Many thanks for all the encouraging reviews – they're very much appreciated
as always.
Special thanks to Alaidh for the beta!
Chapter 2
"Boo, what in the world are you doin' at this time'a night?"
"Scrubbing," grunted Max, scrubbing brush in hand, leaning over the bath, her hand moving with unnatural speed.
"Original Cindy can see that, boo. What she doesn't see is why you're home, applying all your elbow grease to that tin can. Original Cindy thought you was hangin' with your boy tonight."
Head down, Max's reply was unintelligible, except for the part when she clearly snapped, "And he's not my boy!"
"Dayum girl, your hands'll be like sandpaper by the time you're all done gettin' rid of all that aggravation," O.C exclaimed, ignoring the comment. "'Where' are your rubber gloves?"
"I don't need 'em," said Max, "except to strangle someone," she muttered under her breath.
"What did the man do this time?" asked Cindy with the patience of a saint.
Max suddenly stood up, a look of frustration creasing her features. "Is there something about me that makes men want to hide things from me?" She looked about the room as if seeking inspiration, gesturing wildly with her gloveless hands. "Why does everything have to be such a 'mystery' with him?"
Original Cindy raised her eyes. "Well which way are you intending to play this dealio – is it 'you' or is it 'Logan' who's all mussed up?"
Seeing the look on Max's face, she held up her hands, "Hey, don't ask me girl! That one's slicker than Houdini – never knew a man to evade the salient points with such finesse like he can."
Max smiled in spite of herself.
"Come on, boo. Original Cindy's gonna make you coffee and you can forget about all Logan's mysterious moves."
Max tossed her brush into the tub, and against her every instinct admitted, "The problem is he makes me worry when he does this."
"And then you get all steamed up that you're worrying," added her friend with fine insight, "cause worrying means that you care," she finished dulcetly.
"Of course I care – he's a good friend," explained Max a little too quickly.
"You can always check your boy out tomorrow. What fire could he stick his hand into tonight?"
Max shrugged. Well, at least the bathtub was clean. Maybe she should thank Logan for that – she'd been meaning to clean it for weeks.
*******************************************************
Logan was up early the following morning, checking the leads Martin had given him. He'd spent a good deal of his first hour in bed the previous night trying to decide what to do about the situation – after all, missing persons was hardly his deal, and it wasn't as if he felt he owed Martin anything. It was far better all around, he decided, to do a brief check into the girl's disappearance; if he came up with anything - good, if not – so be it. That way he'd have both Martin 'and' hopefully Max off his case.
Strangely, there was little background information he could come up with on Emma Belding, and he began to wonder if Martin had his facts right. Maybe the girl was not the innocent she appeared and was simply stringing Martin along. It wouldn't be the first time a member of the Cale family had been set up by someone who intended to feather their nest with all that wealth.
He looked at the photo Martin had given him, propped up on a book next to his computer. Emma Belding looked young and vulnerable. What trouble was she in, if any, he couldn't help wondering?
He closed his eyes for the moment, taking his glasses off to rub his hand over his face, thinking a shower would go down well. In a flash he had a picture in his mind – Mary-Lou Wyatt. He smiled suddenly. She'd lived across the road from him for a time when he was growing up – all pigtails and freckles with a sunny personality to match. He'd had quite a crush on her, he recalled.
His eyes went back to the picture of Emma Belding – maybe she was just another Mary-Lou Wyatt without the pigtails. Certainly the similarities were even greater without his glasses – the slightly blurred face now hazy like his memory of Mary-Lou.
He was still staring intently at the photo some minutes later when he heard his front door open and Bling came around the corner, a bag of groceries in his arm.
"Hey Bling."
"I got those things you needed," he greeted Logan. "Sure is cold and wet out there," he continued over his shoulder, walking through to the kitchen to put them away.
"I'll do that," said Logan, putting his glasses back on and releasing his brakes to follow his trainer-come-bodyguard.
"No problem," Bling replied, opening one of the cupboard doors. "So, how'd it go with your cousin last night? He seemed kinda edgy."
"Yeah. Turns out his girlfriend's gone missing."
"Missing or dumped him?" suggested Bling.
"You gotta wonder," Logan agreed. "Funny thing is I can't find out much about her."
"You had breakfast yet?" asked Bling, just as the phone rang.
Bling looked around the kitchen as Logan headed back to his desk to answer it, deciding that Logan probably hadn't eaten yet and set about making some coffee, vaguely listening to Logan's conversation as he got some bowls and cereal out. He hadn't eaten himself yet, either.
"...so you'll be in this morning?" he could hear Logan say, then add after a slight note of hesitation, "Does your building have an elevator and ramps ... I'm in a wheelchair," he added, perhaps not quite as smoothly as his earlier words, thought Bling, but he was getting better at it. "Great. I'll be there around eleven."
"That was her roommate," Logan told him, heading to the fridge to get the milk out.
"Can 'he' or 'she' shed any light?"
"Apparently 'she' can't," Logan answered him, adding a couple of spoons to his lap as he made his way through to the dining table, Bling following with the coffee, "but she is happy to talk to me and let me poke around a bit."
"Thought you would've had Max do something like that ... you know, girl to girl talk?"
"Max not in the loop on this?" he added discerningly when Logan didn't reply.
"She doesn't have to know everything I do," said Logan coolly.
"Fine with me," agreed Bling diplomatically.
"It's a family matter. No reason why Max should be involved."
"Okay."
"Besides, it's not something she'd want to get involved in – unless it involved kicking Martin's ass," he added reflectively.
"Right," Bling grinned appreciatively.
"She's got her own work to do. I can't be bothering her for every little thing."
"Logan, just who are you trying to convince here?" Bling finally said.
Logan looked at him. "I don't need convincing," he stated definitively.
"Coulda fooled me," murmured Bling to himself as he got up to make some toast.
**********************************************************
"It's bright orange," she'd said to him on the telephone. "There are no numbers."
Logan slowly pushed himself along the hallway, spotting the orange door midway down the dimly lit corridor.
The doorbell was obviously broken, so he knocked a couple of times and waited. Someone else a few doors down stuck their head out and looked at him suspiciously, then he looked up to see Emma Belding's roommate smiling at him.
"You're on time," she remarked. "I thought you'd be late. Nothing personal," she added, "it's just that it's hard to be on time nowadays. You know how the traffic can be and the sector cops can hold you up for hours. It's awful," she commented, all the while looking intently at his hand as she shook it.
Logan quickly took in her long, straight, bright red hair, large eyes heavily made up with mascara and eyeliner, and the mini skirt and long white boots.
"It was good of you to see me," Logan began, pushing through the doorway into the apartment. For the moment he thought he'd gone through some kind of time warp as he took in the 'flower power' wallpaper, macramé lampshades and purple fluffy carpet. It was all quite an assault on the eye – right down to the orange beanbag on the floor.
"So, whatdya think?" Charlie asked.
"My Mom would've loved this when she was a little girl."
"Not a fan of the seventies?"
Logan paused a beat, eventually admitting with a wide grin, "Not really."
"That's cool," Emma Belding's roommate smiled, flicking back her long red hair from over her shoulder. "It 'is' an acquired taste. Can I get you a drink?"
"No. Thanks," Logan responded, thoughtfully looking at the artwork on the walls. "Did you do these?"
"Uh huh," she replied with the hint of an artist's pride.
"They're good," said Logan truthfully.
"I'm glad you like 'em," Charlie answered, coming around to sit on a black and lime green vinyl chair in front of him. "So, you're a 'Cale' too?"
"Yeah, but try not to hold it against me," he said with a rueful smile.
"Martin liked to flash his money around." She looked at Logan. "You don't seem much alike."
"Well, we're only cousins, not brothers. So, did you know Emma well?"
Charlie shrugged. "Not really. She'd only been here about a month before she disappeared, and we didn't see each other much. Ships in the night and all that sorta thing," she laughed.
If she was upset about her roommate's disappearance, she hid it very well, thought Logan.
"Did she ever talk about herself ... work, family?"
"Not really," Charlie mused. "I can't remember her 'ever' talking about herself. She was reeeel quiet-like. You mentioned something about looking through her things...?"
"If that would be all right. I was hoping there might be some clue to where she's gone."
Charlie stood, then hesitated.
"It 'is' kinda expensive finding all this retro stuff ..." She let her words trail off suggestively.
Smiling inwardly, Logan thought to himself that it was unlikely Max would have given in to that one.
Out loud he merely said, "I'll bet it is," as he peeled a couple of hundred dollar bills from his wallet.
Charlie took them without embarrassment, which made Logan think she'd done something like this before. He was considerably surprised, however, when she grabbed hold of the hand he held out.
"Do you mind?" she asked, as she studied it intently.
Quite a deal taken aback, Logan said honestly, "I'm not sure."
She looked up at that and laughed suddenly. "I have a hand fetish," she admitted brightly.
Seeing his confused expression, she explained, "I 'sketch' them."
"Ohhhh," he nodded, feeling a little relieved. "Can I have mine back now?"
"Do you play any instruments? Paint ...draw?" she asked, ignoring his request.
"Actually ... no," admitted Logan.
"Pity," she smiled, finally releasing his hand, much to his relief.
He knew there was nothing sexual in her action, but it had sent a jolt of 'something' through him nonetheless and it only served to remind him of the fact that since he'd been shot, the majority of his female interaction had revolved around nurses doing particularly unromantic things - except for that one moment of bittersweet euphoria outside his uncle's cabin and the desperate way she had clung to him after Mrs. Moreno's accident, when for the briefest of moments he'd returned the pressure, burying his face in her hair, tempted to let go and admit to her that he ...
"Not even the piano?" she was asking.
Tilting his universe back to an even keel, Logan managed to say, "Computers are more my thing."
"I'll give you back the money if you'll let me sketch them," she offered.
Logan began to laugh. "You're serious?"
"Oh yeah." She positively purred, "Some hands are a real turn-on."
Logan gave her a bemused frown. "Right ..."
"I guess the answer's 'no', huh?"
Hoping not to offend, Logan said quickly, "I'm kind of in a hurry ... I need to get this information to Martin."
"Too bad," she pouted. "Maybe some other time?" she added hopefully.
"Maybe," said Logan, quickly putting in, "So, which room is Emma's?"
*******************************************************
Emma's room was very 'un-seventies.' In fact it was virtually 'un- everything' – merely a room with a few pieces of nondescript furniture: bed, bedside table, chest of drawers, and a rather uncomfortable looking chair.
No purples or orange in here – in fact a touch of colour would have been a relief. The blandness was almost overpowering. Logan idly wondered if the owner had purposefully chosen it to completely mask her true self.
There were no family photos to be seen, no well-worn stuffed animals on the bed, no trinkets anywhere. He'd been in women's bedrooms before and he'd never encountered one so dramatically lacking in character as this one. The only thing it lacked was a Gideon's bible to put the last finishing touch to make it appear like any number of mediocre hotel rooms found throughout the country.
He eyed the drawers with some distaste. Now that he was in her room he felt little better than a peeping tom, even though his motives were honourable, he kept telling himself. Perhaps Bling was right and he should've swallowed his pride and got Max to do this after all.
He tried not to notice, but the contents of Emma Belding's drawers told him a great deal about her. No fancy drawer liners, no sexy underwear, everything was plain and functional. The girl seemed to be sadly lacking in imagination, he thought, or maybe it was all part of the 'go-unnoticed' plan. There was certainly nothing amongst her clothing and possessions to attract attention, certainly not from a male point of view, he thought wryly.
What on earth did Martin see in her, he wondered yet again, remembering a bevy of beauties that Martin had dated in the past. He had quite a track record for one so young – and now Emma Belding? Had the leopard changed his spots?
Thankfully closing the last of the drawers, he turned his attention to the closet. The floor held shoes neatly placed together – all low heels, sensible. Hanging were a fairly sparse collection of pants, skirts, jackets. He looked at the brand names, finding only ones he recognized as mass produced, cheap clothing.
His thoughts went back to Valerie's extensive wardrobe, the designer dresses, stiletto shoes, matching handbags – and the familiar scent of her favourite French perfume that managed to pervade everything with its exotic charm, captivating as she had once been. Well, that was all another time, another life ago, he reminded himself.
"You all done in there?" came Charlie's voice from the other room.
"Yeah," Logan called back, aware of a feeling of disappointment. He gave the room one final look, then opened the door and wheeled back out to the small living room.
"Sorry, but I've gotta get goin' in a minute," she said apologetically.
"That's fine. I was finished anyway," Logan smiled at her. "Thanks for your help."
Charlie held the door open for him, watching until Logan was in the elevator, then she went back inside, grabbed a note with a number that was stuck to her refrigerator, and headed for her phone.
**************************************************
Once inside, Logan pressed the button for the ground floor, and waited for the elevator to start moving, musing to himself that detective work was a thankless task, and wondering more than ever what kind of girl Emma Belding could have been. Well, 'is', he mentally chastised himself.
Suddenly he looked about the elevator – he'd been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't realized initially that it, in fact, hadn't moved.
"Great," he muttered, visions of a very long and very boring wait now filling his mind.
Mentally crossing his fingers, he pressed the button with the 'open' icon, breathing a sigh of relief when the doors slid noisily open, but was a little startled when he looked up to find a tall, well built man towering in front of him. Instinctively, he wheeled back a little, disliking the sense of intimidation that washed over him.
"Elevator not working?" the stranger asked.
Logan wondered if he should admit this fact or not, but before he had a chance, the other man got in and pressed the button himself.
Cursing himself for not having exited the elevator, Logan said conversationally, "It did this before. The doors closed and nothing happened."
The other man turned around without a word, and regarded Logan intently. "You a boyfriend of Charlie's?"
Unable to suppress a smile when he thought of all the purple and lime and wondering what a hideous eyesore her bedroom probably was, Logan said, "No."
He was beginning to feel more relaxed. On closer inspection his would be assassin was probably only eighteen or nineteen, and now as Logan spoke to him he realized the boy was not 'menacing', but rather, mentally impaired in some way.
"She has lots of boyfriends," his companion now said in a voice curiously devoid of emotion, which made Logan wonder if he was on some kind of drug to control mood swings or something.
When the elevator showed no inclination to move, the large youth pressed the button again to open the doors, and then to close them.
"You have to do this a few times," he explained to Logan. "It kinda gets stuck."
"Right," Logan replied – thankful that not only was he not going to be assaulted, but he also was not going to be stuck in Emma Belding's apartment building, five floors up, for the rest of the day.
With a sudden flash, Logan asked, "Does Emma have many boyfriends?"
"My name's Seth," the young man said abruptly, holding out a huge hand.
"Logan."
Shaking hands, Logan wondered if Charlie had ever sketched Seth's bear paws. They were the most massive hands he'd ever seen.
"Pleased to meet you," Seth smiled happily.
"Do you know Emma well?" Logan tried again, hoping to bring him back around to the topic he wanted.
"Emma just has one boyfriend, but I haven't seen him in a long time. I haven't seen Emma in a long time," he added a little sadly.
"You two friends?"
"I liked Emma," the other replied with a simple sincerity, which unfortunately didn't tell Logan if the feeling was reciprocated.
Seth pressed the 'lobby' button once more, and this time the elevator vibrated a little then slowly started its descent to the ground floor.
"Thanks," Logan said warmly.
When they got to the ground floor, Seth put out a hand as a signal for Logan to wait while he cautiously looked out the doors. Turning to Logan, he said seriously, "You have to be careful around here, Logan."
Feeling a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, Logan asked, "Did Emma have to be careful too?"
"Everybody does," Seth replied, sounding surprised that Logan didn't know such an elementary fact of life.
"Sure."
Seth now motioned for him to leave the elevator, having completed his careful scrutiny of the lobby.
"Bye, Logan. Nice to meet you."
Before Logan had a chance to reply, the elevator doors closed, and Seth was on his way up again.
******************************************************
With painstaking care, Seth dialled the telephone number, with a slightly anxious air.
Receiving no answer, he hung up the old black phone and dialled again, standing patiently with the phone up to his hear, waiting for a voice on the other end of the line, that never came.
He then sat down, on the very edge of the bed - to wait.
TBC
Special thanks to Alaidh for the beta!
Chapter 2
"Boo, what in the world are you doin' at this time'a night?"
"Scrubbing," grunted Max, scrubbing brush in hand, leaning over the bath, her hand moving with unnatural speed.
"Original Cindy can see that, boo. What she doesn't see is why you're home, applying all your elbow grease to that tin can. Original Cindy thought you was hangin' with your boy tonight."
Head down, Max's reply was unintelligible, except for the part when she clearly snapped, "And he's not my boy!"
"Dayum girl, your hands'll be like sandpaper by the time you're all done gettin' rid of all that aggravation," O.C exclaimed, ignoring the comment. "'Where' are your rubber gloves?"
"I don't need 'em," said Max, "except to strangle someone," she muttered under her breath.
"What did the man do this time?" asked Cindy with the patience of a saint.
Max suddenly stood up, a look of frustration creasing her features. "Is there something about me that makes men want to hide things from me?" She looked about the room as if seeking inspiration, gesturing wildly with her gloveless hands. "Why does everything have to be such a 'mystery' with him?"
Original Cindy raised her eyes. "Well which way are you intending to play this dealio – is it 'you' or is it 'Logan' who's all mussed up?"
Seeing the look on Max's face, she held up her hands, "Hey, don't ask me girl! That one's slicker than Houdini – never knew a man to evade the salient points with such finesse like he can."
Max smiled in spite of herself.
"Come on, boo. Original Cindy's gonna make you coffee and you can forget about all Logan's mysterious moves."
Max tossed her brush into the tub, and against her every instinct admitted, "The problem is he makes me worry when he does this."
"And then you get all steamed up that you're worrying," added her friend with fine insight, "cause worrying means that you care," she finished dulcetly.
"Of course I care – he's a good friend," explained Max a little too quickly.
"You can always check your boy out tomorrow. What fire could he stick his hand into tonight?"
Max shrugged. Well, at least the bathtub was clean. Maybe she should thank Logan for that – she'd been meaning to clean it for weeks.
*******************************************************
Logan was up early the following morning, checking the leads Martin had given him. He'd spent a good deal of his first hour in bed the previous night trying to decide what to do about the situation – after all, missing persons was hardly his deal, and it wasn't as if he felt he owed Martin anything. It was far better all around, he decided, to do a brief check into the girl's disappearance; if he came up with anything - good, if not – so be it. That way he'd have both Martin 'and' hopefully Max off his case.
Strangely, there was little background information he could come up with on Emma Belding, and he began to wonder if Martin had his facts right. Maybe the girl was not the innocent she appeared and was simply stringing Martin along. It wouldn't be the first time a member of the Cale family had been set up by someone who intended to feather their nest with all that wealth.
He looked at the photo Martin had given him, propped up on a book next to his computer. Emma Belding looked young and vulnerable. What trouble was she in, if any, he couldn't help wondering?
He closed his eyes for the moment, taking his glasses off to rub his hand over his face, thinking a shower would go down well. In a flash he had a picture in his mind – Mary-Lou Wyatt. He smiled suddenly. She'd lived across the road from him for a time when he was growing up – all pigtails and freckles with a sunny personality to match. He'd had quite a crush on her, he recalled.
His eyes went back to the picture of Emma Belding – maybe she was just another Mary-Lou Wyatt without the pigtails. Certainly the similarities were even greater without his glasses – the slightly blurred face now hazy like his memory of Mary-Lou.
He was still staring intently at the photo some minutes later when he heard his front door open and Bling came around the corner, a bag of groceries in his arm.
"Hey Bling."
"I got those things you needed," he greeted Logan. "Sure is cold and wet out there," he continued over his shoulder, walking through to the kitchen to put them away.
"I'll do that," said Logan, putting his glasses back on and releasing his brakes to follow his trainer-come-bodyguard.
"No problem," Bling replied, opening one of the cupboard doors. "So, how'd it go with your cousin last night? He seemed kinda edgy."
"Yeah. Turns out his girlfriend's gone missing."
"Missing or dumped him?" suggested Bling.
"You gotta wonder," Logan agreed. "Funny thing is I can't find out much about her."
"You had breakfast yet?" asked Bling, just as the phone rang.
Bling looked around the kitchen as Logan headed back to his desk to answer it, deciding that Logan probably hadn't eaten yet and set about making some coffee, vaguely listening to Logan's conversation as he got some bowls and cereal out. He hadn't eaten himself yet, either.
"...so you'll be in this morning?" he could hear Logan say, then add after a slight note of hesitation, "Does your building have an elevator and ramps ... I'm in a wheelchair," he added, perhaps not quite as smoothly as his earlier words, thought Bling, but he was getting better at it. "Great. I'll be there around eleven."
"That was her roommate," Logan told him, heading to the fridge to get the milk out.
"Can 'he' or 'she' shed any light?"
"Apparently 'she' can't," Logan answered him, adding a couple of spoons to his lap as he made his way through to the dining table, Bling following with the coffee, "but she is happy to talk to me and let me poke around a bit."
"Thought you would've had Max do something like that ... you know, girl to girl talk?"
"Max not in the loop on this?" he added discerningly when Logan didn't reply.
"She doesn't have to know everything I do," said Logan coolly.
"Fine with me," agreed Bling diplomatically.
"It's a family matter. No reason why Max should be involved."
"Okay."
"Besides, it's not something she'd want to get involved in – unless it involved kicking Martin's ass," he added reflectively.
"Right," Bling grinned appreciatively.
"She's got her own work to do. I can't be bothering her for every little thing."
"Logan, just who are you trying to convince here?" Bling finally said.
Logan looked at him. "I don't need convincing," he stated definitively.
"Coulda fooled me," murmured Bling to himself as he got up to make some toast.
**********************************************************
"It's bright orange," she'd said to him on the telephone. "There are no numbers."
Logan slowly pushed himself along the hallway, spotting the orange door midway down the dimly lit corridor.
The doorbell was obviously broken, so he knocked a couple of times and waited. Someone else a few doors down stuck their head out and looked at him suspiciously, then he looked up to see Emma Belding's roommate smiling at him.
"You're on time," she remarked. "I thought you'd be late. Nothing personal," she added, "it's just that it's hard to be on time nowadays. You know how the traffic can be and the sector cops can hold you up for hours. It's awful," she commented, all the while looking intently at his hand as she shook it.
Logan quickly took in her long, straight, bright red hair, large eyes heavily made up with mascara and eyeliner, and the mini skirt and long white boots.
"It was good of you to see me," Logan began, pushing through the doorway into the apartment. For the moment he thought he'd gone through some kind of time warp as he took in the 'flower power' wallpaper, macramé lampshades and purple fluffy carpet. It was all quite an assault on the eye – right down to the orange beanbag on the floor.
"So, whatdya think?" Charlie asked.
"My Mom would've loved this when she was a little girl."
"Not a fan of the seventies?"
Logan paused a beat, eventually admitting with a wide grin, "Not really."
"That's cool," Emma Belding's roommate smiled, flicking back her long red hair from over her shoulder. "It 'is' an acquired taste. Can I get you a drink?"
"No. Thanks," Logan responded, thoughtfully looking at the artwork on the walls. "Did you do these?"
"Uh huh," she replied with the hint of an artist's pride.
"They're good," said Logan truthfully.
"I'm glad you like 'em," Charlie answered, coming around to sit on a black and lime green vinyl chair in front of him. "So, you're a 'Cale' too?"
"Yeah, but try not to hold it against me," he said with a rueful smile.
"Martin liked to flash his money around." She looked at Logan. "You don't seem much alike."
"Well, we're only cousins, not brothers. So, did you know Emma well?"
Charlie shrugged. "Not really. She'd only been here about a month before she disappeared, and we didn't see each other much. Ships in the night and all that sorta thing," she laughed.
If she was upset about her roommate's disappearance, she hid it very well, thought Logan.
"Did she ever talk about herself ... work, family?"
"Not really," Charlie mused. "I can't remember her 'ever' talking about herself. She was reeeel quiet-like. You mentioned something about looking through her things...?"
"If that would be all right. I was hoping there might be some clue to where she's gone."
Charlie stood, then hesitated.
"It 'is' kinda expensive finding all this retro stuff ..." She let her words trail off suggestively.
Smiling inwardly, Logan thought to himself that it was unlikely Max would have given in to that one.
Out loud he merely said, "I'll bet it is," as he peeled a couple of hundred dollar bills from his wallet.
Charlie took them without embarrassment, which made Logan think she'd done something like this before. He was considerably surprised, however, when she grabbed hold of the hand he held out.
"Do you mind?" she asked, as she studied it intently.
Quite a deal taken aback, Logan said honestly, "I'm not sure."
She looked up at that and laughed suddenly. "I have a hand fetish," she admitted brightly.
Seeing his confused expression, she explained, "I 'sketch' them."
"Ohhhh," he nodded, feeling a little relieved. "Can I have mine back now?"
"Do you play any instruments? Paint ...draw?" she asked, ignoring his request.
"Actually ... no," admitted Logan.
"Pity," she smiled, finally releasing his hand, much to his relief.
He knew there was nothing sexual in her action, but it had sent a jolt of 'something' through him nonetheless and it only served to remind him of the fact that since he'd been shot, the majority of his female interaction had revolved around nurses doing particularly unromantic things - except for that one moment of bittersweet euphoria outside his uncle's cabin and the desperate way she had clung to him after Mrs. Moreno's accident, when for the briefest of moments he'd returned the pressure, burying his face in her hair, tempted to let go and admit to her that he ...
"Not even the piano?" she was asking.
Tilting his universe back to an even keel, Logan managed to say, "Computers are more my thing."
"I'll give you back the money if you'll let me sketch them," she offered.
Logan began to laugh. "You're serious?"
"Oh yeah." She positively purred, "Some hands are a real turn-on."
Logan gave her a bemused frown. "Right ..."
"I guess the answer's 'no', huh?"
Hoping not to offend, Logan said quickly, "I'm kind of in a hurry ... I need to get this information to Martin."
"Too bad," she pouted. "Maybe some other time?" she added hopefully.
"Maybe," said Logan, quickly putting in, "So, which room is Emma's?"
*******************************************************
Emma's room was very 'un-seventies.' In fact it was virtually 'un- everything' – merely a room with a few pieces of nondescript furniture: bed, bedside table, chest of drawers, and a rather uncomfortable looking chair.
No purples or orange in here – in fact a touch of colour would have been a relief. The blandness was almost overpowering. Logan idly wondered if the owner had purposefully chosen it to completely mask her true self.
There were no family photos to be seen, no well-worn stuffed animals on the bed, no trinkets anywhere. He'd been in women's bedrooms before and he'd never encountered one so dramatically lacking in character as this one. The only thing it lacked was a Gideon's bible to put the last finishing touch to make it appear like any number of mediocre hotel rooms found throughout the country.
He eyed the drawers with some distaste. Now that he was in her room he felt little better than a peeping tom, even though his motives were honourable, he kept telling himself. Perhaps Bling was right and he should've swallowed his pride and got Max to do this after all.
He tried not to notice, but the contents of Emma Belding's drawers told him a great deal about her. No fancy drawer liners, no sexy underwear, everything was plain and functional. The girl seemed to be sadly lacking in imagination, he thought, or maybe it was all part of the 'go-unnoticed' plan. There was certainly nothing amongst her clothing and possessions to attract attention, certainly not from a male point of view, he thought wryly.
What on earth did Martin see in her, he wondered yet again, remembering a bevy of beauties that Martin had dated in the past. He had quite a track record for one so young – and now Emma Belding? Had the leopard changed his spots?
Thankfully closing the last of the drawers, he turned his attention to the closet. The floor held shoes neatly placed together – all low heels, sensible. Hanging were a fairly sparse collection of pants, skirts, jackets. He looked at the brand names, finding only ones he recognized as mass produced, cheap clothing.
His thoughts went back to Valerie's extensive wardrobe, the designer dresses, stiletto shoes, matching handbags – and the familiar scent of her favourite French perfume that managed to pervade everything with its exotic charm, captivating as she had once been. Well, that was all another time, another life ago, he reminded himself.
"You all done in there?" came Charlie's voice from the other room.
"Yeah," Logan called back, aware of a feeling of disappointment. He gave the room one final look, then opened the door and wheeled back out to the small living room.
"Sorry, but I've gotta get goin' in a minute," she said apologetically.
"That's fine. I was finished anyway," Logan smiled at her. "Thanks for your help."
Charlie held the door open for him, watching until Logan was in the elevator, then she went back inside, grabbed a note with a number that was stuck to her refrigerator, and headed for her phone.
**************************************************
Once inside, Logan pressed the button for the ground floor, and waited for the elevator to start moving, musing to himself that detective work was a thankless task, and wondering more than ever what kind of girl Emma Belding could have been. Well, 'is', he mentally chastised himself.
Suddenly he looked about the elevator – he'd been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't realized initially that it, in fact, hadn't moved.
"Great," he muttered, visions of a very long and very boring wait now filling his mind.
Mentally crossing his fingers, he pressed the button with the 'open' icon, breathing a sigh of relief when the doors slid noisily open, but was a little startled when he looked up to find a tall, well built man towering in front of him. Instinctively, he wheeled back a little, disliking the sense of intimidation that washed over him.
"Elevator not working?" the stranger asked.
Logan wondered if he should admit this fact or not, but before he had a chance, the other man got in and pressed the button himself.
Cursing himself for not having exited the elevator, Logan said conversationally, "It did this before. The doors closed and nothing happened."
The other man turned around without a word, and regarded Logan intently. "You a boyfriend of Charlie's?"
Unable to suppress a smile when he thought of all the purple and lime and wondering what a hideous eyesore her bedroom probably was, Logan said, "No."
He was beginning to feel more relaxed. On closer inspection his would be assassin was probably only eighteen or nineteen, and now as Logan spoke to him he realized the boy was not 'menacing', but rather, mentally impaired in some way.
"She has lots of boyfriends," his companion now said in a voice curiously devoid of emotion, which made Logan wonder if he was on some kind of drug to control mood swings or something.
When the elevator showed no inclination to move, the large youth pressed the button again to open the doors, and then to close them.
"You have to do this a few times," he explained to Logan. "It kinda gets stuck."
"Right," Logan replied – thankful that not only was he not going to be assaulted, but he also was not going to be stuck in Emma Belding's apartment building, five floors up, for the rest of the day.
With a sudden flash, Logan asked, "Does Emma have many boyfriends?"
"My name's Seth," the young man said abruptly, holding out a huge hand.
"Logan."
Shaking hands, Logan wondered if Charlie had ever sketched Seth's bear paws. They were the most massive hands he'd ever seen.
"Pleased to meet you," Seth smiled happily.
"Do you know Emma well?" Logan tried again, hoping to bring him back around to the topic he wanted.
"Emma just has one boyfriend, but I haven't seen him in a long time. I haven't seen Emma in a long time," he added a little sadly.
"You two friends?"
"I liked Emma," the other replied with a simple sincerity, which unfortunately didn't tell Logan if the feeling was reciprocated.
Seth pressed the 'lobby' button once more, and this time the elevator vibrated a little then slowly started its descent to the ground floor.
"Thanks," Logan said warmly.
When they got to the ground floor, Seth put out a hand as a signal for Logan to wait while he cautiously looked out the doors. Turning to Logan, he said seriously, "You have to be careful around here, Logan."
Feeling a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, Logan asked, "Did Emma have to be careful too?"
"Everybody does," Seth replied, sounding surprised that Logan didn't know such an elementary fact of life.
"Sure."
Seth now motioned for him to leave the elevator, having completed his careful scrutiny of the lobby.
"Bye, Logan. Nice to meet you."
Before Logan had a chance to reply, the elevator doors closed, and Seth was on his way up again.
******************************************************
With painstaking care, Seth dialled the telephone number, with a slightly anxious air.
Receiving no answer, he hung up the old black phone and dialled again, standing patiently with the phone up to his hear, waiting for a voice on the other end of the line, that never came.
He then sat down, on the very edge of the bed - to wait.
TBC