Murder On Merchant Street (Night Walker and Other Stories Book 12)

  Murder on Merchant Street

  By JT Valentine

  Avery Burns got caught in the rain. It was the story of his life. It was early November and not exactly unexpected, but still an unwelcome surprise. His shoes leaked! He couldn't wear them to Merchant Street. He'd squish and leave tracks across the Brazilian Cherry floors. He cursed nature, and ducked into a St. John's Thrift Shop on the corner of Bernard and Merchant. A fat blue hair sat behind the counter reading The National Enquirer. He ignored her and made his way to the back of the shop and the men's department. The shoes on the rack bore the imprint of the feet that had worn them. Most of them had come a long way, but sitting in the middle of the second row was a beautiful pair of classic black oxfords, size 10, and they looked brand new! Bespoke Italian, no less! Avery took them for the gift they were, and rushed to the counter. He slammed down a fiver and didn't wait for old hairy chin to look up. He was half afraid she'd stop reading about Jennifer Aniston's secret liposuction and tell him they were mismarked. He tucked them under his coat and ran all the way down Merchant to his father's imposing front door where he changed his shoes. It was a bitch because his socks were soaked. He threw the leaky old boats in the bushes and rang the bell. While the Westminster chimes intoned, he noted his sister Leslie's Prius was already parked in the drive. Leslie's environmentalism was strictly the showy, tokenistic variety. She banned paper plates and bottled water in the home, but jetted off to St. Bart's regularly with her rich friends in their private Gulfstreams. They all drove Priuses too, and railed against the ravages of capitalism while enjoying its fruits in grand style. Their brains were as compartmentalized as a honey comb. It helped them forget their money came from evil places like Wall Street. Avery just hoped her bratty daughter Lila wasn't with her, but he knew better. Lila was the world's smallest diva. She was five. Her parents were divorced and in a race to assuage their guilt by seeing who could indulge her the most.

  Marian Bell answered the door. Officially, she was Daddy Jack's housekeeper and quite a looker for fifty. She was the kind of woman who exposed a lot of cleavage while pretending not to notice she was doing so. Daddy Jack certainly enjoyed the show, which was why it took Marian half an hour to get his pills down him every morning and evening. Along with her celebrated rack, Marian had a churlish son Cowan who did yard work and heavy chores for Jack a couple of days a week. It was a favor to Marian because he didn't really trust Cowan. In truth, with her front porch in his face, Jonathan Burns-- Daddy Jack to his children-- could deny his housekeeper nothing, which worried Avery and Leslie no end. Their father was old and rich, and they'd been pronouncing post mortems on him for at least a year now, but he just wouldn't die. Secretly they blamed Marian for re-invigorating the old duffer's libido, and what was left of his heart. The other reason Daddy Jack had for waking up every morning was his beloved Boston Terrier Bunker. He was a sweet little dog, but he didn't like Avery very much, and the feeling was mutual. At the moment, Bunker was planted in the middle of the doorway giving Avery the dead eye. Here to borrow money again, are we…

  "Out of the way, Bunky! Good lord, Avery, don't you own an umbrella?"

  "I like the rain. It's spiritually cleansing."

  "Well it hasn't done much for the rest of you."

  "My dear Marian, you wouldn't know a flower from a weed."

  "But I do know a drowned rat when I see one. Jack is upstairs."

  "Aren't we quick today!" Avery rolled his eyes in mock horror. "I suppose he and my sister are having a tete-a-tete?"

  "Why don't you join them? I'm about to serve tea."

  "Is the demon seed with her?"

  "Lila and Jack are reading Dr. Seuss and eating Skittles."

  "Then put some brandy in mine. You know he shouldn't have junk like that. It's pure sugar."

  "Tell it to the Marines. He'll eat anything Lila feeds him."

  "What did the doctor say?"

  "Jack's going to be fine."

  "No heart attack?"

  "Don't look so disappointed. The doctor said it was a transient ischemic event."

  "Is that serious? It sounds serious."

  "Unfortunately for you, it was only a mini-stroke. No lasting damage."

  "Don't be cheeky, Marian. You may have a great set of tatas, but you're not entitled. Not yet."

  "How would you know?"

  "Keeping you around is not the same thing as including you, darling. Don't ever forget that."

  "Go and see your father, Avery."

  "On my way." Avery took the stairs two at a time, with Bunker at his heels. When he got to the bedroom, he saw Grant Tandy standing behind Leslie, who'd pulled a chair up to the side of the bed. Oh, snap! Grant was Leslie's ex-husband, and Avery couldn't stand him. Grant was an investment banker who worked closely with Daddy Jack and was always hanging around with papers for him to sign. He wore his success like Toscanini wore his coat and tails, which made him seem like a prig even when he was naked. Avery had never seen Grant naked, but he'd seen him strutting around the pool in a ridiculous pair of Speedos. Daddy Jack was busy eating one Skittle at a time from Lila's chubby little hands. His mouth was stained cherry red.

  "Have a purple one, paw paw." Lila put the candy in Daddy Jack's mouth and he pretended to gobble up her fingers. She laughed with delight. It was a throaty laugh that made everyone smile, including Avery. In a few years it would signal lust, and no man would be safe.

  "Avery my boy, you're soaked. Why don't you put on a robe and let Marian dry your clothes?"

  "I can't stay, Jack. I just wanted to make sure you're alright."

  "I'm fine. Today's not a good day to die."

  "I wasn't worried."

  "At least stay for tea. Or tell Marian to get you a brandy."

  "I already did."

  "I'd like one too." It was Leslie, the me-too girl, always coming in second, even though she was the first-born, and an accomplished pianist who'd been accepted to Julliard at the age of twelve. These days, at thirty-eight, Leslie Burns Tandy did the odd guest appearance with the San Francisco Symphony to play a little Chopin, and that was it. She had married into money, which was nothing new for her, but her present status was unclear. Thanks to Grant's roving eye, she was a divorced socialite with a five-year-old daughter and a lot of pretentious friends. She firmly believed that Daddy Jack's money would set her free, if she could ever get her hands on it. Meanwhile, it was necessary to curry favor with two men she despised for not loving her enough, her father and her ex-husband. It was demeaning.

  As for Avery, he was the whole show and always had been, in spite of the fact that he had zero accomplishments and a collection of failures he brandished with the pride of an Eagle Scout. He'd gone to Yale on a legacy scholarship-- Daddy Jack was a Yale man-- changed his major three times and left in his second year. That did it for college. He was simply too smart for it. Why waste time grinding on the books? Then came a string of jobs that bored him so much he stopped showing up. Avery was currently unemployed and broke, a state he was growing more comfortable with all the time. Daddy Jack always rescued him with a personal check, and one day he'd have the whole pot of gold. The mere thought of it made Avery's heart race.

  Marian's bosom appeared in the doorway, followed by Marian herself. She was pushing a tea cart loaded with a silver tea service, china cups and a plate of small iced cakes. A bottle of Remy Martin cognac was on the cart as well, along with four cut-glass snifters. They all ended up drinking a toast to Daddy Jack's health, nursing the elegant drink along with their thwarted desires, and more than a dollop of self-pity. The patriarch of the Burns family was alive and getting stronger by the day. He was from hearty stock. It could be years before Avery and Leslie realized their delicious dreams of getting and then spending the old man's fortune.

  "Don't give Bunker candy, Lila."

  "He's the only one who likes the green ones, mommy." Bunker had jumped up on the bed and was curled up against Daddy Jack's side.

  "We need to go, honey. You've got to be at The Little Pixie Ballet School in less than an hour."

  Lila gave Daddy Jack a kiss on the cheek and wiggled off of the bed, exposing pink ruffled panties. She put her Dr. Seuss book on the night table shelf and ran to Leslie who was waiting to take her hand.

  "See you tomorrow, Jack." Leslie blew him a kiss.

  "Okay, darlin'. Bring Lila with you."

  "Will do."

  Avery was hoping to wait out Grant, who had put on a pair of horned-rimmed glasses and offered Jack a Mount Blanc pen for the signing ceremony. He wanted to hit up the old man for a few hundred to carry him until his unemployment check arrived. He only had two more left. Then he'd be waving a sign in front of Apollo's Pizza again. He always wore shades and a phony mustache when he did that. The Styrofoam sign was feather light for the first few minutes. After that, it got heavier and heavier until moving it at all was absolute torture, and so humiliating… Daddy Jack still thought he was part of a management training program at JP Morgan Chase. When Avery got around to telling him he'd bailed on a banking career after a few weeks, it wouldn't matter. Avery was front-stage-center precisely because of his many failures. Leslie's glowing accomplishments were ignored and resented. Daddy Jack didn't like competition from his children or anyone else.

  The only problem with being a professional failure was getting women. Avery was g
ood-looking in a vaguely effeminate way. He had nice skin and sensitive hands. His big brown eyes and charming grin looked deceptively warm. He aspired to be a chick magnet, but had more success with older women whose sexual responses to him were tempered by their maternal instincts. Since he didn't have a nickel, let alone two to rub together, rich older women liked him best. He didn't mind being indulged most of the time. And there was always Stephanie. He'd known her off-and-on for years. He couldn't even remember how they met. She was every bit as big as Avery, and attractive, but in a horsey kind of way-- not his idea of a girlie girl at all. She had broad shoulders and blonde hair that was cut short, and she always wore flat shoes when she was with him. He thought it was an unfinished look. But she had a ready laugh, and she paid her own way. Daddy Jack was impressed-- he pronounced her a stunner. Avery thought they looked good together as a couple; he just couldn't get excited about Stephanie. She loved coming to the Merchant Street house. It gave her a glimpse of the world she thought she'd be a part of someday.

  Avery folded the check for five-hundred dollars in half and slipped it into his shirt pocket. Grant had finally gone and Daddy Jack was dozing off with Bunker snuggled up next to him on top of the covers. His checkbook was open on the night table. Avery didn't bother to glance at it. He already knew it contained a mouth-watering amount of money. His clothes were damp and wrinkled. He stood up and tried to smooth them out with his hand. No luck. He replaced the chairs and rolled the tea cart into the hall before closing the bedroom door. No one had touched the iced cakes. They were filled with rum, a favorite treat of Jack's, but today he must have eaten too many Skittles. He needed to rest, and he wouldn't get any with Marian puttering around over him. It was already four on a gray Friday afternoon. Avery thought he might stop in at a local tapas bar for a couple of appetizers and a glass of wine. He was thinking fondly of baby squid, battered and fried, paired with a young Chilean red. Maybe he'd ask Stephanie to join him for chopitos at Pepe's -- she never seemed to be offended by last-minute invitations. Later on they could go to her place. Maybe on Sunday he'd take her to see Daddy Jack. Stephanie could be very charming, and having a woman in tow was always a plus in Jack's eyes, the old philanderer.

  *******************************

  There were no flowers blooming in Cypress Park in November, and no people to watch, unfortunately. Max was sitting in the yellow light of his office, getting caught up on paper work, which meant trashing great mounds of it unread. As his operating principle of the day, he decided to read only blue paper. Why? There were hardly any blue sheets in the pile. Blue was just about everybody's favorite color, so he still felt inclusive. They seemed to have something to do with pension benefits, and since he was at least twenty-five years away from retirement, he made short work of the few odd pieces. A pension sounded like a prison sentence anyway. He couldn't imagine twenty-to-life without a badge. It was a quick-and-dirty clean, but satisfying. Max had been pitching unread paper work into his wastebasket with impunity for over a decade. It was a form of protest, but he had come to consider it a birthright because he got away with it. And he knew if something were really important, Elena would catch it, explain it, and give him a fresh copy to sign.

  Chief strolled in and tried to deposit himself in one of Max's so-called chairs. It was a process that made Max hold his breath. It was a lot of man for very little chair. When he finally got settled, he did an extensive self-inventory, meticulously straightening his coat and tie. He was wearing a dark blue suit, white shirt, and a gray tie with blue stripes. His shoes were shined. He had on a good-looking pair of black slip-ons with small side buckles and matching socks. Max couldn't believe the transformation from self-styled eccentric-- read that slob-- to VIP. His hat was off to Chief's new wife, Georgia, for punching up the great man's credibility.

  "You look like a banker. I was about to ask you what interest rate I could get on a thirty-six-month CD."

  "Georgia's helping me class up my act."

  "She's doing a great job. I didn't recognize you."

  "Thanks, I think.

  "I meant well."

  "Not good enough."

  "We can't all be as smooth and slick as you." That got a chuckle out of the old guy.

  "Kids never mean well, that's why I like 'em."

  "Since when? You've avoided politics your whole life because you didn't want to kiss babies."

  "I like them in theory…The baby stage is a little too moist for me. Did you know your evaluation is in that pile of paper you just tossed?"

  "Really? Is it any good?"

  "Fair-to-middlin'."

  "Thank god. I've been sweating bullets."

  "Your irony is too heavy-handed to be considered wit."

  "Thank you, Oscar Wilde. I thought you already did evaluations."

  "Every year, son… You're never off the hook."

  "No kidding? That's a bit gung-ho, isn't it?"

  "You need to sign it, Max. It's the best evaluation I've ever given, and it pains me to say so."

  "Why? It's not like you set my wooden leg on fire or anything."

  "Giving compliments is letting the cat out of the bag. I don't like cats."

  "Thanks for clearing that up. What color is the paper?" Max pulled the wastebasket between his knees and began shuffling through it.

  "Pink."

  "Pink paper is alarming."

  "It gets most people's attention. They think they're getting fired."

  Max found the offending pink document. It was all wadded up. As he smoothed it out on his desk for signing, he saw Chief had rated him Superior or Excellent in every category. He'd also written in some complimentary things by hand.

  "This is nice, Chief. Do you have a signing pen?"

  "Don't let it go to your head, and stop being a jackass. Use your Bic. Wad it up again and I'm going to down-grade you for insubordination."

  Max signed the rumpled document and handed it over. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize what it was."

  "You have to admit, that's a pretty cheesy response. I just spent an hour telling the world you walk on water."

  Max looked sheepish. "I'm sorry. I'll open a vein."

  "Most people would frame it."

  "I'll hang it, blood and all, right behind my desk if that would please you."

  "Once again, too heavy-handed, Max."

  "It won't happen again, I assure you. Not in this lifetime."

  "Good. Irony needs to be subtle." Chief wandered out of the office, holding Max's evaluation at arm's length. Max had been put in his place, and he felt terrible. He really needed to talk to Edie. He hoped she was still at work.

  "Ballet Studio."

  "Hi."

  "Hi, darling. You sound upset."

  " You can tell that from a Hi?

  "Of course."

  "Whatcha doing?"

  "I've been shearing sheep. I'm going to spin some wool, dye it with beet juice, and then weave a rug. What do you think I'm doing, dear?"

  "That's kind of dark… I don't know that's why I asked."

  "My last pixie just left. I'm cuing up some music for the morning class then I'm heading home, too. Why?"

  "I wadded up my evaluation and tossed it."

  "That bad, huh?"

  "No! It happened while I was catching up on the inordinate amount of useless paperwork generated by this establishment."

  "I take it that's code for shoving it all in the trash?"

  "Yeah."

  "Serves you right."

  "It wasn't my fault. Nobody told me it was on pink paper."

  "That's feeble, Max. I'm blaming you anyway."

  "You're a cold-hearted woman."

  "Was Chief insulted? He had a right to be."

  "It was hard to tell. He was jocular, but he was holding it out like it was radioactive. Should I prostrate myself in front of his desk?"

  "Too heavy-handed. He won't think it's funny."

  "Everybody's telling me that today!"

  "Did you apologize?"

  "Twice. Maybe we should invite him to dinner. You haven't seen Georgia in a while."

  "She's a great cook. I can't compete with that."

  "Serve chicken. It tastes the same everywhere."

  "No, Max."

  "Marinate it in red wine. They won't know what it is."

  "My cooking won't cover for you. It won't cover for me once you're tired of having sex."