“Howdy!” I called, and stepped carefully down the embankment. “I was in the neighborhood! Thought I’d stop by!”
Patricia smiled unenthusiastically and allowed the swing rope to go slack, which caused Tyler no end of grief.
“Keep swinging,” I told her, once I was beside her. “Don’t disappoint him.”
Obediently, she started pushing again, but less energetically, so that Tyler again squawked.
“Do you want me to do it?” I suggested. “I felt bad about not being able to talk to you yesterday when you called. So I just thought I’d come by. Sort of for an update.”
She brightened and moved aside so that I could push Tyler, who gave me only one command: “Really hard, okay? Really hard.”
“Okey-doke,” I agreed, and gave him a good push as Patricia flopped onto the grass, watching us. Tyler squealed with delight. “Hey, buddy!” I called to him as he lofted up over the bill. “I’m a swing pusher from way back! I’m the queen of the swing pushers!” I gave him another vigorous shove and he yelped happily.
“Be careful,” Patricia cautioned.
“One of the reasons I’m here is that I want you to be careful,” I said in a normal voice so as not to frighten Tyler. “John Richard is out on bail. And now he’s disappeared.”
She lifted her pale eyebrows. “I took tae kwon do before I got pregnant and after I got out of the hospital. Have a red belt, black stripe, now. I can take care of myself. What’s the other reason you’re here?”
“Well, I was just thinking about John Richard’s finances.”
She wrinkled her rabbitlike nose. “He had to auction the condo just … what? In the last ten days.”
“But why auction it at all? See, he hadn’t gotten news about his bonus yet—”
Patricia perked up. “Bonus? Did he not get a bonus from ACHMO?”
“Apparently not.”
Patricia’s grin was wide. “I may be able to use that in my suit.”
“Anyway, I’m just wondering …” I gasped from the exertion, but Tyler crowed with delight. “You said you’d give me the details at the hockey party, but everything got so crazy … “
She smiled wickedly. “Oh, I do know why he had to auction the condo, Goldy. My husband said it was almost as if I’d planned it, so I could make Korman miserable.”
I inadvertently stopped pushing and the swing knocked me in the abdomen. I recovered, but Tyler howled. I pushed again, a tad more moderately. “Why did he have to auction off his condo?”
She squinted at me. Keeping track of Tyler’s trajectory so I wouldn’t get whacked again, I couldn’t return her look. “Because of his legal bills. Have you ever been sued?” When I shook my head, she said, “You’re looking at ten thousand just to get started. At least fifty thou to keep your lawyer going. Sure, he had malpractice insurance, but it didn’t cover everything, not by a long shot. He just didn’t have the cash he needed.” She plucked a piece of grass from her pants. “I was so happy when they auctioned off that condo, you can’t imagine.” She chuckled, then stood and brushed the rest of the grass from her pants. She walked over to spell me with the swing pushing. “Goldy, listen. I may wish I were God,” she said very deliberately. “Unfortunately, I’m not. But let me tell you. John Richard Korman hasn’t begun to suffer for what he did to me. And he won’t be able to escape, no matter how hard he tries.”
As if in agreement, Tyler emitted an earsplitting yowl. I fled.
I called Macguire from the cellular once I’d roared out of Patricia’s driveway. To my astonishment, he answered on the first ring.
“Goldilocks’ Catering!” He brightly launched into my official greeting. “Where Everything Is Just Right! Whaddayawant?”
“Macguire! Please don’t say ‘whaddayawant?’ to potential clients. It sounds unprofessional.”
“Oh, Goldy! Sorry! No problem. Listen, I’m chopping all these vegetables. They look good, too! Think you should slip a little chlorophyll into the filling?”
“No,” I said firmly. “Listen, did Arch call?”
“No, but that therapist’s office called you back and said everyone’s on vacation. You want a therapist for Arch, you’re going to have to use a referral to someone in Denver.”
Great, I thought. First, of course, I’d have to convince Arch to come home.
“Also,” Macguire went on, “Mrs. Druckman called. She’s taking Todd and Arch down to the Natural History Museum. Oh, and Marla called, too. She was on her way to Denver to see ReeAnn, wanted you to come have lunch with her, just so you could relax! But it’s too late now, she’s gone.”
“That’s okay, I’ll come home.”
“No, don’t! Let me finish what I’ve got going here. If you come home, you’ll just mope around about Arch. You should go out for lunch! How about Aspen Meadow Barbecue? My buddies and I think it’s great. Plus, you’ve got that dinner tonight, you might as well get some food now! Have a bowl of chili and a beer! Relax and leave the chopping to me!”
“Macguire—”
“Oh, oh, scrrk, scrrk”—he started making fake squishing noises—“you’re breaking up, you know, it’s those scrrk scrrk cellular phones scrrk!” And he disconnected.
“Macguire,” I said to the dead phone, “I’ve seen you do this trick before.” But I smiled anyway and dutifully headed the van in the direction of Aspen Meadow Barbecue, famed creekside hangout of construction workers, truck drivers, wannabe cowboys, and assorted tough guys, all of whom had the single-minded intention of getting completely smashed at lunch. An outdoor dining area separated the hard-drinking crowd inside from tourists and the occasional brave group of ladies coming for a luncheon get-together on the water. The last time Marla and I had eaten there, she’d told me that the de rigueur item for the crowd inside was extra hot chili consumed with shots of tequila.
But Marla wasn’t with me today, I remembered. I sighed. Did I really want to have lunch out alone? Macguire was doing the prep for the dinner tonight, and I could use a break. Across the street from Aspen Meadow Barbecue was a banner draped across the wooden sign of Aspen Meadow Nursery. It advertised a perennial-and-bush sale. I thought of Frances’s admonition: You need a hobby. Well, maybe I’d go scope out the shrubs before braving the rough lunch crowd at Aspen Meadow Barbecue.
I wandered through sparsely stocked aisles and finally decided on some Fairy roses. The bushes featured lovely pink blossoms and were guaranteed hardy at our altitude, a key asset. As I loaded them into the van, I pictured Tom getting a huge kick out of my sudden interest in things horticultural.
Wait a minute. I stopped dead and looked again at the carved sign: ASPEN MEADOW NURSERY. In the list of questions I’d entered into my computer about Suz Craig’s murder, had I even thought to look into these people, also fired by Suz Craig? No. Well. No time like the present.
I hustled back inside and told the cashier that on second thought I’d like to have my yard landscaped. And I wanted to have the same person who’d done Suz Craig’s in the Aspen Meadow Country Club. Suz had raved to me about the great work he’d done.
The cashier’s face fell. “Uh, you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, Duke’s out in the yard. Big blond fellow. Better go catch him, he does an early shift, then goes out with the guys for lunch on Wednesdays, then he goes home and sleeps. I have to tell you, Duke didn’t like that Craig woman. You might want to find somebody else, if she was your friend. He had a big grudge against her. Still does, even if she’s dead.”
Yes, yes, I thought, take a number and get in line. The cashier pointed me in the direction of the nursery’s yard, which was on the same side of the street as Aspen Meadow Barbecue. The man at the yard gate pointed to a Paul Bunyanesque, platinum-haired giant who wore ear protection and drove a Cat loaded with mulch. The gate guard waited until the Cat had turned in our direction, then waved to the giant, whom I assumed was Duke. Duke dumped the mulch in the waiting bed of a truck, then chugged over to us.
He flipped a switch and the engine died. He hopped out of the Cat and loomed over us—he was at least six foot six—and asked the gate guard what he wanted, for crying out loud. The guard jerked his thumb in my direction.
Duke turned his attention down to me. His dark blue eyes were not friendly. The bus-yellow ear-protection device dangled from one of his meaty hands, and I had the feeling that if he didn’t like what I had to say, he’d pop it right back on. I looked way, way up at him.
“Ah, I understand that,” I began sincerely, “you did some landscaping for Suz Craig. I thought it looked great.”
“Yah, what about it? You a friend of hers?”
“Well, sort of—”
“Okay, see ya later,” he said abruptly, and snapped the ear protection back on.
“Wait!” I yelled. Duke scowled, opened his eyes wide, and tugged off the metal ear muffs.
“I gotta go, lady. I’m going out to lunch in a few minutes and I need to finish this load. You want a landscaper, ask the people at the nursery to give you a referral someplace else. I don’t want to work for nobody who liked that woman. Got it? See ya later, okay?”
“Well, hold on,” I said, desperate now. “Just talk to me. I don’t really want landscaping. I catered for Suz Craig and I’m having some problems—”
Duke smirked knowingly. “Ah, she stiffed you, too, huh?”
“What?” Then I understood. Suz Craig had refused to pay him for his work. I assumed a sad expression. “We had terrible problems,” I confided.
Duke looked at the sky and shook his blond head. “Honestly, people like that—”
“You heard she was killed.”
“Yah. No wonder.”
“So you thought she was hard to deal with, too. I’m just wondering if your story is similar to mine.”
“I’ll tell ya, I’d have to be half plastered to tell my story about that woman. But then you wouldn’t be able to shut me up.”
Inspiration struck. I asked, “How quickly can you finish your load?” He grunted something unintelligible. Undaunted, I went on. “How does tequila and chili sound? My treat.”
Duke grunted again, something that I decided to take as a yes.
I said, “Let’s do lunch.”
Chapter 26
Inside Aspen Meadow Barbecue, there was only one free table. I quickly nabbed it for Duke and me while scoping out the restaurant’s interior. All I needed now was someone I knew informing my new drinking buddy, Duke, that my husband was a cop. That could put a chilling effect on our lunchtime chat. But of the two dozen men ranging from scruffy to burly at the bar and tables, no one looked familiar.
Once Duke had seated himself and called greetings to a few of his pals, I slipped over to the bartender. “Two tequila doubles for my friend, but just give me water, because I’m driving us home. When I signal, bring us the bottles. Put water in mine. I can’t drink, but I don’t want him to feel as if he’s drinking alone.”
The bartender, who sported a stiff handlebar mustache, squinted at me appraisingly. “You trying to keep him away from the wheel, or you trying to get him into bed?”
I pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of my pocket. “Just please do what I ask.”
He palmed the bill in a way that suggested he’d been bribed before. “I’ll give you something besides water, to look more realistic. Tell you the truth, I’m glad somebody’s driving Duke home. Every Wednesday I gotta call somebody from the nursery to take him.”
Soon Duke and I were crying “Skol” and clinking our first glasses. I took a tentative sip of what turned out to be flat Mountain Dew.
“Whatcha drinking?” Duke wanted to know, his tone already mellowing from defensive to chummy.
“Different kind of tequila. Lime-flavored.” We chugged our second shots companionably and I sneaked a peek at my watch. Just past noon. I needed to be home to put together the doll club’s dinner no later than three. Subtracting time to get Duke back to his place, that gave us about two hours. I signaled to the bartender to bring us the bottles. The man was so inventive, I had no doubt he could provide a suitable container for my Mountain Dew.
Duke smacked his lips. “Ah. Well. So. What happened to you with that woman? You trying to get money out of the will? That’s what I’m doing. Lawyer says it’ll take at least a year ‘cuz a the criminal investigation. My plants’ll croak by then.” He shook his head unhappily.
“No! Actually, see, I have a different kind of problem. My ex-husband’s the one who’s been accused of killing her—”
Duke grinned broadly. “Oh, boy. Mind if I smoke? It’s not tobacco, it’s a clove cigarette. Heard of ‘em?”
“No, but go ahead.” In a minute the spicy smoke rose in a cloud. I gagged but plunged onward. “I catered for Suz Craig, even though she was my ex-husband’s young, blond girlfriend. No grudges, you understand. But now her death has made a real mess for my family. You know, everybody blaming everybody. So my problem is that I keep looking back at what happened and thinking, How could I have prevented this?”
The bartender arrived and winked at me. He set a tequila bottle in front of Duke and a black ceramic decanter in the shape of an Aztec goddess in front of me. Cute. Then the waitress arrived and Duke informed her that we wanted two bowls of their hottest chili. I thought longingly of a crisp, cold arugula salad and how well it would go with iced coffee.
“What could you have done to prevent it?” Duke now repeated incredulously, shaking his big head. “Nothing. Not a damn thing. Some people are just that way. Bossy, impossible to please. Nothing you do is right for them. I always want to ask new clients, Are you an asshole? ‘Cuz if you are, I’d like to know up front. Save us both a lot of time. But, a’course, the nursery owner won’t let me.” He shook his head again.
“How was Suz Craig bossy to you? She seemed to like the landscape work you were doing when she showed it to me.”
Duke raised his bushy blond eyebrows, then tilted the tequila bottle toward his glass. “Oh, sure, she lied. You think everything’s fine, when all the time she’s getting ready to axe ya. But plain and simple? The woman was a bitch. Too damn smart. Never had to learn how to deal with regular people. Tolerance, you know? She didn’t have none. Patience neither.” He quaffed another double shot. “For example. She trips on her in-grade steps made outa four-by-fours, the ones she ordered, and all of a sudden she wants new steps. Only she wants flagstone this time.”
“Flagstone,” I repeated. “Like the patios?”
“Yah. So we order more flagstones and put ‘em in the garage with the stuff we’ve hidden from the vandals. We build the steps. She doesn’t like the way they look. Fifteen thousand dollars and two weeks’ work time from my crew, and she says, Take out the flagstone, I want granite. Where’m I supposed to get granite steps? I say, Ya want an escalator? I know a guy.”
“Someone did fall down the steps and sprain his ankle,” I pointed out.
The tequila bottle was rapidly emptying. “Oh, I know, believe me. Big fat guy, shoulda watched where he was going. But it isn’t just them steps. She wants white tea roses alternating with pink musk mallow. This is a harsh, dry climate, I keep telling her. Ya want tea roses, ya need Florida. Even if ya put in rugosas, ya need irrigation. Fine, she says, just do it. So we put in a water tank and a drip system. But then she doesn’t want to see the water tank, right? So we have to wait to put in the rugosas and mallow until a picket fence goes up. And then she says, Ooh, ooh, I need stepping-stones around the picket fence. I say, How ‘bout marble? And she gets all huffy.”
Our chili arrived. One bite of the fiery concoction almost sent me running for the creek with my flame-spewing mouth wide open. Instead, I drank deeply of the Mountain Dew, right out of the Aztec goddess decanter.
“Damn,” said Duke admiringly.
I ripped into several packages of saltines, dumped them over the chili, and ate cracker crumbs as I unabashedly wiped tears from my eyes. When I could finally clear my throat, I asked, “So what
finally happened?”
He stopped shoveling chili into his mouth, chewed, and considered. “After all her complainin’ and moanin’ and us tryin’ to accommodate her? One day we show up as usual, though I’m thinkin’ I’m going to have to give my crew a year’s worth of free beer to keep ‘em on this job, and she comes out and says we’re fired. The fat guy’s fallen down the steps and she doesn’t want to get sued. I say, Fine, lady, we just need our tools, and she says. Make it snappy.”
He ate more chili. I filled his two double-shot glasses. He drank, then sighed. If the chili was scorching his throat, he gave no sign of it.
“Down by the picket fence there are the rugosas and musk mallow that we just planted. But doggone if she hasn’t put in a friggin’ half-dozen marble stepping-stones, next to the plants, around the fence. Did she do it herself or hire somebody else? I say, Hey lady, who did this? I was only kidding about the marble, I say, and she says for us to get out pronto and send her a bill.” His face turned morose. “So the nursery, you know, it takes them about a month to itemize the bill. She hasn’t even gotten our bill and she’s dead.” He ate more chili without a wince, then slugged down another double shot.
“What a mess,” I said comfortingly.
Duke shrugged. His eyes had taken on a wet, bleary look. “I asked the cops … I said, Could we at least have our plants back? Because I figure we earned them.” He drained another shot glass. “They said … You know what they said to me?”
“Probate.”
“Yah, they said I’d have to wait until probate was over. Until the investigation was done. I said the plants would be dead by then. We never put a pump in the irrigation system.” He scraped the last spoonful of chili from the bowl, poured another double shot of tequila, and downed it. How many had he had? I’d lost count at ten. “Some night when I’m trashed? I’m going to go back over there. Dig up those plants we put in. Nobody’ll miss them. Pee on her patios, too, while I’m at it. Matter of fact, I should go right now.” He regarded me sadly. “Wanna come?”
The Grilling Season Page 28
