all black?”
“Yep, that would be the guy.”
“Huh, that's weird…no one buzzed him in. He just…well shit! He used the pass code that opens the front door.” Kevin had put in a key pad with an access code for those that didn't want to carry a key or that forgot their key. “Who the hell gave that out?” Kevin asked no one in particular, but he was clearly agitated by it. I groaned. The building was in Pacific Heights, which was a pretty affluent neighborhood and rarely subjected to criminal activity. My neighbors were also pretty security conscious, and I thought it was unlikely that any of them would have given that code out. Which meant Vokkel or Edgar or both was far more determined than I would have given them credit for.
“Okay, thanks Kevin. It's no big deal; he was harmless, but maybe you should change that code.”
“Damn right I'm changing it…uh, sorry for the language, boss man.” He called everyone boss, except Justine…she was just Miss W to him. “It's just that I do my best to keep everyone safe and this happens.” I could hear his frustration and wanted to put him at ease.
“Really Kevin, it's no big deal. Maybe he knows someone in the building and saw them put it in. He didn't seem to think he was at the right apartment anyway. I think if you change it, it will be fine.” I wasn't sure if my impromptu lie came out with much sincerity, but I really wanted to get to my next call. With an exasperated sigh, he grunted his agreement and we hung up.
My next call was to Justine's landline. She had a cell phone, but I really wanted to talk to Billy and figured this was my best bet. Anne answered and I made the same inquiries of her charges as I'd done in person just hours before, and I received the same answer.
“Anne, I know Justine doesn't like to be bothered when she's at one of her functions, but I really need to talk to Billy. Is it possible for me to call her on her cell phone, or maybe you could text her and tell her what I need? It's important.”
Anne hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Of course, Mr. Sinclair. I'll ask that she get in touch right away.” I thanked her profusely and then sat down to wait for either Justine or Billy to call me.
One minute turned into ten and I began to pace. If Vokkel was bold enough to get our building code—to break-in essentially—what else was he capable of? More importantly, what did he really want with me? He obviously knew about the sharing thing since Edgar touched my shoulder and saw the Victorian lady, but that didn't seem like enough. Was this just a follow up from my earlier visit to him? Too many questions and too much time on my own to think sent me straight to the liquor cabinet and the whiskey. I poured a shot, gulped it, gagged a little as it burned down my throat, then took a deep breath and let the fine Irish spirit relax me. Now that I was in a better disposition, I took my glass into the kitchen, filled it with ice, and added more whiskey…for sipping this time, not gulping.
My thoughts wandered to Grandma Billy's paintings. Was the second painting a premonition? After all, it was entitled
What Hunts Me
. I thought maybe it was and went to my computer to confirm some things. I recalled the gallery website had listed Grandma Billy's birth and death dates, but couldn't remember if the paintings were also dated. Sure enough, she had died in the same month the painting was completed. Phil had mentioned that Vokkel was implicated in a woman's suicide, and I was pretty sure that had to be Grandma Billy. Billy also said she didn't think her grandmother's death was a suicide. If Grandma didn't kill herself—who did kill her? Was it Vokkel or Edgar? Did they hunt her as the painting depicted? Or was someone or something else hunting her?
Unfortunately, that feeling of eminent cranial explosion was upon me yet again, and I was sure this time it was caused by entirely too much information, and at the same time, not enough
“Yep, that would be the guy.”
“Huh, that's weird…no one buzzed him in. He just…well shit! He used the pass code that opens the front door.” Kevin had put in a key pad with an access code for those that didn't want to carry a key or that forgot their key. “Who the hell gave that out?” Kevin asked no one in particular, but he was clearly agitated by it. I groaned. The building was in Pacific Heights, which was a pretty affluent neighborhood and rarely subjected to criminal activity. My neighbors were also pretty security conscious, and I thought it was unlikely that any of them would have given that code out. Which meant Vokkel or Edgar or both was far more determined than I would have given them credit for.
“Okay, thanks Kevin. It's no big deal; he was harmless, but maybe you should change that code.”
“Damn right I'm changing it…uh, sorry for the language, boss man.” He called everyone boss, except Justine…she was just Miss W to him. “It's just that I do my best to keep everyone safe and this happens.” I could hear his frustration and wanted to put him at ease.
“Really Kevin, it's no big deal. Maybe he knows someone in the building and saw them put it in. He didn't seem to think he was at the right apartment anyway. I think if you change it, it will be fine.” I wasn't sure if my impromptu lie came out with much sincerity, but I really wanted to get to my next call. With an exasperated sigh, he grunted his agreement and we hung up.
My next call was to Justine's landline. She had a cell phone, but I really wanted to talk to Billy and figured this was my best bet. Anne answered and I made the same inquiries of her charges as I'd done in person just hours before, and I received the same answer.
“Anne, I know Justine doesn't like to be bothered when she's at one of her functions, but I really need to talk to Billy. Is it possible for me to call her on her cell phone, or maybe you could text her and tell her what I need? It's important.”
Anne hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Of course, Mr. Sinclair. I'll ask that she get in touch right away.” I thanked her profusely and then sat down to wait for either Justine or Billy to call me.
One minute turned into ten and I began to pace. If Vokkel was bold enough to get our building code—to break-in essentially—what else was he capable of? More importantly, what did he really want with me? He obviously knew about the sharing thing since Edgar touched my shoulder and saw the Victorian lady, but that didn't seem like enough. Was this just a follow up from my earlier visit to him? Too many questions and too much time on my own to think sent me straight to the liquor cabinet and the whiskey. I poured a shot, gulped it, gagged a little as it burned down my throat, then took a deep breath and let the fine Irish spirit relax me. Now that I was in a better disposition, I took my glass into the kitchen, filled it with ice, and added more whiskey…for sipping this time, not gulping.
My thoughts wandered to Grandma Billy's paintings. Was the second painting a premonition? After all, it was entitled
What Hunts Me
. I thought maybe it was and went to my computer to confirm some things. I recalled the gallery website had listed Grandma Billy's birth and death dates, but couldn't remember if the paintings were also dated. Sure enough, she had died in the same month the painting was completed. Phil had mentioned that Vokkel was implicated in a woman's suicide, and I was pretty sure that had to be Grandma Billy. Billy also said she didn't think her grandmother's death was a suicide. If Grandma didn't kill herself—who did kill her? Was it Vokkel or Edgar? Did they hunt her as the painting depicted? Or was someone or something else hunting her?
Unfortunately, that feeling of eminent cranial explosion was upon me yet again, and I was sure this time it was caused by entirely too much information, and at the same time, not enough
Similar Books
