“Lucy James.”
“Lucy, Skip here. I got a name from that plate I ran for you.”
I breathed a bit easier. “Great. Hang on a sec. Let me find some paper.”
I dug out the small notebook I always carried and a pen. “Go ahead.”
“The van is registered to a Mr. Robert Blass who lives at 1530 Whitaker Street in Reno.”
I jotted down the name and address with excitement. “Thanks, Skip. I really appreciate this.”
“No problem. Remember to hold up your end of the bargain now.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Cindy will be calling you soon.”
“Good enough.” And he hung up.
I couldn’t wait until I got home, so I googled Robert Blass on my smart phone. Cars whizzed by and I vaguely wondered when the traffic had picked up. The cell service between the cities wasn’t great and took longer than I anticipated. Finally, a listing popped up for Robert Blass, owner of Blass Labs in Sparks, the sister city to Reno. The address was on the outskirts of town and the accompanying website was vague as to what the labs tested, making me wonder.
I made a note of the address in my notebook and decided I’d pay the company a call as soon as I could.
* * *
Eddie was back in town.
Incredible! He actually came over to the apartment but wouldn’t come in once Napoleon saw him and started screeching, “Mama’s boy, bawk, mama’s boy.”
I would have stayed outside too.
He stayed five minutes, begged me to keep Napoleon until I found a good home for him and bribed me with a third month’s free rent. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse but when I asked him about his grandfather, he began to clam up.
“I know very little about Alain, Lucy. Why do you ask?”
I glanced at Cindy who shook her head. All right. No honest discussion here.
“I’ve been doing a little research, Eddie. Your family’s history is interesting, being French and all. Since Alain was over in France during the war and didn’t immigrate until 1955, I just wondered if you’d heard any family gossip about him.”
He seemed relieved, why I couldn’t say. A hand smoothed his slicked back hair. Eddie could have been a greaser back in the day.
“A cousin once told me that Alain worked for the French resistance during World War II but my mom wouldn’t confirm it.”
“Did she deny it?”
“Nope. She wouldn’t talk at all about what her father did during the war. His father had been an officer in the French Army and since Alain was of age, I assumed he played a part as well. Either Vivienne knew or…”
“…She wouldn’t say,” I suggested.
“Right.” He looked at me strangely. I got the feeling he wanted more from me, much more. “Have you learned anything interesting?”
I shook my head. No way was I going to talk about the diary or my visit with Louis Laparu yet. I didn’t know where Eddie stood in all this and I haven’t trusted him since we moved in. He’d been practically an absentee landlord until he needed something from us.
“How about the old house? Tammy mentioned she bumped into you over there and you told her you’d found a diary.”
“I did but nothing particularly interesting. Just lots of dusty old things over there.”
He laughed. “Don’t I know it. Unfortunately, I’m the one charged with going through everything and getting the house ready to sell.”
“Have fun.” I stepped back from the doorway and Eddie waved as he left. Yeah, maybe I should have told him what I’d found in the diary but I didn’t want to show my cards just yet. Something about his question set my teeth on edge.
Walking back to the living room, I plopped down on the sofa and pulled Baskerville onto my lap. He licked my face as I scratched his curly, poodle head.
“How’s our hound we call Baskerville?” I cooed. The dog nestled into my lap and promptly fell asleep.
“Have you heard from Eric?” Cindy had her French book and assignment spread out on the coffee table. Her long, blonde hair was tied up in a cute knot on the top of her head. Now I could try to fix my hair like that and some bird would come along and try to nest in it. On her, the knot looked chic, stylish. I sighed, continued to pet the sleeping dog.
“No and I probably won’t.”
“You had a good date a few days ago, right?” She picked up a yellow highlighter to underline phrases on her assignment.
“Sure, up until the time I started choking and he had to bring me home – again.”
“Lucy.” A determined face looked my way. “He likes you.”
“Yes and I like him. So what?”
She dropped her highlighter. “So what?”
“Yeah, so what? People like one another all the time and nothing comes of it. I’m not good with men. Period.”
She rolled her pretty blue eyes, shook her head. “You’re such a defeatist.”
“How about you and Skip?”
Pause. “…What about him?”
“You know he got me the owner’s name of the van I followed.”
“Yes.”
“Well,” I smiled, “there was a catch.”
Cindy flipped to a new page in her book and looked totally bored with the whole conversation. “Really.”
“Uh huh,” I chuckled. “I promised that you’d go out with him again.”
She turned to stare at me, mouth open. “You did what? Why would you do that?”
“Because,” my grin widened, “he’s seriously cute and has a serious crush on you. What’s wrong with him?”
“Seriously?” she pouted. “He’s bossy, nosy, has definite opinions about everything in the world and…”
“Does he remind you of anyone you know?” I tried for as innocent an expression as I could muster.
She got up, stomped into the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine. Stomping back, Cindy handed me one and took a big gulp of hers.
“What? No toast?” I bit back a smirk.
“I don’t want to see him again, Lucy.”
“Why not? And the truth this time.”
She sunk into the other end of the sofa. Baskerville woke up and trotted over for her to scratch his head.
“There’s, ah, nothing at all wrong with Skip Callahan.”
“But…”
“I could fall for him and I don’t want to.”
“Wow!” I set down my glass. “Why not?”
One shoulder moved up and down. “I like my life as it is. What will another person contribute to what I have already? What if the relationship turns south? What if…” Her words trailed off and I was witnessing a first here: Cindy was insecure about something, anything. I’d never seen this before.
She stared back at me. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” I shrugged, “only that a tremor just opened a gigantic chasm in the living room and you’re in danger of falling in.” She laughed, petted Baskerville’s head. “I’m always falling in the chasm of life because I screw up a lot, especially with guys, but not you.”
“Popped your balloon of expectations, have I?”
“No, Cindy. I’m just glad to see that you have the same fears about men that I do. You’re always so in charge of yourself and everything around you.” I picked up my wine. “So it’s Skip, is it? Interesting.” I raised the glass to her and took a big sip. “…Very interesting.”
“Not interesting at all and I’m not calling him.” She picked up her French book and turned a few pages.
“Chicken?” This was fun. “Cluck! Cluck!” I tried my best chicken imitation.
Napoleon woke up and screeched with me. Together we both made bird noises while Baskerville barked and turned circles on the couch. Cindy tried to drown us all out by reciting her French lesson aloud. That didn’t work either. Napoleon just switched to French and repeated along with her. I finally called a halt to the whole business by turning on a Sherlock Holmes mystery on the DVD player. As soon as the sinister music began playing, both Cindy and Baskerville quieted down. I fed Napoleon, which quieted him for a while and we all settled comfortably to watch The Hound of the Baskervilles, a dear favorite. When poor Sir Charles Baskerville dropped dead at the beginning of the movie, I glanced at Cindy whose wary eyes shifted towards me.
Later, when Sherlock solved the case and the bad guy got his just reward, I remembered something else that needed to be done that day and asked her to go with me. She wasn’t amused.
* * *