by R. P. Dahlke
Eleven a.m. Uh-oh, Pearlie must've called by now and I slept through it. Deciding I needed coffee before I could face the tongue-lashing I would get from my cousin, I went to the kitchen and found a thermos of hot coffee with a note on it from Caleb; "Hoover looks mighty proud of himself today. He either passed muster last night or he got lucky. Either way, I fed him, gave him a doggy treat and turned off your cell and the land-line so you could sleep."
I gratefully poured myself a cup and invited Hoover to accompany me out to the patio. He yawned, rose from his dog bed and leisurely followed me outside.
Flopping down next to my chair in the shade, he promptly closed his eyes. "You did good last night," I said reaching over and scratching his big ears.
His eyes stayed closed, but his tail tapped the concrete in agreement. "Sorry we didn't save this one, but that's not your fault, is it my good boy?"
The tail thumbed twice. "So what's going to be next for the Hoover? An adventure to be continued?" I picked up my ringing cell phone.
I had to pull the earpiece away from the squawking on the other end.
"Do you know what time it is!" Pearlie yelled.
I yawned. "Hoover and I were on an all-nighter."
Pearlie had a soft spot for the dog. Once upon a time, they had both been strays. "Really? How'd he do?"
"Like the champ he is. He led us right to the man."
"Then it was a successful mission?"
"Yes, except that the object of our rescue waited until we got there to take a header off a cliff." The memory of the old man leaping out into the air only to die from the fall−sure felt like complete failure to me.
"That's tough to take, but I have good news," she said. "We're cleared as suspects in Ron's death. The bad news is that the kid who went to prison for stealing cars from Wade Hamilton has gone missing."
"What? When?"
"That's the interesting part," she said. "I went for that interview with Joey Green and his boss said he didn't come into work yesterday or today."
"He's skipped? Did you call his mother?"
"Sure did."
I thought for a moment. "Is the file on Wade Hamilton still in the office?"
"Lemme look," she said, putting down the phone.
When she picked up again, she seemed oddly calm. "It's gone."
"You're not surprised because…?"
"Because I figured Damian might break in again. I put the original on the back of our evidence board and all he got was an old newspaper clipping of the shooting."
"Why didn't you set the alarm?"
"I fired the alarm company, remember? Besides, I wanted to see how the little rascal would do it. This time he didn't bother to scale the walls, he simply picked the lock."
"Get a new lock for the door."
"We can't afford a locksmith or the alarm company. Besides, I have a better idea."
"What?"
"I've asked his boss to give us a day. All you have to do is find him before his parole officer does."
"Gee thanks. What're you going to do?"
"Have a talk with Damian, of course."
"He's probably at the gym."
"Good. Then this won't take long. Meet me at the office," she said, and hung up.
<><><><><>
I had just settled into my chair and opened my laptop, ready to start a search for Joey Green when Pearlie walked into the office.
"What did Damian have to say for himself?" I asked.
"Damian, the dear sweet boy that he is, glibly reminded me that you told him he could be of help and like I thought he would, he went looking for Joey. Damian's just lucky Joey ran. That guy's already got a nickel of hard time under his belt."
I could see that my cousin was actually enjoying herself. "I gave him a lecture and he's now eager to make it up to us, in any way we want."
"No. Please say you didn't! That kid's a loose cannon! He'll compromise our investigation."
She laughed. "Oh, come on. We could use an extra hand and this way we can keep tabs on the little thief."
Seeing my head swivel five or six times on my neck, Pearlie dropped her smile. "We're already hanging on by a hair. What do we have to lose?"
I ignored the whisper of doubt knocking at my better judgment and gave in. "Okay. Get him in here."
Pearlie opened the door and Damian sauntered in, a wide smile on his mug.
Pearlie went to stand next to our freestanding evidence board, the corked side full of innocuous items: a map of the county, a big calendar and out of date pizza coupons. When she was sure she had his attention, she flipped the six-by-six board over, peeled off the plastic envelope with the original file on Wade Hamilton and waved it under Damian's nose.
"You don't get to waltz into our office and take whatever you like, kid. All you got was some old news-clippings. Certainly not anything that could get you in trouble."
Damian's unrepentant shrug made my fingers itch. I so wanted to slap this kid.
"Take a chair and lose the grin, smart-ass," Pearlie said.
Gee, she sounded just like Ron Barbour. Maybe having an intern of our own to harass might work after all.
"Lalla will show you how to use the computer."
I tossed her a dirty look.
Damian fluttered his lips. "Like I'll hurt your precious computer? You think I'm dumb 'er somethin'?"
Pearlie folded her arms and waited.
I mouthed, I'll get you for this and pointed Damian to a chair. "Bring that over here and maybe you'll learn something."
"You said we were going to look for Joey, not do dumb computer stuff."
I lifted a lip and snarled. "Sit! Investigating, as you will soon find out, is research. Sometimes long hours of it, but the payoff can be worth it."
"You actually make money at this shit?"
Pearlie and I looked at each other and, unable to control ourselves, laughed. "So we've been told. Now let's get to work."
I showed Damian how to start with Joey's last known address as a parolee. "What you want to find are his friends, girlfriends and any relatives."
"I know he lived with his mother before he went to prison."
I had to give it to him he had a sharp memory. "Good, but since moms always believe the very best of their children, she's not going to give him up if she thinks he's in trouble, now is she?"
"But he could show up there, couldn’t he?"
"Sure. And we'll stake out her house if nothing else turns up. But I want you to start on social media: Facebook, Twitter, Instagram."
Damian's chin lifted defiantly. "I'm down on all that shit."
I shot Pearlie another dirty look. This wasn't going to work; the kid had a chip on his shoulder the size of Kansas. Pearlie had her laptop open and refused to look at me. Got it. I was on my own.
"Okay, but think about this; Joey has been on parole for a year and until yesterday he had a full time job, a home, a mom and probably a girlfriend. You're both local to the area. You may even have mutual friends."
Damian yawned and his eyes drifted over to the skeleton in the corner. Gabby Hayes did say he was bright, good at math and easily bored. I snapped my fingers in front of his face. "Pay attention, and this will go a lot quicker."
His black eyes twinkled like two basalt stones. "I'm just messing with you."
Now he was having fun? We'll see about that. "Fine, fine. I'm going to leave this picture of Joey next to the computer for comparison. Go on your socials, mention that you're taking a break from training for American Ninja Warrior to catch up with friends, okay? Ask what's new with them. Do not mention his name to anyone. Do a search for his real name, then search for any nicknames he might have. You have a nickname; use that to your advantage. At the very least you'll get some new friend requests. If you see a nickname, ask what their real name is and what they do. He may lie, but that's okay. Post pictures of yourself training. He may post pictures of himself. If it's not him, then move on. I’m hoping that you can lure him into frien
ding you because of your training for ANW. He may claim to live in Fairbanks, Alaska, but he'll have his picture either as part of his profile or gallery photos."
"Anything else?" he asked, his hands poised over the keyboard.
"If you get stumped or reach a dead end, let me know."
His response to that idea was a loud belch. And that was meant to annoy me? If I could put up with Ron Barbour's antics for three years, I could handle this kid. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched his fingers fly. I'd forgotten that kids these days grew up with computers and if Damian was half the computer whiz he said he was, I could relax.
Pearlie gestured her approval with a thumbs-up. I shuddered. Every time someone gave a big thumbs-up, something bad happened. I could only hope this time I was wrong.
"What's next?" I asked.
"We need to find a stoolie."
I thought for a minute. "A disgruntled employee would do it and I think I know just the person. She used to be Wade's bookkeeper, but she's now a hairdresser at Suzi's."
"Suzi?"
"You remember Darlene, don't you? Married to Wishbone's two-timing, wife-beating police chief?"
"Oh, that Darlene. Is she still doing your hair?"
"Darlene sold her shop to Suzi and moved to Phoenix, but you'd know that if you didn't run all the way to Tucson to get your hair done."
"I write the trip off as part of my business mileage," she said, primping her artfully blended blonde locks. "Well, at least I did, until Ron sucked up all the business."
"Patience, dear cousin. First we get an arrest for Ron's murderer, find Damian's dad's killer and if we're still in business in a week we'll hunt up some new business."
"Since you go to Suzi, I presume you want the honor of going there now?"
"Might as well," I said, grabbing my purse and pausing at the door. "What're you going to do while I'm gone?"
"Go over Ron's old bank statements. Look for more clients he cheated. You never know, we might find someone else we can lean on for information. Bring lunch back for us, will you?"
"Because research always makes you hungry, right? I'll pick something up on the way back." I had one foot out the door when I turned back and said, "Don't forget, Pearlie, Ron was murdered because he also leaned on someone."
.
Chapter Fifteen:
I pulled into the last parking spot at Suzi's beauty shop, hopped out and walked inside.
Suzi had one client under the dryer and another woman's head over the sink.
I eyed her tattooed bicep, checking the last in a long list of names. Yep. No ink crossing out her latest boyfriend, so she might be feeling generous today.
She saw me looking and laughed. "He's not on my shit list yet. What's up?"
"I wanted to talk to Emily, if she's here."
Suzi looked around the room. "She must be out back having a cigarette. What'd you want her for?"
I pretended I didn't hear the question and took the back door exit.
Sure enough, Wade's ex-bookkeeper was sitting alone at the patio table, reading a fashion magazine. She looked up as I approached, squinting through a haze of cigarette smoke.
Ron always said to ease into the subject when interviewing a nervous witness, so I pulled up a chair and with a smile in my voice, said, "Those things will stunt your growth."
She closed the magazine and looked me over. "I suppose you quit before it stunted yours, right? What're you, six feet?"
"Minus a couple of inches," I said.
The crow's feet at her eyes tightened as she tracked my face down to my hands, something I'd seen battered wives do as an automatic reflex to possible attack. I said, "Suzi does my hair and I'm a friend of Darlene's."
"Oh? I got hired after Darlene moved to Denver."
She was testing me. "Denver? No, I think it was Phoenix."
"Oh, yeah, right. Phoenix," she said, visibly relaxing.
"I helped Darlene when her husband was murdered."
Emily stubbed out her cigarette and licked her lips. "I read about it in the papers. You're the private investigator Suzi talks about, aren't you?"
She was at that tipping point, warming to the idea that I might be helpful but also fearful of the outcome.
"I’m wondering if there isn't something we can do for each other, Emily."
She chewed on her lip while her eyes darted from the door of the shop to her pack of cigarettes.
I mentally counted to ten. Guilty or not, nerves usually drove witnesses and suspects to close the gap of silence, especially when there was an offer on the table. The only types I've met who could tolerate the sound of quiet were professional poker players and sociopaths. If she didn't bite, I'd leave my card and walk away, hoping she'd reconsider.
I did a mental countdown. Ten, nine, eight…
She cracked at seven. "What do you want?"
"I'm guessing that the change from Wade Hamilton's bookkeeper to hair stylist was not voluntary. Did Wade refuse to give you a reference? Did he threaten to accuse you of embezzlement?"
Emily's gasp told me I'd hit a sore spot. "It's not true!"
"I wouldn't be here if I thought it was."
"Then what do you want?"
"Well, for one thing, I have good news. Wade Hamilton is on a short list of suspects in a recent murder investigation and I presume that you'd like to see him in prison. If not for murder, then at least for the burglaries he and Joey Green committed."
"You're talking about Ron Barbour's murder, right? You think Wade did it? Killed Ron?"
"We should talk about that."
She crushed out the cigarette and stood. "I tried that once. I was fired without references and threatened. Do you know that the smug bastard sends me a sympathy card once a year? And me, with a disabled husband at home. I'm sorry, but I can't help you."
I grabbed at her hand as she passed. "Who did you talk to? Was it someone in the police or sheriff's department? Times have changed. I can get you protection, Emily."
She jerked her hand out of my grasp. "If you think you can get to Wade Hamilton, you're nuts. He's got friends in high places and I've got no one but myself and my Henry." Her eyes teared up. "Henry had a stroke when he was forty. Forty. He still can't talk right or walk without his cane and he sure can't work. We struggle just to get by every month." With a sob, she threw up a hand, striking the air between us. "Just… just leave me alone!"
With her head down, she ran for the steps and fled back into Suzi's shop.
I sat where I was for a few more minutes thinking about my conversation with Wade Hamilton's former bookkeeper. Emily must've confided what she knew about Wade's involvement with Joey's burglaries to someone in the police or sheriff's department. That person then told Wade, who fired her and proceeded to send ominous sympathy cards every year to remind her to keep quiet. If I were in her position, I doubt I would talk either. Emily was going to keep her secrets until either she died or Wade Hamilton was put behind bars.
<><><><><>
With black summer clouds threatening to burst any minute, I trotted up the outside stairs and into our office.
Pearlie had her feet propped up on Ron's desk, her laptop open.
"You forgot our lunch," she said, her eyes on the screen.
"I'm sorry, I forgot the time. I got caught up talking to Wade Hamilton's ex-bookkeeper."
"It better be worth it. That kid ate up my lunch allowance into next month."
"He's in training, remember? I'll make it up to you."
"You better. I don't have a husband with a regular income and a house that's paid for."
Now she was working me for sympathy. "If you can't pay your rent, we have a spare couch."
"Ew-w-w. I'm not that poor."
"Since we're talking about men, how was your date with the trainer from the gym?"
Pearlie's mouth twitched. "Just because a man has Genius printed on his T-shirt, doesn't mean he is one."
I grinned. "Not hunky enough to ignore his IQ,
huh?"
"Not if he was wrapped in bacon and came with his own trust fund."
I laughed and swiped up her last cold French fry. "What happened to the guy with the Prius? That sounded like a safe bet."
"Yeah, how dangerous can a guy be if he's driving a Prius, right? Turns out the Prius is registered to his wife."
"I thought we agreed that you'd ask the question before you accepted a date?"
"Must've slipped my mind. Besides, it was our first and last date. Anyways, I can't possibly think about dating again until we solve Damian's case, find Ron's killer and get our P.I. licenses."
When she said things like this, I remembered how close we were to losing it all. At least I had some news and told her about my conversation with Emily.
Pearlie's feet dropped off the desk. "Then Wade Hamilton was in cahoots with a cop?"
"Or a deputy sheriff and I can see why Ian was so adamant that we keep his list to ourselves. By the way, where's Damian?"
"Ate his lunch, all of yours and left for the gym."
"Did you get any work out of him at all?"
"Oh yes. He found the girlfriend. I had to wrestle the darn kid to the ground to keep him from snatching my cuffs and running after Joey."
I would've paid good money to see that, but then Pearlie did tend to exaggerate. "You have to admire his enthusiasm."
"I put the brakes on that by offering to let him accompany you on the stakeout tonight."
Nights are when most skips come home to roost and Pearlie was betting that Joey Green was no different than any other jailbird. But I didn't see how bringing in Joey Green was going to help our case and besides, I had a husband to go home to at night. "Why don't we let the police pick up Joey Green?"
"No can do," she said. "Joey's mom is desperate to keep her boy out of prison. She's offered to pay our fee plus expenses if we can find him before his boss reports him AWOL. Besides, Damian thinks you're a great teacher."
She was right. This could be a quick hundred dollars in our fading bank account. "Fine, fine," I said. "But I'm taking your taser."
