparent.

And then I realized something else.

He looked familiar.

Only for the life of me I couldn’t remember where I’d seen his face.

The question gnawed at me. I was still thinking about it when the police arrived ten minutes later. Lynn’s eyes flickered when the cop came in the room, but she didn’t say anything. Her complexion was getting ashier by the second. Her skin felt clammy. She was going into shock. The cop took one look and called for a stretcher. I caught a last glimpse of her being lifted into the ambulance, the raindrops running down her face, as the police hustled Manuel and I into a squad car and took us down to the Public Safety Building to make our statements. Neither of us said anything to the other on the ride down there. I think we were both still too stunned.

They separated us immediately. The room they put me in was small and stuffy. It smelled of Taco Bell, cigarettes, pine-scented air freshener, and body odor. I paced while I waited for Detective Connelly to appear, remembering the last time I’d been down here. Th. . .