by A W Hartoin
“I’m afraid to know.”
“What’s the deal with him?”
“Family friend and my dad thought I needed help,” I said.
“He’s helping you?”
“He’s driving.”
“That’s something,” she said.
“It’s the only thing. You pick up Sendack?”
“He’s in a room with my partner. Nice guy.”
“I bet. Did Gavin find him?”
“Not that he knows of. Tell me more about the client that got murdered.”
“Rebecca Sample, graduated from UNL and worked for an internet marketing company in St. Louis. She was strangled during her wedding reception, not long after she talked to Gavin. A stalker pestered her for a couple years, but quit when she met her fiancé. The stalker’s the prime suspect, but the cops are weeding through the guest list, too.”
“Any decent physical evidence?”
“Some, but I don’t know what it shows,” I said.
“What did your friend die of?”
“Heart attack brought on by an injection.”
“No idea what the substance was?” she asked.
“Labs aren’t back yet,” I said.
“Will you know when they are?”
“Why?”
“Just curious why you know so much about an open and actively pursued investigation run by your cousin.”
“You didn’t call him, did you?”
”No. Should I?”
“Why are you asking me about him then?” I rubbed my arm above the cast and thought about my next painkiller.
Serena drummed her fingers on the desk. “You shouldn’t be involved in this at all and Chuck Watts is heading this way.”
“Great. Just what I needed and I’m not involved. I’m nosy.”
“Well, you’ve got a great nose because from what I can tell you’re a couple of days ahead of your cousin,” she said.
“He’s been busy. Triple homicide or something. Is this all you wanted me in here for?”
“No. I need a picture of Mr. Flouder.” She looked at the picture I handed her. “Is this recent?”
“It’s around a year old. He lost a lot of weight and some hair before he died, but he looked basically the same.”
“Would you like to check out Sendack while we take another run at him?”
“Sure. I’ve never seen the guy in person.”
Serena led me to a viewing area with one-way glass. It was empty and smelled like Simple Green, the industrial cleaner that Dad used to clean the bottom of his shoes after a nasty crime scene. Stuff gets through the booties if you walk through enough of it. I hated that smell once I was old enough to know what it meant.
Bart Sendack lounged in an orange plastic chair with a cup of coffee and a smile. Bart’s picture didn’t do him justice. He was relaxed and in control. I liked him with an instantaneousness that startled me. He was still the thin, sleazy guy from the picture, but his voice, his smiling eyes changed everything. Bart’d gotten through life on a wink and a smile and, if he knew the jig was up, he wasn’t concerned about it.
“I don’t know him, but he looks familiar,” said Bart. “I might’ve seen him on the street. Who is he?”
“Private detective hired to find you. He’s dead,” said Serena.
“I didn’t kill him.”
“Been to St. Louis lately?”
Bart shrugged, still smiling. “Nope. My ex lives there. I’m not her favorite person. I don’t blame her, but it’s best to stay out of her hair.”
“We’ll find out if you made any quick trips to the Show-Me State.”
“I didn’t. You can ask Bitsy. She’ll tell you. Am I being arrested for something?”
“I’ll let you know,” Serena said as she left the interview room.
She came into the viewing area and watched Sendack with me.
“Interesting,” she said.
“I can’t help it, but I kind of like him,” I said.
“Me, too. Some guys just have it. I don’t think he knows a thing about Flouder.”
“What did you pick him up for?”
“Back child support, but we’ll book him for everything.”
“Can you hold off on that and just stick to the child support for a couple days?”
“Why would we do that?” asked Serena.
“Just a favor to me. His ex thinks his family will pay his back support if he’s arrested for it. They might not if he’s got other charges and won’t get out whether she drops her charges or not.”
“How long do you expect us to stick to that?”
“Couple of days max. I’m guessing he’ll call for a bailout and let them know the situation. They’ll call Doreen to see if a deal can be made. I doubt he’ll tell them what else he’s been up to.”
“I’m sure he won’t. How do you know this woman, the ex?”
“I don’t really, but she’s decent and struggling because of Bart. Plus, she was Gavin’s last client. It’s a loose-end kind of thing.”
“I think we can let Mr. Sendack twist for a couple days. Let me know what happens with the ex.” Serena handed me her card and I took a last look at Sendack. It was about time a woman got one over on him.
Aaron drove me to the motel. Nardo still followed us, but there wasn’t a hint of a camera. He stayed in his car when we went inside. Aaron watched and complained as I packed, but it didn’t take long. We were on the road in an hour against his protests. He wanted to sample another rib joint, but I couldn’t be swayed. I wanted home, my home with the Target curtains, hand-me-down furniture, and Skanky purring in my ear. I didn’t want to talk or hear or think. Lincoln was a bust and once that thought came to me I couldn’t get rid of it. I took a full dose of painkillers in an effort to sleep it away, but it didn’t work. I went in and out of consciousness. The thought that I’d failed Dixie was waiting for me every time I came to.
Day faded to night and the rhythm of passing headlights mesmerized me, but failed to soothe. What would Dad have done? He would’ve found something or had a decent lead.
“I can’t believe this,” I said, interrupting Aaron in the middle of an explanation for his latest brilliant idea, a hash brown stuffed dog. A bad idea if I ever heard one.
“We could add egg.”
“No. Gross. Nobody is going to want egg and hash browns stuffed in a hot dog. There’s something wrong with you.”
“I think it sounds good.”
“You would,” I said.
“What’s wrong?” asked Aaron.
“Nothing unless you count the fact that I just wasted two days for nothing.”
“What for nothing?”
“We don’t know anything, Aaron.”
“We know stuff.”
“Oh yeah. What?” I asked.
“We know that Gavin knew who the stalker was and I got that recipe for blueberry pie.”
“I forgot. Now it’s all worth it.” I rolled over, putting my back to Aaron. But a little thing like a back wasn’t going to stop him. He told me about that blueberry pie till I fell asleep again.
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE CENTRAL WEST End was quiet for a Friday night, but then again it was three in the morning. Aaron double parked and lifted me out of the car. Not bad for a fat little guy.
I don’t remember getting in bed and pouring the glass of water that sat on my bedside table. A gentle hand woke me the next morning and that glass was the first thing I saw. Skanky had his head halfway in with his pink curled tongue making lapping noises.
“Aw, Skanky.”
“I’ll get you another glass.” Pete sat on the edge of my bed in yet another stained lab coat.
“Didn’t I leave him at my parents’?”
“I picked him up for you. I thought you’d want him home,” Pete said.
I rolled over and rubbed his thigh. “Were the Siamese tormenting him?”
“I guess so. Your mom said she couldn’t take the yowling anymore.�
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“Was there biting?”
“Maybe a little,” he said.
“Those damn Siamese. Why can’t they leave my little guy alone?” I stroked Skanky’s head while he kneaded my stomach, his claws snagging my tee.
“They’re territorial. I know how they feel. The whole world’s falling in love with you.” Pete bent over and kissed me. He looked like he hadn’t shaved since I left for Lincoln and his bristles poked my face. He pulled back and said, “Somebody keeps calling your cell. Your new message isn’t scaring them off.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know. They hang up on me,” he said and waited for me to comment.
I shrugged.
“Has that been happening a lot? The hang-ups, I mean,” said Pete.
“It’s no big deal. Just some weirdoes,” I said.
“That’s what I’m worried about.” Pete touched the fingers sticking out of my cast and flexed each one slowly.
“It doesn’t hurt,” I said.
“Good, just checking. How many pills did you take last night?”
“Two.”
“That’s it? I had a hard time waking you.”
“I’m sensitive.”
“Since when?”
“Sensitive to painkillers, dufus. What are you doing here?”
“Your mom called. Wanted me to check in on you,” he said. “She had a photographer following her too, but apparently he got bored.”
“Getting pretty tight with the parentals, aren’t we?”
“I wouldn’t say that. Let’s get you up.” Pete spoke to me like a patient. His carefully modulated voice made me smile.
“I’m not critically injured, you know.”
“I know.” He kept his doctor voice while drawing a bath for me. I undressed, slightly embarrassed to find I’d slept in my clothes. Aaron was a bad influence.
“You smell like hot dogs and cheap perfume,” Pete said as he poured in a liberal amount of bubble bath.
“You smell like an armpit.”
“It’s been a rough couple of days. What’s your excuse?”
“Aaron.”
Pete laughed and helped me into the bath. I watched while he stripped off his lab coat and scrub top. He gave himself a quick sponge bath and wet his hair. Rivulets of water ran down his back while he shaved.
“I find this kind of sexy,” I said, squashing my breasts against the side of the tub.
“Careful with that cast.”
“Uh huh.” I batted my eyelashes and tugged on his pant leg.
“I have to go. There’s a gall bladder in an hour I want.”
“That’s all you have to say to me?”
“Check your landline messages. Morty called and he didn’t sound happy.”
“He never does.” I set my breasts on the edge of the tub and rested my cheek on my good hand. “You really have to go?”
“I shouldn’t be here right now.” He redressed and kissed my forehead. I recognized the already gone look in his eyes.
“Call me tonight, if you can.” I could be a good girl with effort and Pete left with a flash of his lab coat.
I soaked in my tub for a good hour until the water went cold and the phone started ringing continually. No rest for the wicked, as my mother would say. I washed and went to unplug the damn thing. Caller ID said Uncle Morty. I was relieved until I answered. Another freak might’ve been more pleasant.
“Finally. What took so long?” Uncle Morty yelled. Did I detect a bit of worry in his voice? Not hardly.
“I have a broken wrist,” I said.
“I’ve been calling all morning. Get dressed and meet me at Kronos.”
“Why?”
“I’m hungry.” He hung up with a click so loud it hurt my ear. I lolled on the sofa in a weak attempt to feel rebellious, but curiosity got the better of me. Breakfast at Kronos was a new one. Aaron and Rodney didn’t serve breakfast as of two days ago. Maybe Morty found something and it wasn’t for the phone. Then again, paranoia was his friend and it might end up being nothing.
I put on a polo dress that my mother considered ill-advised. I liked the straight lines meant for a straight body, but I knew I was fooling myself. The dress pulled in all the wrong places. My breasts and hips shortened the hem, so I couldn’t bend over. Oh well, Pete liked it and his gall bladder would be over by lunch. I could stand the hospital cafeteria, if he could.
When I walked into Kronos ten minutes later, Uncle Morty waved me over to his favorite table under a display of firemen boots suspended from the ceiling. He says they remind him of a mistake he made that got him kicked in the head. I feel that way about the back seats of Honda Civics, but I didn’t want to sit under one.
“It took you long enough.” Morty glowered at me, motioned to the opposite seat, and handed me a paper menu.
“What’s this?”
“Rod decided to work up a breakfast menu.” I gave him a doubtful look and scanned the menu for hash brown stuffed hot dogs. Happily, they weren’t there. Rodney came out of the kitchen, pulled up a chair, and mounted it like a horse.
“What do you think of the menu?” he asked.
“Looks good. What started this?” I asked.
“Cops been coming in asking for breakfast before we open. I been fixing them up. If I’m gonna be doing it anyway, I may as well add it. Did Aaron tell you about his dog idea?”
“Please don’t do that. It’s too gross to be considered,” I said with a well-placed gag noise.
“Dog idea?” Morty looked at Rod with a curled lip. He reminded me of a cartoon bulldog.
“Aaron wants to stuff a hot dog with hash browns for breakfast. Nasty, but if I change it to a house-made split breakfast sausage on a sourdough roll heaped with browns and eggs, we might have something.” Rod smiled, his eyes crinkled and his eyebrows went to points. He looked like the Grinch getting ready to steal Christmas. Rodney had a great feel for what people, particularly men, would eat.
“I could go for that,” Morty said.
Rodney leapt up and looked at me.
“Why not. Go crazy,” I said.
Rod clapped his hands and sprinted into the kitchen, happy as all get-out.
I glanced out the front window and damned if Emil Roberts wasn’t loitering across the street, fiddling with a parking meter, and looking suspicious as hell. I turned to Uncle Morty and he snorted.
“Took you long enough,” he said.
“How long has he been there?”
“The whole time. Probably followed you from your apartment. You got instincts, you do.” He looked at me like I was too dumb to breathe. There was no point in reminding him that I was trained in IVs and illnesses, not detecting tails. Being that I was Tommy Watts’s daughter; much was expected. Plus, I wasn’t expecting to be followed. Nardo promised to back off and he had.
“Shut up,” I said.
“I got to give credit where credit’s due.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that. So why am I here?”
Uncle Morty stretched and took a sip of coffee. His expression changed from a look of amusement to restrained anger. “You need to change your number again.”
“I already did it twice,” I said.
“Yeah and you emailed the numbers to everyone you freaking know.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
Uncle Morty slapped a cheap throwaway cell on the table. “You use this. I email the number out. We don’t trust your provider anymore.”
I picked up the phone. Definitely wasn’t a lux model, but it came without crazy freaks. “You rock, Uncle Morty.”
“How’s the wrist?” he asked with another frown.
“Fine. So, what’s going on? I assume you didn’t bring me here just for the phone.”
“Who you want to start with?” He drummed his fingers on the table, each strike a hard thump.
“What are my choices?”
“The Girls or Gavin,” he said.
“Gavin,” I said.
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“Did you check out Wilson Novelties while you were in Lincoln?”
“No. Why? Was I supposed to?”
“Would’ve saved some time, but no. Another charge posted on Gavin’s account.” Uncle Morty’s fingers drummed harder. The sound echoed off the walls of the near-empty restaurant.
“Wilson Novelties? Isn’t that kind of late?” I asked.
“Paper charges take longer and I guess the owner wasn’t in a big hurry.”
“Sample’s fiancé ordered her something from there, right?”
“Yeah, but Gavin didn’t know that. He wasn’t working for Sample anymore,” he said.
“So he was really shopping,” I said. “He had a sweatshirt and a cookbook in his trunk.”
“That’s the stuff. I cross-checked his motel bill against the new charge.” Morty took another sip of coffee and paused for effect. He wanted me to jump to the bait. I was determined not to, but before I knew what I was doing, I said, “Well?”
“Twenty minutes after the charge at Wilson Novelties, he extended his stay by a day. That extra day he went to the university.”
“So he found something. Any idea what?”
“Nope. Owner doesn’t remember Gavin,” he said.
“Please don’t tell me you want me to go back to Lincoln.” I put my head in my good hand.
“Somebody’s got to check out that store.”
“Well, it’s not going to be me. Why couldn’t you’ve given me this information yesterday?” I asked, my head still in my hand.
“I got it when Visa got it,” he said.
“Crap, shit, fuck.”
Morty smiled, a rare thing, but he likes to hear me cuss.
“So, was that the good news or the bad news?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“It’s all bad,” he said.
“Great. Let me have it.”
“I found out about The Girls.”
I straightened up. The idea of helping someone alive had appeal.
“There’s a freeze on their bank accounts, all the accounts,” said Uncle Morty.
“Credit cards?”
“Frozen.”
“Lines of bank credit?” I asked.
“Frozen. They don’t have access to a freaking dime and they have a shitload of dimes,” Uncle Morty said.
“Who did it? Did you talk to them?”
