by Ron Base
“He doesn’t like me.” Tree saw no point in getting into the real reason behind Markfield’s hostility.
Ryde again raised and lowered his eyebrows. “And here you seem like such a likable guy.”
“Look, I’m sorry about all this,” Tree said. “The kids came in today with a young fellow I’ve been close to. I didn’t have the heart to say no to him—or to them.”
“You must have been at least somewhat intrigued,” Ryde said. “What did they tell you, anyway?”
“They didn’t tell me much of anything,” Tree said. “It’s not what they know about their father. It’s what they don’t know. They wanted me to find out what they don’t know about someone who turns out to be you—although the kids gave me another name.”
Ryde drank more scotch before he said, “Did they?”
“They said you were Wayne Granger.”
If this surprised or upset Ryde, he didn’t show it. But then Tree was beginning to suspect Ryder Bodie excelled when it came to the business of hiding emotions. He finished the scotch.
“It’s probably a good thing I encountered you tonight.”
Tree couldn’t help but sound surprised when he said, “It is?”
Ryde put his glass down and leaned back against the cushions of the sofa. “I’m leaving town for a couple of weeks, and I’m taking the children with me. I could use someone to watch the house. Would you do something like that? I’d need you to basically do what you’ve done tonight. Drive around regularly, check this house and the one on Captiva Drive, make sure everything’s okay.”
Tree was about to say that checking on houses wasn’t exactly in his wheel house. But then children could hire him for twenty-five dollars so he decided to keep his mouth shut and, for the moment at least, go along with Ryde Bodie who was also Wayne Granger.
“What about it, Tree? Are you up for it? You can charge me whatever your rate is. I can write you a check now.”
“It’s all right,” Tree said. “We can settle up later—but I’ll need your real name.”
“Why would you need that?”
“They taught us that at detective school,” Tree said. “Make sure you get a client’s real name.”
“The kids know me as Wayne Granger. For business reasons, I’m Ryder Bodie.”
“So I should call you Ryde.”
“Sure,” Ryde said with a wave of his hand. “Call me anything you want.”
Tree said, “When are you leaving?”
“Later today. I’ll be gone a couple of weeks. You’d be doing me a great favor.”
Would he? Out loud, Tree said, “Okay.”
“See, Tree? This evening has worked out great for both of us.”
Ryde was on his feet, grinning—that megawatt Ryder Bodie grin Tree was getting all too accustomed to.
Ryde Bodie who was Wayne Granger.
9
At three o’clock in the morning, without Freddie beside him, Tree couldn’t sleep. He got out of bed, padded across the bedroom and opened the door into what appeared to be an airplane hangar. Catwalks crisscrossed the upper reaches of the structure where big Klieg-type lights hung. Out on the concrete floor, someone was driving a golf cart in circles.
When the young man at the wheel spotted Tree, he drove the golf cart over. The young man wore the dress khakis of a U.S. Army sergeant. A round baby face was framed with jet-black hair, short at the sides, but swept up into a high pompadour.
“Sir, you don’t happen to be a guitar player,” the young man said in a pleasant Southern drawl.
“I’ve always wanted to play the guitar,” Tree said.
“Yeah, well, the difference between a guitar player and a guy who wants to play the guitar is that the guitar player can play the guitar.”
“I can see that,” Tree said.
“We’re gonna lay down some tracks tonight, and we could use a good guitar player.”
“Sorry,” Tree said.
The young man got out of the golf cart and came over to where Tree stood. Tree marveled at the perfect fit of his uniform. It looked as though it had been sewn on him.
“You can’t sleep either, huh?”
“My wife’s in Chicago,” Tree said. “I always have trouble sleeping when she’s gone.”
“I ain’t got no wife, man, I just have trouble sleeping, period. So sometimes I come over here and just drive this golf cart around.”
“Are you in the army?” Tree asked.
“Well, I was in the army but not anymore.”
“You just can’t stop wearing the uniform, is that it?”
The young man laughed and shook his head. “Nah, I’m sort of into this acting thing now, so the part I’m playing, the guy’s a G.I. stationed in Germany. We’re shooting on the stage next door. I just came over here to get away.
“See, I have this recurring dream that I’ve lost it all, everything I worked for is gone, and I’m all alone. Man, that dream scares me more than anything, makes me want to get into a golf cart and just drive around in circles till I shake the damn thing off.”
Tree said, “What keeps me awake at night is that after a lifetime of work, I’ve got nothing—that’s no dream, it’s a reality. I’m not sure how that happened. I got up and went to work every day of my life, and I ended up with nothing.”
“There you go, that’s exactly what bothers me. It can happen. You can lose everything you’ve ever worked for. Before you know it, it all just slips away.”
“It’s not as though I lost all that much when I think about it—I never had very much to begin with. At this time of night, I’m haunted by the mistakes I made. At the moment I made them, they didn’t seem like anything, but they add up after a while, and you realize you’ve paid a pretty high price for your carelessness and your screw-ups.”
“That’s what I don’t want to happen to me,” the young man said. “But I’m kind of obsessed with the fear that it will.”
“You’re an actor?” Tree said.
“That’s what they call it,” the young man said, “although sometimes I wonder.”
“I thought a lot about becoming an actor when I was younger. Maybe I should have gotten into that, instead of journalism. Maybe I’d be better off today.”
“I don’t know, sir, this acting thing, I’m really not all that comfortable with it. I like singing better.”
“I don’t know what it is, but lately I just have this feeling I should have pursued it,” Tree said. “I have this vision of myself on a horse, tanned and rugged, not saying too much but just having this incredibly strong presence on the screen.”
“Take it from me, sir, you may see yourself that way, but the first thing you know, they got you singing to a turtle—and that becomes how the world sees you.”
“It doesn’t make a whole lot of difference at this point,” Tree said. “Everything is coming to an end. Most of the people I grew up with, whether they made it or didn’t make it, they’re gone now, and what they did or didn’t do doesn’t make a whole lot of difference.”
“Don’t that beat all?” the young man said with a rueful laugh. “Here we are, a couple of guys hanging out late at night, unable to sleep, scared as hell about life.”
A door at the far end of the hangar-like structure opened, and three men appeared. “They’re waiting for you on the set, Boss,” one of the men called.
The young man delivered a lazy smile. Despite the funny haircut he really is handsome, Tree thought.
“Guess I got to be going,” the young man said.
“Take care of yourself,” Tree said. The two of them shook hands.
“I’ll be seeing you around,” the young man said.
“Do you think so?” Tree said.
“You can count on it,” said the young man.
He got back in the golf cart and drove to where the three men waited. He stopped the golf cart, and the three men whisked him through the connecting door. Tree was left alone in this vast space. He was very tired sudden
ly. He really did need to get more sleep. Maybe if he just lay down on the floor for a couple of minutes.
Yes, this wasn’t so bad, he thought as he stretched out on his back. He would briefly shut his eyes. A cat nap. Then he would be able to face the world again, a world increasingly difficult to face. From somewhere in the distance, he could hear singing. Unless he missed his guess, the song was “Frankfurt Special” from G.I. Blues. Wasn’t that curious? he thought as he drifted off. Go special, go. Blow whistle, blow.
What?
Tree jerked awake, alone in bed. It was morning. He sat on the edge of the bed thinking about black-haired young men in golf carts, missing Freddie. He almost picked up the phone so he could tell her how he had been caught red-handed, first by Owen Markfield and then—and this was most embarrassing—by the father of the two children he had been dumb enough to take on as clients; a father who, it turned out, he already knew. The father who had now hired the ignominious detective, although why he would do that in the wake of Tree’s stumblebum performance was anyone’s guess.
He decided not to phone Freddie. She already thought him mad for having anything to do with the kids in the first place. Discussion of last night’s events would only confirm her growing suspicion—albeit a suspicion she diplomatically kept to herself—that in addition to being crazy, her husband was a fool.
Still, when you go by at least two names, employ a bodyguard who carries an assault rifle, and you won’t say a whole lot about what you do for a living, you could hardly blame the kids for wondering about their father. Tree wondered himself. Whatever it was, Ryde Bodie wasn’t selling insurance for a living.
He got off the bed and went out into the kitchen and started to make coffee. He was interrupted by a knock on the front door. He crossed the living room and opened the door to find Marcello frowning up at him. “It’s like nine o’clock in the morning, and you’re not dressed or shaved or anything,” he said in an accusatory voice.
“What are you doing here?” Tree demanded.
“Checking up on you,” Marcello shot back. “Some partner you’re turning out to be.”
“I’m not your partner, and you should be in school.”
“Can I come in or not?”
Tree opened the door wider. “Get in here. Have you had anything to eat?”
“I don’t eat breakfast,” Marcello said.
“What do you mean you don’t eat breakfast? You’re a kid. You should eat breakfast.”
“You got a banana? I could eat a banana.”
Tree marched Marcello into the kitchen and got him a banana. Marcello sat at the table carefully peeling the fruit.
Tree said, “Eat that, and then I’m driving you to school.”
Marcello frowned. “I’m worried about Joshua and Madison.”
“Listen, I’m in a lot of trouble because of you and those kids.”
“They’re not answering their cellphones this morning.”
“They’ve got cellphones?”
“Of course. All kids got cellphones.”
“Do you have a cellphone?”
“Couldn’t survive without one,” Marcello said. He took a nibble on his banana, as if testing to ensure Tree hadn’t poisoned it.
“I saw Joshua and Madison last night,” Tree said. “They’re fine.”
Marcello looked up from his banana. “What are you talking about? Where did you see them?”
“On Rabbit Road, after their father caught me watching the house.”
Marcello frowned. “You weren’t supposed to get caught.”
“Now you tell me,” Tree said irritably. “The point being, their father is not happy that his children are hiring private detectives to spy on him.”
“That’s because he’s dangerous and a crook. Dudes like that don’t like to be watched.” Marcello made it sound as though he had experience dealing with the likes and dislikes of dangerous dudes.
Tree thought of the guy named Curtis with the assault rifle, and Ryde’s FN Five-seven. “Whatever he is, he is not a threat to his children.”
“Yeah? Then how come they’re not answering their phones?”
“Maybe because they’re going away with their father today.”
Now it was Marcello’s turn to look surprised. “They never told me anything about that.”
“Like I said, I talked to their father last night—feeling like a fool, incidentally.”
“Why would you feel like that?”
“I suppose because I allowed three children to talk me into sitting outside someone’s house in the middle of the night.”
“I’m not a child,” Marcello protested.
Tree rolled his eyes. “Do you want anything else to eat? If not, I’m driving you over to the school.”
Marcello shook his head. “We gotta take care of this problem.”
“We don’t have to take care of anything. You have to go to school.”
“I tell you this dude is up to no good,” Marcello said.
“I’m keeping an eye on his house for him,” Tree said.
“You’re doing what?” Marcello was frowning again.
“Keeping an eye on the Rabbit Road house. The place on Captiva Drive as well. If something is amiss, I’ll be able to spot it.”
“Something is amiss all right,” Marcello said. “What’s amiss, the bad dude has bought you off. You being my partner and everything.”
“I’m not your partner, Marcello.”
“You sure aren’t acting like any partner I’d want to have,” he said angrily.
“Come on, I’m driving you over to the school.”
Marcello got up from the table, grumbling: “No way to treat a partnership, letting some bad dude buy you off.”
“Nobody’s bought me off. I wish they would. That way I wouldn’t have to put up with this nonsense. How did you get here, anyway?”
“My bike’s outside,” Marcello said.
“Let’s get it and put it in the garage for now. You can get it back later.”
“I don’t need no ride,” Marcello said sullenly.
“Marcello,” Tree said in the sort of warning parental voice he had not had to use for a long time.
Marcello groaned and went out the door. Tree followed him. Marcello’s red bike was in the drive, chipped and banged up since the last time Tree had seen it. He put it in the garage and then went back out to the Beetle. Marcello waited in the passenger seat.
When they got over to the school, Tree pulled into the drive and stopped the car. For a moment, Marcello didn’t move.
“Hey,” Tree said. “Are you okay?”
Marcello seemed to take a deep breath and then turned to Tree. “He killed their mom.”
“What?”
“That dude who’s now hired you, he killed Joshua and Madison’s mom.”
“Their mother died in a car accident,” Tree replied. “Ryde was driving the car. He didn’t intentionally kill his wife, Marcello.”
“Yeah, well that’s what you’re saying, because that’s what you adults tell each other, and you believe one another. But the kids, man, they got another story. It wasn’t no car and it wasn’t no accident.”
“You’re wrong, Marcello.”
“How do you know that? Look at this another way, the kids’ way. They’re afraid of him. They think maybe they’re next. This is adult stuff, okay? I can’t handle it. That’s why I need your help, even though you’re not much. Right now, you’re all those kids got. You gotta protect them.”
Before Tree could say anything, Marcello had opened the passenger door, hopped outside, and was running for the school.
10
Still shaken by what Marcello had told him, Tree drove to his office. The local news on WGCU reported police had still not identified the body found on the beach at Captiva Island. The investigation was continuing.
Marcello seemed to know exactly how to push his buttons: drop an intriguing uncertainty just when he thought he had everything figured
out; create doubt as to whether he had done the right thing at the moment he was certain he had done the right thing—and then disappear before he had to answer questions.
Clever kid. Too clever. And exasperating to boot.
But supposing Marcello was right? What if Joshua and Madison Ryder were in danger? Supposing their father did kill their mother?
Supposing kids really did see things from a different perspective than adults.
Supposing Ryde Bodie really was the bad dude Marcello accused him of being.
Tree, driving. Thinking.
There was one person who might be able to help him answer some of these questions—or at least put him on the right track. But would Sanibel Island Detective Cee Jay Boone even take his call, let alone help him? Cee Jay and her partner had tried to kill him as he pursued his first case. Cee Jay claimed she had just been trying to scare him. The charges against her had been thrown out on a technicality, forcing the Sanibel Police Department to reinstate her. They had encountered each other several times since and, at the most unlikely moments, Cee Jay had come to his aid. Maybe she would do it again.
“Tree, I can’t talk to you,” Cee Jay said as soon as she came on the phone.
“Wayne Granger,” Tree said.
That drew a long silence on the other end of the line. Tree said, “Cee Jay? Are you there?”
Cee Jay said, “What do you know about him?”
“What do you know about him?”
“Why would I know anything?”
“Cee Jay, you know something. I can tell by your voice.”
“You can’t tell anything from my voice,” she insisted.
“Yes, I can. Tell me what you know about him.”
“What I know is that you shouldn’t know that name.”
“Why shouldn’t I, Cee Jay?”
“All I can tell you is that Wayne Granger is the subject of an ongoing federal investigation, and therefore you should stay as far away as you possibly can.”
And then Cee Jay hung up.
Federal investigation? Wayne Granger was the subject of a federal investigation? That meant Ryde Bodie was also the subject—Granger and Bodie being one and the same.
