Searching for Harpies

by Charlie Vogel

  “Who do you think killed her?”

  “Probably a john. Someone we all watch for and hope we’ll never meet.”

  I glanced at Ann talking and laughing with a group of women. “Do you really believe she received a call from Penny?”

  “How would I know? It doesn’t add up. Why would Penny want Harry? I’m sure Ann’s over-reacting.”

  “You want to get with Harry and see if we can find the killer?”

  She looked into my eyes as hers filled and overflowed with another flood of tears. “Like we did at Eileen’s death?”

  “Yeah. We did a good job, didn’t we?”

  “Oh, Bob,” she said on a heavy exhale. “Shit! Things have changed since then. You know we can’t just pack up and move back to the slums.”

  “Yeah, the old place isn’t slums any more.”

  “Cut it out! I’m talking about I have a regular job. Harry has a family and he has responsibilities at work.”

  “One question. Do you think the cops will spend time looking for Penny’s killer?”

  She clenched her hands into fists. “Goddamn it, Bob. So what if the murderer ain’t found. We all took chances on the street. Penny just happened to pick the wrong john this time.”

  “So we just let this guy go free?” I pushed because I knew deep down what Lori wanted.

  “You’re the one who ain’t got a job. You have all the time in the world to do what you want. Hell, you paint during the mornings and twice a week put on a suit to sit at board meetings. I have to be in the office for eight hours a day. I have Satan’s wife for a boss. The woman shoots flames out her mouth. I can’t take time off to search the streets for a killer.”

  “Humor me. Tell me about Mrs. Satan.”

  “She’s the devil’s bride from hell. I have to investigate claim frauds. Can you believe she really wants detailed daily reports? I ain’t got time at the end of the day to write up stupid assed reports. I do a summary at the end of each investigation.” She straightened as if getting a second wind. “Here’s the thing. Sometime in my past I’ve seen that bitch. The name Peggy keeps coming to me whenever I look at her. I never forget a face. I just can’t’ place where I’ve seen hers.”

  * * *

  I relaxed back against the side of the hot tub and allowed my feet to float among the bubbles of the high pressure jet massage. Lori sat across from me, sipping from a wineglass. Her black, string-bikini didn’t cover much. I wondered why she even wore it.

  Candles set deep in small clear glass bowls outlined the wide rim of my patio hot-tub. The breeze caused the flames to frolic. Beyond Lori’s bare shoulder, the full moon plastered gray-blue to silver highlights over the landscape of trees, lawns and lake. The silvered miniature waves danced over Crazy Horse Lake as if accompanying the sounds of the crickets chirping and frogs groaning. Although the shoreline, a half mile away, the blinking lights of fishing boats intruded on our isolation.

  The ends of Lori’s long, sable hair spread out over the tub’s bubbling surface. My own illusion, the young nymph of the lake, filled my sexual imaginings. The rounding of her breasts hovered at the surface of foam. She winked and flashed her perfect white teeth. “You see something you like, big boy?”

  I didn’t move away as her toes wiggle into the fabric of my trunks. “Yes.” I blew out a breath, no longer so relaxed. “Lori, it’s hard for me to express what I want to say. Harry explained you may be attracted to me, and-and I-I feel I have the desire—no, wait—the want to know you better. I-I have to know, ah, er . . . how old are you?”

  She frowned and waited a long moment. “Is my age the goddamn problem?”

  “Please, Lori, I must know.”

  “If you think I’m jail-bait, you can goddamn well take me home. And, no, I don’t mean next door. You better take me back where you found me.”

  I grabbed her ankles as she scrambled out of the tub. With one yank, she was back in the water. She viciously kicked and slipped. I let her go and she stood up sputtering. “No, Lori, listen. Your age is not a problem. If we decide to have a serious affair, it may be—.”

  “Something people will talk about?” she interrupted. “Why would we give a fuck what people thought about us?”

  “Just tell me. Are you over twenty or under twenty?”

  “Do you honestly think I would fuck with you if I was a teenager? I would have better things to do than screw old men if I were that young.”

  “But didn’t you tell me you were whoring at twelve?”

  “So what? Are you keeping score or something?. Since I’m not whoring, you can consider me an adult.”

  I reached over and shut off the jets. We sat on the underwater benches, staring into each other’s eyes. Finally, I admitted, “I checked your job application at Bison. You entered your age as twenty-six, but you didn’t have proof. No birth certificate or identification. Your police record also shows you as twenty-six, but they went by your word. You were hired because I used my influence as a major stock holder.”

  “You’re saying you don’t think I’m twenty-six?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “The cops believe me, why can’t you?”

  She pushed herself up on the edge and yanked a towel from the nearby metal chair. Turning towards me, she wiped her face. “I’ll pack up a few things and be gone tomorrow.”

  My stomach clenched. “No-no, please Lori, don’t go. I-I believe you. It’s-it’s just that I think I might lo-love you. Not like a husband and wife kind of love, but as—”

  Her brows came down and she glared at me over the stilled towel. “As your daughter? Thank you, father-dear, but I gave up family life when my old man went to jail and my mother ditched me with relatives who hated my guts.” She slipped off the tub’s edge and moved toward the chair and the blue jeans she had left there earlier.

  I swung out of the tub. “Lori, please, let’s start this conversation over.”

  “I think I’ve heard everything you wanted to say.”

  “No, you haven’t! Wait. I want to say let’s start our lives over. Let’s work into a relationship . . . but do it . . . slowly so we’re both ready.”

  “I thought we had a relationship. And you want slow? It’s been over two years since your wife died. How much time do you need?”

  My heart thumped harder in my chest as I raised one palm toward her. “Please?”

  She let the jeans drop to the floor. The rhinestones on the bikini’s small triangular patch covering her shaved mound sparkled from the candles. Her near-naked, tanned, wet body glistened in the moonlight.

  “Bob, why the hell did I become involved with you? I’m beginning to think living a normal life ain’t the greatest. Shit, I had it easier when I was watching people shoot each other and fucking twenty johns a night.” She stepped to me, her cool arms sliding around my waist turning me instantly hot, instantly rock hard. “I’m a goddamn fool, but I’ll give you another chance.”

  I closed my eyes to savor the feel of her against me. “Thank you, Lori; I will always love you for this.”

  “Those are the nicest words I heard since I’ve been here. Now—”

  “Back in the tub and we talk.”

  She shook her head but followed me anyway.

  With wine glasses refilled, we leaned back in the bubbling, heated water. Our conversation turned from awkward to meaningless comments on the beauty of the moon and the reflection upon the lake’s water. Then she asked, “You thinking about what Ann said?”

  “About her killing Penny? She does have a big temper for such a small woman.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, I think she would have killed Penny if Harry was seeing her. But, would she have killed her then brought it to our attention just to get our reaction?”

  Lori adjusted the thin string holding the tiny black triangles over her nipples. She slanted a disgusted look at me. “You sometimes worry me. Where do you come up with this psychological bullshit? Do you spend all your free
time reading?”

  “Hey, so I read crime magazines now. So what? And two weeks ago I bought a book about how to get a license as a private eye. It’s not like I don’t have any experience.” She lifted her glass in a toast at that. I sat forward to hold her gaze. “I can’t believe some one like Penny wouldn’t be able to read a john’s intention to become violent. She wouldn’t have survived the streets as long as she did without some intuition and people smarts, right?”

  Lori pursed her lips but jerked her head in a reluctant nod of agreement.

  “So, Lori, I can’t buy your theory of her just having a whore’s bad luck.”

  Her eyes glistened with rising tears. She whispered, “You’re right. She had to have known something about the guy who killed her to let her guard down. Unless she was stoned. Sometimes . . . well, I saw her pop a few hits. One time, she was stoned really bad. Someone dared her to fuck this horse they used in the Old Market on carriage rides. The cops arrested her before she could strap herself under—” She stopped and gulped more wine. “Enough of Penny.”

  As a hand swiped at her eyes, I cleared my throat of a lump. Damn! She’s getting to me! “I gotta ask one more question. When did you see her last?”

  Ignoring me, Lori set aside her wine glass, sat forward and put her hands behind her as if working at the knot holding the bikini top in place. It dropped free and she tossed it on the stone floor of the patio. She sighed as if in relief then settled back against the side of the tub. Candle light reflected off the shifting water. I stared at her dark nipples just above the water. When she stretched to take up her wine again, I almost groaned.

  “A few days ago—four, I think—I drove downtown and we had lunch. We always tried to get together at least once a week, ever since . . . well, you know, me leaving the streets. She’d call me some nights, if she wasn’t busy with a john.” Lori frowned. “I just remembered! She asked a couple of weeks ago about who to call at Bison Insurance to file an employee complaint. Said someone was giving her a lot of shit. I gave her Harry’s number. Goddamn it, I wonder if she called him at home and Ann—”

  “You gave her his home number?”

  “I’m not an idiot. They don’t give out home numbers at work. I was going to ask Harry about what she said, but I totally forgot.”

  “Did she say who was harassing her?”

  “No. We didn’t get that far. She was late for an appointment with a john. And she didn’t bring it up last week when we shared a pipe.” Lori shifted lifting her full breasts out of the water.

  I blinked then mumbled, “Do-do you smoke pot?”

  She stared at me like I was the idiot. “Bob, you know I quit the hard stuff years ago, so now every once in a while . . . Penny would start on weed we shared, then she moved on to coke. I always said no and she’d shrug. Just the pot and not often, ah, since I met you. You smoke, don’t you?”

  Thank God her breasts were under water again. “No. Eileen and I experimented in college and maybe a year or two after our marriage, but I outgrew it.”

  Wisps of Lori’s dark hair flew as she shook her head. “I can’t believe that. Shit, you look like one of those people in pictures of Woodstock, the hippies. You keep your hair in a pony tail, the half-ass beard and the gold chain around your neck. Like some kind of love child who refuses to grow old. Yeah, you look like a pot smoker.”

  Sliding lower into the water, I let the bubbles tickle the bottom of my chin. She pissed me off. I decided not to take it. “Looks are sometimes deceiving, smart alec. You know, I think we needed this little talk. Yeah, a little honesty can be a good thing. We’ve lived as neighbors for two years and have never really . . . I mean really got to know one another.”

  She arched her eyebrows with a cocky expression ready to challenge me. I could see it coming. “I probably know more about you, than you do me. You are always jumping to conclusions. I take the time to understand a person. I watch you, your eyes, how you move, where you look. I know exactly how you will handle a situation. Take how you look at me. Interested but too scared to study me, to understand me. Maybe you should smoke a little weed again. Loosen you up some, maybe give you a little courage.”

  My ego balloon punctured, I looked at my wine glass. It still had a couple of good swallows. Lori drained hers. The low sound of the jets filled the awkward silence between us.

  “So, what did Harry have to say?”

  We stared at one another. “He said we should talk more.”

  She surged to her feet, swung out of the tub and grabbed the nearby towel but held it away as she turned to face me. The water slid down her tan skin, over her perfect breasts in little streams down her slender legs to puddle on the patio stones. Again, the rhinestones in the small triangle patch below her navel sparkled in the candlelight. She tilted her head, held the towel and just looked at me.

  “You leaving?” I asked, too tense to move.

  “No. Thought I’d have a smoke.” Finally she turned and bent that perfect ass to dig her free hand in the bag dropped on the patio table. She straightened, holding up a plastic baggie. “Do you mind?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Several joints rolled and ready. You want one?”

  Before I could answer, my cell phone retrieved from my desk jangled on the table beside her purse. I sloshed out of the tub and stepped by her. She backed up until she leaned against the hot tub, the towel now draped in front of her barely covering anything.

  “Bob Norris here.”

  “Hi, Bob,” Harry’s voice rumbled. “Did I interrupt anything interesting?”

  “Well, Lori’s here. We were in the hot tub talking. Just talking like you suggested. What’s up?”

  “So I guess you missed the ten o’clock news.”

  “Why?”

  “Father Manning. He’s been charged with murder. The cops booked him. They say he shot Penny.”

  Chapter 3

  The mailing address label had been torn off the Reader’s Digest Magazine. Thumbing through the pages, I glanced over the top edge to look more carefully at the secretary. Far from a classic beauty, her eyes focused on the computer screen as her nail-polished fingers danced across the keyboard. She had attempted to darken her skin with cosmetics, as if she had a tan. She hadn’t blended it well into her neck where pale, skin showed above her severe blouse. The strawberry blonde hair had been pulled back from her temples into a French twirl pinned tightly in place. The only classic quality here was the picture of a no-nonsense, hard-driving personal assistant who would grow old before she turned thirty.

  Beyond the reception desk, Priscilla Eleanor Godfrey’s office door remained closed. I had an appointment at one-fifteen. My watch showed one-forty-five. The cover of the lady’s magazine I flipped through had been removed. About half way through I found a recipe for a fish batter.

  Ten minutes later, the chime of the intense assistant’s phone finally sounded. I sincerely hoped that meant Ms. Godfrey was contacting her secretary.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the young woman responded into the receiver, throwing a glance my way. “Mr. Norris, Ms. Godfrey will see you now.”

  In an exaggerated manner, I returned the magazine to the table at my elbow. “Guess I’ll copy that recipe later.” The woman didn’t even blink or offer to open the door for me.

  Scuffing across the low pile carpet, I entered the spacious office. My Garlotta oxfords sank into the green matting. Taking a straight back chair in front of a solid oak desk, I scrutinized the anorexic face of the young woman staring back at me with slightly narrowed brown eyes. Her black hair had been pulled back in the same severe hair style her secretary wore. Coincidence? Low shoulders emphasized a long, slender neck. I recognized the suit jacket. One just like it clothed a scrawny mannequin in up-sale Marcy’s front window. She could afford it as a Department Head, a position she looked way too young to hold.

  Eileen had been forty when she first sat behind the same desk. Bison Insurance had replaced the higher management pe
ople a few times since then. Before me sat a fine example of their subtle change from caring to cold. I guessed my unscrupulous father-in-law had made them wary.

  In a crisp, impatient tone, she asked, “What do you need, ah, Mr. Norris is it?”

  I thought about reminding her of my status as a major share-holder with Bison but decided not to waste her obviously valuable time. “Last week you gave notice to a friend of mine. Bad decision. You need to reinstate Lori Saint.”

  Her stare turned frigid. She pursed her lips. “I have a lot of people under me. Who is this Ms. Saint? What was her job?”

  “She worked as a fraud investigator.”

  “And you need to know our internal affairs because . . .?”

  “I’m a major share holder in this company. Either you can talk to me or I can call someone on the Board.”

  Huffing, she swiveled her chair and slid open a long file drawer from the wooden credenza behind her. Flipping through the hanging files she pulled out a folder, turned back and opened it on her desk. I saw several sets of computer printouts. She pulled one out, scanned it then looked up without changing her impatient expression. “She was one of the six I laid off due to departmental downsizing. Sorry, Mr. Norris, I have no openings for her.”

  “Last time prospectus reports went out, I didn’t see a thing about reorganizing and layoffs. Just maybe this action didn’t go through the Board? Who authorized the action?”

  She stiffened, the brown eyes flaring. “Excuse me? You’re questioning my executive decisions? I haven’t seen your signature on my paycheck.”

  I leaned forward to rest one forearm on her desk and allowed my irritation to harden my voice. “My wife sat in your chair. I have a key to the executive suite down the hall. I’m on a first name basis with the man who does sign your checks. Should I call him?”

  “Norris?” She shook her head, not intimidated in the least, the little smart ass. “I don’t recognize the name.” A frown flickered. “Your wife sat—Ah, she didn’t go by Norris and her father sat on the Board, but he . . . died.” She glanced down at the file folder to collect herself then looked back up, her executive manner back in place. “Well, Mr. Norris, I am relatively new at Bison. However, if you read the Standard Operating Procedures manual and talk with some of the other executives . . . or those Board members you know so well, you would learn,” she leaned forward to stare harder, “my responsibility is to do whatever is necessary to work within our newly limited budget. That includes reorganizing departments and, yes, downsizing. You have a problem with that, then you need to bring it to the next annual share holders meeting.” She stood up and gracefully motioned to the office door. “As you can see I am very busy, so you will excuse me.”