What a Meth

by Jamie Lee Scott

  I made a mental note to grab my makeup bag from my desk, and at least brush on a little mascara. I’m that woman who has a makeup bag at home, at work, in my stakeout bag, and lip gloss and mascara in the glove compartment. I didn’t want to grab the one in the car, because that would give Charles fodder.

  I looked up and saw Charles jogging up to me from the garage. Lola sprinted off to her potty spot as he came up to me. Poor girl had been in the car all morning.

  Something was in the air, because Charles never moved faster than a swagger until it was something really good.

  “What did you find out?” Charles turned and fell into step with me as I walked up the stairs.

  “They were questioning me,” I said.

  “Crap. I was hoping for something good. There’s something really rotten about this whole thing.” Charles opened the door and held it for me as I walked in.

  I looked back at him. He looked worried.

  “Talk to me.” I’d known him too long, and knew his wheels were turning.

  He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, pushed it against the ice maker in the fridge, and popped the top on a Red Bull. Oh, no, Red Bull; he was contemplating something big.

  “I think you were paid to see that house blow up.” He poured the liquid slowly over the ice.

  His revelation wasn’t new to me. In the back of my head, I’d been thinking it all morning. I didn’t want to admit it might be true, but hearing Charles say it, I knew he could be right.

  I put a capsule of coffee in my espresso machine, flipped the button and listened to the pump as the coffee flowed into my demitasse cup. When the cup was full, I sipped the slightly sweet coffee and inhaled the chocolaty aroma. Crema clung to my top lip and I licked it off.

  “Now Nick would definitely find that sexy. Do that when he’s around, but please spare me,” Charles grimaced.

  I furrowed my brows, and then raised them, taking a second to get his meaning. I licked my lips even more seductively, just for good measure.

  “Gag.” Charles closed his eyes and chugged his Red Bull.

  I sipped the espresso again. “I feel like an idiot.”

  “You think it was a planned suicide?” He sounded skeptical even as he asked.

  “Please.” I walked away.

  I needed to sit down. My head was spinning with the possibilities of why I was really hired. I went to my office, put the demitasse cup on my desk and flopped into the chair.

  Charles followed me. He sat across from me and crossed his right ankle over his left knee. I saw that the yellow in the plaid pattern of his socks matched the yellow stripe in his oxford shirt. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves.

  “We got played,” I mumbled. “Played by a lowly meth addict.”

  Charles stopped rolling his sleeve. “What’s this we shit? I told you not to take the case.”

  I flipped him off.

  “It’s true. You saw that cold, hard cash and you were sucked in. No better than a meth addict yourself.”

  I flipped him off again.

  He chuckled. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  I looked him in the eyes.

  “It means that we’ll be earning that five hundred dollars you accepted, and we’ll be lucky to make a dollar an hour by the time we get to the bottom of this.” He pushed his rolled sleeves past his elbows.

  “We? I thought this was my doing?” I shouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth.

  “We all know you can’t figure this one out on your own.” He stood. “I’m going to look into the King’s financial records. I want you to call that chick’s mother. Get a meeting and grill her. Look her in the eye, see what she knows.”

  “What about Jeff’s mother?” I asked.

  “She’s next.” As he headed out the door he said, “Get a move on. We actually have paying cases that need attention, too.”

  I was sorely tempted to flip him the bird a third time, but what good would it do if he wasn’t looking at me? Instead, I pulled my makeup bag from my desk.

  As I dabbed foundation on with a sponge, I wondered how I’d find the mother. It would be easier to find Jeff’s mom, since I knew her last name. Or maybe not. For all I knew, she could be divorced and have a different last name. But marriage license records were a good place to start.

  I contemplated my options as I brushed a dusting of taupe eye shadow on my lids, then brushed again, just because I loved the feel of the soft brush on my skin.

  Ah, I had it. Just as I was swiping on the third layer of mascara, I figured out my first move.

  I jumped from my chair and headed to the door. “Lola, you’re going to stay here with Charles.” I patted her on the head and left the office.

  My mind was reeling as I turned onto North Davis Road. I looked at my watch, hoping I’d missed the lunch rush at the Laurel West Shopping Center.

  Luck went my way, and I cruised through the lights and turned north on the 101.

  I rocked back and forth a little in the seat as I contemplated my next move, and I kept praying the road was reopened. I didn’t want to drive all that way to be turned back at the intersection before the school. Oh, hell, I’d walk up to the damn school if I had to.

  I slowed the Land Rover nearly to a stop before I turned onto the road where Alyssa and Jeff had lived, suddenly unsure if this was the right move. The road was open, which must have been a sign. Lucky me. Being a person who can’t leave well enough alone, I drove past the school toward the King home, or what was left of it. I had to see what was left of the carnage after the fire was put out.

  The perimeter of the property was taped off with crime scene tape, but it started behind Wanda’s house, so she was free to come and go without having to cross the crime scene. I craned my head like the rubbernecker I was, and saw a huge black and gray pile of ashes. They were lucky the long grass behind the house hadn’t caught fire, too. I drove slowly past and saw Wanda looking through her curtains at me.

  Something told me Wanda didn’t miss much. But would she talk? If she was related to Irma, I’d be smart not to approach her again. I laughed at myself for being scared off by two old ladies.

  I smiled at Wanda and sped up as I drove back toward the elementary school. I found an open visitor space in the packed lot, parked, took a deep breath, and got out of my car. I was prepared to lie through my teeth to get the information I needed.

  Walking up to the entrance of the school, I stopped in my tracks. A distinguished woman of about sixty was coming out of the front doors. She wore a black pencil skirt, with a fitted white blouse and a pastel colored scarf wrapped around her hips. Her platinum ringlets bobbed on her shoulders as she walked. The part that stopped me was the three little girls walking with her, the two youngest holding her hands.

  I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I couldn’t stop myself. I stopped in front of her. “Mrs. King?”

  She didn’t stop, just went around me. So I turned around and walked along side her. “Mrs. King?”

  The youngest girl stopped, which caused a chain reaction and everyone stopped walking. “No, Gramma King is fat. This is Grammy Pierce.” She smiled big at her grandmother, who was cringing.

  “How can I help you?” She said it as if she had no intention of helping in any way.

  “I need to talk to you. It’s extremely important.” I didn’t want to say anything in front of the girls, since I didn’t know how much they knew.

  “I’m sorry, I’m really busy. It’s been a crazy day.” She tugged at the girls and they started walking again. “I have to get the girls home.”

  I felt like a bitch, but I called after her. “Mrs. Pierce, I was there when the house caught fire. I can talk to you about it right here in front of the children, or you can give me a minute before you drive away.”

  “What fire?” She asked. This lady was a good actor, because she sounded sincerely perplexed.

  I didn’t answer; I just looked down at the kids. They didn
’t need to hear any of this.

  A stern look crossed the woman’s face. She bent down and told the oldest girl. “Go to the car. I need to talk to this lady for a minute.”

  The bone thin girl answered in a raspy whisper. “Okay, Grammy.”

  Mrs. Pierce aimed her key at a metallic green Buick and I saw the headlights flicker as the doors on the car unlocked. She shooed them on. “Okay, now go. And lock the doors when you get inside.” She bent over and kissed each one on the cheek. “Put your seatbelts on.”

  The girls ran to their grandmother’s car. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. Mrs. Pierce picked these girls up from school on a regular basis. The routine was too familiar.

  Mrs. Pierce took two steps toward me and hissed, “What do you want?”

  I didn’t back down. “Where is your daughter, Mrs. Pierce?”

  Her eyes went wide, and welled with tears. “Excuse me?”

  “Mrs. Pierce, I’m a private investigator, and your daughter hired me to watch that house this morning. I think she knew what was going to happen.” As I said the words, I believed them to be true. Alyssa had used me.

  “Why would my daughter hire you? She barely has enough money to put food on the table, how could she pay you?”

  “I’m sure the government is making sure those girls don’t go hungry.” Wow, I was being bitchy. “Somehow your daughter found five hundred in cash to pay me.”

  “You didn’t have to take it,” she snapped.

  “That’s not the point. For some reason she wanted to be sure someone saw that house go up in flames. I just need to know what you know. And I need to know why it was worth five hundred dollars to her.”

  Mrs. Pierce began to shake. “I think she had a life insurance policy. She wanted the girls to have a better life. But don’t think for a minute that she gave up her life for money.” She was now sobbing, and hiccupping her words. “How could she think their life would be better without her? Oh, God, how am I going to take care of three little girls?”

  There was something terribly wrong with this family; they had the ability to sob like a mad woman, but without tears. Sure, her eyes had welled up, but she hadn’t shed a single tear.

  I looked past Mrs. Pierce, to see a patrol car driving into the school parking lot. They didn’t bother to park in a designated parking space, preferring to park at the curb, in the red zone.

  A uniformed female officer got out of the passenger seat of the vehicle and as she came closer, I recognized her.

  “Hey, Monica, how are you?” It was Officer Monica Hernandez, one of the department’s newest recruits.

  The petite Mexican woman looked severe with her hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. The bulk from the Kevlar vest added to the bulk she held naturally.

  Monica slowed up a bit. “Hey, you. You have kids?”

  I furrowed my brow for a second before understanding the reason for her question. Ah, the elementary school. “No, I’m here to talk to the King children’s grandmother.”

  I looked at Mrs. Pierce who now looked on the verge of a full on sprint. She’d stopped shaking and sobbing.

  Monica must have seen it, too. “Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not okay.” She turned to me, then back to Monica. “I’m finished here. We’re leaving.”

  “Monica, have you met Mrs. Pierce? She’s Alyssa King’s mother. She’s here to pick up her grandkids.”

  Monica smiled. “Funny, I’m here to pick up Alyssa King’s daughters, too. Mrs. Pierce, would you like to come inside the school with me to get them?” Monica asked the question as if no was not an acceptable response.

  I pointed to the Buick. “The girls are in their grandmother’s car.”

  At this comment, Monica gently grabbed Mrs. Pierce’s arm. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you won’t be leaving with your grandchildren, as they’ll be coming with us.”

  Mrs. Pierce didn’t even move from Monica’s grasp. She went stone cold. “Over my dead body.” She still hadn’t taken a step, when Monica’s partner, Officer O’Malley stepped up.

  O’Malley looked like his name sounded. He had carrot red hair, and pale skin with a smattering of freckles. O’Malley was cute in that “pinch my cheeks” sort of way.

  “This woman is the maternal grandmother of the King children,” Monica told him.

  Officer O’Malley smiled at the woman. “Are you the guardian?”

  Mrs. Pierce nodded.

  O’Malley handed her a piece of paper. She looked at it and bolted.

  Damn, she was fast for a grandma, but O’Malley was faster. He had her by the arm and in handcuffs before I could take my next breath.

  7

  I was glad I didn’t have to tell a big fat lie to the secretary at the elementary school to get information on how to find Mrs. Pierce, but I didn’t feel like I’d gotten much out of her before the cops took her and the girls away.

  Monica explained that the drug dog indicated positive for methamphetamine at the burned out house, and the girls were being taken in for testing.

  If they tested positive, they’d be taken away and placed in with social services. Even if the grandmother had nothing to do with any drugs, she’d have to go to court to fight for her right to custody.

  I didn’t even want to know the results of the tests. It shouldn’t even have been an issue. No person who manufactures drugs in their home should be allowed custody of their children. Granted, Alyssa and Jeff were dead, but that didn’t change what they’d done.

  Instead of tracking down Jeff’s mother, I went back to the office. I wanted to tell Charles about the kids. I know I could’ve called him, but I wanted to go back to the office. This whole thing was starting to make me queasy. I was so glad I was never lured by the temptation of drugs.

  I remember something my mom told me when I was in junior high. She said, “How many people do you know who’ve ever said, ‘I’m so glad I started doing drugs, it’s made everything in my life so much better, I wish I’d started doing them sooner’?” Then she grabbed me by my chin and made me look her in the eye. “Anyone? Or are they just doing what they can to get by, and get their next fix?”

  She’d made her point. And I had a prime example in my father’s sister, my Aunt June. She and her second husband were both addicts, or recovering addicts, depending on what day it was. She’d had her kids taken away, and she was glad of it. She said, “Good, now someone else can worry about feeding and getting them to school.”

  It was true. They lived just up the street from us, and most mornings they’d come running to the bus stop still dressed in their pajamas. It wasn’t because their mom had rushed them out the door, because she was still passed out from the night before, but because my cousin Shaun woke up in time and dragged his sister along with him.

  It’s funny, but when you don’t live in that world, or around that type of person, you don’t know what they are capable of. My Aunt June could manipulate. She was a master manipulator. She needed to be in order to pretend her life was normal.

  My aunt couldn’t keep a job, because she didn’t want to work. She’d try it for a little while, and then decide it was too much and go back to letting the government feed and clothe her kids. I had the impression that Alyssa and Jeff weren’t much different than my aunt.

  I’d pulled my head out of the past by the time I reached the office. As luck would have it, Charles was out back with Lola when I pulled into the parking lot.

  “Well?”

  I walked up to him and explained about the grandmother, and how lucky I’d gotten to catch her there. Then I told him about the cops.

  “Damn, you should have driven faster to get there.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “But then I may have missed the grandmother all together. I’m pretty sure the school wasn’t going to let me talk to those kids, or give me guardian information.”

  Charles crossed his arms, raised his hand, and put his finger horizontally across his lips. “You’re
probably right. So they were making meth?”

  “I guess.” I pondered this for a moment. “There has to be more to it than the meth.”

  “There is.” I heard a voice from behind me.

  I turned to see Nick. He walked over and kissed me on the cheek.

  “Let’s go inside. I need to ask you some questions and then I can shed a little light on what’s going on.” Nick walked up and opened the kitchen door. He held it for Charles, Lola and me, and then looked back out to the parking lot before following us in.

  “Coffee?” I asked.

  Charles headed to the cabinet for coffee grounds and Nick said, “Sure, thanks.”

  Charles scooped grounds into the filter while I added water to the coffee maker. Nick sat at the kitchen table.

  He looked as good as he did when I saw him this morning, and I wanted to take him into my office and lock the doors. A girl can fantasize, can’t she? Because I knew it wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with him. I wanted to, alright. I just couldn’t be with him in that way right now.

  Once the maker was percolating, and the smell of freshly brewing coffee filled the air, I sat across from Nick.

  Charles pulled three coffee cups from the dishwasher and put them on the counter. “What’s the scoop on the Kings?”

  Nick got up, grabbed creamer from the fridge and the sugar bowl from the counter as Charles pulled the coffee pot. He poured each of us a cup and handed one to Nick.

  Nick took the cup and handed it to me. “The D.E.A. will be taking over this investigation.”

  I said, “This is news?”

  Nick took the second cup from Charles and sat back down. He added creamer and sugar to his coffee. While he stirred, he said, “It’s about more than small time meth addicts.”

  Charles finally sat down. “I knew it.”

  “Jeff was supposed to testify in court next week. He’s a witness on a case involving drug dealing at a higher level.” Nick sipped his coffee, and added a bit more creamer.

  I was distracted by the fact that he drank coffee like a girl, all frilled up with flavors and sugar. I wasn’t knocking it, as I’m just as guilty.