We park near the curb and I leave the convertible top down, because frankly I think anybody who can afford a place in this neighborhood will have no interest in stealing my more than weathered 1967 Kelly green Karmann Ghia.
We totter to the limestone entry and give each other a, ‘holy crap this place is dripping with money’ look with raised brows. Whatever this guy is doing it pays some big bucks. A Hispanic maid opens one of the massive arched double doors and escorts us to a sitting room that adjoins the main entryway. The chairs are done in ornate burgundy upholstery and the etched wooden legs are painted in a gold finish. A bit flashy for my taste but I bet they cost a pretty penny and were hand picked by an expensive designer. The whole place is nothing short of opulent.
I see Lenny round the corner and he gives me a wink. “Hey there, you two. Glad to see you so soon.” His gray ponytail looks a bit scraggly, a well-nurtured potbelly protrudes from the elastic waist of his yellow velour jumpsuit, and his track shoes look as if they’ve never hit the pavement. “ I was just about to run a few laps, you mind if I do it while we chat?”
Jack and I both shrug. “Sure, no problemo.” Parella declares with a smirk.
We follow Lenny through the breezeway and enter a voluminous atrium that has a lap pool, hot tub and two treadmills along a row of arched windows.
He plants himself on the treadmill and presses the start button. The conveyor belt turns so slow a snail could out run it. “So what’s the good word? Any leads?” He asks, his Detroit accent a bit more pronounced today and he’s already breathing heavy.
“Well, we followed her to a mansion outside of town but she never went inside. She just sat in her car and chain smoked.” I reply with a shrug of my shoulder.
“Filthy habit. I’ve been telling her for years it makes her smell like an ashtray. Anyway, not my problem anymore. So I’m assuming she didn’t have Jameson with her?” He says, catching his breath.
“Nope.” Parella states. “Didn’t you say she took him everywhere?”
“Yeah. Even the dentist. We were always paying somebody or other to look the other way and let us into a no dogs allowed area.”
“So why would she suddenly change her patterns?” I ask.
Lenny shrugs. “Who knows. Maybe she knows she’s being followed.”
“Trust me Lenny, she has no idea. It’s what I do best.” Parella replies smugly.
“I can vouch for that.” I second.
“Well then, what can I do for you?” He says, his bald-head dripping with sweat. “Hey, could you grab me a towel?” He motions to a rolled stack nearby.
I grab one and toss it in his direction. “Well, we think we’d have a better shot at finding her if we had access to her credit card bills. Even old ones. Saw where she went, what she bought. Her routine. ”
Lenny considers me for a moment. “I see your point. Though I don’t make a habit of letting people snoop in my financials, if it’s gonna help get Jameson back I’ve got no choice.”
4
Parella lugs a box of credit card statements complements of Mr. Malone as I absent-mindedly stare at his butt and contemplate our next move. I’ve never really been a butt girl, but sheesh.
“Liza, are you checkin’ out me bum again?”
Busted. “Don’t flatter yourself Parella, I was just thinking about The Boxer. Something about that place isn’t right.”
“You’re not planning a repeat performance of this morning are ya? Though I do enjoy the company of rabid dogs and hangin’ from chain link, I’ve had my fill for one day.”
“I was thinking maybe more along the lines of undercover work. We could say we’re reporters doing a human-interest story on Xavier since he left his boxing days behind. Maybe that’ll get us inside the fortress.”
“I doubt a guy requiring that much security will be too keen on having his life plastered all over the papers. I think our only lead is probably in this box so I suggest we go back to my place, put on a pot of coffee, and have ourselves a look see.”
I shrug and open the trunk. Parella tosses the box inside next to my favorite pair of Uggs, the ones I threw in there the last time Parella and I went crawling around some hedges. We were trying to catch a glimpse of Angus McClintock, the husband of the heir to Tova’s Kosher dill pickle empire. We’re still trying to crack the case but so far Angus seems squeaky clean and scrubbed behind the ears. Only crime he seems to have committed, according to his mother in law, was not being Jewish.
“I still have a funny feeling about that place.” I reply as Jack slides into the passenger seat.
“Well don’t get too curious, Doll, that’s no place for a dame to be prowlin’ around on her own.”
“Dually noted, Mr. Chauvinist.” I say and bat my lashes mockingly. “And I’d rather go to my place if it’s all the same to you.”
Parella rolls his eyes. “Whatever, just hurry cause I gotta see a man about a horse.”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes but I can’t help smile. Parella, he can sure get under a girl’s skin.
5
Sunlight pierces a hole in my eyelid as I lay on the white denim chaise under my favorite nubby throw. After I caught Bernie bare assed and doggie style with his nubile secretary I moved out of our suburban tract house and into a three-story walk up with an old fashioned slipper tub and view of a dumpster that I now call Home Sweet Home. I must’ve fallen asleep mid credit card receipt rummage.
As I stand and make my way to the bathroom for my usual electric toothbrush session I notice that Parella left the kitchen spotless after whipping up spaghetti carbonara last night with the meager contents of my fridge. I think I may have over indulged and fallen into a pasta coma. I’ll exercise tomorrow. Don’t judge me.
The credit card statements told the story of a woman with a shoe fetish and a soft spot for cash advances that were accompanied by some seriously high bank fees but not much more. Seems Pinky’s been using cash to pay for wherever she’s staying and whatever she’s doing. I just wonder what her connection could be to Xavier Martinez?
My phone chimes the Andy Griffith theme. Josie’s doing - she loves classic television. “Hello?”
“Rise and shine, Sugar Cube.”
It’s my friend Evvy…one of the four musketeers that make up my clique. The girls were the one’s who first suspected Bernie was cheating on me and boy were they right with a capital R. I tried to hire a private detective to prove them wrong but since I couldn’t afford the hefty price tag, with it apparently being “Cheating Season” and all, I decided to investigate it on my own with some trusty gadgets purchased at Eye Spy and the rest is history.
“It’s mimosa day at The Lantern so we’ll meet you there in a half hour.” She cackles with glee.
Evvy’s the only person I know who can drink two apple martinis before breakfast without batting an eye.
“I can’t today, I’m a working girl remember? We have a case that we have to close and we have to find some dirt on the guy or else we don’t get paid.”
“Maybe he’s not cheating, Liza.”
“Ha!” I let out a loud snort. “Yeah right.”
“I think I preferred you as a hopeless romantic.”
“Well get used to it, cause it’ll be a cold day in heaven before that naive girl is back.”
“It’s a cold day in hell…”
“Whatever, you know what I mean.” I say as I stuff half a piece of left over garlic bread into my mouth.
“We never see you anymore since you became single in the city.”
“I know…how about dinner tonight?” I say as a guilty knee jerk reaction.
“Okay, my treat. I’ll text you the restaurant after I call the girls, XO.”
“XO.” I really lucked out in the girlfriends department. Guess it makes up for all those years being “Knock Kneed Liza” and never being in the clique to end all cliques that ruled my high school. The E’s is what they called themselves. Short for the Elite. They were beautiful,
thin and natural blondes. I think they may have based the movie “Mean Girls” on them. Seriously.
6
As I pull my damp hair into a circa 1980’s over the shoulder ponytail I can’t help but think of what it might be like to be the heir to a pickle empire. We’d only seen the outside of the mansion but I can only assume that lot’s of fancy stuff happens in there. I wonder if they have a bell for “summoning” the help. Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like if I had stayed in Georgia four months ago and married Paul Gainey and become an heiress myself instead of coming back here and starting up Crimes of the Heart. Well, I guess I’ll never know, but for now I’m knee deep in mansions and loaded clients.
My phone chimes. It’s Parella. He’s downstairs waiting for me. He got a new motorcycle after our first unofficial case when his prized Triumph exploded into a million chrome and metal pieces and was promptly sent off to the auto parts graveyard. The new bike is pretty cool too and it still hums and vibrates which is really why I like to ride it. Heck, a girl's gotta have some sort of pseudo-gratification right?
“Where are we headed?” I ask as I hop on. Seems Parella’s always got a plan and I’m always hanging on by a thread. I’ve still got a lot to learn on the detective front so I guess he’s taking the lead. For now.
“You’ll see. Hang on.” He throws a cocky smile in my general direction and we’re off.
7
Ten minutes later we grind to a halt next to a meatpacking warehouse on the south side of town a buzz with flies and reeking of rotting meat. The unmistakable smell of blood and iron. This area recently had a shooting and I remember seeing it in all the papers. Some poor unsuspecting truck driver was picking up produce and bang, next thing you know he’s “gunshot victim, news at ten.” Life is funny that way.
“What’s all the cloak and dagger, Parella?”
Jack turns to face me and offers me a slap-you-in-the-face and knock-your-tube- socks-off grin. “I’m saving our ass and paying our rent this month.” He nods his head in the direction of another warehouse. “That’s the Pickle King’s headquarters over there and I thought we might try our hand at stuffin’ some jars this morning and seein’ if we can’t dig up some dirt.
I understand Jack’s play on words but I really hope we don’t find any actual dirt in the pickles. I really love those things…
Eye Spy (Liza Radley Housewife Detective Chronicles) Page 24
