Graham was with the dance contingent, grooving away, and he saw me come off the stairs and raised a hand, and I raised one back, then did a double take. My eyes were playing tricks. I looked hard, saw it again, and this time I was certain.
Dyke Tracy was dancing with him, her hair slicked back, working up a sweat. The outfit was new, not the work clothes and not what she’d worn when she’d grilled me in my kitchen the previous night, very casual, this time, just the jeans and the tee and the sneakers. Graham said something to her, and she shot a look my way and grinned.
I didn’t know if I should panic or laugh. Both seemed reasonable options.
Marcus wasn’t on the floor, and I cast around for him, trying to find him in the corners or on the stairs, but he wasn’t there, either. I took that to mean Hoffman was here on her own accord, not on the job, but that didn’t raise my comfort level.
Time to do what I came to do and get the hell out.
I stopped and listened at Van’s bedroom door, and didn’t hear anything like sex going on, so I figured it was safe to knock.
“Who?”
“Mim.”
There was a pause, and then the door swung open and Van stood there. I’d interrupted her halfway through makeup, and she’d done her eyes, but everything below the nose was still untouched. She didn’t look surprised or thrilled to see me, just turned and went back to her makeup table.
“Would you close it?” she asked.
I shut the door and took a moment to appreciate the room. It was large and white and functional. A big bed, good for sleeping or playing, a big television in the corner, and the makeup table. Doors led to the bathroom and the closets. One wall had a beautiful oil painting, a field of trees in what looked like a pretty fierce autumn storm, and when I moved my head, the light on the painting seemed to change, pulling the background into relief.
Van finished with her lips, capped the stick, and then turned to give me some attention. She was wearing another of her tees, this one gray and with the sleeves cut off. On it was a fifties-style woman’s face, neatly coiffed, eyes beneath sleepy lids, her mouth open, wiping at her chin with the back of her hand. Beneath it all was the slug GOT CREAM?
It was the kind of shirt she wore simply to get a response, and for that reason alone, I ignored it.
“You have a detective on your dance floor,” I told her.
“Only one? I invited two.”
“Did you?”
“Two came by today, Portland PD, Graham sent them over. About what happened to your brother and the pictures and all of it. I was doing party prep at the time.”
“I know them.”
“Right, of course you do.” Vanessa turned back to the mirror on her table, picked up the hairbrush. “Anyway, I invited them. As guests, not cops.”
“You live dangerously,” I said.
She laughed at my reflection. “You’re one to talk.”
“Not kidding, Van. There are at least fifteen people smoking joints upstairs, and God knows what’s going on in the bathrooms.”
“Nothing’s going to happen.” She began pulling the brush through her hair, still watching me in the mirror. “Graham told me you’d be by.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“He said you needed to get together some cash for a purchase, and you couldn’t get the bank to hand it over in time.”
“I’m not after a loan, Van. I need to cash a very large check, and the bank can’t cover it in time.”
She finished fixing her hair, then got up and went to the closet. There was another mirror hanging from the inside of the closet door, a double full-length one, and she checked herself very carefully in it. I didn’t see anything wrong, but Van apparently did, and she spent a couple seconds adjusting the waist of her jeans, making sure they hugged low on her hips.
“So tell me about this place you’re buying.”
I’d refined the lie in the intervening hours, and I thought it flowed easily, not too smooth, but honest. “It’s on the other side of the lake, smaller than this place, but it’s really nice. Four bedrooms, two full baths, and there’s a really good space for a music room. And there’s a deck, you know, with a hot tub. The whole thing’s right on the water, really quiet. But you know how they are out here, they’re all worried about the publicity and noise and shit, and if I can get them a big lump sum down, that’ll make me look good.”
“Graham said it’d help you dry out.”
“I think it would.”
She nodded slightly, then checked herself again. She indicated her shirt. “You haven’t commented.”
“You wouldn’t like what I had to say.”
“Please, go ahead.”
I sighed. “All right, I think it’s sexist, gross, and that it pretty much declares that you’ll give a blow job to any guy who wants one.”
Van examined herself in the mirror again. “You get all that from the shirt?”
“You asked.”
“Shit.” Van pulled the shirt off, tossing it on the closet floor, then disappeared inside, rummaging around. “How much you need?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand in cash. But I need it by Friday.”
“Three days? And how much is this place?”
“Seller’ll let me have it for a million.” I managed to say it like the number wasn’t significant, like we all were used to dealing with seven figures as a matter of course.
Van emerged, pulling on a green silk shirt. It clung to her shape, and she fixed the middle two buttons, leaving the others open. Her belly, flat and toned, and her cleavage, not flat but also toned, were deftly exposed. The hoop in her navel glinted.
“Better?”
“You look hot.”
She made a noise of agreement, then checked herself in the mirror a final time. Satisfied, she closed the closet door, then addressed me.
“What’s really going on?” Van asked. She didn’t sound angry or annoyed, just very matter-of-fact, as if she was used to all of my lies, and this was merely another of the legion.
“Nothing. Look, Van. I’m just trying to buy this place and this guy already has another buyer. He said if I paid him in cash, he’d sell to me. But he’s only giving me until Friday.”
“I had that company you used, the one Chapel called, come by. They went through this whole house, did a complete search. I figured it was prudent, especially with what happened at your place. They didn’t find anything.”
“This isn’t about the pictures.”
“Mim, I’m not an idiot, okay? Please, please, please stop treating me like one.”
“I don’t treat you like an idiot—”
“Then why do you keep lying to me?”
“I’m not—”
“Is whoever took those shots blackmailing you? Are there more pictures?”
“It’s not blackmail.”
“Paying isn’t going to stop it. You pay, whoever he is, he’s just going to come back for more. You can’t do this.” Van came closer, lowering her voice. “You can’t do this, Mim.”
“That’s not what this is. That’s just not what this is, Van.”
“Who hit you?” Van asked. “Your father? Did Tommy hit you?”
“No. No, it’s—”
“You’ve got a bruise on your throat, you know that? Right under your chin, it’s hard to see, but when you move your head and the shadow’s gone, it’s visible, and it’s a bruise.” Her face suddenly went blank, and her highlighted eyes widened. “Oh God, Mim, did someone choke you?”
She reached a hand for my chin, and I evaded it by stepping back and looking away.