“I’m interrupting,” I said.
“Stop that.”
“I’ll hang up.”
“Not you. Hey, please stop that. It’s Ruzak … Ruzak. Go get me something to drink. … No, I want water. Are you there?”
“Me?”
“Sorry. Bob’s off tonight.”
“I’ll let you go.”
“Wait. Did you say you rented the house?”
“I wanted to get a look inside.”
“Why?”
“To see what was inside.”
“And?”
“Nothing. Clean as a model home. I don’t think she’s been here.”
“Which proves?”
“Puzzling. Her car’s here; she isn’t.”
“We’re on the border of hypo territory, aren’t we?”
“She got here, but never got here, maybe.”
“Somebody snatched her?”
“The problem with that is she would have told Melody.”
“Ah, Melody, of course. Who the hell is Melody?”
“The rental agent who manages the cottage for them. I told her about the car and she checked with Tom to make sure the place was available.”
“And it is. Did she ask him about the car?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ask him about the car?”
“Why would I ask him about the car?”
“They have three, you know.”
“I didn’t. How do you?”
“I looked them up for you, remember? A Mercedes, a Jag, and a Hummer.”
“A Hummer? That’s irresponsible.”
“Right, another strike against the bastard. Did Tom tell you which car was missing?”
“No.”
“Maybe she drives the Jag in Knoxville and they leave the Mercedes at the beach house.”
“Why?”
“So they have a car at the beach house. Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Not you. My water. Did you talk to the neighbors?”
“I will tomorrow. Check around at some of the local hangouts.”
“What about the car? Did you check around it?”
“It’s locked. The windows are tinted, but it looks clean as a whistle, inside and out, like it’s been detailed recently.”
“Aha. You know what that means.”
“What?”
“That car’s been detailed recently. Would you please stop it? I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“I wasn’t apologizing to you. Look, give me five minutes, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Not you.”
Why didn’t she cover the mouthpiece when she talked to him? I wondered how she had missed that lesson in basic phone etiquette.
“Why would they leave a very expensive car hundreds of miles away, in a place frequented by strangers?” I asked. “And why would they need two cars when they come down?”
“Maybe they fly down.”
“Are there flights from Knoxville to Savannah?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should check that out.”
“Why?”
“Good question. But I’m the dummy who can’t figure out why you rented that house in the first place. Christ, would you please cut it out?”
“I’ve caught you at a bad time.”
“Actually, it was pretty good.” She giggled. I had never heard Felicia giggle. I felt voyeuristic, as invasive as peeking in her window while she changed. “Sit down. Sit down and stop that.”
“You’re breaking up pretty bad,” I said, lying. “Maybe it’s the rain. It’s raining here. And dark. Damn dark. Dark and rainy.”
“You’re clear as a bell.” I heard a slapping sound. I assumed it was her slapping him. Maybe it was a product of his profession, a profound, pervasive sense of urgency: Fire, fire, fire, let’s go!
“You just won’t stop, will you?” she asked. Who was she asking? “Not you.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Not you—Bob. I was talking to Bob.”
“I’ll let you do that.”
“No, wait. You won’t stop, either. What’s this about, Ruzak? Every time there’s a choice between an innocent explanation and an ominous one, you opt for the ominous.”
“Maybe it’s a product of my profession,” I said. “This profound, pervasive sense of—”
“It’s like you want something to be wrong.”
“There’s no such thing as a selfless act? This is part of my savior complex, the knight-in-shining-armor thing?”
“Exactly. What are you drinking?”
“Nothing.”
“Not you.”
“I know that.”
“Let me have a sip,” she said.
“Not me,” I said.
“What?”
“The thing I know: not me. Not me.”
I called Tom Bates’s home number. A wispy little-girl voice answered. I asked to speak to Tom. What had Bob been drinking? Not beer: Felicia was a wine drinker; she never would have asked for a sip of beer. When you think of firefighters and alcohol, you think of beer. What self-respecting firefighter pranced about with a glass of Chardonnay? For most of my adult life, I had been sequestered as a security guard on night shift, my contact with fellow humans limited, and in that empty experiential space, stereo types had flourished, difficult now to exorcize. For all I knew, 89 percent of all firefighters belonged to the wine-of-the-month club.
“Hello,” Tom Bates said in a voice thick with sleep or too much Chardonnay, or maybe I was intruding upon yet another romantic interlude.
“This is Teddy Ruzak,” I said. “You know.”
“Yes.”
“I forgot to ask you something the other night.”
“Of course.”
Did he mean “Of course, ask away,” or did he mean “Of course, you would forget, you moron”?
“Which car does Katrina drive?”
“Which car? She usually drives the Jag.”
“So the Jag is missing.”
“No, I didn’t say that. The Mercedes is missing. Or was. I understand it’s been found.”
“It’s at the beach house,” I said.
“You found it.” It wasn’t a question.
“A mutual friend told me she might be here.”
“And is she?”
“Apparently not.”
“That’s odd.”
“What I thought,” I said. “What would possess her to drive down here, park the car, and then take off without it?”
“Something only Katrina could answer.”
“What, like it’s a dodge?”
“Is there anything else, Mr. Ruzak? I’m right in the middle of something.”
I bet you are. “You haven’t heard from her, then?”
“Nothing. Not a word.”
“While I was in town, I thought I might ask around. Anybody she’s particularly close to in Savannah?”
“No one she would confide in. We haven’t used that house in almost two years, Mr. Ruzak.”
“Can I ask you one more question? I’m sorry. I sometimes get these things stuck in my craw and it’s the devil to get them out. I hate to put you on the spot.”
“It’s hard to imagine a scenario in which you could.”
“Right. My question is about the future. Say you never hear from her again—”
He didn’t wait for me to finish. He didn’t need to. He must have already thought it through.
“I would probably have her declared legally dead. Life goes on, Mr. Ruzak.”
“Unless you’re legally dead.”
“Or illegally. But it won’t come to that. She’ll be in touch.”
“How do you know?”
“She always has in the past. Enjoy your stay in Tybee, Mr. Ruzak. If you’re fond of Low Country cuisine, may I suggest the Crab Shack? The shrimp boil is excellent.”
I wished he hadn’t brought up food. I was looking up Pizza Hu
t’s number when a banging commenced on the door. Why had I left my gun in Knoxville? If Felicia had been there, I would have pointed out that my leaving it was evidence of my congenital optimism: If I’d really suspected foul play, wouldn’t I have brought the gun? I hadn’t brought it, so I grabbed an iron skillet from the cupboard and called through the door, “Who is it?”
“It’s me,” Melody Moy called back. “Melody Moy!”
I opened the door and there she stood, cradling a bottle of Chardonnay and a cheese and fruit basket with the price tag still attached to the handle.
“All right if I come in?” she asked.
She stepped inside and I closed the door, which brought my face very close to her hair. She smelled of perfume and rain.
“What are you cooking?” she asked.
“I’m not,” I said.
“You normally walk around with an iron skillet in your hand?”
“I thought you might be an intruder,” I confessed.
“Intruders don’t usually knock, do they?”
“It would be overly polite,” I admitted.
“Not to mention counterproductive.” She smiled, and her nose crinkled in the middle. “Have you already eaten?”
“I was just about to call for some delivery.”
“Like an appetizer first?”
She set the basket on the coffee table and went into the kitchen, a bit wobbly on her heels on the thick pile until she reached the linoleum, where the stems made little dimples in the floor. She stuck the bottle in the freezer to cool.
“Hey,” I said. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” she said, falling onto the sofa and kicking off her shoes. Her toenails were painted the same bright bloodred hue as her fingernails. “But I’m an old-time southern girl, Mr. Ruzak. A death in the family calls for a potluck. Only I couldn’t cook a green bean casserole if you paid me a thousand dollars.”
“Your price is two thousand?”
She laughed that very good laugh. “You’re funny. Actually, for a thousand bucks I’d boil a whole horse.”
“You must not like horses.”
“I love horses. I used to own one.”
“What happened?”
“I got divorced. I got the business and the house; my husband got the horse.”
“Not a bad trade.”
“I don’t know. I loved that horse.”
“You could have filed for joint custody.”
“Are you a lawyer, Mr. Ruzak? You talk like one.”
“No,” I said. I was at once flattered and ashamed. “I’m a consultant.”
“That’s right. The RAG. Are you going to put that pan down and have a seat? You’re making me nervous.”
I put the pan next to the basket, then hesitated on where to put myself. She had flopped onto the middle cushion, narrowing my options. The nearest chair seemed too far away; sitting in it might be interpreted as a transparent act of rejection. As a compromise, I sank onto the ottoman next to the coffee table.
“Are you married, Teddy? Do you mind if I call you Teddy?”
“No, to both.”
“Been married?”
I shook my head no.
“Well, that’s a stumper. Someone attractive as you. You must be homosexual.”
“No, I’m straight. I guess I haven’t found the right girl.”
She smiled. Her lips glistened. I pictured her sitting in her car before coming up, reapplying her lipstick in the rearview mirror.
“Definition, please,” she said.
“Oh, I’ve never gone that far. It’s one of those things like pornography.”
“Excuse me? Like … pornography?”
“I’ll know her when I see her.”
“You just haven’t seen her.”
“Not yet.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
“A man doesn’t reach the age of thirty-four without falling in love at least once.”
“I was engaged, years ago. She broke it off when she decided I didn’t have a future.”
“And now she would cry in her soup.”
“Oh, I’m not the vindictive type. I wished her the best. Still do.”
“But the torch burns brightly still.”
I didn’t say anything. My eyes slid from her glistening lips to her bare legs, stretched straight out and crossed at the ankles. There was a tattoo of a blue-winged butterfly on the left one.
“Too personal. I’m sorry,” she said.
“It was a long time ago. Hey, thanks for bringing the basket and the wine. That was really thoughtful.”
I shot up from the ottoman and went to the kitchen for the wine. I found two glasses above the sink but couldn’t find the opener. She watched me from the sofa as I opened and closed drawers.
“Look in the bucket,” she called.
“What bucket?”
“The bucket by the fridge.”
There was an ice bucket on the counter right by the refrigerator. The corkscrew was inside.
“Half a glass for me,” she called. “Unless you want to be my designated driver.”
I poured half a glass for her, a slightly fuller one for myself. Then another dollop in mine—I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Thanks,” she said. When she reached for the glass, the clingy fabric of her white top stretched across her ample chest. I flinched, expecting an errant button to come flying at my face, an accidental discharge.
“No, thank you,” I said. “I mean for the goodies. It’s very thoughtful.”
“There’s no good time for it, but it’s a terrible time to be alone.”
“I don’t mind it so much,” I said. “Being alone. I have a dog.”
“What’s his name?”
“Archie. It’s not mine. I mean I didn’t name him. I adopted him.”
“Why do you keep standing there?”
“No reason.” I sat back down on the ottoman. “I used to have a cat,” she said. “Puffin. Puffin the Cat, I called her.”
“Husband got it?”
“It died.”
I sipped my wine. I didn’t care much for wine. I took another sip. She scooted forward and peeled the plastic wrapping from the basket. Crackers, a wedge of Brie, some grapes, a couple Granny Smith apples. I went back to the kitchen and fetched a knife for the apples and Brie.
“This’ll be my dinner,” she said. “I’m on a diet. But the wine, I can’t give it up. White wine is very fattening, you know. I never drank when I was married, but now I drink all the time. Well, socially. It’s not like I go home and chug a bottle by my lonesome every night.”
“Me, too,” I said, and took another sip. I nibbled on a cracker. Melody noticed a smear of the soft cheese clinging to her fore-finger and the finger disappeared to the second knuckle between those ruby lips. I got up again and trooped into the kitchen, where I’d left the bottle. I brought it back and she held up her glass. “Little more,” she said. “More. More. Oh, no, too much, but that’s okay. Why don’t you sit down? You sit for five seconds, jump up, come back, stand there, like you might have to make a break for it. It’s okay; I have no designs. I don’t believe in taking advantage of vulnerable people.”
“I’m vulnerable?”
“It’s all over you, Theodore Ruzak. It exudes from your pores.” I sat on the ottoman and willed myself to be still, particularly my right leg, which tended to pop up and down: a man in complete possession of his faculties.
“So relax, Mr. Ragman. There’s no agenda here,” she said, and then launched into her agenda: “If you were even halfway serious about it, I’ve got some free time tomorrow.”
“Free time for what?”
“To show you around. Best buyer’s market in twenty years. Foreclosures, fire sales. People are desperate, desperate, to sell. What time is it?”
I looked at my watch. “Nine-fifty-three.”
“I mean the funeral tomorrow.”
“Right.”
Her eyes sparkled over the rim of her wineglass.
“You’ve forgotten the question, haven’t you?”
“All my money’s tied up in the market,” I said. “My broker says to hang in there; you gotta be in for the long haul.”
“What was your aunt’s name again?”
“Rachel.” Ah, God.
“I thought you said it was Regina.”
“It is. She went by her middle name.”
“Rachel Regina Ruzak? That’s so …”
“Alliterative.”
“Unusual. Been here for twenty years, you’d think I’d know that name. I know practically everybody in town.”
“She was kind of a recluse,” I said. “Agoraphobic.”
“I’m afraid of the dark. Ever since I was a little girl.”
“It unnerved me a little to night, when night fell. Where I live, it’s a little brighter, a lot noisier.”
“Where’s the ser vice? I could meet you there afterward.”
“You know, it’s hard, like you said. A hard time. I don’t think I’d be up to looking at investment properties.”
I refilled my glass. She held out hers. We were nearing the bottom of the bottle. It was our only bottle; I didn’t figure she’d hang around long without wine nearby. Time to strike while the iron was hot, make some hay while the sun shone.
“I brought along a couple of books,” I said. “I haven’t had a good nap in five or six years. I like the idea of just lying around and doing nothing. And this is a good place to do that, terrific if the sun decides to come out. You know the owners well? They come down often?”
She shook her head. “It must be a couple years since Tom and Kat came down.”
“That long? So who owns that car outside?”
“Tom said it was theirs.”
“Tom said?”
“This afternoon, when I called to double-check they weren’t in town.”
“If they haven’t come down in a couple years, how did the car get here?”
“He said she must have driven it down.”
“Oh. So if she drove it down, where is she?”
“He doesn’t know. They’ve split. Kat’s kind of erratic. He thinks she parked it here and took off to parts unknown.”
Unless she’s in the trunk, trussed with a Hefty twist tie.
“How do you take off without your car?”
“Maybe she left it here and took a cab to the airport.”
“Why leave it here, though?”
The Highly Effective Detective Plays the Fool Page 11
