Murber Strikes a Pose

by Tracy Weber

  I nodded for her to continue.

  “Well, when Ralphie asked me what we were doing at the office, I told him about George and how sorry I was that he couldn’t fulfill his last wish.”

  “And what, may I ask, was George’s last wish?”

  “To tell his best friend how much he loved her.”

  “Where in the world did you come up with that?” Rene was obviously a much more accomplished fibber than even I realized.

  “Isn’t that what people always wish on their deathbeds? That they’d spent more time with the people they loved?” Rene took her wedding ring out of the glove box and slipped it back on her finger. “Ralphie was real sympathetic. I told him you found George right before he died. I even got a little teary-eyed when I told him George’s dying words: ‘Tell her I love her.’”

  She rebuttoned her blouse. “I begged Ralphie for help. I told him you were desperate to find George’s lost love so you could relay the message. One look in my sad, smoky-blue eyes, and he poured out everything he knew.”

  I could only hope “Ralphie” and Tali didn’t compare notes. And I really hoped Ralphie realized that Rene had been kidding about that date.

  “So what’s in the U District?” I asked again.

  “Turns out, one of the vendors is quite a character. She calls herself Momma Bird. According to Ralphie, she has sharp eyes, a big mouth, and she knows everything about everyone. If anyone knows who old George was hanging out with, it’s her.”

  “Not bad, Rene, not bad at all.” I had to admit, I was impressed. A little distressed at her methods, but impressed nonetheless.

  “I know.” Rene replied, “I am that good. Now step on it. Momma Bird works until five, but all this sleuthing has made me hungry. Next stop: The Thai Dive. This momma needs some shrimp pad thai. And some coconut ice cream with hot fudge sauce doesn’t sound half bad, either.”

  eighteen

  “How can I possibly be Super Sleuth’s sidekick when I’m stuffed full of noodles and ice cream? All the blood’s gone straight to my stomach!” Rene practically waddled as we walked from The Thai Dive to the University Bookstore.

  “Nobody told you to eat the whole thing, Miss Piggy. And asking for seconds on the ice cream was simply gluttonous. Not even you can do enough Sun Salutes to burn off all those calories.”

  “I know. Whatever was I thinking?” She twisted to look at her backside. “Does my butt look big? I think it’s already grown two sizes from that fudge sauce.”

  Ever the obliging friend, I looked at her rear. Size three as always. “You know, I think it does look bigger.” Even the most enlightened yoga master couldn’t have resisted torturing Rene—especially when she so clearly deserved it.

  “That’s it,” Rene replied, sulking. “We’re in training. Frankly, your derriere doesn’t look so tiny itself. As of this moment, I formally decree: we are both running the Seattle marathon this year. That should get our bulging booties back in line.” Her sadistic eyes sparkled with visions of torture. “We’ll start training today with a six-mile run. That’s only twice around Greenlake. Even you should be able to do that much.”

  Great. Now I’d unleashed a whole new side to the monster masquerading as my best friend. And what did she mean, six miles? The last time I tried jogging, I practically passed out after six blocks. “I was kidding, Rene. You look great as always. But can you pick up the pace a little? I’d like to get there before midnight.”

  Calling the University Bookstore a mere bookstore would have been a colossal understatement. It was, indeed, a massive bookstore selling everything from romance novels to texts on advanced surgical techniques. But it also boasted a variety of other departments specializing in a wide array of non-literary products, ranging from office supplies and high tech toys to clothing and designer makeup. I had no idea how we’d find the woman we were looking for.

  I needn’t have worried.

  Momma Bird loitered inside the main entrance, near a busy es-presso cart. She held a stack of papers in one hand and swigged a large cup of inky black coffee from the other. Wearing pink Crocs, a neon green muumuu and a hat shaped like a pink flamingo, she definitely stood out from the crowd. I had no doubt this woman could talk, but could she tell fantasy from reality?

  I skipped the small talk and got right to the point.

  “I understand you knew the vendor who was killed a few days ago in Greenwood.”

  “Sure, I knew George. But then again, I know almost everyone around here.” She paused and looked at me suspiciously. “But what business is that of yours?”

  Up close, Momma Bird didn’t look the slightest bit delusional. Her unusual outfit may have fooled me at first, but as soon as I looked into her sharp blue eyes I could tell: she might be a tad eccentric, but she was nobody’s fool. She’d never buy into some lame story about a poor, abandoned dog. If I wanted her help, I’d need to drop my Bella ruse and use a different approach. So I decided to try something unique. An option I had considered before, but discarded as amateurish and completely ineffective.

  I told her the truth.

  “I’m investigating George’s murder.”

  Momma Bird didn’t look surprised, but she didn’t reply, either. She set down the papers, finished her coffee, and tossed the cup in the trash. She scrutinized me through wary eyes. “You don’t look like no cop. What are you, some kind of private eye?”

  “No, I’m just George’s friend. Or at least I was.”

  She frowned and turned back to pick up the papers. “I ain’t got no time to sit around here talking to amateurs, honey. Best keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you. I don’t know who sent you, but they wasted your time.” She pointed to the door. “Head on home now.”

  Momma Bird clearly thought I was a nincompoop. Frankly, the way my investigation had gone so far, I couldn’t disagree with her. But that was immaterial. She knew something about George, and she was going to tell me. I simply had to convince her that talking with me wouldn’t be a waste of her time. But how could I convince a total stranger I was competent when I barely believed it myself?

  I’d opened with the truth, so I might as well keep going. “You’re right. I’m a complete amateur, and honestly, I have no idea what I’m doing here. I’d like nothing better than to let the police handle the investigation, but they’re looking for the wrong person. I cared about George. I can’t sit back and let his killer go free.”

  “What makes you think the cops are after the wrong guy?”

  “They’re convinced George was killed in some sort of drunken fight.”

  “And you know better?” She sounded more than a little skeptical.

  “Not always, but in this case, yes. The detectives are wrong. I can feel it.”

  She snorted derisively. “Oh, you can feel it, can you? That’s a new one.” She mumbled under her breath and walked away, abandoning our conversation. She approached the espresso line newcomers. “Care to buy a Dollars for Change today?”

  Acid boiled up from the bottom of my stomach. Ralphie had been right. Momma Bird did know something. She was my best lead, and I was blowing it. I followed her and kept talking.

  “You have to help me!”

  No response.

  I may have upped the volume a tiny bit louder than necessary. I certainly stopped using my yoga voice. “The detectives on this case are idiots! Why can’t anyone see that but me!”

  The would-be coffee purchasers shuffled uncomfortably and mur-mured among themselves. Rene traitorously wandered to a magazine rack and acted like she didn’t know me. Momma Bird, on the other hand, simply pretended to be deaf.

  My frustration peaked, and the now burning, gurgling stomach acid splashed up into my esophagus. I truly regretted the spicy Thai chili sauce I’d poured all over my lunchtime curry. My throat burned with chili paste and indignation. “Why won’t anyone
listen? George was not murdered in some random street fight.” I stepped directly in front of Momma Bird and grabbed her arm. “I know it, and frankly, I think you know it too. No one but me may give a rip, but I promise you, I’m not going to stop looking until I figure out who killed him and why.” I pressed my face close to hers and shouted. “Now are you going to help me or not?”

  The people in the coffee line stopped murmuring and stared at us in stunned silence. The young, blonde barista stepped behind the espresso machine and pulled out a cell phone, presumably to dial 911. I suddenly had a feeling that yelling that the police were idiots might not have been such a smart move.

  Momma Bird, on the other hand, finally acknowledged me.

  “Let. Go. Of. My. Arm.”

  I unhanded her and stepped back, face red-hot with embarrassment. Momma Bird gathered her papers and walked away, I assumed to put as much distance between us as possible. I stood there, watching her leave and feeling like an idiot. When I screwed up, I did it royally.

  After a few steps, she looked back and gestured to a bench. “Are you coming or what?”

  Sensing the drama was over, the caffeine seekers resumed their conversations. The barista laid down her phone. Rene, once again the loyal sidekick, wandered back next to me.

  Momma Bird sat heavily on the bench. “I’ll say this for you, honey. You’ve got spunk. And amateur or not, you might be onto something.” She patted the seat next to her. I quickly sat down before she changed her mind. “George was a nice guy and all, but he was up to no good at the end. No good at all. If you ask me, that’s how he up and got himself killed.”

  “What do you mean, ‘He was up to no good’? Was George in some kind of trouble?”

  Momma Bird looked at a nonexistent watch on her wrist. “Look, hon, you seem sincere enough, and I’d like to help you, but this is valuable selling time. I got no time to sit around chattin’ my fool head off. Unless, that is, you’re thinking about making me a donation …”

  Didn’t anybody talk for free anymore? I’d already spent the cable money bribing my Surfer Dude friend. I looked at Rene for guidance. She shrugged and pointed to my purse. The good news was I’d had the foresight to visit a cash machine after lunch. The bad news was it only gave out twenties. Silently swearing, I pulled one out and handed it to Momma Bird.

  “You know, for another twenty, I could have a nice warm bed to sleep in tonight, maybe even a nutritious meal.”

  Forget shutting off the cable. If all of my sources were this expensive, I’d have to start shopping for groceries at the Ballard Food Bank. I pulled out my one remaining twenty and handed it to Momma Bird, hoping it would be enough.

  “That’s it. Bank’s closed. Now talk.”

  “Well,” she began, “I saw George the day before he was killed. He was all uptight over some plan of his. Seems old George had the goods on someone, and he thought they’d pay a pretty penny to keep him quiet. I figure that’s what he was doing when he got himself killed—meeting with the money tree, if you know what I mean. Only he got himself stumped for his trouble.” She laughed, obviously amused at her own joke.

  Could George have been involved in blackmail? My heart broke at the very idea. The man I knew had made some mistakes, sure, but he had never deliberately harmed anyone. Not for money. I didn’t want to know the answer, but I asked anyway.

  “George was blackmailing someone?”

  “You can call it that if you want. I like to think of it more like he was getting paid to do a job. Only in this case, his job was keeping his mouth shut.”

  I had at least a thousand questions, but two were most important. “Who was he blackmailing? What did he know that was worth killing over?”

  Momma Bird shook her head. “I don’t poke my nose in other people’s business. He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. Sometimes in my world, the less you know the better.” She leaned down and picked up her stack of newspapers. “Now unless you got another twenty in that purse of yours, it’s time for me to get back to work. These papers don’t sell themselves.”

  I walked to the car feeling unaccountably depressed. For once, even Rene sensed my dark mood and allowed me to sulk in silence. I should have been pleased, or at least self-satisfied. After all, I’d found the information I was looking for, and I was ostensibly one step closer to solving George’s murder. Even so, a part of me hoped Momma Bird had been lying. The George I knew wouldn’t resort to something slimy like blackmail. The George I knew was a good man. The George I knew had honor.

  In the end, all I felt was a sense of deep betrayal. Blackmail might not be up there with armed robbery and murder, but it was still a crime. In spite of all of my protestations to the contrary, it looked like George had been a common criminal, after all. How could I have been so wrong?

  _____

  I called Sarah as soon as I got home. No doubt about it, I was still upset about George. But criminal or not, George deserved justice, and this extortion theory was my best lead so far. Maybe Sarah could tell me who he might have been blackmailing and why.

  I’d barely said hello when she interrupted.

  “I told you, I’m not taking that frigging dog. If you call here again, I’ll block your number and charge you with harassment.”

  “I’m not calling about Bella. Hear me out for a minute, please.”

  Nothing but silence. I hoped that meant she was listening, not that she’d hung up.

  “I’m sorry I misled you before, but I need your help. I’ve been looking into your father’s murder, and one of his co-workers told me something interesting. Your father started blackmailing someone shortly before he was killed.”

  I waited for a response. Still silence, but no dial tone. I took that as a good sign and continued. “Do you have any idea who that might be? Blackmail would be a pretty powerful motive for murder.”

  When Sarah finally replied, her tone was so bitter I could almost taste it. “Co-workers, huh? Is that what you call them? I’d call them beggars and bums. Asking strangers for money is hardly a legitimate career. And why should I care what he did? He certainly didn’t care about me.”

  Trying to justify George’s actions would only further irritate Sarah. “I know you’re angry at your father, and you have every right to be. But he didn’t deserve to die. Not like that. Not beaten like an animal and left to die in a parking lot. Please try to think. You might know something that can help me find his killer.”

  “Like what?” Sarah asked, clearly annoyed. “What exactly do you think I know?”

  “Your husband said George made some enemies when his business went under …”

  “Of course he had enemies,” she snapped. “He bankrupted his business, drank himself into a stupor, and dropped off the face of the earth. I’m sure his investors weren’t too happy—neither was Mom’s side of the family, for that matter. But that was years ago. If anyone was going to kill him over that, they would have done it back then.”

  I slowly exhaled, hoping the soothing rhythm of my breath would calm her. “You’re probably right. But extortion has a way of reopening old wounds. Shortly before he was killed, George mentioned to me that someone ‘owed’ him. Does that mean anything to you?”

  She answered automatically, without reflection. “No, nothing.”

  “Please think about it for a minute, Sarah. Did someone harm your father or your family? Someone he might have resented enough to blackmail?”

  “I already told you, we weren’t close. And extortion isn’t exactly the subject of intimate father-daughter chats.” She paused, as if carefully considering what she should say next.

  “Look. My dad was a lowlife. He walked out on us when I was thirteen, and he never looked back. He left Mom and me completely on our own. Sure, my grandparents had money, so we didn’t starve or anything, but what we really wanted was him.” Her voice cracked. “But he didn’t care ab
out that. He didn’t care about us. He only looked out for himself.”

  I wanted to tell Sarah I knew how she felt, but truth be told, I didn’t. No matter how tough life got, no matter how bad we fought, Dad was always there for me; his support was a given. A life without him never even occurred to me.

  I couldn’t imagine the agony Sarah must have felt when George abandoned her, especially at that vulnerable age. The yogi in me—the human in me—wanted to acknowledge her suffering and leave her alone. But I couldn’t.

  I felt like a bully, but I ignored her pain and pressed forward anyway.

  “You’re only remembering that time from your point of view. Try remembering that time from your father’s perspective. Was he angry with anyone—someone from his old company, perhaps?”

  Sarah laughed derisively. “You are truly unbelievable. You don’t give up, do you? You’ve got it the wrong way. My father was the bad guy. He may have been self-centered, but he wasn’t delusional. He was the one who messed up, and he knew it. Why do you think he started drinking? I can imagine lots of people who might have wanted to get back at him, but not the other way around.”

  I toyed with the phone cord, thinking. “What about his business partner? Could he have done something to make your father hold a grudge?”

  “No way,” Sarah replied quickly—too quickly. “My father might have resented the way things turned out, but he wouldn’t have dared pulling anything on Robert.”

  The hair on the back of my arms stood up. “What do you mean?”

  I waited several seconds for Sarah’s reply. “Never mind. I misspoke. Robert and my father were fine.” I felt, rather than heard, the door close on our conversation.

  Sarah was hiding something, but pressing her now would be useless. I decided to try a different approach. “I’d like to talk to Robert. Do you know how I can get in contact with him?”

  There was a long pause, punctuated only by the sound of Sarah’s breathing. I was about to ask again, when I heard her clipped reply. “I have no idea. I’m done talking with you. Don’t ever call here again.”