Gumshoe Ghost Mystery: Dying for the Past Part 18

"Our house is haunted."

"Sure, but just by Doc and me. I'm lovable and Doc is well, not so much-but he's quiet and doesn't throw loud parties. Hercule likes him, too." I looked around. "Speaking of Doc, I want to talk to him before I run into Vincent again."

Angel was halfway out the door. "Vincent? What about your new friend, Sa.s.sy?"

"Sa.s.sy? Oh, her. I can handle her."

"You know, Tuck, it's hard enough understanding you being back-but others, too? And some flapper with great legs and b.o.o.bs-"

"Huh? I never said she was a flapper. But the rest-"

"Watch it. Two can play the same game."

She was right. And she could play a lot easier than me. "You know, Vincent is a little rough around the edges, but his bourbon is good. As long as I can find Benjamin and some book, I think he'll let me come around now and then for a drink."

"Wonderful. Maybe we can double date."

"Hey, I thought the same thing."

She rolled her eyes as Hercule trotted in carrying his leash in his mouth. "No, sorry, boy. You have to stay here and guard the house."

Moan.

Doc walked out of my den. "Oliver, a word please."

When anyone else called me "Oliver" I corrected them-Doc was futile. "I'm heading-"

"To Vincent Calaprese's house. I know. The Vincent House is what I wish to speak with you about."

"Can't it wait until I get back?"

"If it could, I would not be standing here, would I? Use your head, Oliver."

Doc was such a kidder.

"Okay." I turned to Angel. "Go on ahead, I'll catch up."

She dialed her phone again, nodded, and left.

Doc summoned me into the den. "Oliver, I think it's in everyone's best interest-in particular yours-if you did not return there. Ever."

"Ever? Look, if the Vincent House is dangerous, I can't let Angel go alone. Now can I?"

He thought a moment, adjusting the stethoscope around his neck. "You are correct. Don't let her go. It is a dangerous place. I warned you before and you're not listening-as usual. Too much has happened there. And I'm not talking about last night."

Oh? "Then, tell me, Doc."

"I don't wish to."

"I'll ask Sa.s.sy-"

"No, I forbid you."

"Forbid me? You tried to forbid me once before. How'd it work for you?"

"Oliver, don't cross me on this." He pointed an aged finger at me and his eyes narrowed like a great-grandfather about to scold me. No, not like-exactly. "You listen to me, Oliver. Listen good. Vincent Calaprese is a very dangerous man. He was a thug and a killer back in my day and he is far worse now. Don't let his smiles and pleasantries fool you. If he contacts you, it isn't to share his liquor and Sancho Panza's-"

"Those were Cuban cigars? I could get used to those. Although I don't smoke. But-"

"Dear G.o.d, focus, Oliver. Focus." He rolled his eyes. "If he contacts you it's because he wants something. And he won't take 'no' for an answer. He's dangerous, even to us. Stay away from him."

Doc never acted like this before and it bothered me. Oh, he'd warned me about things here and there-like not focusing and using my spirit-tricks too much-but he had never been so agitated and ornery. And never, in the months I'd known him, had he ever wanted me to hide from anything.

"Look, Doc, you gotta tell me what you're worried about. Tell me what's going on. What has your stethoscope all twisted?"

"You, Oliver. You're too impetuous and you don't listen."

"Other than the obvious?"

"You failed the last time I warned you, remember? Think of your failures when you went about investigating your own murder."

He was referring to the time I figured out a way to do battle with an a.s.sa.s.sin trying to kill Angel. I overdid it a little-well, a lot-and disappeared for days. It sucked the energy and spirit right out of me. Almost killed me for good. I didn't know it, of course, but he did. It was just one of those things, like parachuting out of your window with a bed sheet or a teenage drinking game gone bad. Okay, maybe worse.

"Hey, lighten up, Doc. Just tell me the truth."

Doc thrust his scalpel-finger into my chest and it hurt. "Oliver, I told you. Vincent Calaprese was a dangerous man and is an even more dangerous spirit. We cannot afford to cross him and we can less afford to help him."

"You've already given me the hokey 'he's a dangerous man and ghost' speech. You sound afraid of him."

"Yes, afraid." Doc's image was losing focus and fading into nothing. "And Oliver, one more thing. It's the most important thing, too."

I thought everything he said was the most important thing. "What?"

"The book, Oliver." Doc was just a voice. "We have to protect the book."

thirty-five.

"What book, Tuck?" Angel asked, driving across town to the Vincent House. "What's Doc talking about?"

"I don't know. Vincent told me to find Benjamin and something about a book. Maybe it's a cookbook. I don't know."

"A cookbook?" Angel's words dripped with sarcasm. "A dead mobster comes back to haunt you over a cookbook?"

Well, it didn't sound so stupid when I said it.

We arrived at the Vincent House just as the sheriff's crime scene van pulled out. There was one remaining sheriff's deputy standing on the front veranda and no other police cruisers or officers anywhere in sight.

The deputy stopped her at the front door. "Sorry, Professor Tucker, no one goes in anymore without an escort. Captain Sutter's orders."

"All right, I understand. Has the caterer, Petya Chernyshov, been by yet? He's supposed to meet me."

The deputy looked over a list on a clipboard. "No, ma'am. Detective Spence was by earlier, and the crime techs just left. Everyone else left about lunch time. Sorry."

Angel returned to the car. "Petya said he'd meet me here. He was returning two hours ago to check the clean-up." She pulled out her cell phone and dialed. It rang several times and went to voicemail. "He's still not answering."

"You keep trying, Angel," I said. "I'm going inside to take a look around."

"Okay, I'll see you later. I'm going to the office to check some work and then home. I didn't get much done yesterday with the gala, so I want to catch up today."

"You're leaving me?"

"It's not like you have to walk home."

"True."

I walked past the deputy on the veranda-he, of course, never noticed me-and went in search of the delectable Sa.s.sy and her menacing companion, Vincent Calaprese.

I knew they were around when Billie Holiday's Blue Moon began playing in the foyer. Visiting Vincent and Sa.s.sy was not only educational, it was a great tour of swing and big band tunes, too. Oh, and the bourbon was worth tiptoeing around Vincent's wrath.

Vincent stood on the second floor landing looking down at me. He had a wide smile and smoked a cigar-a Sancho Panza if Doc knew him at all.

"Oliver, I trust you've brought me good news."

"Ah, no, sorry, Vincent." Bad news to a gangster wasn't the way to start a conversation. "How about a drink? We can talk."

"Ah, yes, of course." Vincent descended the stairs and led me into the lounge. "But, not too much. It isn't good for you."

"What's it going to do, kill me?"

He slapped me on the back. "You have a sense of humor. Good. Now, tell me about Benjamin."

I waited for him to pour two drinks, raised mine in customary salute, and took a long sip. "Nothing to tell, I'm afraid. I don't know who he is. Tell me more about him and about this book you want. And most important of all, tell me why you're talking to me."

"Certainly you know by now you're unique?" He drained his gla.s.s in one gulp. "Not all of us can do what you do-work with the living. Most are, well, not able. If we were, things would be very different. Tell me about Benjamin."

"I told you, I have no idea who he is. I'm not fibbing either."

Vincent poured himself another drink and leaned on the bar facing me. His face was dark and brooding-not unusual for a mean-hearted spirit I'm sure. "Do not toy with me, Oliver."

"I'm not. But if you know where he is and how I can find him, tell me."

Vincent stared at me. "You know, today is not so different than my day-1939, I mean. You got the good guys and the bad guys and some of the bad guys are good. You understand?"

"No."

"Sure you do." He refilled our gla.s.ses. "I can be a good guy, Oliver. Or I can be a real, real, bad guy-like the old days. Play your games if you must."

"I'm not playing anything, Vincent. I don't know Benjamin."

His eyes narrowed on me. "Here's the way things are-you bring me Benjamin and the book or I'll put the hurt on your long-legged beauty at home."

I stood up and pushed my gla.s.s across the bar. "Don't threaten me, Vincent. And don't threaten Angel. She's not involved in this."

"Of course she is."

"No, she's not." I slammed a hand on the bar and it only made him laugh. "Tell me where to find Benjamin and this book-give me something to go on-and I'll do what I can. But don't-don't ever-threaten her again."

He laughed again, this time, letting a good belly laugh taunt me. When he was through, he leaned forward and shot a bullet-finger at me. "No, you listen, Oliver. You may have been a hotshot copper once, but not no more. In this world-our world-you're nothin'. You're just a smart-a.s.s rookie who doesn't know the score."

"How do you say, 'screw you' in 1939?"

"See, a real wise guy." Vincent yanked his .45 semi-automatic from beneath his jacket and jammed it into my face. "The book is mine. It is, shall we say, insurance. The book has the key to my enemies in DC. They were a bad bunch, them commie-b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. A bad bunch. I want it back."

"Commies? As in Russians?"

"Yeah, d.a.m.n Ruskies." He prodded me with his gun again. "And somebody whacked me for it. I want it back before it falls into the wrong hands again. See, Oliver, times change and the date changes, but people don't change. And families get bigger and stronger. Mine and theirs, too. You gotta find the book before the wrong family gets their hands on it. I gotta have it."

"Why? What could be so important in a seventy-five year old book?"

"Because there's more at stake than you know. Them commie-b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are making a move n.o.body is gonna see coming. What they started back then is about to pay off in a big way soon. And I gotta stop it."

"And Benjamin?"

He looked at me eye-to-eye and tucked his .45 back into his shoulder holster, patting his jacket over it. "Benjamin owes me, big time-Benjamin tried to steal my girl."

"And you want him to pay after all these years?"

"No." He puffed on his big Cuban. "He already paid. No, Oliver, he knows about the book. And I know all about him. Benjamin is the key to finding the book and stopping them commie-b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

Holy Joe McCarthy. "You do know we won the war, right?"

"Did we? Or did things just change?"

Good point. But he missed mine. "You're talking about communists and whacking people seventy-five years ago-this is 2014. I don't see the-"

"You will. Benjamin can explain it all. Bring him, Oliver. Bring him soon before things go too far-for them commies and for your gal. Don't make me hurt you, Oliver. I like you. But if you fail me, I will hurt you bad."

His eyes watched me like a hawk about to swoop down for the kill-distant, but cunning and all-seeing. Vincent Calaprese, of the New Jersey Calapreses, wasn't fooling around.

"Okay, Vincent. You win. If the commies are involved, I'm in. After all, I'm a red-blooded American. But you leave my Angel alone or I'll find the book and you'll never get it. So, how can I find Benjamin?"

He blew a cloud of Cuban smoke into my face and drowned the cigar in my drink. "His name is Benjamin Gillen Tucker."