by Susie Gayle
I turn the key in the ignition and the engine turns over. Then it chugs once, twice, and dies. Great. Just what I need.
CHAPTER 9
* * *
My baby, my darling, one of the great loves of my life, she just won’t start again. If that sounds melodramatic, it just means that you’ve never owned a reliable car for nine years. My SUV never once broke down on me or left me stranded. I always keep her in the best working order I can, but I suppose time and tide wait for no sport utility vehicle.
After three more fruitless attempts, I give up on trying and instead just sit there, pouting, for about two solid minutes before I realize something.
I know a guy.
I call Tony. “Listen, I do have new information,” I tell him, “but more important right now is that my car just died.”
“Oh, bummer. Where are you?”
“Outside Better Latte Than Never. I know you’re off-duty today, but…”
“Ey, say no more. The old man won’t mind if I borrow the tow truck. I’ll be there in no time and we’ll get you straightened right out.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
True to his word, Tony arrives about fifteen minutes later. He pops my hood and pokes around for a short while, then lowers it and wipes his hands on his sweatshirt.
“Looks like your starter crapped out on you,” he tells me. “Fairly easy fix.”
“Good, good.” I look down at the road sheepishly and ask, “Uh, how much is that going to cost?”
“Ordinarily? Parts, labor, towing… all in you’d be looking at around six-fifty, seven hundred.” My eyes must pop out of my head, because he quickly adds, “But you’re a friend. I’ll do it in my downtime and just charge you for parts—it’ll be around two hundred.”
“Whew. Wow. Thank you, Tony. That’s… really, really generous of you.”
“No problem. Just don’t tell the old man. Our little secret, okay?”
“You got it.”
Tony rigs my baby to the back of the truck and hoists it up onto the flatbed. “I’m going to take this back to the shop. I’ll call you when it’s done; it’ll probably be Monday, Tuesday at the latest. You okay? You got a ride from here?”
“I’ll call someone. Thanks again.”
He gives me a little salute and gets back into the tow truck. I watch him haul my beautiful car away, and then I take out my phone and call Sarah to tell her what happened.
“I can close the shop for a few minutes to come get you,” she says.
“I don’t need to come to the shop. I need to get over to Carla’s and see why she lied to the police, and then go to the rec center and see what’s so oddly interesting about racquetball.”
“I’m sorry, Will. One of us is going to have to stay here; we can’t just close the store so we can run around investigating.”
“You’re right.” See? She’s far more responsible than I am. I would indeed just close the shop and go run around investigating. “Then can I borrow your car?”
There is a long, pregnant pause on the other line.
“Sarah? Hello?”
“I’m here. Um… I’m kind of weird about other people driving my car. I mean, you’re not on my insurance. What if something happens?”
“Sarah Jane! Do you not trust me?” I ask incredulously.
“Oh! Wait. I have a solution,” she says suddenly. “Let me make a quick call.”
***
I fold my arms across my chest and scowl as a hunter green sedan pulls up to the curb in front of me about ten minutes later. The passenger side window whirs down slowly and Karen leans across the seat to grin up at me.
“Hey,” she says. “Hop in, stranger.”
Reluctantly, I get in the car. It seems that Sarah’s “solution” was that Karen took the day off today and could be my personal chauffeur—the idea of which apparently thrilled the latter.
“Maybe this can be an opportunity,” Sarah had said, “for you to see that she’s not the same person she was when you were married.”
(To which I had grumbled, “I don’t wanna see if she’s not the same person she was when we were married,” because I’m a mature adult.)
“Alright, meter’s running,” Karen says. “Just kidding. Where to?”
“Uh… I guess the first stop would be Jerry Brahms’ house. You know where that is?”
“Sure do.” She pulls away from the curb. We drive in silence for a minute or so, and then she asks, “So, you think Carla might have done it?”
“Done what?” I say innocently.
“Come on, Will. Sarah told me all about your little investigation into Jerry’s death.”
I groan. It seems Sarah and I will have to talk about what’s considered a private conversation.
“Hey, if you want to bounce some ideas off me, I’m game,” Karen says. “Tell me what you’ve got so far.”
“I’d rather not,” I mutter, staring out the window.
“Hey, Mr. Pouty-Face, listen. I know you don’t like me and Sarah being friends, but the truth is, I like her—and I see why you like her. She’s a nice woman. The harder truth is, you don’t get to say who either of us can be friends with.”
“But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“No, I guess you don’t. But maybe if you gave me a chance, you’d see that I’m working pretty hard on the whole self-improvement thing.” She pauses for a long moment and adds, “Did you ever stop to think that maybe it’s not so easy for me to see you this happy with someone else?”
Her question takes me off guard. I glance over at her, but she stares blankly ahead at the road.
“No,” I murmur. “I guess I didn’t think about that.”
“Well, it’s not.”
“I’m… sorry.”
“It’s okay. Don’t you worry; as soon as I find my rich, smokin’ hot Mr. Right, I plan to rub your nose all up in it.”
I can’t help but laugh a little. “Alright. Deal.”
CHAPTER 10
* * *
Karen slows the car as we pass by Jerry’s house, just as I asked her to, but Carla’s car isn’t there. I was afraid of that, that she might still be out attending Garrett’s preliminary hearing.
“Alright, we’ll have to come back,” I tell her.
“Then where to next?”
“Let’s head to the rec center.”
She frowns. “The rec center? Why?”
Regardless of whether or not I’m able to trust Karen, I certainly don’t want to tell her about Sammy’s possible involvement in this whole mess. “Just playing a hunch.”
She shrugs and turns up a side street. “So what makes you think it could be Carla?” she asks me.
“Truth be told, I don’t think it was Carla. Her alibi checks out; problem is, it’s not the same alibi she gave to me or the police.”
“And you want to know why?”
“Yup.”
She thinks for a moment. “What if Carla and Blake wanted to be seen?”
“Huh?”
“Well, they were in pretty public venue, and when I saw them, they were arguing. Chances are good other people noticed that, too,” she says. “What if they wanted to be seen there… so that someone else could kill Jerry and they wouldn’t take any blame?”
“What… do you mean like they hired someone to do it? Jeez, Karen, this isn’t a movie.”
She shrugs. “I’m just saying. If I wanted to kill someone, I wouldn’t do it myself, and I’d make sure that I had a solid alibi.”
I have to admit, it’s not a bad thought. “But that doesn’t explain why Carla would lie to the police. If she wanted to establish an alibi and went through all that trouble to be seen at the coffee shop, you would think she’d tell the truth about where she was.”
“Hm. I guess you’re right about that.” She glances over at me and smiles. “Sarah was right. You are pretty good at this stuff.”
<
br /> “Thanks.” I don’t point out how often other people, like Sammy and Sarah, tend to help me along by thinking of things that I didn’t.
The rec center is a squat, L-shaped brick building adjacent to the public park. Though I’ve only been inside a few times, I know they have an indoor swimming pool, a basketball court, shuffleboard, and at least one, if not more, racquetball courts.
Karen pulls the car into an empty spot in the front row of the lot. There are only a handful of cars, considering it’s just after four o’clock on a weekday.
“You’re not going to tell me why we’re here, are you?”
“Nope, sorry.” I get out and Karen follows me inside, where we’re greeted by a young woman at a reception desk with a plastic name tag that says “Melissa.”
“Hi! Welcome. Can I help you with something?” she asks brightly.
“Yes, actually you can, Melissa,” I tell her. “Is the racquetball court reserved?”
She sticks out her lower lip as she consults a clipboard on her desk. “Normally the court is reserved weekly at this time, but… looks like that’s been cancelled, so it’s available. Can I set you up with it?”
“No, no. Um… the names on the reservation, they were Jerry Brahms and Sam Barstow, right?”
“Actually, yes, they were,” the girl says. She frowns at me with her eyes while still smiling politely.
“Was there anyone else on that reservation?”
She shakes her head. “No, just the two of them.”
“What about the other facilities? Any reservations on any of those for the same time?”
This Melissa frowns with her whole face. “What’s this in regards to?”
“Please, it’s important,” I tell her.
“Uh… I’m sorry. I don’t think I can share that with you.”
“Alright. Thanks anyway.” I start to turn away, but Karen shoots me a look of incredulity, as if to say, That’s it?
She puts her palms on the desk and leans forward, only inches from Melissa’s face. The younger woman leans back, perturbed. “Listen here, Melissa,” Karen says quietly. “I don’t know if you heard, but Jerry Brahms was found dead last night.”
“Oh my goodness!” Melissa’s hand flies to her mouth. “I didn’t know… gosh, he came in here every week!”
“I know. It’s terribly sad. And the police, they suspect foul play. Now my friend here,” she gestures toward me with her head, “for some nutty reason, thinks that the information you have on your little clipboard there could help. So why don’t you take another look-see, huh?”
I almost laugh at Karen’s threatening demeanor—she’s only five-three in heels—but then I remember how many times during our marriage she scared the bejesus out of me.
Poor Melissa looks close to tears. She looks upward toward the ceiling. I follow her gaze; there’s a security camera mounted in the corner, trained on the front desk and, at the moment, us.
“I’m really, really sorry,” she says, “but I can’t tell you. I could lose my job.”
Karen scoffs. “Fine, be that way. But you might be letting a murderer go free—”
“Come on, Karen,” I say gently.
“Some crazed killer out there, you’re just gonna let him slide—”
“Karen, let’s go.” I take her gently by the arm and we head toward the door.
“What would Jerry think, Melissa?” she shouts as we leave. Outside, she continues her rant. “The nerve of that girl! Like giving us a name would be the end of the world—”
“Wait!” We both turn to see Melissa running after us across the parking lot. “Wait. I couldn’t say anything in there because the cameras have an audio feed. Jerry and Sam were the only two on the reservation, but they’ve been coming here every Friday for about two years now, and they used to have a third—Tom Savage.”
“Tom Savage,” I repeat. “The used car dealer?”
“The guy with those super annoying radio commercials?” Karen adds.
“Yeah, him. He used to come every week, but about four months ago or so, he stopped coming. I don’t know if that means anything. I hope it helps.” She turns and trots back into the rec center.
Karen and I exchange a glance. “You’re the expert here. Does that mean anything?”
I shrug. “Trust me, I’m no expert, and I have no idea. But I think we ought to go pay Mr. Savage a visit and see why he stopped coming.”
We get back in Karen’s car and pull out of the parking lot.
“Huh,” I say aloud.
“What?”
“Nothing, I just… I didn’t know three people could play racquetball, that’s all.”
Karen scoffs at me.
CHAPTER 11
* * *
On the way to Savage Cars, I give Sammy a call from my cell phone to share with him my new findings—or at least that’s my intention.
“I’m on my way to see Tom Savage,” I tell him.
“Good. Tell him I said hi,” he replies, and hangs up. I stare at the phone in confusion for a long moment, and then call Sarah.
“Tom Savage?” she says. “He’s on the Seaview Rock town council.”
“He is?”
“Yes, Will. You know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to be a little more active locally, especially as a business owner—”
“Sarah.”
“Right, sorry. Um, if I remember correctly, he introduced the downtown revitalization plan.”
“…The what plan?”
She sighs. “The downtown revitalization plan. It’s an outline to fix roads, fill in potholes, install new parking meters… stuff like that. He’s spearheading the whole thing.”
“So… he’s a good guy?”
“Yeah, I mean, as far as the town’s concerned he is. I think I recall that he’s putting a chunk of his own money into it, too.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know how it goes.” I end the call and say to Karen, “So Sarah tells me that Savage is—”
My cell phone rings, interrupting me. It’s Tony.
“Ey, Will. Just wanted to let you know that I ordered the part we need for your car. It’ll be here Monday, and I’ll drop it in then. Bada-bing, done.”
“Oh, thanks Tony. You’re a lifesaver.”
“No sweat. Listen, you mentioned an accountant, too. You think you can pass along a number for him—or her—when you get the chance?”
“Sure thing, Tony. It would be the least I can do.”
“Great.”
“Um… by the way, how’s it going on your end, with the Jerry thing?”
He sighs. “Truth be told, between your car breaking down and the old man grieving over Jer, I haven’t had any time. Casey is really broken up about it; Jerry worked here for almost twenty years.”
“I know. Well, I’m on my way to talk to someone; I’ll let you know if anything pans out.”
“Yeah, please do. Talk soon.” Nothing personal against Tony, but since I have no idea what Sammy and Jerry have to do with Tom Savage, I’m not going to go throwing any accusations around.
“Who was that?” Karen asks.
“Tony, my mechanic. He’s giving me a real good deal to fix my car.”
“Tony from Sockets & Sprockets?”
“Yeah. You know him?”
“I do,” she admits. “He told me he’d give me a ‘good deal’ a couple months ago when I needed new tires.”
“Huh. Maybe he’s just a real nice guy.”
She snorts. “Yeah. Nice guy. He told me it was because I was a ‘pretty little thing,’ and that he hoped to ‘see a lot more of me soon.’”
“Oh. Well, maybe he’s just a nice guy and a big flirt.” I didn’t peg Tony as that kind of guy; he always seemed to me to be devoted to his wife.
“Sure… except that the next day, he came into the bank to make a deposit, and he saw me there. Asked me to go for drinks with him. I turned him down politely, and he goes and
charges me full price for the work on my car.”
“That’s… kind of sleazy,” I admit. “Especially since the guy is married.”
Then I bite my lip, because for a moment I forgot who I was riding in the car with—the then-Jezebel that ran off with Portland Guy and ended our marriage.
She realizes it too, and we drive in silence for what feels like an eternity and is easily the most awkward silence I’ve ever been a part of.
“Sorry,” I mutter eventually. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not, like, still bitter or anything—”
Karen clears her throat loudly. “So!” she exclaims. “How are we going to handle this chat with Tom Savage?”
I breathe a short sigh of relief, glad for the change of topic. “Well, I thought we’d start by asking why he stopped coming to play racquetball with those guys, and then see where that takes us, and…”
I trail off because Karen groans loudly. “Will, you’re too soft. No offense. You’re not going to get answers by asking politely. No one’s going to be like, ‘Oh, yeah, I totally killed Jerry.’ Grab the bull by the horns! March in there, and demand answers! Assert dominance! Isn’t that what you do with dogs?”
“Well, some people prescribe to that type of training, but personally I don’t think it’s all that helpful—”
“Trust me, it works on people. Walk in there like you know something you don’t. If he thinks you do, he just might cave.”
“You really think that will work?”
“You’ll only know by trying.”
Assert dominance. Pretend I know something I don’t. Sure, easy.
“You know,” I tell her, “for someone working on self-improvement, you’re still really pushy.”
