Dave Zeltserman - Bad Karma

“Your wife left only a couple of days ago?” Shannon asked.

Maguire’s lips compressed as he stared at the mess in the kitchen. “Hard to believe, huh?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“What can I tell you? Nancy was never the most conscientious housekeeper. Last couple of months she stopped caring altogether. With the hours I was putting in at work, I didn’t have the energy to pick up the slack. I guess now that I’ve got the time I should clean up this mess.”

“I think I saw a mouse run behind your stove.”

“Nah, I’m sure you imagined it.” Maguire squinted hard as he measured the water for the coffeemaker. Shannon opened a milk container that was on the countertop, sniffed it and poured the contents down the sink.

“I guess you’ll be drinking your coffee black then,” Maguire said.

“I think I’ll skip it.”

“This is good stuff.” He held up a bag of coffee that he had taken from the refrigerator. “Sumatra. And I’ve got a package of cups somewhere so I don’t have to clean anything from the sink if that’s what you’re afraid of. Damn, though, I didn’t think you PIs were so picky.”

Maguire started brewing the coffee. “Let me get Nancy’s number for you.” He started rummaging through a stack of papers. It took him a while before he pulled one out, then after squinting hard at it, he handed the paper to Shannon. “She’s staying with one of her friends back home in Medford,” he said. Shannon programmed the number into his cell phone and handed him back the paper.

The coffee finished brewing. Maguire opened a couple of cabinets before finding a package of cardboard cups, then poured coffee for the two of them. He let out a sigh as he drank his. “Man, I need this badly,” he said, a little color coming back to his face. “So what about it? You’re going to let me do some free PI work for you?”

“I’m not sure that’s such a great idea.”

“I’m sober if that’s what you’re wondering. A couple of cups of this stuff and I’ll be as good as new.”

Shannon thought about it and shook his head.

“Come on,” Maguire pleaded. “I’ll go nuts if I don’t get out of here and do something. Shit, there’s got to be some errand I can help you with. Just give me a chance, okay? If I do a good job, then give me something else. Come on, man, what do you have to lose?”

“I’m not sure I’m taking any cases after this one,” Shannon said.

“Really?” Maguire said. Then smiling broadly, he added, “At least this would be a start. And with you out of the business I’ll have less competition.”

Shannon relented. “Do you have a camera?”

“Sure do, boss. Top of the line digital.”

“Okay. Good. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

Shannon left the condo, went back to his car, found the Vishna Yoga brochure and brought it back to Maguire. “They have a class today from one-thirty to three,” Shannon said, reading the schedule on the back of the brochure. “What I’d like you to do is to get there twenty minutes before, find an inconspicuous spot and take pictures of everyone going into the yoga studio. When the class is over, take pictures of everyone leaving. Give it at least thirty minutes for the class to clear out.”

“Sure, I can do that.” More color had come back to Maguire’s face. “But what’s the point of taking pictures of them coming and going?”

“In case you miss someone the first time around.” Shannon felt a sharp twinge where his missing fingers should’ve been. He reached down towards the pain, stopped himself. His reason for wanting Maguire there was to make sure that if Susan went back to the yoga studio someone would be keeping an eye out. He went on, “It will also let me know whether everyone who goes in there leaves, at least by the front door. This is serious business. If you see anything suspicious call me and the police. If anyone approaches you, go into the nearest store, call the police and wait until they show up.” He described the two Russians to Maguire. “If you see anyone resembling those two call me immediately.”

“Will do. What’s the connection with this yoga studio and my, uh, neighbors?”

“None. This is a different matter.”

Maguire’s round face deflated like a flat tire as he absorbed the news. “Ah, jeeze,” he moaned. “I was kind of hoping to work on the murder case.” He showed a guilty smile. “It would look good on my resume if I do become a PI. Also, they were my neighbors. I feel like I should be doing something for them, you know?”

“Why don’t you do this first, and we’ll talk about more assignments later, okay?”

Maguire nodded, accepting his disappointment in stride. “No problem. And rest assured, I’ll have all the pictures printed out and ready for you later today.” He drained his coffee, then poured himself another cup. He was smiling, but still looked a bit deflated. “How’s the murder case looking?”

“At the moment, bleak.”

“Well, maybe when you get me working on it things will turn around,” he offered cheerfully.

“Maybe.” Shannon poured the rest of his coffee down the sink, and clapped Maguire on the shoulder on his way past him. “I’ll give you a call later this afternoon, but let’s plan on meeting back here at four.”

After making sure Maguire had both his cell phone number and the police’s added to his speed dial, Shannon went back to the adjoining condo, unlocked the padlock and entered the dead students’ bedroom. There he found a baseball cap that he remembered Taylor Carver wearing in one of the newspaper photos. He also pocketed Linda Gibson’s high school ring.

Les Hasherford was a tall, thin man with a sallow complexion and eyes that bugged out slightly. He could’ve been in his early forties, but could also just as easily have been twenty years older than that. It was hard to tell given his ash gray hair that fit his skull like a helmet, and his smooth, hairless face that seemed more wax than flesh. When he offered his hand, it was cold and damp and gave Shannon the impression that he was shaking hands with a corpse. Hasherford turned and moved slowly, leading the way into his cottage-style house. The interior was probably no bigger than Shannon’s apartment, but it was clean and orderly and had a nice feel to it with its antique pine floor boards and wood beam ceiling. The room Hasherford took him to had a fireplace with a hand-cut flagstone mantel and several paintings of lush green English gardens mounted on the walls. Hasherford lowered himself into a red leather recliner. Shannon took a rocking chair beside him.

Hasherford sat for a moment catching his breath. In a soft halting voice he told Shannon that Susan was a wonderful woman. “Three days ago I was having to use an oxygen tank and a walker. Really, quite a miracle what she has done for me.” Then, smiling more to himself than at Shannon, he added, “Taken from one foot in the grave so to speak.”

“Susan told me how you can feel as if you’re in two worlds at the same time.”

“Quite true.” He nodded solemnly. “It’s as if sometimes I’m in a fog where the worlds for the living and dead intertwine.” He stopped to catch his breath again, went on, “But I’ve been feeling less like that since Susan gave me my remedy. Do you have those articles of clothing?”

Shannon handed him the baseball cap and class ring he had taken from the dead students’ condo. Hasherford rested the ring on the arm of his chair, then closed his eyes and held the baseball cap to his chest. After a while he gave up. “I’m not getting anything with this,” he said. He went through he same routine with the ring before opening his eyes and shaking his head. “Nothing at all.”