Chapter 18
“What do you mean, no? Why not?” Miles realized that he was yelling into the phone. He shoved against the stained basement wall with his feet, sending the wheels of his desk chair bumping and rattling angrily across the concrete floor.
“No means no.” Con’s voice was steely. “Sean doesn’t want—”
“Sean thinks I’m a snot-nosed idiot. We’re not talking about rescuing hostages, or rappeling out of a helicopter! We’re talking about asking fat-ass Professor Beck what Kev was doing at the Colfax! I aced the guy’s classes. I know how he likes his ass kissed. What’s the worst that could happen, if I mentioned this Midnight Project to him?”
Con snorted. “And how do you propose to justify your curiosity?”
“I could say I found Kev’s research notes,” Miles improvised. “I could say I’m reconstructing some work he was doing for his thesis.”
“A two-hundred-and-fifty pound gorilla stuck a sharp knife under Sean’s girlfriend’s ear yesterday and asked her questions very closely related to the ones that you propose to ask Beck,” Con said. “Look into who sold the building. That’s all. Take this dead serious, hear me?”
Miles blew out an explosive breath. “Sure, I hear you,” he said. “I hear that you all think I’m a fucking infant. And I’m fed up with it.”
“No, we don’t, and I’m sorry you feel that way.” Con’s voice was calm and even. “How’s the other project coming along?”
“OK,” Miles said sullenly. “Jared’s hot to meet Mina, but she wants to get to know him better before she risks a face-to-face. She’s wary, been burned before. Shy fawn, and all that. I emailed you a transcript of last night’s chat. Seen it yet?”
“No. I was at Davy’s all night, working on this other thing.”
Miles practically snorted. Typical McCloud, to refer to an investigation into his brother’s murder as “this other thing.”
“Gotta go, Miles,” Connor said. “Watch yourself, OK?”
“Why should I bother?” Miles said bitterly. “No one ever lets me participate.” He slammed the phone down.
“Wow, aren’t you sweet tempered today.”
He spun around with a yelp. Cindy leaned in the door. A bomb-shell, in cutoffs that showed off an endless expanse of tanned thigh. A pink halter top that showcased her pointy little tits. Her hair hung loose and glossy down her back.
His mouth went dry. “Could you knock, for once in your life?”
“I would have, but the door was open,” she said. “Your mom told us to come on down. You should clue her in as to my status in the doghouse. She still seems to think that I’m your good buddy.”
A gangling kid with curly black hair and huge black eyes peeked in after her. “This is Javier,” Cindy announced, dragging him inside.
“Oh. Yeah.” Shit. He’d been so wound up arguing with Connor, he’d forgotten all about giving in to Cindy’s bullying yesterday. He waved them in. “Go sit down,” he said sourly. “I’ll get stuff set up.”
“Were you, uh, in a fight, or what?” Javier asked.
Miles touched his sore, swollen nose. He looked pretty scary, with his nose all puffed up. He rummaged through his equipment, gathering cables, mikes, jacks, DAT. “I guess you could say that,” he mumbled.
“I assume, from the incredibly frustrated tone of that conversation, that you were talking to a McCloud?” Cindy inquired.
Miles stiffened. “How much did you overhear?”
“Enough to wonder why the McClouds would ever be interested in anything old Professor Porky Pig Beck might have to say,” she said.
Miles groaned inwardly. “Could we not talk about it now?”
“Sure, whatever,” she murmured. “Let’s get going, then. Get out your sax, Javier, and warm up your reed while Miles sets up.”
The recording went smoothly. The kid was good, Miles had to concede. Cindy put him through some major and minor scales, and then he played through the tunes all the applicants were supposed to learn. On the final rep, he inserted a thirty-two-bar blues improvisation. In less than an hour, he was writing Javier’s name and number on a good demo CD. He handed it to Javier. “Good luck. I hope you get it.”
Javier slipped it into his sax case, and flashed a grin with his big, white, overlapping front teeth. “Thanks!” He grabbed Cindy and gave her a hug. “I’ll go get this to the post office right now.”
“You’ve got money for postage?” she called after him.
Javier rolled his eyes. “Duh. See you back at band camp!”
They listened to the kid’s sneakers thud up the stairs. He peeked at her, and his gaze slid away. He couldn’t bear to look at that smile.
“Thanks for doing that,” she said. “He really deserves that scholarship. It was sweet of you to help.”
He shrugged. “No big deal. Um, Cin? I’ve got a whole lot of work to get done today before I go up to the dojo, so—”
“So take my bunny tail and go twitch it in somebody else’s face?”
Miles winced. Cindy made no move to leave. “I looked around, but I don’t see your mom’s Ford,” she said. “I thought she gave it to you.”
“I, uh, lent it to Keira for a few days. You know, one of the backup singers for the Furballs? The one with all the piercings?”
Cindy looked blank, and her eyes narrowed. “That is a big, fat lie. Keira flew to Reno yesterday to visit her sister. She doesn’t have your car.” She paused, sucking her lip between her teeth. “So who does?”
“It’s none of your goddamn—”
“Business, yes, I know. You gave it to Sean, didn’t you? Erin said that Con was in an unholy snit yesterday. It was because Sean took your car and gave everybody else the slip, right?”
“No,” he lied, through gritted teeth. “You’re way off. Light years.”
“That would explain why your face is so red and you can’t look me in the eye.” Cindy stretched so that her little tits strained against her halter top and the ends of her hair tickled the tattoo at the small of her back. “So what’s up with Kev and the Colfax Building and old Porky Pig?”
“You shouldn’t eavedrop on other people’s conversations.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose, and in any case, I’ve already talked to Erin. So I know that Sean McCloud’s paranoia is flaring up big-time. I heard he’s freaking out, saying his twin was murdered after all.”
“You wouldn’t call it paranoia if you’d seen him yesterday,” Miles snarled. “They ripped the shit out of him! They practically killed his girlfriend—” His voice trailed off. His stomach sank at the triumph in Cindy’s eyes. Snookered into babbling his private business.
Pussywhipped asshole.
He sighed. “Forget it,” he said wearily. “Just leave, OK?”
“OK. So don’t tell me how those McCloud dudes don’t think you’re grown up enough to ask Porky what Kev McCloud was up to at Colfax. So don’t tell me how they’re blowing you off, like an idiot child.”
He conceded that much. “Drives me freaking nuts,” he growled.
Cindy’s eyes were soft with understanding. “I know exactly how that is,” she said. “I feel that way with those guys all the time.”
Part of him shrank from the chummy, bonding moment that Cin clearly wanted to have. Another part was desperately eager for any crumb she might drop. No. He was done with this soul-killing bullshit.
“I think the situations are pretty different,” he said coldly.
The smile faded from Cindy’s face. “And that difference is what? That I actually am just an idiot child, whereas you are not?”
He spun the chair around. “I did your favor. Don’t make me regret it by making me listen to your poor-me routine. It’s a big bore.”
The silence behind him stretched so long, his neck started to itch.
“Weird, that old Porky could ever have anything to do with the McClouds,” Cindy said softly. “Slobbering old lech. Did Kev know him?”
“Kev was student teaching Beck’s summer school courses,” Miles said stiffly. “Con said Kev taught the whole course, lectures and all. Beck just kicked back and got a paid vacation out of it.”
“Sounds like Porky. Did I tell you about the time I went to his office? I wanted to do the midterm as a take-home exam—”
“So I could help you with it?”
She ignored his interruption. “You know what he did?”
“Cindy, I’m serious. I have to get back to work.”
“He said he could tell from my face that I was carrying lots of tension in my shoulders. So he started massaging me. Like this.”
She stepped right up behind him, and started petting his shoulders. Every nerve was desperately aware of her caressing touch. Pleasure shuddered through him, even while the thought of Porky’s damp, puffy pink hands touching Cindy’s skin nauseated him.
Her hands slid down in front of his chest. “Then he started creeping his slimy way slowly but surely towards my tits. That was when I realized what the deal was. If I just pulled my pants down and bent over his desk, I could get an A on that midterm exam.”
The question burst out of his closed throat anyway. “So did you?”
Her hands tightened, her nails digging through his T-shirt. “No, Miles. I flunked that midterm,” she said. “Egregiously, I’m proud to say. I may be a dog when it comes to chemistry, but I’m not a whore.”
She spun his chair around, and before he could stop her, she’d swung that perfect thigh over his lap and sat down, straddling him.
He froze. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He was scared to death. And so aroused he was in danger of passing out.
Cindy wiggled her tight, perfect ass right against his hard-on. He shrank away from her, but she leaned closer. No escaping her seductive honey-and-vanilla scent. “Don’t be scared,” she said. “I won’t bite.”
Yeah, like hell. “Jesus, Cin. Are you on drugs?” he demanded.
She laughed. “I drank a bunch of killer java this morning down at the Coffee Shack. I’m feeling really strange, actually. Wired. Like, I don’t give a shit. I’ll say what I think. I’ll do what I feel. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Oh, God.” His terror was heartfelt. Cindy in a manic mood was dangerous. He grabbed her waist, and his hands skittered off her like he’d grabbed a red-hot coal when they encountered hot, velvety bare skin. “Cin—”
“Shhh.” She put her finger over his mouth, then grabbed one of his flapping, useless hands and pulled it up to her neck. She wrapped his fingers around one of the ties of her halter top, smiling that secret, dangerous, sexy-wild smile that he saw in his hottest fever dreams.
Then she tightened her own fingers around his, and pulled, until the knot slipped and gave. The halter fell down, the material snagging on her nipples. She shrugged, a graceful ripple of her slender body, and the top flopped all the way down over her belly, baring her breasts.
They were just like he’d imagined. No, better. Creamy triangles of soft, untanned skin against the darker freckles of her throat, her shoulders. He was transfixed. Gaping. She was so fucking beautiful.
“Touch them,” she invited him.
He shook his head, every system on red alert, throat shaking, eyes stinging. On the verge of shooting his wad in his pants, right underneath the weight of her squirming ass. But Cindy was not to be denied. She grabbed his hand, and pressed his palm against her breast.
He gasped. So soft. Dewy skinned. So pale. The tight bud of her nipple tickled his palm. Her scent was making him dizzy.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, tugged his head towards hers. He yanked her close, and buried his face in her tits, rubbing his cheek against her. Kissing, licking. He’d wanted this for so long, even though his chest felt like a hot blade was turning inside him.
This would blow up in his face sooner or later. Probably sooner. More like, instantly. He had zero experience, zero technique, but Cindy seemed to like it anyhow. Her face was pink, and she was pressing her crotch against his erection with an insistent, grinding rhythm. She went motionless, and made a sobbing sound as a ripple shuddered through her body. Then she sagged over his shoulder. He nuzzled, memorizing the taste of her sweat, for later. When she’d blow him off again.
The question rose out of the depths of his anger and sadness. “Why are you doing this?” He couldn’t stop his voice from shaking.
She lifted her head. Her eyes were glowing with arousal. “Why not? I’ve got nothing to lose. It’s not like I have to worry about ruining our friendship, right? It’s already ruined. So why not cop a feel?”
He pushed her off his lap. She stood there, flaunting her body. “So, Miles?” she taunted. “Are you going to do the nasty with me? You got me all hot. It would be mean to send me off without nailing me.”
“Get out, Cin.” The wobble in his voice was getting bad.
“I could sit right here.” She perched on the table, parting her thighs so he could see a flash of lace. “The table’s the right height. Or we could do it on the chair. I love playing horsie. Or I could lean against the wall, and stick my ass out, like this.” She turned, demonstrated.
He shook his head. She laughed at him. “Liar. Don’t you want to see my Brazilian wax job? I had the girl trim my pussy hair into a heart shape. Want to see?” She put her hands on her waistband.
“Out!” he bellowed, surging to his feet.
“Not without checking you out.” She grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants, yanked. His dick sprang up, bobbing and waving.
Cindy pursed her lips in a silent whistle. “Whoa. You’ve been keeping this big, bad thing hidden in your jeans for all these years?”
She gripped his cock, stroked him. He tried to suck air into his shuddering lungs. “I told you not to joke with me about this—”
“Who’s joking?” She sank to her knees and took him in her mouth. He sucked in a shallow gasp, and stopped breathing altogether.
He didn’t last long. A few excruciating strokes, a few teasing swirls, and it was a landslide, an earthquake, a catastrophic explosion, molten lava spurting. He was startled to find himself still on his feet.
Cindy was wiping her mouth, gazing up. She looked startled.
“Uh, wow,” she whispered. “That was explosive.”
He yanked his pants up. Turned his gaze away.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” she asked. “I always wondered.”
Right. Like he could admit that to her. He knew how that would play. She’d have been all worried for poor sex-starved Miles. She would have tried, out of sisterly compassion, to get him laid with one of her sluttier girlfriends. Whichever of them was game for a mercy fuck.
His eyes stung. “I don’t need your pity. Just leave me alone, OK?”
Cindy rose to her feet. “I don’t pity you. You don’t deserve pity. Don’t think I did this for you. You don’t deserve it, you nasty prick.”
“Then why’d you do it?” he asked, though he knew he would hate the answer. Her nonchalant shrug made her tits bounce tenderly.
“Because I felt like it. You know what a selfish bitch I am. Have a nice life, Miles.” She turned. The door to the stairs slammed shut.
He sank into his chair, and burst into tears.
Cindy sprinted through the kitchen, pretending not to hear whatever Miles’s mom called after her. She couldn’t make out the words. She was blubbering too hard. Bone deep, shivery shaking.
That had been so weird, so kinky. Out of nowhere. The impulse to come on to him had been so strong. So wrong.
She grabbed her bike and swung her leg onto it. She wobbled and swerved, dashing hot tears from her eyes. The taste of him was still in her mouth. She needed a drink of water in the worst way, but it wasn’t like she could ask Miles’s mom for a glass. Gee, thanks, Mrs. Davenport. You know how it is when you swallow.
She was so wound up. Her crotch tingled against the bike seat. She’d genuinely wanted him to yank her cutoffs down and go at her like a stallion with that thick, excellent thing. Like, who knew? The best kept secret in Endicott Falls, hidden in Miles Davenport’s baggy pants.
Why did she keep doing this? Throwing herself at him, begging him to be her friend again. Lashing out like a spoiled baby when he shoved her away. She was a glutton for punishment. Well, she’d definitely made an impression with this stunt. Whatever he thought of her, he wasn’t going to forget this in a hurry.
She laughed bitterly to herself, trying to keep her eyes wide open so the wind in her face could dry the tears leaking out.
She was so sick of being treated like a bimbo. Granted, she wasn’t the superbrain that her big sister Erin was, but her scores on all those tests back in school had always put her up in the top tenth percentile.
Not in the same egghead club as Erin or Miles, maybe, but not a drooling vegetable, either.
She’d just gotten too comfortable playing the cute ’n sexy card. But what did she have to show for it? A string of badass ex-boyfriends, one of whom she’d barely escaped from with her life. An ex-best friend who hated her guts…even when he was coming in her mouth.
Yeah, being cute had enhanced the quality of her life, big-time.
She should tone her looks way down, maybe. Wear horn-rimmed cat-eye glasses, big baggy sweaters, combat boots. Ditch the makeup. Might as well go all out, and just shave her head while she was at it.
But the idea made her so anxious. If she wasn’t getting attention from the guys, what did she have going for her? What was she, anyhow?
Not much. Just a random girl. Not real special. Not real bright.
Miles would tell her she was doing her poor-me routine again. She snuffled with soggy, ironic laughter. Thank God for her sax. At least she could do one thing that was cool, and real, and all hers.
She started down the long descent into Edgewood Circle, a super wealthy enclave of Endicott Falls, and coasted past the manicured Victorian home of the college president. She’d played receptions with the Vicious Rumors there, back in the good old days when Miles was doing sound for them. Back when he still liked her.
She was so curious about these mysterious projects Miles was working on. He got off on the dark, creepy vibe, Goth freak that he was, and there were always plenty of creepy vibes to go around when those McCloud guys embarked on one of their bizarre adventures.
Weird, that they’d forbidden Miles to ask Porky questions. Too bad he couldn’t take her along. She’d be his secret weapon. If she wore her stick-on silicon boob pusher-uppers and a micro-mini, she could pry anything out of old Porky. That type went nuts for bubbleheads. Bubbleheads made them feel so godlike and smart by contrast.
The impulse came to her out of nowhere, just like the impulse to jump Miles’s hot bod had done. Almost as stupid, no doubt, but still.
The McClouds had forbidden Miles to ask Porky questions, but nobody had forbidden silly Cindy to do anything. And they might be surprised at what a simpering sex object might pry out of a man like Porky. For all their charisma and experience, she had something they didn’t have. Two somethings, bouncing on her chest, and all the bells and whistles that went with them. She knew how to use them, too. It was her most highly developed skill. Other than playing sax, of course.
She swerved at the next corner, onto Linden Street. Porky’s house was famous for how garish it was in a town full of fussy Victorians. She peeked at her watch, buzzing with excitement. She could do this and still have time to spiff up for her gig with the Rumors tonight. They were opening for Bonnie Blair, at the Paramount. A super important gig. She had to look stunning, and that took some time.
Speaking of which. She glanced down at her skimpy attire, and concluded that she was perfectly dressed for this little adventure.
She leaned her bike on the stone wall that bordered the lawn, and walked down the drive towards the house, trying to ignore fluttering in her belly. An attractive Hispanic lady in her fifties dressed in the uniform of domestic staff answered the doorbell. She looked Cindy up and down, and gave her the Death Star look. “Yes?”
“Is Professor Beck at home?” Cindy attempted a friendly smile.
The lady’s mouth tightened to a grim line. “What’s it about?”
“I’m a former student,” she explained. “I wanted to ask some questions about a project of mine.”
“Wait here.” The door closed smartly in her face.
Cindy shrugged inwardly. No point in getting uptight about it. Dress like a devil slut, get treated like a devil slut. Simple.
Her musings were cut short when the door was yanked open again. This time, Porky was behind it. His initial puzzlement quickly warmed into an appreciative leer, but there was no recognition in it.
Just as well. She didn’t really want him to remember her D+.
She zapped him with her incandescent bubblehead smile, and he waved her right on in. He flung a fleshy arm around her shoulders, fingers in position to start their sneaky downward creep, and led her through a series of luxurious rooms. She wondered how a place could stink of money and still be so butt-ugly. The place had a cold, professional vibe that suggested a decorator’s high concept design, not a home. Like the lobby of a wealthy lawyer’s office.
He led her down broad marble steps into a sunken living room, and plunked her down on one of several plushy, cream-colored leather couches, grouped around a low, gleaming ebony table which was longer and wider than a queen-sized bed. A stark, spiky red flower arrangement was perched in the exact middle of it.
“So, my dear, what can I help you with? And would you refresh my memory again? I have so many students, you see. I remember your lovely face, of course, that’s unforgettable.”
“I’m Cynthia Riggs.” The eyelash treatment, a tit-enhancing tilt to the rib cage, and a slow, deliberate recrossing of the legs, a la Sharon Stone. “I just graduated this June. I took your course two years ago. It was totally great,” she gushed. “I’m not a science type, but you made it so interesting somehow. Even kind of beautiful. That may sound dumb to you, but I just don’t know how else to describe it.”
“Thank you.” He sat down close to her so their legs almost touched. “But you didn’t come here just to give me compliments.”
She giggled. “Um, no. It’s about a personal project of mine.”
His knee made contact. “I love personal projects.” His eyes glowed with fascinated curiosity, lit up from behind by plain old lust.
“I could probably have asked other people these questions, but I decided to come to you, first.” She gave him a fluttery sidelong glance. “You’re so, like, approachable, you know?”
His arm shifted so that it touched her bare shoulders. “You can’t imagine how much pleasure it gives me to hear that, Cynthia.”
She let her lashes sweep down. “I’ve been doing some writing lately, and I’m getting really into, like, biographical projects? And I got to thinking I could, um, write a biography of a local person?”
He frowned. “A historical personage, you mean?”
She shook her head. “Oh, no. Modern day.”
“That’s fascinating, but it’s not my field,” he said regretfully. “If you like, the director of the Young Writers’ Workshop at the Arts Center is a personal friend of mine. I would be delighted to introduce him to such an attractive, well-spoken young woman.”
“Oh, thanks!” she burbled. “That would be fabulous! But actually, I didn’t want to ask about writing. I wanted to ask about the person I mean to write about, because you actually, like, knew him.”
Porky’s eyes widened. “You tease me. Who is this mystery man?”
Here it was. The deep end of the pool. She took a deep breath, and dove. “Kevin McCloud.”
Everything changed. The temperature of the room plummeted. The smile on Porky’s face flash-froze in the meat locker chill.
Suddenly, his fingers weren’t inching down below her collarbone anymore. His arm was up on the back of the couch. His knee was a full two inches from hers. His mask of fascinated curiosity was gone, along with the lust that had animated it. His eyes had gone totally blank.
She was spooked. She felt very young, and very alone, and very stupid to mess with stuff that wasn’t her goddamn business.
He cleared his throat. “You might be mistaken about my knowing this person, Cynthia. That name doesn’t ring any bells in my mind.”
Yeah, right. Liar, liar, pants on fire. It rang car alarms in his mind. She widened her eyes. “I heard you guys knew each other,” she said earnestly. “Back when you were doing research at University of Washington? And he was student teaching for you for a while, right?”
His eyes flicked away. “Ah. So we’re talking a good long while back? It is a somewhat common name, after all…oh, wait. Are you by any chance referring to that poor young man with the mental problems? The one who took his own life some years ago?”
“Yeah, that’s him!” Innocent, blinky-blinky puppy dog eyes. “God, it was, like, so incredibly sad, huh? So you did know him, then?”
“In a way.” He frowned. “But that’s a terrible story. The waste of a promising young man’s life…it’s better off left in the past. Don’t dwell on it, for God’s sake. What got you interested in that person?”
She grinned, teeth clenched. Damn. She’d been afraid he was going to ask her this, and she had no good answer ready, so she just used the one she’d overheard Miles suggest to Connor on the phone.
“Actually, I found one of his personal notebooks,” she explained. “I’ve been studying it. It’s incredible. He was such a genius, you know?”
“That he was,” Porky muttered.
“Anyhow, I thought there might be a book in it,” she went on. “I thought I might investigate into why he might have offed himself.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the truth is sad and obvious. I suspect he might have been afflicted by his own extreme intelligence. Many geniuses are, sadly. History abounds with them.”
Porky was relaxing, warming up again. Back in the saddle.
“Oh, so, you remember a lot about him, then?” She beamed.
Porky blinked rapidly. “It’s, ah, coming back to me. You know how it is. Pull a memory in the database, and you find the connected ones.”
Dewy, hopeful eyes. “So could you answer some questions, then?”
His smile faltered. “I hate to disappoint such a lovely creature, but I don’t know what else I could tell you. He’s been gone for a long time.”
“Well, a couple things in the notebook puzzled me,” Cindy said. She steepled her hands and put on the cute-little-girl-recites-her-lesson look. “It referred to work he was doing at the Colfax Building.”
Porky’s brow looked shiny. “Ah. Well. I…I don’t really know what he did with his time when he wasn’t teaching.”
“Have you ever heard of anything called the Midnight Project?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “It, ah, might have had to do with neurological research. I believe the project folded long ago. Dried up due to lack of funding. The Colfax belongs to the college now.”
“Oh, I know that. I’m working up there this summer,” she confided. “Band camp. I teach saxophone to the kids.”
“Really?” He rallied, grinning weakly. “So you’re a musician, as well as a writer. A young woman of many talents. I’m dazzled.”
Cindy glowed and fluttered for as long as she could string it, and gave it one last college try. “Do you know who funded the research?”
“I’m so sorry, Cynthia. I’m afraid I don’t.” Porky grabbed a device that was clipped to his belt, and pushed a button. “Emiliana? Would you bring us some iced tea and a plate of your pecan puffs?”
He replaced the thing on his belt, and cleared his throat nervously. Cindy cast around for some bubbly noise she could pump into the silence before the guy freaked out on her. “Love your house,” she offered lamely. “Gorgeous place. It’s so big.”
He looked around, like he’d never seen the house. “Ah. Yes.”
The Hispanic lady appeared, tightlipped as ever, bearing a tray with a frosty glass pitcher, two glasses and a plate of cookies. Porky was grateful for the interruption. “Ah, thank you.” He held out the plate. “Emiliana is new to me. Her predecessor just retired, but not before finding someone excellent to replace herself. There’s a network of people out there that you would never find at an employment agency. Try the pecan puffs. It’s clear you don’t have any problems with your figure.”
The cookies were fab, the tea was cold and sweet and good, and Porky kept gamely on with the sticky stream of compliments, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He almost leaped for joy when she said she had to scoot. He saw her promptly out, not touching her at all.
She hopped on her bike and took off for the campus. She wasn’t sure what, if anything, that she’d gleaned from that, other than that the mention of Kev McCloud made old Porky so tense, he actually stopped hitting on her. Which was to say, severely tense. Hmm.
She stopped at the Colfax to get her sax from the practice room, and turned when she heard somebody calling her name. It was Bolivar, Javier’s uncle, the janitor at the Colfax. He had a huge grin on his face.
“Javier came by here a little while ago. Told me you got him a good demo recorded,” he said. “He just sent off his application.”
“That’s great,” she said. “Keep your fingers crossed. He’s got a good chance at the scholarship. It would be great experience for him.”
Bolivar beamed. “The music, it’s good for him. Keeps him steady. He’s a good boy, Javier.” He paused. “Thank you for helping him.”
She was embarrassed. “Nah. It’s no big deal, really—”
“You helped him get the sax. You give him extra lessons free. His lessons go two hours sometime, he tells me. He’s a lucky boy, and you are a nice lady,” Bolivar announced, as if daring her to contradict him.
Lots of people might take issue with that statement, but still, it was awfully nice to hear someone say it. He was turning to continue on down the hall when a thought came to her, of what Porky said about Emiliana, and the unofficial network of workers. “Ah, Bolivar?”
He turned, still smiling. “Hmm?”
“This may sound weird, but would you know anybody who was on the janitorial staff of this building fifteen years ago? Around August.”
Bolivar’s smile faded. “Depends on why you want to know.”
“Oh, I just want to talk to the person,” she assured him.
Bolivar’s eyes went very cautious. “Is this about the curse?”
Cindy’s stomach fluttered. “Curse?”
“When I took this job, people said the place is cursed. But Javier needed a dentist, his mama was having another baby. I didn’t have time to worry about no curse. Didn’t want to know. Still don’t.”
Cold fingers were doing the creepy, tickly dance up and down her spine. “Never mind,” she said. “I don’t want to cause you any—”
“I’ll ask around,” Bolivar said. “It was a long time ago.”
Cindy felt guilty that Bolivar felt obligated to do something that made him nervous, but gee, a curse? She dug in her pocket, found a dog-eared business card. It was simple, just her name, a sexy picture of her playing the sax, and her cell number. Miles had taken the picture.
Miles had typeset and printed up the cards for her, too.
“Call me if you find anything out, OK?” she said.
Bolivar nodded, tucked it into his pocket. Cindy loped towards her room, wishing she had something to show for this stunt. All she had were feelings, vibes, rumors. Tickles on the back of her neck.
It was frustrating. Maybe that was what real detective work was like. It would drive her nuts. Thank God she was a musician.
Man, she hoped the band would be blazing tonight. It was going to take a serious, exalted groove to play all of today’s worries away.