Bye, Bye Love

by K. J. Larsen

  “I don’t care what Ted says. Something terrible has happened to Charlie.”

  “Ted?”

  “Charlie’s neighbor on the other side. Ted’s a quack. A fruitloop. A…”

  “Psychic?”

  She snorted her disapproval. “Ted thinks Charlie’s starring in a Hollywood movie and hanging out with Meryl Streep. Ha!”

  “You think Charlie doesn’t like Meryl Streep?”

  “I think Charlie doesn’t like people period. Certainly not enough to be famous.”

  “When did you see him last?”

  “Wednesday morning. I told him my sister’s husband isn’t well and we’d be away a few days. We returned late Saturday night. If Charlie was home, I didn’t notice.”

  “And the neighbors?”

  “Charlie keeps to himself since his dog died.”

  Mrs.Whitaker went to the closet and dragged down a shoebox stuffed with photo-envelopes from Costco. I helped myself to another prune kolache and she searched through photographs until she found the one she was looking for. She passed it to me.

  “This is Charlie and Spats. Charlie said he was a kid in a dog suit.”

  I studied the picture. Charlie appeared to be in his fifties with a tall, lean frame and with a full head of curly gray hair. Spats was a white bull terrier with black markings on his head.

  “It’s a great pic. May I borrow it?”

  She nodded. “Spats was a clown. He was fun-loving and sweet. Charlie hasn’t been himself since he lost him. He’s more withdrawn.”

  I wondered if Charlie was depressed enough to commit suicide. I didn’t ask though. We’d know soon enough.

  “Did you contact the police to report Charlie missing?” I asked.

  “I did better than that.” She winked and tapped her head with a finger, signaling she was so damn smart. “I called your Mama.”

  I felt a headache coming on.

  “Your mama said I did the right thing. She’s a smart lady.” She smiled and leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. “But not so lucky in Bingo.”

  “Mama says you’re a bingo maniac.”

  “I pray to St. Cajetan. He’s the patron saint of gamblers and the unemployed.” She winked. “But he’s a sucker for Bingo.”

  I laughed. “Mama says you keep an eye on Charlie’s house for him when he’s out of town. Do you have a key?”

  “Yes. But I wouldn’t feel right going inside.”

  I held out a hand. “You don’t have to.”

  ***

  I unlocked Charlie’s door and got a whiff of lemon furniture polish. I exhaled a sigh of relief. No dead body smells. If Charlie offed himself, he didn’t do it here. And his wallet was on the table. Wherever he went, he wasn’t planning on spending money.

  There was cold coffee in the pot. Half a glass of red wine on the table. And milk in the fridge. A goldfish swam circles in a bowl. I sprinkled fish-food in her bowl and made a quick search of the house. No sign of Charlie. And no clues to where he’d gone.

  I returned the key to Mrs. Whitaker with the goldfish. Her forehead creased with worry.

  “I have to say, I have a bad feeling about this,” I said. “Charlie left in a hurry. He didn’t take his wallet. Or his money. Or credit cards.”

  “But you’ll find him,” she said with undue confidence.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Mrs. Whitaker squeezed my hand. “Pray to St. Anthony of Padua. That guy can find anybody.”

  When I walked back to my car, psychic Ted was waiting for me

  “Ms. DeLuca?”

  Maybe he was psychic after all. Or, more likely, Ivy told him I was coming.

  “Hi, Ted. What can you tell me about Charlie?”

  “Only what I hear from my guides. Hollywood. Movie deal. Probably a gangster movie.” He laughed. “Charlie’s a character, all right.”

  I gave him a card. “Call me if you hear from Charlie or think of something else. I told Mrs. Whitaker I’d try to find him.”

  Ted grinned broadly. “He’s not coming back, you know. Once they get a taste of the bright lights, they never look back.”

  ***

  I made a stop at the liquor store before Dixie and I zoomed to the Ninth precinct. We made it past the desk sergeant and were walking to the captain’s office when the door to the men’s room opened. Captain Bob stepped out, buckling the belt on his pants. Our eyes locked and his gaze moved to my hands. His lip curled.

  No lemon crèmes.

  “Hello, Bobby,” I said.

  Bob’s face twitched and his gaze shot down the hall to his office. I’ve known Captain Bob my whole life and I could read his weasely mind. He intended to lock himself in his office. Or, more accurately, lock me out.

  “Seriously?” I said.

  Captain Bob charged the door and I bolted after him.

  I had to admire his optimism. He has twenty-five years on me and a shameful number of lemon crèmes beneath his belt. To be fair, I wore running shoes and might have told Dixie to cut him off at the pass.

  I was seated in his office examining my nails when Bob dragged through the door with the black shepherd. She was smiling.

  “I think Dixie likes you,” I said.

  He parked himself at his desk, slightly out of breath. “Where’s your beagle? Did this dog eat her?”

  “Inga’s at the mall helping Mama select beachwear for her honeymoon.”

  “You’re her daughter. Isn’t that your job?”

  I shrugged. “She knows what Mama likes.”

  When I was a kid, Bob and Papa were partners on the Force. He’s been part of the family ever since. He’s like one of my uncles except he doesn’t speak Italian and he wants to throw me in jail.

  Bob’s been present at every significant event in my life. He attended my Baptism, Confirmation, Graduation, and my Wedding. He was even at my Divorce party. But not cuz I invited him. A hysterical neighbor called the cops saying a man was on fire. It was an effigy of Johnnie Rizzo. I may have poured too much gasoline on his Armani wedding suit.

  The captain looked at me squarely, projecting authority. “The answer is no.”

  “No, what?”

  He sniffed pettily. “To whatever you want. Go away.”

  “You’re mad about the lemon crèmes, aren’t you. Maybe I brought something better.”

  He brightened.

  I flashed my most winning smile and dragged Uncle Joey’s bottle from my shoulder bag. I plopped it on his desk.

  He gave a low whistle and shoved the bottle in a drawer so I couldn’t take it back. Then he looked at me suspiciously.

  “That set you back. What’s it for.”

  “It’s a bribe.”

  He shook his head. “It’s a birthday present.”

  “Bribe.”

  “If it was a bribe, Caterina, I’d have to arrest you. But because it’s my birthday, I’m saying ‘thanks’ and I don’t owe you anything.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s a bribe.”

  Bob sighed and jerked the drawer back open. He poured himself two very fat fingers, brought the glass to his lips, and savored a sip.

  “I know it’s not your birthday, Captain, cuz if it was, you’d be a Sagittarian. You’re not. You’re a Taurus like me. We’re practically soul mates.”

  I thrust out a fist and waited for a bump. I got a growl instead.

  “You have a smart answer for everything, don’t you.”

  I smiled. “Huh?”

  His face relaxed and he almost smiled. “OK. The birthday present bought you five minutes.” He looked at his watch. “Start talking.”

  “Captain Bob, two Bridgeport men have gone missing in the last several days. Bernie Love was killed Sunday night and his body was snatched.”

  He redden
ed slightly and he pulled a blue bottle of liquid antacid from his desk and gulped thirstily.

  “My ulcer only screams when you’re involved. Why is that?”

  I shrugged. “Cuz we’re soul mates.”

  He looked as if he was going to be sick.

  “The second man disappeared sometime in the past week. Charlie Steele is fifty something and keeps pretty much to himself. In fact he’s so reclusive, he can’t hardly talk to people. No one’s seen him for several days. One neighbor is concerned. She’s one of Mama’s church friends. Another nutso neighbor thinks he’s gone to Hollywood to be a movie star. Were you aware he’s missing?”

  Bob grimaced and gulped more antacid. “Your Mama called me three times already to check on our progress with this guy. There is no progress. No investigation. There hasn’t been a police report. I sent Tommy and Leo to talk to a neighbor. The neighbor told them about landing a big movie deal.”

  “Really? An introvert who can’t talk to people?”

  “Why not? They’re all nuts in California.” He switched drinks and slugged down the bourbon. “I suppose you have a better theory.”

  I smacked a fist on the desk. “Serial killer. Captain. Bridgeport could have one.”

  His jaw dropped.

  I shrugged. “It’s a theory.”

  “An insane theory.” The captain looked at his watch. He finger-tapped vigorously as if it had stopped.

  “Of course if Uncle Joey is right and Provenza proves to be Bernie’s killer, the serial killer theory will be moot.”

  “Ya think?”

  I ignored the sarcasm. “Rocco doesn’t have a firm suspect. He’s not convinced Provenza is our perp. And we know Bernie’s murder wasn’t a robbery.”

  “Are you going somewhere with this.”

  “I think we should at least consider the possibility that these disappearances are connected.”

  Bob stared at his watch. “This has got to be the longest four minutes and twenty seconds of my life.”

  “We make a good team, Captain. I suggest we check with other precincts for cases that may share similar facts. You know. Missing faces, missing persons, body snatchers.”

  “Times up!” Bob announced. He scooted out from around his desk, prepared to drag me out by my arm.

  Dixie had been lying beside me on the floor. She leapt to her feet and gave a low, teeth-bared growl. Captain Bob put his hands us and took a step back.

  I said, “He’s OK, girl. Stand down.”

  Dixie relaxed and sniffed Bob.

  He breathed again. “She’s a good dog for you, Caterina. The way you piss people off.”

  “I have Inga.”

  “She’s a beagle. She’d give you up for a ham sandwich.”

  I laughed. It was true. Inga’s a food whore.

  Bob followed Dixie and me to the door. I said, “If Steele left town voluntarily, it’s the first time he neglected to set his lights on timer first. Maybe Leo and Tommy could check inside his house. We should know if he’s playing the slots in Reno or if, like Bernie, he took a walk and disappeared.”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  Bob gave me a little push and closed the door quickly before Dixie could react. He waved through the glass.

  “Thanks for the birthday present. Next time, don’t forget the cake.”

  I tromped to the car with Dixie, grumbling under my breath.

  “I should have let you eat him, girl. He probably tastes like bacon and lemon crèmes.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Joey was raking leaves when I dropped by his house. A brown Ford Focus was in the driveway. It was so not Uncle Joey.

  “A rental?”

  “Compliments of the little green gecko.”

  Dixie leaped from the car and scampered to Uncle Joey, tail wagging. He dropped the rake and knelt beside her.

  “I remember you too, girl. Corey brought you by a few weeks ago.” He looked at me. “How is she doing?”

  “Missing her dad. Looking for a new one, Daddy.”

  “Linda doesn’t do dogs.”

  “But you want a dog. And you love German Shepherds.”

  “I also love Linda. What are you gonna do?”

  “Jewelry.”

  He laughed.

  “When was the last time you saw Corey?” I asked.

  “The day he was here. There was a problem with the union accounts at work. Some numbers weren’t adding up. He wanted my advice.”

  “Why did he come to you?”

  He smiled. “The same reason people come to you. They know you can keep a secret.”

  “Did you tell him to talk to Bernie.”

  “Damn, girl. How’d you know?”

  “We stopped by Corey’s condo for Dixie’s things. I saw Bernie’s number on his fridge. I was surprised they knew each other.”

  “They didn’t. Bernie didn’t know a lot of people. He liked it that way.”

  “Definitely not Italian.” I picked up the rake and began moving leaves.

  “I talked to Bernie. He agreed to look at the union books and I gave Corey his number.”

  I raked and Joey stroked Dixie’s coal black fur. It was a moment before I spoke. “It was unsettling to see the note in the condo.”

  He let go of Dixie and looked at me. “Yeah?”

  “I mean, Corey writes the name of a guy he’s never met on a scrap of paper. And then suddenly, they’re both dead. Within days of each other.” I shivered as a chill ran down my spine. “It’s creepy.”

  Joey came over and gave me a hug. Dixie trotted behind him and weaseled in on the hug.

  “It doesn’t mean anything, Caterina. It’s life. Life will kick you in the ass.”

  My uncle’s breath was a blend of coffee and good whiskey. He’s not a big drinker but Bernie’s death hit him hard. And Linda was in Vegas.

  “Did Bernie figure out the problem with the union accounts,” I asked.

  “I don’t know if Corey called him. Doug would know. He was Corey’s boss and they were friends. They’d be working on this together.”

  I nodded.

  “Why the curiosity?”

  “I dunno. Something doesn’t feel right.”

  “You’re young, Cat, and you’re still trying to make sense of the Universe. The truth is, and here’s the spoiler alert, there’s no sense to it. Two good guys died because the Universe sucks.”

  Joey pulled a stick from a pile of leaves and threw it for Dixie. She hurled after it.

  “She’s a beautiful girl,” he said and shook his head regretfully. “And big. Really big. She would scare Linda.”

  I shrugged. “Probably at first. Until she gets to know her. Dixie would make a good companion on Linda’s runs.”

  Linda is no bigger than a minute. She could use a big, bad-ass dog to run with.

  “Linda says dogs drool, lick, snort, and fart.”

  “So do you. And you’re still here. She’ll get used to Dixie’s farts too.”

  “You know Dixie would look good in my new Ferrari. Top down. Tongue out, catching the wind. He grinned. “I might have to thank Nicholas Provenza when I arrest his ass for killing Bernie.”

  Dixie’s soulful brown eyes gazed at Uncle Joey. He patted his chest, inviting her to jump up on him. She did, holding on tight. I watched him melt like butter.

  “I’m a sucker. Let’s move Dixie’s stuff into the garage.”

  My heart sang. “Possession is nine tenths of the law.”

  “I’ll have to talk to Linda. But first I’ll need to buy her something really expensive. What was it you suggested?”

  “Jewelry.”

  He grinned. “Just another reason to thank Nick Provenza when I arrest him.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

&nbs
p; I punched Doug Schuchard’s number on my phone. When he answered, I heard laughter in the background.

  “Sounds like a party,” I said. “Am I interrupting?”

  “No. It’s Happy Hour. The party’s at the next table. There’s a whole office of happy here, celebrating something. I’m alone. Now that Corey’s gone…” his voice caught, “…there’s no one at work I want to drink with.”

  “Want some company?”

  Doug gave his adolescent howl. “I want sex. But I’ll start with company.”

  I bit my tongue and wondered, for the umpteenth time, why no one has ever knocked some sense into him.

  “Where are you?”

  “Louie’s Grill and Tap.”

  “Order me garlic prawns and a Caesar salad. And Mac and Jack. I’m on my way.”

  Twenty minutes later, I pushed my way through the office party and found Doug in a booth near the back. He scooted over and thumped the seat beside him.

  “I don’t bite.”

  “This works,” I said easily and sat across from him instead. He pushed my beer and appetizer across the table. I popped a buttery shrimp in my mouth.

  “Thanks for ordering for me. I’m starved.”

  “Late lunch?”

  “No lunch. Crazy day.”

  “What exactly does the lead detective at the Hot Pants Detective Agency do each day?”

  He howled at his great joke.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. Like I never heard that one before.”

  He gulped a drink of beer and the goofy grin dissolved in a glut of tears. “Me and Corey used to come by here after work. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  I blinked. It was like watching a Bi-Polar guy on fast forward. And then, just as quickly, the tears were gone. Doug blew into a napkin and tossed it on the seat beside him.

  Doug was on a downhill spiral of grief, spinning out of control into crazy land.

  “This is a hard time for you,” I said. “Perhaps you could talk to someone about losing your friend. Maybe a, um, doctor.”

  “I’m fine. Keeping busy.” He flashed a smile. “Did your brother nail the boss for offing Barney?”

  “It’s Bernie. Rocco’s not convinced Provenza’s good for it.”