by Susan Slater
“I really like your mother. I’d be the first to say dear sister Carolyn can be a pain in the ass, but your mom seems to really have it together—you know, confident of what she wants and goes for it. This could be a good thing.”
“True. She wants us to help with their house-hunt.”
“So it’s close to here?”
“About an hour and a half away. Seventy-five miles, to be exact, on the other side of Orlando.”
“Tell her we’ll do it. We have a little ‘wait and see’ time. You still have some interviewing to do but didn’t you say the track’s not due to reopen for another couple days? It’ll be fun.”
Fun probably wouldn’t be his descriptive term, but like Carolyn, he felt his mother in small doses could be…interesting. Stanley, he wasn’t sure about. The only time he’d been around him, Dan had listened to an hour’s diatribe on the need to unionize college ball and quit screwing over the players. That, a sadly overdone smoked turkey, and warm beer just about summed up the afternoon. How often could he put himself through that?
“Oh no. Look at this.” Elaine had flipped open her laptop and placed it on the kitchen counter. “Maggie Mahoney may want to consider running drugs in her new community. One little blue pill can go as high as fourteen dollars.”
“Viagra? Isn’t this a senior community?”
“Don’t be naive. It’s not supposed to wear out.” The gesture, index-finger extended, appeared to be aimed at his crotch.
“Right.” Dan didn’t need an explanation of what “it” was; he just willed himself to tune back into what she was saying and stop figuring out how many good years his “it” had left.
“Listen to this—The Villages is a hot bed…literally…for STDs and the human papilloma virus.”
“Seriously? What about golf courses, lakes, clubs…you know, regular amenities?”
“I am being serious. Sex seems to be the amenity. A little value-added. Couples have been picked up for doing it in golf carts, poolside, in the sauna—”
“You’re making this up.”
“Take a look.” Elaine turned her laptop toward him.
Dan leaned forward and scanned the article. Then he pulled up another. This wasn’t some shock-factor writing by a reporter seeking his or her fifteen minutes of fame; there were a number of articles from several newspapers including the Times. Even a gynecologist warning women to insist upon protection. To not take for granted that just because they might be too old to get pregnant that there weren’t some other worries out there.
Still it was a little tough to accept…his mother and all. The caption under the picture of a golf cart heading away from the photographer, the woman’s arms around the driver—“sex on wheels.” Another article, presumably more of a sales pitch, headlined—“If you weren’t ‘lucky’ in high school, get ‘lucky’ now!”
Dan closed the laptop.
“Do you think she has any idea?” Elaine was placing the toaster next to a coffee grinder on the counter.
“I would doubt it. I think we need to check it out first. I can’t believe the articles were telling the truth. Just more sensationalism, I hope.”
“Are you suggesting a road trip?”
“Why not? I’d feel better if I could talk about the place objectively. I’m sure there are other places in Florida to live. We could look into one of those seaside communities. A condo in Ormond Beach, maybe—they’re advertised everywhere.”
“I think we should. I don’t see the attraction of a community that’s landlocked. Unless Stanley plays golf?”
“Don’t ask me but I’d guess he does. The word ‘duffer’ comes to mind when I think of him.”
“Dan, be nice. This is your mother’s life and if she’s happy with Stanley, then we should be, too.”
Dan wasn’t sure about that line of reasoning but he had to hand it to his mother; at seventy-four (or was she only admitting to seventy-two?), she was out having fun. How many cruises had she taken last year alone? He should be thankful he wasn’t visiting or supporting her in a nursing home. And Stanley? Well, he just wouldn’t spend a lot of time thinking about that.
“Do we have a date of arrival?”
“Mom said they were hoping to be here this week.”
“So soon?”
“I think they’ve been planning this for awhile. Our being here just seems to have hastened the decision.”
“How sweet. You should be flattered.”
Maggie Mahoney had never struck him as “sweet” and had never needed backup to make up her mind. There was something odd about wanting him involved. Guess he’d find out why quickly enough.
***
“You know what? This is Disneyland for adults.” Dan braked quickly for a golf cart that careened into his path. “The area is beautiful—I have to give it that. Lake Sumter, inland canals…” He’d turned onto the main boulevard that led to the center of the “town.” So this was the infamous Villages. He kept looking but he didn’t see a bicycle or anyone walking and he didn’t see an animal on a leash—no one out for a stroll with the family Yorkie or French Bulldog. In fact, there weren’t any animals, on a leash or off. No errant squirrel or rabbit dashing across the road in front of him, and he hadn’t seen a bird in five miles. Roadkill? What was that? The place was clean. Amend that, sterile would be a better word. God forbid he should see a little graffiti. That was probably a hanging offense.
They seemed to have arrived at Lake Sumter Landing Market Square. That alone was a mouthful. Brightly colored storefronts, hanging pots of flowers, scrubbed sidewalks, and not one place to park. Some parking spots held three golf carts all lined up. He continued driving block after block, thinking that the public parking lots would have room—but no. Frustrating. And all the time he had to be on the lookout for golf carts. They were everywhere.
Dan idly wondered if they held recreational events with the ubiquitous carts—some form of chariot racing in a coliseum on weekends, maybe. Okay, now he was just letting his imagination run wild, but the generation he was looking at had driven some souped-up cars in their day. He tried to conjure up what a turbocharged golf cart would look like.
“Dan, quick, a parking place.” Elaine pointed to her left. The last spot in a public lot. “It’ll be fun to walk around a little.”
A stroll in The Villages wasn’t Dan’s idea of fun, still he would like some lunch and there was a feeling of relief that he wouldn’t be circling the rest of the afternoon just trying to land.
The main street seemed to have all the usual stores and restaurants. Italian sounded good and the Red Sauce looked inviting. With a population of over sixty thousand in mostly an over-sixty demographic, eating out was a way of life. He quickly noticed that the twenty- and thirty-something wait people stood out in stark contrast. He wondered where they lived. On the periphery outside city limits, he guessed. He was tempted to say outside “the dome” because that’s what it reminded him of—a special, sterile living bubble that dropped over a certain few acres and kept an homogenous way of life intact.
He remembered reading that there was a fifty-five-year-old requirement for residency and no one under nineteen could visit longer than thirty days in any calendar year. Wow. He never thought he’d long for kids on skateboards, but he was getting close.
“Mr. Mahoney, how nice to see you again.” Dixie Halifax stepped out from a booth. “I’d like you to meet my mother, Agnes Halifax, and my father, John. I wouldn’t have expected to see you here.” A sweet half-smile from Agnes, a nod from John.
Dan introduced Elaine and explained they were on a check-it-out sort of trip for his mother and her partner. He hoped he was being correct that “partner” didn’t denote only same-sex arrangements. But what did you call “live-ins”? You couldn’t use the word “lover” in polite company, not that he even associated that word with his mother, and “mate”
seemed dated and at the very least gave him an Aussie accent. Significant other? He remembered picking up a popular magazine recently that had an article on “Sig-Os.” No, “partner” was the best choice.
“My parents moved here last year and love it.” Dixie had sat back down. “Good to see you make use of a little track downtime. Things will get busy once we open up again.” She passed the breadbasket to her mother.
Dismissed. Apparently allotted small-talk time was over and Dan and Elaine followed the hostess to a booth at the back of the dining area.
“A shame Dixie’s parents aren’t able to speak for themselves.” Elaine was being a little snide, but those were his sentiments exactly. The lady seemed to have real control issues. “I can see why Melody didn’t want to cross her.”
“Me, too. I’m glad we took Sadie in.”
“So what do you think? Is the place a thumbs-up for Maggie and Stanley?” The entrees of pasta and sauces were excellent, salads crisp, bread fresh…crème brulee, a perfect touch with coffee. With the dishes removed and only the coffee left, it felt good to just relax and talk. Based on the last few months, this was a luxury. Elaine leaned against the cushioned seatback.
“I have to look at things through their eyes. I’d hate it but I’m not in my seventies and not a golfer. It’s probably fine for them. Maybe they could rent for awhile—not make a decision to buy until they were sure.”
“I’d agree to that.” Now if he could only convince his mother.
“Your mom still has an apartment in Chicago but spends a lot of her time visiting Carolyn in New Mexico. Do we know where Stanley is from?”
“She met him on a cruise—I’ve forgotten which one. I think it was the Arthur Murray cruise—billed as a dance camp on the waves.”
“That sounds so romantic.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Okay, he needed a little work in the romance department but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he lived to be a hundred, he wouldn’t be tripping the light fantastic on the deck of a cruise ship. Nope. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
“Let’s go look at some houses.” Elaine pushed out of the booth and stood. The sideways glance made him think she’d read his mind.
Chapter Six
Their townhouse looked pretty good. A trip to the World Market on International Speedway Boulevard for a few throw pillows and cloth napkins, a set of Mexican, hand-blown margarita glasses and pitcher, little hand-carved end tables from Africa, a framed seascape poster for the upstairs bath, and the place was becoming a home. Granted, some of these were things she’d have to donate to Joan’s garage when the time came to move, but in the meantime, they would enjoy them. She had dropped Dan off at the track and the day was hers to putter away. Well, do laundry, grocery shop, and give Sadie a nice long walk.
One of the first things she intended to do was wash Sadie’s bed. There was every indication that it had never been washed. A little too much dog hair and doggy odor to be living with it in such a small space. And poor Fucher probably didn’t even notice.
The bed’s flannel outer case had a zipper. She only hoped washing the casing would do the trick and that the stuffing wasn’t too “doggy.” She wasn’t sure what she’d do then, maybe buy some cheap towels and fill the bag. Getting Sadie to relinquish her favorite spot took some coaxing. And a hotdog. But finally Sadie was closed in the kitchen with her treat, and Elaine was sitting on the floor with the dog bed.
The first thing she realized was that the flannel case was just a covering for a heavy canvas-like material that was really the bag itself. This was not a cheap bed. Elaine peeled off the first cover and set it aside. The canvas covering had a heavy-duty zipper that was rusted and probably reflected its age. Or was maybe just another victim of the salt air this close to the ocean. But there was no doubt that it needed a washing, too.
The zipper took a little work and a trip to Joan’s garage to borrow some WD-40. Finally she’d inched the zipper back about a foot but needed more light to continue. Grabbing one end of the bed she jerked it upright and pulled it after her toward the nearest window. Turning back to sit down she sucked in her breath and dropped the bed. Trailing after her across the floor were several neatly bound stacks of twenties with more peeking out of the unzipped hole.
“Oh my God…” She’d found Fucher’s bank. And it made sense that he wouldn’t trust a real bank or maybe just didn’t know how to open an account. So, a dog bed worked just as well. Gave new meaning to keeping one’s savings under the mattress. But now what to do? Count it? It was beginning to bother her to even look at what promised to be quite a sum. It raised all kinds of questions—who should be notified? Was Fucher really responsible enough to make decisions? But maybe more importantly, could they, or even should they use it to make his bail?
***
“Two hundred and ninety thousand dollars.” The stacks of twenties covering the dining room table were impressive. Dan had counted it twice, yet it was still difficult to believe. In a dog bed and who knew how long it had been there. Amazing that it hadn’t been stolen but then who would look in a dog bed? Quite possibly Fucher had found one of the best kept secrets for safeguarding valuables at home. Made him think of a certain Barbasol can that had held a five-hundred-thousand-dollar necklace in Wagon Mound, New Mexico. People could be pretty inventive when it came to hiding valuables. But then so could thieves when it came to finding them. Fucher had been lucky his “bank” hadn’t been discovered.
“What should we do? This amount of money makes me really nervous.” Elaine was just staring at the table. “I don’t think I could sleep tonight knowing it was here.”
“I’m with you. We need to get it somewhere for safekeeping—preferably a bank. Didn’t Joan say her brother was a lawyer and had helped Fucher with money matters before? That’s probably the best place to start.”
***
Roger Carter didn’t ask questions but came to the townhouse at his sister’s insistence. And simply kept shaking his head as he looked at the piles of twenties.
“I wondered where the rest of the settlement was. Fucher had made so many handouts and loans that I just supposed it had all trickled away. He was pretty close-mouthed. I knew I probably didn’t have a record of all of them. And collecting was going to be a nightmare even with contracts.”
“Has there been a hearing?” Dan knew that that would determine bail.
“Interestingly enough, set for tomorrow morning. I’ll be representing Fucher. I hate to think my degree in criminal law is coming in handy for a friend. I know you don’t know him but I’d like to think you concur with me that an innocent man is being charged.”
“I think we both agree with you,” Elaine added.
“I’m going to re-count this and draw up papers as to when and how it was found, and then we’ll take it to the bank. I know the charge is murder but I think under the circumstances, and knowing Fucher’s limitations, the judge won’t see him as a flight risk. I think we’ll get a reasonable bail.”
“Any guess as to what the sum might be?” Dan was hoping the two hundred and ninety would cover it.
“Probably two hundred and fifty. It’s a little high only because the charge is murder. Why don’t you join me at the courthouse in the morning? Nine sharp. I’ve got a judge that doesn’t like his time wasted waiting.
***
Fucher looked almost handsome in a sports jacket and tie. Even his jeans looked neatly pressed, the cuffs covering the shackles. He excitedly waved to all his friends until Roger made him turn around. Mel sat two rows up beside a rather dapper looking older man in a somewhat dated suit, white shirt, and tie. His short white beard looked neatly trimmed for the occasion and white hair curled away from his face in a cherubic halo of fluff. The way his lower jaw sort of slanted backwards tucking in just slightly under his upper lip, Dan guessed the man wasn’t wearing his lower dentures. Must be Fred
, Fucher’s friend, the maintenance guy.
The judge was punctual but the surprise came when it was determined that Dixie Halifax, the Daytona Dog Track, and the family of Jackson Sanchez would be represented by joint counsel. Being some ten minutes late didn’t endear them to the judge. But finally, two lawyers, a man and a woman, took their seats at a table in front of the dais. Dan’s sixth sense put him on alert but he wasn’t sure why. They wouldn’t interfere with his investigation, but he was just curious as to why Ms. Halifax and the track felt they needed representation.
It didn’t take long to figure out—after the two lawyers presented an overview of the supposed losses. Ms. Halifax and the track were looking for compensation for downtime including lost wages for employees, and the Sanchez family expected to pursue a wrongful death suit, hoping to recoup half a lifetime of unrealized earning power—lost salary and support of two children.
Wow. Someone must think Fucher had deep pockets, Dan thought. But then the lead lawyer on the opposing team argued against bail. They did not want Fucher Crumm released. Characterized him as a threat to humanity—not in control of his own emotions. It was difficult to sit and listen to the character assignation of someone so trusting. Fucher had to be hushed several times.
Roger asked to approach the bench and, finally, both lawyers left the courtroom to meet in the judge’s chambers. Coming back into the room some fifteen minutes later, Roger caught Dan’s eye and gave him the briefest of nods. The opposing attorney looked disgruntled and quickly pushed papers into his briefcase all the while whispering to the woman beside him at the table.
But bail was set at two hundred and fifty thousand and after Roger explained to Fucher what had happened, there was much jumping up and down—even in shackles. Followed by Mel and Fred hugging each other and then coming down front to hug Fucher.
It took a moment for Roger to get everyone’s attention. “I’ll pick him up at the jail later after I withdraw the bail money and sign a few papers. I’m relieved it’s turned out this way. How ’bout dinner on me tonight? I’m thinking Bonefish Grill, Atlantic Boulevard in Ormond. Let’s say around seven?”