by Mike Befeler
* * * * *
“Where did you wander off to, Dad?” Denny asked.
“I checked out some of the conveyances. The one that looks like a barracuda, I hope it sinks.”
I leaned over and whispered to Jennifer. “Now I’ve met the illustrious Gary Previn.”
“What did you find out?”
“When Swathers met his maker at the Community Center, Previn claims to have been at the library.”
“Either someone else did it, or he’s lying,” Jennifer said.
A gun fired. It wasn’t someone trying to shoot Gary Previn. The race had begun.
I watched as people in the various contraptions thrashed, rowed, paddled and cycled through the lake. Only one word described this event: weird.
The people around me were consuming enough beer to fill the thirty-foot-high inflated brown Miller Lite bottle tethered to the sand on the other end of the beach.
Only two contraptions sunk, with the participants floundering back to shore. Unfortunately, this didn’t happen to Gary Previn and his cronies.
Several conveyances moved quickly around a maze of three floats and disappeared toward the other side of the reservoir. Others moved in slow motion, probably more interested in enjoying the warm day than in winning the race.
I spent the next hour listening to too-loud music emanating from a soundstage while wandering through a collection of booths offering burnt cow meat, every imaginable brand of beer, Henna tattoos and jewelry. Having absorbed my fair share of the local culture, I returned to the family picnic spot. Shortly, Jennifer pointed. “Here comes the first one.”
It was the damned barracuda paddling into shore. Then the crew carried their contraption through a mud hole, up a mound of gray dirt, over the other side and back into the reservoir for once last unsuccessful attempt at sinking. A group in pirate costumes followed close behind, and I watched both vessels disappear around a bend as they fought for first place.
After the race and all the hoopla was over, I considered visiting with Gary Previn again, but then realized I wouldn’t find out anything new by doing that. As we trudged back to our car amid the crowd of happy alien creatures, I contemplated what little I had gleaned from Previn. My gut told me something about that shady outfit smelled bad, but I couldn’t pin the murder on Previn. He was my own “person of interest.” Either he or someone in his organization could be the killer.
When I encountered my buddy Detective Lavino, I’d have to point him in the right direction.
* * * * *
Over the next several nights, if I could have remembered, I’m sure I had dreams concerning sharks and barracudas dancing with nuns and snakes on a lake. There were some benefits to having a crappy memory.
The following day Allison reminded me of my daily household task of walking the family critter, Max, and out we went. The frisky beast alternately tugged at the leash to charge off at full speed and then skidded to a stop to sniff every spot that had been visited by one of his relatives. He passed up the lawns of houses with no one home to disperse his presents on the immaculate lawns of homes with the owners watching. Fortunately, I was armed with plastic bags, a scoop and a thick skin to ward off disapproving looks.
As we strolled along the sidewalk, a gaggle of women approached. They stopped to pet Max. “Isn’t he cute?” “How precious.” “Hi, cutie.”
They weren’t referring to me.
Down the block I spotted the fattest cat I’d ever seen. It sauntered up and rubbed against my leg. I scratched him under the chin, and he purred loudly for a moment before hissing at me. Max was terrified and tugged on the leash in the opposite direction until we departed.
In honor of his escape from the monstrous cat, Max crapped on a neighbor’s walkway between two of ten fir trees lining the path. A Bermuda shorts clad man with thinning white hair stood ten feet away with his arms crossed, glaring at me, so I diffidently cleaned up the mess. To make up for Max’s impropriety, I struck up a conversation. “Nice trees you have there.”
The man finally smiled. He appeared to be my height, probably ten years or so younger than me. “I planted them eight years ago. I wanted to have a row of trees all the same size.”
“I know where to come when we need a Christmas tree,” I said to kid him.
His smile changed to a glower. “I’m always concerned that someone will try to cut one down.”
Seeing that he took his trees entirely too seriously, I couldn’t resist a jibe. “Well, in that case I promise to cut only one down.”
His mouth opened, and he made choking sounds.
Taking the cue, Max went over and lifted his leg on one of the trunks.
“You … you leave my trees alone,” the man stammered.
“Come on, Max,” I said. “We need to move along.”
Max charged off again, and I followed in his wake. I thought that I should sic Max on Gary Previn’s yard.
* * * * *
Tuesday night after dinner, Jennifer said, “Grandpa, get ready. We have game night at my school.”
“What shindig are you dragging me off to?”
Jennifer stomped her foot. “We spoke about this before. The end-of-the-year party at my school.”
“In that case, let’s go celebrate.”
“I just wish Katherine was going to be there,” Jennifer said.
“No word from her?”
“No, I guess she’s still off somewhere with her dad.”
Being such a nice evening and having only a short distance to walk, Denny, Allison, Jennifer and I strolled over to Marshall Middle School. The street in front of the school looked like a scene from rush hour in Manhattan, with people shouting from car windows and horns blaring. We had made a wise choice to avoid the parking lot crammed full of cars spewing out families with twitching pre-teens.
I felt the electricity in the air. Or maybe just the madness.
We entered the gym, resplendent with crepe paper streamers and balloons. All around the edge stood booths for different kinds of games. In the middle of the floor swirled a maelstrom of running, cavorting and laughing kids.
I thought back to my school days. We didn’t have this much fun. Actually, we did. But we didn’t show it in front of adults.
We bought tickets at a booth and proceeded to try our luck at various games. I threw darts at balloons and didn’t win any prizes but did succeed at tossing a ring around a floating duck to win a small stuffed bear. I handed it to Jennifer.
She smiled. “Cool. I’ll put it on my shelf with the Hawaiian beanies you gave me last year.”
“I aim to please.”
She skipped off toward another game, and I followed.
By investing five tickets, you could have the principal, dressed as a sheriff, drag someone off to a portable jail. I hoped no one did that to me. I had enough chance of that happening in real life.
We all entered a cake walk, but a small boy won and selected the largest chocolate cake from the twenty cakes sitting on a table.
I drank punch, munched on popcorn and trailed Jennifer as she charged around to try every game several times.
When the punch started sloshing around inside me, I excused myself and found the little boys’ room. After taking care of my business, I was preparing to leave the restroom when two boys started splashing water at each other from the sinks.
I stepped in to separate them. “This is supposed to be a fun family event,” I said. “Save the rough-housing for a school day.”
They both glared at me and raced out of the bathroom.
I returned to the pandemonium and rejoined my family.
Five minutes later I noticed the two boys from the bathroom speaking to the sheriff and pointing toward me. He strode over and put his hand on my shoulder.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “Did those kids decide to send me to your pretend jail?”
“We have something more serious. Come with me.”
I followed him to the principal’s office. I hadn’t
been in one of these since the time I put a tack on Ellen Sedgwick’s chair in the third grade.
He motioned me to sit down on a hard wooden chair while he dropped into a padded armchair behind the desk. I regarded him. I had remembered principals being as big as grizzly bears. This guy resembled Don Knotts.
“There’s been a complaint filed against you.”
“Complaint?”
“Yes. I’ll have to ask you to wait here until a police officer arrives.”
I scratched my head. “What’s the big deal? All I’ve done is play games and take a piss.”
“That’s the problem. Please wait.” He stood up and walked out, shutting the door.
A few minutes later a tall, skinny man in a suit appeared. He looked at me and grinned. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Jacobson.”
I stared at him. “Do I know you?”
“Yes, indeed. I’m Detective Lavino.”
I looked at his fingers. “You’re the detective who chews his fingernails.”
He glanced at his fingernails and then blinked. “Mr. Jacobson, you and I have met on a number of occasions. Care to tell me what transpired when you went into the bathroom this evening?”
“I took a whiz and broke up some rowdy behavior between two young boys.”
“Anything else?”
“Then I left the bathroom.”
“Interesting. There’s a report from two boys who claim you made indecent gestures in the bathroom.”
“What? They’re obviously making it up.”
“That’s possible.
“Well, you better grill them, Detective. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I’ll see what they have to say. At least in checking your background before I know you have no sex offenses.”
“That’s right. I’ve always defended sex.”
“You stay put. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He stood up, walked out and closed the door behind him.
This routine was getting monotonous. I had nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs and look at the principal’s collection of books. I pulled one off the shelf titled The Formative Years and scanned an article regarding child development. It didn’t say anything concerning little boys who lied. I was learning the length of average attention spans when Detective Lavino returned and closed the door.
“Mr. Jacobson, you’ve been accused of a very serious offense.”
“And I’ve told you the children lied. Are you going to lock me up?”
“No, Mr. Jacobson.”
I watched him carefully. “I bet when you interviewed those two boys, you found inconsistencies in their statements. Otherwise, you’d have shoved me in the slammer and thrown away the key.”
He actually smiled. “You do have some keen insights for someone with memory problems.”
“Not all of my brain is crapola. So what did the little squirts have to say?”
“I’m not going to relate the details, but you are right, Mr. Jacobson. Their stories don’t ring true. But they haven’t recanted their accusations against you, so I’ll need to keep the investigation open.”
“You do that, and you’ll find I’m as innocent as the new driven snow. Now since you’re interested in clearing the streets of criminals, I’d suggest you busy yourself with Gary Previn, the guy who runs sales for Colorado Mountain Retirement Properties. He was on the plane when one of his sales people was killed by a deadly pressure blow.”
Lavino gave me a cunning grin. “And how would you know the nature of his death? That information hasn’t been released.”
Chapter 10
Oh, shit, I thought to myself. Here I’ve gone and stepped in it. Meyer tracked down the information for me concerning the murder on the plane. Since Lavino didn’t know of my insider knowledge of death by martial arts blow, he could only conclude that I had done it. I decided to take the offensive. “And another thing. Previn claims to have been at the library when the murder took place at the Community Center. I’m not convinced of that. You should check him out to see if he’s lying.”
“I’ve spoken with Mr. Previn,” Lavino said with his intense eyes on me.
“Go grill him again. You seem to have no qualms against constantly harassing me.”
“That’s because you happened to be the only person in proximity to both murders. Crimes seem to congregate around you like flies on horses.”
“Now if you’re through with your earthy agricultural analogy, may I rejoin my family?”
He regarded me carefully, then threw up his hands. “Go on.”
I stood up and headed for the door. “And you really shouldn’t bite your nails so much.”
Outside in the school hallway I braced myself against a not-too-clean wall. Here I was getting deeper in cow pies. Every time I turned around, something happened to link me to some crime I didn’t commit. I felt like that L’il Abner character with the cloud always over his head. I had to suck it up and get on with things. I knew I was innocent and had to find a way to convince Detective Lavino of the fact. I’d keep plugging away and see what I could learn. With that in mind, I ambled back to the gym.
“Where have you been?” Denny asked.
“I had a conference with the principal.” I spotted the two boys running toward a ring toss booth. I leaned toward Jennifer. “Do you know those two?”
“Yes. Teddy Bishop and Randy Buchanan.”
“What do you think of them?”
She pursed her lips. “The principal and teachers think they’re wonderful, but I know they’re sneaky.”
“They also made up some lies about me.” I felt like tanning those two little troublemakers, but that would only put me in deeper dog poop.
Her eyebrows lowered, and she scrunched her lips together. “I’ll get to the bottom of that, Grandpa. Don’t worry.”
* * * * *
After we returned home, I received a call from Helen Gleason.
“Paul, my family’s having a party tomorrow night. Would you like to join me?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll be by to pick you up at seven.”
I decided that would be a good diversion from my crime spree.
* * * * *
The next evening, Denny, Allison and Jennifer went on a shopping expedition, so Max and I waited for Helen.
The doorbell rang, and Max went into his run-and-skid-toward-the-door routine.
I let Helen in.
“Welcome to my humble abode.”
Max greeted her by putting his paws on her knees.
“What a cute puppy,” she said, giving him a scratch behind the ears.
Max knew how to play a crowd.
“Would you like a tour?”
“A quick look-see, and then we need to leave for the party.”
I showed her my room.
She stopped in front of the two photos on my dresser. “Who’s in the other picture?” she asked.
Uh-oh. I had Marion’s picture as well as Helen’s on display.
“I hope that was your wife and not a girlfriend,” she said.
I looked at my watch. “Time to get going.”
On the drive we discussed the distant past, since the last five years or so remained frustrating territory for me. Helen grew up in New York and moved to Chicago, raised her family there before retiring with her husband to Arizona. He died approximately when my memory went south, so we both had a loss at the same time.
I told her of my experience in World War II and my life running an auto parts supply business in Los Angeles.
We arrived at Helen’s place, and I met her daughter Madge, son-in-law Hector, granddaughter Lauren and grandson Bruce. The family sat in the backyard, while Hector tended a man-sized, natural gas-powered barbecue grill. “How do you like your steak?” he asked.
“Nice and dripping red,” I replied.
“A man after my own heart. Say, what do you think of this upcoming city council race?”
“To be honest, I’m new to Boulder and don’t kn
ow anything regarding the local politics yet.”
“There’s a big battle brewing over prairie dogs. The city council’s mulling over the disposition of a parcel of land north of town. Full of prairie dogs. Some want to pave ’em over, some want to leave it as open space and some want to relocate the critters.”
“What do the prairie dogs want?” Lauren asked.
Hector scratched his protruding belly. “Right. There’s a fresh viewpoint.”
Madge, a mousy woman with large eyes, came over and started asking me questions about my family.
We determined that Jennifer and Lauren had some of the same interests—tennis and swimming.
“Lauren doesn’t plan to be a lawyer by any chance?” I asked.
Madge furrowed her brow. “Why no. She’s too young to be considering a profession yet.”
“Just wondering,” I said.
We demolished the singed cow accompanied by corn on the cob and Caesar salad. I felt well-fed and well taken care of.
As we sat around enjoying sunset and having chocolate cake, Hector asked me, “How long do you plan to be in Boulder?”
“Good question. I came to stay with my son and his family after living in a retirement home in Hawaii. I’ll have to see how long they can put up with me.”
Hector and Madge exchanged knowing glances.
“We’re enjoying having Mom here,” Madge said. “She’s independent and takes care of herself.”
I smiled. “This image some people have of us old folks needing to be waited on hand and foot is way off base. As long as we stay healthy, we can fend pretty well for ourselves.”
“Besides, having grandkids keeps us sprightly and alive,” Helen added.
“Although I can’t talk Grandma into learning the computer,” fourteen-year-old Bruce chimed in.
“My granddaughter has the same complaint,” I said. “But we enjoy watching what you kids can do with the blasted things. There has to be something to make you feel superior, given our wisdom and experience.”
As dusk fell, I put on my light jacket to protect against the high altitude coolness. My blood had thinned from living in Los Angeles and Hawaii for all those years.
As we prepared to leave, I marveled at the pleasant evening with no lawyers or Detective Lavino to harass me. I noticed a book of Sudoku puzzles on a bookshelf in the family room. I figured the Japanese had definitely found a new way to take over American minds.
