by T. J. Jones
The chairs were old. There hadn't been horses in that barn since before Davey was born and the chairs were at least that old. They had rounded backs with spindles smaller than my little finger, several of which were missing. They didn't look strong enough to support the weight of an adult, and I couldn't imagine balancing on the back of one long enough to slip a noose around your own neck. I inspected the top of the chair backs of the three chairs still in the break room and didn't find any marks on them. Finally, I stood on the chair I had retrieved, jumped up and grabbed the door rail, and put one foot on the rounded back. I eased some of my weight onto the chair back, a small percentage of my two hundred and forty odd pounds and it collapsed, crumbling so easily that I nearly joined the shards of spindles as they fell to the floor. Even if you had the balance of a gymnast it would have been impossible for a person to stand on the back of one of those chairs.
All things considered, he might have managed it, but there were sure easier ways to kill yourself. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get me wondering.
***
I didn't explain my weak theory to Edith. She handed me a couple of cardboard boxes and opened Davey's room for me, then fled down the stairs without a glance. She was right, there wasn't much in there. He had a few shirts hanging in the closet, clean, and the pockets were empty. Two pair of dress pants, same thing. I pulled the blankets off the bed, flipped the mattress over and looked under the box spring and found nothing. There was an end table and I found a few business cards lying there and an old medical alert bracelet. Davey was HIV positive, which I already knew. I dropped everything into my pocket and kept looking.
The dresser had a few socks in it and a couple more cards. I pocketed them with the others. I pulled out each drawer and checked under the bottoms. When I took the bottom drawer out, I saw the corner of something white and the carpet below, so I tipped the dresser down and lifted it to the side. There were two envelopes. The first one had five wraps of hundred-dollar bills, and the other held a small notebook with several pages of writing inside and a few more cards. I pushed the second envelope into my pocket, threw all of the clothes and laundry into one of the boxes, and tossed the money on top of it. I carried the whole works down the stairs to Edith.
"I found a few cards and stuff I'll keep and take a closer look at." I tried to be vague but not lie outright. "Couple changes of clothes and he had this money stashed. Looks like five thousand dollars, emergency cash maybe. I shut the door, but I didn't lock it."
"That's fine Eric, I'll vacuum up in there so Claire doesn't have to. She loved him so much, it was really hard on her too. It's time we accept the fact that he's gone."
"Yeah, me too. I have to say, things don't quite add up. If you're alright with it, I'll make some phone calls and talk to some of his other friends. Might even be worth a quick trip to Miami to talk to the people he worked with."
"You really think there's a chance that it was foul play?"
"Probably not, but a couple things don't seem right. What about his cellphone?"
"Eddy threw it away." She looked down at the table, fidgeting with her boney fingers. "He said there were nude pictures of men, inappropriate texts. He didn't handle it well. I should have made him give it to me or dug it out of the garbage. I wasn't thinking clearly at the time."
"Understandable. What about his laptop, or his computer at work? Davey told me he was in advertising or represented people somehow?"
"He was an agent of some sort, like a talent scout from what I could get out of him. They represented people for television and theater, commercials too, so maybe that was the advertising part. He didn't like to talk about work, said it stressed him out. I called his office and they acted very odd, said his computer was company property and I couldn't have it. I thought I might be able to find some of his friends that way. Nobody from Miami came to the funeral, not even his roommate."
"Roommate?" I didn't need to ask the obvious question.
"Sam something. David swore they were just friends, and that's what Sam said when I called him about David hanging himself. He was upset, but not like a person in a relationship would be. I don't think they would have lied, they had no reason to lie to me. I have Sam's number, and the address of the apartment, if you decide to look into it for me."
"If it would help you to get some closure, of course I'll dig into it. Are you really sure you want me to?"
"Davey's life style was different from what we're used to around here, but he was my son. No matter what you find, if what happened wasn't what it looked like, I have to know that. Here, take this." She handed me the money.
"No, I can't. I'm doing it for you, and for Davey."
"I've actually been thinking about hiring a Private Detective. I would think having known him would be helpful. Investigators get paid Eric, and if you go to Miami, that costs money. I insist!"
"But Angie's the one who asked me to look into it and I'm not a real detective."
"If you think it might have been foul play, I want to know what happened. You already know more than the cops. They didn't investigate shit, so as of now you're a real detective, my detective. Please?"
I took the money.
***
When I pulled out of the driveway and glanced to my left, I spotted a jogger coming down the side of the road running at a pretty good pace. She looked familiar. I dropped the window down and Maggie Jeffries slowed and walked up, breathing easily.
"Didn't take you long." She half smiled, pulling on her ankle and flexing her leg.
"What do you mean?"
"Angie asked you to talk to Davey's parents, and here you are. Good boy."
I blushed a little, it was too close to the truth. "You are a brat, like I said. Did it occur to you that maybe I'd like to know if what happened was really a suicide too?"
"How's Davey's Mom doing? Angie makes out like we have this big feud going, but it's all in her head. I talk to Edith all the time. I see her on the road sometimes when I'm running."
"You're not breathing very hard, run the last hundred yards just to impress me?"
"Right Slater, that's my goal." Definite sarcasm. "I was cooling down, that was three quarter speed. I go ten miles every day."
"Well, it's working, you look like you're in good shape, really nice shape." I knew that was a stupid thing to say as soon as it left my mouth.
"A lot of people consider those kind of remarks harassment these days, but I'm guessing that's just how dorks flirt. You should come running with me, maybe you can lose that spare tire."
Now I was a fat dork? "Hey, be nice! I'm almost forty, it's harder to keep it off at my age."
"Start coming to my classes. I teach four hours a day at the Athletic center, I could have you whipped into shape in no time."
"You have a job?"
"Not much of a one, but I don't have rent or any expenses since I'm living with the folks again. Richie bought me out of our house. I got my car and some traveling money in the divorce and Richie got a pregnant twenty-something girlfriend and a new life."
"Wow, too much information."
"So, what's the deal, any chance Davey didn't hang himself?"
"Unlikely, but less so than I thought. I have a few leads I'm going to check out."
"So now you're Sherlock Holmes?" She laughed lightly. "Are you going to use this as an excuse to start hanging around Angie again? Your obsession with my sister is borderline creepy."
"You really are jealous, aren't you?" I was kidding, but it brought some color to her cheeks and made her freckles pop nicely. I laid it on. "I knew you had a little girly crush on me."
"You're a dreamer!" She rested a hand on the pickup and leaned closer, suddenly serious. "But really, Eric, I mean Slater, Angie's messed up right now, even more so than usual. She's not dealing with anything well. I wasn't kidding about her needing a shrink."
"And I was serious about just being her friend. I'll admit, sometimes I act like that lovesick kid around her, bu
t old habits die hard."
"Just try and keep it in your pants, alright?"
"If only there was some other great, attractive woman around, someone who could help take my mind off her." I smiled slyly. "Want to go up in the Piper this afternoon, maybe get a couple drinks after?"
She pushed away from the truck, laughing, but I could see she was thinking about it. "I'd need to have more than a couple or I'd never get in that pile of scrap metal."
"I'll consider that a maybe."
"Yeah, maybe. How about just one drink, and we can catch up. I'm free tonight. You can tell me about these big leads you have."
"Hey, I'm a real detective now, I even got a retainer." I lifted the envelope with the hundreds in it. "Not taking another dime of Edith's money, but it's enough for gas and a motel in Miami."
"What's in Miami?"
"Davey's life for the most part. Edith had me clean out his room and there are a couple things I found that look interesting. I'm going to look through it this afternoon, see if there's anything sketchy. What time should I pick you up?"
"I'll meet you. I'm working at the Athletic Center until eight. How about Bayside? I can walk over there. Say eight-thirty?"
"Okay, it's a date." I grinned, putting the pickup in gear.
"Not a date, just a drink." She called out as I drove away.
Chapter Four
The house my mother left me was nothing spectacular, but it was comfortable. Hard to say how many toilets she scrubbed and beds she changed to pay the mortgage on that place after my Dad ran off with some waitress. Once I moved up in the ranks, I was able to help her and lighten the load, but years of stress and cigarettes took their toll. The cancer caught up with her at the tender age of fifty-eight, two years before I retired from the Navy. The three-bedroom rambler was tucked behind the Wal-Mart on a side street a mile and a half from the opulence of Point Road. Not a Porsche or a Maserati in sight.
The best thing about the location was the fact that it was a short drive, fifteen minutes by bicycle, from the small airport where I kept my airplane. As a kid, when I wasn't at the Point occasionally snagging rides with Angie's uncle, I spent a lot of time at the air field. Youthful enthusiasm goes a long way with some people, or dogged persistence if that's what it takes. By the time I was fourteen I was a regular, and by sixteen I had half a dozen locals that would let me tag along when they were going up. Inevitably they let me take the controls and I got a lot of free flying lessons. I was hooked.
Flying jets for the Navy was a job reserved for the officers, which meant a college degree or the Naval Academy. Let's just say my grades weren't good enough and leave it at that. But most of the bases had flying clubs, and I had my pilot's license by the time I was twenty. The clubs were affordable, and some of the planes were acrobatic, which was an extra level of excitement. Planes like that were beyond my budget when I mustered out, and not very practical. The old Piper was enough airplane for now.
I'd spent most of the last month working on the house, fixing what needed fixing and making it my own. I hadn't even thought about a job, and I didn't have a clue of what I wanted to do. I always figured life has a way of opening up for you if you let it, like driving down a winding road without knowing where it goes. Sometimes it's good to just put your foot down and go without looking at a map. That was the thing about the Navy, there was always a map, the direction you went was predetermined for you. I was looking forward to not knowing what was around the next corner. For now, trying to figure out what had happened to Davey Templeton would keep me busy for a while.
Being a mile and a half from Angela Jeffries was hard, those blue eyes kept popping into my head unbidden. I was too stubborn to call her, and she hadn't bothered calling me. She wouldn't unless she wanted something, like Maggie said. That had always defined our relationship. More often than not I was an annoyance to her. I'd gone to see her when I was home for my mother's funeral, which she hadn't attended. She was borderline surly, half-drunk as was her habit, and unapologetic about not making it to the funeral. I walked out of that big house angry and promised myself that I was done with her for good. But here we were again, she whistled and I came running. She hadn't even bothered to call me herself.
Sending Maggie was a typical Angie move, it saved her from any personal discomfort. Not that I minded. Angie had been right, a big smile from Maggie had been enough to entice me back into the Jeffries household. It was something I hoped to see on a regular basis. And there was Davey. Murder seemed unlikely, but not beyond the realm of possibility.
Since I had three bedrooms, I had remodeled a little and turned the smallest one into my office. Can't say that I needed an office, but it seemed like a waste of space otherwise, and it was a place to put my newly purchased desk and computer. Not all of my career had been spent on a ship, but enough of it to really appreciate the space and solitude of my own house.
Being single meant no strings, and no reason they couldn't assign me on board when it suited them. Some of the shipboard assignments were voluntary, some not. But being deployed meant more money and looked good when it came time for promotions. That was more important when I was younger. There was a time when I thought I'd stay in and maybe do thirty, but after my Mom passed away, I decided it was time to put down roots somewhere, maybe look for someone to have a life with.
I had a month of my time left when I got the last letter from Davey. He never called and refused to text. He said he liked the time it took to write things down, the thought it took, and the fact that he could always throw a letter away if he said too much. I should have realized it was a cry for help, but I was too self-involved and interested in what he had to say about Angie to read between the lines.
The letter was in the top drawer of my desk, sandwiched between my discharge and my mother's will. I pulled it out and unfolded it slowly. His handwriting always made me smile. Each letter was perfectly formed and eloquent, like calligraphy or a page of ancient script back when writing was an art practiced by patient old men with quills. I started to read, resting my hand on the desk to stop it from shaking.
"Hey there Sailor! Too gay? Lol. Been a long time since we talked, but you know I prefer writing things down. Miami sucks right now, hot as hell and work is kicking my ass. I'm in over my head, and I don't know how it all ended up like this. I keep trying to make the clients happy, but it's always about the money. Anything for a buck, right? You say that too many times and pretty soon they own your soul. Wow, I'm dramatic!
Angie says hello. I came home for the weekend and we cried on each other's shoulder the whole time and talked about a lot of things. I swear, that girl has more drama in her life than I do. Her Dad is home right now, and that always makes her crazy, that love, hate thing, I guess. I know all about father issues! Things are really hard right now, but I'm trying to make them right. I'd give anything to just be a kid again, hanging out with you and Angie, swinging on that rope in the old barn. Remember how you always said you wished you were rich like us? We didn't realize it at the time, but of the three of us, you were the lucky one.
Better sign off, I just wanted to drop a line to say I love you man. We'll have a beer and catch up next time you're in town. Your friend always, David.
P.S. Angie didn't really say Hi, I just knew that's what you wanted to hear."
I realized suddenly that my eyes were wet. I wasn't generally a crier, I was too practical for that. Crying wouldn't bring the dead back to life or stop the cancer from stealing your mother away before her time. But at the moment I didn't seem able to stop myself, and I didn't try. Davey deserved a few of my tears.
He had known that I wasn't the least bit interested in guys, what with fawning over Angela non-stop, but one drunken teenage night he had tried to kiss me. I pulled away and laughed it off, and when he sobered up he was horribly embarrassed and laughed about it too. He knew I was a one-woman man, and not about to give up on Angie Jeffries.
I hadn't shared the fact that I heard from Dav
ey a week before the supposed suicide with Angie or Maggie, and I didn't know if I would. Other than sounding stressed, there was nothing in the letter that indicated Davey was depressed enough to kill himself and no reason to tell Davey's mother about it either, at least not yet.
I put the letter away and laid out everything I had taken from Davey's room on my desk. There were a dozen cards and I separated the ones I found hidden under the dresser, presuming they had some special significance. The notebook was confusing, even in Davey's perfect handwriting. Letters and numbers, broken into groups of five or six at a time with headings. There were arrows pointing back and forth, and page numbers. Some of the first pages were referenced on later pages, almost like footnotes. The only thing I saw that made any sense were some of the letters, capitalized, referencing what I took to be cities. NY, LA, CX, all fairly obvious. STL had me stumped, but it could be Seattle. There were nine headings in all, with more abbreviations following, and numbers that seemed random, three and four digits. A few of the items were circled, but there didn't seem to be any correlation between those that were numbered and those that were not. On the back page, separate from the other notes, there was a list of women's names, seven in all. A couple sounded Oriental, and two were Latina, but no notations, just their names.
