That Way Lies Madness: A Florida Action Adventure Novel (Scott Jarvis Private Investigator Book 8)

by Scott Cook

  The idea was that Phil knew to not leave anything unturned. You don’t just go an inch into the sugar, you go all the way to the bottom.

  After nearly twenty minutes, I was getting discouraged. I’d checked the other bedroom and bathroom as well as the kitchen. Scott didn’t seem to be having any luck sifting through the mess in the master bedroom either.

  I flopped onto the couch and sighed. Then I remembered what he said and knelt on the couch so I could look behind it. I shined my flashlight down and saw nothing on the threadbare carpet… but I did see a label attached to the lower corner of the back of the couch near one of the feet.

  I shrugged and pulled the couch out a few feet so I could get behind it and squat down to get a better look. It was a furniture store label, but it made no sense to me.

  “Hey, baby…” I inquired. “What does NiRoPe mean?”

  The sounds of rummaging stopped and there was a moment of silence before he said, “Spell that… exactly.”

  “Capital N, little i, capital R, little o, capital P, little e,” I said, feeling confused.

  A pause and then he came out and around the couch to crouch beside me. He shined his light on the label, “I’ll be damned… another Rhode Island connection.”

  I must have looked baffled because he smiled at me… God, his smile…

  “Up north, there’s this furniture company started by three brothers or three friends, I forget which,” Scott explained. “Their names are Nick, Ron and Pete. They used to have great commercials on TV up there. One showed a nice dining table set for a fancy dinner. For like ten-seconds the scene stays still and all you hear is the buzzing of a fly, right…? then the buzzing stops and the table collapses! The voice over guy says, ‘Need new furniture? Come to NiRoPe…’ pretty funny.”

  Scott snickered, “then there’s this other one… it’s two dudes in a bunk bed, right? And the dude on the bottom is snoring super loud…”

  Scott was having trouble telling me this because he was giggling so much, “then… after a few seconds… the… the guy inhales a big snort man… and like… the whole fuckin’ top bed… collapses on him… ha-Ha-HAAAAAAA!”

  His blue eyes narrowed to slits and his whole face turned red as he bellowed with laughter. I stared at him blandly for a moment and then I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Ahem… guess you had to be there,” he said, wiping his eyes.

  “So this Darren West guy is from Rhode Island, too?” I asked after a moment. “That’s crazy…”

  “I know, right?” Scott said with a grin. “That’s a lot of Rhode Islanders over the past week or so. Kind of rare.”

  I chuckled, “Yeah, I have to sit and listen to you talk about Del’s, stuffies, Newport Creamery and chowduh for like an hour on the few occasions we’ve met somebody from up there.”

  “You’re just jealous cuz’ you don’t have chowduh in Miami,” he said and stuck his tongue out at me. “Or a big blue bug.”

  I scoffed, “We’ve got cigars, cafesito, papas rellenas… and girls that look like me.”

  “Touché.”

  I kissed him and then flicked my hand at the tag, “So does this help… hey…”

  “Well, well, well…” Scott said. We both noticed that when I hit the back of the couch with my hand, the fabric was kind of loose. Scott grinned and pulled the corner of the fabric away from the frame. Inside was an envelope. “Oh, ho, ho, ho…!”

  “What is it?” I asked in a hush.

  “I don’t know… I can’t see through stuff.”

  “You’re such a shit,” I said with a giggle.

  “Let’s look at it later,” Scott said. “We’ve been here too long… I don’t want to get busted.”

  We quickly left the trailer, Scott re-taping the caution ribbon and drove away. It was kind of exciting. I felt like we just got away with something.

  Which… I guess we had!

  “What’s in it?” Scott asked as we got back onto the 408.

  I switched on the reading light above the rearview and opened the envelope. It was one of those manila ones, but not the big letter size, but half that. Inside was a small notebook, a couple of slips of paper and a business card. I told Scott and he asked me to start with the card.

  “It says Thomas P. Lissard, professional and personal security,” I read. “It has a four-zero-one phone number.”

  “Rhode Island,” Scott said. “Curious… what are the loose papers?”

  I shuffled through them. There were nine, “They look like receipts… dollar amounts, West’s signature and it says Providence Police Department, drug interdiction division. Vice, right?”

  Scott scowled, “Yeah… probably receipts for payouts. This West guy must have been an informant. How about the book?”

  “Hmm…” I flipped through a couple of pages. “Dates and brief descriptions. No names, though…”

  “Read me one.”

  “Okay… I’ll start with the first one,” I began. “It’s dated three years ago, August… I’m thirsty, can we pull in someplace and get something?”

  “Sure, I can jump off here at John Young and hit the Mickey D’s…”

  “Okay, first entry… Met with my contact on the next to last level of the parking garage at the Providence Mall. Says not to use his name, so I’ll just call him McGarrett.”

  Scott chuckled sardonically.

  “Told McGarrett about a rumor of a shipment of powder coming into town from down south. Not sure how much or from where, but possibly several kilos worth. Made three yards and had to sign a fuckin’ receipt. I told McGarrett that if I was gonna risk my neck, it’d have to be for more than I could score just keeping my trap shut.”

  Scott chuffed, “Fuckin’ fink…”

  We were waiting for the light at the off ramp and I looked up at him, “Aren’t you glad he helped get dope off the streets?”

  “Yeah… I just don’t like a rat,” Scott said and then grinned. “I mean as a matter of principal. Where would private eyes be without tattlers. Go on.”

  I shuffled through the receipts, “Yeah, here it is. Three-hundred… the amounts vary but seem to go up… whoa, way up! The last one was for five grand.”

  Scott whistled, “That’ll keep the bulldog fed.”

  I giggled, “Not a very Rhode Island expression, especially for an Irish Italian boy.”

  Scott chuckled, “Okay, then… it’ll keep yiz’ in wieniz’ fuh two, tree yeayuhs.”

  I laughed, “Better… I want a small fry, too.”

  “Do me, buy me, take me,” Scott pretended to grumble as he pulled into the drive-through. “You broads are all the same.”

  “Considering that I fully intend to ride you like a steeple chaser when we get home,” I said with folded arms. “I feel you’re gettin’ off cheap.”

  He laughed, “Well, when you put it like that… let’s spring for the large fries!”

  After we’d gotten our health food, Scott had me read off a few more entries. They were pretty much the same, drug deal tips or tips on some crime or other.

  “Well, that’s funny…” I said as I flipped through the notebook.

  “What’s funny?” Scott asked, stealing some of my fries.

  “Most of the pages toward the end are empty… except for the second to last one. All that’s on it is a number. That’s weird.”

  “What kind of number? Like a phone number?”

  “No…” I said. “A thirteen digit number. No label or anything, just a number.”

  Curiouser and curiouser…”

  Chapter 19

  When flying into the biggest little state in the Union, as we say, your ticket says that you’re flying into Providence. In truth, though, TF Green airport is located in the middle of Warwick. Warwick borders Cranston and Providence and is located south of the capital city along the western edge of Narragansett Bay.

  Wayne and I grabbed our carryon bags and made our way up the jet way and into the main concourse of the airport. Well�
�� the only concourse.

  When I’d told Wayne what I’d found at West’s place and that I was going to Warwick, he insisted that I let him come. He was dead set on catching Shade and wasn’t about to sit at home while I went off and investigated. I was going to bring Lisa, but it sort of worked out.

  For one, she could run the office while I was gone. I didn’t expect to be up north for more than a day or two, but you never knew. Second, as an active duty cop, Wayne might be able to get some information from Warwick as well as Providence PD that I couldn’t. Third… I had to give him the opportunity.

  Shade, whether he’d done it directly or caused it to happen, had taken the life of Sheila Clarence. It was a tragedy for all of us and it’d ripped Wayne’s heart out. He deserved his chance to help capture the man responsible. Further, I felt better having him under my wing where I could keep an eye on him and be there for him.

  Understandably, Wayne hadn’t been himself since the night his car went into the lake. He seemed reserved, distant and pre-occupied. He was grieving and that was natural, of course. Yet Wayne is one of those guys who seems virtually indomitable. It’s disconcerting to say the least to see him diminished in any way.

  We took the shuttle over to the off-property Alamo rental lot where I was given the keys to the mid-sized rental I’d ordered. We were directed to the proper parking slot… and I wasn’t even surprised to find that I’d been given a 2017 Chrysler PT Cruiser painted a sexy doo-doo brown.

  Wayne chuckled when he looked at my face, “Damn, brother… you couldn’t have sprung for something a little more… less shitty.”

  I sighed, “I don’t know what it is, man… if I didn’t have bad rental car luck, I wouldn’t have any at all.”

  “What’re people gonna say when they see me ridin’ around in this thing?”

  I dumped my bag in the storage area and closed the hatch, “They’ll say, ‘Hey, who’s that guy with Jarvis?’”

  “It’s just… embarrassing, homey…”

  “Whatever, man… you ain’t payin’.”

  Wayne scoffed, “Oh… I’m payin’…”

  We got in and drove the rolling turd up Post Road and turned onto Airport Road. Past the DPW geodesic garage and the far end of the airport and then straight through the light at Warwick Ave where Airport Road became West Shore Road. It was a little longer of a ride but a little more scenic. Eventually I turned left onto Warwick neck Ave and down about a mile and a half and then went left again and around into my parent’s driveway.

  “Damn,” Wayne commented when he saw the three thousand square foot oversized Colonial. “Must be nice to be loaded.”

  “Yeah, must be,” I said. “Although to be fair my dad literally dug his way out of the ditches to get here. Always had a strong work ethic, thanks to an early start from my grandfather.”

  “He’s the Admiral, right?” Wayne asked. “The one who fought in Nam and commanded a submarine during the cold war?”

  “And a fleet after,” I said.

  We parked the car in the empty driveway. Both my parents’ cars and my sisters were stored away in the three car garage along the side of the house. We pulled our bags out of Lee Iacocca’s shame and I jerked my head up the street. Wayne turned and saw the blue and white Warwick PD radio car parked halfway down the block.

  “I hate to say this, man…” Wayne said as we walked to the front door. “I don’t think that’s enough to stop Shade.”

  I sighed, “No… but like I told you coming up… we don’t need to worry about guns. My dad’s got plenty. Enough to lend us each one and have plenty of firepower to boot.”

  I rang the bell. Things being what they were, nobody ran out to meet us as we pulled up, which was a sad necessity. The intercom box crackled and my mom asked who it was.

  “We’re here from the Watchtower Society,” I said. “Are you one of the hundred and forty-four thousand?”

  Her peel of laughter was cut off as she let go of the button. A second or two later the heavy door flew open and my old man stood there, beaming.

  “Come on in, boys!” My dad enthused. “Hotter than a snake’s ass in a wagon rut out today.”

  My dad was a pretty good older likeness to me. He stood about the same height, with broad shoulders and an athletic build. He still looked quite fit and energetic at fifty-two. His thick brown hair was about a third silver and the thin crinkles around his eyes and his big smile gave him a gregarious air that never seemed to diminish.

  We hugged and then my dad and Wayne shook hands, “Lookin’ good, Wayne. How ya’ doin’?”

  Wayne sighed, “As good as can be expected, Frank. I’ll be better when this shitbag is caught, though.”

  My dad nodded gravely and led us inside. My mom and sister stood at the end of the foyer waiting. Now there were a couple of women who could be sisters if not for just enough age showing on my mom to make you uncertain.

  Both of them were tall, about five-foot nine and had long-legged trim bodies with flowing brown hair, generous bosoms and athletic forms. They had the same features, except that my mom’s eyes were the blue of the sea like mine and Lauren’s were brown like Dad’s. I think she has his nose, too.

  “Welcome guys!” My mom said with a smile and hugged us both. “I’m sorry it’s under these conditions… but I’m glad we finally got you up here, Wayne.”

  “Thanks Angela,” Wayne said with a big smile. That was a good sign, too. My family was good at making people feel welcome and glad they came.

  “So what’ve you been up to, strangers?” Lauren asked after getting her hugs too.

  “Stuff,” I said.

  “Yeah, stuff,” Wayne commented. “I thought you were coming to hang out with us in O-town, though.”

  Lauren shrugged, “Well, after that little adventure in the Keys last summer… figured maybe you guys were just too exciting to live with. And I’d have come for a visit if not for the stupid beer virus.”

  I felt a pang of guilt at that. When Lauren had gone to the Keys on my boat with Lisa and me… see Isle of Bones for details… things had gotten crazy. Although it was never mentioned outright, I think my folks and Lauren decided that maybe being close to me could be dangerous.

  Considering what was happening now, I found it hard to blame them.

  “What the hell…?” My dad muttered from the front door.

  I spun around, feeling anxious, “What is it, Dad?”

  He turned back to me with a wry smile on his face, “What’s with the shit wagon?”

  Wayne burst into laughter and had to double over.

  “Oh, it’s real funny, huh?” I grumbled.

  Frank Jarvis just shook his head and snickered.

  I sighed, “So where’s Sam? Is she here?”

  That seemed to take some of the mirth out of the air. My mom met my gaze, “she’s upstairs. She’s pretty down, as you might imagine.”

  “Why don’t you guys catch up and I’ll go talk to her,” I said, taking Wayne’s bag.

  Samantha Garelli was a small woman, perhaps an inch over five feet tall. She was slim with medium sized breasts, slender limbs and a trim waist. She was very pretty, with classic Italian features and a flowing mane of curly black hair that fell to the middle of her back. She’d always been a cheerful, vibrant woman even in high school, where she and Bill had met.

  All this made it that much more disturbing when I saw her curled up in one of the guest rooms wearing old sweats and staring at the TV that sat on top of the dresser. Her whole demeanor struck me immediately as numb. Not unlike the way Wayne had been since coming to my office the other day.

  “Sam?” I asked quietly as I leaned around the doorjamb and knocked lightly on it. “Can I come in?”

  She looked over at me and nodded. She didn’t smile or say hello or anything. It hurt my heart to see her this way.

  I came in and sat on the bed beside her, “How you doing?”

  She drew in a breath, let it out slowly and said: “My whole
world has come crashing down around my ears, Scott… how the hell do you think I’m doing?”

  The words were said in a flat tone, without the vehemence I’d have expected. It made me worry and also glad that she was here and not all alone in their home… or what had been her’s and Bill’s home… over in Pawtuxet. An area of Warwick along the Bay.

  “Sorry,” I said softly, reaching out and taking her small limp hand in mine. “I guess that was a stupid question.”

  She tightened her grip on my hand just a little and a ghost of a smile crossed her lips, “What can you say… I’m sorry, it’s just…”

  “I know,” I said. “You want to talk?”

  “What’s there to say?” She asked, a sliver of anger showing through the cracks. “The man I’ve been with since I was seventeen was fired from the police force for stealing drug money. We had a huge fight and he moved out onto his boat… and then… and now… he’s dead, Scott… Jesus Christ…”

  “That’s a lot to swallow,” I commiserated. “A lot of mixed feelings, there.”

  She was quiet for a long moment and then, suddenly, she pulled her hand away and threw herself into my arms. She wrapped herself around me, her legs around my waist and her arms around my chest and just clung there, gripping me as if she’d fall down into a bottomless pit otherwise. Yet there was no crying, no sobs, no nothing. Just a silent and seemingly desperate clinging.

  I didn’t know if that meant anything. How was she supposed to react? Clearly if they’d split up after fifteen years together, ten of which were married, it wasn’t simply because Bill was accused of something. There had to be more. So their love had either been strained to the breaking point or had broken. On the other hand, though… she’d found out her husband had been killed. If she hated him, it wouldn’t affect her so badly, I’d think. Her attitude was hard to read, except for the fact that she seemed to be emotionally wrung out.

  “Are you here because of what happened to Bill?” She asked into my chest. “I mean… to find out who did it?”