“Is there anything that was going on here about the time that Johnnie disappeared?” I tried.
She sat up straighter. Her eyes narrowed, and she frowned again. “What...can you mean?”
“I was just wondering if there was anything unusual that you happened to notice about Johnnie or her behavior? Anything that, looking back now, you think might seem a bit odd or funny. Something, anything, that might have some link to her disappearance. Any strangers or suspicious people hanging about?”
Her body relaxed. I wasn’t accusing her of anything. “I don’t know. I guess not. Can’t remember anything special. Leonard and I didn’t see the girls a lot. We had them for dinner once, but that was almost a year ago. Leonard had a lot of sympathy for the girls’ situation. That’s why he agreed to take them in.” She nodded her chin up and down, agreeing with herself.
“So you were doing them a favor?”
“Sure...I mean how many people are going to rent to a young woman like Johnnie, with no real means of support, and a little girl?”
“You weren’t worried they wouldn’t be able to make rent?”
“I was. But Leonard is an old softie with a heart of gold and—”
“Did I hear my name?”
A man appeared off a hallway beside the front room. I guessed his age at none-too-shy of a half century, while Maggie was still mired in her confused twenties.
He was short, shorter than Maggie’s roughly five-foot-eight, with a stout body. He had red hair tied back in a ponytail and gold wire rims. His nose was pointy, his eyes dark brown. He wore a blue stitched Pendleton over faded jeans and scuffed black boots.
Maggie seemed surprised. Taken off balance. In a voice that was a bit sweeter and higher than the one she was using with me, she said, “Honey pie, I thought you were napping.”
“Was. Aren’t now.” His gaze fixed on me. “And you must be...”
“Max Plank. Dropped by to see Frankie. As I was telling Maggie here, I’m trying to look into the matter of her missing sister.”
Leonard took a seat on the floor next to Maggie’s chair.
“What have I missed?”
“Nothing, really. Mr. Plank here was just...”
“I was just asking if either of you had noticed anything strange or unusual before or anywhere around the time Johnnie disappeared. Any new or old faces visiting or hanging around. Any people or cars loitering in front of the house. Any behavior by Johnnie, or even Frankie, that might indicate a problem or stress. Anything at all. Even if it might seem small or silly, you never know about what might link to a situation like this.”
“And what kind of situation do you think we have here?” Leonard’s tone was not altogether friendly.
“Hard to say. I’m just gathering information, and this is the first logical place to look.”
“So you don’t think that Johnnie just got overwhelmed with raising a little girl and decided to disappear?”
“I can’t say. But from what Frankie and others say, it doesn’t seem likely.”
“I don’t think so either. Johnnie was devoted to her sister,” Leonard said as if I’d just passed a short quiz.
“So, back to circumstances around her disappearance. Anything you can tell me?”
“I don’t know what Maggie here said—”
“Nothing. Nothing Len, really,” Maggie said quickly, her fingers clenching on her kneecaps.
“Then I have to echo my woman. I can’t think of anything in particular. We haven’t seen much of either girl lately. Just one of those things. Frankie came up every now and then when Johnnie was gone and she was lonely. Johnnie had to be out a lot, trying to make ends meet and so, even at night, sadly, the girl was on her own.”
“Do you know much about how Johnnie earned money? I understand she had an online business, but Frankie didn’t really understand the details. I’d like to talk to any associates she had, or customers even, but I’d have to locate them first.”
“‘Fraid not. I know she did some things on the Internet. She’d buy things, art and stuff, and then resell it. I don’t know how it all worked. She did make some money. Most times, the rent was on time. I wouldn’t get too bent out of shape when it was a few days late. I understood she was doing the best that she could.” Leonard stared at his feet in the big black boots, lifting them up high, then slowly lowering them back down to the floor.
I had the urge to ask what the two of them did to make their living.
Outside on the street, a car horn blared and somebody shouted, then cursed. The fog dimming the window light made me feel melancholy. Sitting with Leonard and Maggie didn’t help. I had the distinct feeling that they were not telling me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help them, Jesus.
“So you don’t know any of their friends or acquaintances? No one whose name you could give me?”
“Not a soul. Never saw a single person visit. She never had any kind of get-together or party that we’re aware of.”
I looked at Maggie, whose body language and expression had changed significantly since her man entered the room. Like someone had turned her dimmer down to low. The vacant look she’d greeted me with had returned and she didn’t seem to be listening to the conversation.
There was a knock at the porch door, and Maggie jumped to her feet. She opened it to a young couple. The boy, barely past the age of consent, wore a leather jacket and had a half-finished cigarette dangling from his lips. He was trying to look bored beyond belief. The girl with him was a waif in every sense of the word. She leaned against him, her arm clutching his waist. She was shaved bald with a narrow mohawk. Her eyes flitted about the room searching for purchase.
Nobody said a word. Maggie led them down the hallway to the back of the house.
“Anything else we can do for you?” Leonard said, his tone suddenly impatient.
“Do you know where Frankie is right now?”
“Not a clue.”
“Okay.” I stood up. “Thanks for your time.”
Leonard rose. I did the same and headed for the door.
“If I think of anything that might help, how can I contact you?”
I gave him my card. A simple white slip containing nothing but my name and cell phone number in mild black letters. He stared at it for a moment and nodded.
“I’ll let myself out.”
“Good luck, Plank. That little girl needs some.”
When I slid back into the plush comfort of the Aston’s passenger seat, Marsh had his eyes closed to Mozart’s Don Giovanni.
“A better use of time than our previous encounter, I trust.”
I shrugged. My mind was already working on the information Maggie and Leonard provided. They were a trip, to speak in their parlance. There was nothing too unusual about them, at least not measured by San Francisco standards. But, even before the young desperate couple showed up at their door, I’d had an uneasy feeling, something that I couldn’t exactly put my finger on. One thing I was sure of was that the two of them weren’t merely good Samaritans. I couldn’t tell if they cared a lick about Frankie.
“Time to go home?” Marsh asked.
I glanced at my cell phone. I was late for Dao. “The Rusty Root, my good man.” I punched in Dao’s number to tell him I was going to be a bit tardy.
Marsh started up the Aston and frowned. “I guess I’ve got to go face the music. Tom’s waiting for me at home. He broke in...using his key, which I told him to return. He says he won’t leave until we talk.”
“Probably not a bad idea, Marsh. Communication is the key to relationship success. I do think you owe him a little closure.”
“Closure,” Marsh snarled, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the concept while flooring the gas pedal.
Eight
I was in danger of being double-skunked.
“Damn it, Dao.” He was an expert player and nothing got past him, but tonight he was pegging at a supernatural clip.
“Study the p
ast if you would divine the future,” Dao mumbled as he dropped a seven on my eight, adding another peg. “Fifteen-two.”
He liked to quote Confucius to irk me.
Dao has been playing cribbage since he was a toddler, and he taught me a couple of years ago. We have a weekly game, or actually series of games, whatever number we can fit in in a couple of hours at the Root.
Cribbage is a relatively simple and straightforward game, but like most simple things that are worth your time, it has endless permutations in the play and, in particular, the scoring, which borders on the insane. I’m still discovering the occasional new way to score a point or peg. In other words, we encounter a new situation where Dao informs me that an incomprehensible point he’s about to take is legit.
I’ve never checked with any official Cribbage bible. I take his word for it, although not without making sure to add the appropriate grumbling regarding the unfairness of the game and the world.
“So how’d you do on your opportunity party the other night?”
“Excellent. You should consider a small investment.”
If I had money to spare, which I rarely do, I might. But only because it’s Dao. My money is always spoken for, usually before I earn it. I trust Dao and know he’d, without doubt, do well by me. But I don’t believe in investing or saving for the future or mutual funds or insurance or 401Ks, or any other reasonable long term strategy, no matter how safe.
There is no insurance policy in the world that will make me feel more secure.
I’m not a spendthrift. In fact, I rarely shop for anything, online or off. My boat has needs, and I take care of them. Otherwise, I spend only on necessities, the women in my life being part and parcel.
Life is a risk. Tomorrow may never come. I hold to those philosophies, but for good and ill, I also have an innate contrariness. If most everybody agrees something is true, there has to be something false or wrong about it.
“I’ll think about it, Dao.”
“No, you won’t. It’s okay, Max. I understand.” And he did. That’s why I liked spending time with him. Meiying was another matter. She couldn’t help herself, but I loved her, too, and she had only my best interests at heart, albeit filtered through a different culture and consciousness.
“And you did not call the lovely Luli either, my friend. Meiying is disappointed.”
“I wanted to read at least one Murakami novel first,” I said. I’d considered Luli, and every time I considered her, my pulse quickened. I’d so far resisted the temptation. Besides, Alexandra was in town, and Luli’s considerable charms paled in comparison.
Dao laughed and shook his head.
“You are a funny man, Plank. Very funny.”
That’s me. A laugh riot.
I glanced back down at my overturned cards and said, “Fifteen-two, four, six, eight and two is ten.” I moved my peg to within four holes of the double-skunk line. I wasn’t going to win, but perhaps I could still avoid total Cribbage humiliation.
“Marsh told me you went to see Poe.”
I looked at the pathetic cards in my hand and hoping that Dao would play something that would allow me to peg over that skunk line before he counted out of the game. “I did.”
“At his casino?”
“It was awe-inspiring.”
“I’ve only seen pictures in the paper. It looks like a dangerous sea creature.”
“That it does and is.”
“Gambling is a waste of money and time.”
“Good spot to meet women, though.”
“Depends on what kind of women you like to meet.”
“You’d be surprised. Some fine ladies love the excitement of pulling the handle on a slot machine and watching the blur of potential money clarify before their eyes. Wouldn’t be surprised if Meiying was one of those.” I was ribbing him now.
He frowned, his eyes flitting to one side. He nodded. “Perhaps.”
He was a smart man, a practical man, a man with keen insight into human behavior. He’d told me before that his wife was the mystery at the heart of his life.
I put down my final card, a six and, of course, Dao topped it with a nine and took two points on the peg. He had first count and more than enough to go out.
I was left a slot shy of the double-skunk line.
Dao said, “Good game.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Humility is good for the soul, Max.” He smiled without a trace of ridicule or malice.
“Namaste,” I said, placing my hands into a prayer position and bowing my head.
Dao laughed.
In the middle of the next game, with me once again trailing badly, Bo Fiddler wandered over and pulled up a chair. He was wearing his work uniform—a white linen shirt over a pair of dark clean jeans secured by a leather belt with a large gold buckle depicting a Remington-esque character in action, a cowboy with a lasso on a steed.
“How goes it?” He took a bite of a green apple, the crunch and crackle and sweet smell wafting over the table. “Looks like Custer’s Last Stand, Plank. Have you won a game yet?”
I glared at him. This was our fifth game of the night.
“Did you meet with my landlord?” he said, examining the cratered apple introspectively.
Dao topped my three with a five, bringing the hand to a neat thirty-one close and taking an additional five points. I was only going to be single-skunked in this game.
As Dao shuffled, I said, “We had an impactful meeting.” I filled in the necessary details.
“I admire your chutzpah, pal. Doesn’t speak well for your long-term survival prospects, but old age is overrated anyhow.”
“If I am going to help Frankie, I couldn’t wait. That’s all there was to that.”
Bo took another bite out of his apple and smiled. “Sure, buddy.”
“Could you do me a favor?” I asked, picking up my cards with that ridiculous little feeling of rising hope that never seems to die. I cursed, dropping the cards back down to the table.
Shaking my head in disgust, wondering what I’d done to offend the prickly Gods of Cribbage, I explained what I wanted Bo to do.
“You’re kidding,” Bo said.
“No,” I said, and reluctantly picked up the cards that all but guaranteed my further demise.
“Damn.” Bo took another bite of the apple and mumbled around the crumbling core, “Balls and chutzpah, Plank. Balls and chutzpah.”
As we were finishing up a platter of steamed cajun potstickers and green tea, Meiying arrived.
She put her hand on Dao’s shoulder, and he reached up and placed his on top of hers. She looked at me expectantly and said, “Your little girl came by see you again today.”
“She did?”
“I take her to your boat but...” Meiying shrugged.
“What time?” Marsh had picked me up around 10 a.m.
“Lunch time.”
“She left?”
“I fed her lunch. Moo shu and Hoisin wraps. Juice. Coconut ice cream. I let her watch TV, Arrow on Netflix. Then we go back to your boat but...” She shrugged her shoulders again as if to indicate that the inscrutable comings and goings of Max Plank were incomprehensible to women and children alike.
“And?” I said.
“Finally she go.”
“Did she say anything about why she wanted to see me?”
Meiying pursed her lips and moved her hand to Dao’s neck. Her fingers began to gently massage him there, and his eyes lost a touch of their focus.
“She not say too much. Just that she need to speak with Mr. Plank.”
“What time was it that she left?”
“Maybe four.”
I’d left her house a little after 3:30 p.m., so even if she’d gone straight there, I would have missed her.
“I think Frankie have trouble that no little girl should have.”
I locked eyes with hers and nodded.
“Can Dao and Meiying help?”
“I don’t know...next t
ime she shows up and I’m not here, call my cell phone.”
I should have given the kid my cell number, but I’m not in the habit of sharing it with anybody but those closest to me. And, even then, I do it grudgingly. I’m not exactly the poster boy for social connectivity.
“You not answer your cell phone most of time.”
That was true. I often didn’t bother to carry it.
“You help Frankie, Max. She is good girl. She wash lunch dish. She thank me three times for letting her on boat. But I can see on her face the pain. She try to be tough. Help her.”
I nodded. So far the case had stayed closed tight to my efforts to pry it open just a bit. Whatever it was trapped inside was burrowed deep, like some tenacious tapeworm resistant to the light of day. I was probably going to have to take more extreme action to coax it to the surface.
Nine
I was back in the middle of the pungent jungle again.
I knocked on the psychedelic door and stepped back.
I glanced up at the sky, visible through a gap in the overhanging foliage. Gray and more gray. A persistent drizzle of rain had started at dawn and continued into late morning now. I wore a slick blue parka with a hood and a drenched pair of black jeans.
The door swung open a bit until Maggie caught sight of me. She closed the door, unlatched the chain, and opened it again.
She stood staring at me, her lips slightly parted, her expression slightly vacant. She looked even more disheveled and disoriented than she had yesterday. I wondered what she was on. I’d encountered others like her all too often. Nice girls raised in good families that started running with the wrong crowd or got involved with the wrong man.
Maybe it wasn’t as simple as that. It seldom was.
“Maggie, I just came to see Frankie, and she didn’t answer downstairs. Is she out again?”
An uncomprehending look greeted my question. Her lips parted further, her mouth hanging open. For a moment, I wanted to grab her and shake her and tell her to wake up. Time was slipping away, and I was sure she’d already wasted more than her fair share.
Stray Cat Blues Page 6