Retirement Can Be Murder (A Jake Russo Mystery)

by Phil Edwards

  “So am I.”

  He was. Then he hung up and sat back on the bed. Kaylie patted his leg.

  “Who was that?” She tilted her head and stretched. Cheap fabric stretched well.

  “Mel, from this community. Sunset Cove.”

  “I see. What did she want?”

  “Nothing. Wait. How did you know Mel was a she?”

  She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the TV.

  “Have you seen these crazies?”

  He had. It was the bearded man and the woman wearing overalls. The Saving Tomorrow Initiative. This time they were standing underneath a large tree. The color and quality weren’t professional, but they made up for it with their intensity. Just as in the other commercial, the woman spoke while the man remained silent.

  “We are here to talk about the Development Proposition. Voting day is coming soon. If you vote for this act, this sickening act, you will be continuing the human genocide of nature.”

  Kaylie looked at Jake and grimaced. They continued watching.

  “What are your priorities? They should belong with nature, not with man. Everything that you see now will go back to the earth. Respect it.”

  Then the man spoke. His voice was a controlled mumble, as drunken as when he’d jumped on the table at Rothschild’s banquet.

  “Respect it or pay the price!” The same end sequence played: a screaming face, a fallen tree, and credit to the Saving Tomorrow Initiative. Then black. Kaylie picked up the remote and turned off the TV.

  “They’re completely insane. I can’t believe the networks are letting them air this.”

  “It’s pretty shocking.”

  “I’m an environmentalist.” She rubbed her arms with her hands. “But this is frightening. Those people are extremists.”

  “I’ve been seeing them a lot lately.”

  “Have you?”

  “Too much.”

  “I just don’t understand it.”

  “I was at a banquet and one of them jumped on a table in protest. We thought he might hurt someone.”

  “They’re crazy. You should write an article about them.”

  “I might.”

  “Let me know if you do.”

  “I will.”

  She nodded and put her small hand on his cheek, slowly.

  “How does it feel?”

  “I can’t feel it because of the ice.”

  He could see where she put the tip of her finger. It started where he’d held the ice against his left eye. Then at the bridge of his nose and down. Slowly. To his cheek. The lobe of his ear. He could feel it now. Tracing down to his neck, his chin, the bottom of his swollen lip.

  He jerked away.

  “I’m feeling better. But this is dripping.”

  He took the bag of ice into the kitchen and dumped out the shrunken cubes. They caromed around the sink and landed in the drain. He went back into the living room and she was still there, leaning back on the bed and looking at his ceiling. He noticed for the first time that she wasn’t wearing shoes. He sat down at his desk and she coughed to get his attention.

  “So why do you do this?”

  “What?”

  “This type of reporting. Don’t you just write about old people playing backgammon and golf?”

  “No. These people are too old for golf.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “It’s a hostile question.”

  “I’m a hostile person.”

  He didn’t laugh.

  “I do other things.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m working on something. A big article.”

  “What?”

  “It probably won’t get published.”

  “Now I’m curious.”

  “Good. That means it’s a good story.”

  “Can you give me a hint?”

  “There’s not enough for a hint yet.”

  “Then why bother?”

  “Because it’s important.”

  “I don’t understand you.” She got up and stood close to his chair, her stomach in front of his face. She was backlit. He could see the outline where her dress stopped and her body started.

  “I’m getting somewhere. The article’s nothing now. But I just feel that since I have the time to look into other things, I should. I’ll always have enough time to write puff pieces about banquet halls or cheap flights to New York.”

  She leaned closer and he pushed the chair back. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to. But he did. She leaned back and sighed. Her hair blew up in front of her face.

  “That’s good to hear. Please…be careful.”

  “Why?”

  She stopped and looked around the room. She put her hand on a bruise.

  “I’m just kidding.” She smiled weakly. “I should go.”

  And like that, she did. He watched her walk out the room. Even though she wasn’t wearing shoes, she still swung her hips like she was wearing heels. The door shut and he was left alone with his bruises.

  CHAPTER 29:

  “My God, Jacob, we have to take you to a hospital!”

  “Gary, it happened last night. I’m fine.”

  Gary’s hair frizzed out like it was reacting to Jake’s face. It didn’t look happy. He leaned in close and examined Jake’s bruises, the black eye and jaw level swells. His skin looked like a rotten banana.

  “How did this happen?”

  “I was attacked when I went to see Abram Samuels.”

  “Who did this?”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know. But we should go. We have to be at Sunset Cove before ten. I’m glad Rothschild’s being photographed instead of me.”

  They walked to the car and got in. Then Gary reminded Jake that he needed to get his gear. Jake opened the garage door—pulling it up reminded him of everywhere he ached. He got the lenses, the tripod, the case, and the camera. He put it all in the trunk and sat in the driver’s seat again. Gary nodded.

  “The doctor says that in a few months, I can carry some of my equipment. None of the heavy things, of course.”

  They started down the road—they were already running late. Gary stared at Jake’s face in horror. At least he was able to ask questions.

  “What did Abram Samuels tell you?”

  “Well, a lot. That’s why I’m glad we’re going to Sunset Cove today. He basically gave me two leads.”

  “Where do they lead to?”

  They got onto the highway and sped up. Gary closed the window and listened.

  “Well, the leads are Sheryl Goldfein and Charlotte Ward. I can handle Charlotte. I’m going to investigate her place.”

  “How will you get in?”

  “Abram gave me the key. He and Charlotte were, uh, in a relationship.”

  “They were?”

  “Yes.”

  “Amazing! I never would have known. Although Meryl always says that love is a powerful thing. I certainly agree.”

  “Right. Funny you should mention that.”

  “It was funny?”

  “Uh, sure. It reminds me of the other lead Abram gave us. I think you’re familiar with Sheryl Goldfein. Abram insists that she knows what’s going on, or at least has some connection to what happened to Charlotte.”

  “That woman—she called my house!”

  “She did what?”

  “She must have found one of my photography credits in the paper and then looked me up in the phone book. She called my house and Meryl answered.”

  “What happened?”

  “Meryl hung up. She didn’t know it was Sheryl who was calling, but I knew it was her.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Meryl said that the caller asked to speak to ‘her poet of light.’ And Meryl said ‘He sure as heck doesn’t live here.’ Then she hung up.”

  “Well, you certainly convinced Sheryl you’re the real deal.”

  “I know.”

  They were close to Sunset Cove. The water was shining in the distance and
the angle of the sun threw off light in their direction. Jake sighed.

  “How about doing it again?”

  “Doing what again?”

  “Seducing Sheryl.”

  “I can’t!”

  “You have to. You’re the only person who can break through to her. If we can just find out a little more about what Charlotte might have found, we’ll be so much closer than we are now.”

  “Jacob, she called my house.”

  “I know.”

  “She could endanger my marriage.”

  They descended the highway ramp and reached the main road. Jake turned.

  “I’ll be breaking and entering to see what Charlotte investigated. You can at least use your charm to chase down a lead.”

  He sighed. He ran his hands through his hair and flipped down the passenger side mirror. Then he wet his fingers with spit and brushed it back in place.

  “For Charlotte.”

  “Thatta boy.”

  They pulled into Sunset Cove and found a spot in the lot. Jake lugged the gear up while Gary straightened his posture and tested out romantic lines on Jake.

  “I don’t see objects, I see shapes.”

  “That’s a good one.”

  “There’s something about the way the clouds move. It reminds me of Venice in springtime.”

  “That could work. Any others?”

  Gary paused to think.

  “When I was twelve, I tied a cherry stem with my tongue!”

  “You may want to save that one for a rainy day.”

  Rothschild and Mel were standing at the top of the hill, near the office. A third man stood beside them. Jake recognized him from the banquet. He had long red hair that ran past his shoulders, and he was wearing all black. At the banquet, he’d subdued the bearded man, and now he seemed just as serious. Mel and Rothschild waved, but the red-haired man kept his arms crossed. They got to the top of the hill and Mel gasped.

  “Jake, what happened to you?”

  “Long story.”

  “Bar fight, Mr. Russo?” Rothschild asked. He smiled and shook Gary’s hand. They introduced themselves to each other and then Rothschild gestured to the red-haired man.

  “You’ve met Conrad before, right?”

  “I think so.”

  It was good he had. Conrad didn’t bother with a handshake. He kept staring at the bottom of the hill where the cars were parked. Rothschild laughed.

  “He’s pensive this morning, aren’t you, Conrad?”

  “Sir,” he said and nodded. Mel walked closer to Jake, but stayed far enough away to appear professional.

  “Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’m worried. When did this happen?”

  “Last night.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me when I called?”

  “I didn’t want you to worry.” She looked at Rothschild anxiously. He guessed that his time with Mel was a professional secret, so he covered for her. “I mean, I didn’t want you to worry about rescheduling the appointment.”

  “We still can.”

  Rothschild frowned and Jake pointed to Gary.

  “No, no, I don’t even need to be here. Gary’s the one doing the work. I just tag along.”

  Gary set up the gear. They’d be shooting at the top of the hill, with the water and beach serving as Rothschild’s background panorama. Gary squinted and leaned in to look in the viewfinder. Rothschild held his hands at his side the entire time, posing. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and maroon tie. The wind didn’t move his short white hair or disturb his suit, which was carefully tailored. He seemed content to wait hours for Gary to set up the shot.

  “Can you back up a step or two?”

  “Wait,” Mel said. She checked if Gary was going to send Rothschild backward into a ditch. It was clear. “Go ahead.”

  “What was that about?” Rothschild asked.

  “Oh, I just wanted to make sure that you had a clear path.”

  “I hardly noticed you limping,” Gary told Mel.

  “Thanks. I don’t even need the ankle brace. Not every day, at least.”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  Gary looked through the viewfinder a little longer and gestured to Rothschild.

  “How about you put out your arms out to the side? Like it’s all yours.”

  “It is all mine.”

  As he took the photographs, Gary shifted his feet side to side anxiously, like his position would change the shots. Rothschild didn’t move. He stood totally still, the same smile frozen on his face. His mouth never twitched and he never blinked. Conrad stared silently and Mel pulled Jake a foot to the side.

  “How did it happen?” she whispered. “Your face.”

  “I was attacked on the beach.”

  “Attacked?”

  “Not so loudly.”

  “Who attacked you?”

  “No idea.”

  “Why did they do it?”

  “Same answer as before.”

  “No idea?”

  “None.”

  Rothschild coughed and yelled to Gary.

  “Do you want any serious photographs?”

  “Sure, we can try that.”

  Now, instead of gesturing, Rothschild crossed his arms and flattened his smile into a line. He looked more comfortable when he was stiffer. His black eyes gleamed. Jake guessed it was the picture that they’d use. It made the landscape behind him look grander. It made him look grander too.

  “These are very nice,” Gary said. “Good lighting.”

  “Fine.” Rothschild stayed still.

  Mel reached over to Jake again and tapped his arm.

  “You said you were on the beach. What beach were you on?”

  He shouldn’t have said it. Now he had a choice to make: how involved would she be?

  “It was one around here.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t say much more, right now.”

  Rothschild started to squint while Gary took photos.

  “I think I’m done here. The sun is getting in my eyes.”

  “Just a few more.”

  Conrad walked over to Gary and grabbed him at the shoulder.

  “He’s very busy today.”

  “Just a few more.” Conrad looked up at Rothschild. He nodded.

  “Certainly.” Conrad backed away and let Gary click.

  Gary took a few more shots. It wasn’t hard to make Rothschild look good, or to make Sunset Cove look beautiful. When it was over, Jake pulled Gary aside and they started dismantling all of the gear. Gary was excited after taking his photos. He always was.

  “Jacob, these will look very nice. We can do some slight color correction on the serious shots and they will look great.”

  “Right. Well, that was the easy part.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Getting photographs is easy.” They looked down the hill. “Now we have to get information. That’s a little harder.”

  CHAPTER 30:

  Jake was getting better at explaining his bruises. Practice made perfect. If only it made his wounds heal more quickly.

  “I fell down.”

  “Ech. I’ve heard that one before. My husband was a cop, you know.”

  Sheryl Goldfein leaned against her doorframe. Jake had called her before to tell her that Gary would be visiting. She was ready. She had on a long black dress and her hair looked silver instead of gray. When they walked into her apartment, they saw why she’d been leaning. She could barely balance in her heels.

  “I’ve just been spending a quiet day around the house. Would either of you like hors d’oeuvres?”

  She hobbled into the kitchen and Jake grinned at Gary.

  “Just a quiet Sunday. Apparently she makes hors d’oeuvres on a quiet Sunday.”

  “What? I can’t hear you.”

  “You don’t want me to repeat it.”

  Jake got up and hurried to the door.

  “Where are you g
oing? You can’t leave!”

  “You’re solo. I have to investigate our other lead.”

  “Jacob, please!”

  Sheryl emerged from the kitchen with a tray in her hands. A thick coat of dark plum lipstick seemed to seal her lips together. Jake took the tray from her and set it on the coffee table. She limped to the chair next to Gary and removed her heels with a sigh. Jake rushed out before Gary could stop him.

  Sheryl’s building was a short walk from Building B. He shifted Charlotte’s key in his hand and felt its sharp edges scrape against his knuckles. If no one had been inside Charlotte’s apartment, then no one would be able to tell the difference if he searched it. He’d uncover what Charlotte had found, and hopefully he’d continue what she’d been investigating. He was wearing shoes that clicked on the sidewalk, and his steps were as steady as a ticking clock.

  People were outside this early in the day. A man with large shades stared at the ground as he walked. Beside him, a man wearing shorts and high socks carried a bundled newspaper. Two women sat on a wide bench, one of them reading and the other with her head down, but no book in her hands. He hurried through the active pathways, knowing he couldn’t be seen entering Charlotte’s apartment. He almost wished it were night. Now he couldn’t hide behind a shadow.

  He got to the building and used the key on the outer door. A quick scan around. No one was there. It was better to commit and hurry than look around too much. He went in and shut the door behind him. He continued down the hallway, past where he and Mel had kissed. It seemed like years since it had happened. He traced his hand along the wallpaper as he walked. He was almost at Room 112.

  He got to the door and faced it. Be aggressive. Do it quick. He’d get in, look for what Charlotte had found, and then get out. No one would ever know. He pressed the key hard against his palm and prepared to draw it from his pocket.

  “Mr. Russo. Have you lost your way?”

  He turned and saw red hair and broad shoulders. Conrad. The building door was open. Light flooded in, backlighting the man as he spoke. He stepped forward. He took each step slowly, and he held his arms out like he was confused.

  “I thought you were done photographing Simeon.”

  “I was. I am, I mean.” He pressed the key so hard it cut into his palm. “I just wanted to find out a little more about an average hall.”