by Alexie Aaron
The two of us were too tired to converse on the way back, and it was only after we both had showers and mega doses of coffee before we sat down to plan our next move.
I retrieved my flyer from my music folder and compared it to the one that was sent to Father David. It was identical except for the M that was scrawled on the bottom. This probably was how Michael identified himself to Father David. I looked at my watch and contemplated calling Dwayne to set up a meeting. I ran it by Harry to see what he thought.
"Do you think this guy has anything to do with Father Michael's disappearance?"
"I really don't think so. Dwayne has been doing this toy drive for the migrant children for years. He works for the local government, and they participate in this every year."
"Okay, what do migrants or their children have to do with Homeland security? And where does Father Peter come into it?"
"I haven't a clue. I think maybe I better call and set up a meeting with Dwayne, and maybe it will answer a couple of questions. Meanwhile, you track down Betty and see if she has any further information on where Father Peter has his parish. Maybe Father Peter heard a confession of a migrant worker down here. But was it a worker at the sugar groves, orange groves, or strawberry farms? There is a lot of farming going on down here. It would help if we could narrow down the field."
"Gotcha." Harry started to get up.
"Harry?"
"Yes?" He sat back down, uneasy.
"Where's the gun?"
"Safe. I was a bit worried when we went into the airport, but we didn't go past a security checkpoint so I relaxed a bit."
"That's not an answer. Where is the gun?"
"In Alex's room, in the classical guitar case,” he said yawning.
"So you're alright with planting an unlicensed firearm on my son, your best friend?" I drummed my fingers on the table.
"Teach him to clean his room. Besides yours and my fingerprints are all over it. So, we’re all in this together." He smiled and got up before I could grab him and pull him over the table. "I promise not to do anything stupid with it."
"I’m going to keep you to that promise, and, Harry..."
"I know. Don't mention it to Luke."
I nodded and laid my head on the table. Sleep called to me, but I had a phone call to make first. I walked into the den and dialed the number on the flyer.
It rang through to voice mail, and I left a message for Dwayne to call me. I walked down the hall and saw that Harry had barely made it to his bed before falling asleep. I removed his shoes and tossed a blanket over him. I stood over him a minute and marveled at how innocent he looked when he was sleeping. Well you can't tell a book by the cover, isn't that what everyone says? I walked to my room and closed the door, kicked off my shoes and crawled under the covers.
~
The phone's ring brought me to consciousness. I reached for it and was greeted by a happy voice.
"Cin Fin-Lathen, please."
"This is she, barely," I said as I sat up.
"This is Dwayne, you called me."
It took a few seconds for the fog to clear, but I forced myself to be pleasant. "Dwayne! Thanks for returning my call. I was thinking of joining you in your toy drive but wanted some more information."
"Like where, when and who for?" he asked equally as pleasant.
"More like the who for?"
"Tell you what, I’m at work, and I hate to waste the county’s dime. It would be better if we could meet, so I could give you some materials in person. How does lunch sound?"
"Hmm, would today be too soon? The rest of my week is all booked up."
"I’ve most of the materials in my trunk, always prepared. Let's meet at O'Shea's at… Late would be better, how about one?" Dwayne suggested.
"Sounds great. I'll be the tall redhead without the rose."
He laughed which was a good sign. Most people don't think I'm funny, just weird. I hung up the phone and focused in on the numbers on the clock. I jumped up and rushed to the bathroom. I had just over an hour to clean up and get my behind to downtown West Palm Beach.
~
I got to O'Shea's at one and was pleased that the lunch rush was waning so I could get a table. I have no objection to sitting at the bar except that it was difficult to have a conversation without twisting this way and that. Plus, I like the idea of not sharing my conversation with the bartender. I had just ordered an ice tea when Dwayne walked in. He caught the waitress and added his drink order and sat down.
"Ice tea? Doesn't seem like you, so I changed it. Rumor has it that you enjoy a good Manhattan, and they make an interesting one here with Irish whisky." Dwayne settled in and produced a manila envelope stuffed with information. He pulled out papers and flyers while explaining what was what. "This is about the organization that runs the preschools for the migrant workers' children. Here are some pictures of the kids I put together. Here are some forms for large donations. And here is a map that shows where the preschools are located."
I opened the map and saw that there were at least ten schools in the south Florida area. "Which schools do you… do you personally collect toys for?" I was distracted as the largest Manhattan on the rocks I’ve seen in some time was laid down before me. The smell of the whisky actually burned my eyes. I had teetered off the wagon with the beer I drank in Savannah, and now it looked as if I was going to hit the pavement.
Dwayne took his time answering. He picked up his drink and waited until I picked up mine and said "Cheers." He took a long drink and savored the taste, looking at me as I sipped the potent brew. "Didn't I tell you? This is great."
"It's good." I agreed and hoped that we would be ordering soon. I hadn't had anything to eat since the junk food on the road last night.
"Okay, the center is over in Hendry County down by the ranches, but I have in the past only been able to collect enough for the four centers around here." He pointed out the schools. They circled the bottom half of Lake Okeechobee.
"What's all this?" I was pointing to the land crisscrossed with canals that surrounded a few of the schools.
"Sugar cane fields."
"I thought cane cutting was automated? What do they need the migrant workers for? I seem to remember that they used to import workers, Jamaicans, to do the specialized cutting."
Dwayne took another drink and held up his hand indicating he would answer me. "There’s more to growing and harvesting cane that can't be automated. True, when they no longer needed the cutters, most of the Jamaican community left, but the housing is still there. A good lot of the buildings are being used by the smaller work force. And of course they were able to pick up some for the schools." He pointed out the two schools on the east side of the lake. "You should really take a drive out there and take a look for yourself. I think you would be impressed."
"So, this is more than just a toy drive for you?"
"Yes, I take it very seriously." He looked me in the eyes. "Those kids have a hard life. Their parents are moved from job to job, and there isn't much room for them, let alone any toys, on the road. I just try to give them a good memory to hold on to."
I nodded my head and took another sip of my drink. "Have you had any help from the religious community?"
"Just as collection sites. You start throwing religion at some of these people, and they’ll stop sending their kids to school." Dwayne signaled to the waitress. She came over and I ordered bangers and mash, hoping the liberal amount of mashed potatoes would soak up the alcohol so I could walk, not to mention drive, later.
"Has anyone else expressed an interest in this toy drive?" I was hoping this not too subtle question would slide by.
"You're the first from the band. I think you were right that it is a bit too early to be thinking about Christmas." He finished his drink and asked me if I wanted another one before raising his glass to the waitress and signaling just the one refill. "Now that I think about it, there was this guy that hasn't gotten back to me yet."
"Guy, what guy?"
Oh great I thought, there was no way that was a non-committal question.
He didn't seem to notice. "I talked to this guy who heard about me from Father Peter over in Hendry county and asked if I wouldn't mind meeting with him." Dwayne looked up. "Ah, here comes our lunch."
I waited until we had both tucked into our bangers and mash before prompting him to continue his story.
"So, did this guy ever show?"
"What guy? Oh, sorry, forgot what we were talking about. I met with him briefly and gave him some information and set up an appointment to visit one of the schools. He said he had a rich aunt who may be interested in a sizable donation."
"Which school?" I tried to look casual, as casual as anyone could shoveling mashed potatoes into one's mouth.
"I think it was the one in Pahokee. It’s the closest to Palm Beach. Shame really."
"Why?"
"Well, I don't think that it's our best example. Don't get me wrong. The teachers and facility are great, but the location, well, it’s across from an old sugar mill town. People usually equate the neighborhood along with the facilities when they’re looking to donate. The mill isn't used anymore, and you know what Florida does to empty buildings."
"It overgrows them."
"In this case, being on a canal to the lake, I fear more than flora is thriving there."
"Oh, I see." I gathered another forkful of potatoes. "What do you think of the new music we’re playing?" I chose to change the subject. Once musicians like Dwayne and myself start talking about music, it would fill up the rest of the lunch conversation, and hopefully, he would remember the musical conversation more than my less than clever interrogation.
After bidding goodbye to Dwayne, I was still feeling a bit weak in the knees so I decided to walk down Clematis Street and look in the stores while time and digestion sobered me up. I made a call to Harry, and he said he was in the middle of something and would call me back. I walked into the Gap and rummaged around the sale items and found a couple of things to send my daughter Noelle in England. I know they have these stores there, but a gift from home is always appreciated, especially when it stretches the wardrobe. By the time I paid and walked back up the street to my car, I felt sober and clear-headed. I was annoyed, however, that Harry hadn't called me back.
I got into my beautiful little blue car and put the top down. I would enjoy Florida sun today. I put in an old Posies CD and drove leisurely towards home. I was lost in my music when a Palm Beach County Sheriff's car passed me. That made me think of Dave Buslowski and of the favor he must owe me after saving his behind in the tunnel. It wouldn't be a bad idea getting his viewpoint, with him being a retired CID officer.
I pulled over into a strip mall parking lot and searched my phone address book until I found his number. I dialed it and pulled back out onto the road.
"Buslowski here," he answered.
"Fin-Lathen here."
"Oh shit, how the hell are you? And what have you done?"
"Gee, that is some greeting."
“Gee, Cin, if I didn't know better, I would think you’re calling me to confess to an illegal action."
"Oh, you’re so going to get it." I heard him laughing, and even though there was more than a kernel of truth in what he was saying, I knew he was teasing me.
"So, what can I do for you?"
"Do you think you could drop over this evening? Harry and I’ve something we would like to run by you."
"It isn't life insurance or household products is it?"
It was my turn to laugh. "Okay, I guess I did sound rather vague. I would like to use that brain of yours."
"What's in it for me?"
"Brownies."
"There goes the diet. I'll drop by on my way home, let's say six," he said and hung up.
I put in another call to Harry. I wouldn't let him put me off again.
"Harry, listen. Stop whatever you’re doing and make a couple of batches of your famous brownies."
"I beg your pardon, private eyes don't make brownies."
"Yes they do."
"Since when?"
"Since brownies make excellent bribes."
"Oh, bribery to add to my other sins? Sure. Who are we bribing and why?"
"Buslowski, and I will tell you all about it when I get home. Bye." I ended the call, put the phone down and turned the Posies back up.
~
Harry was up to his neck in mixing bowls by the time I got home. He held up his hands and mumbled something about having too much batter and not enough pans. I ran next door and borrowed a couple of pans from one of my neighbors. When the batter had been sorted out and the first batch in the oven, I sat down at the counter and told Harry what I learned from Dwayne.
"Well, it seems like our first step may be to look into this Pahokee preschool." Harry opened the oven door and smiled. "They’re coming along nicely." His voice had a wisp of an accent.
"Hullo what's this, you’ve been watching BBC America, haven't you?" I smiled at him.
"Yes, how could you tell?" Harry stood there aghast.
"I think you’ve picked up a bit of an accent. Same thing happens to me, not the accent but the meter and phrases. I wouldn't worry about it. Tell me about what you’ve found out so far."
"Well, and you're not going to like this, Aunt Diane and Betty have moved down here and are staying at the Breakers."
"Breakers West or Palm Beach?"
"Palm Beach. I know if it were the West we would have them in our backyard. Anyway, Betty talked to Father David and was able to get the location of Father Peter. I have it all mapped out in the den. Quite a drive from here, way down, kissing the west side of the Everglades." The buzzer on the stove went off, and Harry exchanged the cooked brownies for another pan of batter. "Aunt Diane..."
"I wish you wouldn't call her that because you're going to slip and call it to her face."
"Wouldn't be too professional. Speaking of professionals, why are you bringing in Buslowski?"
"I need to pick his brains, and it wouldn't be a bad idea since we may be dealing with something more than a disappearance to have at least the county cops alerted to what may or may not be going on. Besides, maybe he knows something.”
Harry leaned on the counter and put his hands on top of mine. "What if we’re in over our heads?" He looked in my eyes.
"Then we turn it over. Just the thought of Homeland Security scares the hell out of me. I get all these wild ideas in my head about terrorists. I know I’m being silly."
"Florida seems to be a great place for them to hide, sometimes right out in the open."
"I hope we find Michael soon. Dwayne called after I talked to Buslowski and let the Pahokee Preschool know that we would be out there tomorrow. So, let’s play it by ear but we should be prepared to go all the way down to see Father Peter if we don't have any luck getting a lead at the school." I shuddered.
"See now, aren't you glad I have that gun?"
"If we’re dealing with terrorists, Harry, that gun isn't big enough. Nope, not by a long shot, no pun intended."
Harry went back to his baking and I went to change into more casual clothes before Dave Buslowski arrived.
Chapter Eleven
Dave handled it surprisingly well. He sat there with a brownie in his hand, poised to eat it, and his mouth opening and closing with each added piece of information. When we had finished, he calmly ate his brownie and drank the large glass of milk he’d requested. He dusted off his hands, reached into his pocket and jotted down a few notes. Harry and I sat there in silence, waiting.
Finally he spoke, "So, this started off a simple missing person case and now we’re talking terrorists?"
"Only because Homeland Security came up in our talk with Father David. No one actually used the word terrorist," I explained.
"You don't plan on going after these terrorists, if they exist?"
"Hell no! We would pass on the information to you or whomever we should. We just want to find Father Michael."<
br />
"Do you think he's still alive?"
"I don't know. All we want is to try and find him. We promised his aunt. Her brother was missing for over fifty years and..."
Dave held up his hand to say he understood. "I haven't heard of much going on over on the west side of the county, but I will ask around. The Pahokee Preschool and Day Care Center is legit and they do good work there. So, all you have to go on is parts of a confidential confession that was overheard and a toy drive flyer." He sat there and thought for a while. "Of course, you both know that you’ve no legal right to be investigating a missing person case. You're not licensed. But that hasn't stopped you before."
I looked at Harry, and he avoided my eyes. "I never intended to get involved in this at all, but Father Michael is a friend."
"I seem to remember he and you were responsible for quite a little show over in England. Are you sure he isn't a fed or a spook?"
"All I know is he’s a Jesuit priest that ‘handles’ things for the Catholic Church," I said, putting my fingers up to illustrate the quotes. "I’ve been very suspicious of him since I met him, but I really don't know that much about him. No one has stepped up to either claim him or tell us where to find him. There was nothing at his place but four toy soldiers designated as clerics, a diary written in code, and - oh I forgot." I dug in my pocket and handed him the pouch.
Dave emptied the pouch in his hand and whistled. "Nice marbles." He picked one of the diamonds up and held it to the light. "Could be real, but what do I know. You've been carrying these around with you?"
"Yes."
"In your pocket?"
"Yes."
He looked at me amazed. "I could think of better places to keep them. Do you want me to have these checked out?"
"Does it matter? Noelle was afraid that it would bring an unwanted spotlight on Harry and me."
