UnderCover

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UnderCover Page 8

by David R Lewis


  “I been watchin’ you guys,” Danni said.

  Crockett nodded. “Cool, huh?”

  “Really. You don’t have, like, a son my age or anything, do ya?”

  For the first time in too long, Crockett leaned back in the swing and laughed.

  An hour later, after a single malt, two Shermans, and ham sandwiches and chips; Satin, following trash removal to the kitchen, returned to the porch and sat in the swing beside Crockett.

  “So, you think this mess with Train is over?” she said.

  “Probably not. Some old white guy dropping him in his own club’ll be more than he can handle. And the whole mess will be Danielle’s fault. That’ll make it even tougher for him to deal with. He lost. The boy is not used to losing. I’m afraid today was the beginning, not the end.”

  “So now what?”

  Crockett turned to Danielle. “How’s your relationship with the new club where you were dancing?”

  “Okay. The woman who owns it, Suzy, is pretty nice.”

  “How ‘bout, ah, the other place?”

  “Babette’s?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re pretty okay, too.”

  “Good. I need you to call someone who’ll keep their mouth shut at both places, tell ‘em there’s a big black guy looking for you, and ask them to call your cell if he should show up in either place.”

  “Should I call tonight or tomorrow morning?”

  Crockett smiled. “Tomorrow’ll be fine. I doubt if Mister Train will be getting out much this evening.”

  “Okay.”

  “And tell whoever you contact to keep your name out of it.”

  “I will. Uh, can I use your hot tub?”

  “Sure. Help yourself. It’s not very hot though. If it’s too cool for you, boost the heater. It warms up pretty quick. Just remember to back it down when you’re done.”

  “Thanks,” Danni replied, turning to her mother. “Mom, you got something I can wear?”

  “Go nude if you want to,” Crockett said. “I have no reason to be out that way this evening. Use the robe so you won’t chill.”

  “Okay. Great!” Danni said, and headed inside.

  “Helluva shift in your kid,” Crockett said, when the girl was completely out of earshot.

  “We had a real talk,” Satin said. “I told her I’d help her with money if she’d go back to school. Help her with an apartment, too, or she could live with me. I got a lot of room.”

  “And her kid?”

  “The kid is part of the package or there’s no deal.”

  “Can you afford to do all that?”

  “I think so. I’m bucks up with what Ivy did for me after the whole mess with Ruby and Carson. Plus, I can work more hours if I have to.”

  “I’ll help,” Crockett said.

  “That would make it easier,” Satin said. “Thank you.”

  “No thanks necessary. A little leverage over a gorgeous young woman is a good deal for such a discerning gentleman as myself. I wonder if the phrase like mother, like daughter is really true? God, I hope so. This could be fun. Just imagine where it might lead. Woof!”

  “What an asshole.”

  “Now Earlene, this hyar could git me to the place whar I kin try one a them ‘meringue la twats’ that them thar Frenchies like so much.”

  The upcoming battle was stopped by the ringing of Crockett’s cell phone. The caller’s voice was male, pleasant, and gay. He’d heard it before.

  “David Crockett?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Wonderful. I finally found your cell number that Ruby gave me. I was hoping it would still be the same. This is Carl Saunders. If that doesn’t ring a bell, I’m the psychic Ruby called in a few years ago when you had a situation with a discarnate entity.”

  “We called her the Amazing Disappearing Woman, Carl,” Crockett replied. “Sure I remember you.”

  “Am I calling at a bad time?”

  “Not if we don’t talk too long.”

  “First of all, let me extend my heartfelt sympathy over your recent loss.”

  “Our recent loss, Carl. We both loved her.”

  “As did many others. We who were enriched by her time among us are diminished by her passing. There was only one Ruby.”

  The phone was silent for a beat or two. “Well,” Carl said, “to the reason for my bothering you. Last Saturday I became involved in a situation that might intrigue you, Crockett. Out in Independence lives a single mother and her two daughters who have recently moved into a house willed to them by her grand mother-in-law. This woman is a single mother because her husband, a state policeman, disappeared nearly four years ago. The investigation has revealed nothing. He has, simply, never been heard from.”

  “And you believe all options have not been explored?”

  “I have no opinion at this point,” Carl said. “At least none that I’m prepared to share. An opinion has been voiced, however. Now comes the tricky part. The man in question, Paul McGill, was the grandson of the elderly woman who willed the house to his widow and children. The woman, Martha McGill, died less than two months ago. It is she that believes the death of her grandson was murder.”

  “The dead woman thinks he was murdered,” Crockett said.

  “That’s the information I have.”

  “And you have this information how?”

  “From Martha McGill’s three-year-old great granddaughter, Mandy.”

  “Ah-ha! The credible source.”

  Carl forged on. “It seems that Mandy has seen her great grandmother many times in the past few weeks, that the old woman saved the child from drowning in a fish pond, and that now, Mandy talks to Grandma in her head.”

  “Carl, you know after our first meeting and the events that surrounded it, I am not likely to dismiss everything you’ve said as bullshit.”

  “Ruby told me the whole story of what you went through after our last meeting. Fascinating.”

  “Then, what I need to know is why have you gone to the trouble of getting in touch with me about all this?”

  “Three reasons, Crockett. First, the police have closed the case. Telling them a three-year-old girl believes her daddy was murdered because her dead great grandmother told her so is not going to get them to re-open the investigation. It will have to be done privately. Secondly, Paul McGill was an undercover state cop involved in an investigation at the occasion of his disappearance. If I recall, you were a police officer at one time were you not?”

  “I was.”

  “Then, I assume, a police officer vanishing in the course of an investigation might have some intense meaning for you.”

  “What’s the third reason?”

  Carl drew a breath and exhaled. “Because Ruby would get involved in this if she were here,” he said.

  “Oh, you sneaky guy. That’s not fair.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Carl said. “Did it work?”

  “Where and when?” Crockett said.

  “Can you meet me tomorrow at the I-70 Hereford House for lunch? On me. One o’clock?”

  “I can.”

  “Good. See you then. Thanks, Crockett.”

  Satin looked him over as Crockett closed his cell phone.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  Crockett rubbed his face. “Well,” he said, “no rest for the wicked. Tomorrow I am going to visit a single mother whose three-year-old daughter has been talking with her great grandmother, a woman who died a couple of months ago, who claims the young girl’s father that nobody has been able to find in nearly four years, did not just take off. Oh, no. But, that he was, in fact, murdered while involved as a state police officer on a special investigation.”

  Satin stared at the tabletop for a moment. “Oh,” she said. “That old story. If you’re gonna lie to me just so you can go run around. Crockett, you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

  “All right, all right. The call was from a guy named Carl Saunders. He was a friend and ex-pat
ient of Ruby’s. He’s a psychic Ruby contacted when we were involved with the Amazing Disappearing Woman.”

  “He’s a psychic?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like with ghosts and séances and stuff?”

  “I guess. Never did really see him in action. He’s got a radio show, I think.”

  “So tomorrow afternoon…”

  “So, tomorrow afternoon I’m meeting him for lunch, and then I guess we’re going to see about some little girl who talks to her dead great grandma.”

  “Good,” Satin said. “I think you need to get involved in something more than just puttering around this place. A nice outside interest. Maybe a hobby. Ghost hunting would take up a lot less space than model trains.”

  “That’s what you think, huh?”

  “Yeah. Be good for ya.”

  “You wanna come along?”

  Satin shook her head. “Oh, no. Not me.”

  Knowing he was the setup, Crockett continued. “Why not?” he asked.

  “’Cause being around you when we’re alone is spooky enough. I damn sure don’t need psychics and ghosts, too.”

  “Be nice to have some alone time with your kid, huh?”

  Satin smiled. “Yeah,” she said. “That, too, would be nice.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Crockett arrived at the Hereford House a little early, declined a seat at Carl’s reserved table, and stepped outside to have a cigarette. He had just lit the Sherman when a magnificent 1961 Cadillac convertible, top down, purred into the lot. White in turquoise, complete with wide whitewalls and fender shirts, the car looked brand new. Behind the wheel of the immense vehicle was Carl Saunders. He watched while Carl raised the top, secured the latches, and stepped out of the car.

  Continuing his vehicular fashion statement, Carl wore an oversized turquoise shirt with a white neck scarf, white peasant’s pants, and turquoise old-fashioned tennis shoes. His salt and pepper hair was cut in a stylishly abbreviated mullet, his white mustache carefully groomed in a full 360-degree circle at each edge of his mouth, his black goatee separated in the middle and curled upward to match his mustache. Crockett, whose own mustache occasionally looked as if his face were asking to leave the room, wondered how the hell he did it. Carl approached him, looked up at Crockett, and extended his right hand, palm down, in greeting. Crockett carefully shook his fingers and smiled.

  “Hi, Carl,” he said. “Nice ride. You’re the second guy I’ve had business with in the past week that had a vintage auto.”

  Carl grinned. His teeth were alarmingly white. “My new town car,” he replied with cartoon intensity. “Only eight miles to the gallon, but they are such lovely miles. Shall we go in?”

  Hiding his amusement as much as he could, Crockett agreed. “Let’s,” he said.

  “I am absolutely famished,” Carl went on, taking Crockett’s arm and walking him toward the door. “I’ve had not a thing since strawberries and cream when I broke fast this morning.”

  Jesus.

  Carl looked across the table at Crockett and dipped a shrimp, called “sea hogs” on the menu, into some sauce. “Devastating about Ruby,” he said. “She was shot to death?”

  “Yeah. While helping an elderly man in a wheelchair.”

  “And that,” Carl said, “is as much as you will tell me, isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “First the abduction, then all those surgeries, then killed at the beginning of her new life. How tragic.”

  Crockett looked surprised. Carl’s smile was poignant.

  “She and I talked regularly. It seems you were quite the hero.”

  Crockett grimaced. “You and Ruby spoken to each other recently?” he asked.

  “Ah. I can see this conversation vexes you. I’m sorry. I apologize.”

  “Not necessary,” Crockett said. “You and she were close.”

  “And no, she and I have had no contact since her death. The temptation to attempt to contact her is reasonably pervasive, I grant you that. But I have learned over the years that discarnates, especially recent ones, are usually much too busy to tolerate rude interruptions. If Ruby desires an exchange with me, it is she who will have to initiate the encounter.”

  “Not that I want you to,” Crockett said, “but could you actually reach her?”

  “Possibly. However, I choose not to intrude.”

  “Amazing.”

  “Not half as amazing as that lobster,” Carl countered, looking over Crockett’s shoulder at his oncoming meal.

  Crockett, his last bite of filet balanced nicely with his last bite of baked potato, sighed and leaned back in his chair.

  “That was wonderful,” he said.

  Carl took a sip of his wine. “I eat here a lot,” he said. “I do readings for the manager and his family and trade out my fee in food.”

  “What do you charge for a reading?” Crockett asked.

  “As much as the client can reasonably afford. I never do one totally for free. There must be an exchange to maintain balance. I do some for as little as twenty dollars, now and then one for as much as two hundred. Why? You want a reading?”

  Crockett grinned. “No, not me. I was just curious.”

  “Good,” Carl said. “I’d rather not read for you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you were the closest friend of one of my closest friends. I have too much personal interest in your welfare to remain objective. Without objectivity, what I do is worse than useless. It can even be harmful. I cannot allow that.”

  “What about the people we’re going to see today? Do you know them?”

  “I met them only last Saturday. Today will be our second meeting.”

  “Do they know I’m going to be there?”

  “Yes. I called the mother, Cheryl, last evening.”

  “What did you tell them about me?”

  Carl smiled. “I told them you were a paranormal investigator with a police background.”

  “Aw, c’mon.”

  “What? Did you, or did you not, investigate the long ago death of a discarnate woman that used to live in your home before you were born?”

  “Well…”

  “And were you, or were you not, an officer of the law?”

  “Sure, but…”

  “Crockett, these people need help. And they need it from people in whom they can have confidence. I have my credentials. Now you have yours.”

  “I can see that, but paranormal investigator?”

  “Why not? It sounds a lot more credible than Ghostbuster.”

  Crockett smiled. “Who ya gonna call?” he said.

  The unapologetic opulence of the Cadillac was so politically incorrect, Crockett grinned almost all the way to the appointment. Because Carl had put the top down, neither of them bothered much with conversation. Once they slowed for Independence traffic, Crockett spoke up.

  “Who’s the woman we’re going to see again?”

  “Cheryl McGill. She’s the mother of Sarah and Mandy. She is also the granddaughter-in-law of Martha McGill.”

  “Martha is the discarnate spirit in question?”

  Carl chuckled. “Discarnate spirit?”

  Crockett raised an eyebrow. “We paranormal investigators do not use terms like ghost, banshee, haint, phantom, class-five full roaming vapor, or other colloquialisms,” he said. “That would be unprofessional.”

  “Why yes, it would,” Carl agreed, his overly white teeth flashing in the sun.

  “So, which one of the kids is talking to the spook?”

  Carl sighed and shook his head. “Close,” he said. “So close.”

  They stopped at a small and neat post-war home in an area off of Charlotte Drive, amid a neighborhood of other small and neat post-war houses. Petite, pretty, and in her early thirties, Cheryl McGill answered the door and led them into a living room that was not afraid to admit there were children in the home. Seated on the couch were two girls. One was seven or eight, delicate of feature
and build, composed of attitude, with dark blond hair and large brown eyes, much like her mother. The other was not yet kindergarten age, stocky in build, with cherub cheeks, a winning smile, and, from the hairline up, reminiscent of Harpo Marx.

  Carl introduced Crockett to all three of the ladies. Mom and the eldest daughter came to him to shake hands. Mandy remained on the couch, wiggling her feet and smiling. They accepted iced tea from Cheryl, Sarah left the space to go to her room, and Crockett took a seat beside Mandy. He looked down at her as she sized him up.

  “How ya doin’?” Crockett asked.

  Mandy stopped jiggling her feet. “Fine.”

  “Got a boyfriend?”

  Mandy smiled and shook her head.

  “No boyfriend, huh? You married or something?”

  “No,” Mandy replied, her tone reflecting how stupid the question was.

  “That’s okay. You’ve got plenty of time. Who’s that sitting over there?”

  “Mom.”

  “Mom? I thought that was your sister.”

  “That’s my mom,” Mandy said, rolling her eyes. Obviously Crockett wasn’t very bright.

  “Who was that sitting with you on the couch when we came in?”

  “My sister.”

  “Oh. I thought she was your mom.”

  Mandy shook her head. “You’re silly,” she said.

  “You’re right,” Crockett replied. “Pretty smart for just a little kid.”

  “You could read to me,” Mandy said.

  “I could, huh?”

  “Uh-huh. I could get a book.”

  “I’d like that,” Crockett said. “But first, my friend Carl wants to talk about some stuff. Maybe I can read to you after that. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Mandy agreed, and scooched a few inches closer to Crockett.

  “I think you’re doing fine, Crockett,” Carl said. “Why don’t you just keep going?”

  “Me?”

  “Sure.”

  Feeling out of his element, Crockett forged ahead.

 

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