Sexy Girls

by Gary S. Griffin

  It was another surprise, but I wasn't completely shocked. “Trudy, what did Jack Hostel look like?”

  Ms. Johnson thought a minute, then, answered, “He was a big, muscular blonde guy, over six feet, with curly hair. I thought he was very handsome.”

  It was all fitting together. I asked, “What was his personality and interests?”

  “I'm not completely sure. He was outgoing and enjoyed the outdoors. I didn't know him well, but he was called 'Cowboy' by his friends.”

  I thought I had some good information here and thanked Ms. Johnson. I asked if it would be okay to call her later if I thought of any questions, and she said sure.

  I sat in my car and decided to check out the two Philadelphia addresses of Jack Hostel and his sister, Melissa Hostel. But, first I called both Jack and Melissa's home phone numbers. Both numbers were disconnected.

  Since I was closest to Oregon Avenue, I drove to Jack's apartment first. The address was a garden-style apartment building with twelve apartments spread over three floors, with a center entrance and four apartments per floor, two facing front and two facing the parking lot and yard in back.

  I parked on the street and walked to the second floor and knocked on his apartment door. Thirty seconds passed and I was about to leave, when a young white man in his twenties opened it. He was about six feet tall, fairly muscular and had curly hair and a cool demeanor. He asked who I was and I told him, and I asked if Jack Hostel lived here.

  He answered, “He did until mid-March and then he moved out suddenly leaving me with money for his share of the rent for April and May.”

  I asked his name and he said Phil. I asked Phil if I could come in for a few minutes. He looked me up and down and asked me if I was a cop. I told him no, I was a private eye and showed him my license and gave him my business card. I quickly said that my client was a woman who worked in the same building as Jack.

  He said, “Okay, come in for a minute. Did Jack do something dumb like knock up your client?”

  I raised my eyebrows at that statement and said, “No, but her life is screwed up.”

  Phil answered, “I'm not surprised. That guy was a chick magnet but didn't really care very much about them, and didn't treat them real well.”

  I asked Phil, “Where did Jack go?”

  “Home, Colorado, I think. He wouldn't say. He left a lot of his stuff here and said, 'Keep it, sell it or toss it. I don't care.' A lot of it was crap, but he did leave a nice TV and Stereo - see.”

  Phil pointed to the living room and I noticed it was Sony equipment mostly, including a 36-inch color TV.

  “Did he say why he was leaving?”

  “No, he only said something like, 'I'm heading west, Philly.’ That's what he always called me, because we're in Philadelphia, but I never liked that nickname.”

  “How did you meet Jack?”

  “At work, I'm a guard at Quaker City. We worked in the PNC Bank building together, at 16th and Market for a year then he transferred to the modeling agency. Of course, that's his luck, in a building with great looking girls, while I'm seeing the retirees and poor people come in all day long cashing their monthly checks. Jack sure made out good there. Always was hitting on the chicks and having more luck than you'd expect. He told me that at least one in ten girls will go to bed with you on the first date, all you need to do is ask.”

  “How long did you guys room together?”

  “Only nine months. That's what pisses me off. He wanted to room and then he bolts leaving me with the lease. Thank God, I got another buddy moving in June 15, or I'd be really screwed.”

  “Did he every mention a woman named Andi Grayson?”

  “Not sure. What did she do and what does she look like?”

  “She's 37, but gorgeous. She's a former model herself, tall, well-built and blonde. Also, she was the owner's wife.”

  “No, I don't think so. Jack was into younger girls.”

  “Who did he date at the end of his time in Philadelphia?”

  “A cute, younger, shorter girl who was very tight with Jack. Her name was Julie, no, that's not it, something like that.”

  Taking a shot in the dark, I asked, “Did you ever meet Jack's sister?”

  “Just once, but I didn't get to know her.”

  “Was Melissa her name?”

  He thought a second, “Yeah that sounds right.”

  “What did Melissa look like?”

  “In her thirties, good body, strawberry blonde, but not real friendly towards me.”

  “Did Melissa live in town?”

  “Yeah, Jack told me it was just north of South Street, west of Broad, in a nice town house.”

  “Did Jack like electronics and cameras and that kind of stuff?”

  “Big time, I always asked him why he didn't do that for a living, and he said, 'Why should I, I have too much fun being a guard.’”

  I thanked Phil and asked him if I could call him back if I had any other questions. He said sure, but gave me his cellphone as he had the apartment phone shut off after Jack left.

  I decided to go visit a town home on Addison Street.

  As I drove in the Rittenhouse Square district, I found a whole variety of wonderful homes. The area included twenty-plus-story apartments and condo buildings, huge townhouses, and more modest row homes. But, all were well maintained and classy.

  One of the joys of working in center city Philadelphia is this area. It's within walking distance and makes for a healthy trip of fresh air. Depending on your energy, your available time, and the weather, you can enjoy a loop through the square and up and down the pleasant streets during lunch hour. Many young women live, work and play in this area, which increases the pleasure of these walks. When in town, I try to make a daily visit.

  I found Addison Street, but it was too hard to find the exact house in my car, so I parked in a metered spot, dropped my money in, and started out on foot.

  Addison is one of those streets in old Philadelphia that shifts its path at every intersection with a major street. After walking up and down this changing road for a few blocks, I found 1839 Addison. It was a three-storey, white brick row home with dark blue shutters. It was the third house in from the intersection with Nineteenth Street. The street was narrow, lined with leafy trees, each with lit, white Christmas lights in the bare branches. Addison had a warm, neighborly feel to it.

  The next thing I noticed was a “For Sale” sign inside the storm door with the name and phone number of Melissa's realtor. I looked in the front door's windows and noticed that her living and dining room furniture were in place. I also saw a stack of twenty-some boxes. I guessed they were kitchen and dining room supplies.

  The door was locked and no one was home.

  Hmm… it seemed like both members of the Hostel family left Philly.

  I decided to walk the few blocks to Rittenhouse Square and found a quiet bench with a great view of my blue office tower in center city. I called the realtor, Sally Moran, to inquire about the house. Sally answered on the third ring and said, “It's your lucky day, I was on my way out and you just got me.”

  I told Sally Moran that I was interested in the house on Addison. Ms. Moran informed me that it would be at least two more weeks before the house was going on the market, as painting was in-progress. Then, it would show by appointment only. The asking price was $455,000 for immediate occupancy.

  I told Sally a white lie that the owner, Melissa Hostel, was a friend of a friend, and I wondered where she moved. Ms. Moran said that was confidential. I told her I was just by the house and noticed that Melissa's furniture was still inside.

  Sally said, “Yes, that's correct. It's moving out in about two or three weeks as Melissa is settling in her new home at the end of the month. Do you want to make an appointment to tour the house?”

  I answered, “Yes, when can I?”

  She said, “Let's see, how about Wednesday, June 30, at 10 a.m.?”

  “Okay, I'll see you then.” That was a l
ot later then I wanted to get inside, but I wrote the visit's date and time in my pocket calendar.

  I hung up and slowly walked back to my car. This lead sure didn't produce anything yet.

  ***

  I drove to the Liberty Place parking garage and had a take-out Chinese lunch in the food court. I arrived at my office around 2 p.m. I checked in with my admin, Lauren, and my boss, John. Jimmie Spiare was out on assignment. Everything was cool. It's a nice place to work - I do my job, get results and no one looks over my shoulder. Yet, the other three are there to help when I need it.

  Jimmie left me a package of photos of Robert Grayson and his model girlfriend that he took during the last week. They were shot at various locations in the Delaware Valley and showed them in some provocative and compromising poses. I reclosed the envelope and took them out to Lauren. I asked her to mail them to Walter Hines.

  I spent the remainder of the day up in the sky on the 44th floor of Two Liberty Place catching up with mail, phone calls and the loose ends of my other investigations.

  I called Cyn at my home and she was in the middle of doing a sketch. Cyn put down her pencil and thanked me for calling.

  I said, “I want you to know that I've made good progress. I've learned a few surprises, but will explain it all when I get home tonight.”

  “Please do, Stevie.”

  ***

  I sped south on I-95. At home, we unwound. I helped Cyn prepare a small feast. I opened the white wine for us. We sat down at dinner and savored the feast of a wonderful pasta salad with sautéed boneless chicken breast, rosemary red potatoes, green beans, and a cherry pie.

  After dinner, Cyn lounged next to me on the couch. She listened to the tale of my day.

  Cyn answered my obvious first question. “No, Stevie, I didn't know this Hostel guy. I remember him, but I never spoke more than hellos and goodbyes; he wasn't my type. I was completely wrapped up with Red and Andi the whole last year at the agency. Do you believe me?”

  I held her hand. “Of course I do. But, Andi had to have some contact with him. She tracked him to Fort Collins, his hometown. I just wandered if he came on to you or Andi and you guys turned him down and he got mad at you two?”

  “No. Nothing like that happened, at least not with me. I'm not sure about Andi.”

  I then asked, “I wonder if Robert screwed him in any way?”

  Cyn answered, “Maybe, but we'll likely never find out about that.”

  After I finished my day's discoveries, we planned our next steps.

  “Cyn, we just need to hang in here. I feel were close to a breakthrough. I know over the next few days and weeks this story will become clearer as we learn more and get more information.”

  We agreed that I needed to travel back to Colorado to chase down Jack Hostel. I'd leave on Monday morning.

  ***

  On, Friday, I got caught up at work, or at least put out some fires on my other investigations.

  Early in the afternoon, I called Edie and told her my news and Colorado plans. She missed me so much and couldn’t wait to be held by me again. For now, we had to be patient.

  It looked like Cyn and I would have a quiet weekend at my home, just the two of us. It was the last time that ever happened.

  ***

  Saturday morning, Cyn asked me about Edie. I spoke of our time in Florida and how right Cyndie was about my little California woman and the times to come. Surprisingly, Cyndie was truly happy for me.

  Saturday night, Cyn and I went to see the new baseball stadium in Philadelphia. The Phillies hosted and toasted the New York Mets and held on to their one and a half game lead in the National League East Division. It's a real nice grass field stadium and we had good seats behind first base, tenth row, near the Phillies dugout. Jim Thome hit a home run to right field and Randy Myers pitched a five hitter as the Phillies won 5 to 1. It was the perfect tonic and we relaxed and enjoyed it.

  Later that night at home, after a moment of silence, Cyn snuggled up against me and held my left hand. “Stevie, how did we ever get in the middle of this?”

  Cyn's soft hand and gentle grasp of mine made my heart rush. Realizing there was no way to answer these questions literally, I told her “Cyn, we'll get you through this madness.”

  my second colorado adventure

  It was another 100% clear, dry afternoon when I landed in Denver two days later. My flight left Philly at noon and I arrived in Denver around 2 p.m. Once again, it had rained the day before my arrival and the whole metropolitan area had a clean, fresh air feeling. The temperature was nearly 80 degrees. I rented another SUV, this one bright blue, from the big red rental car company.

  I had no problems with luggage or the car rental. I found some good music in my pack, Ivy's CD, Long Distance. I slipped it into the stereo, and turned up the volume. Within thirty minutes of arrival, I steered the SUV out on Interstate 25, headed north to Fort Collins, and let the miles fly by.

  As I neared town, I once again saw the big white 'A' painted on the side of the mountain nearest to the college campus, reminding me that this trip was for Andi. The town was quiet, even more on this trip.

  I made my reservations at the same Holiday Inn on Prospect Avenue. I registered at 4 p.m. and got a smaller room for this stay, on the seventh floor.

  I called Cyn and checked in. I passed on my room number.

  We talked about my first order of business; tracking down Jack. My plan was to, first, locate Sarah Hostel's house on Rodeo Drive, and hope that Jack would show up at some time. Second, I would try to find out what he was doing back in Fort Collins. Third, I would speak to him about Andi’s murder, the blackmail and where he fit in.

  Cyndie said that sounded perfect and then told me, “Please be careful Stevie. Call me no later than tomorrow morning.”

  “I will Cyndie.”

  It was a simple, but bold plan. But, what is the catch phrase, Man plans and God laughs. Well, the good Lord may not have laughed at my four days in Fort Collins, but he may have smiled; on me and with me.

  I pulled out my Fort Collins map while I ate a late lunch in the lobby restaurant, 'The Park.’ I located Rodeo Drive and mapped my route. There was a park on Rodeo and I hoped Mrs. Hostel's house was across from it. Either way, the park would be a good place to park and stake out her home. With luck, maybe Jack Hostel would visit Mom on Monday after work.

  My hotel was in the south-central part of Fort Collins, just west of College Avenue, the main north to south route. Rodeo Drive was on the northwest side of town, running east to west. I plotted a route and decided to head there once I finished eating.

  I checked my watch and noted it was 5 p.m. I exited the hotel, turned left out of the parking lot and headed west on Prospect. I crossed a main street, South Shields Avenue, after a mile, and then a mile further I came to the intersection with Taft Hill Road. I turned right on to Taft Hill and continued north for another mile and a half, on a rising road until I saw Rodeo Park starting on my right. I turned right on to Rodeo Drive.

  I found 53 Rodeo, on the north side of the street, but drove right by. As the map showed, there was a playground park across the street, on the south side of Rodeo.

  The sun was beginning to get close to the mountain tops as I pulled into the park's parking lot. The park was about a half mile long - all facing Rodeo Drive - and a quarter mile deep. The entrance road led to an oval parking lot in the back middle of the park.

  This was a fairly big park with lots of stuff; a large parking lot, a soccer field, a softball field, a little league baseball field, a walking path around the perimeter, some majestic evergreen trees and lots of shrubs, picnic tables, three black top basketball courts next to each other, two tennis courts and a pressure treated wood playground with slides, climbing areas and many places for kids to climb and jump around.

  Fortunately, being a sunny day, there were at least fifty people of all ages out enjoying the facilities. This provided good cover as I sought out a park bench to observe the H
ostel's house. I found one on a slope that had three Christmas tree sized firs between me and the walking path, and a full-leafed maple tree next to it, bathing me in full shade. I was at the right end of the soccer field, about the ten yard line (if it was a football field). A peewee game was in progress and the soccer moms were to my left.

  The Hostel house was across the street at about the fifty yard line, so I had a diagonal sight line, across the soccer field. This was perfect, because it appeared to the casual observer that I was watching the game. I pulled out my notebook, pen and small binoculars and started my stake out. A white farmhouse-style home floated in my round lenses. It had a long front yard, with a garage in the back yard, and a driveway to the right. There was a covered veranda in front of the house, up three steps from the sidewalk. There were multiple gardens with many flowers in bloom.

  I saw a new dark green Honda Accord in the driveway - it still had its white cardboard temporary tag. I wrote down the temporary plate number. I noticed a bumper sticker on the left rear, white with red letters, but couldn't quite read it. I saw several lights on through the downstairs windows. It sure looked like someone was home.

  A sizable wood pile was out back to the left of the garage. I spotted a large dog house in the backyard, farther left of the wood. The backyard was surrounded by a white picket fence with a gate off the driveway - I guessed it led to the house's back entrance.

  I watched for about twenty minutes, and wrote all these observations down. I wanted to get closer to the house and the Honda, and saw that the walking path went between the soccer field and Rodeo Drive. I decided to take a walk.

  I first went back to my rental and placed my notebook inside, but tucked my binoculars inside my pant’s back pocket. The parking lot was in the middle, back of the park, with the path between me and the park's back boundary. With my back to the Hostel's house and Rodeo Drive, I turned right and began to walk clockwise around the path. This was the opposite direction of most walkers, but this way would provide me with a slow approach to the driveway and would allow me to look at the house and the Accord for long minutes. At the end, I'd be about seventy-five feet from the Honda.