“Look at you with that fancy new phone,” Tammy said with a grin. “You’re uptown now.”
“As uptown as I can be with a personal assistant named Windy with an “i”.”
Tri-Patrice was prepping for the evening news, but she didn’t have any problem sending me the same list she’d sent the police. “You can’t get email on your phone, can you?”
“Oh! I can, actually. I think I can.” I held it out and tapped the screen. There was an icon for my email box. “Yes, I can.” Yay me.
“On its way,” Tri-Patrice said. “Let me know if you turn up anything newsworthy. And by newsworthy, I don’t mean just weird people saying weird things. We’re fully stocked on that.”
I used the force dryer to blow the loose dog hair off me, then loaded Stump into the car and set off for Belle Court, the swanky “Independent Living” place where Viv lived. One of my pipe dreams, up there with winning the lottery or maybe a Grammy for Best Vocal Performance in the Shower, was someday living at Belle Court. I didn’t even mind that I’d have to be old to get in, because it would also mean I was loaded — or “high falutin’” as G-Ma called it. The place was nice. Viv had a three-room suite with a little kitchen she never used and a walk-in whirlpool tub. There was a private spa on the fourth floor, for residents of that building only, and a hot masseuse named Ramone.
Fortunately, they allowed pets, so nobody put up a fuss when I carted Stump in. Betty, the pink-haired woman who usually sat in one of the wingbacked chairs by the fireplace in the reception area, waved me over and scratched at Stump’s ears.
“When I was in my early twenties, I had a little Chihuahua named Pepe. He was the sweetest thing! I used to go to the drive-in movies with him, and I’d order popcorn and a root beer float and share it while we watched. I swear, he’d climb up on my shoulder, and curl himself around my neck,” she said in her shaky voice, one blue-veined, knobbly hand lifting to gesture around the back of her neck. “He’d sit there and watch the movie. Every once in a while I’d give him a piece of popcorn.” She lifted her hand again, the automatic offering to a dog who was no longer there. “And he’d eat it right in my ear!” She laughed and slapped her knee softly. “He was a gentleman, though. But if I waited too long — you know, if I got too engrossed in the movie and forgot to give him a piece, after a few minutes he’d let out this soft little, brf!” She made the kind of soft sound that Stump would make, in that same situation. Although Stump would probably be a bit more aggressive. She was no gentleman.
“I used to say that Pepe was my first husband. He went everywhere with me, he slept in my bed. He even killed spiders for me. He would eat them!”
“Oh my,” I said, trying to look shocked. I’d heard all of this at least once a week for the past year. Every time I came to Belle Court. But I didn’t mind. I could easily imagine myself in a few decades, telling the same stories about Stump over and over. I hoped some nice person would be willing to listen to the same thing dozens of times and still smile for me.
“Oh, that dog. I don’t think he ever forgave me when I really did get married.”
“Dogs can be jealous,” I said.
“Oh, he was. So jealous. He pooped in my husband’s shoes. Every day.”
“Oh no!”
“He did! My husband threatened to take him out on a back road and toss him out the window, but he knew that if Pepe came up missing, he’d lose me, too.” She laughed, her watery blue eyes twinkling.
Viv came out then and managed to hide her eye roll before Betty saw her. Viv didn’t have quite the patience with oft-repeated stories that I did.
“Hi Betty. Hope you’re feeling better.”
“You know, I think I am. The doctor put me on some new medicine and I think it’s doing the trick. Thank goodness! Last week I just vomited and vomited until I was sure — ”
“Gotta go.” Viv was halfway out the door by the end of the first “vomited.” It wasn’t that she was uncaring about Betty’s illness. She just had a phobia about digestive issues in general. The fastest way to get her to move, I’d discovered, was to threaten to heave up lunch if she didn’t.
“See you later,” Betty called happily after us. I gave her another smile and waved as I followed Viv out.
I could usually tell what kind of detective show Viv had been watching that morning by the way she dressed and acted. Today it must have been one of the newer shows with the hard-as-nails-but-still-sexy female detectives. Viv wore a black suit with a gold satin button-down sleeveless shirt and strappy black heels. Thankfully, it was too warm for her Columbo trench coat.
“We have to swing by Trailertopia to drop off Stump with Frank,” I said.
When we got there, Frank was nowhere to be found. He was not in my recliner, at any rate, which was where he always was when he wasn’t in his own trailer. I knocked on his door several times and even tapped on some windows, but he didn’t answer.
I stood looking from Viv to Stump. I’d promised myself less than twenty-four hours before that I would not involve her in any more of our detective work.
“It’s broad daylight,” Viv said. “It’s not like anyone is going to start shooting in broad daylight.”
“A lot of the robberies have happened in broad daylight,” I said.
“But there were no shootings with them. And it’s not like what happened last night could happen again. We’re in your car, and won’t get locked out. You keep her close, and she won’t start that horrible howling thing and set off a riot.”
I still wasn’t sure, though. If I left her at home alone, she would definitely destroy something. She always did.
I could stay home. Let Viv go detecting on her own.
I sighed, trying to decide. I checked the window to see if Frank’s truck was in his driveway. Nothing.
“Okay, here’s the deal. I keep her with me. If anything slightly odd comes up, we’re out of there. Instantly. Got it?”
Viv saluted me. “Yes sir!”
“And you’re driving. So if shooting starts, I can cover her with my own body.”
“That’s your call, but yes, I’m driving.”
“And paying for the gas?”
“And paying for the gas. Now, let’s get going!”
I picked Stump up. “Parenting is full of hard choices.”
Back at the Monte Carlo, Viv wiggled her skinny butt behind the wheel. “Okay, I made a list of all the places that have been robbed in the last month. We can take them after we get through with the leads Patrice Watson gave you.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
We went straight to the first name on Tri-Patrice’s list: Nita Malone at Gino’s Italian Kitchen. We took a seat out on the patio and I set Stump on the concrete beside my chair. She glared at me because she was supposed to always sit in my lap, but I figured we were pushing our luck enough just having a dog at a restaurant.
Nita Malone was a short roundish woman with apple cheeks and a constant smile. She made a nervous face when Viv told her we were there to follow up on her call to the station about the bandits, but agreed to speak to us. She sat on the edge of her seat at the iron patio table.
Viv pulled a little notebook and gold pen out of her handbag. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, the police are getting a lot of leads coming in.” She cocked her head and squinted. “Maybe a few too many for them to handle by themselves, in fact. That’s where we come in. We dedicate ourselves to one case at a time, so we have the time to follow up on every lead, no matter how far-fetched it might seem, and run it all the way down.”
I nodded. I had to hand it to Viv. She’d managed to hint that the police were using us for their overflow work, without saying anything of the kind.
“Now, I just want you to tell me everything you know, anything suspicious you might have seen or heard, anything at all. We’re just talking here. This isn’t like a formal statement or anything, where you have to go on record. This is just us girls sitting around talking.”
&nbs
p; The woman nodded, but still looked nervous. “Okay, yes. Okay.”
We all sat there, looking at each other, nodding like bobbleheads, when she jumped. “Oh! You mean — now? Just — just spit it out?”
“Just spit it out,” Viv said, her face grave. “Just let it come.”
“Okay, well.” She took a deep breath. “So, there’s this guy who comes in every Thursday night. For half-price baked spaghetti night.”
“Yes.” Viv nodded encouragement.
I took out my phone like I was entering notes on the notepad. Thursdays, half-price spaghetti at Gino’s.
“I mean, he never misses. He comes in every week, he has the spaghetti and unsweet tea. And he leaves a three-dollar tip. Every week for — oh — two-and-a-half years? Three years. Every week.”
“And, he missed this week?”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “He still came. But this week, he left a five-dollar tip.”
Viv and I sat in silence, taking that in.
“He has more money to spend. I mean, that’s almost double. Almost.”
I nodded. “It is almost double.”
“The police said to be on the lookout for someone who looks like they’ve recently come into some money. And at first I didn’t think anything about it, but you know, later I got to thinking…” She spread her hands and shrugged. “I mean, it might be nothing. But then again…”
“No, you’re right, you’re right.” Viv nodded. “This is the kind of thing that might seem insignificant. Until you look a little closer and see there’s more to it than just this one thing. Do you have a name for this guy?”
She shook her head. “Oh, no, he always pays cash.”
“He’s been coming here for two or three years and you’ve never asked his name?”
“He’s real quiet. Keeps to himself, you know.” She jerked upright, looking wide-eyed between me and Viv. “Oh my gosh. That’s what they always say, don’t they? They were quiet and kept to themselves. That’s what they always say about the bad guy after he gets caught.” She put her fingers to her mouth and gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, my goodness.”
“Do you have any way we could follow up with this guy? Any idea where he lives? What kind of car does he drive?”
“I don’t know where he lives, but he drives a white Ford F-150.”
Viv and I exchanged a look. That narrowed it down to roughly 60,000 men in the county.
“That’s helpful. Anything else?”
She shook her head. “No, not that I can think of.”
Viv frowned and tapped her pen on her pad. “Have you ever noticed what direction he drives in, when he leaves? Maybe we could just head that direction and see what we see.”
That sounded like a waste of gas to me, but she was paying, so…
“We could just come back Tuesday and see him for ourselves. Pick up the tail there.” Because half-priced spaghetti.
Viv nodded and flipped her notebook shut. “Excellent idea. That’s just a few days. We’ll do that.” She stood and shook the woman’s hand, then handed her another card for good measure. “Please, if you think of anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call. Day or night.”
Back at the car, she tossed her purse into the seat and said, “Well, that was a waste of time.”
“Really? It could be something.”
“It wasn’t. A two-dollar increase in tip is not a smoking gun.”
“It was a clear break from his pattern.”
“He was out of one dollar bills and gave her a five instead. It’s nothing. Plus, he’s a loner. He’s been here every week for three years and they have no idea what his name is, even. Our guys come in a four-pack.”
“Still, I think it’s worth pursuing — ”
Viv spun on me. “Good grief. Is this about the half-priced spaghetti?”
“A little.”
“Fine. We’ll come back next week for the half-priced spaghetti. But if she has any more leads — ” She made air quotes. “You’ll be the one to write them down.”
“Okay,” I agreed, happy.
Our next stop was the laundromat a couple of blocks from Gino’s. The sheet Tri-Patrice sent me had a written note beside her name: “Called four times. Angry.”
The woman was folding laundry with a plastic folding thing. She had a tiny stud in the side of her nose. “Oh yeah, I know who did it. The cops aren’t giving me the time of day, but I’m telling you. This woman? She’s behind it. I guarantee.” She slapped a t-shirt onto the plastic, made three quick motions and bam! Neatly folded shirt.
“Who is this woman?” Viv poised her gold pen over her notebook.
“Her name is Erlinda Roman, and she lives down there on Twelfth. Red brick house with lion statues out by the driveway.”
“And why do you think she’s got anything to do with this? The police said we’re looking for four males.”
“Well, they have masks on, right? And black jackets? It could be women.”
“I suppose,” Viv said.
“And she’s real butch. I mean, she wears makeup and stuff, and curls her hair? But she’s really aggressive. Like, bossy. Has to run the show.” She held up her pinky finger. “Her husband? He’s like this.” She swirled her other index finger around her pinky. “Wrapped around her finger.”
Viv nodded and jotted down something that was most likely along the lines of “whack job.”
“Okay, what else? Has something happened lately that makes you suspicious?”
The woman gave a satisfied nod. “Sure did. The other day they drive up in a new car. Brand new. Well, not brand new, but nearly new. Very nice. Flashy, even.”
“Uh-huh.” Viv blinked.
“And here two weeks ago, my kid was selling popcorn for Boy Scouts and she says she doesn’t have money for popcorn. I mean, come on. She’s got money for a new car, but not for popcorn?” She drew her brows down and gave a head shake. “That don’t even make sense, does it?”
“No,” I said. I shifted Stump to my other hip. “What kind of popcorn was it? That chocolate caramel kind?”
“Yeah, he had all kinds. You want some? I have his order form in the office.”
“Maybe,” I said. I was afraid to ask how much and end up a suspect on her list.
“Anyway,” Viv said. “One day she says she can’t afford popcorn, and the next thing you know, she’s buying a new car?”
“Exactly.” The woman gave a sharp nod, as if this sealed the case.
“Okay, let’s talk this through.” Viv stood and folded one arm against her middle, the other hand to her chin. She paced slowly before the windows. “Let’s say she is one of the four. Who are the other three?”
“Well, her husband, for one. I mean, seriously. That guy does whatever she tells him to do. One time we were at a barbecue and I swear, every other thing out of her mouth was, “Roman, bring me this, Roman, get me that. She calls him that, too — by his last name. Weird, right?”
I nodded for form’s sake.
“So that’s two,” Viv prompted.
“Yeah, okay, and they have a son. He’s, oh, about sixteen, I guess. Seventeen. And pretty tall. So I think if he was all dressed in black, he’d look like any other guy.” She nodded as if this sealed the deal.
Viv paced a little more. “Okay, so by my count, thats — that’s three. And we need four.”
Viv and I looked at each other. She looked tired, actually. We were working this angle a little too hard.
“Yeah, I don’t really know about that.”
“Do they have any family here?”
She shrugged. “Not that I know of.”
“Friends?”
“No, nobody likes them.” She gave a smug smile. “Well, nobody likes her. Her husband’s okay, when he can get a word in edgewise. But not her.”
“So we’re still at three. And all the reports have said there were four.”
“Yeah, well, I guess that’s what the detectives are for, right? Find the detai
ls.”
“You’re right there,” Viv said. She clicked her pen and began to shut her notebook, then said, “Oh, one more thing.”
So she had watched Columbo lately.
“Is she new around here, Erlinda? Recently moved to town?”
“Erlinda? Heck no. She’s been living here since second grade.”
“Oh, you went to school together?”
“Yeah. Since second grade. In fact, I beat her here by one day. I was the new girl for one lousy day before Erlinda moved in and took that.” Flip flip flip with the board, and the stack grew another color. “Then, in tenth grade, the hussy stole my boyfriend. I guess she’s just always been one for taking whatever she can get her greedy hands on.”
“Sounds like it,” Viv said. “Okay, you’ve given us some very good information to go on. Please don’t hesitate to contact us if you think of anything else that might be helpful.”
Back at the car, Viv tossed her purse into the seat and dropped behind the wheel with a groan. “Good Lord. This whole street is nothing but whackos.”
“Man, she was intense. Ready to send her neighbor up the river over stealing her tenth-grade boyfriend.”
“Yes, well, that and getting a new car. That tends to make people a little crazy sometimes.” She leaned into the rear view mirror and checked her lipstick. “Speaking of your G-Ma, how is her whorehouse — I mean, motel business going?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “She’s been suspiciously silent.”
“That’s good, though, right? No more calls about the bandits headed for her door.”
“I suppose. I think she’s mad at me because I helped cut off her gravy train.”
Viv applied a new coat of lipstick and clamped her lips on a tissue before tossing it back into her bag. “That sounds about as reasonable as I would expect from her.”
“Maybe instead of interviewing Trisha’s leads, we should interview one of the people who’s been robbed. That dry cleaners down the street is one, I think.” I didn’t want to talk about G-Ma. I didn’t see how I could have done anything different than what I’d done, but I still felt guilty for her loss of income. G-Ma hadn’t exactly had it easy in life. She worked hard, and she’d been excited that she was finally making a steady income. And I hated for her to be mad at me.
Caught in the Crotchfire Page 17
