by Marja McGraw
“Absolutely. Let me have you sign a couple of papers and I’ll get you the key. Be right back.” He ran into the little sales office, and ran back. This man did a lot of running. I figured he must be in better shape than he appeared. He filled out a form, checked my driver’s license, and handed me the key.
Good beginning. The engine started right up and it sounded smooth. I pulled up to the exit and glanced over at Cleveland. He gave me a thumbs up, indicating his approval of the car. That’s when I realized he was enjoying this little game. I waved and pulled out into traffic, heading for the garage I used for repair work.
Gus had done a lot of work for me and didn’t make me wait. He went over the car with a fine-toothed comb and grinned. “You found a good one here. There ain’t a thing wrong with this little baby, although she does have a lotta mileage. Somebody’s taken real good care of her, even if she is a retired cop car. Clean as a whistle. What kinda deal you gettin’, if ya don’t mind me askin’?”
I told him what the sticker price was and he nodded. I went on to explain what kind of performance I wanted from the car. He nodded some more.
“Does that sound like a good deal? Considering the mileage and the fact that it’s a used police car?” I asked.
“You snatch that baby up quick, or I’m gonna go make a deal of my own on her. Although, you might think about havin’ her repainted later on. She’s got a lousy paint job, but it’ll hold for awhile.”
That was good enough for me. I trusted Gus completely when it came to cars. I think he was born with axle grease and motor oil under his fingernails. His hands looked like it, too.
“They had a couple of others on the lot, just like this one, painted different colors though.”
“I may check into that,” he replied.
I drove back to the car lot and found the salesman leaning on a car, watching traffic and looking bored.
“This is a retired police car,” I said. “Will you make me a deal on it? With my car as a trade-in?”
“Yeah, we got a great deal on a few used police cars.” He knew he wasn’t dealing with an amateur, or so I led him to believe. “We painted them for quicker sale. I checked out your car while you were gone. I think we can do business, little lady.”
“My name is Sandi Webster.”
“Okay, Sandi, let’s talk,” he replied, realizing I didn’t want to be called a little lady.
He escorted me into the sales office and we came to terms after some dickering. He ran a credit check on me while I waited, and grinned as he read the report. Maybe I couldn’t get a loan on a house, but a car was a different matter. I hated giving up my red car, but the Crown Victoria was more practical for my purposes. I left the car lot as the new owner of a two-year-old, blue, retired cop car. Huh. Who’d have thought my day would begin like that?
I drove off into the sunset, except there was no sunset, with Cleveland right behind me. I was beginning to feel like this was all a game, and I was having fun, too. Big, big mistake. Cleveland knew that, but I didn’t. I was comfortable and I shouldn’t have been. I knew better, and that would be brought home to me in short order.
Chapter Thirty-six
1898
After absorbing the information his neighbor had provided, Vincente stalked off in search of Dr. Drake. He eventually found him in one of the saloons, where he’d obviously been drinking for quite some time. The old man sat down quietly, observing the physician. It took a moment for the doctor to notice Vincente’s presence.
With a belligerent expression on his face, the doctor leaned very close to Vincente, almost falling off his chair, and asked him what he wanted.
Vincente glared at the drunken sot while shoving him away and back into his chair. The old man told Drake he knew he’d visited his house on the night of the murder, and he wanted to know what the doctor had been up to.
Drake stood and pushed his chair away. He curled his lip and sneered at the old man, literally looking down his nose at Vincente and enjoying the difference in size. The doctor’s look of contempt deepened as he told the old man he was a fool.
Drake asked Vincente how he could have missed all the signs. Didn’t he know the nurse had had an addiction to morphine? Why, he’d been supplying her needs for at least six months. He’d even supplied her with opium on occasion, something that was relatively easy to come by in Chinatown.
The old man remembered a small bottle left on the kitchen table by the cleaning woman after Jessica’s death. He’d placed it in a wooden box with all the other things that had been left on the table, never giving it a second thought.
Vincente shoved the doctor out of his way and stormed out of the saloon without replying. He could hear the doctor’s laughter ringing in his ears. He needed to think carefully before doing something he might regret. He knew the doctor had returned for a second visit. Had Jessica been paying him with her favors? Was that what it had been about? The little man bristled angrily at the thought. No one, not even a little slut, would dare be unfaithful to him.
2003
The next two days flew by in a hurry.
Stanley had eventually obtained the information I needed about Vincente’s estate. It was odd, but no help. Vincente had left quite a sum to a woman whose name I hadn’t run across in my research. Stanley checked the Internet, but he couldn’t find any information about her. He made a trip to the library, and after checking some books on Los Angeles history, he found a brief note about the woman. She invited girls who were pregnant and unwed, and women who had problems with drug addiction, into her home and tried to help them. This was extremely unusual for that era. Most women were plunked unceremoniously into an asylum, if they were helped at all.
Considering my grandfather’s occupation, I was quite surprised that he’d cared enough to help out. He divided the balance of the estate between a hospital and various local philanthropic organizations, and left his wife and children two dollars each. It seemed so out of character for him, and it didn’t help in my investigation.
Then it struck me. He hadn’t left any money to his family. This had been his way of slapping Merced and their children in the face. Good Lord, was the man pure evil? Could I really be related to him? I thought it over and decided I was wrong. There had to be another explanation, but what could it be? I might never know.
The time flew by, and my mother called to tell me she and Frank had returned and that Amanda had left her a note saying she’d gone home.
Shortly after I talked to my mother, I received a call from a Mrs. Baker who wanted me to dig up a back yard. Her almost ex-husband had died after a brief illness – she felt it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving man – and he’d left her a letter telling her he’d buried his will and life insurance papers in his yard. Yes, she was still named as beneficiary, but she had to work for the money, according to him. Must have been a nasty divorce.
“I’m afraid to go to the house,” she said, “and I’m too old to do the digging anyway. That place gives me the creeps, and so did my ex-husband. Would you please dig up his yard?”
“Why don’t you talk to a gardener or landscaper?” I suggested.
“No, I’d prefer to have you take care of it. You’ll know if he left any clues. A gardener wouldn’t recognize a clue.”
I said I’d take a look at the yard as soon as she paid me a retainer. This case was too out of the ordinary and I wanted to be sure I was paid up front.
Mrs. Baker arrived within half an hour and paid my retainer with no questions asked. She also gave me a key to the house, in case I needed to get inside for anything. She explained that she was still half-owner of the house, because the divorce hadn’t been finalized yet. She appeared to be in her early eighties, and I could see why she didn’t feel she was up to the job herself.
“No one else would help me,” she said after I handed her a receipt. “Thank you.”
Okay, so I was a pushover. But she needed my help, and at least it was something different fro
m my usual cases. You get all kinds of weird requests in this business.
“I’ll take a look at the place and get back to you,” I said. “If I don’t feel I can help you, I’ll refund everything except for a minimal charge for looking into the situation.” I wasn’t about to agree to dig up the whole yard. I wasn’t into that kind of manual labor any more than Sam Spade, who had the name for it.
Stanley rode over with me and we walked around the lot, trying to figure out if Mr. Baker had left any type of clue for his wife. It wasn’t a large yard, which helped, but it was a mess. There were odds and ends lying all over the place. It looked like he’d used the space as a huge trash receptacle.
“What do you think?” Stanley asked.
“I don’t know.” I pushed a cardboard box out of the way with my foot. “He could have buried the papers anywhere. And then again, maybe he was playing a game with her, and there’s nothing here.”
“I believe there’s something buried here,” Stanley said, “but I’m not sure it’s really anything we want to find. He could have buried an explosive to get even with her.”
“I don’t think so. From the discussion I had with her, I think he probably just wanted to get her goat.” Stanley had an active imagination. I tried not to smile.
“You may be correct,” Stanley said. He looked like I might have taken some of the excitement out of this little adventure for him.
“Okay, let’s look around a little more and then we’ll come back this afternoon with some gardening tools.” I still thought if he’d really buried the papers that he might have left some type of clue, even if it was just to throw her off.
“Sandi, come look at this,” Stanley said, waving me over to the far corner of the yard. “Don’t they always say ‘X’ marks the spot?”
I turned my head in the direction he was pointing and smiled. There was a slab of cement, about three feet by three feet, with a small “X” marked right in the middle of it. It was too simple. I could almost hear Mr. Baker laughing about his little joke.
“Guess I’ll need to bring back a sledgehammer, huh?” I glanced at Stanley, shaking my head. “This guy must have been something else. And after all the work I’m going to do, I hope there really is something buried there.”
“Most assuredly,” Stanley replied.
We left the man’s house and stopped for a nice, sit-down lunch at the diner near my office. I wasn’t in the mood for fast food.
Stanley and I talked while we ate. He told me he was originally from New Mexico. His mother still lived there, enjoying retirement in an artsy-craftsy little town near where he’d been raised.
“My mother and I are quite different,” he explained. “She was a fortune teller in the town where I grew up, and people thought she was a tad off her trolley. Prior to my birth, she had followed her dream and worked for a traveling circus. She was a good mother to me, but sometimes it was a trifle embarrassing.”
I thought I could understand how he felt. My own mother was a little off kilter from time to time.
“The lads at school could be quite cruel about her, uh, chosen profession at times. There was a day when two of the larger boys cornered me as I was walking home from school. They had sticks and they were taunting me, threatening to beat me up.”
“What happened?” I asked. I had a vision of this scrawny little boy being harassed and it broke my heart.
“I remembered a story my mother told me about one of the circus performers. They called his act The Whirling Dervish. He performed all types of stunts while he spun in circles. I tried it once, but I got dizzy and it made me sick to my stomach. Anyway, I started spinning in a circle, as fast as I could. The boys were pointing and laughing at me. I kept spinning faster and faster, and then I spun right into them, knocking them over. I ran home and threw up.”
“Oh, Stanley.”
“Stan.” He waved his hand at me, as if to say there was nothing to it.
“And when I was a youngster my mother explained to me that my father passed away while she was carrying me. I never knew him. I was somewhat sickly as a child, which caused her to dote on me, but honestly, sometimes it was a bit overwhelming. I began to feel rather smothered, and that’s when I moved to Los Angeles.”
“Why, Stan, that’s quite a story.” I was genuinely surprised to hear Stanley’s tale, but it actually gave me a better understanding of him.
“I know. Mother and I are on quite good terms, but in addition to the smothered feeling, I prefer living here to living under the umbrella of her reputation. Although, she still has people who come to her for advice.”
“And how about your health?” I asked, thinking of the digging we’d be doing that afternoon.
“Oh, I’m fine now. My problems seemed to disappear after I moved to Los Angeles and as I began to age.”
And when you moved away from your mother, I thought to myself. It sounded as though Stanley had lived through some peculiar circumstances as a child.
“Can you tell fortunes?” I asked.
“No! And neither can my mother. She simply pays attention to what people say and uses her common sense.” He sighed. “I think.”
I thought I might have stepped on Stanley’s toes, so I didn’t ask any more questions.
While I was taking in what Stanley told me, I happened to glance out of the window. And what did I see? A white car, of course. The white car, with Cleveland sitting behind the wheel. Didn’t this guy ever take a break? I hadn’t seen him while we were at the Baker house, so he must have picked up our trail somewhere near the diner, which was near my office.
“Stan, we’re going to see if buying a new car was the right thing to do or not,” I said, changing the subject.
“We are?”
“Yes. When we go back to dig up that yard, I’m going to try to make Cleveland think we’re going somewhere else. Then I’m gonna to see if that ol’ V8 will help me lose him.”
“Oh, good. Another wild ride,” Stanley said, grinning. “Just like when I first met you.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
We finished eating and I drove Stanley back to the office with Cleveland right on our tail. Cleveland was getting on my nerves. I didn’t wave at him, although he smiled at me. I bared my teeth at him and he laughed.
The telephone rang shortly after I settled at my desk.
It was my mother. “Sandi, Frank and I wondered if you and Pete would like to go out to dinner with us this evening.”
“Thanks, Mom, but Pete is out of town right now, and I’m in the middle of a job. I’d like to meet you for dinner tomorrow night though, and when Pete gets back we want to take you and Frank out for a special dinner. To celebrate.”
“That would be lovely, dear. Where did Pete go?”
I didn’t want to tell her what had happened because she worried so much, but there was no getting around it. I knew we’d play a round of Twenty Questions if I tried to skirt the issue.
“Oh, dear,” she said after listening to my brief, leave-out-a-lot-of-the-details story. “Is Pete okay? Shouldn’t you be with him? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom, and Pete has a friend up at Tahoe with him. I think he needs a male friend right now, more than he needs me. You know, someone who can understand. Do you remember the officer who helped us out when you were mugged?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, that’s who’s up at Tahoe with Pete.”
“Oh. Well, I guess that’s okay then. He seemed like a nice sort of person.” Mother sounded uncertain.
“He is. And he’ll help Pete through this. I’m sure he understands what Pete is going through more than I ever could. Besides, Mom, I can’t leave the business right now. Too many things going on.”
“Uh huh. Just be careful about the type of case you take from now on. Do you hear me, young lady?” Her voice had gone up an octave.
“Oh, I hear you, Mother. Loud and clear. Not to worry, I’m not working on anything dangerous.”
&nb
sp; “I certainly hope not.”
“I’ve got to go now. There’s a client walking in the door right now,” I lied.
“We’ll discuss this tomorrow.” She snuck her comment in before I could hang up.
“Mothers,” I said to the air. However, I was pleased that she hadn’t lectured me about getting out of the business. I’d half expected her to rant and rave about how dangerous my line of work was, and to use Pete’s experience to prove her point.
“Yes, indeed,” Stanley agreed.
Since neither Stanley nor I had any gardening tools, we drove to a hardware store and I bought a few necessary items. We wandered up and down the aisles, not knowing exactly where to find the things we’d need, until a salesman took pity and found everything for us.
“I’m going to use these tools when I get moved into the house,” I explained as we passed through the checkout line. “May as well buy them now.”
Appearing dubious, Stanley glanced at the sledgehammer I’d chosen along with my assortment of gardening tools.
“Well, I’ll need most of them.”
We left the hardware store and drove back to the office. I’d left the key to the Baker house sitting on my desk, and I wanted to have it with me just in case. In case of what, I didn’t know, but I didn’t want to have to drive back to the office for it.
Cleveland was watching with interest. I’d seen his face brighten when we loaded the tools into my trunk.
The light suddenly snapped on in my little pea brain. “Uh oh.”
“What?” Stanley glanced at me.
“I’d be willing to bet Cleveland thinks we’ve figured out where the treasure is. Now I know I’ve got to lose him.”
“I believe you’re right,” Stanley said thoughtfully. “That’s exactly what I’d be thinking if I were him.”
“Yeah. Me, too. Let’s get going and see if we can lose this jerk.”
Stanley and I walked out to the car, waving at Cleveland. I wanted him to feel comfortable. I didn’t want him to think we were up to anything. He smiled, so I felt like my little plan was already working.