She used Dad’s old office on the third floor. All of the administrative offices were up there in what the Bulldogs called the “Penthouse.”
Mom kept Dad’s bookcases, desk and chairs but did the walls, windows and carpet in her own taste. She also added her photos including one of her and Dad the year they met working at the Observer. When I started working here, she took down my childhood photos. The office struck me as an odd mix of Mom and Dad, as if they both occupied the same space at the same time. Maybe that’s why she did it that way.
When she saw me come in, she took off her reading glasses, shook her head slowly from side to side and said, “Perceptions are powerful.”
I settled into one of Dad’s soft leather club chairs.
“Raquel, it won’t help either of us if staff thinks you’re getting favors.”
“Mom, you know that’s not the case. I happened to be where a story broke, called my editor and he assigned me. If a Bulldog called it in, you wouldn’t be talking to him.”
She snorted and ran her hand through her short silver hair. “As if one of them would have bothered to call.”
“Plus I called my editor. It’s not like I called you.”
“Darling, it’s just that I worry about you. It’s a mother thing. You’ll understand when you have kids.”
“I understand now.”
“I never get to see you. You finally come home from school and you go rent a room.”
“It’s an apartment.”
“It’s a studio apartment. It’s one room. You’re renting a room.”
“You could see me here.”
“I do see you here and it breaks my heart we can’t spend more time together, but I’ve got things to do and so do you. We don’t have time to socialize. Besides, it would just fuel resentment with the staff. Why don’t you come home?”
“Mom.”
“It’s just me in that big empty house. Come back home and you won’t even know I’m there.”
“Wouldn’t that negate the purpose of living with you?”
“Raquel.”
“Look, Mother. I’m my own woman now. How would it be if I’m living with my mommy? Oooh. If I come back home, can we get a cat? Maybe ten or twelve? And maybe if I ask permission, can I have a gentleman caller?”
“There’s no talking to you. You’re as stubborn as your father was.”
“Thank you.” I stood up.
“Raquel, please think about coming home.”
I didn’t tell her about Kara taking back her apartment and that moving in with Mommy might soon be my only option. Instead, this talk strengthened my resolve to find a new place. “Bye, Mom.”
I took the stairs down to my desk in the “bullpen” where the paper located the reporters. Bulldogs in the bullpen, it seemed that everything in this business was male oriented. Some of the old timers even referred to this advantage as the “dangle factor” as if swaying genitalia improved one’s reporting.
My phone rang and before she could say anything, I picked it up and asked, “What now, Mother?”
“I’ve been called a lot of things, but never Mother. Most folks just call me Robby. Well, OK, a couple of folks I arrested called me ‘Mother’, but usually not.”
“Robby, I’m so sorry. I thought my mother was calling again.”
“No, it’s me. What can I do for you?”
I wanted to tell him about the threats but I just couldn’t talk about them yet. “This is awkward. I don’t want to betray a confidence but I’m afraid that if the Police find out, it will look bad.”
“What’ll look bad? What are you talking about?”
“Farmer Finley is Brenda the Bearded Lady’s father.”
“How do you know that?”
“She told me.”
“You’re right. That does look bad. Brenda should have told us.”
“What are you going to do? What will happen? I don’t want to get her in trouble.”
“Don’t know. I’ll have to tell Cavanaugh. See what he thinks.”
“Robby, one more thing. Did you know that last year another man was killed at the carnival?”
“Yeah, I remember, Breaker Burke. A good detective learns to keep track of those things. Cavanaugh has that case too. He’s good. I don’t want to be in uniform forever so I took the detective exam. He helped me study.”
“Any connection between these two deaths?”
“Not that I know, but I haven’t seen the files.”
“Do you think I could talk to Cavanaugh?”
“Sure, but not about that case. He’d never talk to you about an open investigation.”
“I guess I should have expected that.”
“Yeah, he plays it close to the vest, but um, I’m glad you called, wanted to ask you about something. OK?”
“Sure.”
“It was really good seeing you again and oh, um, well, Raquel, you, ah, seeing anybody?”
His discomfort was cute. “No, nobody special. I dated at school but it was all casual. I’m too busy for a relationship right now. No Mr. Right. Not even Mr. Maybe. You?” I didn’t see any point in telling him how Danny Durham dumped me after two years for an upgraded version. It seemed odd when I found out I was a slimmer, taller version of his last girlfriend but it totally freaked me out when I saw his new girlfriend looked like me with bigger boobs.
“Nah. I got wrapped up in the baseball thing so I didn’t have time for anyone serious and then when my career tanked, I was lousy company. Now I’m on the force, I keep weird hours and a lot of women don’t want a guy in a dangerous job… not that I’d want to put a wife in that situation. It wouldn’t be right, but I like being with you and was wondering if maybe we could have dinner tonight… together.
“Robby, if you’re trying to tell me that you’re just looking for a casual relationship, that’s fine. I’d like that and dinner would be fun.” I didn’t tell him that, if the right guy came along, I’d like a whole lot more. My problem wasn’t work. The real issue was I hadn’t been lucky like Lucy or Kara. I was still looking for my own Stan or Tommy. I liked Robby but not for the long haul.
“Aw, that’s great. It’s not that easy finding someone to just go out with. A lot of girls want a commitment or they don’t want to date a cop or if they do, it’s for the wrong reasons.”
“Oh, Robby, I was going to ask for a favor, but no, it wouldn’t be right. Please forgive me.”
“What did you want?”
“No. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“It’s ok, Raquel, hit me. I’m a big boy and won’t be offended. Maybe I can help, maybe not. You won’t know till you ask. There’ll be no hard feelings.”
“You sure?”
“Sure.”
“OK. Can I get a look at the Burke murder file?”
“No, Raquel sorry.” Robby sounded disappointed. I didn’t know if it was because of my request or he felt bad he couldn’t help.
“That’s OK, shouldn’t have asked. Please forgive me for being pushy.”
“No, it’s OK. I get it. You’ve got a new job and you want to be good at it.”
“Thanks.”
Robby’s voice brightened. “Here’s an idea. How’d you like to do a ‘ride along’ with a patrol officer?”
“A what?”
“From time to time, the Department allows the Press to do ‘ride alongs’. It’s good PR for the PD and good human interest for the paper. I’m sure I can get permission. Maybe we can do one together, tomorrow.”
“And maybe run into some people who can shed light on that murder.”
“You never know who you’re going to run into on the street.”
“Sounds good to me, Robby. See you tonight.”
In fact, it sounded a lot better than what my Mother had to say. Moving in with her would not be a good idea. I pulled out my copy of the Chronicle and gave it another look. Except for the one number where I left a message, there weren’t any other apartment prosp
ects. Tomorrow’s Chronicle had better have some new listings or I was going to piss Mother off by paying for a copy of the Tribune.
Desperate, I redialed the number where I left a message before. If this place were any good, it wouldn’t be available for long. This time, a man answered, “Waalbroek Arms, how may I help you?”
“I’m calling about the apartment in today’s Chronicle.”
“You’re in luck. I had two vacancies and one is still available.” The man said I could see it if I came now, so I grabbed my bag and left the office.
His directions led to the North part of Waalbroek right off the highway and just inside of the city limits. It would be an easy commute. He was waiting outside of an open garage and when he saw me, he waved me inside and then hit a button closing the garage door.
He opened my car door, reached out his hand and said, “Hi, Dave Paisley. Indoor parking’s available for just a bit extra. No more clearing snow off the car.”
“Hi, Raquel Flanagan.”
“I guessed as much. C’mon, we can take the elevator to the unit.”
Paisley pressed “2” on the elevator panel. “This is real handy when carrying groceries. Of course, there’s a washer-dryer in a hall closet so hauling laundry really isn’t a problem.”
We exited the elevator and he opened apartment 211. It was beautiful with freshly finished hardwood floors and a separate bedroom. The kitchen was big enough to fit a small bistro table and the view from the living room was a big green hill. I walked over to the window and opened it.
“Phew! What’s that stink?”
“Oh, that’s the landfill. There’s still an open section they haven’t completed yet.”
“Does it always smell like that?”
“Well, it varies with the wind.” He reached for the window. “C’mon, let me show you the washer-dryer.”
“When will the open section be done?”
Paisley closed the window. “Hard to say, soon, I believe. Shall we look at the bedroom?”
“Soon next month or soon next year?”
“I don’t really know. It’s a city project. Did I tell you the rent includes basic cable?”
“I’m sorry. I love this place but I don’t think I could live with that smell.”
“How ‘bout I drop the rent $20 a month for the first year?”
I said, “No, thanks,” and headed for the door.
As I closed it behind me, he asked, “What if I included indoor parking for free?”
* * *
The hostess looked up from her podium and greeted us with a smile. “Welcome to D’Raquelos. Do you have a reservation?”
Robby said, “Yes, Carlyle, party of two.”
She marked something in the book in front of her, held two menus against the front of her classic black cocktail dress and said, “This way, please.”
We followed her through the main dining room where I ate the first time here. During my senior year in high school, a boy in my class wanted to impress me and he did. Tonight was Robby’s turn and he looked great in a navy sports jacket and a white silk shirt.
The hostess lead us to a booth in a dark quiet corner in a smaller room where she lit a candle sticking out of a chianti bottle. Soft Italian opera played in the background.
Most women would have found it romantic but I knew romance is more “who you’re with” than “where you are”. My abuela, Miranda, used to tell me, “A hot dog with the right man is better than a feast with the wrong one.”
As soon as we opened our menus, a black suited waiter appeared. He brushed his moustache with his fingertip and bowed.
“Good evening and welcome to D’Raquelo’s. Would you care for a cocktail?”
We started with a carafe of the house red wine the waiter recommended. He called it a Montepulciano D’Abruzzo. It was so smooth, it would be easy to overindulge. I had the eggplant parmigiana and Robby ordered the mussels. He attacked them like he hadn’t eaten all day. As we ate, Robby said, “Got the OK for the ride along. Tomorrow morning all right?”
“Sure.”
“Also spoke to Cavanaugh, He still thinks the Farmer died by accident but says I can ask around if I want to and I do. This thing with Brenda doesn’t sit right. Geez, why did she tell you about her Dad? It just makes her look bad. Does she gain from his death? She have any connection to that other dead guy, Burke?” He waved his fork in a circle. “Lots of questions. No answers.”
“There are a couple of other things you should know.”
“Yeah?”
“Someone sent me a reporter Kewpie Doll.”
Robby looked up from his plate.
“… and when I left Brenda at the carnival, someone threw a knife at me.”
“What?”
“They were just trying to scare me. If they wanted to hurt me, I’d already be dead.”
He put down his fork and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin. “It looks like someone wants you to back off. Any idea why?”
“They think I know something about Finley’s death?”
“Do you?”
“If I do, I don’t know what it is.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I have to find out what they think I know.”
Robby smiled. “Need some help?”
I felt relief for the first time that day. “I’d love it.”
We clinked glasses and Robby said, “Tomorrow, let’s go see Brenda.”
The rest of the evening, we talked about old friends and places I hadn’t thought about since starting college. It was fun and made me feel like I was really back home again.
We finished off the meal with coffee. Robby had a double espresso. Although the Peanut Butter-Chocolate-Banana mousse screamed my name, I had only a cappuccino with skim milk.
We decided to call it a night and Robby pulled up in front of my soon to be relinquished apartment. We got out of his car and walked up the stairs to my place where I stood with my back against my door and faced him. He raised his arm and leaned forward to kiss me goodnight but stopped, pointed and asked, “What’s that sticking out of your door?”
Chapter Five – The Loan Arranger
During my first hour at work, I must have reread that note at least six times. It nagged at me ever since Robby saw it stuck into the opening around my door. I could dismiss the doll in the box and the knife in the trailer wall. Maybe the Kewpie was just a prank. Maybe the knife just missed the practice board.
The note was different. It was in my door at my home. The sender knew where I lived. Someone wanted me to get that message. Maybe moving wasn’t such a bad idea after all. For the seventh time this morning, I read the note. “If you betray my secret, there will be dire consequences.”
The language was strange for a threat. “Dire consequences” sounded melodramatic, it seemed odd to include a four-syllable word and for some reason I was surprised that there were no spelling or punctuation errors. “Keep quite or Die” would have been more ominous.
When one of the reporters stage whispered, “Chickee, the cops,” I put the note in my bag, looked up and saw Officer Robby standing in front of me. A few of the other women in the office started to gather around. I heard one of the girls from Sales ask someone, “Is it Raquel’s birthday? I didn’t know. Is there a card going around? I didn’t get to sign it.”
One of the other women said, “No, he’s a real cop. He’s not a stripper.”
The Sales girl sighed in apparent disappointment, “Oh,” and the crowd dispersed.
I got up and hugged Robby, “Hi.” He was handsome enough that I understood the confusion… and the disappointment.
“You were going over that note again?”
“Yeah. Too bad the prints were unreadable.”
“So you’re trying to get extra meaning from the words?”
“Sort of… ”
“Just so you know. My dates don’t usually end at the Crime Lab.”
“Really? I bet you could start on
e there. That blonde tech was all over you.”
“The blonde?”
“Yep, the one that kept calling me Andrea.”
“Oh, her. You’re just annoyed because she couldn’t remember your name. Hmm, you think I should ask her out?”
I slapped him on his side.
He stood quiet for a moment, and then asked, “You up to doing this today? We could do it another time.”
“No, I’ll be fine, thanks. Just stand there and flex your muscles for a while I gather my things. I want to make the other women jealous for a little while longer.”
Robby rubbed my arm and it felt good.
I piled my things into my bag, took Robby by the bicep and said, “Let’s go.”
We got into Robby’s patrol car and I asked, “Where’re we going?”
“Wait and see.”
We drove a while and pulled up in front of Morty’s Dry Cleaning Store. Robby got out and said, “Come on.”
“You’re picking up your laundry?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t need me to come in for that.”
“You’re going to want to come in.”
“What’s the matter? You afraid that I’ll play with the siren and lights?”
“You’re going to want to come in.”
“OK”
The bell hanging on the door tinkled when we walked in and a hunched old man in a white dress shirt and baggy, grey trousers came out of the racks of clothes to greet us. When he saw Robby, his face lit up. “Officer Carlyle. How nice to see you.” The man held up a finger and disappeared back into the clothing racks. When he returned, he carried a W.P.D. uniform on a hanger. “Like new,” he said with obvious pride and handed it to Robby. “Good thing you didn’t try to get that stain out yourself.”
Robby put the hanger on a hook and took out his wallet. “Thank you, Morty. How much do I owe you?”
Morty made a face. “For you? Nothing.”
“C’mon, Morty. How much?”
Morty looked at me, then at Robby, then at me, then at Robby. “What? Is she Internal Affairs? What a shame. So pretty, too.”
I said, “I’m Raquel Flanagan, I’m a —“ and Robby interrupted me.
“— friend of mine, Morty.”
Falafel Jones - The Kewpie Killer Page 4
