by Mike Faricy
“Oh, Evelyn, I didn’t see you back there.”
“Apparently you were involved in an out of the way lunch?”
“Out of the way? No, I live just down the street. Business meeting on a case I’m working on.”
“Mmm-mmm, interesting,” she said and appeared to be waiting for an explanation.
“Nice to see you. Enjoy the afternoon, ladies,” I said and hurried down the steps. I debated calling Gladys to explain my luncheon with Annette but figured that would only add fuel to the fire. I walked back to my place, grabbed Morton, and we headed down to the office.
Chapter 16
Louie was seated at his picnic table desk when we walked into the office. I picked up on the scent of burning coffee the moment we entered. I stepped over to the empty coffee pot, turned off the burner, and set the pot on top of the file cabinet.
“Were you in earlier this morning?” Louie asked, not looking up from his computer screen.
“Yeah, I’m just back from lunch with your friend Annette Dinicci.”
“Oh, really, that’s great. Was she able to help?”
“Yeah, she gave me some pretty good information,” I said, pulling her envelope out of my back pocket and tossing it on my desk. “Unfortunately, it brings up more questions than answers.” I went on to give Louie a quick recount of our luncheon discussion.
“Well, it maybe gives you some other areas to look into. She have any idea where this Cummings character might be?”
“No, but now that I think about it, I might head back to that unit on the east side where he skipped out on the rent. I’d like to take a look at some paintings that were in there. Maybe take them off that crabby landlord’s hands.”
“Just from your description of that guy, I wouldn’t count on him doing you any favors.”
“Yeah, probably right, but no harm in trying. You going to be here for an hour?”
“I’m here for the rest of the afternoon. Go on, take off. Morton will be under my watchful eye.”
“I’m thinking it might be the other way around. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I said and opened the door. Morton was already sacked out on his pillow. He opened one eye as I opened the door and made no effort to follow. I drove over to the east side and parked in front of the house with the sagging front porch.
The nine steps leading up to the front of the house were still in disrepair, and I didn’t expect that to change anytime soon. I walked around the side of the house, stepped over two black trash bags, and stood on the sagging wooden steps at the backdoor.
The door was closed, but it was obvious the damage to the doorframe hadn’t been repaired yet. As I knocked on the door, it squeaked open. The saucepan and whatever had been on the floor was partially cleaned up, and the broken pieces of sheetrock were now leaning against the wall. The landscape painting still hung at an angle on the back wall.
I heard a noise coming from the other room and walked down the hall. At first, I thought someone might be moving a piece of furniture, but when I looked in the room, all questions were answered.
The soiled mattress was still on the floor of the room. The crabby fat landlord was on the mattress, snoring away. An empty cheap bourbon bottle, was on the floor next to him. The three portraits of an older woman were leaning against the wall exactly where they were the last time I saw them.
I thought for a half-second before I quietly tiptoed in, gathered the three paintings and hurried out of the room. Crabby never stopped snoring. I took the two landscapes hanging in the hall and stepped into the kitchen. I lifted the landscape off the nail in the wall and hurried out the door.
I had just settled into the driver’s seat when my phone rang, Barbara Wright. “Hi, Barbara, what’s up?”
“Just calling to remind you it’s detention night. I hope you didn’t forget.”
“No, I didn’t forget,” I lied. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking of bringing To Kill A Mockingbird so I could continue reading if no one shows up,” I lied again.
“Oh, so you actually are reading it?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Wonderful, well, I’ll look forward to seeing you this evening.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Thank you for the call. See you tonight,” I said and thanked God for her call reminding me. I headed back to the office, carried the paintings up the stairs, and leaned them against the wall behind my desk. Louie had left a note on my desk, saying he’d been at a stopping point and decided to refresh himself over at The Spot.
I put Morton on his leash, and we took the long way around the block to The Spot. Louie was on his favorite stool, and he signaled Mike for a bag of pork rinds when we entered.
“Get you a beer?” Mike asked as Morton pulled me along the bar toward Louie.
“Thanks, Mike, but I’ve got a meeting tonight, so I better take a pass.”
“Morton,” Louie said as he leaned down with a handful of pork rinds. Morton licked his hand clean in about two seconds. Louie sat up and said, “Were you able to talk to that landlord?”
“He was otherwise disposed,” I said. “Fortunately, he told me to help myself to any paintings. Just one more thing he won’t have to deal with when he gets around to cleaning out the place, if he ever does.”
“He have any idea where the guy may have landed?”
“No, unfortunately.”
“You sure you don’t want a beer? I’m buying.”
“Thanks, but I better not. In fact, I should probably take Morton home. It’s a detention night, so I’ll be over at the high school.”
“Well, I’ll be here for a while, so feel free to stop back down once you get out of there.”
“Thanks, I’ll play it by ear. If nothing else, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Morton scammed the remainder of the pork rinds from Louie, and we went home. I took him on a two-block walk, rewarded him with a biscuit in the kitchen, and then drove over to the high school.
Chapter 17
A text message came through as I drove to the high school. I parked in the staff only parking lot and checked my phone. The text was from Gladys. I called and ended up leaving a message. “Hi Gladys, got your text. I’m doing what I’m told, calling you back.”
I didn’t see any cars in the larger lot and wondered if it would be a quiet night. I was the third person in the cafeteria. Barbara and Janet Jackson were seated at a table. Barbara gave me a wave when I walked in.
“Good evening, ladies, how are you doing tonight?”
“Nice to see you,” Janet said.
“Dev, you’re an early bird tonight. Who knew?”
“Wouldn’t want to miss it, Barbara.” We chatted for a bit as more people drifted in then took up positions at separate tables a few minutes before 6:00. I pulled out the aged copy of To Kill A Mockingbird and opened the book to page one. At 6:01, four girls wandered into the cafeteria, looked around, and headed straight for my table. I recognized the girl leading the pack as Ramona Williams, the girl I lined up with Dennis Richards, my tattoo artist friend.
“Hi Ramona, were you able to meet with Dennis yet?”
She grinned and said, “I went down there today. We all did.”
“I drove,” a redheaded girl said.
“Well, sit down and tell me about it. Did you get enough information to write a paper?”
“We all did,” Ramona said. “I’m doing a paper on Dennis, how he got started in the business, and what it’s like to build and run a tattoo parlor.”
“We’re doing a paper together on his customers. You know the people that get tattoos. What kind of tattoo’s, why they get them,” another girl said and indicated the blonde girl next to her as the partner on the paper.
“I’m writing about the artwork,” the redhead said.
“So everyone has a subject. That’s great. Did you two check with the teacher to see if it’s okay to do a paper together?”
They nodded, and one of them said, “She sai
d if we were going to do it together, it would have to be forty-five hundred words, but I think we can do that.” She looked over at her friend, who nodded.
“Oh, that’s great, so are you going to go back there or do you have enough information already?”
“We’re all going back there tomorrow night. He’s got two other people working there, and we get to interview them, too.”
“If they’re not busy,” another girl added.
“They close Inkredible at eight on Friday night, and Dennis said he would hang around and answer any questions we might have.”
“Hey, that’s good news. What did the teacher say when you told her you were writing about a tattoo parlor?”
“She thought it was pretty cool.”
“Oh great, let me know how it works out. Anything else I can help you with?”
Ramona shook her head and said, “Just wanted to stop in and thank you. We’re gonna get a pizza, and a bunch of us are meeting at Kendra’s later tonight.”
“To work on our papers,” one of the girls added, not that I believed her.
“Yeah, you can work on the outlines before you talk to Dennis tomorrow night. When are the papers due?”
“Not till a week from Monday,” one of them said, which suggested they could put off writing for an entire week, until late Sunday night or early Monday morning. One of the girls gave a signal, and they all stood at once and smiled.
“Say Ramona, could I have a private word with you for a moment?”
She gave me a look, but waved the other girls off. “So what is it?” she asked as the girls headed for the door.
“I’m wondering if you could help me. The paper your doing, would you consider writing one for me on this?” I said and slid To Kill A Mockingbird across the table.
“Why would I write a book report for you? I’m not in your class.”
“No, I have to do it for a teacher, well former teacher, kind of a long story. But if you could write it, I’d pay you.”
“How much?” she asked.
“How does twenty bucks sound?”
“Thirty sounds better, in advance.”
I thought for a moment and then nodded. I pulled out my wallet, and took out two twenties, all I had. “You owe me ten,” I said and slipped the bills into the book.
“I’ll get on it right way. I’ve got your card. I’ll email you a copy,” she said and hurried out the door.
I had a pretty steady stream of students for the next two hours. A couple of chemistry and algebra questions that I sent to other tables, but all in all, it was about five times the kids I’d had on my first night. We shut things down at eight, stood around chatting for ten minutes before heading over to Tiffany’s Sports Lounge.
I ran home, let Morton out into the backyard for a few minutes, and then drove over to Tiffany’s. Once again, everyone was sitting outdoors around two tables. White wine appeared to be the beverage of choice. I ordered a beer from the waitress and sat down.
I had barely settled into my chair when a woman asked, “So what were you giving away that gave you a steady stream of students tonight?”
“Me, nothing really. One of the girls had to write a paper, and I lined her up with a guy to interview.” I went on to tell the tattoo tale.
“Inkredible? I know that place, or well, I know where it is. Of course, I’ve never been there,” one of the women said.
“They’re supposed to write about a tattoo parlor?” someone asked.
“They could write about anything. My pal owns a tattoo parlor, and now four of them are writing on different aspects of the business.”
“What happened to the days when we assigned the constitution or state capitol as the subject?” a woman asked.
“I think it’s wonderful. They have to interview the owner of a business. One can only imagine what preexisting thoughts they have on the subject,” someone said.
The discussion continued for two more drinks, and then it was time to go. Barbara seemed to be searching in her purse for something.
“Lose your car keys?” I asked.
“Thankfully, no, but I think I left my cellphone back at the school. I’d better head over there and get it.”
“You can’t wait until tomorrow?”
“I don’t want to do that. It will just take a minute to run in. I’ve got the key.”
“I’ll follow you over, just to make sure you make it out of the building.”
“Oh, that’s very kind, but this will just take a moment. You don’t need to—”
“Humor me, Barbara.”
She shook her head then smiled and said, “Thank you.”
I walked Barbara to her car, held the door for her, and told her I’d follow her over. She pulled to the exit in the parking lot and then waited until I pulled in behind her. It was less than a ten-minute drive back to the school. The main parking lot and the staff parking lot were empty. We pulled into the staff parking lot, and I climbed out of my car.
“Oh, Dev, that’s sweet of you, but you don’t have to stay. I can—”
“Not a problem, Barbara, let’s find that cell phone.”
We walked over to the cafeteria door. Barbara unlocked the door and flipped on the light switch. The fluorescent lights in the hall flickered for a moment and then came on. We walked down the hall, and I opened the cafeteria door. Barbara stepped in and turned on the light.
“Now, let’s see,” she said, looking over to the far corner of the room where we had been sitting.
“I got a better idea,” I said and pulled out my phone. I called her number, and a moment later, the phone lit up on a distant table. The opening chords to ‘Bad to the Bone’ identified me as the caller and continued to play until she got to the phone and quickly turned it off.
“Oh, goodness, thank you. I don’t know how I could have forgotten this,” she said, walking back toward me.
“‘Bad to the Bone’? You’ve got George Thorogood’s ‘Bad to the Bone’ identifying my phone call?”
“Consider yourself lucky. Some people just get the standard ring,” she said and turned off the cafeteria lights.
We headed for the door leading outside when I heard a noise coming from the small cloakroom behind the lockers. “You hear that?” I said.
“What?” she said and shook her head.
“Wait a second.” I walked back to the cloakroom entrance and flipped on the light. A jacket with a torn sleeve hung from a hanger in the far corner, and beneath it was a wide-eyed kid with dark curly hair sitting next to a McDonald’s bag. The same kid who told me he had a paper to turn into Ms. Jackson the other night.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I kind of got locked inside, and I was just calling my mom to come and get me.”
“Dev? What are you—” Barbara said as she stepped in behind me and then just stopped and stared. “How did you get in here?”
“I was down in the locker room, and I maybe fell asleep for a couple of minutes. When I woke up, the school was closed, and all the doors were locked.”
“Well, you can get out now,” she said. “How long have you been in here?”
“A couple of hours, I guess.”
“What’s your name, dear?”
“Taylor, I’m in eleventh grade.”
Barbara nodded and said, “Taylor, we can’t let you stay here. Did you reach your mother?”
“Her line was busy. She’s probably calling around looking for me. I left her a message.”
“Okay, why don’t you come with us, and you can wait for her outside.”
He stood, pulled the worn jacket from the hanger, and reluctantly followed us out of the building. Once we were outside, Barbara locked the door to the school and said, “Taylor, can I give you a ride home?”
“Oh, thanks, but no. I left a message so she’s probably on her way now.”
“Do you want to call her again, just to be sure?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just wait for he
r here. Thanks.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, fine.”
“Okay, have a good night,” she said, and we walked to the staff parking lot. “Oh, I don’t know, Dev. Something doesn’t sound right.”
“You picked up on it, too? Listen, go on home. I’m going to go back and talk to him. No way he fell asleep in the locker room. Something’s up. Maybe there was a problem at home, and he ran away, and now at close to ten that doesn’t seem like the best idea. I’ll check it out and keep you posted.”
“You sure? Maybe we should get the police involved or child welfare or someone?”
“I’ll check it out. You go on and head home.”
“You’re sure, Dev? I feel I should—”
“No offense, Barbara, but I might have a little better luck getting to the bottom of this. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve dealt with a runaway.”
She nodded and said, “Okay, but keep me posted, and I mean it.”
Chapter 18
I watched Barbara pull out of the staff parking lot until her taillights disappeared. I turned and walked back to the kid named Taylor sitting on the steps in front of the cafeteria door. He looked nervous as I approached.
“You hear back from your mom yet?”
“No.”
“Come on. I can give you a lift, you’ll be home in five minutes.”
“Oh, thanks, but I’ll just wait.”
His worn jacket looked about two sizes too large. The sleeves were draped over his hands, and I could just barely see his fingertips. One of his tennis shoes had a tear along the side. His jeans looked like they hadn’t been washed in a month or two.
“You got a cellphone?”
“Yeah, I, I already told you I called my mom.”
“Let me see it.”
“What?”
“Just show me your cell. You don’t have to give it to me. I just want to see it. I’m thinking of getting a new one, and I’m asking everyone what kind they have.”
