Nowhere Man: A Riley King Mystery

by Richard Neer

Can you dream about tomorrow

  Can you remember yesterday

  Do you know how much I love you

  It’s so sad that you can’t say

  Our time soon will be over

  Though neither wants it to be

  But it’s the way God planned it

  A heartbreak coming, I can see

  I know you’ve been faithful

  Something I always tried to be

  But you know there’ve been others

  Before your love came to me

  Though you can’t say you love me

  Your eyes tell me you do

  My heart will always tell me

  There can never be another you

  Some may say that you’re less than

  But their cold hearts can never know

  Of all the joy you bring me

  From the beauty of your soul

  The song kept echoing through my mind. I guess that’s a pretty good barometer of a hit record --- it becomes an earworm you can’t exorcise. I slept poorly, waking every hour. Just before daybreak, I gave up trying to doze off and got up for good.

  Although I looked forward to seeing Mary Duncan, I dreaded another long car ride. When I stumbled out to the kitchen, I was surprised to see that Moses was already sipping coffee, looking as bleary eyed as I felt. Bosco was at his feet.

  I said, “You couldn’t sleep either, Mo? Has the dog been out?”

  “Yep. Just fed him.”

  “So, you didn’t tell me last night. When’s Tomey due back?”

  “Not sure. And when she sees this, it might be the end of our beautiful friendship.”

  He slid his tablet over to me. The online edition of local paper headlined a story about a fire near Beaufort that destroyed the home of an ex-police officer. It noted that the owner kept a small distillery on the premises, which apparently had exploded under pressure and burned the entire house down while the owner was attending a benefit concert in Bluffton.

  I pushed the tablet back and said, “I thought you were just going steal the laptop and chuck it into the swamp. In case his computer geek could salvage it.”

  “Started out that way. But then I looked around that main room, the one you was searching when we were there a few days ago. All kinds of Civil War shit. Books glorifying the sacred cause. Framed pictures of lynchings. Burning crosses. Slave auctions. Kinda got to me so I improvised.”

  “You cover your tracks?”

  “Who you talking to? The computer did get tossed in the swamp after I hammered the hard drive into pieces. That felt good. But don’t fret none, you’re off the hook. You ain’t responsible for what I did. All you did was give the man a chance to meet Charlene Jones. Hope he had a good time.”

  “All that alcohol must’ve been a natural accelerant. Oh well, he and Bolton can go house hunting together when his wife gives him the boot.”

  “Hah. Doubt that. Didn’t seem too chummy at that coffee shop.”

  “How you going to play this with Tomey?”

  “I’ll tell her the truth. She’d figure out on her own and I won’t deny it. 50/50 whether she can live with that or not.”

  “Knowing that, was it worth it?”

  “Man’s gotta do, what a man’s gotta do.”

  “Your John Wayne impression needs some work.”

  “Yeah, well. Lots of burned out churches and lynchings that this don’t come close to making up for. If Tomey don’t get that, then she don’t get me.”

  “I’d like to say I feel your pain but that’d be a lie. I’ll never know what it’s like to walk in your shoes. I was thinking you’d steal the computer and maybe put dog shit in his bed, but you went all the way.”

  “No regrets. Except maybe that motherfucker wasn’t there when it happened.”

  “I know you better than that.”

  “Ain’t so sure. I wasn’t fixin’ to burn him out and I did. Who knows if I would’ve taken the next step if he hadn’t been so hot so meet Charlene.”

  “I just hope Tomey can deal with it.”

  “I look worried? She splits and leastways she don’t need to worry ‘bout her folks accepting an older black man as her beau.”

  “Come on, man. Don’t make her the bad guy. This is on us. We stepped over the line again. She’s a cop. What we did might be justified, but it sure isn’t legal.”

  “Maybe men who do what we do can’t have no steady woman. Good ones ain’t gonna tolerate the shit we pull.”

  “And we steer clear of the bad ones like Charlene. She’s going to the Caribbean for Christmas. Wanted me to join her, but I’m headed the opposite way.”

  “Good move on your part.”

  “I must say, she’s been amazing through all of this. She’s giving me second thoughts about her.”

  “Give her time. She’ll get back to being Charlene. So Mr. King, you gonna tell that young lady up in the mountains that you’re her father? Was me, I’d wait until after Christmas when you’re fixin’ to leave. That way if she’s pissed, you can make a clean getaway and not mess up your holiday.”

  “This stratagem coming from a man who thinks he’s committed the perfect crime. Who, by the way, is living with a cop who knows he did it.”

  “Keep on rubbin’ it in. Don’t mean I ain’t right about this one. You do the DNA test yet?”

  “No. Got caught up in Townes and I didn’t have time.”

  “I call bullshit on that, 5-0. A phone call to Logan, slip those samples in an envelope and stick it in the box. Take all of five minutes. You just don’t want to know, do you?”

  “You’re probably right. Mary’s great. If she wasn’t my daughter, I’d be knocking on her bedroom door. She reminds me so much of her mother. Máiréad and I might be celebrating 30 years together if I wasn’t such a prig.”

  “Prig or prick. Sounds like she was too good for you anyway.”

  “Like Groucho said, I wouldn’t want to join any club that’d have me as a member. Well, speaking of clubs, I do have a little something for you for Christmas. Got Tomey a present, too, but I guess that’ll have to wait.”

  “I didn’t get you nothing but I done something for you.”

  “Your gift’s in the bedroom. Might as well give it to you now. I want to get an early start.”

  “Meet me in the garage.”

  I was intrigued. There are three bays in the garage, so there used to be plenty of empty space to leave my tools and toys where they lay. But now that I have the Audi, there isn’t enough room for it, the MDX and Molly Mercedes. Ginn would be loath to keep his precious baby outside, where the salt air would eat away at the frame and finish.

  I had just stuck a gaily colored bow on the putter. Carefully wrapping it wouldn’t disguise the fact that it was a golf club. Besides, if he thought it might be a walking stick, he’d clobber me with it.

  Ginn was beaming when I got there, the first time I’d seen him smile in days. I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw what he’d done to the garage. All three cars were parked with room to spare. He’d installed shelving and cabinets. All my outdoor equipment and tools were neatly hung on track mounted racks.

  I said, “When did you find time to do all this?”

  “Last night. Didn’t sleep. Hid the materials a few days back and did the work while you were tits up. Cool system, went up in no time.”

  I handed him the golf club and he caressed it as if it was a newborn puppy. “Where’d you find this putter, man? It’s beautiful.”

  “The shaft was custom turned and the grip was wrapped by Jason Black. Legend is that the blade was used by Bobby Jones, but that might be just legend. Hey, this garage looks amazing. Thanks, man.”

  “You remember I told you while you was gone in your flash new whip, I took that old heap of yours in for an oil change?”

  “I do. Thanks for that.”

  “Check it out.”

  The MDX looked like a brand new car. I couldn’t tell if he’d done it himself or had it detailed by a pro,
but the exterior was in showroom condition. The inside smelled fresh --- new carpeting and mats. The wood trim gleamed, the leather upholstery buffed to a satin sheen. It was a shame I was planning to drive it to the mountains, where the snow and salt would mess it up. I actually almost teared up looking at my old jalopy.

  The big man and I aren’t much for hugs. But the thought was there.

  ~~~~~

  Moses is a stoic guy. I rarely see him laugh and I’ve never seen him cry. But I knew he’d be hurting bad if Tomey left him over this.

  She was in a tough spot. A sworn officer of the law --- she knows the man she’s living with has committed a major act of arson. If it were anyone else, she’d arrest the man without a second thought, no matter how justified she believed his cause to be.

  She’d never do that to Ginn. Leaving him would be his punishment. Ginn was too proud to ask for forgiveness and Tomey would be compromised if she looked the other way. The end result would be the two aging bachelors sharing a big house on the ocean.

  As I drove up I-95 to I-26 and I-77, headed for the North Carolina high country, I began thinking about my own situation with the female gender. Jaime is out of my life, never to return. Katrina McCann is intriguing but I can’t go there. My only immediate option is Charlene and I’ve been burned by her twice. I’m not stupid enough to lead with my chin one more time.

  My mind roamed all over the place on the six hour drive. I ran some ideas past Bosco, but he withheld comment on them. I stopped once to gas up, stretch my legs and let Bosco do his business. He hated long car rides, but I’ve been neglecting him and I wasn’t about to leave him with Ginn for another week. So I loaded up a week’s supply of his food, two dog beds, Blue Buffalo health cookies, three of his favorite chew toys and his leash and harness. I resigned myself to vacuuming the Golden Retriever fur that would soon overwhelm the back seat of my freshly detailed car.

  The sun was a half hour from setting on Christmas Eve as I got to Mary’s Tree Farm. Unlike the first time I ventured to her place, there was no flurry of last minute activity --- workers loading trees and wreaths onto the roof racks of SUVs. The place was shut down and ready for the road graders. I felt a pang of gloom. Although Mary had told me about the sale, this brought it home and it hurt to see it.

  There were six inches of pristine snow on the ground. Bosco hadn’t seen snow since we left New Jersey, which was a half century ago in dog years. He didn’t know quite what to make of it, but romped through the rows of Fraser firs, marking his territory every few seconds and having a grand old time.

  Mary wafted down from the old Victorian’s lemonade porch. With her flaming red hair and opaline green eyes, she looked as stunning as the day we first met.

  “So that’s the Bosco boy I’ve heard so much about,” she said, kissing me on the cheek. “He’s pretty rambunctious for a middle aged dog.”

  “Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll be around to greet you after he gets done checking the place out. Just stand your ground. He’ll jump all over you.”

  “Unlike his master.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. Mary’s long hair was in a French braid, just like her mom’s had been. Máiréad was a tad more curvy than Mary but otherwise, the resemblance was striking. From her opening flirtation, it sounded like I had to get to the daughter thing sooner than later.

  Bosco bailed me out by finally noticing Mary and as predicted, jumping all over her, then sticking his nose between her legs.

  She said, “Down. Daddy didn’t teach you manners, did he? You don’t do that on the first date.”

  “He’s just excited after being in the car all that time. He’s really a mellow dog. He’ll calm down in a few minutes.”

  “You must be exhausted. Come in. Let’s sit by the fire with a glass of wine. Unless you want to jump straight to the Glenfiddich. I bought a big bottle just for the occasion. I’m actually developing a taste for the stuff myself.”

  Another reason to love her. She helped me unload the car and carry my duffel bag to the base of the staircase leading to the upstairs guest room. The fire was crackling and the smell of her renowned pot roast drifted in from the kitchen.

  I said, “I really hope that developer realizes what he has in this house. You’ve done such a great job with it. Kept all the old charm but updated it with all the latest amenities.”

  “I’ll miss it, that’s for sure. Why don’t you splash some water on your face in the powder room and I’ll get the wine.”

  She started for the kitchen, then turned. “I see you brought dry food for Bosco. I’ve got a spot in the laundry room where I can put his bowls. How much does he get?”

  “Two cups, twice a day. I’ll be right out.”

  Meeting Mary was an incredible coincidence. The first holiday season after I moved from New Jersey, I was alone and melancholy. Bosco hadn’t even come South with me yet. I decided to get a fresh cut tree and decorate my unfinished house. I found Mary’s Tree Farm with a Google search and subsequently met the woman I thought was my daughter.

  When I came out after freshening up, Bosco’s nose was deep in his bowl, scarfing down kibble like he’d never eaten before. I suppose when he gets into the car, he has no idea whether he’s going to a painful vet visit or a new adventure with fresh sights and smells.

  Mary was sitting on her comfortable leather sofa in from of the fire, long legs tucked beneath her, wineglass in hand. Hidden speakers were playing country music, mixed in with traditional Christmas carols. She said, “I’m afraid I got a head start on you, Riley. We can eat in about an hour, but there’s something we need to talk about first.”

  Ever since she mentioned the need for a serious conversation when we spoke on the phone, I dreaded this moment. Maybe Mary had met a man. Maybe she needed money. Maybe she had inherited her mother’s fatal illness. Or maybe she figured out she was my daughter.

  All I said was, “I’m listening.”

  “Riley, we’ve known each other for what, five or six years? When you first came up here and were snowed in, you stayed over. But you pushed me away. Said you were involved with someone and it wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say I pushed you away. We had a really nice evening, talking about your mom and all.”

  “We did. But you’ve been coming up every Christmas since and we always have a really nice time, talking books, music, whatever. But then nothing. I figured if there was another woman in your life, she wouldn’t much care for you traipsing up to the hills every Christmas to spend the holiday with a ravishing red haired temptress.”

  I smiled at the apt description. “You are that.”

  “My first thought was that you’re gay. I figured you didn’t want to tell me because we didn’t know each other that well. But I kept dropping hints about how I was liberal when it came to accepting such things and you still didn’t respond. So that didn’t make sense.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m not gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Seinfeld. I started thinking about you and my mom. You said that you were good friends. Maybe you slept with her and were embarrassed to tell her daughter, much less sleep with her.

  “Then it struck me. She always said my father was like Captain America. A man who left her to serve his country. I pictured a soldier, maybe someone who died in Vietnam or got shot down somewhere. You were with the FBI when you knew her. Serving your country.”

  I let her go on. She was headed where I had been afraid to go.

  She said, “I did the math. My age. When you graduated. How old my mother was. That was it --- you were my father. But why didn’t you just say so? I was angry. After all these Christmases, why couldn’t you just tell me. But then I thought, just because the timeline syncs up, that doesn’t prove it for sure.”

  “Mary, I’m sorry. We should have had this talk years ago.”

  “Let me finish. I had some of your DNA from the time you c
ut yourself helping me fix a TV bracket. I took it to a lab and guess what they found?”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “You’re not my father. The tests came back negative. If you don’t believe me, I know you still have friends in the FBI. Check with them.”

  Whether it was the wine, my fatigue from the long drive, whatever it was --- I almost passed out. I was prepared to confess to Mary, tell her how I’d been too cowardly to send the test to Dan Logan.

  I said, “All this time, I was afraid if I told you I might be your father, you’d hate me for not being part of your life. For abandoning your mother. I like to think I’m a tough guy, but this is something I was afraid to confront.”

  “You know my mother and I didn’t get along very well until the end, when she was dying. I have a lot of her things in the attic. I finally summoned up the courage to go through some of her things. She kept the letters she sent to you that came back unopened. Return to sender.”

  I was afraid to hear what she had written but didn’t want to stop Mary if she needed to share them. “I couldn’t accept that she did what she thought she had to. I can’t tell you how many nights when I can’t sleep that I hate myself for that.”

  Her daughter was resolute. “I know what she was. There’s a country song out now about growing up without a dad. Well, I did, and nothing’s going to change that.”

  I said, “Maybe I could have changed it if I wasn’t such a baby who ran away when I found out how she was putting herself through school.”

  “Come on. You were a good Catholic boy from Georgetown University. I can understand how you reacted when you found out the woman you loved was a high priced prostitute.”

  “She was trying to rise above her upbringing and this was the only path she saw.”

  “She never would tell me your name, even though I tried. She just told me about her Captain America, the only man she ever really loved. It was only when I found the envelopes addressed to Riley King that I knew for sure. When she was dying she said that she understood why you left.”

  I was getting choked up.