by Nick James
“Mind if I come in?”
“Oh, sorry, of course not. Where are my manners? Please,” she said then held the door open as he stepped in. “Come with me, I’ve coffee out in the back,” she said over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen.
Bobby followed her through the dinning room, into the kitchen and out the backdoor. A number of workers were busy putting up the fence, all men Bobby recognized from the previous evening. They had already set the fence posts and now the sections of fence, about six feet tall, were being strung between them. The entire yard seemed to smell of cedar.
Camila grabbed a large pot sitting on top of the chrome grill and poured a mug of coffee. As she handed it to Bobby she looked over his shoulder and growled something. Whatever she said had been in Spanish, but given the tone the meaning had been pretty clear. Bobby turned and watched her storm over to three of the workers and the cop in the wrinkled grey suit with the comb-over.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
He sipped from his Starbucks cup and watched as she approached, evaluating. They were too far away for Bobby to hear any conversation. Camila deftly guided him away from the three workers, first nodding then shaking her head no in response to something else he said. They spoke for a good five minutes, then he extended a hand, she shook it and he walked back along the side of the house to the hazmat suits.
“Forgive me, Mr. Custer, the police, they seem to have a lot of questions and, unfortunately, we really don’t have any answers for them.”
“What happened?”
“Well, if you find out then you can tell me,” she said. “I’ve no idea, something about shots fired last night.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“Not here,” she said and that pretty much ended the conversation.
Bobby slurped some more coffee for a minute or two, then extended his hand. “Just wanted to make sure everyone was okay. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve a late morning appointment.”
“A pleasure as always, Mr. Custer, don’t forget to call ahead next time. Just to make sure I’m here, wouldn’t want you wasting your time.”
Bobby nodded and said, “Thanks again for the coffee,” then left the way he came. There was a guy sitting on the living room couch as he headed for the front door. He recognized him as the same guy who’d handed him a beer last night. A crewcut with no neck, a lot of muscle and Bobby remembered the large pistol shoved into the back of his trousers. He was reading a newspaper this morning, the headline in Spanish ran above a grisly image of a number of bodies laid out on the ground. The guy looked up as Bobby entered the room. Bobby smiled and nodded as he reached the front door and got a slight nod in return.
He was halfway to his car before the cop in the wrinkled grey suit called to him. “Hey, you got half a minute?”
He stopped and waited while the cop walked over to him. Upon closer examination the suit appeared to be even more wrinkled than first thought. He’d gotten rid of the Starbucks cup and didn’t bother to extend a hand. “Carrick’s the name, nice to meet you and you are?”
“Custer, Bobby Custer.”
“Come here often, Mr. Custer?” Carrick asked.
“Not really.”
“You friends with those folks?” Carrick indicated the house with his chin.
“You could say that, I suppose. I’ve met Ms. Morales two or three times. I actually own that place, I rented it to her and part of the deal was they would clean it up, you know fix things up and…”
“Memory serves it was designated a problem property by the city, wasn’t it.”
“If not by the city certainly by me,” Bobby joked. “An acquaintance passed away, I got the property, but there were, how should I say, some undesirables here. They trashed the place, to tell you the truth. I was afraid to come down here let alone try and collect any rent.”
“Gee, undesirables in Frogtown, who knew?” Carrick said and laughed. “Seems like they’re doing a pretty good job of getting the place turned around.” He nodded toward the backyard just as a section of fence was hefted into place hiding Camila standing there staring at the two of them.
“It was a mess, graffiti sprayed across the front of the place, porch roof ready to collapse, yeah they’ve done a good job. What happened here?”
“Shooting,” Carrick said, but didn’t offer anything else.
“Anyone hurt? Any suspects?”
Carrick slowly turned to look at Bobby then studied him for a long moment. “One dead, two others in critical condition. Whoever is responsible, it would appear they knew their business.”
“What do you think, gang violence?”
“Could be,” Carrick said then seemed to study Bobby for a moment before he looked away. “Or, it could be as stupid as someone thinking they were disrespected, down here, you never really know.”
“Well, if there’s nothing else, it’s been nice talking to you, officer.”
“Detective,” Carrick said.
“Nice chatting, Detective Carrick.”
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Custer you be sure to have a nice day.”
Chapter Eighteen
He caught the news report at the top of the hour, another drug related shooting in St. Paul’s Frogtown area. Carrick’s brief information had been correct, one dead, two in critical condition and nothing else beyond that. He wasted the better part of the afternoon pretending to scan a Montcreff file. In reality he was thinking about Camila and her work crew.
He figured if someone had fired at the house the police would have had it taped off and people in hazmat suits would still be climbing all over the place. Still, someone was shot next door, right in the front yard, and two more people were shot on the same block. Not that they were necessarily drug dealers, maybe it was just people walking home from choir practice. On the other hand?
He went on line and checked the obituaries and found what he was looking for in tomorrow’s edition. Bannon, Jonathan his wife Frances (nee McGregor) Unexpectedly. It went on from there, listing the service on Tuesday at 11:00 with a visitation two hours beforehand.
He picked up the phone, called Emily and ended up leaving a message. She phoned him back just as he was about to walk out of the office.
“You rang.”
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“Wonderful, I spent the entire day shopping for a new black outfit.”
“Gee that sounds really fun, not.”
“That’s why I’m doing it and you weren’t invited. Did you find out a time?”
“I did, Tuesday morning, service starts at eleven, I’ll maybe pick you up around ten if that’s okay.”
“Works for me. Did I mention rib eyes and a couple bottles of Malbec?”
“What?”
“What you’re going to be serving me for dinner Tuesday night, dopey. I like my meat rare,” she laughed.
“Consider it done.”
“Well, rest up, baby. See you Tuesday, bye, bye, bye.”
Bobby drove through Frogtown on the way home, he circled the area around Camila’s, not wanting to drive past the house. There were two cars at opposite ends of the block, large SUV’s, with tinted windows just dark enough to make it next to impossible to see inside. He guessed they were guarding the house and wondered just how long this sort of security could be kept up.
The following morning there was a news report of another murder. This one just three blocks from the house, maybe a coincidence, maybe not. Either way, the nightlife in Frogtown seemed to be heating up. No additional information was available on the earlier shootings except to say that one of victims in critical condition had died. That made three murders in two nights which was big news in this town.
Chapter Nineteen
The rest of the weekend proved uneventful. Bobby decided to stay away from Camila’s on his drive into the office Monday morning. Marci phoned him at his desk just a little after eleven.
“Mr. Custer, I have a Detective Carrick to see you,”
she said sounding nonplussed, by now the police coming to see him seemed an almost daily event.
“Oh, finally, I’ve been expecting him,” Bobby lied. “Please send him back, I’ll meet him halfway.”
“Certainly,” came the curt reply.
He closed the Montcreff files on his desk then placed the entire stack on the credenza behind him. By the time he stepped out of the office Carrick was almost at his door. Today he was in a wrinkled blue suit with another Starbucks cup surgically attached to his right hand.
“Detective, how very nice of you to stop by.”
“I missed you.”
“I’m sure you did. Can I get you a fresh cup of coffee?”
“No thanks.”
“Please come in, grab a seat,” Bobby said closing the door behind Carrick and then stepping behind his desk. Carrick settled into one of the client chairs then set his Starbucks cup on the corner of Bobby’s desk.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Bobby asked.
Carrick smiled, “Just wanted to get some general information on your tenants.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know, maybe who the hell they are, visas, residency cards, some past employment information, just about anything would be helpful.”
“I see. You realize there’s such a thing as privacy in this country, at least there was the last time I checked.”
Carrick seemed to ponder that last part for a moment while he ran his tongue back and forth over his front teeth. “There’s also such a thing as breaking the law, murder being one of the laws getting broken on a seemingly regular basis of late. It might help if you were willing to share some of the details of your tenants. Just so we can clear them.”
“I see, well I don’t have much to share. My tenant is Camila Morales. She’s only rented from me for a couple of weeks. Part of our agreement was she would get the place in shape in exchange for some consideration.”
“Consideration?”
“I’d knock something off the rent. Look, she’s had a crew of guys painting the exterior, you saw them putting up that fence on Saturday. They fixed the porch roof, painted the inside.” He cautioned himself not to give too much information. “She’s been a damn good tenant during the short time she’s been there.”
“Sounds like it. All the work I could see, not to mention a new hedge across the front, a new fence and then there’s that three stall garage about ready to go up. I’d say you’re getting the better part of the deal.”
“What can I tell you, she fell in love with the place.”
“Lucky you.”
Bobby nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“You ever been to Mexico, Mr. Custer?”
“I was down there once in the late nineties, liked it. Acapulco, with some pals actually, we rented a nice place with a pool overlooking the harbor. Tell you the truth between the beer, tequila and well, our girlfriends at the time, I never did see much of the sights.”
“Have you been back since?”
“Nope.”
“How is it Ms. Morales found you.”
Don’t mention Montcreff. “Camila? I’m not sure. Never bothered to ask her to tell you the truth. As a matter of fact, I tried my damnedest to talk her out of moving in there, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Fortunately for me she didn’t bother to listen. I guess she just had to have it, despite the neighborhood.”
“How about all those guys working there?”
“I’m guessing they’re friends.”
“Seems like an awful lot of work for just friends to do.”
“Maybe they’re very good friends. Look Detective, if you’re searching for some sort of, I don’t know, motive or a sinister plot or something, I can’t help you. What can I say? The place looks a hell of a lot better than when she arrived. Tell you what, I don’t know this, but maybe your time might be better spent checking out the people who were shot. I’m guessing there might be a pretty fair chance there’s a criminal record or two somewhere out there, instead of looking for dirt on Ms. Morales. By the way, I don’t have any. You know it just might be that the tax payer dollars would be better spent trying to get more people like her coming into the city instead of trying to chase them out or asking for visa information. Just a thought.”
“I appreciate your two cents worth. It just strikes me as funny, you know like strange. She comes in, does all this nice work and then all of a sudden two people are dead and the third is close to it.”
“I don’t see anything funny about it and I don’t see the link. Other than she moved into a horse shit part of town and there are jerks down there who shoot people. Hell, a little girl was killed on that same block just last spring while watching cartoons in her living room. I don’t suppose anyone has happened to have been charged for that crime yet?”
“It remains an open investigation.”
“Well, maybe one of the individuals shot this past weekend was the jerk responsible and as far as I’m concerned that would be a good thing. Hopefully, I’ve answered any questions you may have had, if I can be of any service in the future please don’t be afraid to call for an appointment.”
Carrick gazed up at the ceiling, nodded then stood. “It’s been, informative. Can’t thank you enough for all your time, Mr. Custer,” he said, then turned and walked out the door leaving his Starbucks cup sitting on the corner of the desk.
Chapter Twenty
Bobby carefully buttoned his heavily starched shirt then pulled on the black trousers with the razor sharp crease. He chose a dark silk tie sporting small white lines running at a forty-five degree angle and carefully tied it, not too tight, making the knot just so. He fastened a gold tie bar centered halfway up his chest and then folded the french cuffs back and attached a matching set of gold cuff links. He carried the black suit coat down to his car and carefully laid it across the back seat, climbed behind the wheel and drove over to Emily’s.
True to her word she was wrapped in a sexy black outfit, almost conservative were it not for the upper-thigh-high length and the delicate slit on either side. She carried a small black handbag with the word COACH in gold letters. Her black heels had a delicate strap that wrapped around her ankle and fastened with a small jeweled buckle.
“You look fantastic. You’ll be the best looking woman at the funeral,” Bobby said as he opened the car door.
“High praise,” she laughed then gave him a kiss on the cheek and climbed into the passenger seat.
They arrived at the church a good half hour before the service began. The large church parking lot was already full. “Why don’t I just drop you off here, I’ll go park and meet you inside.”
“Are you kidding? And miss an opportunity to strut down the street in my new outfit? Not on your life.”
“Suit yourself, it certainly works for me,” Bobby said and drove down the street for another block. “Last chance,” he said just as another car pulled to the curb in front of his Mercedes and backed up a few feet.
“No, this is fine, honest. You might have to let me hang onto your arm.”
“I’m counting on it,” he said and climbed out. He carefully pulled on his suit coat, tugged the sleeves as he came around the back of the car then opened the passenger door for Emily. She held a most unladylike pose for a long moment and smiled before she came out of the front seat giggling.
“I’m really liking that outfit,” he said.
“A lot more where that came from,” she said and laughed evilly.
The caskets were arranged side by side in the large fellowship area of the church. Bobby breathed a long sigh of relief the moment he saw they were closed. He was also aware of heads turning as he and Emily entered through the heavy oak double doors. At first he thought all eyes were on her, but then he noticed more than one head angled in a whisper and figured his arrival as the convicted ex-husband was being dutifully announced.
“Lets get this part over with,” he said under his breath and led Emily up to a short line of pe
ople waiting to talk with Fran’s brother and sister. The line moved rather quickly and in no time they were standing in front of the two of them, Jerry and Mary Beth. Neither one had ever looked anything like their older sister, Fran. From the little Bobby could remember of their family tales Fran had been a bit of a tyrant growing up.
“Jerry, Mary Beth, I’m Bobby Custer, so very sorry for your loss.”
Mary Beth nodded coldly, and gave Emily the once over. Jerry smiled and shook his hand. “I recognized you as soon as you stepped inside the church. It’s good to see you again, Bobby thank you for coming.” He gave a short appraisal of Emily and said, “Hi, I’m Jerry McGregor, this is my sister, Mary Beth.”
“Emily Saunders,” she said and it seemed as if a wave of perfume drifted over the four of them with the mention of her name.
Mary Beth gave a grim nod while Jerry continued to hold Emily’s hand in both of his and stared at her while he spoke to Bobby. “It’s really nice of you to come, Bobby. I know things weren’t the best between you and Fran. Can’t say things improved much for her with Jonathan.”
“Jerry,” his sister cautioned.
“Doesn’t make a hell of a lot of difference now, does it? Just the logical conclusion to a long, slow slide…”
“That’s enough, Jerry.”
“Anyway, thanks for taking the time, Bobby. I know Fran would appreciate it, and it’s a real pleasure to meet you, Emily,” he said and then held her hand for a few more shakes before he eventually let go.
Bobby smiled and said, “We’ll see you kids inside.” He led Emily into the church where they sat down in one of the far back pews. Occasionally someone who looked familiar would walk up the center aisle. A few of them nodded at Bobby, but he couldn’t place their names.
He leaned in toward Emily and half whispered, “Not bad, you seem to be charming just about everyone here.”
“Everyone except that Mary Beth witch.”
“I’m not sure she counts.”
“You’re telling me.”
