"So?" Beemish asked impatiently, once my drink arrived.
"Right," I said. "First off, your nanny's name wasn't really Kristeena Ewbanks. It was Kristeen Edwards. She wasn't nineteen, she was twenty-two."
"I knew it," Lilah Rose muttered to herself.
"And she wasn't from Toonigh, Utah, either," I added. "The only Edwards in Toonigh is an eighty-two-year-old bachelor who says he's the last of the line."
"Get on with it," Beemish commanded.
"She's from South Carolina: Estill, to be exact, although she's lived all over. I talked to an aunt back in Estill, who said, and I quote, 'That girl's been in trouble since the day she strapped on her first bra.'"
"I bet she has a criminal record too, doesn't she?" put in Lilah. "What's she wanted for?"
"Nothing, at the moment," I said. "Or at least as far as I can tell. Up to now, Kristee Edwards mainly dabbled in paperhanging."
"Huh?" Lilah said.
"Writing bad checks. She and a boyfriend traveled all over the country, writing bad checks. They also stole some credit cards and loaded them up, although Kristee was never charged with that. Anyway, the law caught up with them in Utah, about eighteen months ago. The boyfriend, who had a record, got sent to the state pen. Kristee was sentenced to a diversion center—that's a kind of halfway house where you live with a bunch of women in a communal setting, work at a job to make restitution to your victim, and receive some counseling. This diversion center was in Provo, in an old motel.
Kristee struck up a friendship with a woman there named Ardith Cramer. She was a vocational counselor. I talked to the diversion center director on the phone this afternoon. According to her, this Ardith was very sincere but sort of confused about life. She was also apparently a lesbian. From what I can gather, Kristee conned Ardith into starting a relationship, although we suspect she isn't really lesbian. The director said Kristee tried to con everybody she came in contact with.
"Anyway, after Kristee finished her sentence about six months ago, Ardith quit her counseling job. She told the director that she and Kristee were going to move to Salt Lake City to make a new start. Maybe get jobs in a preschool, because Kristee was crazy about kids."
"She was good with ours," Bo murmured.
Lilah snorted but said nothing.
"The trail gets a little cold once they got to Salt Lake City," I said apologetically. "The way I've pieced it together, from talking to a woman in Salt Lake City who runs a legitimate nanny service, Kristee and Ardith were living in a little trailer park, and there was a nineteen-year-old girl who lived in the next lot over. This girl was LDS—Mormon. She'd just come back from a nanny stint in Texas. Apparently, she told Kristee all about how much fun she had and how nice these rich families were to work for. She also told her about the service she worked for, the one that placed her with the Texas family.
"Myra, the woman who owns her own agency, said the women apparently talked to a lot of other girls who were waiting to be placed by other agencies, including her own. Kristee tried to recruit the girls, but they were a little distrustful, because she obviously wasn't LDS, which the other agency owners are. But Kristee did offer the girls fifty dollars if they would refer her new agency,
Nanny Finders, to someone who needed a nanny. I tracked down Polly Newman, the girl who used to work for the Eshelmanns; she's gone back home now, to get married. Polly said Kristee offered her a job, but when Polly told her she was going to Atlanta, Kristee asked her to try and find a placement there for her."
"I should have known better than to listen to that whey-faced little wimp, Polly," Lilah said, interrupting. "That takes care of us. But did they place any other girls?"
"At least one, maybe two," I said. "Polly told me that Ardith said they'd placed a girl in Savannah and another one somewhere near Charleston. I think that may explain those long distance calls you can't account for. Kristee was probably in touch with the other girls."
"Were they thieves and con artists too?" Bo asked.
I took a long sip of the Perrier, sucked on the lime for a moment, then slipped it tastefully back into my glass. "You could say that. I've only talked to the Sheehans; they're the family in Savannah. I called the long distance numbers you gave me, Lilah. The Charleston number doesn't answer. I'll keep trying, though. The girl the Sheehans hired, Beverly Mayes, was only there three weeks before she cleaned them out. In addition to the usual stuff, this girl stole some computer software her employer was developing. The Savannah police think Beverly Mayes headed for Atlanta, but they don't know much else."
"Jesus," Bo said, slapping his hands on the desk. "Those cops couldn't find their asses with both hands. So now where do we stand? It seems to me you could at least find this Ardith Cramer woman."
"At least," he'd said. I'd given them several solid leads that would eventually lead to Kristee, but it wasn't enough.
"Well, no," I admitted. "Ardith Cramer, unlike Kristee, doesn't have a criminal record. That makes her a little harder to trace. I can tell you that my associate"— Edna would love being called an associate—"found that Ardith has been gone from Salt Lake City at least six weeks. The phone was disconnected at that time, and the man who runs the trailer park where they were staying said he found some circulars and utility bills in the mailbox that were at least that old. I think Ardith is probably right here in Atlanta. If we could find her or Beverly, I think we'd find Kristee. They're probably busy trying to pawn your jewelry and coins and already planning their next scam."
"This is a city of two million people," Beemish pointed out. "She could be anywhere, right? And we still don't know where she is or what she's done with our property. You've done all right, I guess, giving us Kristee's real name and all. But in light of the fact that we now know we're dealing with a professional criminal, I think we're gonna have to change the game plan."
"Game plan?" I said weakly.
"That's right. I'm calling the signals here. I've discussed this situation with my attorney, and he and I have agreed it might be best to call in a more seasoned man for this job."
Beemish reached into the desk drawer and brought out an eelskin-covered loose-leaf check binder. "Of course, we'll pay you for the work you've already done. What is it, about two, three hundred dollars?"
For a second there, I felt my heart sink. Then I got pissed off, which was good. I do some of my best work pissed off.
"My day rate is five hundred dollars," I said. "Plus I've been on the telephone for the best part of the day. I have no idea what those charges will be. We can say an extra hundred for expenses, if you like, and then I'll refund the difference once I get my phone bill."
Beemish seemed relieved to be let off the hook that easily, and he smiled and started writing out a check.
"I understand completely your desire to get this matter wrapped up quickly," I said. "It's unfortunate, though, that I'll be leaving the case unfinished. My associate and I had developed quite an interesting plan to track Kristee. She has some contacts in the Mormon community here, and my former colleagues in the Atlanta Police Department have hinted they may know something about Beverly Mayes...."
I stood up and placed the typewritten House Mouse report on the desktop—with quite a nice effect, I thought. I put my hand out for the check, and he dropped it into my palm.
"I'd be happy for you to share my report with your new investigator, of course, since you paid for it," I continued. I turned to Lilah Rose, who'd fallen strangely silent.
"Lilah, I'm assuming the House Mouse contract continues, is that correct?"
She nodded vigorously, then reached over and took the check out of my hand and tore it up. She dropped the little pieces on the rug. Her husband raised one sandy eyebrow at her but said nothing.
"Please sit down, Callahan," she said.
Her face was getting pink, and she reached in the pocket of her jumper and pulled out a cigarette and lit it. It wasn't until she'd inhaled and exhaled and flicked an ash in the ashtray, then qui
ckly stubbed it out, that she spoke.
Her speech was slow, deliberate. "I guess it's time to cut the bullshit, as you'd say, honey," she said, gazing at her husband. "Bo, I want Callahan to stay on the case."
"No way," he said flatly. "She's an amateur, darling. I thought we discussed all that."
"We didn't discuss anything," she said. "You informed me that you'd hired somebody else, after I'd already given Callahan the job."
Beemish shook his head ruefully, crossed his arms over his chest, but said nothing. He regarded her as he did his children, with a sort of benign impatience.
"I know you were sleeping with her," Lilah said calmly. "I've known for a long time."
He pressed his hands to his face, covering his eyes. The smirk was gone. "Lilah, I swear—"
"Forget it," Lilah said. "I'm not interested in the details or in any of your excuses. And I'm not looking for a divorce either. But I have talked to JoAnne Rockmore about drawing up a new property settlement, just in case I change my mind." She glanced at me now, me, sitting there with my mouth hanging open. "You remember JoAnne, don't you? She was Tri Delt at Georgia a couple years ahead of us. Went to law school at Emory. She represented Bootsie Duncan in her divorce from Charming last year. Bootsie just bought a health spa in Aspen, and she's had liposuction and got herself a real cute new behind and a new boyfriend."
Beemish's face was pale with anger. "Goddammit, Lilah Rose, this is not funny. I don't appreciate your pulling a stunt like this in front of a stranger."
I didn't much like it myself. In fact, I wished I could disappear.
Lilah Rose seemed to be enjoying herself. "Well, I can't say that I appreciated your fucking my children's nanny under my roof, sweetheart. It's really so low class. Besides, Callahan's not a stranger, she's a sister, right, Callahan?"
Tar baby, she don't say nothing.
Lilah went on, smoothly. "And I won't have you bringing some Miami thug around my home, talking to my children and scaring them and making a scene in front of all my friends and neighbors. Callahan has done a fine job. I really think she can find Kristee. And as far as anybody in the neighborhood is concerned, she's just a cleaning lady who asks a lot of questions."
Beemish raised his hands then, as if to surrender. "Fine. You wanna screw around and let that little bitch walk off with my mother's ring and your earrings and a hundred thousand in negotiable bonds, not to mention sensitive information about a business deal that could ruin me if it gets out. You wanna send a maid to find her, go ahead. But if the maid can't find her you won't need JoAnne Rockmore, because if we don't get those business records back, there ain't gonna be nothing for you to get in alimony."
He pushed his chair back from the desk, stood up, and stalked from the room.
"Do whatever you want," he said, not looking back. "You always do."
"Got that right," she shot back at him.
Lilah's face was impassive as she watched her husband leave.
"So, what's your next move?" she asked. "It better be a good one. I don't know how long I can hold this divorce threat over Bo's head. He always could read me like a book."
I glanced nervously at the door. "To tell you the truth, there are several things I need to check into. For one thing, I'd like to go back up to Kristee's room, if you don't mind, to make sure I haven't missed anything."
"Fine," she said. "Go on up. I'm going to go see if I can find a Valium. My nerves are shot to hell."
Upstairs, I walked slowly around Kristee's room. The dust smell seemed more pronounced than it had the day before, and the mattress sagged and the springs creaked when I sat on the bed. No wonder they'd chosen a sofa in the den for their trysts.
I reached under the pillow, then, hoping to find some clue I'd overlooked during my first search, maybe a motel key or an airline ticket voucher or something. There was nothing. I held the pillow up to my nose and breathed. It smelled of her, Kristee, her expensive shampoo mingled with the powdery scent of deodorant and something stronger, a perfume that might have been Opium. One of her blond hairs clung to the wrinkled pillowcase. I picked it up between my thumb and forefinger, then blew it to the floor.
On the bed beside me I placed the photograph that Lilah Rose had found. The girl in the picture was lying on a chaise lounge. One long bronze leg was stretched out, the other cocked suggestively. She was leaning toward the camera, smiling, lips parted slightly, letting the photographer take the full measure of the breasts that spilled from the orange bikini top.
Out of boredom more than anything else, I picked up the telephone, considered calling Edna to tell her to meet me somewhere for dinner. For the first time I noticed a small clear plastic tab that protruded from the bottom of the phone. I tugged at it, and it came loose. There was a neatly written short series of numbers, all preceded by an asterisk, a digit, and a single initial.
On a hunch, I punched the first number, 1, into the phone. "Domino's Pizza," a male voice said. "We deliver."
The second number, a 2, was followed by the letter W. I let it ring several times, but there was no answer. The third number, 3, had an A by it. I punched the number and listened as the numbers clicked off. It rang once and someone picked up and started talking.
It was a woman, frantic. "Kristee, where the hell have you been?" she demanded. "I've been worried sick."
10
THE BEST THING ABOUT THE RAIN that pounded the van as we inched our way along Cheshire Bridge Road was the fact that the noise of it drowned out the strange sounds coming from the muffler.
I hunched over the steering wheel trying to see, through the fogged-up windshield, the sign for the Cheshire Bridge Motor Hotel, where Ardith Cramer had finally admitted she was staying.
"Can you see what that sign says?" I asked Edna. "My side of the windshield is too blurry."
"Can't see the sign at all, much less what it says," she said cheerfully. Edna was next to useless as a navigator, even when she was wearing her bifocals. Right now she was too busy catching the colorful sights of Cheshire Bridge. Traffic was slow because of the heavy rain, so she was getting an eyeful. On the right was the Naughty Nitey Lingerie Modeling boutique. We could see two bored-looking women wearing black lace bustiers and garter belts sitting in the picture window. They were reading magazines. They didn't look exceptionally naughty to me. Next door was a Vietnamese pool hall. A knot of black-leather-clad toughs stood in the doorway, smoking tiny black cigars and drinking malt liquor from liter bottles. Halfway down the block we saw the Emporium, a gay biker bar that's been a Cheshire Bridge fixture since the '70s. A line of Harleys was parked outside. Edna's head swung back and forth as she took in the sights until I thought it would swivel right off her neck.
"Look at that, Ma," I said, pointing to a new strip bar across the street that had just opened in what used to be my favorite Mexican restaurant. A neon sign had been erected on the red-tile roof of the stucco building. It featured two green glowing breasts, with a red light twinkling on and off on each nipple.
"That I can read," she said, chuckling. "Titty City. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the saints. I can't believe this is Atlanta."
"Welcome south, brother," I said.
We knocked on the door of Unit 1218 for about five minutes before we saw the dingy curtain part and heard a bolt sliding open. The woman who opened the door was short, with the wiry look of an athlete. There was a towel wrapped around her head, and she wore a faded T-shirt and a pair of old gym shorts. She was barefoot and there were wet footprints on the orange shag carpet.
"Just came back from a run," she said, not bothering to introduce herself. "I was in the shower and didn't hear you knocking."
I walked in and Edna followed. The woman looked surprised that there was someone with me, but she didn't mention it.
Edna sat herself by the desk, on the only chair in the room. I sat down on one twin bed, Ardith Cramer sat down on the other.
She busied herself toweling her short red-brown hair. Her skin had
the dull-red look of someone who's been out in the sun too much. The lips were thin, and her nose was slightly pointed. I could see large dark circles visible under the thick-lensed glasses she wore.
"What is it you want?" she said dully. "I told you on the phone, I haven't seen Kristee. I haven't talked to her since Friday. I told you that, didn't I?"
"Yes," I admitted, "you did."
"I think Beemish has done something to her. I know he's hurt her or something." She was repeating herself now, as she'd done on the phone, insisting that she hadn't seen Kristee but saying that she was sure something had happened to her.
"I told her to leave him alone," she said, staring absentmindedly at the soundless television screen bolted to the wall of the room. "Kristee told me she'd lucked into something big. It was gonna get us a lot of money. A lot of money."
"Did she say what it was?" I prompted.
She shook her head, shaking water droplets on the faded green bedspread. "Some deal Beemish was involved in. Kristee got some papers that proved it was crooked. She was gonna make him pay to get them back."
"Blackmail," I said.
She shrugged. "I told her to let it alone. She thought the whole thing was hilarious. She even talked about getting money from another guy involved in the deal. She wouldn't stop. I couldn't make her. I told her weeks ago that we should get out, but she wouldn't."
"Did Kristee tell you she was having an affair with Bo Beemish?" I asked bluntly.
Ardith blinked. "No. I don't believe you. Where do you get an idea like that? Kristee wasn't into men."
Edna snorted. I shot her a warning look, but it was too late. "I hate to have to tell you this, dearie, but I think your little girlfriend was into whatever could get her what she wanted. Men, women, guppies, gerbils: it really didn't matter, according to what we've heard."
"Who's she?" Ardith demanded angrily, motioning with her head toward Edna. "What the hell do you know about anything?"
Every Crooked Nanny Page 6
