Sleuthing Women

by Lois Winston

  “You—you have a lovely home,” I said, stumbling in my attempt to find an opener. “I saw the sign outside. Are you selling? Or did you just move in?”

  The two of them exchanged meaningful glances. Then Cathy squinted doubtfully at me. “The cops’ve already been here. You doing some kinda follow up? I mean, like since Garth’s latest whore got whacked?”

  The shock of hearing someone else speak of Autumn’s murder vibrated through me. “Oh,” I said lamely. “You knew about that?”

  “Well, duh. It was in the papers.”

  I reddened at the obvious hostility but, determined not to let her rattle me, crossed a leg and returned her aggressive stare. “I don’t believe her relationship to Garth was mentioned.”

  She folded. “Well, he said he had a girlfriend. Autumn, right?” Then she looked to her husband to back her up, but Godzilla just shrugged. “Mind you, I never met the bitch, but they’re all the same, Garth’s girlfriends; young, stupid, and their bra size bigger than their pea-brains. So are the cops going to arrest him for her murder?”

  Using a line from Caleb, I said, “I’m not at liberty to say. I’m sure he’s being questioned. I wanted to ask you about something else: Apparently someone turned him in on an outstanding warrant. I think it was child support.” I knew the answer to that question, but I had to look like I was hoping she’d make a slip and tell me something different.

  “Don’t look at me. Knowing that alley cat, he’s probably spawned half a dozen li’l bastards, and they’re all trying to collect.” She narrowed her eyes at me and then sniffed. “So, what are you here for? If he’s looking for an alibi, I sure ain’t it.”

  I said, “You told the detectives that he hasn’t been here to see his daughter, is that right?”

  She gave me a hard-eyed squint. “I already told the last one everything I know. Garth called Friday, said he was pulling into Reno and wanted to see his daughter when he got here. Reminded me he had a right to see her, now that he was paying child support. No notice, nothing. I could have refused, but what would have been the point, you know? The bastard hasn’t even had the decency to call.”

  “Not before Friday?”

  A thin eyebrow lifted. “We got an echo in here? He’s not in jail, is he? So why doesn’t he come for his kid?” I thought her husband was either a saint or a knucklehead to put up with this bird. “But now, I don’t think I’ll let him see her.” The bitterness glittered cheerfully in her eyes, and her voice picked up an edge as words spit out of her mouth like BBs. “We both work all the time so we can raise these two kids. The boy’s Dan’s and mine. But do you think Garth would lift a finger to help his daughter? She’s had dental work, school clothes and skating lessons, but he’s never contributed a dime ‘cept his court-approved child support. Eighteen hundred a month doesn’t go very far these days, you know.”

  “Then he’s been paying his support check on time?” I asked, wondering what it’d be like to have eighteen hundred a month tax-free.

  “For the last six months, but he still owes me a bundle. He ran my dad’s shop into the ground, you know, and I had to go through bankruptcy just to keep this house.”

  Dan’s ham-sized hand patted her shoulder in time to her diatribe.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, looking down at the spiral notebook. “Did he promise to pay you all of the back child support?”

  “Sure did. All seventy-five grand.”

  That confirmed what Caleb said. “And did he pay it?” I asked.

  “Didn’t I just tell you he hasn’t been here?”

  “No direct deposits?”

  “Not a penny. The bank called and said your people already checked. So why’re you asking again?”

  The front door slammed shut and a girl’s voice called from the hallway. “Mama?”

  Cathy and Dan exchanged looks. Something was going on with these two.

  I said, “Well, that’s all I have,” and snapping my notebook shut, I stood up. “You’ve been very cooperative, and I appreciate being able to take your valuable time.”

  They were a bit slow to follow my example, passing each other more silent messages. But then they stood and Cathy Thorne-Levorwosky ducked past me to make sure she got to the front of the line as we paraded down the narrow hallway for the front door.

  She nodded at the sound of her child’s footsteps coming down the hall. “Don’t think about trying to talk to my kid on your way out. She’s a minor, and you don’t have my permission.”

  At the front door, she pulled the girl behind her and opened the door to give me a little shove outside. “You wanna do something useful, why don’t you squeeze him for the back child support he owes me?”

  I had to work at keeping a neutral expression. Otherwise, I was sure this bird would see my suspicions, drag me back into her lair, and pick my bones clean.

  As the door closed behind me, I had the very clear impression that the girl knew exactly when her dad had come to town, and it didn’t match her mom’s version. The question was, what did Garth have to offer that would convince the mother to say otherwise? Seventy-five grand sounded about right.

  In the car, I called the realtor listed on the discarded sign at Cathy’s house.

  “Oh, sorry,” she chirped. “That property has been put on hold right now.”

  “You mean it’s under contract?”

  “Not exactly. They’re holding off selling. But we’ve got other hot listings in that neighborhood. Shall we make an appointment to see a few tomorrow? Or would you rather see something today?”

  I told the pushy realtor “no thanks” and hung up. She was about to sell her house, but something or someone had changed her mind. Seventy-five thousand dollars.

  I couldn’t wait to tell Caleb. My news sat like a newly discovered coin in my pocket, waiting to be spent. When he came on the line, I asked him what I thought was a simple question. “Has anyone thought to talk to the daughter?”

  He sounded miffed. “Let me guess. That was you at her house just now? No, don’t deny it. Detective Rodney got a call asking if we had sent a woman police officer.”

  “I didn’t tell her I was with the police. I said I was following up on the investigation.”

  There was silence for a minute, as his father’s antique chair protested its age. “All right. The answer is no, we haven’t talked to the daughter. Why do you want to know?”

  “First of all, Garth never said he was here to pay back child support, those were his ex’s words.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “I think he’s bribed her with the promise of back child support if she plays ball. She may sound belligerent, but it’s her cover. She’s his alibi. He was there Friday, not Sunday. And if you talk to the daughter, I think you’ll find that she’ll confirm it. Oh, and I almost forgot, there’s a real estate sign next to their garage.”

  “So?”

  Caleb’s succinct style was beginning to rub me the wrong way. I said, “She drives a beat-up Mercedes, her husband Dan’s an electrician, and since the name on his truck is Louie’s Electric, I doubt he’s making the big money. Also, there’re new plants in the yard, the house has been painted inside and out, and it appears all ready to sell. But get this, the agent said Mrs. Levorwosky recently changed her mind. No explanation, she just took it off the market. I think Garth promised her a split of his aunt’s money in exchange for an alibi. She gets her seventy-five thousand in one lump sum, but only if what she says confirms that he came into town Sunday and not Friday.”

  “That would keep her quiet? Somehow I thought she’d rather see him fry.”

  “She’s greedy, not stupid. I think the daughter will talk. She had been conveniently out of the house when I got there, but when she came home, Mommy suddenly got very nervous and told me she wouldn’t give her permission for the girl to talk to me.” I gave him some meaningful dead air time.

  He did that hmming thing for a minute more, then said, “Where will you be? I’ll want
to talk to you later.”

  “I have some errands to do. Are you going to get a warrant to talk to the girl?”

  “Meet me at Roxanne’s by five. Be there. We’ll talk.”

  Then he hung up. Once again, I got no thanks and no respect for my efforts.

  I decided to call Garth. Okay, so it was a knee-jerk reaction to getting left with a dial tone instead of the “atta girl” I was expecting.

  Garth was apparently rushing for an appointment to finish up the arrangements on his aunt’s funeral, but agreed to meet me at his RV park by six. We had a lot to talk about, and we could do it over dinner, he said. The thought of eating another meal with Garth gave me the willies. I said yes, but with every intention of canceling after my meeting with Caleb at five.

  Frustrated that I wouldn’t be able to immediately quiz Garth, I came up with a brilliant alternative. I’d search his motor home. Being a private citizen, I didn’t require a search warrant, and I didn’t have to worry about ducking past a cop either, since the police were tailing him, not his motor home.

  I got into the rental car and fished around the bottom of my purse for my cell phone. GTE kindly did a direct dial for the Modesto Mortuary.

  I asked the woman who answered if Mr. Thorne had arrived for his appointment regarding his aunt’s funeral. She was unsure. “Can you hold a moment please? Mr. Jones, our director, is in conference with a client.”

  I could hold and drive. If he wasn’t there, I would dive into Roxanne’s and eat an early lunch before proceeding with my skullduggery.

  “Sorry for keeping you so long, dearie, but Mr. Swartz has a very distraught mother to contend with, such a pity, a sixteen-year-old son who insisted on having a motorcycle, and now he’s gone. It just breaks your heart.”

  I hate funerals, hate funeral homes and everything and everybody who goes with them. I was still looking for a way to avoid attending Patience’s funeral, but so far without any luck.

  “Could I ask you to look and tell me if Mr. Thorne is perhaps in your waiting room?”

  “Oh, my. Is this an emergency, dearie?”

  “Well, you might say that, if you can find him.” If he answered, I intended to hang up.

  She was back in a flash. “No, there’s nobody waiting.” I could hear pages from a date book flipping. “Let’s see now, nine, uh, that was the mother, poor thing. We like to leave plenty of time between appointments, so as not to rush the bereaved. Ten-thirty, yes, here it is. That’s Mr. Thorne’s appointment time, but I think we’re running a bit late, so it’s a good thing he’s not here yet. Would you like me to have him give you a call when he arrives?”

  Garth was telling the truth. “No, he’s probably still at home, I’ll give him a call there.” And hung up before she could ask my name.

  If I had been her, I would have had the caller’s name and phone number before drawing a second breath, but then some folks are just naturally nosier. Then again, the receptionist might have been a mother with a motorcycle-driving teenager.

  I had time for that early lunch after all and, remembering to put on my turn signal, looked over my shoulder before changing lanes and took the exit to Roxanne’s. My exit was uneventful: no horns honked, no tires squealed as irate drivers were forced to brake at my passing. Not one middle finger salute accompanied my exiting the freeway. Gee, maybe I should drive like this more often.

  I ordered a BLT, no mayo, with an iced tea, and watched the ebb and flow of hungry patrons. Roxanne was gone, running errands. Leon was at his day job, no doubt sawing someone’s house in two. Maya was out of school for the day, bussing tables. She sidled over to my perch at the counter and grinned at me. Her grin made me smile and forget all my problems, if only for the moment.

  She removed my empty plate and swished at the counter with a damp rag. “Have they caught that lady-killer yet? I guess he got somebody else besides poor Mrs. McBride,” she said, nodding toward the empty stool at the end of the counter.

  “The police are looking into it,” I said, wiping my mouth of crumbs.

  “And what are you doing to catch him?”

  “Me? What makes you think I’m doing anything?”

  She giggled, leaned over the counter and whispered conspiratorially, “Mom says you do whatever you set your mind to, and you probably should be wearing a straightjacket for all the wild stunts you’ve pulled.” Then she winked. “I want lessons.”

  “Very funny, and I can honestly say there are plenty of others who would agree with her.” Of course, I was thinking of one person in particular. “Caleb is doing his best to find the person or persons, as best as he knows how. I am doing some, uh, minor research—at the library. Besides, Caleb would shit a brick if he knew I was snooping around on my own.”

  “I bet that doesn’t stop you.” She grinned. “So, where are you doing this snooping?”

  I froze. “Uh, wait a minute. I didn’t say I was doing anything illegal.”

  “‘Course not. Can I come?”

  I shook my head. “No, It’s too dangerous. Besides, what would your mother say?” I added, looking wildly around behind me, expecting a large brown hand to clap down on my shoulder.

  “She’s not here,” Maya said, shivering with delighted anticipation. “And I promise not to say a word. This is gonna be good!” she said, throwing off her apron and skipping out from behind the counter. At six-foot even and skinny as a pole, she still managed to yank me off my perch. “You need a posse and I got a free hour. Come on, let’s get going.”

  I dug in my heels, stalling while I tried to tell her why she wouldn’t want to join me. My clear-cut reasons were getting nowhere. Exasperated, I tried one last time. “You’re going to piss off your mama, leaving your job like this.”

  “Don’t let Mama hear you say pissed.” She dimpled, totally untroubled at the thought of her mama’s wrath. “You can say shit, Daddy does every time he drops a dish. But he mumbles so Mama pretends she doesn’t hear him. Besides, Mama says if I’m going to live in New York, I gotta start thinking for myself.”

  “I doubt this is what your mama had in mind,” I said, as she gave me a push toward the front door. “Roxanne will skin me alive.”

  I said no one more time, but she was out the door and in the passenger side before I could get into the truck and buckle up.

  Getting rid of Maya was going to be harder than I thought. “No, you can’t go and that’s final!” I tried shooing, then nudging at her, but she wouldn’t budge.

  “But, Aunt Lalla, I can help,” she said, long arms and legs clinging to the upholstery.

  “Listen, kid, if you want to get to New York alive, you’d better get out of this car now.” Kid, my ass, she was an octopus; for every limb I pushed out, another one climbed back in with yet another reason why she should be allowed to help me with my investigation.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Maya, secure now in her position as shotgun, clipped on her seat belt. “There’s a rumor going around in the café that Patience was hiding stolen money,” she said, her eyes sparkling in excitement. “Is that true? And the girl found murdered yesterday? The papers said she was from Oklahoma. Garth’s from Oklahoma, isn’t he? Was she Garth’s girlfriend?”

  I unbuckled my seat belt and got out. I walked around to the passenger side, opened her door and answered her quizzical look. “You drive,” I said, hoping she’d be too busy driving to batter me with questions. But if teenagers were multitasking athletes, Maya would have had a gold medal by now.

  “And no texting to your friends while you’re driving.”

  “I never text when I’m driving. Oh, boy, this is so exciting,” she gushed. “North? South? Freeway or frontage road?” She took her eyes off the road to look me over. “Mama says Garth likes you. I don’t suppose you would like him though, not if he has a girlfriend. Oh, she’s dead. So, that wouldn’t be a problem. Do you suppose—”

  When I groaned, she got the hint. “Okay, I’m cool. Where we going, anyway?”

 
; “Take the downtown exit at 9th Street.”

  “What’s—”

  “I have a hunch I want to follow up on,” I said. What I didn’t say was that, so far, handing out freebies to Caleb had garnered not one single “Thank you.” I was going to think like Caleb and look to uncover that last clue that would tie up the last of this mystery.

  At the rental lot, I told her to wait in the truck. Inside, the customer service zombie from my last visit was leaning on the counter, watching dust collect on the window. I waved a hand in front of him to get some attention. He woke up and gave me a noncommittal nod. “Oh. Didn’t see you there. Can I help you?”

  I pulled out my fake badge and held it up. It worked. His face turned a shade paler, and he grabbed at the counter.

  I reached out to steady him, but he flinched away from my touch, as if I might burn him.

  He was whimpering about his buddies and how it was their weed, not his, and he couldn’t lose this job because his folks said it was his last chance.

  I put the badge back into my pants pocket and held up my palm. “Stop. I’m not from Juvy; I could care less about you or your weed-smoking buddies. I’m investigating a murder.”

  I knew better than to say I was from the police department. Later, when he was sober, he might recall this conversation. “You may have read about it in the papers? The lady in the car that they found in the lake?” I hated to give credence to the sensationalist style of news reporting, but if it penetrated his foggy thinking, I was all for it. He gave me a blank stare. Nobody under thirty read the papers anymore; they texted. “Okay, how about this?” I tried. “I came in Monday and rented a car. It was the last one on the lot.”

  The glazed eyes begged me to disappear. Since that wasn’t going to happen, I tried again. “I’d like to see the customer list for this date,” and wrote it down on a piece of paper.

  His eyes rolled around in their sockets, looking for an escape. “Yeah. Like, I can do that.” Goody, I could almost hear the synapses firing up, in gear again. I only had to hold up the note with the date on it in front of him one more time before he stepped over to the computer and punched it in.