A woman answered. "Hello?"
"Hello, I'm trying to reach Philip Stakis. Do I have the correct phone number?" I asked.
The woman gasped. "Oh, my God," she shouted. "Can't you just leave us alone?"
"Please don't hang up!" I begged. "I'm not a solicitor or a lawyer or anything like that. I'm a private investigator and I'm just trying to find a piece of furniture." What the hell…?
"Furniture? Oh, yeah, right," she snapped.
"No, really. My client is looking for an old parlor organ that Mr. Stakis bought from Chet Ingstrom of Seattle back in 1990."
She was silent a moment, then said, "Really?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Well, we don't have it anymore," she stated in a Long Island drawl.
I restrained my urge to swear. "What happened to it? Do you know, or should I ask Mr. Stakis?"
She laughed harshly. "You'll have a hard time. Phil's dead."
Chapter 18
"Dead?" I echoed. Another dead guy? "I don't mean to pry, but could you tell me what happened?" "To Phil?" "Yes." "Lung cancer." I sat back, relieved that it wasn't something mysterious and sudden. Then she added, "Or pneumonia, really, but that's what happens when you're too sick to move after being a two-pack-a-day smoker. Died in the prison hospital a little over a month ago, sudden-like. And he'd been doing so good. Hadn't been in trouble since the navy, hadn't smoked in over a year. But he couldn't care anymore."
"What was Phil sent up for?" I asked.
She laughed her raw, barking laugh again. "Being a jackass. Grand theft—he stole a truck full of furniture, only he thought it was a truck full of TVs. Him and a couple of his jackass buddies from back in the day. So you can understand why I was kind of flipped when you said furniture."
"How long had Phil been in prison?" I asked. "This time? About six months. It was just before the holidays he got convicted. Then he got sick just after New Year's. Missed the Super Bowl and everything."
"That's terrible, Mrs. Stakis," I said.
"Oh, I'm not Mrs. Stakis. My name's Lenore Fabrette. I'm—was—Phil's sister. My son and I moved out here to live with Phil when I got divorced. Phil was retired from the navy and he was all the family I had left except Josh, and now it's just me and my boy."
"Do you mind if I ask you just a couple more questions?"
"No. You seem OK, like you actually care, not like some of the little creeps who've been calling."
"Creeps?"
"Local jerks. Some reporter's been trying to make a big deal out of the story, like it's gonna win him a Pulitzer or something. Just a bunch of middle-aged farts being stupid. Phil's criminal past is big news in Anacortes, though. He joined the navy back when we were kids so the court would seal his juvie record, but he got in more trouble in the navy and barely stayed in to retirement. I don't know how they found out, but it was all over the local papers, and me and Josh have been hounded like we had something to do with it."
"That's rough. Umm… what happened to the organ?"
"Oh. Phil gave it away. He said it wasn't worth much, but because it was an antique, taxes on it would be through the roof after he died, so he donated it to some historical society or museum or something like that. I don't know which one, though."
There was hope. "Do you have the tax records for the write-off?"
"No. All that stuff's with his tax guy."
"Could you find out for me? My client really wants that organ. He might be willing to pay you a fee for the information."
"Oh? I don't like to sound greedy, but I could sure use the money. Tell you what. I've gotta go down to Bremerton Thursday. I'll call the guy and see what he says. If he's got the stuff, I'll swing across and drop it on you then. OK?"
I agreed, gave her my numbers and address and hoped she'd come up with something. I left a message for Sergeyev asking if he'd pay for information from Fabrette.
I blew the rest of the day in mundane tasks, like billing, meeting with a lawyer who needed to find a witness, and making more phone calls and trips to the county records office—professional meat and potatoes that were strictly hamburger and home fries.
I finally stopped for some dinner and returned to my office. Cameron drifted in just a step or two behind me. I sat behind my desk and waved him to a seat, straightening up a few things as he sat down.
"All right," I started. "You want me to act as your agent in attempting some kind of reconciliation between you and this other vampire, Edward. Is that right?"
"Um… yeah. I mean, I don't care how Edward feels about me— that's not the issue. I just want the information and help that he should have given me, and I don't want to be a pariah with every other vampire in Seattle. I don't care if Edward helps me, or if he passes the job to someone else," Cam explained, "so long as I get some kind of help."
"What makes you think I can do this job?"
"Who else is going to believe me and not be on Edward's side? You're neutral. And I don't know who else to ask. And even if I had other options, I'd rather work with you. You're… you're tough."
I laughed at that. I felt as tough as wet Kleenex. "I'm new to this world myself, Cameron. You've already exhausted all my contacts among the undead." And if I took this case, I would have no choice about associating with the Grey and its residents.
"I'll give you some names. I think they'll talk to you, just because they're bored. I know I can't expect you to work a miracle, but, hey, it's worth a shot. I'm not doing so great at it."
"Why would Edward even be willing to negotiate with me? What can I offer him?"
"Well, that's what I'm hoping you can figure out by talking to the others. Y'know, maybe once you have a better idea of what the others think, then you'll know what Edward's buttons are and we can push them."
"You've got a lot of confidence in me," I observed.
"Why not? You tracked me down."
"That wasn't as hard as you seem to think. This idea of yours is a different situation. I'm also not quite finished with your mother's case, either. There's still the matter of informing her of your situation," I reminded him.
Cameron squirmed in his chair. "Can't that wait a little longer? Until after we fix this?"
"Have you ever heard the word 'unethical, Cameron? We have no idea how long it will take to solve your problems with Edward and the rest of the local bloodsucking brotherhood."
"Hey, they're vampires, not lawyers," he joked.
I gave him a thin smile. "I'm willing to try this, but you have to help me with your mother first."
"That kind of sounds like blackmail to me. Isn't that unethical?" he demanded.
"No. It's a contractual obligation. You're the subject of an investigation right now. Until that status changes, I'm not inclined to do anything for you. You want to change that, you need to call your mother and tell her you're all right."
"But that's not true!" he protested.
"Didn't Mara tell you to learn to lie? Start now. It's true enough. But whatever you choose to do, I am going to call Colleen first thing in the morning and tell her I've found you and you're OK. Technically, as your trust's executrix, she's not entitled to more than that. As your mother… that's another matter. You're over twenty-one and not of diminished capacity, but morally… What you choose to tell her is up to you, but you'd better come up with something satisfying, or she'll be on you worse than me."
"Thanks a lot, Harper! What am I supposed to say? 'Hi, Mom, I'm a Vampire?" he shouted at me.
I shook my head and pushed myself deep into my chair. "Cameron, sometimes you are a whiny little brat, you know that? You're spoiled. Oh, and there's something else you should deal with," I added, stabbing a finger at him. "Sarah. You did all this for her, remember?