R. P.

Signore 9311 SW 53rd St Miami, Fl 33165 305-595-3338

8,839 words First Serial Rights Signore

DOUBLE MURDER By R. P. Signore I know who did it, the Old Lady said, and it wasnt suicide. It was murder! She wore a black dress and a funny hat with plastic butterflies on the brim. Her face was a white prune of wrinkles and her left hand jittered. She kept on twisting a gold ring with her right thumb, and you would have thought she jittered because of old age, but she stunk with the odor of alcohol. Myers Rum and Coca-Cola. She was talking about the death of Jay Stuart, a local big wheel who took a lot of people for a financial ride with phony land deals and phony stocks. He was a white-collar crook everyone loved until they found out their money was lost. So he shot himself in his upscale Coconut Grove apartment overlooking Biscayne Bay. I had read about the story in the paper. He was found on the floor in front of his sofa with a bullet in his head and a sugar bowl of cocaine on the coffee table. I didnt pay much attention to the story because, to be honest, I was sick of hearing about corrupt businessmen and their political cronies. Miami was filled with them and as far as I was concerned, they all could go to hell.

So I said, You do? to the Old Lady, sarcastically and swallowed three aspirin with my morning coffee. I was stuffed with a hangover from too many beers, and I didnt want to talk to anyone so early in the morning. But she was my first case in weeks and besides, sitting next to her was a dark haired beauty who flicked her unlit cigarette and had no smell of alcohol but only the smell of sex. She was about thirty-five, and had every intention of letting me know that she was a force to contend with. Her long legs were silky and extended out of her glossy skirt. She breathed a certain way. Steamy. Deep. She was Hungarian and her name was Uta. I do, the Old Lady replied, and thats why weve come to you. The cops say its a suicide and I have no reason not to believe them, I said, trying to keep my eyes off Utas legs and, most especially, the brown mole near her knee. The cops are stupid! the Old Lady said. Maybe. She knows. She knows everything. The Old Lady looked at Uta who proudly tilted up her chin. She stared past my shoulder at the Gauguin painting I kept on the wall behind my desk. A Tahitian girl holding a tray of fruit. Uta smiled as if she were about to seduce me with her own bowl of fruit. Do you? I asked Uta. She lowered her eyelids and brushed a piece of lint off her sleeve. She was drowning me in her sensuality. And what exactly do you know? She has seen the killer. She knows his face and where he lives. the Old Lady replied. Uta was determined to remain silent.

You told this to the cops. They believe nothing because they are stupid. Yeah, you already said that. I mean it. They have no vision. She has vision. She knows there are things in the world no one but the sensitive can see. Thats why we came to you, Mr. Pavese. The police told me you would understand, and you would take the case. The cops were lying. They hated me ever since I started this business six years ago. I was a bored vocational Ed teacher who read a lot of murder mysteries when I decided I could make a better living as a private investigator. I was wrong. Business was always bad. A couple of cheating husbands, a few insurance cases, but nothing to really pay the bills. But then there was the religious Brother who killed those kids. The cops hated me for finding out he did it. They had already arrested another guy. I was lucky. If I hadnt gone into that church looking for a husband who was having affairs with two women, I never would have found the Brother strangling that poor kid. Some people said I did it with ESP. That I was psychic. It was nothing but luck. Just plain luck. Look, I dont investigate murders. The police told me. I dont care what they said But they said you understood about the other side. The other side? The dark side, Uta girl abruptly interjected, and for a moment she looked like she had just stepped out of vampire movie and was ready to suck on my neck. The dark side, huh? Well, Im really not that kind of investigator, I

Yes, Lt. Rodriguez said that you have special. Rodriguez? Yes. I could have told her that Rodriguez hated my guts and would have said anything to make me look like an ass, but the Old Lady opened her purse and took out a wad of money and placed it on my desk. Maybe this will help, she said. Here is 800 dollars. You can have it if you just listen to me. The $800 stared at me. Teased me. I needed the money. I was pretty close to broke supporting my ex-wife and two kids. Sure, they lived in North Florida and had nothing to do with me, but they still sucked a lot of money out of my pocket. I slowly unrolled the money and counted it. I dont know if you believe in ghosts and spirits, Mr. Pavese, the Old Lady went on, but I do and she does, and we know who killed my son because his spirit told us. I slid the money back toward her. I understood now why the cops sent her to me. She was crazy with grief and Uta princess with her creamy thighs was bilking her for all she was worth. Im sorry I started to say but Uta stopped me. Listen, Uta hissed. Just listen. I shrugged my shoulders. What could listening hurt? Besides, $800 dollars! And Uta by now had seduced me!

The city is filled with vampires, Mr. Pavese, the Old Lady said, but these vampires dont suck out blood, they suck out life. Theyre everywhere! And she knows how to find them. She has had experience. With who? Bela Lugosi or Christopher Lee? I answered cynically. Uta huffed and crossed her legs. I saw a tattoo of a small bird on her thigh, just above her knee and near her brown mole. She glared at me. This is no joke. One of these vampires killed her son. Your son? Yes, Jay Stuart was my son. He was murdered. He had a lot of enemies who would have been glad to see him dead. He wasnt the nicest man, or even the best son, but he was my only child and I am obligated to find the person who killed him. Her voice was insistent as fingernails cutting across the throat. It was easy to figure out why the cops didnt want to go near her. Next to my Rolodex file the $800 looked at me. I decided that they were both crazy, but there was still no harm in listening, especially when Uta quietly slipped her skirt hem higher up her thighs. When my son was murdered, I thought Id go crazy. I didnt know what to do. My husband was dead. My son was dead. I didnt know where to turn. The Old Lady looked like she was about to cry, so Uta reached over and patted her shoulder. The police were worthless. They didnt know who killed him so they called it a suicide. Theyre idiots! Thats when she came to me, Uta said. Why you?

Because I could help. I have helped others. I gave her a list of people I thought would have killed my son, and then she told me who did it. You what? Uta smiled. Her teeth had a slight tinge of yellow, but in a strange way that made her more seductive. I held the list to my forehead and came up with the name of the person who killed her son. Just by holding the list to your forehead? She could tell I was poking fun at her, but she didnt care. Thats right. And we want you to investigate the person. I hate to tell you this, I said to the Old Lady, but youve just fallen for one of the oldest scams in the world. Fortune tellers, psychics, card readers, palmist, theyre all out to take you money. Thats not true! Oh yeah! How much money have you already paid this person? The Old Lady looked down at her lap as the young girl looked at me with infernal hostility. 500? 1,000? What? She has paid me nothing, the girl said. And I asked for nothing. Sure. Its true Mr. Pavese, the Old Lady insisted. Then what are you in this for? How much do you want?

` want.

Nothing. I want nothing. I dont need money. I can have all I want any time I

I bet. I just want to help. She is so sad. So sad. The Old Lady finally broke into tears, and Uta got up, put her arm around the Old Lady and gave her a handkerchief. Lets find someone else who will listen to you, Uta said. I dont think I like him. Uta picked up the $800, and they both turned to walk out. I rose from behind the desk and tried to calm them down. The sight of the $800 suddenly gone made me quickly reconsider their needs. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Im sorry. I was just trying to make sure that you werent a scam. Sit back down. They hesitated a moment then the Old Lady adjusted herself and the two of them sat back down. Uta pulled her skirt over her knees. I guess she was through teasing me. The Old Lady coughed. When Uta gave me the name of the person who killed my son, I went to see him. He wouldnt let me in the front door. I wanted to tell him I knew what he did. His housekeeper slammed the door shut like I was some crazy loon. And who is this person? The Old Lady looked at Uta for approval. When Uta nodded her head, the Old Lady said Alex Padilla. Padilla. The assistant city manager? Yes. Him.

The case suddenly took a turn into a dark hallway. Alex Padilla was an up and coming politico with lots of money and a load of people behind him. Mostly Cubans who came to Miami during the Mariel boatlift. He was one of them. He came here poor, worked hard and made a lot of money in real estate and, some say, money laundering. But most of all, he was noisy about his hatred for Castro and that gets you a long way in Miami. He gave a lot of support to Brothers for Freedom - a group of boat captains who swore that one day theyd launch an invasion of the island - and once in awhile the press would catch him flying on one of the Brothers-to-the-Rescue missions. It seemed unlikely that Padilla would kill Stuart. If anything, he would have paid for someone to kill him, but hed never do the job himself. What makes you think Padilla killed your son? Uta sat up and stared deeply at me. Because I told her and I know, she said. I felt him dreaming about it. You did, huh. How exactly did you do that? She can become invisible to others, the Old Lady interrupted, especially when she travels outside her body. I suddenly saw the $800 disappearing back into the Old Ladys purse because I had had enough of both of them. The cops must have loved sending them to me. Two whacks! Two loons! Well, you dont cross into a cops territory because theyll find some way of getting even with you. And this, for sure, was it! I dont know exactly why the cops put you up to this, but I could guess. I think you can take this 800 and put it back in your purse. Then, take this Hungarian bruja and go back to whoever put you up to this and tell him - or her that Pavese isnt an asshole.

Youre an insulting fool, Mr. Pavese, Uta said as she took the Old Ladys hand and stood up. Well find someone who has learned to respect the ghost world. Yeah, you do that! I said. The Old Lady rose and shook her head at me. It is too bad you wont listen. Youre the seventh investigator Ive seen and all of you are very closed minded and narrow. I will do this one last thing: Im leaving my money with you and here is my address. She placed a business card on top of the $800. Come to my house tonight at 10, and, if after an hour you dont believe me, you keep the $800 and go your way. Nothing more will be expected of you. Absolutely nothing I couldnt tell if the old gal was setting me up or being honest. Im usually good at telling when people are setting me up. There was only one time I was a real ass and that was long before I became a private investigator. It involved my first wife. She fooled me into believing she was with her sister when all the time she was with my best friend in some motel on Eighth Street. I didnt catch them there, but it was the smell of her clothes that gave her away. I can tell a lot about someone from the smell of their clothes, most especially where theyve been and what theyve been doing. I could smell another male on her blouse, and the stench of an old room and stale bed sheets and sour airconditioning. At least she didnt give me any argument when I confronted her. She quickly admitted what she was doing and before long we were divorced, and she moved to a small town near Jacksonville where her new husband sold cars and she worked for the county. They took my daughter, Trish, who was 10 at the time. Trish never said much as a daughter, and still doesnt. I telephone her once a week and its always

Yeah, or Im okay, or Mom says you owe her money. If I had it all to do again, Id never get married or have any children. Its all a pain. The old gals offer was too easy to accept. All I had to do was go to her house, hang around for an hour and leave, and wham, $800 bucks without a drop of sweat. Am I the first person you offered this to? I wondered out loud. I really wanted to find out whom they had already seen and who wasnt hard up for money. Yes, all the others didnt believe me. They were very stupid. They didnt even take the money, Uta interjected, probably more concerned about the money staying in my pocket then hers. The Old Lady turned and left. Uta strutted behind her like she was going to a club on Miami Beach. She was proud of her ass and legs. She left an aroma of superiority behind in the room. I sat there for awhile and looked at the 800 dollars. I didnt know what the hell I was getting into, but the money looked good. Real good. I decided to blow some on a big lunch at La Carreta and, by then, I knew I would have to spend some time at the old gals house. After all, I wasnt going to keep the money for doing nothing. I wasnt a crook.

After lunch I decided to call Lt. Rodriguez who was in charge of the case but he wouldnt talk to me. His secretary, Rosie, told me he wanted nothing more to do with the Stuart case. He was tired of the whole damned thing. As far as he was concerned, Stuart committed suicide and everyone in Miami who lost money on one of his schemes was glad he was gone. There was nothing Lt. Rodriguez had to do but stamp SUICIDE on a

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few papers and go back to the coffee room to flirt with Arlyn Hernandez, the plump detective with large breast and the aroma of jasmine. Well, Rosie, can you tell me if Stuarts mother is still alive. Alive? Oh, shes alive, but dont mention her name around here. Rosies voice lowered into a whisper. Shes the main reasons why Lt. Rodriguez wants nothing more to do with the case. Shes harassed him until he wanted to throw her out the window. Says she has a lady who can spirit travel, or something like that, and that the lady knows who killed her son. Thats the one. In fact, I think Lt. Rodriguez told her to find a private investigator. I guess youre the lucky one. I dont know about that. I hung up the phone. I liked Rosie. Even thought of trying to hook up with her once. But she had a sicko macho boyfriend who liked to beat up on people who looked at her even once, and I wasnt in any mood for confrontations. Most especially with a guy a foot taller, a foot wider, and the brain of an ape.

Miami is hot as hell and that night was no exception. Sometimes I wonder why anyone lives here, especially me. Yeah, we got air conditioning, but just getting into the 100 degrees car on any afternoon is enough to say youre a fool for living in hell. I wish I lived in San Francisco, but the place is too expensive and I have no past there. You know what I mean? A person needs a past, a place where there are familiar places and people. Otherwise, youre just another stranger.

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The Old Ladys home was a small estate along Pine Tree Drive on Miami Beach. It was built in the late 30s and looked like something out of a black and white movie. The only color was a round window on the second floor that had a stained glass with a crucifix and a lamb, or something like that. It was hard to tell in the evening light. I got out of the car and the pines were wheezing from the wind off the ocean. The noise gave the place an eerie feeling. No wonder the Old Lady talked about ghosts and spirits! This place was out of a horror movie! Alcove windows. A huge, black door. Thick impenetrable walls that said you better stay out or else youd loose some part of your thinking. The Old Lady greeted me at the door looking crazier than she did that morning. She wore a puffy blue dress with small stars around the hem and another hat, this time with silver half moon pendants stuck to the side. She was also drinking a rum and coke. Come in, please come in, Mr. Pavese. Im so glad you decided to come. She ushered me through a high hallway and into a darkened room with a large, round table. The windows were closed and black against the shrub outside that seemed to be trying to grow into the house. Uta was sitting at one end of the table. She also wore a puffy dress but it was black with a purple collar and a small pendant of a lightening bolt. At the other end of the table was an older man, dressed all in white and bald. He may have been 60 or so, but he was lecherous looking with skeleton hands that he kept on squeezing together. Please sit down, the Old Lady said. Theyre about to start. Start? Yes, this is Julio Menocal, an alchemist and a Julio.

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An alchemist? Are you kidding me? They havent been around for hundreds of years. Oh, youre wrong, Mr. Pavese. Alchemist are still among us but they stay very silent because of the gold thing. Yeah, they can turn metal into gold. As well as other things. But Julios specialty is potions. Potions! I wanted to laugh in their faces because they sounded like a bunch of fools, but the 800 dollars was a nice soft lump in my pocket and I had nothing to loose. Julio slumped and hunched and twitched his nose like a little mouse. He pressed a tiny black bottle against his chest and, like the old Jews on the beach at temple, rocked back and forth. He muttered some indistinguishable words over and over, mumbo jumbo as they say, but I wasnt really listening. I was paying more attention to Uta girl who tilted her head backwards and closed her eyes. She reminded me of a young Greta Garbo, beautiful but lifeless. Her skin seemed whiter than it was in the morning. I think she had put an extra layer of powder on her face, and her lipstick was black along with her fingernails. She looked like one of the Gothic girls who walked around the city like brides of Dracula. The old man suddenly stopped his rocking motion, and, without looking at anyone, rose from the table and seemed to float to a chair in the corner. He sat down, closed his eyes and descended into a deep meditation. He hummed and snorted, as if he were asleep. The Old Lady and I sat there in the silence for a good five minutes. The Old Lady stared at Uta whose eyelids suddenly fluttered as if she were coming out of a long sleep. The room began to smell like peppermint.

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How long does she keep this up? I asked sarcastically. Be quiet! Everything takes time. Everything! This is a very exacting process. By now the room was very dark except for the candle in the center of the table and a small, orange glow in the corner next to Julio. The glow seemed to have come out of nowhere, and I could have sworn it changed to a dark red when I looked at Julio a second time. Uta opened her eyes wide and looked across the room at a spot on the wall. I saw nothing but she most definitely saw something because she slowly lifted her hand and pointed. Hes there! Right there! I see him. Hes walking to his bedroom. Hes taking off his tie and going to a bureau drawer. He is searching for something. Who are you talking about? I interrupted, You mustnt interrupt! the Old Lady said. She needs all the concentration she can get. But who is At that moment Julio wailed and moaned and bent over double as if his stomach was in severe pain. He then rose and I swear floated out of the room. When I turned to Uta, she was crumpled in her chair, head tilted sideways, her arms hanging at her side. You broke the trance, the Old Lady said. You stupidly broke the trance. Im sorry, but all this looks like a lot of scam and sham! What do you know? I was wrong to bring you here. Youre just like the rest of them, Get out. Just keep the $800 and get out!

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Without any hesitation she led me to the front door and slammed it on me. I stood in her driveway feeling foolish and out of place. True, I thought the whole sance was nothing more than a bag of psychic tricks, but I still felt like I had mistreated the Old Lady. After all, I did have her $800 and Id done very little for it. Dont get me wrong. Im not the kind of guy to worry about other peoples money or their feelings, and most especially their feelings about me. You can ask my ex-wife about that! When she walked out I just stood in the living room and said, Who cares? Then I went about my business as if nothing had happened. But standing there in the driveway, I felt like I had intruded upon something I didnt understand and then acted like an idiot. Maybe Uta had gotten under my skin. Maybe I felt bad for the Old Lady. Or maybe the old man was too much of a mystery. Whatever it was, I needed to know more to make things right. Money or no money, I decided to go home and pay a visit to Lt. Rodriguez in the morning. Maybe, if I could get past his hard-nosed attitude, hed give me some information I could use to understand what I had just gone through.

Lt. Rodriguez was a short fellow with thick shoulders and big, spatula shaped hands. His left cheek twitched, a reminder of a knife fight he had in Hialeah with a couple of gang members when he was younger. He was once a boxer and so his nose was pugged and his left ear was somewhat curled over like a wilted flower. He also had a hot temper and whenever someone asked him something he didnt want to answer, he rubbed his hand over his shiny shaved head and snorted. He snorted a lot that morning because he wanted nothing to do with the Stuart case or me.

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Bullshit, he said. Ive never seen a clearer case of suicide. Hes found sitting on the floor with a bullet hole in his right temple and the pistol in his right hand. Tests show he had gunpowder on his hand and the wound is congruent with suicide. Its as simple as that. As simple as that, I repeated. Besides, the guy was up to his ears in corrupt money and loan defaults. He owed money to half of Miami. He shot himself, I tell you, theres no other conclusion, no matter what his mother says. I gotcha, but its just that.. Look, Pavese, you know and I know that I dont like you much. I think youre an amateur! Youre one of those guys who in a million years couldnt make it into the police academy and so you spend the rest of your life proving you could have been something you really couldnt have been. But just the same, Im going to tell you this: stay away from that Old Lady and her Hungarian rip off artist. They re filled with shit! It was a suicide. Nothing more and nothing less. Didnt you arrest one suspect and let him go. There you go and thats why I dont like you. You think you know things you dont know. Sure we let a suspect go, but thats because he was no longer a suspect. Once we got the results from forensics we knew it was a suicide. And no matter what your Hungarian hotty says, ghosts arent going to tell us differently. You can count on that! Do you mind telling me who the suspect was?

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Yes, I do mind and I mind this conversation. I dont want to talk anymore about this case, or for that matter any other case with you, so please, get the hell out of here and leave me, he took a quick look at Rosie, and all of us alone. He liked insulting me but I didnt care. In fact, all his insults meant that he wasnt really sure that Stuarts death was a suicide and that he didnt really know who murdered him. He was simply trying to justify why he was sitting behind an overcrowded desk eating a Big Mac - juice bubbled around the corner of his mouth - and his gut getting fatter and fatter. Okay, I said, so the Old Ladys a nut, but if her son was murdered, she thinks she knows who did it. Lt. Rodriguez looked down at his desk calendar and scratched out a note he had made on the days date. Yeah, Padilla. You know where he was on the night Stuart committed suicide? At a ball honoring the new police chief. I know because I was with him. You sure about that? No, Im in on the murder, too. Now will you get the hell out of here? You were with him every single minute of the night? Get out of here before I throw you out. Ive had enough of this crap. Leave me alone to do real work. Lt. Rodriguez glared hard at me and I knew better then to ask anymore questions. Besides, by now I had decided to pay a visit to Padillas house and ask him what he thought of the suicide.

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Padilla wasnt home but his wife was. She was a dark haired beauty who could have easily been a Spanish model. She had big eyes and smelled like rosewater. Her looks made me uncomfortable as she led me to her pool patio where she was drinking a Barcardi Lemon and tanning her already tan skin. When I showed her my investigators license, she thought I was cop because she called me Detective and said shed offer me a drink but knew police couldnt drink while on duty. I was going to tell her differently, but then I decided not to. Sometimes its good to play the game and sometimes it isnt. Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Padilla, but I have a few questions that Id like to ask your husband? About what, Detective.? Just call me Dave, which wasnt my real first name, but it really didnt matter. About Jay Stuart. Jay Stuart? Why do you need to talk to my husband? Alex and Stuart were business acquaintances. Nothing more. I tried to warn Alex about him but Alex wouldnt listen. Warn him about what? About his money crap. I could tell from the day I met Stuart that he wasnt up to any good. Its just too bad not many other people could tell the same thing. She sipped her

Bacardi and Lemon and squeezed a sun tan lotion out of a small tube. She rubbed the white cream across her forehead and her face began to glisten in the sun. Alex turned over quite a bit of money to him, she went on, too much money! The phony either lost it or stole it.

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I guess your husband was pretty upset, then? What do you think? she asked like I was some kind of idiot who knew nothing about the business world. He wanted to kill him. We lost quite a bit of money. Quite a bit. Do you mind telling me how much? Yes, I do mind because it just makes me remember what kind of fool Alex was to trust Stuart. 300,000 or 400,000 dollars. It doesnt matter now. The money is gone. Whew, I whistled. He lost all that? Probably more. That was from a joint account Alex had with his mother. His mother? Yes. She lives in the house in the back. Shes 87 and still going strong. Alex has been taking care of her for twenty years or so. What was Alexs reaction to Stuarts suicide? Suicide. You dont believe that do you? I was surprised to hear her say that. In fact, I was surprised at how open she was about the entire case. Maybe she was just sick of hearing about it, or maybe she just didnt like the bullshit everyone was tossing around. Then again, maybe she thought she was saving her husband. Why should I think anything different? You wouldnt be here if you did. Im no idiot, Detective, and please dont take me for one. Im sorry. I just.

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Look, Alex was mad enough to kill Stuart, but I dont think he was dumb enough to do something like that. He has a career and all that. One day he hopes to be a senator. So, if someone did kill Stuart, it wasnt my husband. The night of Stuarts death, you and your husband came directly home after the dinner for the new police chief? Yes and we went straight to bed. We watched the Leno show then. She paused and thought about what she wanted to say next. we went to sleep. The next morning he went to work and I went to my gym class. I found out later that day that Stuart committed suicide. Alex said he found out when he got to work. She finished her drink and spread more sun tan lotion over her arms. Now, Detective, she continued, I would like to sun myself because tonight we have a very important party tonight. We are hosting the mayor and his wife. Did you know today is the mayors birthday? I said no with an I-dont-give-a-damn voice and thanked her for her cooperation. I really wanted to stay and just stare at her as she creamed the rest of her bikini body, but she dismissed me and asked me to find my way out. I noticed that the house was pretty ritzy for an assistant city manager. No doubt about it, from the furniture to the paintings, this guy had to be on the take, or else involved in some corrupt Miami deals. You just didnt make this kind of money on an assistant city managers salary. If he was mad over Stuart losing his money, it probably really didnt matter because the money was probably stolen from the taxpayers anyway.

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I got back to my office around two and there was a phone call waiting for me from Uta. Her voice was low and soft and seductively calm. Call me at 595-3329, I need to talk to you. I didnt know if I wanted to call. I already had my money and, after talking to Padillas wife, I thought that the best thing was just to drop the entire case. Padilla was too stuck in the glue of power for anyone to do anything about it. His connections went even farther then the mayor, so I simply rationalized that Stuart had to have so many enemies that, like Murder on the Orient Express, they all probably had a hand in killing him. Besides, Uta, for all her good looks and come-on eyes, bothered me with her psychic crap. But I was given no choice because the phone rang and it was her again. Why didnt you call me back? I just got in. You made Mrs. Stuart very upset. So what. Its not good to make people upset. So what. Youre a mean man. A very mean man. Thats what my ex-wife said. Now, what do you want? There was a pause like she was trying to think of what to say. You were in his house. What are you talking about? You talked to his wife. You have your suspicions. Who have you been talking to?

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I know these things. I sense them. You must come back tonight. I will travel to the murderers house, too. I was surprised by what she said. Was she just assuming I had gone to the murderers house, or did she really sense my movements? I got a strange feeling. Uncomfortably weird. Something I once felt when I was a kid and thought a ghost lived in my closet. It took me months to get over that feeling, and suddenly, here it was again. Ill be honest with you, I dont want anything more to do with this case. I spent the day checking things out and, no matter what you and your patron say, Stuart killed himself. Tonight, at 9, she replied, ignoring what I said. I will travel outside my body. You will see. You will see. Just answer one question. Yes? Why do you really want me there? Youve got to know by now what I think of your spirit crap? Nine oclock. Try not to be late. I almost wanted to tell her to forget all the bull and have dinner with me and then come back to my two bit apartment where the clothes are on the floor and theres dust on everything, including the lamps, and just go to bed with me and the next morning we could wake up and Id move to a place with her where we both could be lovers forever. But I was only having one of my instant daydreams because if I stay with a woman over a week I start getting sick of her. Marriage did that! And besides, she quickly hung up on me.

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I decided to make one last try at finding out some information on Stuart, so I called Bill Weiner, a local reporter who was also a novelist who wrote some of the worst mystery novels I had ever read. Weiner was a friend from my first year at college. I dropped out and took up carpentry, but he went on and landed a job with the Herald. Long time no see, he said in his gruff, news reporter voice. What have you been up to? You dont want to know. Look Bill, I need some info on Jay Stuart. Why do you want that? The guy killed himself. What else is there to know? I want to know how well he knew Alex Padilla? Padilla? Whats going on, Pavese? You looking into a corner you shouldnt be looking into? I dont know. Stuarts mother paid me to find out some info, and, as far as Im concerned shes a true loon, but I need the money. Thats all. Stuarts mother? I didnt know he had a mother. Neither did I. Guys like that arent suppose to have mothers. I know what you mean. Well, look, all I know is that Padilla was Stuarts business partner. They were partners in a couple of land deals out in Kendall. One of them was a shopping mall that went bust, and Stuart got stuck with the loss. So they werent just acquaintances? They kept it off the record they were partners. You know, no written papers or incorporations. But as far as Im concerned they were joined at the hip. Do you think Padilla could have murdered Stuart?

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What? Are you crazy? It was a suicide. Nothing more. Nothing less. Thats not what your tone of voice is saying, Bill. I dont give a shit. As far as Im concerned, anyone would have wanted to kill Stuart. He had so many enemies that if you banged on a wall theyd run out their nests like cockroaches. Meaning? Meaning that if you keep nosing about in this case, you may end up like Stuart. There are a lot of people who wanted that man dead, and theyre probably happy hes gone and dont want anyone to dig up shit just to prove the bastard was murdered. He has a mother, you know. So do we all. Pavese, do me a favor and just drop it. Tell the old gal what I said and feed her some other info thatll make her feel good, then take the money and run. I all ready did that. Did what? Took the money.

I didnt take Bills advice because I went back to Old Lady Stuarts house. It was about 9:00 oclock. I could smell the salty air from the ocean when I got out of my car. For a moment, I thought of pulling out of her driveway, heading to Collins Ave and strolling the boardwalk like a normal person and not some two-cent private investigator who had no business investigating anything. I love being near the ocean although I hate boats. I hate the rocking back and forth. I hate the smell of the ropes and fishing tackle. I hate the idea that once you get away from land, theres no way to walk home.

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Old Lady Stuart greeted me with a sneer and her usual rum and coke. I knew youd come back, she said, her speech slightly slurred from drinking, but I dont know if shes ready to let you watch what is about to happen. She told me to come. Oh, I didnt know. She did know. She was just searching for a reaction. I stood in the hallway like I a small boy who had been scolded for being bad. Old Lady Stuart rolled the ice inside her glass and told me I probably wouldnt understand anything that was about to happen, but I had better not foul things up by opening my mouth and asking a lot of questions. I tried to apologize. Condescendingly. I couldnt tell if she cared or not because she led me directly to the dining room without looking back. I know I can act like an ass. My ex-wife use to call me a stubborn asshole. Ive tried to loosen up, think more openly, but I still have problems. I cant watch television news without breaking into a rage about some stupid politician or personality. And I hate watching movies! Theyre made by a small clique of no-talents and young people without any faces of experience like Bogart or Cagney. They drive me bananas! But, like I said, I can be an asshole about almost everything, so I had no reason to believe Old Lady Stuart was going to accept my apology. I walked behind her and said nothing. Before we entered the dining room, Old Lady Stuart turned to be with her finger on her lips. She repeated that I had better not say anything. You dont want to interrupt her trance. She has been in one since four oclock this afternoon. Something is going to happen, soon. In the dining room, Julio, still in white but with a red sash around his waist, was standing over Uta who was sitting in a large chair, eyes closed, her head tilted sideways.

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Utas face was extremely white. She looked like she was dead or almost dead. She wore a black hat that reminded me of a small turban, and a white shirt with puffy sleeves. Her dress was a petticoat that had alternating colors of gold and black, and she could have been one of those carnival fortune-tellers, had she not been so young, She hasnt moved from that chair, Old Lady Stuart whispered. I cant believe anyone could stay in that position for such a long time. What is she waiting for? Waiting. She is not waiting for anything. Julio placed his hands on Utas shoulders and moaned something I couldnt understand. Old Lady Stuart nodded in his direction. He is waiting. For 9:39. The numbers are a divine combination. I didnt know anything about divine numbers or marathon trances, but watching Uta in her stillness made me uncomfortable and self-conscious. I tried to distract myself. I looked at the porcelain flowers in the center of the dining table. The chandelier with dimmed lights. The dark window and the branches of a bush pressed against the pane. And I couldnt help but notice Old Lady Stuarts left hand trembling. She tried to hold it still with her other hand, but the trembling was too intense. She saw me looking at her and said, Ever since my sons death, Ive been waiting for this night. Yes, waiting! By now Julio held Utas left hand, opened it, then closed it. His face looked as if a fine steam was rising out of his skin. He took out a small vial that contained some kind of liquid and carefully placed a drop on Utas lower lip. The droplet glistened and I wondered if would slide down her chin. But soon, Uta, slowly, sensuously, licked the droplet with the tip of her tongue. There was another moment of stillness and she suddenly became awkwardly alive. I wanted to say something. Like This is a crock of

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shit! But I kept my mouth shut. Old Lady Stuart could tell by the look on my face what I thought about all this. It was then that Julio looked at me as if he noticed me for the first time. He stared at me, no, glared at me, and then he spoke in a low tone like Boris Karloff with a Spanish accent. You must stand against the wall, he ordered, your thoughts have disturbed the wandering spirits. You must not let the wandering spirits get in the way of what is about to happen. Stand over there! Now! The Old Lady nudged me out to the corner of the dining room, next to a triangular table with a cluster of unlit candles. I wasnt thinking anything, I said, not wanting Old Lady Stuart to throw me out before seeing the end of this act. What wandering spirits did I disturb? Spirits who dont approve of living spirits walking out of the body and through the world of the dead. If they find her spirit, theyll stop her right away. Stop her? How? Smothering her physical body. Closing the door for her spirit to re-enter. Uta started to breathe heavily and deeply. The liquid Julio had placed on her lips was luminous and shiny. She sweated profusely. Her forehead was swathed in wetness. Julio wiped her brow with a small handkerchief and whispered something in her ear. Uta shifted in her chair. Fidgeted and tapped her fingers on the table in front of her. Her eyes jolted opened, and she looked in front of her as if she were staring at some specific figure. She chanted something I didnt understand. It sounded like Raja raga raja raga but Im not sure. She squirmed as if something was pressing on her chest and she had to

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get out from under it. She broke free from the chair and stood straight up. She stood motionless for a minute. The room was so quiet I could hear cars passing down the street and voices of a couple walking their dog outside. Uta broke the silence and seemed to almost howl. Wait for me! Wait for me. Then, and this is the truth, although I still dont want to believe it, a white vapor surrounded her body and swirled in such a way it became its own shape. It swelled, stretched and separated from Utas body. It hovered against the window, then dissolved. Uta sat back in her chair, closed her eyes and returned into her trance. Julio placed a long knife on the table in front of her. She gripped it, raised it above her head and began to furiously stab at what seemed to be a figure in front of her. All the while she yelled I found you, I found you. The more she stabbed, the more incoherent she became, and soon she dropped the knife on the table and slumped back into a deep sleep. Her face was covered in sweat, and Julio carefully wiped the sweat away from her eyes with his red sash. Its over, he said to Old Lady Stuart She will sleep for a short while, and when she awakes shell act as if nothing happened. Shell tell you she had a dream, but she wont tell you what the dream was about. She will know what she is doing. Ask her nothing. Just know, its over and you can go on with your life now. He turned to me and shook his head as if to say that I was disgusting and stupid. And what is your name again? he asked. PaPa? Pavese. Caesar Pavese. Oh.

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When I got home that night I wasnt sure what I had seen but I was sure that I had seen it. After Julio left, Old Lady Stuart and I sat for a short while. She drank another rum and coke and I drank some tepid tea. We didnt talk about what happened. We just looked at Uta who remained very still and sleeping. I wanted to believe that this was all still some kind of hoax, but I couldnt shake the image of the vapor rising out Utas body. Later, when I finally fell asleep, I had a series of strange dreams, all of them dealing with Uta and her vapor. In one of the dreams the vapor surrounded me and almost suffocated me.

I slept late the next morning and went into the office late. I had no clients but I still had about 700 left from what Old Lady Stuart had given me. I thought about going back to her house to see Uta, but I decided to stay in bed and watch CNN and a silly talk show. At around 11 I got a call from Lt. Rodriguez. His voice was sharp and sarcastic, but underneath he was curious or puzzled. Dont you ever go to work? he asked, trying to pretend to be friendly. Its none of your business. Really. Well then, maybe I should get straight to the point. Good. Where were you last night between 9 and 10. None of your business. Im not asking you just for the hell of it, I need to know. His voice turned serious. I was at Old Ladys Stuarts house. Can you prove it?

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Of course, I can. Whats this all about anyway? ` You dont know? If I knew I wouldnt ask you. It should be on the twelve oclock news. Our good friend Padilla was stabbed to death last night. Right in the throat, at least 10 or 12 times. Someone really hated him. You know who that may be? Not an idea. Really. How about Old Lady Stuart? I dont think so. The two of us were having tea around that time. So you get paid for keeping company with old ladies these days. Pretty hard up, arent you. Shes a client. For what its worth. And what would that be? Murder? I never thought of you as an asshole, Rodriguez, but youre barking up the wrong tree. Whoever killed Padilla, well, like you said, he was hated by a lot of people. I said that? I was silent and he was silent. I could hear him shuffling some papers and thumping his fingers on his desk. Juts know this, Pavese, he said, Youre not out of the woods, yet. I hung up the phone, got dressed and drove directly to Old Lady Stuarts house. She was having coffee with Uta on the patio. Uta was lounging in a reclining chair and smoking a cigarette. She was in a bikini and her body was smooth and angular in the right places. I wanted to touch her but she just ignored me. She didnt even look my way.

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Padilla is dead, I said to Old Lady Stuart. I know. Thank God for little things. You know what happened dont you. You wish for some things in this world and you get them. You wish for other things and you dont get them. Thats all there is to say. Besides, you got your money for very little time, wouldnt you say? I looked at her and realized that I was needed any longer and that she was essentially dismissing me. She was cold as hell now, or as cold as Uta who got up from her chair and slid into the blue pool water. She slid under the water and seemed to disappear until she came up at the far end of the pool. She kept her back to me all the time. Good day Mr. Pavese, Old Lady Stuart said. I hope the next time someone comes to you with a strange case youre more understanding. Yeah, sure. I turned away but I decided to walk to the other end of the pool and force Uta to talk to me. She was half out of the water, resting her head on the poolside Mexican tile. I knelt next to her. Thanks, I said. For what? I didnt know what to say so I said, I needed the money. She squinted in the sun and smirked. I know you did. Can I ever see you again? Im leaving Miami tonight.

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Leaving. Yes, for Boston. There is a man with a son who disappeared. He needs to find out what happened to him. I stood up and looked at her one more time. She buried her face in the crook of her arms and detached from our conversation. I took in her broad shoulders and the ripple of her back muscles. I stood there for quite awhile, but she never looked up at me. In fact, she acted as if I was completely invisible.

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