“Evidently. I thought you and Candy were Kapootsville. Well, not Kapootsville, since you were never an item.”
“Don’t rub that in, but lots has happened between her and Lamprey.”
“Like?”
“Like he filmed her while on vacation.”
“So did you,” I countered.
“Yeah, but she doesn’t know that, and I didn’t film her sex acts with him.”
“But you would have.”
“No doubt. The point is she found the hidden camera and she doesn’t know what he’s going to do with the video. She definitely didn’t know he was filming, so it leaves open as to its purpose.”
“Do you think this ties in with him wanting her to do that audition? Maybe he’s just a freak that likes to view his conquests?”
“Could be, but I promised I’d dispose of it.”
“How you going to do that?”
“You’ll see, but right now, don’t mention anything about our discussions. This is the first time you’re seeing, hearing, and knowing anything about her.”
“Got it.”
With the ground rules established, we went back inside. Candy and Wolfie had already claimed seats at the portable poker table. Rupert was giving her a primer on the card game we were about to play while Moochie was plied with a steady stream of nachos from both.
“I guess this is her first time playing poker?” I whispered.
“Something like that, but she catches on fast.”
“Not with Lamprey, she didn’t.”
That remark got me an elbow in the ribs, but it was worth it. Nothing like seeing Mike in full fury. We dug into the snacks, waiting for the final contestant in this first round of qualifications. Marge didn’t disappoint. When she arrived in an AARP t-shirt, Moochie greeted her enthusiastically.
“In case we run dry,” she quipped, adding her import to the growing pile of lager.
As soon as we filled our plates, Candy did the honors of shuffling the deck and dealing out the first hand. I took an early lead in winnings, but Mike was catching up quickly—too quickly, if you ask me. No one did, but I thought I would add that for the record. Marge was holding her own, doing a pretty good job of concealing any tells that would have given her hand away. It was the one weakness in Candy’s game. Clapping when dealt a stellar hand is never good.
The chat turned from spotty to non-stop. Our loquacious bunch set a record in spitting out words. Eventually, the story of the mysterious Mr. Wallace spilled out—as did printouts of the pictures I took last night.
“He was doing what?” Wolfie asked, wanting the description to be repeated.
“Wind sprints or something,” I reiterated as I raised the ante. Two tens had to count for something.
“The sneaking around, I can understand,” he answered.
“You can?” Marge responded. “Tell me because I don’t.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that I know what he’s doing. It just makes more sense not making any noise if you’re trespassing,” the cop explained. Retrieving another drink, he brought one back for Candy. “Here you go, sweetie.”
“Thanks.” She giggled, going back to focusing on her hand. Course we all knew it couldn’t have been good since there’d been no applause.
“He must be casing a house. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Unless he’s a Peeping Tom,” I added.
“Could be playing commando. You know, like he’s into his own fantasy game,” Mike suggested.
“Not a bad guess,” Wolfie remarked, letting loose an expletive as he lost another hand. Told you that a pair of tens deserved respect. “You are the luckiest son of a bitch,” he muttered.
“I am when Mike here isn’t cheating,” I retorted.
“Hey, hey, hey! Who you calling a cheat?” she fired back.
“I have a theory,” Candy slid in as she sipped on her beverage. She’d switched to diet coke at half past nine.
“On Mike’s cheating? Tell us about it,” I teased.
“No, not about Mike,” she tittered, smoothing back a lock of her super shiny hair. Her blue eyes coquettishly blinking, her lashes looked like fans. Mike stuck out her tongue, grabbing another pot. She was cheating. I just knew she was.
“Then about what, sweetie?” Wolfie inquired, shuffling in his inimitable style, which was to have the cards get loose and fly in all directions at least once.
“Hank. That’s what we were discussing.”
She was right. We had been doing just that.
“And what are your thoughts, Candice?” I asked, using her proper name.
“Well, I’m sure this has nothing to do with anything, but I used to live in this apartment on Bleecker Street. It had this really tiny window in the bathroom, right next to where I showered,” she said, pausing for another swallow. “Anyway, there was only one spot across the street where you could get a view, and this perv found it. He used to spend the whole night there until he discovered my schedule. Then he’d just show up when I was showering or taking a bath. I found that out later. From a neighbor who used to see him on the sidewalk. He’d always wondered what the guy was watching.”
I slapped myself in my head. How stupid could I be? Of course, that would be the reason for remaining in one spot. I heard more cracks from palms hitting bare skin. Wolfie and Mike had the same reaction I did.
“You’re absolutely right,” I exclaimed, grabbing at the photos. “Maybe if I got in his position, I could figure out what he’s been staring at.”
“Great idea, Savage,” Mike concurred, snatching the photos from me. “Think you were standing right here when you took them,” she said as she assumed approximately the same position. Wolfie moved next to her while Marge stood behind them, Moochie safely in her arms.
I went outside, beginning to crouch in the area where I thought Hank was always stationed.
“A little to the left,” Mike called out.
“And forward,” Wolfie ordered as he compared me with Hank.
“He’s right,” Mike continued. “More, more, more, stop!”
“A little to the right now and … perfect!” Wolfie assured.
He ran outside, squatting next to me and looking around.
“What’s that house?” he queried.
“The Weissmans’. But you can see it better from the street or even over there,” I said, pointing.
“Yeah, but the question is what you can’t see in the other places,” he remarked, staying on point.
“Let’s find out,” I responded as I took a gander through my new spiffy binoculars. After taking in as much detail as I could, I moved a few feet to the side and looked again.
“What do you see?” Mike called out.
“It’s what I don’t see. I can’t see into that room on the second floor. It’s the one all the way to the right.”
“Second floor? Well, then, it’s got to be a bedroom, no?” Wolfie queried.
“One would think,” Mike answered. “But it could be an office, bathroom, or even rec room.”
“What about it, Marge?” I asked. “You ever been in the Weissmans’ house?”
“Yes,” she said, moving forward until she was framed by the patio doors. “But I never went upstairs.”
“We’ll just have to wait until a light comes on or until tomorrow morning when there’s natural light to find out,” I said, standing up.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Wolfie objected. “When does Hank show up? We should go by his schedule. It might tell us what’s happening in that room that he wants to see.”
“I guess around twelve,” I answered
“No, he doesn’t. It was about three in the morning when Moochie and I discovered him outside,” Marge countered.
“That was before, Marge. He’s been showing up right after midnight and hanging around for an hour or two.”
“Really?” Wolfie responded.
“Yes, really,” I confirmed. “Is t
hat important?”
“Everything’s important. You know that.”
I used to, but not anymore.
“So you think he’s waiting for something to happen? Maybe when the lights go off and everybody goes beddy-bye?”
“Perhaps. Right now, it’s about 11:30. There are no lights on, except for the ones in that downstairs room.”
“Are we sure about that?” Marge asked. “We can’t see the front of the house from back here.”
“Good point. I’ll check,” Mike volunteered.
She took off across the lawn. Only taking a minute to traverse the distance and return, she wasn’t even breathing hard. Mike’s an animal.
“Nope, nothing on in the front. Just that one room,” she reported.
“Uh, oh, somebody’s just clicked on another upstairs light,” Wolfie alerted, yanking the binoculars out of my hand. Moving to the other spot so he could get a better view, he told us what he could see.
“It’s a man. Medium height, dark hair, glasses. Is that Mr. Weissman?”
Waiting until he handed them back, I checked out who was in the window.
“Yes, that’s Stan.”
“Well, then, that would be the master bedroom, no? I mean, it is an overhead light going on. If he was checking on the kids,” he stated, trying to piece things together logically. “There are kids, aren’t there?”
“Yes, three,” I replied. “And I guess it makes sense. Okay, for now, we’ll assume that it’s the master bedroom.”
“Light’s going off. He could be going to bed or back downstairs. The lights are still on down there. Looks like the TV is on. Wish the damn curtains weren’t closed.”
We headed back inside, making all kinds of suppositions. Nobody knew anything, but it didn’t stop anyone from having an opinion.
“You think he’s stopping by tonight, Savage?” Wolfie queried.
“Not with my lights blazing, the patio doors open, and fifteen people trampling my lawn, he isn’t.”
“Curt is right,” Marge commented. “Tonight’s a wash as far as Hank’s concerned, but not for us. We can watch to see what is so fascinating.”
“We sure as hell can,” Wolfie agreed. “Now who’s going to help me move the table and food outside?”
CHAPTER 19
“So what do we know?” Mike queried. It was the next morning and she’d started the ball rolling as she stretched out in the hammock with Mooch playing cuddle toy. My shady oak tree was preventing the sun from frying her fair Irish skin. Candy wouldn’t like burnt Mike.
“Nothing.”
“Aw, come on! Let’s stop being so pessimistic,” she reprimanded, not willing to actually sit up to scold me. Mooch was enjoying the rocking motion. Asleep on her stomach, the two were sharing a tender moment.
“I think we’ll have to wait until Marge comes back before we can get a handle on things. I mean, other than the fact that the downstairs lights went out at 1:30, there’s not much to go on,” I assessed.
“I guess you’re right. You think old Margie is going to be able to get answers out of Weissman?”
“Think old Margie can do about anything she sets her mind to doing. I mean, I am working on this case, aren’t I? And so are you.”
Mooch stirred. Rolling over onto his back, his legs were up in the air. Mike’s eyes closed; her head waffled to the side. Getting up this morning had thrown Mike for a loop.
My coffee cup was empty. I debated about refilling it, but thought better of it. Ruthie had been right about purchasing this outdoor set, after all. It was way more comfortable than folding chairs. In fact, the chaise lounge just might end up replacing my bed. I decided never to move from it, but the sound of the phone changed my mind.
Pushing off, I ambled on into my abode. A glance at the caller ID told me that Dr. Shadows was late.
“What happened, jackass? You oversleep?” I taunted, wondering if he had a glass jaw.
“Never mind about me. Did you do as I asked?”
“You mean about spending all my time doing research on a goddess that liked pigs, but didn’t mind them getting slaughtered? Sure didn’t.”
“Based on your answer, you need to go to Gable Hills. Talk to Piers and Dina.”
“What makes you think they’ll talk to me?”
“You loved their daughter and she loved you. They’ll talk.”
“And if they don’t tell me what I need to hear?”
“Visit Ruth’s room. Goodbye.”
Well, at least this jerk was learning some manners. As I refilled my cup, Marge returned from her fact-finding mission. I put on another pot.
“What’s up, little momma?” Mike greeted. Moochie jumped off her lap, sending the hammock into a frenzy, but the girl in the “Don’t Stop at Straight—Go Gay!” t-shirt hung onto the bucking bronco like a pro.
Swinging her legs over the side, she was ready to listen to what Marge had to say.
“The bedroom on the far right is her daughter’s. Stan’s and Linda’s bedroom is the one where we saw Stan. The two boys’ bedrooms are facing the street and can’t even be seen from the backyard. ”
Mike shot me a look, implying I should be able to glean something from this. I shrugged.
“So Hank isn’t interested in the two boys, but why?” I ventured.
“Well, if he’s casing the joint to rob it, he’d be interested in the schedule,” Mike theorized. “Remember that last night, Stan went to sleep around 11:30, and—”
“Linda went to sleep at 1:30,” Marge interjected. “Turns out that’s usual and why are you looking at me with your mouth open? Think I’m too senile to figure out it might be important?”
Mike was caught. She wiggled off the hook.
“Not at all. Savage said you’d forget. Shame on you, big guy.”
“I’m sorry.”
Choosing expediency, I apologized for nothing. Mike had nailed me to the wall again.
“Do the bedroom schedules change?” I asked.
“Not according to Linda,” Marge explained, “but then I didn’t twist her arm and stick probes into her brain.”
“But you would have liked to?” Mike teased.
“Hell, yeah! Under the circumstances, I want to know the whole truth.”
“How old are the kids?” I inquired.
“Amy is six. Thomas and Mark are eight and ten,” my neighbor replied. “And what’s with the coffee, Mr. Bad Host? You serve yourself and not me?”
“Yeah, what’s with that?” Mike piled on.
Swallowing a slightly nasty remark, I played Miss Manners. Retrieving a freshly brewed cup of coffee, I served my guest, but I couldn’t resist taking a shot.
“The Weissmans’ caffeine not good enough for you?”
“They didn’t have any,” Marge answered, gulping the fresh brew down. “They’re health freaks. Don’t even let the kids eat sugar. Imagine.”
“Tantamount to child abuse if you ask me,” Mike grumbled.
“So Amy is six. You think she might wake up occasionally? Bad dreams or late-night bathroom calls? How about to have a snack?”
“It would have to be a healthy one,” Mike quipped.
“I didn’t ask,” Marge replied, “but you may well be right.”
“Could be there was a disruption. Because if there was, he has to make sure it isn’t the norm. Hence, staying out here to make sure and taking pictures with a time stamp.”
My supposition finished, Mike took over.
“Yeah, and if it were Amy waking up for whatever reason, he’d need to see her bedroom. She might even be on the computer or something. Doubt the parents would know, but—”
“There’d be a light, wouldn’t there?” I responded. “Yup. I think we’re dealing with a robbery in the making. And it isn’t your house he’s going to hit, Marge; it’s the Weissmans’. Do they have expensive items? Anything you noticed?”
“What don’t they have?”
Marge retorted. “Best of everything, as far I can judge, but whether it’s more than anyone else in the neighborhood, I couldn’t say.”
“But more than Savage?’ Mike taunted.
“Oh, hell, anyone’s got more this!” Marge fired, waving her hand dismissively.
“I guess it means that I’ll have to keep my eyes on the Weissmans and wait until he strikes,” I concluded. “In the meantime, I’ll just continue taking Mooch for two walks in the evening—to make sure I know where Wallace is. No sense staying up all night if he’s on another trip.”
“Good idea, Savage,” Mike commented as I snapped on Mooch’s leash.
“You got any more of that dip?” Marge asked, already headed to my kitchen to find out.
“Yes,” I answered. With my hand on the door, I turned back to the two ladies who’d forgotten they were in my home. Already in the process of cleaning out my cupboards, they were helping themselves to my grub. My mind switched to finances in figuring out what their rampage would cost me. The calculations triggered an aside.
“Oh, and, Marge. My ten hours is up.”
CHAPTER 20
The morning constitutional yielded results; Hank had taken another powder. I wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone, but decided to take advantage of the opportunity.
When I returned home, I found the two girls were still yakking it up. I bypassed getting involved in the chatter by retreating upstairs to make a call. Uncomfortable doesn’t begin to cut it.
“The Warwick residence.”
“Yes, I’d like to speak to Piers, please. It’s Curt.”
“Curt?” the stony voice asked. The butler must be playing a joke.
“Savage, Hans,” I snapped.
Dead air followed the revelation. Did he think someone would lie about being me? Hanging on way too long, I wondered if rich people were even home on Saturdays. They might be on their yacht or gambling their employees’ pensions away in Monaco.
“Curtis?”
“Yes, Piers. It’s me.”
A heavy exhalation following, I’d bet he was sitting down.
“It’s good to hear from you. You know, if you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask.”
I believed him. Ruthie’s father and I always had a connection. With Dina, it had taken a while, but not with the old man.
“That’s very kind, sir. Actually, I was wondering if I could stop by and see you. Maybe have dinner.”
“Of course. I’ll give you my secretary’s number. Patricia handles my social calendar.”
Savage Summer Page 8
