I swiveled my chair toward Zelda. "Yes, smart ass, I'm familiar with the concept. But Ron is terrified of going to the VA. There's got to be a reason."
Zelda smacked her forehead. "Yeah, he has PTSD and brain damage. That's a good reason to be paranoid." Zelda chuckled. "Scotti, I get the angle, but you're overreaching on this. Ron's afraid of the VA, so it's connected with Beidemeyer's volunteer work?" She squinted at the screen and then tapped it with her index finger. "His volunteer stuff isn't even directly connected to the VA." She stepped back and leaned against the door frame. "There's a million reasons why Ron could be afraid of the VA. Bad care. Mean nurses. The color red." She shrugged. "Who knows?"
I printed out Beidemeyer's profile page. "Well, maybe so, but I'm going to show this to Joe anyway."
Zelda shook her head and held up her hand. "That's a big no."
I took the print-out from the paper tray, stacked the pages and stapled them together. "Why?"
She gaped at me. "Because the case has nothing to do with Ron, the Iraq war or the VA. The only reason we're tailing Beidemeyer is to catch him in the act with his hoochie mama. No way are we coming up with more reasons to follow him." She narrowed her eyes at me. "Not to mention that if we poke into this, then we'll be lousy with cops in our lives. Again."
A few months before, we got involved in investigating the death of a friend. We were hassled by the cops and I landed in jail. And almost got killed too. I understood Zelda's reluctance, but Ron wasn't dead — just missing. And Zelda knew that investigations often lead to things you don't expect. You simply can't predict where an investigation will lead. I knew it was a stretch — but the military connection between Beidemeyer and Ron could still be relevant. "It's Joe's case. Let him decide."
Zelda's eyes shot heavenward. "You're like Boomer with a bone when you get all Miss Marple." She threw up her arms. "Can't you just go have sex with your boyfriend when you get antsy? Like any normal woman?"
Boomer's ears perked up, and he gave Zelda a hopeful gaze, but she pretended not to see it. He let out a doggie sigh, jumped off my lap and cold shouldered us.
I folded the Beidemeyer pages and stuffed them into my bag. "What's with you and all the sexual references." I eyed her. "Maybe you're the one who’s antsy." I sighed. "Where the hell are the guys?"
Zelda rolled her eyes. "We can't find the guys, so this is part of your military conspiracy theory too?"
I closed the laptop and cupped my ear with my hand. "What's that you say? Just another coincidence?"
Zelda mimed banging her head against the wall. "It's not a coincidence at all. A strange dude shows up, gives them money for information. They give him a load of bullshit. So they hide out until they're sure he's not coming back for his money." She swept out her hand. "No-brainer."
Zelda had a counter argument for everything I said. That was usually my job with her crazy theories. I dug my cell out of my bag and started a text.
Zelda frowned. "What are you doing?"
"I'm texting Ted to see if he can find Mike." I looked up at her. "Did you know that Mike has a cell phone and that he and Ted talk all the time?"
Zelda seemed interested. "No shit? I didn’t know Mike could even speak in sentences."
"No shit, Sherlock," I said and finished the text.
Chapter Seven
Knowing we'd be up late watching Beidemeyer, I took a nap but I woke up foggy and unfocused. I texted Ted for an update, but there was nothing to report. He promised to update me regularly and made some other promises that were more in line with Zelda's train of thought.
I made sandwiches, filled a vacuum bottle with coffee, and packed them for the long night ahead. Zelda prepped the go-bags and we were out the door.
We met Joe at a back table in the Starbucks on Nordoff. A venti cappuccino and an espresso brownie sat in front of him on the table. We scraped back chairs and sat. I stared at the espresso brownie — chocolate and coffee, that would put the rev back in my engine. When I reached for it, Joe slapped my hand away. "Get your own."
I pouted. "I just want a bite."
He pulled the brownie closer to him. "No, ma'am."
I rested my chin on laced fingers and batted my eyelashes. "I'll bake you a whole pecan pie." I wiggled my eyebrows. "A deep-dish, super-sized one.
The “no” that was on his lips quivered then vanished, and he slid the brownie across the table to me. "I got witnesses now, and that pecan pie better be good."
My mouth full of gooey brownie, I mumbled a “yessir” and gave him a thumbs up. Then I reached for his coffee and more hand slapping ensued. "Joe!"
Joe glared at me. "Y'all homeless now too, missy? Get your lazy butt outta your chair and get your own coffee."
Zelda cleared her throat. "Moving right along. Why are we meeting you here?" She pointed an emphatic finger at me. "Scotti, cut the shit!"
"But I'm firthsty." Her glare made me sit back, put my hands in my lap, and swallow loudly. "Okay."
Joe frowned at me for a second, then turned to Zelda. "Nothing happening with our Mr. Beidemeyer, as yet. But I want to sit on him tonight to see if he wanders out later on. And since I got his missus to put a tracker on his vehicle that should be a might easier.” He beamed at us and waited a few seconds, then cranked his hand. "You know, a GPS tracker thingamajig."
Zelda’s cocked her head. “Yeah, we know what a GPS tracker is — we just didn’t know that you knew what it was.” She patted his arm. “Well bless your heart Joe and welcome to the 21st century."
They exchanged a fist bump.
I smirked. "GPS tracker, eh? What about all that, real live eyeballs is what counts stuff?" I said lisping a little from the brownie sticking to the roof of my mouth. "You trading in country wisdom for modern technology?"
Joe looked down his nose at me. "Well Miss Scotti, a man can change his mind, can't he? After I saw how easy it was, I’m happy to report that it's a no-brainer as y'all like to say."
Joe was as flexible as a pit bull. And he was lost when it came to the latest technological devices — hell, he could barely manage his smart phone. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. "Uh-huh, and how'd this big change of mind come about?"
Joe looked longingly at the empty brownie wrapper balled up on the table. "I don't live in a cave, do I? I'm old, but I ain't dead yet."
I smirked. "Uh-huh." I raised a brow. "Said the man who only uses the Internet for email and looking up phone numbers. What happened. A flyer drop from the sky? A salesman show up at your door? What bolt of lightning opened the gates of modern technology for you?"
Joe looked up to his mental attic. "Well now, let me think. I might've had a conversation or two with somebody that knows about such things."
Ted had struck again. He hated the idea of Zelda and me tailing unknowns up close and personal and complained that Joe didn't use devices to be more accurate and keep his trainees safer. I nodded. "Okay, without mentioning any names are his initials Ted Jordan?"
Joe threw his hands up in the air like Scarlett O'Hara's direct descendant. "This is why I can't say nothing to you missy. You go flying off the handle and make everybody pay hell because you don't like something."
I bit back my irritation. "I don't care what you do, Joe. You want to use GPS trackers, that's fine with me. It might be a good idea. It might be safer. But what gets in my craw, as you like to say, is people going behind my back."
Joe shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Oh hush up child. You oughta thank your lucky stars you got a man who worships the ground you walk on." He gave me the grandpa stare that dares me to try to win an argument with him.
Dismissing the topic with an impatient hand and a huff, I scraped back my chair. With my hands on my hips I asked, "Are you going to show us how the thing works or lecture me all day?"
Joe grumbled, then led us out to his car and showed us the gear. The GPS unit on Beidemeyer’s car was the transmitter, and the laptop in the Lincoln was the receiver. With t
he flip of a switch, we were in business. Zelda hooted and whooped like it was free ice cream day.
We exchanged keys and Joe drove off in my Toyota, leaving us with the Lincoln. The Starbucks parking lot was only a few blocks from Beidemeyer's, so we stayed put and waited for him to move. Just as well because I needed a couple more of those brownies.
We settled in, listened to music, watched videos, texted, and drank coffee. If we were lucky, we'd never have to leave the parking lot. After a couple of hours, the sheer boredom of waiting for Beidemeyer to do something got on our nerves.
Zelda glared at me. "I can't believe you talked me into this."
I threw up my hands. "Here we go…"
"Oooh, let's be detectives, it'll be fun and interesting." She mimed choking herself, tongue hanging out and all. "Still waiting for the fun part."
I shrugged. "Nobody's forcing you to do it, Zee. You can quit any time you want."
She scoffed. "Like you'd do it by yourself."
I nodded. "I would."
Zelda snickered and buzzed down the window. The smell of coffee and confection wafted inside the car. "Ted would kill me if I let you do this by yourself."
I snorted. "You're only doing this because you're worried about Ted's reaction?" I patted her hand. "Don't you worry about that roomie, I can handle Ted. You want to walk away, then do it. Don’t let me hold you back. But don’t expect me to quit either."
Zelda muttered and pulled a sandwich out of the cooler. "It's just boring as shit." She uncapped the vacuum thermos and poured herself a coffee. "You want some?"
I pushed the offer away — the three brownies I'd already eaten were churning in my stomach. "To you maybe but I like to learn new things."
She bit into her ham and Swiss on rye. "How is being bored out of your head a new thing?"
I stared at the tracking screen. The pulsing dot that represented Beidemeyer was steady and unmoving. "Sure, sitting in a car for hours is a pain in the butt. So? It's just part of the job." I shrugged. "All jobs have boring parts. Don’t you remember standing around Manny’s waiting for a customer, any customer to walk through the door? But did you quit that? No, you didn’t."
Zelda chewed on her sandwich and said, “So?”
“So, I've learned a lot about human nature by doing this work. I really get it now." I glanced at her. "It's the kind of skill that'll be very useful in the future."
Zelda angled in her seat so she could look at me. She squinted at me and pointed. "You're planning something." I said nothing. "That's what this is all about? You have a private case you want to work, don't you? I'm right. I know I'm right."
My cell buzzed with a text from Ted. "Oh damn, I forgot." I answered the text and put the phone away. Zelda raised her eyebrows. "Family dinner at Ted's tomorrow night." I crossed my eyes and put my hands to my throat. "Kill me now."
Zelda laughed and nudged me with her foot. "Man, nothing scares you like the f word."
"Shut up."
"Big baby."
I put my hands together as if in prayer. "Go with me."
Zelda chortled. "Are you nuts? I'm not going anywhere near that. Forget about it."
"I need back up. It'll be seven against one. He has five brothers! Plus his mother!"
Zelda shook her head. "That's only six. Ted will be on your side. So really it's six against two."
I leaned over the console and took her hand. "If you come it'll be three against six. Much better odds. Please Zee."
Zelda sucked in her lips. "It's strictly family, right? Ted will blow a gasket if you bring me."
I squeezed her hand and looked into her eyes. "But you are my family." My eyes teared up. "You're the closest thing I have to a sister."
Zelda yanked her hand away and pushed me back to my side of the car. "Damn you playing the sister card. Not fair Scotti, not fair at all." I looked at her with pleading eyes. "Okay fine. But you better clear it with Ted before you show up with me." She pointed a warning finger at me. "I mean it, Scotti."
Movement on the GPS monitor pulled my gaze away from Zelda. "Is he going somewhere?"
Zelda stared at the screen and grinned. "Hot damn. Action at last." She snapped her fingers. "Let's go, let's go."
I turned the ignition and put the car in gear. "Show time."
We picked up Beidemeyer's Beemer on Sherman Way in North Hills and he led us through a labyrinth of surface streets to a house in Burbank. Curious. A trip that would've taken twenty minutes on the freeway he chose to spend twice that amount of time by taking surface streets.
I frowned. "He's either paranoid or knows we’re following him."
Zelda grunted an affirmative.
The Burbank house was on a quiet, tree-lined street with a mix of condos and single family homes. Beidemeyer pulled into the drive of a green shingled bungalow. The little house was quaint and well kept. Potted geraniums and asparagus ferns flanked the steps that led to a wide front porch centered with a bright red door.
As Beidemeyer raised his hand to knock, the door opened, and an attractive black woman in her thirties greeted him. I held out my hand, and Zelda placed the fancy camera in it. I brought the camera up to my eye, adjusted the focus, and snapped — getting two shots before they disappeared inside and the porch light was extinguished. I took a couple more shots of the exterior of the house and then lay the camera in my lap.
Pulling out of the parking space I backed down the street until our vantage point was diagonal to the house. You never want to be in a subject's direct line of vision. Buzzing down the windows, I said, "Stick your head out. Are we clear?"
Zelda poked her head out the window and scanned the street then ducked her head back inside. "Yup, not a creature is stirring."
We threw Hawaiian shirts over our tanks and shorts and tucked hair under ball caps then stepped out of the car. While putting on a show of house shoppers checking out the neighborhood, we strolled slowly past the bungalow. It was convenient that three houses on the block were for sale — one almost directly across the street from the bungalow. We lingered in front of the house, and I used the camera zoom lens to get a look inside the house. Though there were filmy curtains at the window I got a glimpse of Beidemeyer and his lady friend. The body language wasn’t friendly, and it didn’t look like I’d get a shot of them clutched in a passionate embrace. I took a couple shots before they moved away from the window.
We waited for a couple minutes to see if they’d show themselves again but I felt too exposed on the street so we returned to the Lincoln and waited. Good thing too, because a couple of minutes later the front door banged open and Beidemeyer stepped out to the porch, shaking.
I raised the camera to my eye. "He’s not a happy camper, is he?"
The black woman cried and pleaded with Beidemeyer to come back inside. But he refused, pulled away from her, and hurried down the steps of the porch.
She went from teary pleading to hellfire anger — like someone had thrown a switch. She shook her fist at him. "If you leave you better not come back. You hear me? I'm done with your sorry ass."
Beidemeyer shot her one backward glance and fumbled to get his keys out of his pocket.
The woman bent over the railing and taunted Beidemeyer. "And it's just your word against mine. You remember that, Carl." She stabbed her finger at him. "You remember that good. You hear me?"
But by then Beidemeyer was in his car and backing out of the drive. His tires shrieked against the pavement as he sped away.
The woman remained slung over the railing watching in the direction Beidemeyer had fled. I studied her through the camera lens. "Maybe she's on drugs, or meds." I whispered to Zelda. "She looks like she's going to cry again. Or spontaneously combust."
Zelda nudged me. "Take another shot then let’s get the hell out of here."
I swatted her hand away. "It's too quiet, she might hear it." And she turned in our direction. "Duck."
Zelda and I lay across the console, faces inches apart. Zee whispered
. "Is she coming over here? Did she see us?"
I put a finger to my lips, and Zelda shut up. The slap of bare feet against pavement moved toward us. My adrenaline pumped. "Shit, shit, shit! Hang on!"
I popped up in my seat, turned the ignition and pulled a u-turn out of the space, then hit the gas. Zelda turned and looked through the rear windshield. "Crap, she's running after us." She turned back to me and clutched my arm. "She's actually running after us."
I barely tapped the brakes when we reached the corner and slid through the stop sign, praying some under quota cop hadn't chosen that neighborhood to make up for his deficits.
After three blocks of speeding and running stop signs, Zelda squeezed my arm and said, "Okay speed racer, you can chill out now. We lost her after that first stop sign."
M.urder R.eady to E.at (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 2) Page 4
