“Savage!” Mike toasted. “We’re just passing time until you know who gets here.”
“So I see,” I said, tossing my keys into the dish they always occupied. I found leaving them in the same place helped. Otherwise, I’d waste hours searching for them and there were plenty of places to hide. Planting myself on the couch, I opted for diet soda. It was safer that way.
“How about a game of cards?” Marge suggested.
“Even better, how about Monopoly? Found it in that upstairs closet,” Mike remarked.
“What the hell were you doing in my upstairs closet?” I reprimanded.
“Relax! I needed a spare towel and looked around! I dropped the one you had out. You wouldn’t want me to get all germy?”
“Oh, like my floor is so diseased what with the cattle stampeding over it all day. If I didn’t like you so much, I’d knock you on your ass,” I warned.
“You’d try,” she fired. “And you really like me?” she asked, smiling. “I think that’s sweet. Now what pieces do you two want ‘cause I’m taking the car!”
* * * * *
The game was brutal. Marge wiped both our asses. She had life skills, to be sure. Even in games, it was apparent. The lights were low; I only left on the hall light. That light was in the front of the house, so it wouldn’t be strident enough to scare off The Creeper.
My equipment was set up and ready. We waited for Mooch to tip us off. At 1:45, the Pommie was rousted out of a half-sleep. His ears stiffening, a low growl emerged from his belly. He headed towards the glass doors, and so did I. I got there in time to see Hank sneaking to his favorite hiding place.
“What’s he doing?” hissed Marge, trying to soothe her charge.
“Just kneeling and staring at the house.”
“I wonder if he brought his van,” she continued.
Something tingled inside. It must have crawled out because it also hit Mike between her eyes.
“Yeah, why does he always bring his van?” the intrepid private dick asked. “I mean, he cuts through backyards, so it wouldn’t it be faster for him to run home?”
“Not unless there’s a block full of attack dogs. Couldn’t cut through then,” Marge suggested.
“No, I suppose not,” I remarked. “Hey, what if the van is part of the plan? Puts the stuff he steals in it, then takes off. He’d have to see if there was a problem loading it. Or driving, maybe.” It was my best guess.
“So he or they are only going to steal small stuff and carry it?” Mike asked, wrinkling her nose. “Why not park it in front of their house?”
“I give up. Why wouldn’t he? You know, why the hell didn’t we think of this two weeks ago?” I blasted, letting off steam.
“Because we were clearly not thinking.”
Mike had that right.
Think, I screamed at myself. “Okay, here’s a new scenario. Maybe there’s one really pricey object the Weissmans own. Maybe the one small trinket is the target? It’s a possibility, right? So he goes in for whatever it is and leaves. You know, it might be a while before the Weissmans even notice it missing, but that’s not the point. The point is that he wouldn’t want to be carrying it around. Like with Marge,” I continued, now on a roll. “Mooch woke her up. So what if a neighbor gets up because their dog needs to go out, and old Hank is running in neighbors’ backyards with an antique in his hands?”
“Oh, stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” spat Mike. Suddenly animated, she jumped up, hitting herself in the forehead with the palm of her hand.
“It wasn’t that dumb,” Marge defended.
“No! I didn’t mean what Savage said. I meant, why the hell didn’t I look in the van? Wouldn’t he have what he needed in there?”
“It’s a possibility,” I considered. “Unless he’s waiting until the night he actually hits the place. Actually, it’s not a bad idea. Illegal, but I don’t think that’s going to bother you.”
“Bother me? When this guy is on his knees in Marge’s backyard at 2:00 in the morning? See ya!” she said, making her way to the door. “Call my cell if he leaves.”
With Mike off to commit a felony, I turned to my companion.
“It’s just you and me, baby,” I whispered.
“Curtis? I didn’t know you cared,” Marge replied.
“I was talking to Mooch,” I joked.
A light slap on my shoulder taught me a lesson in trying to play with Marge’s affection. I kept a sharp lookout on our prowler while Marge helped herself to another sandwich. These women were going to eat me out of house and home.
Hank hadn’t moved, and neither had I. My camera lens was trained on his bad self. Michelle returned about ten minutes later. Looking pale and shaken, she dropped to the couch like a fly that’d been swatted too many times.
“What the hell, Mike? You okay?” I asked, more than concerned.
“I don’t know.” Leaning forward, she placed her elbows on her thighs, running her hands through her blonde hair.
“Did you get in?” I questioned.
“Sure did.”
“And?” I asked.
“And this,” she responded, passing me her phone.
Marge and I huddled together, looking at the photos she took.
“What the hell? A knife, duct tape, blankets, and a rope?” I recited, naming the objects in the order I was seeing them.
“Yup, and you know what this means, don’t you?” she replied. “He’s not after an object; he’s after Amy.”
CHAPTER 28
No one was in any mood to sleep. Not after Mike had dropped the bombshell, but there was no proof of her assertion. Just bits and pieces that might lead to the gingerbread house. The coffee was perking all night long.
“But how do we know what he’s after?”
Marge had led off the barrage of questions with the obvious.
“Because it’s her bedroom he’s watching,” Mike responded.
“Yes, but her parents’ bedroom can also be seen. Maybe he’s just seeing when they go to bed,” Marge followed up.
“That could be true,” I intervened, “if not for his positioning. He’s off in thorny bushes. He could get a better view of the Weissmans by just moving to the left. You only have the leafy stuff there. It’d be easier on him.”
“I suppose,” Marge said, deep in thought. “But the duct tape and blankets could be used to cushion an antique. And a knife can be used for other things. Some people use them like scissors.”
“All true, Mike.”
“Plus, she’s a baby,” Marge mumbled.
“Yeah, and in some freaktoid world, that makes her a viable target,” Mike responded.
“She’s right about that, Marge,” I remarked.
“The problem is that I know she is,” she whispered. “But shouldn’t we call the police? Your friend, Wolfie? Maybe he could sort this out. He could be after Linda, for all we know. Or Brian. He could be hired to take them out.”
“No!” shouted Mike, a little too loudly. “Calling Wolfie is the last thing we want.”
“And why would that be?” the retiree inquired.
“Because if, and I do mean if he’s after that little girl, he’d get away with it and go on to the next victim,” she explained.
“I agree. There’s nothing to hold him on because he hasn’t committed a crime. Yes, there could be the trespassing charge, but Mike and I already went through the litany of reasons he’d get off.”
“But what if he’s taking photos?” Marge prodded.
“Depends on what the photos were. Amy Weissman’s in bed when he shows up, so he can’t be taking risqué shots. You haven’t seen him when she’s getting ready for bed, have you? Of course, that leaves Linda Weissman. Don’t suppose you asked her where she changes at night?”
“Nope,” Marge answered.
“That’s why we have to catch him doing something. So the word pedophile will be on his records,” Mike said.
“If
that’s what he’s planning,” I asserted.
“Well, if it’s a burglary, we can’t allow him to rob the place. And if it’s Amy or anyone else, we can’t let him abduct anyone, either!” Marge argued.
“Duh, well, obviously not,” Mike dismissed.
“And while I’m asking questions, how the hell did you get in his van? Pretty specialized skills for an importer/exporter?”
Marge had the private dick by her nose hairs. I was betting on Mike cracking.
“I got into some trouble as a kid. No big thing. Just mischief. Plus, it wasn’t locked. You could even have gotten in by opening the door.”
“I see.”
The words rolled off Marge’s tongue like a broken tooth. This subject would be revisited. I was sure of it.
“Then you’re suggesting we wait until he makes a move? Then catch him in the act? You’d put Amy through that?” I countered.
“I already answered that question!” Mike snapped, starting to lose her temper. “No, I don’t want Amy involved, but if he broke in …?”
Marge and I exchanged looks.
“Yes,” I blurted, exasperated from going over the same ground. “We could wait for that, but, again, it would be breaking and entering. How that would translate into having him pegged a pedophile, I don’t know and we don’t know that’s what he is!”
“Unless there were some type of written plan. Do you think anyone else is involved?” Marge was good at this.
“Good question,” I commented. “Is he working alone? I guess I’m thinking that he is. I mean, his van is going to be parked down the street. And he practiced sprinting. I would assume that was a dress rehearsal for something.”
“Fuck!” Mike exclaimed. Getting up, she started another pot of coffee. I dug in the back of my cupboards for more. The reserves couldn’t be donated to a more worthy cause.
“So we watch and wait, is that the plan? You know what happens if we blink,” Marge reminded.
“Nothing’s going to happen except for a scumbag being thrown in jail,” Mike bristled. “I’m cashing in my overseas ticket, right now. No way I’m leaving until this is cleared up.”
“Then you did plan on leaving?” I queried.
“Of course! You think I want Candy there all alone? But she’s a big girl, all grown, and Amy isn’t. If it is Amy he’s after. It doesn’t matter because once he goes into that house, it’s bingo dingo, game over!” she hollered. “It only leaves tying him to either abduction, kidnapping, extortion, or being a weasly perv.”
“And how are we going to do that?” Marge asked.
“I’ll think of something,” Mike assured.
CHAPTER 29
Marge and Mike left at sunup. I was back on my old schedule. About to hit the sheets for a bit of shuteye, there were Moochie’s needs to attend to first. I took him for his morning constitutional, making it a point to pass by The Creeper’s abode. Man, was I beginning to hate this guy. I only wished I had psychic powers, but I was determined to figure out what he was up to—and figure it out with no one getting hurt.
I returned, stripping down to my briefs when the phone rang. This time I was ready for Dr. Grief.
“Look you, bastard—“
“I see you got my package. It was the only way you’d believe.”
“What makes you think I wanted to know?”
“Because it’s part of why she was murdered. Isn’t that what you said you wanted? To find her killer?”
I dropped my butt on the edge of the bed. I didn’t care what my chronological age was; I was too old for this.
“I suppose you’re right. So this guy she was seeing had something to do with it?”
“I didn’t say that, did I?”
“No, you said it was part of the reason she was murdered.”
“Very good, Mr. Savage. Now for your next clue. The picture was taken at The Abyssinian.”
Naturally, the turd hung up before I could find out what the hell The Abyssinian was. Heading downstairs instead of for sweet dreams, I did a search. It turned out it was a pricey resort in California. Why hadn’t I heard of it? I mean, I’d only lived there for the first twelve years of my life. Most likely because it didn’t have anything to do with surfing or baseball. Go Angels.
I dug out the picture that was still buried under yesterday’s mail. Fishing out the nudie shot of my dear, departed girlfriend, I could see part of the room, including a monogram on the headboard. Her head was blocking the painted motif beneath it, though. Goddamn camera angles.
I chided myself for biting into another hook. This guy was all about sending me on treasure hunts. No, with treasure hunts, you’re aware it’s a game and elect to participate. I had no choice—or at least, that’s the way I felt. After all, this was Ruthie we were talking about. The love of my life; I’d do whatever was necessary to find out who killed her.
Mike announced herself by not announcing herself. Walking in, she caught me at the table in my skivvies. With a few weeks’ exercise under my belt, I wasn’t feeling too embarrassed.
“Aw, jeez, Savage! Now I gotta wash my eyes out with soap or something!”
“Make that your mouth. I’m sure you’ve said something in the past five minutes that you’re sorry for. Atonement begins by taking that first step.”
“You’re a funny guy,” she said, laughing. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
“You know why.”
“Well, if it isn’t Hank, and I say it isn’t, it’s got to be Dr. Shadows. Another call? Yup, must be. Otherwise, why would you be holding that picture, looking about ready to cry?”
“You got it. You said you knew about computers. Is there any way to get Ruthie out of this shot and have the rest of the details stay?”
Taking the photo from my hand, she studied it for a bit.
“You talking the monogram, and lamp, and this bit of a painting on the headboard?”
“Yes.”
“I’d say the best way to do it is to paste someone else’s pic in the shot. This way, you don’t have a big empty space when you show it. You are going to show it, right? That is why you want Ruthie erased?”
“Yes, indeed I do. Shadows said it’s The Abyssinian.”
“And that is?”
“Some luxurious hotel/resort thing that I never heard of because I’m not in that price bracket.”
“I guess I’m not either, but, yeah. I could do this for you. You got a scanner?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then I just need to use some programs. And a pic to paste over Ruth.”
Jumping up, she trotted up the stairs, me right behind her. Pulling back my comforter, she kicked off her shoes, flinging herself on my bed. Hitting a pretty good approximation of Ruthie’s body position, I used my cell to snap a couple of shots, just to make sure.
Yanking the phone from my hand, she checked the photos.
“I am looking good!” she touted, putting her head on my shoulder and snuggling.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I queried.
“I’m lonely,” she confessed. “I’m missing Candy.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve got the hots for me.”
“In your dreams, Savage! And don’t be eyeing my ass,” she added, a smirk gaining ground.
“You wish,” I taunted, crawling into bed.
CHAPTER 30
A call from my dear sweet momma jarred me awake early in the afternoon. After she emphasized how good it was to see me and hinted for me to stop by again, I finally ended the call. Mothers! While I loved her and wanted her around for many more years, I just didn’t want her around right now—if you know what I mean.
I found Mike passed out on the couch with Mooch curled up next to her. A pillow was under Mike’s head and a blanket over her. Evidently, she’d found the linen closet. Was there nothing she couldn’t do?
I started more coffee perking. Wandering out to my computer, I found a print
out of Mike’s handiworks on my desk. While Prince Charming slept, Sleeping Beauty had been busy. She’d managed to superimpose her entire image over Ruth’s, and I don’t mean in a half-assed way. We’re talking Black Op professionalism. You’d swear it’d been Mike all along in that monogrammed bed.
“What do you think?” she asked, stretching her arms out as she yawned and contracted in at her waistline.
“Me likes,” I affirmed.
“One of my better efforts, to be sure, but then it was for you,” she replied, a smile softening her pleasant beauty. She was an attractive girl. No doubt. “I had to borrow Marge’s software.”
“Marge?”
“Yeah, she likes to do strange things to photos of her grandkids. She’s dressed them as elves for Christmas, and put them in a basket for Easter. If she’d done things like for real, she’d be doing ten to life. Mooch was even a target in her rampage, weren’t you, Moochie?” she cooed.
Mooch barked. Jumping up, Mike bent down to let the dog lick her face. Before I could warn her about Mooch cleaning his ass with that same utensil, the sliding glass door opened, allowing Marge to barge in.
As I pocketed the nudie of Ruth, my cell started ringing off the hook.
“Hello?” I answered.
“It’s Wolfie.”
“Hey, Wolfie,” I stated as distinctly as possible to give my two favorite gals the heads up on keeping quiet. The women huddled around Mooch, listening in as best they could.
“Was checking in on Hank. Any new developments?”
“New developments? Nope. Same old, same old. We’re just waiting for him to make his move. When he does, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Thanks for that. Wanted to let you know that I got in touch with the old gang. They’re raring to start up the poker games again. You’re a popular guy, Savage.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know when they’re back on.”
When I hung up, the girls were petting Mooch to death. How much affection could he stand before he exploded? I bet the never-ending supply of treats would cause that to happen first.
“That was smooth, Curt,” Marge lauded. “Say, is this what you were doing?” she asked Mike as she pointed to the altered photo. Moochachos whined, hungering for his momma’s touch.
“Yup,” Mike responded.
Savage Summer Page 12
