Jake Hancock Private Investigator mystery series box set (Books 1-4)

by Dan Taylor

  “Where are you now, Megan?” Carl asks.

  “I’m on my potty. Pooping.”

  Bingo!

  “Climb back up the rope, Megan. Here that, honey? Climb back up.”

  I say, “No, wait!”

  He turns to me, “Are you sick?”

  “This is important!”

  “Why?” The stress of situation has brought out Carl’s southern drawl.

  “This is why we came here.”

  “What, to hear about Megan’s potty time?”

  “Yes…no. Just ask her a few questions, will you?”

  Carl sighs, looks up at that certificate. Probably imagining the next FBI agent who visits taking it away.

  He needs some persuasion.

  I take out my wallet.

  “I don’t need any more money.”

  “What do you want then, Carl?”

  He takes time to think. “Give me your sweater.”

  Much in the same way Donnelly took the money I offered him, Carl takes the sweater. Then he folds it neatly, holds it to his cheek a moment. “It’s real soft.”

  I’m starting to think that little league game was made-up, a way of getting more money out of me.

  Carl says, “What should I ask her?”

  “Ask her if Mommy and Daddy are around.”

  “Of course they are, stupid.”

  “Just do it, anyway.”

  Carl turns back to Megan. “Megan, honey, are Mommy and Daddy around?”

  Megan giggles, then says, “Of course they are, stupid.”

  Carl turns to me, mouths I told you so, then says, “What now?”

  “Ask Megan if she knows what Mommy and Daddy are called.”

  “Megan, what are Mommy and Daddy called?”

  Megan’s forehead creases. “Why?”

  “I’d just like to know.”

  “Are you lost, mister?”

  “No, I’m not lost, honey.”

  “Then why are you asking me these silly questions?”

  “Because someone thinks it’s important.”

  I don’t know if Carl was expecting a tip, but he certainly isn’t now, with the hateful look he sends me.

  Megan asks, “Is the person that’s asking a fwiend?”

  “He’s a friend, Megan.”

  “Good. Then Judy and Paul.”

  I say, “Ask her who Judy and Paul are.”

  Now I’m really grinding his gears. “Why?”

  “Just ask.”

  Carl sighs. “Honey, who are Judy and Paul?”

  “Are you sure you’re not lost, mister? They’re Mommy and Daddy, silly.”

  17.

  “JUDY AND PAUL?” I ask.

  “That’s what she said,” Carl says.

  “But that doesn’t make any sense. Is it possible that this whole thing’s been a crock of shit?”

  “Absolutely not!”

  I believe him. I’d have my suspicions if not for the bit about the Action Man.

  I expected a different dad’s name. That’s why we are down here. But a different mom’s? Now whatever I thought was going on here has been blown out of the water.

  “Are we finished?” Carl asks.

  “Yeah, wake her up.”

  “Okay, Megan. I want you to start climbing the rope again.”

  It takes a quarter of the time it took her to fall all that way to climb back up.

  I expect Carl to snap his fingers, say something, like a safe word during rough sex, but Megan seems to wake all by herself. When she opens her eyes, it’s clear she doesn’t have a clue about what’s happened.

  Carl hides the ugly side he showed me. “You did good, honey.”

  “Geez, what happened?” she asks.

  He goes to speak, but I butt in. “Nothing, Megan. He tried to make you dance like a chicken, and I demanded he wake you up.”

  “Now hold on a minute!”

  Megan looks from me to him, confused.

  Before Carl has time to speak again, I grab her by the hand, start leading her out of the basement.

  “She has a right to know what she said, Mr. Hancock.”

  We rush up the stairs, and the last thing I hear Carl Sleeperson say is, “And she has some unresolved daddy issues we should probably work through,” before I close the door.

  Donnelly’s sleeping, and we put on our shoes and socks, but he wakes with a start as I drag Megan past. He says, “Why are you in a rush?”

  I ignore him.

  Megan says, “Jake, what’s going on?”

  I wait until we’re speeding away from Carl Sleeperson’s property before I answer. “Nothing, Megan. He’s just a quack. Like we suspected.”

  “What was that about daddy issues?”

  “He was just trying to hook us into booking a second session. He’s a fraudster.”

  “Oh.”

  18.

  WHY DIDN’T I tell Megan what really happened? That’s a good question. I wish I knew myself. Don’t press me for it now. You’re going to have to trust me. And Megan will, too, though I suspect she might take a bit more convincing than you. If it comes to it, I’ll bury what happened in lies. I’ve done it before.

  19.

  “IT ALL SEEMED a bit strange. The way we ran out like that,” Megan says.

  We’ve only just got over the excitement of the whole Carl Sleeperson experience. There are many miles to go until we’re back at the Books’ residence and she’s asking probing questions. Usually, my phone goes off like a Brooklyn housewife after too many glasses of chardonnay, so I wait, hoping that it rescues me.

  It doesn’t.

  I ask, “Does it?”

  “Yeah. And what Carl said as we ran out was curious. What daddy issues?”

  “When he referred to daddy, he meant himself.”

  “How so?”

  Now it starts ringing, and I can’t wait to get it out of my pocket. I check it, turn away from Megan and hide my wincing as I look at who’s calling.

  “It’s my wife. I better get this.”

  There’s something I thought I’d never say.

  Megan turns to look out the window, her mind ticking over.

  “Hello, Regan.”

  She doesn’t say anything, just makes a snakelike hiss.

  “And it’s good to speak to you, too.”

  “That was the sound of a snake.”

  “Thanks, I got that.”

  “Which is you. The snake, I mean.”

  “Again, got that.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Currently slithering around, looking for a rodent that forgot to have his morning cup of joe.”

  “Thought as much.”

  “This is the second phone call in two days. I really hope you’re not falling back in love with me.”

  “I’d rather have my legs amputated and then switched around, so that my left foot and calf is on my right thigh, and vice versa.”

  I sigh. “Seriously, Regan. I’m working. What do you want?”

  “It’s about our divorce.”

  “What about it?”

  “I’m sitting in front of the papers, now.”

  “Then sign them, and we can say fuck you later for the last time.”

  “What if I’ll miss saying that?”

  “What? Fuck you later?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That would be like missing a brain tumor after it’s been removed.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do. And the brain tumor simile is still pertinent.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Regan, don’t be like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “A manic-depressive who’s off her meds.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I make the hissing sound.

  “So?”

  “Not only do our conversations consist entirely of arguing, but the greetings and parting phrases are argumentative, too. And now you want to start being all n
icey nicey.”

  “Nicey nicey?”

  “I heard it on a program.”

  “Don’t say it again.”

  I sigh again. “Look, the point is, you can’t phone me up two days in a row. In fact, you shouldn’t phone me up at all. And you can’t demand what terms I heard on television should or should not become part of my regular vocabulary. All you can do that involves me is sign the divorce papers.”

  “I have something to tell you that will change your mind.”

  I’m pissed now. “The only thing that you can tell me that would change my mind is that you’re booked in for a complete personality overhaul with the world’s leading brain transplant surgeon, are planning to have complete body plastic surgery to change every single feature of your appearance, and that instead of liking romantic comedies you now like Martin Scorsese’s whole movieography.”

  She begins to cry, then gets herself together enough to speak, “Well, if that’s how you feel?”

  “It’s how we both feel.”

  She hangs up.

  I didn’t enjoy it, but it bought me some time. Megan’s distracted from the conversation we were having before Regan phoned. “Wow, did you guys ever think of going to see a marriage counselor?”

  “We tried one. He recommended we get a divorce straightaway.”

  “Really?”

  “He said that if she was pregnant, there were some pamphlets at the reception desk that we should take a look at.”

  She laughs. “You’re making this up.”

  “Only about the pamphlets. Though he practically eye-raped her abdomen before he made the suggestion. Just to make sure.”

  “And he could tell by just looking?”

  “Be a miracle if he could. And not for the reason you think.”

  “What’s the reason I think?”

  “That his eyes weren’t home pregnancy tests and that she’d peed on them previous to the appointment.”

  “That isn’t the reason I thought.”

  “What was yours?”

  “That he didn’t have X-ray vision.”

  “That’s a better one.”

  “It is.”

  “Not for that reason, either.”

  “Okay. I give up. Why would it be impossible for him to tell if she was pregnant or not by just looking?”

  “She’d let herself go so much at that point, it wouldn’t have mattered if she was nine months pregnant. No one would be able to tell.”

  Megan punches me on the arm, and I catch her squeezing the cute little roll of fat that pokes out over her beltline.

  She says, “Where were we?”

  “I was talking about how my wife considers chocolate as one of the five major food groups.”

  “Not that. How did Carl mean himself when he said daddy?”

  My ability to shoot the breeze has bought me enough time so that I’ve come up with a killer cover story. If I weren’t driving, I’d give myself a high-five. “Remember I had to put on the headphones and sleeping mask?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I noticed that I’d had them on for quite a long time, so I got suspicious, took them off before I was supposed to.”

  “Oh my God! Don’t say it.”

  “It’s true. The guy was feeling you up.”

  “Fuck, no way! That bastard.”

  “And he was referring to himself as ‘Daddy’ as he did it. It was sick.”

  Megan’s seething. “We should call the cops.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. I stopped him before he got to any good bits of your body.”

  “Good bits?”

  “You know. Sexual parts of your anatomy.”

  “It doesn’t matter. He was going to.”

  Sweat starts to accumulate on my top lip. “But still…”

  “And you can be sure as hell he’s going to do it to the next girl that comes along.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Megan takes out her phone and starts dialing.

  My old pappy used to say of a bad job, “You’ve made a pig’s ear of that.” This, ladies and gentleman, is a pig’s ear after it’s been chewed by a large dog.

  “Come to think of it, his hand was just on your shoulder. Remember how he touched that a lot?”

  Megan cools. “Jesus, Jake, you scared the shit out of me.”

  I wince as I think about what I’m about to say next.

  “I suppose I’m a bit overprotective about the women I care about.”

  She goes all dreamy eyed. “Aw, Jake.”

  We sit in silence as I drive.

  Then Megan says, “So why did he refer to himself as daddy if it was all innocent?”

  20.

  “SO LET ME get this right. He was touching my shoulder, talking about my daddy, and then you accused him of being a pervert and rushed me out of there?”

  “You got it.”

  “Poor Carl.”

  “Poor Carl…”

  “So we got nothing out of it. It was a wasted journey?”

  “I wouldn’t say it was a complete waste.”

  “Really? How so?”

  I delay my answer, just keep looking ahead. “We got to see this part of Texas.”

  “But we’re back to square one, right?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  She pauses, then says, “I don’t think you’re any good at this, Jake.”

  “These things take time.”

  “Which we don’t have.”

  We sit in silence the rest of the drive.

  When we arrive back, Charles and Barbara are sitting in the conservatory, reading the Saturday papers. Cedric and Fredrick are napping.

  “Hey, kids,” Charles says.

  “Hey, Dad,” Megan says.

  “Where have you guys been?”

  “Me and Jake went out for breakfast.”

  “Who’s Jake?”

  Barbara and Charles turn to one another, their eyebrows raised.

  After making the mistake, Megan, punishing me for today, turns to me. I say, “Jake’s a buddy of mine from the medical school who lives in Texas.”

  A question is on the tip of Barbara’s tongue, but Charles gets there first. “So you guys drove out somewhere so that Megan could have breakfast with a buddy of yours?”

  I turn to Megan, repaying the favor. She thinks fast, “We all went together, but Josh only ordered grapefruit. That’s not really breakfast at all. That’s why I said me and Jake. To make fun of Josh.”

  “You drove out all that way to order grapefruit?”

  Everyone turns to me. “It was one hell of a grapefruit. Must be that Texas sun.”

  “Next time you can invite Jake here if you want, Megan.”

  “I’ll do that, Dad.”

  “We’ve got really good grapefruit, too, Josh.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Best grapefruit in the tri-state area.”

  Megan says, “He can try it out tomorrow morning.”

  Charles puts down his paper. “I was going to make bacon, waffles, and the works for us, but if grapefruit’s your thing, Josh…”

  “Sounds delicious.”

  “Great.”

  21.

  I SLIP AWAY while Megan and Charles discuss what’s going on in the world. Needing to move this thing along, I phone Scottie.

  “Jake, I was just about to ring you.”

  “Loving the clarity of voice, Scottie. What have you found?”

  “It could be something or nothing.”

  “Please tell me it’s the former.”

  “Tha’s for you to work out.”

  “Shoot.”

  “You fuckin’ Yanks.”

  “Have you been drinking, Scottie?”

  “Nah.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “You were spot on about nineteen-ninety.”

  “How so?”

  “There’s n
ot a scrap of info on these two before that date.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s like they just appeared from nowhere.”

  “Barbara and Charles?”

  “Aye. Informationally speakin’. There are no previous dwellings, no job records, no nothin’.”

  “I’d say that’s something.”

  “Aye, or nothin’. Like I said.”

  We could quibble about Scottie’s use of the word nothing, but these conversations go smoother if I accept Scottie’s twisted logic.

  “So what else have you found?”

  “I went further ahead. Looked for what records there actually are. These two appeared at the same time.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Aye. Bank accounts opened at the same time, phone lines, library cards.”

  “Library cards?”

  “Aye, all at the same time.”

  “What about information related to their social security numbers?”

  “I’ve not had time to check tha’.”

  “Then get on that.”

  “Aye, tha’ll take time.”

  “Okay, thanks, Scottie.”

  I hang up.

  So two people appear in Rodeo, Texas, open up bank accounts, open an account with a telecommunications company, and get library cards at the same time. There are no employment records under the names Barbara and Charles Books, and no previous dwellings. I was right. That is weird.

  Add that to the information I found out during Megan’s age-regression-therapy session, and I’d bet my bottom dollar that whoever these people are, they were Megan’s parents up until she moved to Rodeo. But all this speculation doesn’t start to form a picture of who Charles and Barbara Books are.

  22.

  I NEED TIME to think, to take a step back and look at the information I’ve gathered, with as few distractions as possible. That means I need to get out of the house.

  The Books seem content with reading the papers for the afternoon, and I’m sure they’ll have their hands full when Fredrick and Cedric wake up from their naps. Plus, when I asked, they didn’t have anything planned for the afternoon, though they’re cooking a fancy meal for tonight. Charles keeps making inside jokes about a family-recipe sauce that’s going to be included on the menu, and Megan and Barbara laugh with vigor each time he tells one. It’s annoying the hell out of me.

  There’s one place I like to go often to think and relax and process information when in Hollywood, so I google the Rodeo equivalent. Find nothing. But there is one a twenty-five-mile drive away, a stone’s throw outside of a small town called Hickory. The name isn’t up to much, but the pictures they provided on their website look enticing.