Anyway, as it so happened, both Crystal and Jean said they would be at Tricia and Mark’s in the morning and suggested I come by to see them there. I called Tricia to get her okay, figuring she might object to my interviewing her employees while they were on her time, but she said she was fine with it.
With everything that had been happening on the case, I hadn’t had a chance to check on my mother. I decided I’d better call to see if she’d eloped with Austin Powers, Sr. yet.
I dialed her cell-phone number. She picked up on the third ring.
“Hi Mom,” I said. “How are things going?”
“Harriet, I’m so glad you called. I have some exciting news!”
Chapter 16
I BRACED MYSELF. This couldn’t be good.
“That’s great!” I said. “What is it?”
“Leonard is hinting that he has a big question to ask me on the last day of the cruise!”
I felt a wave of nausea. This sinister stranger who seemed to have no official existence was about to ask my mother to marry him. And from the sound of it, she was about to accept. I had to give her the lowdown on this lowlife.
“Mom,” I said, “I think you should know that I did a background check on him, and there’s no background. I smell a rat. This whole deal is suspect. I really think you shouldn’t jump into anything. Give me some time till I can find out more—”
“You did what? How dare you? I’ll have you know, I am a grown woman perfectly capable of making my own decisions. I do not need you going behind my back—”
“Mom, I was only looking out for you. I—”
But the line went dead. My own mother had hung up on me. That was supposed to be my move! She had hijacked my hijinks.
I had to save her from herself. One way or another, I had to ward off her wedding to this wormy Cold Warrior. I just didn’t know how yet.
AT EIGHT THE next morning, I was on Tricia and Mark’s doorstep. Tricia answered my ring with Max, the dog, lapping at her heels. She was dressed for work and a little out of breath.
“Hi, come in,” she said. “I’m just on my way out to the office.”
I stepped inside. The sound of ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” blared from hidden speakers. Tricia’s feet moved to the beat as she picked up her briefcase and checked her appearance in a hallway mirror.
She grinned at me. “ABBA really gets me going in the morning.”
She picked up a remote, pushed a button, and the music stopped. “Okay, I’m off,” she said. “Go ahead into the kitchen. Crystal is there.”
I did as instructed, Max following closely behind me. I found a woman at the kitchen counter, transferring some kind of stew from a large pot into Tupperware containers. She appeared to be in her late forties, with the lean, sinewy look of the long-distance running, yoga or Pilates devotee/granola freak.
“Hi, I’m Harriet Horowitz,” I said. “I spoke with you yesterday on the phone.”
“Yes, nice to meet you. I’m Crystal. You wanted to talk about Gladys?”
“Yes,” I said. “How well did you know her?”
“Not well. I come in twice a week to prepare and refrigerate meals. Gladys had only worked here a couple weeks before she disappeared, so I saw her maybe four or five times.”
“Did she ever express any concerns to you about anything? Any worries?”
“No. Of course, we didn’t talk much, because her English wasn’t too great.”
“Was there anything unusual about her behavior? Anything that changed from when she first came till she disappeared?”
“No. Although, I did notice a couple times that she looked like she wasn’t feeling well. I’m into holistic health, and I just notice these things, like, her aura wasn’t looking too good. So I asked her about it, and she said she felt really hot and she’d been up all night sweating. But it wasn’t hot in the house. She seemed kind of out of it, too. I asked her where she’d put some pans that weren’t in their usual place, and she said she couldn’t remember. Well, lack of sleep will do that to you. Did you know that our society, in general, is very sleep-deprived? It’s the cause of a lot of aggression, irritability, accidents. We’d all be better off as a nation if we just got enough sleep.”
I wished she’d stuff the lecture.
“Anyway,” she went on, “the next time I saw her, she seemed fine, so I guess it was just a virus or something.”
“So you’re not aware of anything unusual going on in the days before her disappearance?”
“No, that’s all I know. Sorry.”
“Do you remember anything about the day she disappeared?”
“No, I wasn’t here that day.”
“Okay, thanks a lot.” I turned to leave.
“Listen,” she said. “I hope you won’t take offense, but your aura is a little murky. I think your system could do with some nutritional detoxification. If you like, I can set you up on a four-week trial program. It’s my own custom creation—the All-Inclusive A-Z Diet Plan. It’s a combination of Atkins and The Zone. I prepare and deliver all your meals twice a week. Believe me, you’ll feel like a new woman. You’ll have energy out the yin-yang. I have client testimonials. Take a look. It’s all described in here.” She handed me a brochure.
“Uh, I don’t think you deliver out to my area,” I said, handing it back. “Thanks anyway.” On second thought, maybe Lana could use some fresh meat. Would Boca really notice one less self-promoting personal services provider?
I headed to the door to go out to talk to the gardener. As I passed through the great room, I saw a woman picking up a pair of socks off the floor. I figured it must be the housekeeper who had replaced Gladys. Adriana, Tricia had said her name was.
She glanced up with a look of disgust as she took a shirt off the back of an armchair. “Mr. Cohen such slob,” she muttered. “Such rich man, such pig.”
“Hi,” I said, “can I bother you for a minute?”
“Yes?” she asked, nodding.
I introduced myself and explained I was seeking information about Gladys.
“No speak English too good,” she said.
She seemed to have picked up slob and pig well enough. Well, why not? After all, boss-bashing is the universal pastime of the downtrodden, so I guess that would be among the first terminology that a newcomer would acquire.
I tried to communicate with her as best as I could.
“Did you know Gladys?” I asked.
“No much,” she said. “I know Gladys a little from Rescue Mission. We no talk much. I come here after Gladys die.”
“Do you know if Gladys was worried about anything?”
She gave me a blank look. “No understand.”
I couldn’t think of a way to rephrase it. I decided to try a different question.
“Do you know anyone who might have wanted to harm Gladys?”
I got the blank look and the “no understand” again.
Okay, there were a couple possibilities here. Either she really didn’t understand or she was pretending not to. In any case, it looked as if we were done. She probably didn’t know anything that could help me, anyway, since she hadn’t known Gladys much. If I decided later on that I needed to talk to her again, I’d come back with Lupe.
“Thanks,” I told her, and walked to the door. Just as I reached for the handle, it swung open, nearly hitting me in the face.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” a perky voice said. It was a young woman with a long blond ponytail, a freshly scrubbed face, and walking shorts. Max came bounding up and jumped on her, licking her face and wagging his tail.
“Hi, Max!” she said. “You ready for your walk, big boy?”
He wagged his tail more furiously to the point where I thought it would fall off. He seemed to like her better than his owners. Can’t
say I blamed him.
She looked up at me. “Hi, I’m Astrid,” she said. My finely honed detective skills led me to conclude that she was the dog walker.
I decided to take the opportunity to ask some pertinent questions. I went through the spiel: who I was, what I was doing, would she mind talking to me for a couple minutes, had she known Gladys, etc. I got pretty much the same responses as I had from the others: she hadn’t known Gladys much, hadn’t really talked with her, Gladys had not expressed any concerns nor was she behaving unusually.
“Do you remember anything about the day she disappeared?” I asked.
“Not really. I do remember that I came in a little early that day. I had a lot of dogs to walk because another girl had called in sick. Max is in my first walking group of the day. When l got here, Tricia hadn’t left for work yet. Anyway, Max and I went for our walk, and when we got back, Tricia said her housekeeper was gone. She seemed pretty pissed. Anyway, I had to go since I had so many dogs that day. Then a few days later, I heard Gladys had been found dead. I was kind of freaked out.”
Max was running around in circles and jumping up and down.
“I’d better take him out,” she said, taking a dog leash off a hook near the door.
“Okay, thanks for your time,” I said, and followed her and Max out.
I found Jean, the gardener, digging up some flowerbeds by the circular driveway. He was a Haitian man in his fifties, with a weather-beaten face and hands. I went through the same questions and got the same answers. All the while he mumbled about Tricia’s overbearing supervision, how she had all his tasks scheduled down to the hour and how everything must go according to her exact plans.
I thanked him and took off.
Okay, so Tricia was a domineering perfectionist, Mark was an inconsiderate slob, they paid a New Age Looney Tunes to detoxify their auras, their employees were disgruntled, and their dog was disloyal. I had learned a lot about the Cohen-Weinstein household. But I still hadn’t learned who had killed Gladys and why.
Chapter 17
CRYSTAL’S MENTION of Gladys’s health problems reminded me that I had wanted to ask Lupe about where Gladys might have gotten her hysterectomy, since it apparently wasn’t at the Isis Clinic. So I decided to stop by the Rescue Mission on my way to the office and see if Lupe was in.
I found her in her incense-filled office. She heartily welcomed me.
“Are you recovered from our adventure in the fields the other night?” she asked.
“That’s old news,” I said. “I’ve had another adventure since then.” I told her about my unscheduled swim in the canal and updated her on everything I’d found out about the case since I’d last seen her, up through that morning.
“So according to Crystal, Gladys had some health problems not long before her disappearance—feeling hot, sweating, trouble remembering things.”
“Sounds familiar,” Lupe said. I thought I detected an edge of sarcasm.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Just wait about ten or fifteen years, it’ll be real familiar to you, too.” She looked amused. On the other hand, I must have looked puzzled.
“Hellooo?” she said. “The Big M? Menopause?”
“But Gladys was only in her twenties. How could she be having menopausal symptoms?”
“You said she’d had a hysterectomy, right? That’ll cause the same symptoms. You know, the estrogen level drops, and the problems start.”
“Hmm,” I said. “So where do you think Gladys might have gotten the hysterectomy? And if she had post-hysterectomy problems, where would she go for help?”
“Beats me,” Lupe said.
“Well, where would any of the Mayans go for health care?”
“They’re entitled to basic preventive and emergency care, even though they’re illegal immigrants. Technically, they could go to the county public health clinic. In fact, the public health workers sometimes come out to the fields to inform the workers about the clinic and their health care rights.”
“Okay, wait a minute. You said ‘technically’ they could go there?”
“Yeah. In reality, they never go.”
“Why not?”
A sly grin came across her face. “You’ve got to see for yourself.”
She glanced out the window.
“Hey,” she said. “It’s a beautiful day. How about we take a ride up to the clinic so you can see? We could grab some lunch on the way back.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
Lupe wrapped up some work, and we went outside. I always carry an extra helmet for possible passengers in my saddlebags, and I had Lupe put it on. I got on the bike, then Lupe hiked her floor-length skirt up to her knees and climbed on behind me.
I started the bike, revved up the throttle with my right hand, and let out the clutch with my left. We were off, playing out our own little Thelma & Louise scenario.
We must have looked a little bizarre flying up the road, me in my black leathers, Lupe in her flowing red skirt, embroidered peasant top, and ostentatious jewelry. Yeah, we garnered a few looks along the way. At least one bozo yelled, “Yo, dykes on a bike!” Jeez, what is it with people? Anytime two women travel together, the world assumes they’re lesbians. As if the only right way for women to travel is with a male chaperone?
Anyway, Lupe had been right. It was a gorgeous day. Of course, almost all of them are here. We took our time getting up to West Palm, enjoying the blue sky, the shimmering lakes, and the swaying palms along the way.
Eventually, we pulled up to the public health clinic. It was a storefront operation, located in a run-down part of town near the railroad tracks. The building boasted chipping paint and large, grate-covered windows. Behind the grates, the windows were filled with posters touting all kinds of public health messages: Get Your Kids Immunized. Get Tested for HIV.
I turned off the bike and was about to ask Lupe what the problem was when I saw it. Looming right next door was a big building sporting a bold sign saying “U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement.”
My jaw dropped.
Lupe burst out laughing. “That’s why they don’t come for health care. If you were illegal, would you go anywhere near Immigration?”
I couldn’t believe it. On the one hand, the government was shelling out the bucks to send public health workers out to the fields to encourage people to come in for immunization, HIV testing, etc. And on the other hand, Immigration was right there to deter all comers. What a waste of public resources!
Then again, maybe it wasn’t bungling incompetence at all. Intentional subversion was more like it.
Furious, I pushed the starter and roared off, Lupe chuckling to herself behind me.
We rode a few blocks to the Intracoastal and pulled up to a waterfront restaurant. We went in and were seated outside on the patio, where we watched the boats float by. I started to chill out a little as we sat there, munching on crab legs and soaking up the beauty of the Sunshine State.
We talked about our lives, our experiences. I told Lupe about my mother’s misbehavior.
“She’s driving me nuts!” I said. “She won’t listen to a word I say. She’s about to make a major mistake, and I’ve got to stop her.”
“You know,” Lupe said, “maybe it’d be best if you just stayed out of it. How else is she going to learn from her mistakes? For that matter, maybe this guy Leonard is on the up-and-up. You really don’t know that he’s trying to con her.”
“No, I don’t believe it. I can’t let this bum break my mother’s heart. And anyway, I have my reputation to think about. I’m a ScamBuster. If I let my own mother get scammed, I’ll be the laughingstock of Boca!”
“Look, can I share some bruja basics with you?”
“Some what?”
“Witchcraft wisdom. Oh, hav
en’t I mentioned that I’m a practicing bruja—a Mexican witch?”
“Uh, no.”
“Oh, well, don’t worry. I’m not going to put a curse on you and fly off on a broom.”
“Right. Okay. Sure. What would you like to share?”
“Just this: We are all responsible for ourselves. Trying to control others is a fruitless pursuit.”
“That’s it? That’s witchcraft wisdom? I thought witches were all about controlling people with spells and all that.”
“Nope. We’re all about self-awareness, celebrating womanhood, connecting with nature. We do use herbal remedies, but that’s about the extent of our magic. And we don’t put evil out there, because we know what goes around comes around.”
“So how does a Catholic schoolgirl like you become a witch?” I asked.
“Well, I originally wanted to be a nun,” she said. “But I could never wrap my mind around the idea that I would always be subordinate to a priest, not to mention some other things. Then when I was in Mexico doing my fieldwork, I met some brujas and curanderas—those are healers—and their philosophy really resonated with me, so eventually I became one myself.”
“So do you get together in a coven and dance around a bonfire?”
She smiled again and arched her unibrow.
“As you can see, I prefer showing to telling. So maybe you can come with me to a gathering sometime.”
“Right. Okay. Sure.” It all sounded pretty woo-woo to me. On the other hand, I had really developed a liking for Lupe. So who knew?
“Now that you know my life story, how about telling me a little of yours?” she asked. “How’d you become a private eye?”
I recounted how I’d unencumbered myself of a husband and an income, which were one and the same for me.
“Do you ever miss your old life?” Lupe asked.
“Sure,” I said. “But all that money just costs too much.”
We ate and talked some more. Hmm . . . this was starting to feel like a friendship.
Dirty Harriet Page 10
