"How old were you?"
I had to think for a minute. "Twenty-one or twenty-two I guess. Young enough to want revenge and old enough to realize I couldn't find the killers by myself. Ira became a mentor to me. He always conducted himself as a gentleman," I smiled at the memory, "but he wasn't above using whatever means..." I caught myself before I said more than I'd intended. "Well, let's just say that Ira Grant usually got his man." I gulped the last of my beer in one healthy slurp.
"So that's why you became a dick?"
I raised my eyebrows in her direction and she caught the implied rebuke.
"Sorry," she said. "That's what my father always calls them. Go ahead."
I cleared my throat and went on, anxious to finish my personal saga and get back to my own interrogation. "Ira told me more than once that I should become a private investigator. He said I had the mind and the heart for it. I certainly had the interest. I had a collection of detective novels that filled an entire bookcase in my room." I'd noticed that Melanie's glass was almost empty. I looked down at the foam clinging to the sides of my empty beer mug before waving the waitress over for refills. I flashed my charming boyish grin at Melanie. "I guess a lot of kids have that same kind of dream," I said. "Mine just happened to come true."
Changing the subject before she could make any more insulting remarks or think of any more inquiries, I turned the conversation to her life instead of mine. I took a modest sip of the fresh brew and asked Melanie Goodwin some direct questions.
In addition to learning that she was an ardent jogger and fitness freak, I found out that she'd been the manager of Frank's Outdoor Outlet for six years. She'd started out as a sales clerk and worked her way up to manager. The fact that Frank was her uncle probably hadn't slowed her ascent up the ladder of success. She'd attended the University of Iowa for two years off and on before that so I figured her age at about twenty-six. She liked both hunting and fishing and had had a short affair with Charlie Wilson. I didn't have to ask about that part. She told me.
"When you called and said you were investigating Charlie's death, I knew what you wanted to know. It sure wouldn't be about his sales job."
I smiled at her. "Why do you say that?"
"Well, Charlie was a good salesman, maybe because he was a good talker. Anyway, he was the type, if you know what I mean." She tasted her second Scotch. "But anybody who really knew Charlie knew that he was a lot of other things besides a guy who sold scopes.” She laughed. "He was a scoundrel, as my uncle Frank would say."
"Your uncle didn't like him?"
"He hated him. He told me I shouldn't even agree to talk to you about him." She chuckled. "Uncle Frank said if you tried to talk to him about Charlie, he'd kick your ass." Melanie seemed to be enjoying herself. Her manner suggested a certain glee in describing her uncle's animosity toward Charlie Wilson. "Once he even called Regis' main office," she continued, "to try to get them to send some other sales rep down here, but they didn't have anybody else. So Uncle Frank had to put up with Charlie or buy from some other company. I think he looked around and did finally drop some of their line, but Regis really has the best selection of anyone out here."
"Did he hate Charlie because of you and your involvement with him?"
"Probably, at least partly. He already didn't like him very much before that." I decided that Melanie may have beaten me here by several Scotches, which apparently didn't interfere with her particular fitness regimen. For my part, I was grateful for her pre-loosened lips.
She sipped some more and went on, "Uncle Frank said that Charlie was a fool. That he thought he deserved whatever he wanted and was always looking for an easy way to get it."
"Such as,” I prompted.
"Well, there was this hunting cabin that Charlie had seen. Uncle Frank has a cabin somewhere near it and he was the one who took Charlie up there to look at it, so he felt responsible for what happened. Charlie wanted to buy it but the old man who owned it wanted cash for it and Charlie couldn't come up with the money right away. They argued about it and Charlie got really mad at the old guy and kind of shoved him, right in front of Uncle Frank."
Our food arrived and I wiggled my fingers over both our glasses, the international sign for more refills. I might have to drive her home, but I didn't want Melanie to stop talking now. I set my third beer down beside the mostly full second one. Melanie dove right into her new Scotch. When the waitress was gone, I asked, "Was that the end of it?"
"Oh, no. My uncle was really pissed off at Charlie, though, and told him to stay out of the store. That was when he called the main office about him, I think. About a month after that, the old man still hadn't sold the cabin and had closed it up for the winter. One night the place caught fire and burned to the ground. Uncle Frank said that Charlie had done it out of spite. I think it could have just been an accident. There was never any proof that anybody set the fire, but my uncle just believed what he believed. He really despised Charlie after that."
"Did the police investigate the fire?"
"Probably. I don't know how hard they looked. The cabins up there are pretty basic I think. Uncle Frank only took me once, when I was a lot younger. There wasn't even indoor plumbing. The guys just went up to hunt, so I don't think any of the cabins was worth much. They probably aren't even insured."
So Frank really despised Charlie Wilson. I made a mental note to find a way to determine if he hated Charlie Wilson enough to hurl him over a fence. Walking into his store wouldn't be advisable, unless I wanted my ass kicked, which he may or may not have been able to do. For now, I didn't see any reason to find out.
"What about your affair? How long did that last?"
"Less than a year, maybe ten months or so. It was two years ago, when I'd been at the store for a few years. One thing kind of led to another. He was always flirting and so was I and I guess we finally decided to see where it would go. We'd meet at different motels outside town and a couple of times I let him come to my place when my roommate was away, but we burned out kind of fast. I was never really serious about him." She laughed, a harsh, abbreviated sound and raised her glass to eye level, peering through the side at the small puddle of Scotch that remained.
"There just wasn't a whole lot to like about Charlie," Melanie continued. "He thought he was some California hot shot or something. He bragged a lot about how he was such a big deal when he was a kid in California, on the soccer team or some such stupid thing, and how he'd been Regis' salesman of the year, I don't know, four times or something. I mean, he dressed real nice and he worked out and he looked great, but really, I mean, you know...booorrr- ing," she stretched out the word for my benefit.
"Who ended it?"
"I did. Well, we both did, I guess. I stopped being so available and he finally stopped calling. There was no huge break-up or anything. He still came in the store and we talked to each other and all that."
She'd hardly touched her food. The drinks were more attractive it seemed. My salad had been rather limp. I decided it was probably poured from a bag of mixed greens. The only dressing offered was a plastic bottle of Kraft French, which the waitress had graciously uncapped. The hot sausage was great, though. The bun was crusty and the sausage was just hot enough and was smothered in fried onions and green peppers. I could have eaten another, but didn't want to appear piggish. I did down all the greasy potato chips on Melanie's plate as well as my own. She didn't seem to notice.
I thought I'd gotten a pretty good handle on the Charlie and Melanie story and some extra items as well. It was getting on toward ten o'clock and I still had almost a two hour drive ahead of me, so I was thinking about leaving. Excusing myself, I went back to the men's room. When I returned, somebody had fed the juke box and Melanie was dancing in the small area at the back of the room with a tall lanky guy in a cowboy hat. She saw me and waved as they cruised by in that herky-jerky step that accompanies certain western songs. I sensed that our loosely woven "date" was over. I paid the bill, picked up my coat and s
tepped out the front door. And stepped right back into the shadow of the doorway.
There, moving slowly across the parking lot was a long black Lincoln Town Car. As they drove past the restaurant, toward the row of cabins in back, I could see the driver's face as well as the top of a woman's head, where she rested it on his right shoulder. Her blonde hair spilled out across his coat. I saw her reach behind his neck, tickling his left ear.
I almost said "AHA" right out loud. Talk about a coincidence. Here I was all the way down in Keokuk and there was my own dear brother-in-law, Talmadge Heiser. Why, I must go over and say hello.
Chapter 6
As soon as the Lincoln was out of sight, I slid out of the doorway and around the other side of the building where I'd left my car. I could see the headlights of his car as he pulled across the back of the lot and stopped in front of the first cabin. They were almost directly in front of me. There were plenty of cars parked between mine and his, so I wasn't worried about Talmadge spotting the Grand Am. He wasn't a car aficionado anyway and wouldn't know a Grand Am from a helium balloon.
I stayed in the shadows as Talmadge parked and got out of the Lincoln. He opened the passenger door and the two of them made their way to the cabin's door, hugging each other like they were joined at the hip. He must have had a key with him, because they went right in. Maybe he paid by the week or the month for this place. My brother-in-law was just full of surprises. Well, so was I!
When they were inside, I got into my car and ran the engine for a while to warm up. I was about frozen just from the few minutes I'd been out in the wind. I wanted to time my entrance just right. In my business, I'd done a bit of spouse tailing and the straying mates always seemed less indignant and more malleable when they were in their underwear... or less.
The car's heater was just starting to put out some warm air when I heard a shout from the front of the restaurant. It sounded like a man's voice and he was pissed off about something. I turned the fan off and listened. That's when I heard the woman yelling. She was letting loose a string of obscenities, and punctuating them, by the sound of it, by kicking somebody's car. I'd been listening to that same voice for the past several hours, over dinner. I turned my head toward the sound. Melanie Goodwin stumbled around my side of the building past the first car, carrying her coat over one arm, the red bag dangling from her hand. As I watched, she spun about forty five degrees and fell in the gravel.
"Shit," I muttered. I turned off the engine and slowly made my way back into the frigid night. Skinny cowboy guy was a few seconds behind her and got to her before I was around the back of my car. He leaned down and lifted her to her feet, spinning her at the same time so she was facing him. They were still two cars away, but I could hear his slurred speech.
"Hey, Baby, you think you're too good for me or what? Whattsa matter with you anyway?" His ten gallon hat was askew after he mashed his mouth onto her protesting one. The hat fell off completely when I popped him a stiff right to the jaw that left my arm vibrating. It was way too cold for these kind of shenanigans and I hoped that one good shot would take the fight out of him. It didn't.
Melanie had fallen back against a car when he dropped on his ass, and was staring at me, trying to decide if she knew me from somewhere.
"It's me,” I said. "Rudy." The wind sounded like a train whooshing through the parking lot but I think she heard me. Her eyes seemed to widen in surprise, but in that light I couldn't be sure. In another second, Black Bart was on his feet and rushing me with his head down and both arms out, headed for my stomach.
It had been awhile since I'd been in a scrap in a parking lot; several years, in fact. I wasn't too badly out of shape, but my square frame wasn't as tightly packed as it was when I'd been into the weights on a regular basis. My pal Woody and I used to do this quite a bit in the not so good old days back in Pittsburgh and it was all coming back to me now.
I caught Cowboy's right wrist in my left hand as he came in and shoved it out to the side. As his head naturally turned to my left, I brought my right knee up and connected with the left side of his chin as hard as I could. The hollow "thunk" told me I'd gotten it just right. He fell on his face without a sound.
Melanie was starting to step toward me and I reached for her arm. She seemed a little steadier on her feet now. The cold air must have had some effect on her Scotch-dulled brain. As I took hold of her, I saw several men coming around the corner, calling out as they moved.
"Andy. Hey Andy, where are you buddy?"
Andy was, of course, breathing gravel out of sight between two cars.
Pulling her coat around her shoulders, I tightened my grip on Melanie's arm and led her quickly to my car. By the time Andy's pals located him, I'd helped her and her belongings into the passenger seat. As I slid behind the steering wheel and threw the car in reverse, I could hear some angry shouts and see some movement in my direction. Locking both doors, I backed out and swung the car around behind the building and up along the other side to the highway. Gravel was flying as I spun out onto 61 and tore off north toward home. Melanie was silent beside me. About a mile down the road, I could hear her soft snores.
After a while, I checked the dashboard clock. It was after eleven and I noticed I was running low on gas. I had no idea where Melanie lived. Her place was probably around Keokuk and I was now driving in the opposite direction. This was another fine mess I'd gotten myself into. I'd deal with my brother-in-law sometime soon. In the meantime, I decided to blame him for my present predicament. If it weren't for his catting around, I would have been gone from the parking lot and on my way home when Melanie Goodwin had run from her Wild West friend. I didn't know what would have happened if I hadn't been there, though. Maybe there was a reason for some things.
I'd been checking my rearview mirror since I took off from the Eagle and ever since I'd turned onto 218, the road behind us had been deserted. It would be difficult for someone to tail me without being noticed. I was, after all, a professional. It was also true that the road was so flat and straight that they would have been visible for miles. I kept my eyes on the dark pavement and drove straight ahead for another ten minutes.
Finally, a convenience store and gas station lay ahead with the lights still on, so I swung in between the two gas pumps. When I returned to the car after paying for the gas, Melanie was awake, looking into the small mirror of a compact and trying to arrange her face a little. She looked at me as I got in.
"Holy shit. Is it really after eleven? We're almost to Mount Pleasant, aren't we?"
"Just a few miles away. I don't suppose you live anywhere around here?"
"Not even close." She was silent for a minute. "But I do have a good friend who will let me sleep at her place. Just give me a minute." She opened her purse and brought out a cellular phone. In a minute or so, we had turned off the highway and were heading west on a two lane toward Hillsboro, where Melanie's friend, Amy somebody or other, was waiting for her.
"So, what happened inside that place after I left?" I asked.
"Oh, that guy, Randy or Andy or something like that, was fine for a couple of dances and then all of a sudden he was pawing me and trying to unbutton me while we were dancing. I shoved him away. Then I just walked off the dance floor and grabbed my stuff and went outside.
"I saw the rest of it. Who were his pals, do you know?"
"They were all from Chicago, down here for the Turkey Shoot this weekend. The whole bunch of them were in the store a couple of days ago and he recognized me. Just some city boys out in the country for a good time I guess. Anyway, I kind of saw what happened out there. Thanks for the rescue. I don't know what he would have done."
"No problem. When you win, it's kind of fun." I didn't mention that my hand still hurt from connecting with his jawbone or that my knee was beginning to stiffen up.
Amy's house was half of a duplex, or what they called a "zero lot." It looked new. Melanie waved to me from the doorway after she was inside and I backed out and drove off
toward Highway 218 and home.
The old post office was dark when I parked in front of my door and I wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to have a loving wife waiting up for me inside. The lights would be on and maybe there'd be a fire in the pot-bellied stove. I started humming that old John Denver song about being back home again, tossing in the few words that I remembered.
This was an old standby, as mental images go. It popped up at times like this, after a few beers and a cold lonely drive home to wherever I was living. The imaginary beautiful wife was always Caroline. Maybe I should see a psychiatrist, I thought. Or make a decision to just ask the next woman I saw to marry me and keep doing it until somebody said yes.
As I was hanging up my clothes, I thought of Elaine, my last girlfriend, back in Pittsburgh. I'd broken that off right before I came out here. Our three year romance had seemed to have possibilities. I'd suspected for the last few months, though, that it was the good times I spent with her two young sons that had really kept me in the relationship, rather than any real love for Elaine.
After five months in Iowa, I was certain it had been the right decision. I missed the kids and our times together, hiking, going to Pirates' games, playing catch, and all the stuff you do with 8 and 9 year-old boys. But I hadn't for one minute missed Elaine since I got here. Maybe I was finally starting to know myself and make some good choices.
While I was patting myself on the back, I noticed the red light on my answering machine was blinking, indicating three messages. It was after one-thirty and I wasn't going to return any calls tonight but I gave in to curiosity and played them back. The first was from Iris Wilson.
Breaking Point Page 4
