“Just you?”
“Oh yes. Trevor knew his father would be furious, so he came to me.”
“What happened?”
She sighed again. “He’d lost about twenty grand.”
I whistled.
“Yes. And truth be told, I was furious, and I told him that he’d just have to deal with it. It didn’t even occur to me where he’d gotten that kind of money, but then he told me that he owed loan sharks and they were threatening him. And he had a cut under one eye, so I suspect they’d beaten him up, but he said the threats were worse.”
“Broken bones, that kind of thing?”
She nodded and blinked back tears. “I’ve never seen him so scared, so I decided to help. I withdrew the money from one of our retirement accounts and gave it to him to pay off the debt.”
“Doesn’t your husband know?”
“I manage the account and he doesn’t check it very often.”
“So let me guess,” I said. “Trevor gambled that money away.”
“Yes, and then he came back for more.”
“Did you give it to him?”
Shame crossed her face. “Another fifty grand. That was about a month ago.”
I tried not to react when I heard that number. “What happened?”
“I talked to him about it and said the gambling had to stop. I suggested he go to Gamblers Anonymous or maybe some counseling. He assured me that he was finished, but I didn’t believe him. That’s when I hired Noel to investigate. I wanted to know if Trevor was still gambling and if he owed any more money. And what other trouble he might’ve gotten himself into.”
“What did Farrell find out?”
“That Trevor owed a lot more than twenty grand.” She sniffled. “Noel didn’t know how much, though.”
“Did you meet with Farrell last weekend?” I asked, thinking about the last missing page in his calendar.
“Yes. I’d asked for another meeting to see what else he’d found out, but he didn’t have much to tell me, just that he was working on some leads and he’d fill me in later this week.”
My disappointment must’ve shown because she said, “I know, I wished he’d had more, especially since he was…shot.”
I thought for a second. “When was the last time you heard from Trevor?”
“Sunday. He said he was going on vacation and that he’d be back in a week.”
“He said he was going to be gone this week?” I asked, thinking about how the front desk lady at Welch’s work said he’d been on vacation last week.
“Yes.” She gave me a puzzled look. “Why?”
“He was spotted at his house the other day.”
Anger replaced her concern. “So he’s still lying.”
“Maybe. He had a bag with him so he might’ve been leaving.” I decided not to worry her by revealing the bloody bandages I’d found. “Any idea where he was going?”
“Well, he said Miami. He said he wanted to get out of this cold for a while.” She glanced out the window. Dusk had settled in, painting the sky a steel blue. “Can’t say that I blame him.”
I made a mental note to ask Cal to find out if Trevor had booked a flight. If he was wounded, I doubted he’d be traveling. Likely it was another lie.
“I wish I had more for you, but I don’t,” she said.
“One more thing,” I added. It was not the first time I sounded like Peter Falk’s Columbo. “When I first walked up, you said something about the agency and two men, and then you stopped.”
“I thought you might’ve been with Noel’s agency, because two other men stopped by yesterday. They said they were Noel’s associates and they were working on my case, and they asked about Trevor and the investigation.”
“Was one of them big?” I described Gus. “Did he cough, like he had a cold?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Nothing new. I’d told Noel everything.”
“That’s it?”
“They wanted to know when I’d last met with Farrell and I told them last Friday.” She frowned as she studied my face. “What?”
I hesitated. “They weren’t with Farrell’s agency.”
“Who were they?” she snapped in fear.
“They’re after your son.”
“Why? Are they bookies?”
“I don’t know.”
She groaned. “Oh no, what have I done? I didn’t even think to ask them for credentials or a card. I just assumed since they knew about Farrell and Trevor, they were telling the truth.”
“It didn’t hurt anything,” I said. “You had nothing to tell them, right?”
“Noel didn’t tell me anything, so what could I say?” she said defensively.
“Then they shouldn’t bother you again, but I’d watch out for them.”
“This is much more serious than I thought,” she said grimly. “Not that it wasn’t already bad.” She paused. “You don’t think Trevor killed Noel, do you?”
“No,” I said, neglecting to tell her about my gun.
She glanced at her watch and then stood up. The dog jumped to its feet as well. “I’m afraid you need to leave. My husband will be home soon and, quite frankly, I don’t want to explain you to him.”
I got up, watching the dog carefully. “Don’t you think it might be time to tell your husband what’s going on?”
She thought about that. “You’re probably right, but not the moment he gets home.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” I asked as we walked to the foyer. “Friends I can talk to?”
“His best friend Quinn might know something. I’ll get you his number.” She walked down a hallway to a kitchen and returned a moment later with a piece of paper. “Here’s his number. If you call now, you might catch him before he leaves work.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll call him first and let him know you’ll be getting in touch. And I put my number on there, too. I want to know the instant you find out anything.”
“Of course,” I said as she opened the front door.
A blast of cold wind hit me when I stepped onto the porch. I sunk my neck into my coat and made a dash for my car. As I got in, my phone rang. I glanced at the screen and was surprised to see that it was Henri Benoit.
“Allo, Reed, how are you?” he asked hesitantly.
“Doing okay,” I said. His tone concerned me. “What’s up?”
“I’m afraid I may have done something wrong.”
I swallowed hard. “What’s that?”
“A detective came to see me, and I told her that I’d seen a man hanging around Noel Farrell’s office. I wanted her to go check out the man that was chasing you the other night, but after she left, I realized she might think it was you.”
That was true, but I knew Henri was trying to be helpful. “It’s okay,” I said.
“I’m very sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.
“Let me know how this turns out,” he said, “and if I can help.”
“Thanks,” I said and hung up, then shook my head.
I hoped that Henri hadn’t inadvertently pointed Spillman in my direction.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I sat for a moment in the Subaru while I dialed Trevor’s friend Quinn. I got his voicemail and left a message, explaining who I was, that Betsy Ladner had given me his number and that I wanted to ask him some questions about Welch. For good measure, I added that Betsy was very worried about her son. I ended the call and drove down the road. A few seconds later, my phone rang. It was Quinn.
“Is this the ‘private eye’?” he said after I answered. The tone was part sarcasm, part humor. It reminded me of another voice, but I couldn’t place it. Maybe a character from one of my film noir favorites? Certainly not Bogie.
“Thanks for calling me back,” I said.
“Hey, man, the only reason I called you back is because Trevor’s mom called and told me she’s worried. But I’
m not going to get Trevor in any trouble with her.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“What’s going on?” The sarcasm vanished.
I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Quarter to five. “Are you still at work?”
“Until five.”
“How about I buy you a beer and we can talk.”
“Sure. I work at the cash register building. You know it?”
The Wells Fargo Center is the most recognizable building in downtown Denver. It’s locally known as the “cash register” building because its unique curved roof resembles an old-fashioned cash register.
“I know it,” I said. “Do you know where B 52’s is?” Since he was downtown, I suggested my favorite hangout. B 52’s was a little north of downtown, but an easy drive for him.
“Yeah, they’ve got some good microbrews there.”
“I’ll be there by five-thirty,” I said. “Depending on traffic. There’s a bartender named Natalie. Tell her where you’re sitting.” Natalie Bowman was a regular bartender at B-52’s, and since I played pool there often, we’d gotten to know each other. She was working her way through school – pre-med – and she was tough and no-nonsense. She could handle the drunks better than most of the bouncers.
“All right,” he said. “Take your time, because the beer’s on you.”
***
Five-thirty ended up being optimistic, what with rush hour and nasty weather. I finally walked into B 52’s at six, glad to get off streets that were starting to get slick.
I strolled past a couple of B 52’s signature décor, advertisements from the 1940s and ’50s, and up to the bar where a tall black woman was preparing a martini. “Hey, Nat,” I said.
“Hey, handsome.” She pointed toward the back room. “Your friend’s back there, corner table. You want a beer?”
“Fat Tire.”
She reached into a cooler and got the beer. I took a long pull as I walked to the back room. Overhead speakers played “How Soon Is Now” by The Smiths, a great British alternative rock band that was one of my favorites. I stood in the doorway for a second and looked toward the corner. Quinn was sitting at a small round table, sipping a beer and watching a couple of guys playing pool. He looked up when I approached.
“The detective?” he said.
Apparently we’d switched from “private eye”. I wondered what the significance was.
“I appreciate your time,” I said.
“I’ve got a tab running, so take your time.”
His attitude was irritating, so to keep myself from mouthing off, I took a minute to pull off my coat and set it on another chair. Then I sat down and studied him.
He looked to be in his mid-twenties, around Welch’s age, with blond hair that grew past his ears. His clothes were business-casual, dark slacks and a white shirt. If I ran into him on the street, I wouldn’t remember him five minutes later.
“So Betsy Ladner’s still worrying about Trevor, huh?” he said over the music.
“Maybe with good reason.”
A long pause. “You think Trevor’s in trouble.”
“I don’t think, I know.”
His attitude did a shift. “What’s going on?”
“Tell me about Trevor’s gambling,” I said, avoiding his question.
“What’s to tell? He likes craps and poker. He’s a pretty good poker player.” He started to take a drink.
“If he’s so good, why’s he in so much debt?”
The beer bottle stopped halfway to his mouth. “What’re you talking about?”
“Trevor’s down thousands of dollars.”
“You’re kidding, right? I mean, I knew Trev got a little crazy at times with some high-stakes games here and there, but he told me he was ahead.”
I shook my head. “He hasn’t been ahead in a long time.”
He took a sip of his beer. “What’s he gotten himself into?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “But I think some pretty nasty thugs are after him.”
He stared at me. “Is he okay?”
“I think he might be hurt,” I said. “But keep that to yourself. I didn’t tell his mother because I don’t know for sure and I don’t want her worrying more than she already is.”
“Where is he?”
I shrugged. “I was hoping you might know.”
He frowned. “I haven’t heard from him since last week.”
“He called you?”
“I called him because we were supposed to go to an Avs game this last weekend and I wanted to know if we were meeting for beers ahead of time.” The Colorado Avalanche is the pro hockey team. “He said he couldn’t go but he didn’t tell me why. He’s a pretty big Avs fan, so it surprised me that he was bailing on the game.”
“How did he sound?”
“Like sick or hurt?”
I nodded. He thought for a moment.
“No. Maybe a little on edge, now that I think about it. We usually joke around but he was serious and hurrying to get me off the phone.”
“When’s the last time you actually saw him?” I asked.
“It’s been a couple of weeks. I’ve been kind of busy with my work and he was on vacation.”
“Last week?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“Miami.”
That seemed to be his choice place, I thought, then asked, “Did he look okay when you last saw him?”
He mulled that over. “Yeah, nothing unusual.”
So whatever injury Trevor had sustained had been recent.
He started to take another drink, then set the bottle down. “Now you’ve got me kind of worried.”
“And Trevor hasn’t said anything unusual?” I asked.
“No, nothing.”
“Any idea where he might go if he doesn’t want to go back to his house?”
“Sometimes he’d crash with me, but not this time.” He paused. “I don’t know. He doesn’t have a girlfriend, and I don’t –”
“What?”
He pursed his lips. “It’s possible he’s at my parents’ cabin outside of Bailey.”
Bailey was a small mountain town southwest of Denver.
“Why would he go there?”
“My family and his would go up there together, and Trev and I’ve gone up there, too.”
“Does he have a key to get in?”
He shook his head. “You can lift the sliding glass door off the track. We’ve done it any number of times when we were in college and we wanted a place to party for the weekend without our parents knowing.”
“Can you call him?”
“It’s pretty rustic so cell phone reception isn’t good. And if he’s hiding, I doubt he’d answer his cell anyway.”
“I’m assuming you have that number?”
“Sure.” He pulled out his phone. “Funny, he’s my best friend and I can’t remember his number because it’s stored in the phone.”
I knew the feeling. He told me the number and I entered it into my phone and just as I saved it, my phone rang. It was my mother.
“You want to get that?” he asked.
I shook my head. “It can wait.”
My mother had impeccable timing, usually bad.
“Try calling Trevor,” I suggested.
“I did before you came. It went straight to voicemail.”
“Where’s the cabin?”
“You want to go there?”
I nodded.
“I could take you.”
“Forget it,” I said. “It could be dangerous.”
I thought he’d argue but he didn’t. “How do I get there?”
He gave me directions, and then said, “It’s pretty isolated, and not that easy to find. The road it’s on isn’t even marked, so look for a big rock outcropping that’s near the turnoff. Follow that for about a mile. Well, it doesn’t matter how far because the cabin’s at the end of the road and there’s no way to go past it. It’s the
only one out there.” Then he described the cabin.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” I said.
“Look, I can be an ass, I know. But I don’t want anything to happen to Trevor.”
I felt the same way, but I wondered if it was already too late.
***
Since it was already dark and the temperature had dropped below zero, I decided that now was not the time to try and find Quinn’s family cabin. I left my beer unfinished, ignored another phone call from my mother, and headed home.
“Hey, handsome,” Willie said when I walked through the door. She was sitting at the kitchen table, typing on her laptop. “Your mother called a while ago.”
“Oh dear Lord,” I muttered. “What’d she want?”
“She wanted to catch up.”
And so she called twice within minutes. When my mother wanted to talk, she wanted to talk, and putting her off was difficult.
“Reed.” Willie paused. “I told her about your accident.”
“You what?” I threw up my hands. “That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“She’s called me twice already.”
“Why didn’t you answer her?”
“Because I was talking to someone about Trevor Welch. And I didn’t want to tell her about this.” I gestured at my face.
“She was going to find out sometime.”
“How?”
“Well…” She blushed. “Your mother loves you and she worries about you.”
I sighed. My mother had Willie on her side. I was doomed.
“I love her, too,” I said. “But some things are better left unsaid. Now that you told her, you know what’s going to happen.”
“What?”
“She’s going to pester me until I answer.”
Just then, Bogie’s muffled voice spoke from my pocket. I glared at Willie. “See?”
She laughed. “You might as well answer it.”
I pointed a finger at her. “I’ll deal with you later.”
She was still laughing when I went into the living room.
“Reed, dear, why won’t you answer your phone?” My mother’s high-pitched voice ripped through the phone.
“I just did.”
“Don’t be fresh,” she sniffed. “Willie told me you were in an accident.”
“Yes, but I’m fine.”
Sweet Smell of Sucrets Page 10