The House at Hull
Page 3
Chapter 2
It was after five by the time Eleisha and I got back to the apartment. I poured a plastic milkshake cup of Gallo red from the fat jug and the lady had some mineral water. We sat on the sofa to compare notes.
“All right, oh prescient one. This is your chance for a big score. One million reward money? We could even buy a used car. So what’s your take?”
“Family missing, but not just Jones the plumber from down the block. Wealthy, apparently well-connected. Private jets, multiple houses, I’ll bet there’s even a large yacht somewhere in the area . . . probably near Hull. I guess we paint by the numbers. You get into your magic tablet and research the principals. Anything you can find out about the Bridgetons . . . investments, bank accounts, social contacts, and any skeletons that might be lurking behind the designer clothes in the closets.”
“So do we hit the Brownstone, and maybe the house at Hull?”
“We probably have to, but we need some time. If either one of us get weird vibes, it won’t happen instantly. I’d like to talk to Todd . . . get our own take on his grief . . . a clever mask or the real thing? We’ll have to arrange it all with Billy. Let him get me one of those phony-baloney Police IDs. Since the cops don’t have anything, he should cooperate. Otherwise he wouldn’t have called.”
I drained my cup and went into the kitchen to pour another one. Then I dove into the freezer. I had two choices, either plain pepperoni or the works with extra cheese.
“Damn it, Mo, can’t you ever just eat a salad?”
“I could, but I’m not a rabbit.”
“Neither am I, but I’d like to think putting something healthy in my system doesn’t make me a rodent.”
“Rabbits aren’t technically rodents, and you’re too damned beautiful to be one anyway.”
“Okay, Romeo, I’ll shut up and massage the computer after dinner.”
I set the oven at 425 on pre-heat. I grabbed the pepperoni and slathered it with a handful of asiago, romano, and mozzarella. Then I sliced some fresh portabellas and arranged the thick giants around the circumference. When the temp maxed, I set the timer on 18 minutes and prepared to feast. Eleisha gathered a garden from the fridge, three kinds of lettuce, a bit of kale, arugula, parsley, artichoke hearts, and red cabbage, then what was left of my brown mushrooms. Next it was chunks of organic ripe tomatoes, black olives and anything else that had been alive, but wasn’t moving at the time. Then she sprinkled it with some multi-grain croutons, a handful of feta, and a flood of extra-virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar and spices known only to Benedictine Monks, or maybe Mama Leoni down in the next block. After we wolfed our repast, I melted onto the sofa for some CNN and coffee. She went to work.
Eleisha at the computer is a study in intensity. She looks at the screen like Medusa trying to turn Perseus to stone. Nothing gets between her and that glow. Every so often, I’d hear another sigh and the sound of her nails drumming on the desk, but I kept my mouth shut and feigned patience. She finally rolled her chair back from the desk and her eyes into the back of her head.
“Nothing,” she said, “Billy was right. No dirt on the Bridgetons. He came from a humble family. Dad was a butcher and mom cleaned houses. Public schools, came up through hard work, a few timely breaks, and a damned fine brain. He was also quite the sailor. I found a custom aluminum Nelson-Marek 72 at the Hull Yacht Club. He won the Marblehead Race a couple of times and finished second in the Newport to Bermuda Race twice. There’s a photo online of him with Ted Turner, Gary Jobson, and Dennis Connor ---all congratulatory smiles, hoisting glasses of champagne. He also had a Donzi Classic 22 for a tender.”
She went on to tell me there were 41 recent hits on Oscar Bridgeton, several with candids of his wife and family. Lots more with dignitaries and celebrities from all over New England. By all accounts, he was admired and respected by his colleagues and had apparently made bushels of money for some very important people. It was the American success story.
There wasn’t much on Todd, just a couple of mentions of him and Cherie . . . the devoted and loving family. It all sounded pretty damned neat, and maybe it was. But when there was that much money involved, people got very needy, if not downright greedy. There had to be something there. We just didn’t know what it was. At least, not yet.
After very little discussion, Eleisha grabbed my hand and lead me back to the bedroom.
“I’m ready for some of that psychic stuff, but I want it in a bit more physical format,” she cooed.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my mind still awash in the day’s events. She towered over me like a dark Amazon eager for battle.
“This is the part where you ravage my body, dumb ass.”
I did my best. It’s very hard to argue with the lady when her mind is made up.