by E J Kindred
“Yeah, we thought you looked a bit rough,” Rachel said.
“Very funny. Seriously, you know it’s worried me from the start that the detective in Charbonneau thinks Mo killed the doc. He asked me if they were having an affair.”
“Were they?”
“No, I don’t see how. She and the doc treated each other like siblings, right down to some friendly squabbling. They got along great.”
Sally said, “That doesn’t mean they weren’t doing the horizontal mambo on the sly.”
“Mo’s a lesbian, Sal,” I said. “She and I dated a few times.”
“She could be bi,” Rachel said. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility. Even if she’s one hundred percent lesbian, she could have had sex with him. I’ve known it to happen.”
I had to think about that one, but it still didn’t fit. “Maybe, but somehow I doubt it. You’d have had to meet her to know what I mean.”
“Okay, so what’s our plan?” Rachel asked.
We reached the park’s crest and sat on a bench near the statue of Harvey W. Scott. The rain had let up and a few patches of blue sky showed through the clouds, but water still dripped off Harvey, who had run The Oregonian newspaper sometime in the distant past. In his long waistcoat, Harvey pointed to his right as if telling his naughty children to go to their rooms. I hope that wasn’t an omen.
I turned back to my friends. “Lupe’s about ready to wring Number Four’s neck, so I’m sure she’d let us know when she leaves in that fancy little red car, and maybe which direction she takes. A left turn out of the gate would most likely mean she’s heading to Portland.”
Rachel asked, “Are there roads where she could turn off?”
I got my phone out and called up the map website. “Only a couple.” I expanded the picture. “The roads don’t go much of anywhere, so unless she’s out driving for fun, she’s probably coming to town.”
Sally pointed at the schematic on my phone. “One of us could park near each of those intersections and report if she turns off. Where’s the next place she could turn, if she continued straight through?”
We spent the next half an hour examining the map and deciding who would be stationed at which location. Despite my initial reluctance, I was enjoying conspiring against Number Four. I’d taken enough of her mistreatment without a word of protest that I figured she owed me. With some luck—and that’s what it would take—we might learn something useful.
“You look happier,” Sally said, as we got up to leave.
“I am.” I thought about it for a few seconds. “Ever since my dad died, I’ve felt stuck, as if things were happening around me and I had no choice but to bear with it. It feels better than I would have expected to actually be doing something, even if all we do is waste gas and time.”
“Or get arrested for stalking,” Sally said.
“Or feel stupid,” Rachel said, “when we find out she’s going to Nordstrom’s every day.”
“Or find Mo and the murderer,” I said.
For the next few days, our plans were stalled by my friends’ unfortunate need for employment. Rachel had patients to treat and Sally’s irregular shifts made planning difficult. Their schedules made me realize I’d need to find a job soon, too.
When I broached the subject with Grandma Natalie, she said, “Nonsense! We’ll get along fine. Between your savings and my retirement, we’re in good shape.”
“I can’t do nothing, Grandma. You’re much better, and as soon as you’re more up and about, I’ll need something to do. And I really should contribute something to the household. Grocery money?” I made myself laugh with that one. “Anyway, I’m just thinking about it. I’m not doing anything until you’re well.”
The truth was that she was recovering faster than any of us, doctors included, expected. Only three weeks after coming home from the hospital, she needed little assistance from me, other than taking her to her appointments because she hadn’t been cleared to drive. Liz or Ada seemed to turn up on appointment days, so I was at loose ends a lot.
Since the rainy day when Joe found me at my dad’s shop, I’d driven by only once and didn’t stop at all. Worrying about my grandmother while she was hospitalized and taking care of her afterwards had pushed most thoughts of the charred building from my mind. Now that I had more time to myself, I was back to brooding about the shop and my dad’s untimely death.
So it was that I pulled into the lot and parked, as I always did, under the trees at the far end. This time, though, I didn’t sit and gaze at the ruined structure. I didn’t give in to my grief at knowing how my father died there or my anger at my former partner for causing so much destruction in my life. From some hidden recess within me, the resolve to do something arose, even if I didn’t yet know what.
I got out of the car and walked through the parking lot, circling the building. The shed behind the shop where the fire originated was a pile of blackened wood and ash. Shattered glass lay everywhere. Weeds grew up through the remains.
The back wall of the shop was burned away, leaving the door opening gaping. I tentatively pushed against the wall, half expecting it to collapse, but it didn’t budge. Completing my circuit, I came to the front door. It, too, was burned, but not as severely as the back. The fire department had put out the worst of the flames before the front was engulfed. The bricks that my dad had so carefully laid were blackened with soot, but most of them were unbroken.
I stood before the open door for what felt like a glacial age, but was probably no more than a minute or two. Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the opening for the first time since the day I found my father’s body in the smoldering ruins.
The floor was littered with burned bits of glass and the charred remains of my dad’s bike shop. Almost everything was black with soot, but as I pushed the wreckage aside with my feet, I found a few pieces of metal, remains of bike parts, and one entire bicycle. Though ten months had passed, the smell of burned wood and plastic and other materials remained and my nose and throat felt raw. I didn’t let it deter me.
The further into the shop I went, the more familiar it felt. The counter where Dad took payments survived, blackened and blistered by the fire, but there nonetheless. He’d built it himself. Ignoring the soot covering it, I made my dad a silent promise to try to save it. Lo intentaré. I’ll try. Peg boards on the back wall that once held bike components and accessories appeared oddly untouched by the fire, though the pegs were gone, taken by thieves who had helped themselves to the items that had been displayed there.
I hesitated before going back to area where he’d stored his inventory, but I stood straighter, squared my shoulders, and kept going. The eight-foot-tall wood shelves he’d built were damaged, but still mostly upright. I paused at the end of the far one and closed my eyes. Could I face the sight of the old recliner where he’d been sleeping when the fire broke out?
I could.
I opened my eyes and walked slowly past the shelf unit. The chair was still there, covered in soot and surrounded by chunks of wood and other debris. The lap blanket he’d loved was piled on the floor in front of the recliner.
I stood surveying the scene, remembering there was something to be grateful for, even here in the terrible scorched wasteland of my father’s dreams. The medical examiner concluded that my dad died from smoke inhalation. It appeared that he’d taken a nap in his beat-up old recliner, and startled by the explosion, tried to get out from under his lap blanket and out of the store, but succumbed to the toxic chemicals and smoke that the explosion in Nicky’s meth lab had released into the air.
I could be angry with Nicky and hate what she’d done but be grateful Dad hadn’t suffered for long, hadn’t burned to death, had simply gone to sleep.
I turned away and finished my tour of the building. Joe and I owned this together now, but we hadn’t been able to talk about what to do with it. The city inspectors gave us a deadline for getting the building removed or repaired, so we’d have to deal w
ith it soon.
As I made my way to the front of the shop, a corner of a board caught my eye, standing out among the blackened ruins because it wasn’t as damaged as the wreckage around it. One edge was burned, but two sides were intact and bore what appeared to be edging pieces. Curious, I picked it up, and at last, tears ran down my face.
It was the lower right corner of a sign. Most prominent was the right side of a large capital E, followed by an intact capital S. Part of the “BIKES” sign that had hung above the door to Dad’s shop survived after all. But what took my breath away and broke through my bravado was what I saw in tiny letters at the bottom.
M. Velasquez, Proprietor
Chapter Nine
“Have you taken up coal mining?” Grandma Natalie scowled at me with a raised eyebrow.
“I did tell you I was going to get a job, didn’t I?” I said with a grin.
She gave me an eyeroll that would have done a teenager proud, but she had a point. My visit to the remains of Dad’s shop left me covered in dirt and soot. I’d taken off my cheap canvas shoes outside and promptly discovered that no amount of clapping them together would remove the embedded blackness. I intended to drop them into the trash, but an idea was growing in my mind that made me reconsider, so I set the shoes aside and walked into the house in my socks.
“Very funny, cute girl,” she said. “How’d you get so dirty? And don’t even think of coming anywhere near my white sofa.”
“I went into the shop.”
“Did you now? Why?”
I didn’t often surprise my grandmother, so I took a moment to enjoy it.
“I have to face it sometime, don’t I? Today was the day. I went inside to look around. Believe it or not, I found part of the sign from above the door. I thought it was long gone.”
I’d wrapped the remnant of the sign with my dad’s hand lettering on it in a plastic bag and stowed it in my car. No way would I risk losing it.
She stared at me with admiration. “I’ve always said you’re stronger than you believe, but now I think you’re far stronger than I thought. I’m not sure I could have gone in there. He was a wonderful man, always kind to his mom-in-law, and you couldn’t have had a better father. I’m sorry he’s gone, but I’m glad to see you’re coming to terms with losing him.”
Until she said it, I hadn’t thought of it that way. “I miss him terribly, and I’ll always grieve for him. In April, he’ll have been gone for a year. I don’t know what we’ll do with the property, but it was good for me to go there today.”
“What does Joe say?”
“We haven’t talked about it, probably because we haven’t been able to. The building is almost a total loss, but the lot it sits on is well situated for a small business. I’ve wondered if we should clear it off, sell it, and move on.”
She hesitated, as if considering my words. “Talk with Joe. Maybe he’s ready, too.” She stood up from her recliner, dislodging Shadow in the process. “Now where are you taking me for dinner? After you shower, that is.”
Two days later, Sally and Rachel and I had our first opportunity to try out our tracking skills. We’d made our plans, and as I’d suspected, Lupe was delighted to help us. She told me Elise had gotten into the routine of speeding away in her hot little car at about the same time almost every other day, so we were prepared.
Sure enough, my phone beeped. Lupe’s text read: 4 heading your way.
We were ready. We’d identified two side roads Elise could take if she wasn’t heading into Portland. Sally was parked near the first one and Rachel within sight of the second. I idled in a park-and-ride lot next to the nearest Portland exit. Though we were aware that what we were doing was potentially serious, we texted back and forth like schoolgirls, having more fun than expected.
Sally’s message came through first. Elise hadn’t turned off. Ten minutes later, Rachel reported the same thing. Depending on our quarry’s speed, I had about fifteen minutes to wait. I planned to follow her, hoping city traffic would slow her down enough for me to keep her in sight.
Sure enough, she came through right on time. I pulled out as quickly as I could, but I was still a dozen car lengths behind her. Fortunately, I saw no other fire-engine-red sports cars on the road, so I was able to catch a glimpse of her every minute or two. I tried moving up, but traffic was too heavy for me to make much progress. Of course, it slowed her down, too.
I had just changed lanes to the left to pass a slow truck when I saw her take one of the exits toward downtown Portland.
She was gone. Hell and damnation!
I continued on until I could exit the highway and pull into a gas station parking lot. I texted my co-conspirators: Lost her downtown.
And try again we did. After the first few times, we found she never turned off before Portland, so we abandoned that part of the plan and tried tracking her through the city into downtown. We lost her every time, but she established a pattern, and we theorized she was either going into downtown or through downtown to the east side of the city. The latter made little sense, because she could get there faster by staying on the freeway, so we figured we’d narrow the search to the city center.
After the fourth time we’d lost track of our quarry, Sally said, “If she’s going to Nordstrom’s three times a week, I’ll torch that damn car myself. And I know how, believe me.”
I pointed a warning finger at her. “That’s quite a statement coming from a firefighter.”
“Damn straight.” She laughed. “Okay, maybe not straight. You know what I mean. As long as we’re down here, let’s go get something to eat. All of this skulking around makes me hungry.”
On the days Rachel and Sally were unavailable to play gumshoe with me, I parked downtown and spent a few hours on foot, keeping an eye out for a flashy little car with an allegedly grieving widow behind the wheel. Downtown Portland did me a favor by being fairly compact. I also spent time online studying the map, trying to figure out where she might go. The high-end department stores were obvious targets as were some of the more exclusive restaurants.
My chances of locating her this way were vanishingly small, but I couldn’t give up. Unrelenting insomnia kept me obsessing about Doctor Wentworth and Mo. I had to do something, anything, to help me feel that I might learn something useful. The tiniest clue might lead to my friend and the doctor’s killer.
One day, Joe sat across from me in Grandma Natalie’s kitchen—now also my kitchen, I reminded myself. He said, “I can’t believe you’re downtown two or three times a week and you don’t stop in at my office.”
“You’ve been going downtown?” My grandmother looked at me suspiciously. “Why? I thought you were going back to the shop.”
“You’ve been hanging around the shop again?” Joe said, concern all over his face. “I thought you decided to stay away from there.”
“I did. But I’ve been back once or twice. Sometime soon, you and I need to talk about what we’ll do with it. And I didn’t try to see you because I figured you were busy.” And I needed to keep an eye out for Elise Wentworth.
“Bullshit,” he said. “You know you can stop in any time. When will you be there next?”
“Not sure, tomorrow or the next day . . . maybe.”
“Let me know and I’ll meet you for coffee. Now what’s this about the shop?”
“She’s been going inside.”
I gave Grandma Natalie a glare for ratting me out.
“Inside?” Joe looked alarmed. “Why? Patrick told me the city wants to condemn it, so it can’t be safe in there. Apart from that, why would you want go back in there, after—” He stopped and when he spoke again, his voice sounded constricted. “After what you saw.”
“You’re right, but I had to face it. I needed to face it. You understand, don’t you?”
He had tears in his eyes, and I knew he grieved for Dad as much as I did.
I took his hand in both of mine. “Let’s talk about it some other time.”
The next
morning, I pulled into the parking lot at the shop, but this time, instead of parking under the trees, I backed my car up to the door. After the back hatch opened, I unloaded the supplies I’d purchased. The shovel and broom went next to the checkout counter and the rest went on top. Then I moved the car to its usual spot.
I walked through the building again, formulating a plan. I was pulling on a pair of rubber gloves when I heard a truck outside, warning signals sounding as it backed up near the door. I watched a young man carefully lower a green metal dumpster to the ground. He blocked the wheels to keep it from rolling.
“This good?” he asked.
“Perfect, thanks.” He’d positioned it so I could get to it easily, but where it wouldn’t be in the way. I had plenty of room for the other delivery I’d arranged. I signed the form he held out and he left.
Standing in the doorway, I pivoted to examine the shop from that perspective.
“Okay,” I said aloud. “Path first.”
At the counter, I opened a box of large black plastic bags and pulled one free. I donned safety glasses and a face mask and, carrying the broom and shovel in gloved hands, went back to the front door.
Over the next three hours, I cleared a respectable path from the door to the counter. Each full bag of debris went into the dumpster. I kept an eye out for anything worth saving, but the fire had been intense. I found twisted metal that must have come from the bicycles Dad had hoped to sell. Tires had melted onto the floor and wouldn’t budge.
I pulled my glasses and mask off, took a bottle of water from the cooler I’d brought, and opened it. Cold water had never tasted so good. I stepped back to examine the checkout counter again. Dad had built it from solid wood, and it somehow escaped the worst of the fire. I wanted to save it.
“Back again, eh?.”
I yelped and spun around. Joe stood in the doorway dressed in his Team Three and a Half cycling jersey, one hand on the handlebar of his bike.
“Cripes, Joe, you scared me.”