No Such Thing as a Free Ride

by Shelly Fredman

  “But I’m fine, really—except I am feeling a little low on energy, so if you have a Hershey Bar handy, I’d really appreciate it.”

  The curtain was pulled back and in walked the cop who’d tried to arrest me followed by DiCarlo. He didn’t look too happy to see Nick there. Actually, he wasn’t looking too thrilled to see me, either.

  I sat up and rubbed the back of my neck. Someone had stuck a bandage on the cut and it was starting to itch. Bobby gave a cursory nod to Nick and walked over to the bed.

  “This is official business,” he said, the little pulse in his temple working overtime. “Are you up to answering a few questions?”

  No ‘hey, how are ya?’ Boy, he was really mad at me.

  “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “Listen, Angel,” Nick said. “It looks like you’re in good hands, so I’m going to go.” He leaned over the other side of the bed and kissed the top of my forehead. Bobby’s temple looked like it was going to pop an aneurism. “You’re welcome to borrow the truck for as long as you need it,” Nick added.

  “Thank you. I, um—”

  “Take care,” he said and then he was gone.

  The abruptness of his departure was like a punch in the gut. I’d thought that getting Nick to open up about his past would bring us closer, but I could feel him drifting farther and farther away. Well, maybe it was the concussion talking, but I was damn sick of this “Lone Wolf” bit. Whether he could admit it or not, Nicholas Santiago needed me. And I wasn’t about to give up on convincing him of that. Not by a long shot.

  “Now,” I said, turning my full attention to DiCarlo, “to quote an old boyfriend, ‘What crawled up your butt?’”

  The officer he came in with made a valiant effort to suppress a smirk but failed. Bobby shot him a death ray.

  “I’m, uh, just gonna go get some coffee,” the cop said, making a beeline out of the cubicle.

  I could tell Bobby was trying to refrain from going off on me—at least while the nurses were still in the room. He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “You wanna tell me what you were doing paling around with a prime suspect in the murder case I’m working on?”

  “Unhhh! This was not my fault! And frankly, I’m sick of people jumping to conclusions about me all the time!”

  He was quiet for a minute. “So, what happened?” he asked, finally, rubbing his hands over tired eyes. Instantly, I felt bad for yelling at him.

  Wrestling with the pain in my head and arm, I took a deep breath and told him everything.

  “So far, Bunny’s not talking,” he said when I was through. “Code of the streets and all that. Plus, she’s nuts. It may take a while to get her to open up. Listen, I’m sorry about before,” he added. “I just worry about you, y’know?”

  “I know. I worry about me too, sometimes. But I swear, Bobby, I’ve been so much better lately. Working out,” I cited, “asking for help, looking before leaping. I’d just like some credit for it.”

  “Understood,” he said, with a small, dimpled grin. “Listen, I’ve got to get back to the station. I’ll keep you posted on what’s happening with Bunny, and if you can think of anything else give me a call. I’ll check in on you later,” he said, turning to go.

  “But what about Eleanor Grady?” I called to his retreating back. “I really think you should look into her.”

  Bobby glanced back over his shoulder. “Get some rest!”

  *****

  “When you said you wanted to take me out to lunch, I thought you had something a little more upscale in mind.” Uncle Frankie took a giant bite of his hoagie and leaned back in the cab of Nick’s truck, giving me the once-over.

  “What? You don’t like your sandwich? I ordered it just the way you like it. Extra everything.”

  He didn’t say anything while he chewed and swallowed. Frankie takes eating very seriously. It’s almost a sporting event for him. Finally, he said, “So why are we sitting in Santiago’s truck spying on people from across the street?”

  I raised my good arm and took a sip of soda. My other arm was in a sling, pretty banged up but, thank God for small favors, not broken. “Okay, the truth is, we’re sort’ve on a stakeout.”

  “Yeah?” he asked, his interest piqued.

  “Yeah. I’m waiting for someone to come out of the building, but waiting is soooo boring. I just wanted some company.”

  “Who are you stalking?” Frankie asked, taking a swallow of Dr. Pepper. For a guy who works in a gym, he sure doesn’t eat that great.

  “I’m not stalking. I’m investigating. Her name is Eleanor Grady. At least that’s the name she’s going by. I think she’s involved somehow with the disappearance of some teenage prostitutes.”

  “Does this have anything to do with that hell on wheels you had me babysit the other day?”

  I laughed and soda went up my nose. “Crystal’s a piece of cake compared to some of the characters I’ve met lately. But, yeah, it does. I called Grady this morning, on the pretext of needing some information about an article I’m supposedly writing, and tried to get her to talk to me, but she blew me off. Said she had to meet her family for her daughter’s birthday lunch. I want to see if she was just trying to avoid me. Ooh, ooh, here she comes. Duck!”

  I slouched way down in my seat and tugged on Frankie’s arm to do likewise.

  “I don’t have to duck. She’s never even seen me.”

  “Oh. Right. What’s she doing?”

  “She’s climbing into a tan Volvo.”

  I scooched up a little in my seat and grabbed the wheel with my good arm, my eyes barely peeking over the dashboard.

  “Whoa! You’re not drivin’ like that. Here, move over.” Frankie opened the passenger seat door and hopped out, trading places with me. Then he eased into the flow of traffic, tucking in behind a catering van.

  Grady was heading toward Center City. We kept a steady pace for about two miles and then lost her at a traffic light.

  “Damnit. All that waiting for nothing,” I sulked.

  “Yo! Have a little faith in your uncle, here. I’ll catch up to her.” Frankie gunned it and did a classic gutter snipe, almost taking out a caddy.

  “I see her,” I shouted, two blocks later. “She’s pulling up to the curb in front of Dunkin’ Donuts.”

  Frankie hung a u-ie and parked on the other side of the street, next to a fire hydrant.

  I dug around in my bag and took out a pair of binoculars, training my eyes on Eleanor Grady as she walked toward the restaurant on the corner. “She’s headed for Henry’s Bar & Grill,” I announced. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be right here,” Frankie replied, settling in with the rest of his hoagie.

  I sneaked down to the corner and crouched behind a sandwich board advertising the opening of Thai Manicure Salon. Glancing down at my nails, I started thinking maybe it would be a nice change of pace from my bitten down nubs to get some acrylic glue-ons, when a kid on a skateboard barreled past me, knocking me on my ass. I banged my head against the sandwich board, and it toppled over with a clatter. Way to be discreet, Brandy.

  I hauled it back up and reached for the binoculars in time to see two familiar figures rounding the corner on the other side of the street and heading directly toward Eleanor Grady.

  “Oh my God, it’s James Garner and his kid! What the hell are they doing here?” And suddenly it hit me. Eleanor Grady, champion of downtrodden youth is married to that teen-stalking pervert!

  Caitlin Garner sprinted on ahead of her father, heading straight for Grady. “Mom!” she called out, throwing her arms around her. Eleanor returned the hug, clearly delighted to see her.

  Garner caught up with his wife and daughter draping a proprietary arm around their shoulders. Eleanor shrank away, visibly disgusted, and then tried to cover by dropping her purse. However, the moment did not go unnoticed by Caitlin. For a split second she seemed ready to burst into tears, and then she forced
a smile upon her lips and led the way into the restaurant.

  Woah! Grady looked about ready to kill James. Maybe she knows about her husband’s secret life with Star. And if so, would that be strong enough motivation to get rid of her?

  “Did you get what you were looking for?” Frankie asked as I climbed back into the truck.

  “Yeah, I did.” And maybe a whole lot more.

  *****

  I was spread out on the living room couch doing yet another internet search on the Grady Bunch, when my new new cell phone rang. (As Toodie wasn’t working at the Phone Mart anymore—his boss fired him for leaving on a lunch break and forgetting to come back—twice— I went for the cheapest phone I could find this time.)

  Before I could say hello Franny launched into it. “Brandy, this baby is like an albatross around my neck. I can’t do anything fun anymore!”

  “Fran, you’re not supposed to have these feelings until after the baby’s born. That’s why they call it post partum.” I typed in “property search” on Google and hit “Enter.”

  “I want a beer,” she whined. “I want to get back to the gym.”

  “I think the pregnancy has affected your memory. You never went to the gym.”

  “I know. But the point is I could have if I wanted to. Now I’m so fat my ass cheeks won’t fit on the stationary bike. Will you come over tonight? Eddie’s going to his mother’s to retile her bathroom and I don’t want to be alone. I think my hormones may be a little out of whack.”

  “Maybe just a little. Sure, I’ll come. I’ll bring over some Near Beer and we’ll get wild. How’s that?”

  “I love you, Bran,” she sniffled, going off on another hormonal bender.

  “Love you too. I’ll be there soon.”

  An hour and one rather humiliating phone call later my research paid off. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Eleanor Grady and my theory that she was kidnapping pregnant girls and selling their babies. And now that I found out she was married to Garner, the more plausible the idea seemed. What a family of weirdos. Jeez, their poor kid!

  But if my theory was correct, where did they put the girls once they took them? I figured it might be a bit awkward taking a young pregnant ho out of your car, bound and gagged in the middle of suburbia, and storing them in your guest room. Which meant they probably had another property somewhere a little more private. Only who did I know that could get me that kind of information? After a minute I thought of someone who could help me.

  “Crap,” I sighed, and picked up the phone to call Tina Delvechione.

  Tina’s grandfather owns T&A Realty, (Swear to God. You can’t make shit like that up) named after his grandchildren, Tina and Adam. Tina works there part time while going to school to get her doctorate in Philosophy. Big deal. It’s not like being a real doctor or anything.

  “What’s in it for me?” Tina asked when I explained why I was calling.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” she said, snapping her ever-present sugarless gum, “I’m doing you a favor, so what do I get out of it?”

  Sheesh. I might want to sell my house some day. You’d think she’d be nicer to a potential client.

  “Tina, it’s really important that I get this information, so why don’t you just tell me what you want?”

  It was quiet on the other end of the line and I thought she’d hung up. Then, “I want you to talk nice about me to DiCarlo.”

  “What? I’m sorry, but I don’t have any influence over Bobby.”

  Tina popped her gum a couple of times, real annoying-like. “Brandy, let’s cut’s the bull. Bobby DiCarlo practically worships you. And I think you had plenty to do with him not asking me out again.”

  Jeez, she makes it sound like I go around bad mouthing her every chance I get. I don’t… that much… anymore.

  “Fine. I’ll tell Bobby you’re swell. Now can you look up that information for me?”

  “And get him to agree to go out with me again.”

  “Anything else?” I sighed.

  “Nope. That should do it. Now, what were the names you wanted me to look up again?”

  I hate having things hanging over my head, especially unpleasant things, so while I waited for Tina to call me back, I called Bobby.

  “Tina’s not as horrible as I might have made her out to be,” I told him when he picked up the phone. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the most rousing endorsement, but it was the best I could do given the fact that she was forcing me into it.

  “What brought this on?” DiCarlo asked, and I could hear the bemusement in his voice.

  “Well, I was thinking you should probably go out with her again. Just once more should do it… um, what I meant was everybody deserves a second chance.”

  Bobby snorted. “Who are you and what have you done with Brandy?”

  My call waiting beeped. It was Tina. “Okay, so we’re good then with Tina, right? You’re gonna ask her out again.”

  “Do you ever get tired of being Boss of the Universe?”

  “I assume that’s a rhetorical question. Gotta go.” I clicked off of Bobby and clicked onto Tina. “Any luck?” I asked.

  “You first.”

  “Okay, I spoke to Bobby and you’re all set. He said he’ll call you.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  I was the tiniest bit concerned that God would get me for the big fat lies I’d told, but I hoped it would be mitigated by the fact that it was for a good cause.

  “There’s a property on Boonsboro Road in Haycock Township,” she said. “The name on the title is J.E. Garner.”

  “Haycock Township?” I repeated, my heart skipping a couple of beats. “Isn’t that in Quakertown?”

  “Yeah. It’s about twenty miles Northwest of New Hope. The house number is 608.”

  “Thanks,” I told her, typing in Map Quest on my computer. “If there’s anything I can do for you—”

  “I thought you already did.”

  “Um, right.”

  I hung up and called Bobby back. “Look, could you please call Tina? I sort’ve told her you would.”

  “And why would that be?” DiCarlo asked. “On second thought, don’t tell me. I’m in a good mood and I want to stay that way.”

  “What’s the occasion?” I looked over the directions for Boonsboro Road and hit print.

  “I got a lead on the Olivia Bowen case.”

  “Ooh! What?”

  Bobby laughed out loud. It made me feel good, even if it was at my expense.

  “I’ll be happy to share that information with you, Sweetheart, the minute you graduate from the Police Academy. In the mean time, my other line’s going. Later,” he said and hung up. How rude is that!

  *****

  “Fran, I just don’t know if naming your kid after a dead rock star is a decision you should make in the state you’re in right now.”

  “What’s wrong with Kurt Cobain Junior?”

  “Unless Kurt Cobain fathered this baby—a lot! Besides, you guys don’t know for sure it’s a boy, right? And anyway, just a couple of weeks ago you swore you were having a girl.”

  “It’s going to be a boy,” she said with her typical conviction. “Eddie’s mother went to mass twice last weekend to pray for a grandson. She’s still not over me keeping my maiden name and this is her revenge.”

  We were parked on the couch in Franny’s living room, like a couple of beached whales, watching season one of Sex and the City and eating some fried mozzarella that I’d picked up from DiVinci’s on my way over.

  I had decided to wait until the next day to check out the address Tina had given me. I really didn’t want to go alone so close on the heels of my encounter with Bunny, but who could I ask to go with me? Bobby didn’t have the time to cater to my hunches and besides, I’d look like an idiot if it all turned out to be a bunch of nothing.

  “Wish I could go with you,” Fran said, looking down at her feet. They were swollen to twice their norma
l size. “I haven’t been to New Hope in ages. We could stop by Peddler’s Village on the way home and check out the craft stores.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. A little espionage, a little quilt shopping.”

  Fran hoisted herself off the sofa and waddled off to the kitchen. I was still hungry, so I followed her and opened the refrigerator, hoping to score some leftovers. All I could find was a jar of pickles and a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream. I took out the ice cream and scooped some into a cup. Well, just the chocolate.

  Placing the carton back in the freezer, I turned to look at Fran. She was leaning against the sink, hands on her stomach, her face contorted like she’d just stepped on a bee.

  “You don’t look so good. Are you okay?”

  “I think—ow!” I think I’m in labor.”

  “Maybe it’s just gas. You ate a lot of fried mozzarella.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” she said, looking doubtful.

  We went back into the living room and sat down. Ten minutes later she let out another howl.

  “Time to call Eddie,” I decided.

  Franny held up her index finger, taking a deep, cleansing breath. I counted to thirty and she breathed out. “Don’t call Eddie yet. He’ll only panic. It may just be a false alarm. Besides, even if it is the real thing, the contractions are coming ten minutes apart, so according to my La Maze instructor I’ve got plenty of time. The hospital will send me home if I show up there too soon.”

  “Okay,” I said, feigning nonchalance. “So you want to watch another episode of Sex and the City?”

  “Nah, let’s go to the store and pick up some more ice cream. We’re all out of chocolate.”

  Franny had another contraction in front of the frozen food section. “Sonuvabitch!” she yelled, clutching a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

  “I feel the same way about them,” said a woman passing by. “Always tempting us with their delicious flavors!”

  “Fran,” I said, trying to remain calm-assertive the way Cesar Milan taught me on The Dog Whisperer. “I checked the time and your last contraction was only five minutes ago. Why take a chance? Call Eddie and tell him you’re on the way to the hospital so he can meet us there.”