Willie pivoted to the man who still sat in the chair like a sack of unwashed, unpeeled potatoes. “I don’t care what you do, Buck. Stay. Go. Makes no difference to me. But you should know that some really bad guys might be coming after Simon and his friends. One is already dead and another is missing. That’s probably why he took off. So if I were you, I wouldn’t stick around. These guys are the type who shoot first and check ID later.”
Buck’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “But what about you? You look pretty badass to me.” His eyes cut to me. “Except maybe her.”
Willie laughed. Letting go of my arm, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a money clip. He peeled off several twenties and offered them to Buck. “Son, if we were anything like the other guys, you’d be dead already.”
seventeen
As soon as we were back in the SUV and moving, Willie read me the riot act. “What in the hell were you doing, Odelia? I told you to stay put.”
I curled my lip. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“I am when I’m sent to look after you,” he shot back. He was in the front passenger seat, and I was in the back. Buzz was driving. Willie ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus, no wonder Greg and Clark thought you needed a keeper.”
“Boss,” Buzz asked, “we taking her home?”
“Damn straight,” Willie said, the words quick and sharp as a snapped twig.
“But we need to check out Seaside and Art’s place,” I protested. “We need to find out what happened to Art.”
“And we will,” he said, turning around in his seat to fix me with a glare, “as soon we drop you off at home. You can’t be trusted to keep out of trouble.”
“All the more reason to keep me with you,” I countered.
Willie turned from me and fixed his eyes on Buzz, who said something in Spanish. I couldn’t understand the words, but I did hear my name, the word Uber, and the suppressed chuckle in his tone.
I slapped the back of Buzz’s headrest with the palm of my hand. “It’s rude to talk about someone when they can’t understand what you’re saying.” This time Buzz didn’t hide his laughter.
Willie turned his head toward me again. “Buzz said unless we tied you up, you would just call Uber again.” He paused. “He has a point.” He turned back to Buzz, and they continued a discussion in Spanish in spite of my protests.
“You know,” I interrupted, “I have the gate code to the front gate at Seaside.” They stopped talking and began listening, so I continued to plead my case. “I know you two are pretty adept at skirting walls and security, but wouldn’t it be easier and save time if you simply rolled in through the front?”
“So just give us the code,” Willie said.
“Fat chance.” I leaned back in my seat and fiddled with my seat belt, which had gotten tight when I’d leaned forward. I heard another deep chuckle coming from the driver.
Willie shook his head. “If you were an adversary instead of a friend, we’d probably just slap it out of you.” He jerked his chin toward Buzz. “Buzz here has lots of ways to make people talk.”
I leaned forward again, and again the seat belt tried to choke me as I got closer to the driver’s seat. “By the way, just how did you get the name of Buzz?” I asked. “It hardly sounds like a nickname given to a Hispanic kid—more like a white kid in the fifties.”
In response, Buzz raised his right hand to show that one of his fingers were missing, the middle finger, leaving nothing but a one- to two-inch stump. “Buzz-saw accident when I was eleven. My brother started calling me Buzz, and it stuck.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t punishment for flipping off the wrong people?” I asked as I shuddered at the sight of the amputation. I hadn’t even noticed it before, maybe because it had been holding a gun.
“Nah, I was using my dad’s power saw. I was making him a Father’s Day present and wasn’t paying attention.” He laughed. “But when I do flip someone off with this hand, they get the message.”
We drove a few more miles in silence. I was busy lining up more reasons why I should tag along, each mile mentally preparing my case, ready to throw it at Willie as soon as we pulled up in front of my house, which would be in about five minutes since traffic was light. I’d also decided that unless they tied me up and locked me in a closet, I would use my recently liberated keys and go there on my own, just as Buzz had predicted.
When we were almost to Seal Beach, Willie reached out and tapped Buzz on his shoulder. “Change of plans. Go straight to the Seaside place.”
Buzz reached over and tapped on a GPS screen built into the dash. It came to life. He stabbed the screen again, and it immediately blossomed into a colorful map showing the way to my mother’s place.
“You already had the address?” I asked with surprise.
“Buzz looked it up and plugged it into the GPS while we were waiting for Tuttle,” Willie explained.
“You mean the guy I identified as not being Simon Tuttle, right?” When Willie turned to look at me, I fixed him with my own lethal one-eyed stare.
“We would have identified him as soon as we looked at his wallet,” Willie assured me.
“Sure, but would you and Buzz here have noticed the missing cat box?” I sniffed, my nose pointed upward in a salute to the world of insufferable smuggery. Neither man replied.
When we were almost to Seaside, I said, “I should be driving.”
“Why’s that?” Willie asked. “You can tell Buzz the code, and he’ll punch it in.”
“There’s a guard at the front gate,” I explained. “It will look less suspicious if I drive up, especially alone. They know me.”
“And how do you propose to get us in?” Willie asked. “Is there a back gate you can open?”
“I was thinking that maybe you two could climb in the back and stay low.” I could tell from the looks they shot back and forth that neither of them were sold on the idea. “Look,” I said, “the guards are used to seeing me alone or with Greg, and even if the security camera is on the blink, the guard might still remember you and what you look like. And who knows, there might even be a cop stationed at the gate because of the murder.” I looked around the back of the SUV. “It won’t be so bad. The windows are tinted, and it won’t be for very long.”
After a few seconds Willie asked Buzz, “About how far are we from the place?”
Buzz consulted the GPS. “Less than a mile.”
“Okay,” Willie said to him, “pull into this empty lot.”
It only took a couple of minutes to get both men comfortable. They laid out as best they could in the back cargo area, pulling a tarp they found back there over themselves.
I rolled up to the main gate at Seaside and lowered my window so I could punch in my mother’s security code. It occurred to me that stinky Mona might have changed it or put my name on some sort of no-fly list, but my mother hadn’t been tossed out, so Mona had no right to do either. But I doubted that would stop her. On duty in the guard shack was Milton, and, as I had hoped, he was nodding off. Mom always said Milton did his best sleeping on the job since there were very few comings and goings late at night at Seaside. He stirred as the gate opened to let me pass, blinked several times in my direction, then gave me a sleepy wave when he recognized me. I wondered if any of the guards outside of Kevin Wong knew about Mom’s current status as an undesired resident. If Milton did, he didn’t seem to care. I glanced one last time into the guard shack as I moved slowly through the open gate. Milton’s chin was already on his chest.
Willie popped his head up when I came to a stop in front of my mother’s. “Isn’t there a less conspicuous place to park?” he asked.
“Not really,” I answered, “but at this hour most of the residents should be asleep. Remember, these are people who eat dinner at four thirty.”
Quietly, the three of us got out of the SUV and headed up Mom�
�s walk. I let us in with my key and went straight to a small catchall drawer in the kitchen where I knew Mom kept extra keys to her car and to my home. She’d said Art’s key was in the same place. I found a key ring with several keys on it. One key was an obvious car key. The other two looked like house keys. Affixed to the face of each was a small label, one with an O and the other sporting an A. Bingo! Holding the keys aloft, I said to the men, “Let’s roll.”
I debated on whether we should take the vehicle or leave it in front of Mom’s. “Art’s place is on the other side of the complex,” I told the guys before leaving the house. “I’m not sure if we should drive or walk. Walking is quieter. What do you think? It’s not that big of a place.”
Willie and Buzz exchanged glances, then Willie said, “Let’s walk. No need for lights or noise.”
Buzz agreed. “I noticed plenty of ground-level lights and scattered streetlights outside, so we should find our way easy enough.”
“Even though it’s out in the open, I think we should stick to the paths,” I suggested. “If we get too close to the houses, we might get noticed by someone with insomnia. If someone does notice us, we can always say I’m checking on Art. Everyone knows Art and my mom are close friends.”
“Good idea, Odelia,” Willie said. “We’ll hide in plain sight.”
“Boaz Shankleman’s place is in that direction, too,” I noted. “That’s where the murder took place. It’s just a few houses down from Art’s.”
Walking quickly and quietly but without any outward sign of urgency, the three of us started toward Art’s house, crossing manicured greenbelts and passing the club house and pool area in the middle of the complex. I had never walked the property at this hour. Usually when I visited, the walkways and common areas were filled with senior citizens getting their exercise or visiting with each other in pleasant camaraderie. Now the houses were completely dark, except for a scattered few where dim lights seeped out from behind blinds. There was a peace about the place. Peace and serenity, like being tucked into a safe, warm bed for the night. I wondered if I’d ever see my bed again.
Art’s place was a two-bedroom townhouse tucked into one of the few cul-de-sacs. Shankleman’s place was on the corner of the entry to the cul-de-sac, just two small buildings down. I pointed to Shankleman’s home, which had crime scene tape wrapped around it like a birthday present. “That’s Shankleman’s place,” I whispered to my companions. I pointed just ahead into the cul-de-sac. “And that’s Art’s place.” We moved forward.
Unlike my mother’s home, which had a small entry hall, when you walked into Art’s home you walked directly into the living room. The focus of the room was a large recliner in rich caramel leather. It was pointed at a huge flat screen TV way too big for the room. It must be a guy thing. If Greg had his way, one whole side of our living room would be a wall-to-wall TV. There was also an upholstered sofa in a subtle print that coordinated with the recliner, a coffee table, and a good-size end table wedged between the sofa and the recliner. Besides a lamp, the table held an assortment of books, mail, an open bag of chips, and a half-full bottle of beer.
Although Art had only been gone for a day or two, the place felt abandoned. Not rush abandoned like Simon Tuttle’s apartment, but it felt lonely. There were a few dishes in the sink and a half pot of coffee in the very cold coffee maker. I’d been in this home several times and it always had a very friendly, warm vibe.
We moved into the back of the place. Here it was similar to Mom’s with a master bedroom, a smaller guest room, and a bathroom between the two. The only difference was that Art didn’t have a washer and dryer set up in the hall closet, and the rooms were a bit smaller. I did a thorough search of the bathroom, looking in cabinets. The three of us quickly covered the small place, looking for any indication of Art’s whereabouts, then met up for a pow-wow in the kitchen.
“Wherever Art is,” I said, “I don’t think he planned the trip.”
“Did you find another missing cat box?” Willie asked.
“No,” I replied, my word snappy with return sarcasm. “But Art doesn’t strike me as the type who’d go on a trip with dirty dishes in the sink and a half bottle of beer and bag of chips hanging open on the table. There’s not even a chip clip on the bag. Also, his bed’s unmade but not slept in, like he pulled back the covers to get ready for bed but never made it.”
“You should be a PI, Odelia,” Buzz said to me with a smile. “You have an eye for detail.”
“And a nose for trouble,” Willie added, looking straight at me.
Ignoring him, I went to the recliner and turned toward the TV. “It almost looks like he was watching TV, enjoying a snack, when he was interrupted.”
“Wouldn’t the TV still be on?” Buzz asked.
I shook my head. “His daughter came to check on him earlier today. If it was on, she would have shut it off.” As soon as I said the words, I thought of something—something that could be important. “Funny, when Shelita came to my house looking for Art, she said she’d been here but said nothing about the TV being on. If I walked into my mother’s and saw the TV on and she was gone, I’d be convinced something had happened to her. Shelita, though, was easily persuaded that her dad might simply be on one of his road trips.”
“You think this Shelita might be lying?” Willie asked, quickly catching my train of thought.
My head swayed side to side in the negative. “No. I think if she had found the TV on when she checked on her dad, she would have mentioned it and been more upset. It’s an important detail, and although she’s rather uptight, Shelita is an honest and good person. She wouldn’t have lied about something like that.” I paused and looked around the place, wishing the walls would tell me what had happened to Art Franklin. “But I don’t see any sign of Art’s cell phone, and Shelita did say his car is gone, which feels like he left on his own.” I walked from the recliner to the door and turned around, looking at the place from that view.
“He could have run to the store and got into an accident,” Buzz suggested, “but the car registration would have told them who he was even if he wasn’t carrying his wallet. Even if he had a heart attack or something like that, he would have had ID on him, wouldn’t he?”
“True,” I said with a nod. I went into the bedroom to recheck something and came back out in two shakes. “And I’m betting his wallet is with him because I don’t see it anywhere. If he didn’t have it with him, you’d think it would be on the dresser or the table or a counter out here, so if something awful happened, he would have ID.”
“Old men simply don’t disappear,” Willie said. “And you say he went missing the night of the murder up the street?”
“As far as we can tell,” I said. “I saw him yesterday at my mother’s.” I paused and glanced at the time displayed on the microwave in neon green. It was now definitely after midnight. “Correction: I saw him two days ago at my mother’s.”
“That was the day the Fox woman was murdered, right?” asked Willie, confirming the timeline again.
“Yes,” I replied. “Although it feels like a lifetime ago.” I slipped down onto the recliner and was sorely tempted to flip the lever to lean it back. But I knew if I did, I’d be a goner until morning. “What now?”
Willie and Buzz exchanged questioning looks, then Willie said, “In spite of the dishes and chips, I think it looks like the old guy decided to go for a drive and then decided to make it longer. It is odd, I’ll agree, but there’s no sign of foul play at all.”
“And what would be the motive for someone grabbing him?” asked Buzz.
“Exactly,” I answered. With great reluctance I hoisted myself from the comfy chair. “Art is a sweet man and well liked.” When I got to my feet, I took another look around. “Now I’m worried he went for a drive and got disoriented or sick along the way. He might be holed up in a motel room with a dead cell phone. Mom said he’s notoriou
s for letting the battery die.”
Willie patted me gently on the arm in comfort. “Sounds like you need to have his daughter put out a missing person report so the police can be on the lookout for him.”
I nodded. I didn’t relish speaking to Shelita about that, but if she hadn’t already gone to the police, I needed to suggest it. “I’ll call her first thing in the morning.” Again I glanced at the clock and rubbed my eyes, happy I wasn’t wearing mascara. “Or rather at a decent hour later this morning.”
eighteen
We had barely closed Art’s door when we saw a lone figure walking along the sidewalk just past the Shankleman home. When they passed under one of the soft-lit streetlights I saw it was a woman, tiny and slightly bent. Just ahead of her, a small white dog trotted along on the end of a leash.
“That’s a friend of Mom’s,” I told the guys. “What’s she doing out here at this time of night?”
I started walking fast to catch up to Teri Thomson. I didn’t want to run and risk startling her or her dog, causing it to bark. “Teri,” I called out in a hushed whisper. A few more feet and I called out again, my hushed voice sounding like I had a bad cold. “Teri.”
The men had held back so not to alarm the woman. She heard me the second time and turned. As I got closer I could hear a low growl coming out of the tiny animal. She said something to it, and it quieted at the command.
“It’s me, Odelia, Grace’s daughter,” I whispered as I approached her. “Please don’t be alarmed.”
She’d gathered the dog protectively under one arm instead of letting it protect her. Nice guard dog.
The elderly woman relaxed and nuzzled the dog by its ear, whispering, “It’s okay, Lucy. It’s a friend.” Lucy was a toy poodle resembling a bag of cotton balls. One look at Lucy’s face told me she was blind.
“What are you doing out here at this time of night?” I asked. It was then I saw the knitting needle, long, sharp, and lethal, gripped in her other hand. It seems my mother wasn’t the only armed and dangerous little old lady at Seaside.
Rhythm & Clues Page 17