UnderCover

by David R Lewis

  “You won’t let me pay you?”

  “Tell ya what. In lieu of payment, let me read to Mandy now and then. A little kid like that has got to be a good influence on a crotchety old bastard like me.”

  “Condition accepted,” Cheryl said, “if you let me throw in a dinner or two.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, woman,” Crockett said, finishing his coffee and getting to his feet. “Condition accepted. We’ll talk again in a few days. I’d like to visit with Mandy again pretty soon.”

  “That’s fine,” Cheryl said, following him to the door. “Thank you, Mister Crockett.”

  “Just Crockett will be fine, no mister necessary.”

  Cheryl opened the door for him, and Crockett stepped out onto the stoop. “What’s your first name?” she asked.

  “David,” he said, and walked off into the night.

  Cheryl watched him go and the tears came again. This time, with a smile.

  Crockett didn’t arrive back home until a little after eleven. Lights were on in the cabin, and Satin’s Jeep sat near the back door. When he stepped inside he saw her, Dundee, and Nudge all on the couch. An old John Wayne DVD was playing on the tube.

  “Just when I thought life couldn’t get any better,” Crockett said, “I come home and find you waiting for me.”

  “I just came to visit Nudge,” Satin said, untangling herself from the beasts and crossing to him. “Where ya been?” she asked, slipping her arms around his neck.

  “I have been having a wonderful evening at the home of another woman.”

  “I see. Does the home in question have a fish pond in the back yard?”

  “Indeed it does.”

  She kissed him gently on the mouth and released him. “Then all is forgiven. The coffee is much younger than the scotch. You have a preference?”

  “Coffee,” Crockett said. “I’m hungry.”

  “I made some goulash. Want me to warm you up a plate?”

  “Wonderful. I need to change and get outa this leg. Be back in a minute or two.”

  When Crockett, one legged and wearing lightweight sweats, crutched his way back to the kitchen, he found the goulash, heat n’ eat crusty rolls, and Satin, all waiting at the table. He flopped into a chair with a sigh.

  “You look beat,” Satin said.

  “I am. I feel really sorry for Cheryl.”

  “The wife?”

  “The wife. All alone. Two daughters, no husband, no knowledge of what happened to him, no real support from the State Police.”

  “Isn’t she entitled to benefits?”

  “Sure. Insurance, pension, stuff like that. She probably has at least a hundred grand coming, plus half or two-thirds of his salary. Cop shops are real good about that kinda thing. The problem is nobody can prove he was killed in the line of duty. Hell, they can’t even prove he’s dead at all. Common sense says he is, and I’m sure everybody believes that. But, without a body or a confession or conviction, Cheryl is outa luck.”

  “Well, that’s just not right.”

  “No, it isn’t. I don’t know all the ins and outs of the thing, but I suspect he has to be gone for seven years or so before he can be declared legally dead. Even then, death in the line of duty doesn’t apply. She’d get some benefits, to be sure, but not as much as if there was proof he’d been killed on the job.”

  “What’s the matter with those people?”

  “Don’t blame the cops. They’re on insurance programs just like everybody else. It’s not a State Police thing. Actually, the cops are sending her some money for the kids every month. They’re not required to do that, but they’re doing it anyway.”

  “So what are you gonna do?”

  Crockett chewed a bite of roll thoughtfully for a moment before he answered.

  “I have no idea,” he said.

  Satin smiled. “If I were you, I’d do what you always wind up doing anyway.”

  “And what would that be?” he asked.

  “Call Cletus.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “There’s a woman in trouble behind this, ain’t there?” Clete said.

  Crockett smiled. “What makes you ask?” he enquired.

  “Track record, son,” Clete went on. “Ever time you call me up for a favor, there’s a female in the soup someplace. How’d it go with that Train ol’ boy you was concerned about?”

  “He go boom an’ fall down.”

  “That’s okay. Ain’t no shortage a trains around. An’ you got another woman needin’ your help already?”

  “What can I say? I’m in demand.”

  “She got granddaddy issues?”

  “She’s a lovely young woman, mid-thirties, brunette, big brown eyes, cute knees; and she wants me to come to her house for dinner.”

  “She under psychiatric care?”

  “Cheryl McGill is a single mother of two little girls whose husband disappeared about four years ago. She, and others, believe he’s dead, but there’s no proof.”

  “And she wants you to…”

  “Exactly.”

  “Was there an investigation?”

  “A big one, I assume. Her hubby was a Missouri State Trooper attached to the division of Drug and Crime Control out of Jefferson City as an undercover cop when he vanished.”

  “Aw, shit. Who’s the guy?”

  “Paul, no middle name, McGill.”

  “And his wife wants you to investigate?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why now? She got some new information?”

  Crockett smiled. “Sorta,” he said. “Cheryl’s grandmother-in-law, Martha McGill, has confided in Cheryl’s youngest daughter, little Mandy, that she is worried about Paul.”

  “That ain’t necessarily no reason to go diggin’ around in police bidness, ya know.”

  “Ordinarily I’d agree with you, Texican, but there’s an interesting twist.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. Martha McGill, the great grandmother, is dead.”

  “What?”

  “Yep. Dead grandma talking to the kid.”

  “There ya go! Gawdammit, Crockett ya damn well know that I don’t want nothing ta do with no haints! This ain’t the first time ya got me messed up with spooks, an’ yer tryin’ ta do it agin. Now listen here. I doan…”

  Crockett clicked off and looked at Satin.

  “What’d he say?” she asked.

  “He’s in,” Crockett said.

  When Crockett woke up the next morning, Satin was already gone. He crutched his way into the kitchen to find coffee waiting in the pot and the animals fed. He opened the door to let Dundee and Nudge outside, poured a cup, grabbed a couple of sugar cookies out of the pantry and, because it was Saturday and she’d probably be home, phoned Cheryl McGill.

  “Mornin’, Cheryl. Crockett here. Breakfast ready?”

  “Sure. How do you like your Fruit Loops?” Crockett could hear her smile.

  “Over easy,” he said, “with lots of gravy.”

  “Sorry. No gravy after nine a.m. And, we’re closed tomorrow. Try IHOP.”

  “I try never to hop.”

  Cheryl laughed. “Did you call just to cheer me up?”

  “Strictly personal motives,” Crockett said. “Thought I’d start my day by talking with a good looking woman, then spend the next two hours lamenting my lost youth.”

  “I doubt if you lost it,” Cheryl said. “You probably just wore it out.”

  “Ha! Good for you, lady. Truth is, something’s been bothering me after our chat last night.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why a Moto Guzzi?”

  “What?”

  “I mean, if Paul didn’t get another Hardley-Ableson, why Italian? Why not one of the old Brit bikes he liked. You know, a BSA, Triumph, Norton, Royal Enfield, or something. If I remember correctly, you said he’d always wanted a Black Shadow.”

  “Now that you mention it, I wondered about that, too. I even asked him about it when he showed up on the Guz
zi. He said he really didn’t have a choice. The price was too good.”

  “Didn’t that seem unusual to you?”

  “It did. The only Italian bike he’d ever mentioned was a Ducati, but I didn’t ask questions. I’d learned not to.”

  “Well, it may or may not mean anything. Right now, I’m just grasping at straws. The girls home today?”

  “All day.”

  “They eat pizza?”

  “And nothing else if I’d let ‘em.”

  “Great. I’ll deliver lunch, we’ll pig out, and Mandy and I’ll go feed the fish.”

  “Anything that keeps me out of the kitchen is welcome. No green peppers, no pepperoni, no heavy spices.”

  “Ham and ground beef?”

  “Perfect. Thin crust, please.”

  “Around one?”

  “That’ll be fine, Crockett. See you then.”

  An hour later, Crockett was thirty yards into the woods on the east side of the cabin, beating a nearly empty litter pan against a tree to knock the remaining Nudge residue loose, when his cell phone rang. Cletus.

  “Hey, pard. Whatcha doin’?”

  “Fertilizing the underbrush if you must know.”

  “Peein’ out the back door, son?”

  “Nice thing about livin’ in the forest primeval, every time you walk outside, you’re standing in the latrine. You just call to check on my conduct, or have you got something for me?”

  “What I have got for you is, I believe, conspicuous by its absence.”

  “In other words, you got zilch.”

  “Purty much. A course, I ain’t just et up with contacts in the Missouri State Police, but what little I been able to determine is, ain’t nobody wants me to determine nothin’.”

  “That’s about what I figured.”

  “Paul McGill is still listed as a cop but is on the inactive duty roster. His file, some of which should be public record, is closed. I contacted a feller with the Feebies who owes me for a thing I did once. He checked around, found out the F, B, and Eye tried to join in the investigation, but the State Police froze ‘em out. I even tried three or four county laws in the area. Nothing listed about a disappearance of Paul McGill, or any other trooper, period. Either one hell of a conspiracy goin’ on, or the boy was in real deep cover. Probably the last a them two choices. They ain’t near as many conspiracies out there as folks think they is.”

  “Pretty thick accent ya got there, Texican.”

  “Yeah. I git like this when I cain’t find out what the hell I want ta find out. I ain’t done, though. Ivy’s got some hellacious computer geeks on payroll here an’ there. Maybe we can git sneaky. I’ll letcha know.”

  “Thanks, Clete. I’m gonna have pizza with the little great granddaughter this afternoon. Maybe she’s heard from grandma.”

  “That’d be the dead gramma?”

  “As dead as William Shakespeare.”

  “Uh-huh. I got this ta say about screwing around with them haints, Crockett.”

  “What’s that?”

  Clete disconnected.

  *****

  Mandy insisted on moving her booster chair to dine beside Crockett at the big pizza fest, and even Sarah warmed to him a bit. After lunch, while the girls were off washing their hands, Crockett commented on it.

  “Sarah actually spoke to me a couple of times,” he said. “Beware of Scots bearing cheese.”

  Cheryl smiled. “Any man is an interloper as far as she is concerned,” she said. “I sometimes wonder if she’ll ever accept any male in the house except her father. She was only four the last time she saw him. I doubt that what she holds in her heart and her mind’s eye even resembles Paul.”

  “Probably not,” Crockett said. “We all objectify. Why should kids be any different?”

  “Well, you sure have Mandy in your pocket.”

  “And rightly so. She’s an excellent judge of men.”

  Mandy came back in the room and stifled any further comment. Crockett sized her up.

  “Mandy Pandy,” he said, “why don’t you ask your mom if you and I can go feed the fish.”

  “Mom won’t care,” the girl said.

  “I know she doesn’t care if you feed the fish, but maybe she cares if I feed the fish. Maybe she’s afraid I’ll fall in the pond.”

  Mandy looked at her mother and Cheryl nodded.

  “It’s okay, Clockett,” Mandy said. “I get da food.” She scurried away.

  Crockett grinned at her mother. “Clockett?”

  Cheryl chuckled. “We’ll work on that,” she said. “At least get a ‘mister’ in front of it.”

  “Clockett is fine, especially considering all the things other people have called me.”

  “Okay, Crockett, Clockett it is.”

  Mandy appeared in the doorway, a can of fish food held as if it were a football.

  “C’mon,” she said, and headed out through the kitchen.

  “Gotta go,” Crockett said. “Got a heavy date with a short blonde. A very short blonde.”

  Thirty minutes later the fish had been fed, and Crockett and Mandy had been lounging by the pond for some time. Crockett thought it over and plunged ahead.

  “Is grandma here, you think?” he asked.

  Mandy peered into the watery depths for a moment, then looked at him. “Yep,” she said.

  The back of Crockett’s arms sprouted gooseflesh. “Can you ask her something for me?”

  “Nope. She just talks in my head.”

  Crockett’s mouth was suddenly dry. “Can she hear me?”

  Mandy shrugged.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s pretend she can. I want to ask a couple of questions. Why don’t you just watch the ripples on the water and be still, and we’ll see what happens. Okay?”

  Mandy nodded.

  “Good. I’m curious if the Moto Guzzi motorcycle is important in finding out about Paul.”

  Mandy continued to watch the water. At length, she nodded again.

  Crockett let things lay for a moment before he spoke.

  “I wonder if there’s anything else Grandma could tell us?”

  They sat quietly for nearly two minutes before Mandy stood up. Crockett got to his feet and looked down at her. The girl took his hand and started a slow walk to the house. They were nearly at the patio when Mandy spoke.

  “Store,” she whispered.

  “Did you say store?” Crockett asked.

  Mandy stopped at the back door and turned to him. “You could read to me,” she said.

  Back in the pond, Martha McGill would have gasped for breath if such a thing were possible for her. She was certainly well aware she could communicate feelings and emotion to Mandy, but she never considered that she might be able to relate specific words. It seemed she was wrong.

  *****

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Crockett returned home a little after three, made coffee with some Peruvian beans he’d never tried before and decided he’d never try again, sat at the kitchen bar, and cogitated on his visit with Mandy. Never had so few known so little about so much. Deep in thought, he didn’t even hear Dundee bark as Satin pulled up outside. When she kicked on the door, he snapped out of his reverie and flung wide the portal.

  “’Bout time,” she snorted, stomping into the room, a half dozen plastic grocery bags dangling from her arms.

  “What’s all this?” Crockett asked, disengaging her from the burdens.

  “Yogurt, cauliflower, cranberry juice, green tea, apples, English muffins, peaches, brown rice, stuff like that.”

  “Yuk!”

  “Girl food, deerslayer. Those of us numbered among the fairer persuasion cannot live on hamburger, potato chips, baked beans, and peanut butter alone. We require feminine sustenance.”

  “No gravy?” Crockett asked, as Nudge levitated to the counter to investigate.

  “My laptop and a box of reports are in the Jeep.”

  “I assume what you are really saying is that you would like me
to proceed to the afore mentioned vehicle and retrieve those items for you.”

  Satin curled her lip. “Duh!” she said.

  “There it is. The primary reason that relationships between men and women fall apart. You ladies do not communicate effectively.”

  “Wrong,” Satin said. “The primary reason is that you gentlemen do not communicate at all.”

  Crockett bristled. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah! You lookin’ for a fight, big boy?”

  “No, but I’d be up for a little wrestling.”

  Satin smiled. “Define up,” she said.

  “Ah-ha! Transferring a perfectly logical conversation about gender into sexual innuendo. A typical female ploy when faced with rational thought. You disgust me.”

  Satin stopped rifling through the bags and approached him, slowly running a forefinger down his sternum.

  “Do I?” she asked. “Do I really?”

  “Well, maybe not totally.”

  Satin’s voice dropped an octave. “Crockett,” she said, “if you’d bring that stuff in for me, I’d be so grateful. Just the thought of a big, old, strong man helping little old me, makes me all warm inside. When I get all warm inside, sometimes I just lose control. There’s no telling what I might do for a man like that in return.”

  Crockett bumped his eyebrows. “A Chinese wax job?” he asked.

  “That might be a good start,” Satin said.

  His lurching exit through the side door left her laughing at the counter.

  “You moving in?” Crockett asked, watching Satin set up her laptop on a card table in the spare room.

  “Maybe. Would you like me to?”

  “Maybe. Would you like to?”

  “Relax, Crockett. I would like to spend a couple of extra days a week out here if you don’t mind. I want Danni to be alone now and then. It’ll be good for her without me around all the time. She’s pretty busy, anyway. She’s working about fourteen hours a day at the café.”