Jonelle straightened up and stared at the boy. “That was great, Kenny. But, uh, do you mean he smelled like he was sick?”
“Sorta, but I don’t ’member he looked sick. He just smelled like it.”
“Okay, that’s enough. We’re going now,” Mrs. Jefferson said.
“Right, sure,” Jonelle said, stepping away from the car. “Thanks for your patience, and thanks a lot for the information, Kenny. If you see him again, could you let me know?”
“Don’t count on it,” Mrs. Jefferson snapped. “Kenny isn’t going to be seeing anyone for a while.” She put the car in gear and sped down the street.
Deep in thought, Jonelle ambled over to where her car was parked. She disengaged the alarm and reached for the handle. Careful, girl. She stopped before grasping the smooth metal.
Instead, Jonelle walked slowly around the vehicle. She eyeballed one of the wheels and gave it a kick. Feeling a bit silly and not at all sure why she was doing it, Jonelle thumped each tire anyway.
After peering closely at the Jeep’s body for any new signs of damage, Jonelle glanced around to see if anyone was watching, placed the briefcase on the ground, lowered herself down on top of it, and checked the undercarriage. The bag’s clasp poked into her back as she examined the underside of the SUV. Seeing nothing unusual, she stood and brushed herself off.
Satisfied, Jonelle got into the car, and pondered what Kenny told her. While she was certain Manross had something to do with the reason Del’s body was missing, the inclusion of a strange white man added a new twist.
It didn’t sound like the church pastor; she couldn’t picture the man in “cool” or “kickin’” anything. “And certainly not driving a Mercedes,” she muttered to herself.
Still, she recalled the strong odor of the pastor’s cologne, which to a twelve-year-old boy, maybe made the man smell sick. She’d have to see about getting a flyer or something from the church with the pastor’s picture on it to show Kenny.
Jonelle dug into the briefcase and pulled out a small spiral notebook and pen. She jotted down everything Kenny had told her about the mysterious man, underlining the words “funny smell.”
She buckled herself in behind the steering wheel of her Jeep, and headed out to meet Marvin. She didn’t understand any of this. Why should a wife wanting to find out where her husband’s missing body was intimidate anyone to the point where they’d want to threaten her?
CHAPTER 12
Marvin Shorter had started coming to the None Finer Diner about thirty years ago. One morning, frustrated at not being able to find work for six months and with The Baltimore Sun employment section tucked under his arm, he had stumbled onto the place.
In those days, a person could get two eggs, any style, bacon, ham, or scrapple, two pieces of toast, home fries, coffee, and orange juice, all for around five dollars. After fortifying himself with a good breakfast, he’d left the diner that day and got a job as a surveillance photographer for a detective agency. A year later, he opened his own business.
From that moment on, the diner became his good luck charm. If a case was particularly difficult or he wanted to figure something out, he came to the diner. Sometimes he’d order a full meal or just a cup of coffee.
Marvin sank back against the booth’s cheap red vinyl and waited for Jonelle. He inhaled the sweet, smoky smell of fried bacon emanating from the grill in the back. He heard eggs sizzling and the clank of the spatula turning over fried potatoes and onions. To him, the diner wasn’t just a place. It was a warm sweater—an old beat-up pair of shoes that one didn’t wear in public or throw away.
Marvin glanced at his watch. She’s late as usual.
As he sat facing the door, Marvin thought of how much had changed over the years. He took a sip of steaming black coffee and considered his life. He was far from that angry young black man returning from war, unable to find a job. Today he had a good, though childless, marriage. He owned a thriving private investigative agency, and the other special woman in his life, Jonelle, seemed content. She owned her home and enjoyed her job and had plenty of friends. He hoped what he had to tell her wouldn’t change any of that.
He picked up the manila folder on the seat next to him and placed it on the table. He fiddled with his knife and fork and waved off another coffee refill.
“Care to order now?” the waitress asked, smiling at him.
Women smiled at Marvin a lot.
“Not just yet Pat,” he said. “I’m waiting for my niece. Oh, here she is now.”
He watched Jonelle make a beeline for the table. Marvin felt an ache in his gut at how his niece would react to the news he had to give her. He hated to disappoint her. She’d had enough of that when she was growing up. Her mother, his sister, always wanted to be an actress and had left Jonelle with Marvin and Teresa while she chased her pipe dream. When Jonelle was eighteen, her mother moved to Hollywood. After fifteen years, the only thing she had to show for that fantasy involved taping voice overs and women on the street movie extra work every now and then. Jonelle’s father had died in a freak boating accident a week after Jonelle’s sixth birthday.
“You look really nice today, Jonnie. Going somewhere important?” Marvin asked, pointing to the leather briefcase.
“No, only here,” Jonelle said, sliding in the booth across from her uncle. “But I do have something to show you. Have you ordered yet?”
“Nope, been waiting for you.” He motioned the waitress over, and the two of them placed their orders.
“So,” Jonelle said, tapping the manila folder. “What’s this?”
Marvin didn’t know where to start. “First, how about you tell me what you’ve got in that case there.”
Jonelle took a deep breath. “Okay, here’s the deal.”
She told him about the flat tire in the cemetery parking lot, the weird guy in the bar who also worked in a cemetery, the hang-up calls she received last night, and the mysterious white man with the note.
“I have it right here,” she said, pulling the note from her briefcase. “Mathilda gave it to me last night. Tell me what you think.”
“Why’s it in a baggie?” he asked.
Jonelle smiled sheepishly. “To preserve the evidence.”
Marvin stifled a smile. “Uh huh. How many people have handled this before you got it?”
“When Mathilda gave it to me, it was sealed in an envelope, which I also have in a baggie. I showed the note to Adrienne, but she only handled it around the edges, so I’m the only other person, besides whoever wrote this, of course. So, tell me what you think.”
“You sure Mathilda didn’t open it first? And then seal it again?” Marvin asked.
“Why do you and Adrienne think Mathilda is a little, well, off? Mathilda is okay. She’s just a bit nosey about everybody’s comings and goings is all. I’m sure she didn’t open it. And neither did Kenny.”
“Kenny? That kid with the thick glasses who lives on your street? What’s he got to do with this?”
“Well, the man paid Kenny twenty dollars to give the envelope to me, but he saw Mathilda first. And gave it to her… to give to me.” Jonelle shrugged.
“Money well spent,” Marvin muttered and put on his reading glasses. He wrinkled his brow. “Looks like the work of an amateur.”
“See, that’s what I thought, too,” Jonelle said, the words rushing from her mouth. “I mean, he tried to make out like he wasn’t educated, but he just misspelled the simple words. And look at the quality of the paper.”
“So, you think your cemetery worker is behind this note?”
“No, I don’t think Manross wrote this. It definitely came from the white man in the Benz.”
Marvin studied his niece a moment. “How do you know what kind of car he drives?”
“Kenny told me. He said the man smelled funny, too.”
“The mystery man smells? You mean he has BO?”
“Or he could be sick. Kenny said the guy smelled like his grandmother when she was
in the hospital.” Jonelle leaned in closer to her uncle. “What do you think about that?”
“Wasn’t much of a description, but the fact that he noticed the guy smelled funny indicates it was a strong odor. People on large doses of medication often emit a kind of odor, as do some people from different countries.”
“Different country? I hadn’t thought of that. Kenny didn’t say the man had an accent. Of course, I didn’t ask, either.” Jonelle took out her pad and pen and scribbled something. “I’ll ask Kenny next time I see him if he remembers if the man sounded foreign.”
Marvin studied the note again. “I’m not sure my police contact will have the time to get this dusted for prints. Still,” Marvin paused, examining the note, “I could at least ask.”
“I’d like to go with you, just let me know when. In the meantime, I’m gonna hang on to this,” Jonelle said as she took the note from his hand and put it back in her case. “The guy’s prints, if any are on the note, may not be in any database. Like you said, he’s probably an amateur. I guess I really just wanted to find out how you think I should handle this.”
“Not at all, is how I think you should handle this,” Marvin said. He frowned at Jonelle. “We’ve had this conversation before, and I believe I told you that if you insisted on pursuing this, that the agency could investigate. Now I’m convinced we should.”
“And it seems I told you it’s my problem,” Jonelle retorted. “Besides, you said you’ve got more work than you can handle right now.”
Before Marvin could reply, the waitress set their plates in front of them. The two made small talk while they ate.
Marvin finished his meal, leaned against the back of the seat, and studied his niece. “So you’re not letting this go?”
Jonelle slowly shook her head. “There is one thing I would like you to help me with.”
They waited as the waitress cleared the table.
“What’s that?” Marvin asked.
“I haven’t been to the shooting range for a while. Do you have time to go with me this week?”
“Just for fun or do you want odds?” Marvin grinned.
Jonelle studied the ceiling. “If my memory serves, I’ve outshot you the last five out of six times.”
“That’s only because the old eyesight isn’t what it used to be,” Marvin said. “And the reason you want to do this now is…?”
“I’m still trying to get on the force, you know. I’ve lost five pounds in the last two months.”
Marvin raised an eyebrow. He’d just witnessed his niece consume an extra large portion of home fries.
“The force, huh?” Marvin squinted at her. “You sure that’s the reason?”
Jonelle looked away from her uncle.
“I can’t stop you from doing anything,” Marvin said. “You’re a grown woman. But if you think I’m going to sit by and see you threatened by two strange men, then—”
“I promise to call you if things get too hairy. Seriously, I’m not stupid. I know what my limitations are, but I can handle this.”
Marvin didn’t respond. He picked up the bill and studied it for a while, turning the thin paper over and over in his hands. He looked up at Jonelle.
“Okay. Guess it’s time I let go… a little.” He smiled at her. She smiled back.
The two sat back and relaxed. Jonelle asked about Teresa.
“She’s great,” Marvin said, “sends her love, of course. Got a letter from your mom in Hollywood.”
Jonelle groaned. “Now what? She plan on being up for an Academy Award in the near future?”
“No, but she says to look for her in the next Denzel Washington movie. She’ll be the one walking down the street in the white knit hat, carrying a Saks shopping bag, looking over at him as she passes a parking meter.”
They both laughed so loud the diners at the next table turned to stare.
“Whew, I needed that,” Jonelle said. Her expression turned serious. “So, when are you gonna tell me what’s in here?” She tapped the folder again.
The smile faded from Marvin’s face. “Right now, I suppose.” He took a deep breath. “Remember Gordon Tankersley? He’s the detective I know in Robbery-Homicide. You met him at the Fourth of July picnic at the house.”
Jonelle nodded. “Yeah, white guy, average build, thick gray hair. Seemed a bit too quiet for a homicide guy. What about him?”
“When you first told me Del’s body wasn’t at the cemetery, I gave him a call. Just to see if the department had any reports of anybody vandalizing graves or the like. I didn’t say anything about Del’s missing body,” he added quickly when he noticed the look on Jonelle’s face. “He said he’d check. I gave him both yours and Del’s names but no specific details, and he called me back later. But it had nothing to do with the cemetery.” Marvin stopped. He motioned the waitress over and asked for more coffee.
Jonelle waited, her eyes glued to Marvin’s face.
“Thanks,” he said, pausing while the waitress filled his cup. “It seems like Vice had been watching Del for a few weeks just before his death.”
“Vice? Watching him? For what?” Jonelle asked, her voice tight.
“Oh, dammit,” Marvin said. “I hate this.”
“Just say it, already,” Jonelle said, raising her voice. The couple at the next table turned and stared. She glared back until they looked away.
“One of the department’s snitches had alerted them that a Delbert Sweet was involved in setting up and running a so-called escort service specializing in providing young women, and men, for out of town businessmen.”
“How do you know for sure it was my Del?”
“They had him under surveillance, Jonelle. They knew it was him.”
Her face flushed. She leaned back in the booth, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. “You know, not all escort services are fronts for prostitution. I mean, it could have been legitimate.”
“Jonnie, please listen. It pains me to tell you this.”
“Then why the hell are you?” Jonelle’s eyes filled with tears.
Marvin reached over for her hand; she pulled away.
“I thought that if you were to go to the police with your concerns about his missing body, someone might inadvertently mention the investigation to you,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want you to learn about it that way. I’m sorry.”
Jonelle grabbed her handbag and searched for a tissue. Finding none, she pulled a wad of paper napkins from the dispenser. “What else? Why investigate this? This crap goes on all the time. They even advertise this bullshit.”
“Because of two things. One, the police suspect the ring specializes in providing videos of their activities, and, two, they have reason to believe that some of the, uh, employees are underage. They were getting close to making an arrest when Del was killed.”
A surprised look came over Jonelle’s face. “Do they think his death wasn’t an accident and someone killed him because of this… this… business? So they are going to investigate his death?”
Marvin shook his head. “No, they’re not.”
“Why not?”
“The police have no reason to believe his death was anything but an accident, and, frankly, there is another man and a woman they’re watching who are also involved. After Vice gathers enough evidence against the other two, they’ll be arrested. Case closed.”
Jonelle opened her mouth to speak. Marvin raised his hand and silenced her.
“And in my experience, Jonnie, people who commit crimes have pretty basic motives. Let’s say, for argument’s sake, his death wasn’t an accident. What’s the connection between the hit and run and his missing body? Why would anyone dig him up, especially if they’d already gone through the trouble of making sure he got put in the ground in the first place?”
Jonelle snatched another fistful of napkins and blew her nose. “So Del has lived up to your highest expectations, huh?”
“I never cared for the man—you know that. But I don’t like
hearing this about him, either. For no other reason than you loved him,” Marvin said with a touch of sadness in his voice.
“Yep, I did. And you know what’s weird? Even if all you’ve told me about Del is true, I still want to find out what’s happened to him.”
Jonelle gathered her things, stood, and kissed Marvin on the cheek. “I’ll see you later. Give Aunt Teresa my love.”
CHAPTER 13
The first few bars of the Hawaii Five-O theme song chirped in Jonelle’s briefcase. She ignored the cellphone’s ring tones. Her hand shook as she fumbled with the combination to the outside keypad of her building.
The phone jangled again. She snatched it out of the bag. “What?” she shouted. “I am so not in the mood now, Adrienne. I’ll call you back.” Without waiting for a reply, Jonelle disconnected and turned off the ringer.
Finally able to let herself into the building’s foyer, Jonelle heard deep, mellow chords of a bass cello floating down from Hamilton Yee’s residence.
Not yet ready to face an empty home, she climbed slowly up the wooden stairs. Halfway to the top, she stopped and sat down. With eyes closed and head resting against the banister, Jonelle tried to let the cello’s rich tones erase the anger flowing through her body.
For several moments the only sounds in the building were Hamilton’s music and her own breathing. A phone ringing somewhere downstairs—was it her landline or the Brobish’s?—disturbed her reverie, but she didn’t move. Eventually the jingling ceased, allowing her to concentrate again on Hamilton’s music.
After what seemed like only a few minutes, the playing stopped. She waited, wanting to hear more. Instead, she heard a chair scrape and footsteps on the floor. Afraid Hamilton was about to leave his apartment and not wanting him to see her sitting there, Jonelle took hold of the railing and pulled herself up.
Reluctantly, she trudged back down the stairs and let herself into her apartment. The phone rang yet again. She let the machine pick up.
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