“Why is this melon so much better than the ones I’ve had before?” he asked.
“Don’t know,” she replied after spitting out a couple seeds. “I think seedless watermelons, which is what you get in most stores, aren’t as good as the old-fashioned kind. I picked this one up yesterday at the farmers market. Also, watermelon is best served cold on a hot day. One of life’s little pleasures.”
They sat, feet propped on the knee-high wall that ringed her slightly raised patio, eating their melon slices and discussing whatever topic came to mind. As it continued to darken, they watched as the fireflies began to appear, their soft green blinks strangely mesmerizing as the cicadas sang their chirring song. He was really getting used to the slower pace of the south.
Two years ago, if someone had told him he would enjoy sitting in the dark, watching distant lightening and fireflies while listening to the night sounds of bugs and frogs, he’d have thought they were crazy. But here he sat, as content as he could remember ever being. Most of it was Maggie, but not all. It was nice to slow down, to have a little breathing room, to not have the press of the multitudes and the go, go, go pace of the big city. Now, if he could just adapt to the damned heat and humidity.
“I’m a mess,” Maggie said, tossing her rind into the yard and holding her hands up as if they were covered in something disgusting.
“Need some help cleaning up?”
“I might.”
He grinned in the darkness and tossed his rind into the yard beside hers. He’d pick them up in the morning. He took one of her hands and slowly stuck her fingers into his mouth, one at a time, and gently sucked them clean. She sat perfectly still, saying nothing, until he finished.
“My lips are sticky too.”
He smiled as he rose, pulling her to her feet to join him before taking her lips. She melted into him as the kiss deepened.
“Better?” he murmured as their lips slowly parted.
“Better, but I think you need to make sure you didn’t miss any place.”
He took her lips again and she pulled him in as she breathed deep, their tongues dancing.
“Now you’ve done it,” she sighed as their kiss dissolved.
“What?”
“Your hands have gotten me all sticky again.”
“I guess I’ll have to clean you up… again.”
“Yes,” she purred, “I think you will.”
He led her inside and straight to the shower. He slowly undressed her and then washed her hair and back, followed by the rest of her body, delighting in how she twitched and squirmed as his soap covered hands slid over her flesh.
She returned the favor, then after he rinsed, she stood with her head resting on his shoulder as the water pattered and splashed over them like a warm summer rain.
As the water cooled, he turned off the shower and stepped out. He patted her dry, liking the way she was looking at him as he went about his task. There was desire there, but also a gentleness that thrilled him in ways he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Again, she returned the favor and as she finished she looked up at him, her features soft. “This was way better than any movie.” She scratched gently at his face. “Don’t take too long,” she purred then sauntered out of the bathroom.
He watched her bottom sway until she disappeared and then smiled as he dug out his razor, flicked it on, and ran it quickly over his face so to not keep her waiting.
-oOo-
The next morning, he drove into town and picked up the sunshade for Maggie’s mower. The place that ordered it for him had called Thursday to let him know it had arrived. He had to flip the rear seat down to get the box in his car, but even so, the trunk lid still wouldn’t close. It took a bit of rearranging of the flares, emergency medical kit, and other items that lived back there, and the radio and video equipment taking up space didn’t help, but he finally got the trunk closed.
He hadn’t told her where he was going, and when he arrived back at her house, he pulled her mower out of the garage, parked it in the shade of an oak in the back yard, and set to work. After a few minutes, she appeared.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he stood in the shade of the tree and read the directions.
“Getting ready to install the sunshade on your mower.”
“What sunshade?”
“The sunshade I bought so I don’t fry while mowing.”
“What?” she squawked. “You didn’t have to do that! I could have mowed!”
“I like the mowing, I just don’t like the sun. This solves the problem.”
She fumed. “I’m paying for that. How much was it?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
She pulled the paperwork off the box, shuffling the papers as she looked through them, then flipped the pages over to look at the backs.
“How much was it?” she asked again.
“I told you, it doesn’t matter. It wasn’t that expensive and I bought it for me, not you.”
He could tell she was less than thrilled by him buying it and not telling her how much it cost, but he didn’t really care.
He finished reading the instructions and began the task of mounting the various brackets and supports. She watched for a moment before she began reading him the directions and handing him the next part or holding the various nuts and bolts he would need. The canopy was designed for the mower, so the installation was quick, easy, and required no drilling.
Twenty minutes later the shade was attached to the roll over protection structure that protected the operator in the event the mower tipped. The ROPS could even still be folded down if the shade was returned to its stored position first. The jaunty yellow canvas matched the green and yellow of the rest of the mower, and the three black mesh curtains on both sides and back could be raised or lowered as desired for additional protection from the sun while still allowing a breeze to pass.
“What do you think?”
“I think you shouldn’t have bought it.”
“Why? Would you rather me cook in the sun?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
He grinned and gave her a fleeting kiss. “I’ll make you a deal. If it comes to it, I’ll tell you what it cost and you can pay me then. Or I’ll take it off and take it with me if you’d rather. The installation was free.”
She watched him a moment then smiled. “Okay. If it comes to it, I’ll buy it.” Her smile widened. “But I get to take it for the first drive!” she said as she clambered aboard and sat down at the controls.
She started the machine and made a pass around the edge of her yard as he picked up the box, Styrofoam, and all the little plastic bags that held the various nuts and bolts. He crushed and folded the carton and chunked everything into the recycle bin. He also picked up the watermelon rinds from the night before and disposed of them as well.
She pulled to a stop beside him and killed the engine. “I’m jealous. I can’t believe how much difference that thing makes. I should have bought one years ago.”
She climbed off the machine and looked up, inviting him to kiss her. He gave her a comically loud smooch.
“Can you stay tonight? For installing my new sunshade I’ll let you pick any movie you want to watch.”
He grinned. “What if I’d rather eat watermelon?”
She smiled. “That’ll probably come later, and you won’t even have to get me sticky first.”
Twenty-Eight
Sean pulled through the gate of Juno Demolition, his car’s tires making crackling noises as he slowly drove across the gravel lot. A black and white cruiser from the Charleston PD was parked at the small office. As a courtesy, he’d called the Charleston Police Department and informed them of his desire to speak with Harvey Juno, and Charleston had arranged for an officer to meet him.
Because he had no arrest authority in Charleston, the local officer could perform an arrest if necessary and act as a check to protect their citizens from an over-zealous officer from another j
urisdiction. It was all standard procedure, and he would have done the same.
The Charleston cruiser was empty. Not surprising since it was in the low nineties and it would be much cooler waiting inside the office instead of the car.
He pulled into a space beside a white Chevy pickup, glancing at the plate as he did, but the number didn’t match the one Ted gave him. The truck had a large square outlined with a thin black line on the door with two large black letters printed inside, a J and D, the two letters sharing the double width down-stroke with thin white line separating them. Underneath, in smaller type, Juno Demolition and a phone number were displayed.
When he entered the small office area, his badge displayed on his belt, a young officer with a shaved head turned to greet him and extended his hand.
“Neil Robles.”
“Sean McGhee,” he replied as he shook the man’s hand. “Thanks for meeting me. This shouldn’t take long.”
“Is Mr. Juno available?” Neil asked the woman sitting at her desk, her eyes flicking back and forth between them.
The woman was tending toward chubby, with short blonde hair that stopped halfway down her neck. It was parted on the left, then carefully styled to give a carefree, windblown look. With her square glasses, white men’s work shirt with the Juno logo on the pocket, and jeans, the look worked for her.
“Yes. He’s waiting on you,” she replied.
Sean recognized her voice as Peg, the woman he’d spoken to earlier. Fortunately, she didn’t give any sign she recognized his voice.
“Go right on in.”
“What’s this all about?” Harvey Juno said as he stood behind his desk.
Harvey was a lean man of perhaps forty. He stood about five ten, with thinning brown hair and a nose that looked like it had been broken at least once. He was wearing the same white shirt and blue jeans as his receptionist.
“Mr. Juno, Sean McGhee, Brunswick PD. I just have a few questions I need to ask then I’ll be on my way. A truck was spotted at a construction site where we’ve had some vandalism. The night guard chased someone away and they possibly got into a truck registered to your company. Can you explain why one of your trucks might have been there Friday, July twenty-first?”
“Have a seat, gentlemen,” Harvey said as he returned to his chair. “My truck was there?”
“The numbers the guard got match one of the trucks registered to your company, yes sir,” Sean said as he and Neil settled into two guest chairs.
Harvey’s office was large, littered with papers and plat drawings, and the walls were adorned with colorful pictures of construction equipment doing what they do, but was otherwise unremarkable.
“We have five trucks. What was the plate?”
Sean glanced at his notebook to confirm the number before he told him.
Juno grinned. “I don’t know why I even asked that. I don’t even know the plate number of my own truck. Let me go look. I’ll be right back.” He began to stand.
“Is that your truck out front?” Sean asked, causing Juno to pause then sit back down.
“Yes, why?”
“I can save you the trouble of looking. It’s not that one.”
“Peg!” Juno called. A moment later the receptionist appeared. “Find out who’s truck has plate number… shit, what was the plate again?”
Sean repeated the number.
“Find out who drives that.”
Peg nodded and disappeared.
“You bid the job to take down the North State Textiles buildings in Brunswick, didn’t you?”
Harvey grinned. “Yeah, but we didn’t get the job. Apparently, the deal fell through or something.” He shrugged. “You win some, you lose some.”
Peg appeared in the doorway. “That truck was driven by Dennis.”
“So, it’s here on the lot?” Harvey asked.
She shrugged. “I guess.”
Harvey looked at Sean. “Dennis Milner, he used to work for me. He left about three months ago for another opportunity. Want to see the truck?”
Sean nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
“No problem. It’s right out here.”
Harvey led them out of his office, picking up a set of keys from Peg, before escorting them across the lot. The lot was at least twice as big as Maggie’s yard, surrounded by an eight-foot chain-link fence topped with three strands of barbed wire. The lot was covered in oil soaked gravel and filled with scrap metal, a couple of large dozers, dump trucks, two heavy-haul trucks with flatbed trailers attached, a fleet of skid-steers, and a pair of large excavators, one with a wicked looking pincer on the end, the other sporting a giant jack hammer.
“Here it is,” Harvey said, stopping by a dusty white Chevy.
He opened the driver’s door and stepped back to allow Sean to look inside. It looked like a typical construction truck… filthy. It was full of papers, empty coffee cups and other assorted trash. Outside it wasn’t much better. It was covered in a thick clinging dust that dulled it to almost grey. Sean picked at one of the signs on the doors, peeling back the corner before letting it go.
“I thought those were painted on,” he said with a smile. “So, nobody drives this truck?”
“No, not since Dennis left, and not until I hire someone to replace him. Each foreman has their own truck.” Harvey frowned. “I don’t even know if the damn thing will start.”
Harvey slid into the driver’s seat, stuck the key in the ignition, and gave it a twist. The truck clicked but didn’t even attempt to turn over. He grinned at Sean.
He stepped out and slammed the door. “Nobody’s driving that until I put a new battery in it.”
Sean walked around the truck. It had the correct plate. He continued around to the other side. He tucked his fingernail behind the door sticker and pulled it away from the truck. The paint behind it was much shinier than the rest. He let the corner go and the magnetic backing sucked it back to the door.
“I think that does it,” he said, looking the truck over one more time. “It has the right plate, but I’m thinking now the guard must have gotten the numbers jumbled up.”
“Anything else you want to see while you’re here?”
Sean grinned. “No. Do you mind if I take a picture of those excavators? My kid, he loves that kind of stuff.”
Harvey waved at them. “Not at all. Every kid does.”
Sean pulled his phone out and pointed it at the excavator, but made sure Harvey was fully in the frame.
As he’d circled the truck he’d noticed fingerprints on the driver’s door and the hood. The driver’s door was easy to explain away. Perhaps someone needed to retrieve something from the inside, but the hood? That was another matter. It appeared someone had raised the hood on the truck recently, perhaps to boost the truck so it could be driven.
“What’s that scissor looking thing on the end called?” Sean asked, causing Harvey to turn. He snapped the picture as soon as Harvey faced him.
“A shear jaw. That thing closes with a force of over seven hundred tons.” He grinned. “You don’t want your finger in there.”
Sean chuckled. “No, I guess not.”
He took another photo of the excavators, then a couple more of the bulldozers, selling the idea he wanted pictures of the equipment and not Harvey.
“Thanks. He’ll get a big kick out of me having these on my phone.”
“How old is he?” Harvey asked as they walked back to his office.
“Six. His name is Paul.”
Harvey grinned. “Bring him around sometime. I’ll start the big Cat up and we’ll drive it around on the yard.”
Despite himself, Sean chuckled. If he’d had a six-year-old son instead of an almost twenty-year-old daughter, he might take Juno up on his offer.
“Maybe I’ll do that. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“No trouble at all, chief. I’m always glad to help out the police,” Harvey said as they paused in front of the office.
Sean shook Harvey’s
hand then turned to Neil as Harvey went back inside.
“Thanks for taking the time.”
“Get what you needed?”
“Yeah, I think I did.”
Neil looked at him, perhaps detecting something in his voice, but then gave him a curt nod.
“Let us know if you need anything else.”
“Thanks, I will.”
He was out of radio range, so Sean called the station on his cell as he drove back to Brunswick.
“Brunswick Police Department, how may I help you?” Kim asked.
“Kim, it’s Sean. Do me a favor. Call the Faulkner PD and get a list of all the places where their homeless tend to congregate.”
“Okay. Want me to call you back with the information?”
“No, that’s okay. I’m on my way back to the station. I’ll get it when I get there.”
“Do I even want to know what this is for?”
“I’m looking for someone, Ricky Cowler. He’s the homeless guy who set the fires. I should have charged him so I’d know where to find him.”
She snickered. “Okay, I’ll call them and get the information.”
“Thanks, Kim. Any luck on the interviews?”
“They’re all setup for Wednesday and Thursday.”
“Okay, thanks for doing that for me.”
“It’s what we’re… got to go. I have a 9-1-1,” she said, then was gone.
-oOo-
Sean walked into the shelter and stopped at the desk just inside the door.
“I’m looking for Ricky Cowler. He goes by Clicks. He here?”
He’d just spent an hour cruising around the fast food areas, gas stations and the Walmart, the three areas the Faulkner PD suggested he look. When he didn’t find Ricky there, he was finishing up by checking the two shelters that provided beds for those in need. This was the larger of the two and his first stop.
The doe eyed, tattooed and pierced girl watched him a moment, her jaws working on a stick of gum. She was anorexic thin, wearing a black shirt and pants that clung to her like a second skin, and had hair a color of red never seen in nature.
Flashover (A Sean McGhee Mystery Book 2) Page 25
