Lie of the Needle(48)
The door to the store opened, and it wasn’t a wave of customers, but a tsunami in the form of PJ Avery.
I quickly made a fresh pot of coffee.
“Saw Martha outside,” she said, in her abrupt way of speaking. “Putting up flyers all over town. Advertising for Cyril Mackey like he’s a missing cat.”
“Oh, dear.”
PJ had recently come into a sizable inheritance, but it hadn’t changed her lifestyle much. She still worked at the newspaper every day, and her wardrobe was still retro Army Navy store. A pack of cigarettes poked out of the pocket of her safari jacket.
“You should quit smoking, young lady.”
“Oh, gimme a break. You’re not my mother.”
“I know,” I said, my smile fading as I wished for the hundredth time that I could somehow fill that gaping hole in her life.
“Hey, Daisy, it’s cool. Lighten up. I’ll quit when I’m ready.” She looked over at the counter where the coffeepot hissed as it brewed.
“Before you ask, no, there are no treats today.”
She shrugged. “That sucks. Anyways, thought you’d want to know something. That photographer, Alex Roos? He called me the day before he died to say he was working on ‘something big.’ Said he could use my help.”
“Really? Did you let Detective Serrano know this?”
“Yeah, but that’s all I could tell him. Roos and I never met up, so Serrano didn’t seem too interested.”
“Never mind about him.” I poured us both some coffee. “I’m interested.”
“Did some digging into the dude’s background. Turns out he’s actually from this area originally and was some kind of radical photojournalist, back in the day.”
PJ paced up and down in front of the Welsh dresser. Cyril would have said she had ants in her pants. I’d learned that I couldn’t watch her when she did this or I’d get slightly seasick.
“Pretty badass, actually. He took on the tough stories; hell, he even took on the Philadelphia union s, and trust me, that’s playing with fire.”
I frowned. Had all that flamboyance on Roos’s part just been an act?
As if reading my mind, she said, “Different guy from the one we thought we knew, right?”
“It’s quite a leap, isn’t it, PJ? From investigative reporting to fashion photography?”
She snorted. “Yeah. How the mighty have fallen. Who knows, maybe some jerk from his past caught up with him and he had to make a quick getaway.”
“Did he ever have a run-in with Beau Cassell?”
“Not that I know of, but maybe he stumbled on something that Cassell wouldn’t want to be made public knowledge.”
“Like what? A shady real estate deal? I wonder if he involved Cyril in whatever it was.” I blew out a breath. “And either Cyril is dead, too, which I refuse to think about, or he’s hurt or injured somewhere.”
PJ rocked back on her heels. “Wouldn’t last long in this weather. Hey, perhaps he’s in hiding. Could he be staying with someone to fly below the radar? Like Martha, maybe?”
I shook my head. “No, not Martha. She’s dramatic, but I don’t think she’s that good of an actress. Regardless, we need to make a plan to find him. And soon.”