“Mr. Low, what did you think of Ava?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t think much of her at all, actually. Me and my wife only ever met her one time and we weren’t all that impressed. Jay met her a couple times at Ron’s house and he said the same thing.”
“Why weren’t you impressed?”
“She was just too full of herself. Oh she was friendly enough but acted like she was all that and a bag of chips. I could tell she thought the world owed her a living. Spoiled. That’s what she was. Spoiled. She was the type that thought her shit didn’t stink.”
If talking smack about the dead could cause them to smite you, Mr. Low was about to be struck dead.
“If she was so bad, what do you think Ron saw in her?”
“He probably just saw her as a piece of tail. Ron liked the ladies and they liked him back. He was far away from anything near getting serious with anybody and definitely not Ava Johansson.”
“How do you know? I mean, you said you’d only met her once so how do you know they weren’t serious? Did he say that?”
The questioned seemed to confuse him as he blinked at me. “Well, we only met her the one time but then we only ever met a handful of girls he dated. My wife was always after him to get more serious. She was ready for grandbabies and told him so on every occasion. Ron always told his mother he just hadn’t met ‘the one’ yet and she’d always tell him you gotta be with them longer than five minutes to find out if they’re right for you.” He smiled a little when he added, “My boy just wasn’t done sowing his wild oats, if you know what I mean.”
And speaking of all that oat sowing... “Where were some of Ron’s favorite places to go?”
“You mean hikes and such?”
“Hikes, or day spots or even places he liked to go overnight?”
“Just in the parks and stuff, you know.”
I did not know and this was getting me nowhere. “Yes, I know he liked to hike but I was wondering if there were any special locations he liked to go.”
“Well, sometimes he liked to head across the border and drive up to Whistler, but he hadn’t done that for a while because he’d been sick.”
“Sick?” I tilted my head a little. “Like he had the flu or something?”
“No, he has an inherited condition where he has too much iron in his body. Not a big deal really because he took care of himself and saw a nurse regularly.”
He told me the name of the condition but I’d never heard of it. I remembered Joon Kim mentioning it too.
“Ron was good about taking care of himself. Sure he had pain because of the iron thing and it stopped him from going on longer drives for a while, but otherwise he was good and strong.”
We sat there then staring at each other. I’d run out of questions and I could tell Mr. Low had run out of patience as he got to his feet to see me to the door.
I dug a business card out of my pocket and held it out to him. “If you think of anything I should know, please give me a call.”
He didn’t take the card.
“If you find that girl they’ll be able to prove it wasn’t Ron so just go and do your job.”
I thanked him and left.
Jay Low was staring furiously at me from a bedroom window. The message was clear. I was not welcome back.
After I started up the car, I took my dowsing rods out of my pack and lay them across my lap. If they were going to twitch at all to indicate I was driving by a body, I wanted to be prepared. Not that I thought Ron would’ve hauled Ava out to his parents’ place to dump her in the fallow fields, but who was I to say for sure.
The rods never shook or moved at all when I drove away.
I steered back onto I-5 and I didn’t even realize I’d taken the exit toward my old home until I was on the parallel road and the old driveway was in front of me. I violently steered the Jeep onto the shoulder and slammed on the brakes. My heart pounded so hard it felt like my ribs would crack.
My mind was filled with dark quicksand thoughts. From where I sat I could make out the exact location where Gramps’s house had been before the new owners had demolished it. I felt a cold sweat dampen my body as I stared into the distance and there, just down the road, my old trailer was a silhouette on the horizon. I flung my car door open, leaned out and vomited repeatedly until there was nothing coming up but bile.
Three hundred thirty-three.
I broke every speed limit on my way home and didn’t breathe easy until I pulled up to the doggie daycare to get Wookie. One look at his goofy face and his butt wagging happily made my heart swell. Wookie’s power licks did not disappoint. I wondered if I was the first client whose eyes brimmed with tears at the sight of their dog after only a few hours apart. I knelt on the tile floor at the payment desk and hugged him tight.
The cheerful young man running the daycare was telling me about how they’d become so popular in the small community that they’d developed a waiting list and that I’d been lucky to get Wookie in for a day on such short notice. I was only half listening as he described the services they offered in addition to dog-sitting that included grooming and the massage services previously mentioned by the vet’s office. It wasn’t until the Ebba’s Bliss name came up that my ears perked up. I broke Wookie’s embrace to get to my feet.
“Did you say Ebba Johansson? I mean Ebba’s Bliss?”
“Yes, I did.” He beamed proudly. “Most people don’t know that Ms. Johansson trained in veterinarian massage and then offered special training to our groomers.”
“I wonder why the hell she would do that when she has a chain of massage studios in the casinos?” I wondered then realized I’d spoken out loud.
“I’m guessing she loves animals and believes in the therapeutic benefits of massage,” he replied.
“Of course. That’s it.”
I was beginning to realize there was a lot I didn’t know about Ebba Johansson. It was time I did a little research about this woman who hired me to find her dead daughter.
Chapter Ten
Before I left the doggie daycare, I questioned the worker about their massages but he didn’t seem to have any answers beyond their rates and the supposed therapeutic benefits. He couldn’t explain anything about the training including when it had happened and where.
“You need to talk to Kim.” He reached behind the counter and handed me a business card. “She’s the head groomer and she oversees the pet masseuse part of the business.”
I took both the business card and Wookie home.
After a dinner of popcorn and iced tea I put my feet up on my coffee table and dialed the number on the business card. Kim answered on the first ring. She was totally cool with me asking a lot of questions.
“A lot of people are wary about massage for dogs. They think it’s some kind of scam but I’ve seen wonderful results with many of our clientele.”
“The dogs you mean.”
“Yes. Some of them have old injuries or they’re senior dogs with arthritis, and the deep tissue techniques we use help to increase circulation and promote healing, and many see increased range of motion after just a few treatments. If you had a backache you probably wouldn’t think twice about going for a massage.”
Actually, I’d think more than twice. I’d probably think a hundred times and still come up with “There is no way in hell you’re rubbing my body.” But I was willing to bet others found massage relaxing.
“Tell me about the training involved.”
Kim told me that they were trained at the daycare facility by a person certified in Canine Sports Massage Therapy.
“And that person was Ebba Johansson, I understand? I was surprised to hear that because I know she runs massage centers at some of the casinos. For people I mean.”
“Yeah, well, she said she became interested in canine massage when her own dog enjoyed massage at home. She got her training specific to animal massage and then wanted to spread that love. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Wonderfully
lucrative I bet.
“It must’ve been pretty expensive for you to take the course and have Ebba come out and train you.”
“There were two of us from the daycare and it cost us each a thousand dollars for the training. That probably sounds like a lot but we can do canine massage off the premises too. We’re not limited to only offering our services at the facility. We both do home treatments as well. If you’re ever interested, I’ll give you a discount for your first treatment.”
Based on the information I already had, a canine massage treatment was fifty dollars. After twenty sessions the doggie masseurs would recoup their money. I’m guessing it was a nice little side business.
I thanked Kim for answering my questions and promised to bring Wookie in soon for one of their treatments. Wookie’s ears picked up at mention of his name. After I hung up I gave his head a rub.
“Don’t get your hopes up. If you want a massage you’re going to have to do a helluva lot more around here than just scratch yourself and lick your balls.”
As if on cue, Wookie raised his head and began to growl deep down in his throat. My phone chimed and my hands shook as I clicked open the motion detector app just as Wookie bounded off the couch and ran to the side door of the house and began snarling and barking like a maniac. The app showed a raccoon had knocked over Wookie’s outside water bowl and was hightailing his bandit face out of there as Wookie snapped angrily at the door.
I walked over, patted him on the head and sighed with relief. “Thanks for keeping me safe from that cute black-eyed thief.” I reached into the cupboard where I kept his treats and hand him a chew bone.
My phone beeped an incoming message from Garrett: Just a raccoon.
I sent him an eye-rolling emoji because no kidding!
“Do you think part of what appeals to you about Garrett is the fact that he’s a protective father figure since you never knew your own dad?” Doc asked.
“Trust me, the things I like to do with Garrett are not fatherly.”
Now I resisted the urge to fire off another text to Garrett telling him to stop acting like a worried dad. Part of me hated it when he fussed over me but I knew a bigger part liked that he worried about me so much and wanted me safe. I’d never had someone care so deeply about my welfare before.
“Boyfriends are supposed to take care of you,” I grumped as I refilled my iced tea and returned, with Wookie and my laptop, to my place on the sofa.
I turned on the television to a silly sitcom and opened up my computer to do a little research on Ebba Johansson. I started with what I already knew. Ebba owned a franchise of boutique spas located inside casinos. It all appeared to start with the casino closest to the one where I used to live. The one where my ex-boyfriend, Denny, still worked. Denny had been the one who’d told Ebba to look me up.
I got up from the sofa and went to the kitchen and found Denny’s drawing exactly where I’d left it. The sketch of his profile with the word bubble that read “Hey! She’s a stuffy old lady but she could use your help.” The drawing where a more beautiful, ethereal vision of myself in a sundress was flipping him the bird as I walked away.
I stared at the drawing, letting it pull me in to a simpler time when Denny and I were lovers and my cramped trailer was home, the gas station was work and Gramps was just Gramps.
“It’s okay to miss your grandfather. It’s okay to grieve the loss of that life,” Dr. Chen said.
“It wasn’t a life. It was a lie.”
I did something then that I never thought I’d do in a million years. I texted Denny. His phone number was one of only a handful I knew by heart and I sent the message before I could change my mind.
Got time for coffee? It’s about Ebba.
I put my phone down then because Denny was casual about cell phones and it wasn’t unusual for him to let the battery run down or leave it at home. He lived the humble kind of life that didn’t involve having his hand Velcroed to a digital device like most of us.
When I woke up in the morning it was because my phone was chiming. Two notifications from the security camera that detected motion. When I checked, there was only the industrious work of a spider that had managed to swathe a swarm of flies in the white thread of his web.
A text from Garrett said I should use my broom to brush off the web. I was about to send a snarky reply when I noticed another text had come in. From Denny.
Coffee is good. Today? Big Al’s? 11?
I chewed my lower lip as my finger hovered over the letters awaiting my reply. After a deep breath I quick typed See you then before I could change my mind.
I sat on the edge of the bed and put the phone back on my nightstand and drilled my fingers nervously through my hair.
“This is a bad idea. A real bad idea,” I told the empty house. “Jesus, I need a drink.”
The dog hopped off the bed and placed his head on my lap, his large eyes looking up at me with concern.
“I said I need one.” I rubbed his head with my hand. “That doesn’t mean I’m running out to get one.”
But God how I wanted to.
I slowly got to my feet and showered. Afterward I debated exactly how much makeup to put on. I wasn’t a big makeup girl. A little eyeliner and lipstick was all I usually did when I thought of it at all. I didn’t want to do more and make it look like I was trying to pretty up for Denny. I didn’t want to do less and make it look like I’d neglected myself since I last saw him either. I went through the same song and dance staring at my clothes before sliding on jeans and a T-shirt like I always wore.
I knew I was being stupid because I was nervous about meeting Denny. I was also really anxious about walking into Al’s Diner where all the locals hung out and where I’d downed coffee or a meal so many times before it had felt like home cooking when I lived a different life.
“Don’t eat the turkey bacon. It tries real hard to be a pig but that kind of flesh never oinked,” Gramps’s voice said in my ear.
I grabbed a couple water bottles and tossed them in my pack, just in case I was gone longer than I thought. Then I let Wookie out to pee and filled up his bowls.
“As much as I know you’d love to see Denny, you can’t come with me,” I told him as I reached into the cupboard for a treat. “This I do solo.”
I closed the bathroom door and as well as the doors to all the bedrooms, making sure all the windows were locked tight. Then I tossed a chew treat to Wookie, set the house alarm and locked the house firmly behind me. I glanced up at the motion-activated camera pointed in the carport and gave it a wave that was, no doubt, blocked by the spiderweb.
Clean the camera, came Garrett’s texted reply.
I sent him a selfie with me sticking my tongue out first, then I grabbed the push broom and gave the spider’s residence the heave-ho.
I clicked the fob to unlock the Jeep but didn’t hear the unlock sound. Maybe I hadn’t locked it, which was stupid on my part. As I opened the driver’s door, a high-pitched squeal left my throat like I’d seen a mouse. Or a ghost. Instead, what I saw was a bottle of wine poised precariously in the cup holder in the car’s console. I dropped my pack to the ground and stood there staring at the bottle.
“What the actual hell!”
I looked all over my yard and down the drive. I spun around and around until I was completely dizzy, checking for someone nearby but the only answer was chirping sparrows.
My fingers shook as I stood a few feet away from the open car door and dialed Garrett’s number. He picked up immediately.
“You okay?”
“There’s a bottle of wine in my Jeep.”
He paused and I could almost hear his wheels turning with questions.
“I didn’t put it there,” I explained. “When I went to my Jeep, it was there. In the cup holder. Just mocking me.”
“How did it—”
“I don’t know!” I cried. “Someone broke into my vehicle and crammed a cold bottle of Yakima Valley sauvignon blanc into my cup holde
r!”
I stared at it. The green bottle didn’t quite fit into the holder meant for cola cans and to-go coffees. It sat there dripping with condensation and slightly tilted toward me, begging me to pick it up, unscrew the lid and guzzle it down.
“Is anyone there?” His voice was serious and business now.
“No.” I blew out a breath. “Not that I can see.” I was angry now. “Fat lot of good your stupid cameras did when they didn’t go off to show someone breaking into my car and—”
“Look, I’ve called the local law. You’ve got that can of bear spray in your pack, right? Take it out and keep it in your hand.”
I fumbled in the outside pocket of my pack and took out the can. “Got it.”
“Good. I want you to go back into the house and lock your doors but first send me pictures of the Jeep. Are the windows broken? Does the door show any signs of being pried open?”
“Hang on...” I used my phone to snap pictures and send them to him, then returned to the call. “It wasn’t forced open. I’m going back inside the house.”
I was walking back to the house now, my legs feeling rubbery with fear. I couldn’t get my key back into the dead bolt fast enough. Wookie greeted me like I’d been gone a year and my breathing came out fast.
“Take a deep breath,” Garrett said in my ear. “Lock the door behind you, reset the alarm and just breathe.”
I did as he said and stared out my kitchen window at the Jeep that looked somehow threatening now with the driver’s door flung open as if it was waiting for a driver.
“How could that happen?”
“Did you leave the door unlocked?”
“No.” Then I corrected, “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t always lock it when I’m at home.”
“And your spare keys are in the junk drawer?”
I crossed the kitchen and opened the drawer that held pens, tape, a couple screwdrivers and the flotsam of life. The keys were missing.
I let out a small moan.
“Your spare keys aren’t there?”
A Grave Search (Bodies of Evidence) Page 16