“I’m there, man,” Lou promised.
Assuming we’re still on the air, Lawrence added to himself. “Well, thanks anyway, guys. We appreciate your help, but we’d better keep looking. Any idea what’s the next-closest gas station from here?”
“Wait a minute, darling. Something occurred to me.” Myrna stepped out of the circle Bootsy had made around her legs with his leash. “What if our mystery man didn’t realize how low the Caddy was on gas and ran out somewhere along his way? If his adrenaline was pumping after he took off with the car, he might not have thought to check the fuel gauge.”
“Plausible,” Lawrence agreed, “but how does that help us?”
“Boys,” Myrna asked the Royal pair, treating them to the flirtatious expression normally reserved for her show’s front-row customers, “has anyone come in today needing to buy a can to fill with gas? He probably would have come and gone on foot.”
“Yeah,” Lou’s boss said, “I waited on the guy maybe half an hour ago. He came from down toward the park and walked back in the same direction. He surprised me because he wanted the can filled with Super Unleaded. I had him pegged for somebody getting ready to mow his lawn, but not with that stuff.”
“Oh, you wonderful man!” Myrna gushed. “That has to be the fellow we’re looking for. What did he look like?”
“Nothing particularly remarkable. Let’s see. He was young; I’d guess about eighteen. Clean cut. Bright red hair, with a pair of those little round glasses.”
“Justin?” she said in disbelief, remembering the timid youngster almost too shy to ask for her autograph.
“Sorry, he didn’t give me a name. Paid in cash.”
“It’s him, Myrna,” Lawrence insisted. “He must have seen his opportunity and locked Don in the porta-potty.”
“But he seemed so sweet and harmless.”
“So much for your famous judgment of character,” he replied. “If we don’t find your ‘sweet and harmless’ boy in the next hour, I’m done for.”
“Oh, I know you’re right, Larry, but I can’t reconcile this brazen thief with that bashful boy I met earlier. Something doesn’t add up.”
Lawrence looked to Lou and his boss for help, but the pair only shrugged.
“Wait a minute!” Lawrence snapped his fingers. “We’re at the end of Euclid, aren’t we? A stone’s throw from Roseland. You said this kid was a slim redhead, about eighteen years old? I remember meeting George Ritchey’s son at the station last year. He’s a skinny one with red hair, and the age is about right. I don’t recall his name, but it could be Justin. And the family lives on Roseland.”
“Slow down, darling.” Myrna looked dubious. “What are you saying?”
“Think about it. It’s no secret Ritchey wants me gone, and he certainly wouldn’t hesitate to use his own son to get at me. The whole station knows how protective the old man is about the car, and everyone was shocked he agreed to trust me with it for the day. This is a tailor- made opportunity for Ritchey to torpedo me!”
Myrna frowned, unwinding Bootsy’s leash from around her legs again and shushing him when he started barking.
“We said before he seems to know something is up today,” Lawrence continued. “What if that’s because he arranged it himself? He probably put his son up to stealing the Caddy to see that I’m ousted from Channel 11 once and for all. It’s just his style!”
“Do you really think he would go that far?” Myrna asked. “It seems rather risky, even for such a cretin.”
“If there were only some way to know which direction our thief headed after he got the Caddy moving again,” Lawrence mused, ignoring his partner’s skepticism. “It could shed light on a lot of things. You guys didn’t see the car go past, by any chance? If he came up Euclid, he drove right by here.”
“Sorry, man,” the first attendant answered, “but like I said before, if either of us saw a car like that, we’d remember it.”
“What if you heard it?” Myrna suggested.
“Huh?”
“The car doesn’t just look ridiculous. It’s also fitted with a Cherry Bomb muffler, so it sounds obnoxious too. There can’t be too many of those running around these days. Did you possibly hear one drive by?”
“Why, yes, ma’am,” Lou answered, excited. “I was inside working under the rack, but I heard something like that roar past about fifteen minutes before you folks pulled up.”
“Myrna, you’re a genius,” Lawrence told his partner in frank admiration, tangling their fingers with an excited squeeze. “Lou, could you tell which way it was headed? Did it go north toward the mall, or south to downtown?”
“Well, sir, bear in mind I didn’t actually see it. But it sounded like it took the cutoff right after it turned north and headed into the residential district.”
“Into the residential district?” Lawrence repeated, his eyes narrowed and his voice tense. “Toward Roseland. That settles it then. I know where we need to go.”
3:13 PM
“WHAT are you doing in my house, Florence?”
George Ritchey was a cherubic-looking man whose round, jovial features were a little too florid and his smile a little too cruel. He pounded up his front steps just as his wife was ushering Lawrence and Myrna inside.
“Oh, you have such a lovely home, Helen.” Myrna ignored the man looming behind her and turned to his timid little wife, who had fled to stand beneath a family portrait hanging over the electric fireplace. Myrna smiled genuinely, despite the itch the ill-lit décor of particle-board furniture and ceramic angels gave her.
“Why, thank you,” the older woman said with obvious pleasure. “We do try to make it cozy here.”
“Goodness, is that a limited-edition Hummel on your end table? Do you mind if I take a picture of it? I’m always looking for decorating ideas for our place.” Myrna crossed to stand beside Helen, taking out her cell phone and activating the camera app.
“Yes! There are more in the bedroom. Would you like to see?” Myrna’s smile never faltered. “I’d love to. Lead on!”
Lawrence watched in astonishment as Myrna let Helen escort her from the room, taking snapshots of the various decorating inspirations that caught her eye.
“George,” he replied, working to keep his cool as he turned to face the unhappy producer. “How interesting to find you at home. I thought you might be at the station. Is your son with you?”
“What?” George asked, taken a bit off guard. “What about my boy? You stay away from him. What are you doing here?”
“Let’s cut the crap, George. You’ve wanted me out of Channel 11 from the day I was hired, but ever since they gave me your old time slot, you’ve done everything you could to hurt my career.” Lawrence’s voice quivered with anger. “Well, it’s not going to work! Now, where is it?”
“Where’s what?” George’s expression wavered between angry and mystified. “Look, you freak, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but you need to get out of my house right now!”
“Stop playing games!” Lawrence pressed, refusing to back down. “I know you’re behind it—you and that kid of yours. Well, I’m not going to let you get away with it.”
Mastering his emotions with effort, Lawrence lowered his voice to a calmer pitch. “Look, if we keep on like this, both of us are going to come off looking bad at the station. I’ll tell you what, you give it back right now, and I won’t say a word to anybody. That gets us both out of a tight situation with our careers intact. Otherwise, it’s going to get messy for everybody.”
“Are you drunk?” George asked in amazement. “You show up in my house—my house—in full flamer makeup, ask about my kid, and then start ranting about our careers. What the hell is this?”
“Dad, is everything okay?”
Lawrence and George turned from their face-off to find Myrna and Helen looking on from the mouth of the hallway, joined by a short redhead in his late teens.
“Darling,” Myrna broke in, clearing her throat, �
�I think you met the Ritcheys’ son Jackson last year at your company picnic.” She nodded to the young man with a knowing glance at Lawrence. “He’s a fine lad. But you were mistaken; he’s not the fellow I met earlier today.”
“What...?” Her announcement took all the wind out of Lawrence’s sails. “But if this isn’t Justin.... If he didn’t take....”
“Wait a minute,” George interrupted, dawning realization dissolving his angry scowl. “You’re supposed to be at that queer parade today... with Ellington’s car. That’s what this is all about. You’ve lost his Cadillac! You thought I took it!”
The producer beamed an evil grin as Lawrence’s legs failed him, depositing him into a nearby chair.
“Oh, this is beautiful!” the ecstatic producer continued. “You know, I thought this was going to be a rotten day, but boy, was I wrong. Wait until I call the office. Your show will be off the schedule by Monday, and you’ll be out on your ass.”
“George, what are you saying?” His wife’s tone did nothing to hide her disapproval.
“Helen,” he barked at her, “take Jack to the den, and I’ll be there shortly. I need to show these ‘people’ out.”
“Don’t worry, dear.” Myrna gave Helen’s shoulder a pat as she ushered her son back down the hallway. “I know how cranky husbands can be after a hard day at the office. It was lovely meeting you. I hope we can chat again.”
“What’s she talking about?” George eyed Myrna in frank confusion. “And what’s she doing here with you anyway? I thought you were into guys.”
“Oh, don’t you worry either,” Myrna told him sweetly before dropping her voice to its normal resonant tones. “Nick will be back home with him tonight.”
George goggled at the attractive blonde in disbelief, unable to speak.
“Well! This is the first time the two of you have been quiet since this party started,” Myrna said brightly. “Larry, say something.”
“Why?” he moaned, leaning forward with his face in his hands. “Not only does he not have the car, but I’ve told him we don’t have it! No matter what happens now, I’m out of a job.”
“That’s right,” George crowed, finding his voice. “I’ll make sure of it!”
“Oh, don’t be so sad, Larry.” Lawrence was baffled by Myrna’s easy dismissal of the collapse of his career. She knelt beside him, extending her phone, and continued blithely, “Look at some of the beautiful pictures I got of Helen’s decor. See how gorgeously this one is framed. And look at how the light plays so beautifully across this one. It all seems to focus so naturally right there.”
In his despair, Lawrence began to worry that his partner was losing her mind, but when he glanced at the shot that so caught her enthusiasm, he sat up straight and alert. His demeanor changed in an instant. The essence of serenity, Lawrence Frightengale rose and strolled across the room, wearing a beatific smile.
“I see what you mean, darling,” he rejoined, wandering over to the faux fire burning soundlessly. “George, I really have to compliment you on your taste.”
“What?” Lawrence’s sudden shift in attitude gave the producer’s confusion an edge of worry. “What are you babbling about now? Get out of my house!”
“Certainly, as soon as I’ve told you how much we’ve enjoyed seeing your home. You have some really lovely things here.”
Lawrence halted his stroll before the flat-screen television in the corner of the room. “This TV, for instance. Really top caliber! In fact, we had one like it down at the station, and you remember what an excellent component that was. Of course, it went missing. So sad.”
George opened his mouth, looking furiously at his co-worker, but closed it again without a word.
“Oh, look,” Lawrence continued, bending to examine the television’s casing. “Your taste in electronics is so similar to our station’s that your set even has the remnants of a ‘Property of Channel 11’ sticker here at the bottom. You can still see the outline of our logo and everything. That’s quite an eye for detail you have.”
“I don’t have to listen to—”
“And look at this stunning photo of your den,” Lawrence went on, undeterred. “The computer on the desk there still has its Channel 11 sticker entirely intact. Isn’t that a charming shot of your son sitting in front of it?”
George’s sweating face had gone from florid to pale.
“This is the way I see it,” Lawrence concluded, offering Myrna his arm and escorting her toward the door. All hint of charm had fled his voice. “You can tell Ellington about the Caddy, and I’ll almost certainly be fired. But I can tell him about all this equipment, and you will go to jail. Myrna took excellent photos, and you know Ellington. If he sees even one of them, he’ll prosecute to the letter of the law. In the long run, I think we’ll all be happier if we keep quiet about these embarrassing circumstances, and we both keep our jobs. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“It doesn’t matter,” George croaked, trying to salvage a remnant of control over the situation. “When you don’t show up at the parade with the car in half an hour, I won’t have to say a word to anybody. You’re still screwed.”
“Then maybe you’d better hope we find it in the next twenty-nine minutes,” Myrna advised as Lawrence held the door open for her. “Because if Larry loses his job, or if I ever hear of you harassing him in the future, I may become hysterical and e-mail those pictures to everyone at Channel 11 in my overwrought state. You know how flighty we women are.”
3:32 PM
“DARLING, that was magnificent!” Lawrence said, still buzzing with adrenaline as he sat behind the wheel of their Toyota in the Ritchey driveway. Bootsy yipped his excitement at their return and jumped up and down in Myrna’s lap. “I take back every disparaging remark I’ve made. You are Nick and Nora rolled into one, with a touch of Irene Adler thrown in for good measure. How did you know to take those pictures?”
“Well, when we first arrived, I noticed the family portrait above the mantel. It was several years old, so I couldn’t be certain, but the young man in it didn’t look much like our mysterious Justin. When Helen introduced me to her son a little later, I knew you were on the wrong track. Plus, you were working from a hunch to begin with, which meant the whole thing had the potential to blow up in our faces. So, when I still had my doubts after Helen invited us in, I started looking for a good exit strategy. When I remembered what Max said about the stolen office equipment, it seemed like our best bet, not to mention a good way to kill two birds with one stone.”
“I bow to your superior intellect,” Lawrence said with sincerity. “It’s too bad you found a way to get that idiot off my back on the day I’m sure to lose my job. We’re less than thirty minutes from the start of the parade, and we have no clue where the Caddy is. I’d better call Max and give him the bad news.”
Reaching for his phone, he was startled when it emitted a wolf howl before he managed to retrieve it. “That’s probably him now.” But when Lawrence flipped it open, he didn’t recognize the number displayed on the screen. Placing it cautiously to his ear, he offered a tentative, “Hello?”
“Lawrence Frightengale,” said the strange voice on the other end of the line, “I have your car!”
3:40 PM
“THERE it is, dear! Turn down here.”
Lawrence made the turn awkwardly, almost passing the side street Myrna pointed out. He felt a swell of relief as the beautiful, hideous Cadillac came into view, parked in front of a modest red-roofed bungalow. The elusive redheaded Justin was sitting on its chrome bumper, arguing with an older white-haired gentleman who was waving his cell phone around. Lawrence pulled in behind them.
“Justin, you can’t go around stealing other people’s cars,” the elderly man exhorted. “You could get put away for a very long time.”
“I’m not stealing it! We’re taking it back, Grandpa, but it should be you in the parade, not—”
The teenager paled, and the older man turned as Lawrence walked up behind him.
“Not me?” Lawrence finished the sentence smoothly as he approached the pair.
“Mr. Frightengale, I’m so sorry about all of this,” the older man said, extending his hand. “Please don’t be mad at my grandson. We’re both big fans of your show.”
“Are you the one who called me?” Lawrence asked, taking the man’s hand as Myrna and Bootsy ambled up behind him. “I appreciate your contacting me, but I have to say I’m baffled by your grandson’s behavior, Mr.—?”
“Raintree,” the man supplied, “but please, call me Claude. And this knucklehead is Justin.”
“We’ve already met.” Myrna eyed the boy with an arched brow.
“Look, Claude, I have to be honest,” Lawrence said stiffly. “This young man has caused us—” Lawrence stopped. He blinked, peering into the senior citizen’s face. “Claude... Raintree. You’re Claude Raintree?”
“Yes, sir,” the older man answered, a puzzled crease furrowing his forehead.
“Claude ‘Harry Ghoulini’ Raintree?” Lawrence intoned, nearing religious ecstasy.
“Well, yeah,” Claude replied. “You know about me?”
“Know about you?” Lawrence exploded in delight. “Myrna, I just shook hands with the original host of Terror Time!”
“Oh my word, Mr. Ghoulini!” Myrna pumped the elder man’s hand. “You have no idea what a big fan Larry is.”
“Claude, please,” he reminded her. “I stopped being Harry Ghoulini a long time ago. How do you even know about me? Nobody remembers me.”
“That’s why my grandpa should be in the parade, not you!” Justin broke in. “Grandpa started Terror Time. He was the best! Still is, but nobody knows it because all they ever see on Friday nights is Lawrence Frightengale.”
“Justin, I told you I retired. The station owns the show, not me, and they can air whichever episodes they want. They don’t even have most of mine anymore, and they’d have no reason to run them even if they did. It’s not Mr. Frightengale’s fault.”
Lawrence Frightengale Investigates Page 3