“Hello!” I said. I still wanted to make sure, “May I speak to Jennifer Rockingham, please.”
“This is she.” No doubt about it, this woman had a nice speaking voice.
“Good morning. This is Matt. Ah...Matthew, Matthew Preston. You called me this morning.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Preston. Good Morning. And thank you for returning my call so quickly.” She sounded genuinely happy to hear from me. “The reason I was calling you was in regards to my father, Elmo. Elmo Rockingham.”
Complete silence on my part.
And? So? I waited for more.
The name she said meant nothing to me and I waited for her to continue, but it appeared she was waiting for me to speak. The silence grew between us. I was clueless and a bit embarrassed to respond. I couldn’t help but wonder, Who the hell are these people who know me? I don’t have a clue about their identity. First Jennifer, and now a mysterious father? What’s next, the shotgun?
Finally, after a very long pause I broke the silence, “I’m sorry Miss Rockingham. I don’t mean to be rude, but you seem to have me at a disadvantage. That name means nothing to me. Should it?” I tried to make my voice as charming as I could, because I felt embarrassed that I couldn’t be of more help.
She responded quickly, “Oh! Gosh! I’m so sorry Mr. Preston, I didn’t realize you didn’t know his given name. Please forgive me, I just assumed you knew who he was. I believe you probably knew my father as ‘Slim’, ‘Slim’ Rockingham.”
“Excuse me…ah…Miss?” I paused, and she replied,
“Miss.”
“Miss Rockingham, yes, I knew your father. I’m the one who needs to apologize, I’m sorry, but until this minute, I’d never heard your father’s actual name. Yes, I knew him. When I met your father they introduced him as Slim, and I only ever heard him called Slim.” I paused for a few seconds, and wondered if I should say more. Finally I continued, “I’m so sorry about your father’s death, my condolences Miss.”
“Thank you, Mr. Preston.” She paused, and then spoke quickly, “The reason I’m calling you is ... well ... I understand you somehow might have an interest in my father’s estate. Am I correct?”
It occurred to me briefly this might be one rather cold lady. A few days ago, someone had killed her dad, and here she’s sounding as if she’s already worried that she wasn’t going to get all of her inheritance. “Well, yes, in a way I guess I do. Recently, I won your dad’s houseboat in a card game. My plan was to take possession of it the other day when I went over to the marina, and ... um ...” For some reason, I really didn’t know how to end what I started to say.
Miss Rockingham interrupted, “Ah—that explains it. About a week ago, father’s attorney called him, and father had informed him that he’d finally ‘gotten rid of the damn thing’, as father had put it, meaning the houseboat.
“Father’s attorney also mentioned that you were the new owner. After his death, father’s attorney became rather curious and concerned. Even though father sent him the transfer of ownership papers, signed by both of you, and all the rest of the papers involved with the transfer, none of those papers offered any records of money passing hands. There were no deposit slips, promissory notes, or anything. Father’s attorney handled all of his affairs, so he should have known what the arrangements were. Father’s attorney was going to ask father before he was...well...before the other day and when the attorney said he was going to investigate, I told him I would be glad to call and just ask you. I guess father was a bit too embarrassed to tell his attorney what had happened.”
I decided I wanted to rid myself of this goofball in a hurry. It certainly appeared as if she had a real concern about all the money she thought she had coming. “Look, Ms. Rockingham, I offered to let your dad keep the thing. I felt bad after the game, because I might have put him out of house and home, so to speak. I’ll gladly give up any claim I have to it.
“When I offered it back to your dad, he said he was ready to move back to New Mexico, and he told me he was glad to rid himself of it as well. Miss, I’m very happy where I’m living now, and since your dad’s houseboat was winnings from a card game, I’m more than willing to let you have it back. It’s up to you. Tell your attorney, or your father’s attorney, or whomever, I’ll sign anything they need to release any claim I might have.” My feelings were to let her deal with where to tie it up, or what to do with the houseboat. This might be my way out of the damn thing.
Her response was immediate, “Oh no, Mr. Preston, you misunderstand my call. I just wanted to make sure that there are no problems with any part of the estate, and given our discussion, we can finish this as quickly as possible. I’ve never seen the houseboat thing, and I can’t imagine why I would ever want to.” There was a slight pause, and I felt she was considering if she wanted to tell me more, and what that might be. I heard her take a deep breath, then let it out as a deep sigh, before she continued. “Mr. Preston, I know this is none of your business, but since you now seem somewhat involved, I feel the need to explain something.”
She paused for a moment, and then plunged into her explanation, “Father and I have…excuse me, had, a love-hate relationship for most of our lives. He loved and I hated. I was an accident child, and I always felt that he held it against my mother and me. Shortly after I was born, he decided to leave us, although he continued to provide excellent financial support. In other areas, I received nothing. Mother had such a difficult time dealing with everything that she eventually sent me away. As she became more depressed, she ended up living as sort of a recluse. I’ve spent most of my life abroad in private schools, paid for by my loving father.” I noticed the word ‘loving’ dripped with sarcasm.
She continued, “For many years we didn’t even correspond with each other. When I finally saw him at mother’s funeral, I was going to let him know that he was probably responsible for her early death, but I decided to hold my tongue. We only spoke a few words that day, but I felt a genuine remorse on his part for everything that had happened. Over the past few months, we finally started to write to each other. Our first phone conversation was about a month ago in…well, I have no idea. I guess in a way, I’m sad to lose him, especially now that I feel he was making an effort to build some type of new relationship with me. But, Mr. Preston, we were never close.”
There was a pause, and I could sense that she was feeling uncomfortable, because she realized she’d shared so many of the intimate details of her life. When she continued, her voice was soft, and I had to strain to hear her. “Excuse me, I’m rambling. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to about him…well, since he...ah...passed away.” I felt the young lady had reached the end of her rope; she had told me a lot more than she had planned and now was embarrassed.
After a few more seconds, she gathered her composure, and her voice became brisker as she continued, “As I said, the reason for the call was to clear up any problems with the boat thing. I don’t want to have to deal with it, or see it or ...” her voice trailed off.
Another pause, and then she resumed, “The truth of the matter is, I want to return to Europe just as quickly as I can. My life is over there, and there’s nothing here I want to stay for. It was just blind luck, if that’s what you can call it, that I’m in the States now. Mr. Preston, have your attorney contact my father’s if there is anything you can think of that requires resolution.” She went on to give me the name and address of Slim’s lawyer, the same one I already had.
As we were saying our goodbyes a question sprang to mind, and I asked, “Miss … Rockingham …”
“Yes?” she replied.
“May I ask a question?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“What was your father’s full name?”
There was a slight pause, “Elmo … Elmo Fester Rockingham. Why?”
“I was just curious. Since it seems that I stand a pretty good ch
ance ending up with his houseboat, I would at least like to know his full name. I’d planned on asking him the other day.”
“OK. Thank you for asking. I think that was a very nice gesture on your part.” We said our farewells, and hung up.
Still wrapped in my towel, I slouched down in my favorite chair, thinking about our conversation. Her schooling seemed to shine through our conversation. She’d been exactly what one would think a person educated in Europe should sound like. Very cool and very reserved.
I wondered for a moment what she looked like. Then I realized whatever she looked like didn’t answer any of the questions I still had. The main one was what was the real reason she called me? What she’d said made little sense, I would have thought Slim’s attorney would have called and asked me about the transfer of the houseboat. Since the attorney was the one who wondered why no money exchanged hands, didn’t it seem he’d make the call? Why even mention it to the daughter? And why allow the daughter to call?
As I sat pondering the strange call, my phone rang again, stirring me out of my deep thoughts. It was Jeff L. No pleasantries, just straight to the point, “Where you been, Matt? I’ve been trying to find you.” For some reason he was using his hardnosed policeman’s voice and it pissed me off.
“Why, Jeff? Let me see. I took BJ for a walk and she peed twice, took a nice dump, which I picked up and disposed of—oh yeah, then my shower where I shaved, if it matters. Do you also want to know which bushes BJ smelled on our walk?”
Jeff’s voice softened, “Hey, lighten up. I wasn’t grilling ya. Gee, why are you so touchy this morning? Your date not in the mood last night?” Without letting me answer he continued, “Someone broke into the houseboat last night, and the Captain said to ask you if you knew anything about it. By the way, did you drive by the marina last night?”
“Yeah,” my internal alarm went off in my head. “I drove by. You say someone broke in to the houseboat? And by the way, you weren’t the friendliest of people when you called.” I heard an affirmative grunt, and I continued, “Jeff, I know nothing about the houseboat, and just between the two of us, right about now I sorta wish I’d never heard of or seen the damn thing.”
I was now referring to it the same way ol’ Slim had. “Anyway, as I said, yes, I drove by last night, and when I saw you had officers stationed out front I left. For what it’s worth, I also haven’t returned once to look at the thing since the other day when ... ah … well you know, when ....” I was at a loss for words.
“I know, look, Matt ...I have to ask you this ...” after a long pause, he stumbled on, “if you had to ... ah … do you have an alibi for last night?”
I thought of Sharon, and hoped I wouldn’t have to bring her into all of this. “Yes, I have someone who can vouch for me. All night if need be—and it isn’t BJ. But I would rather I didn’t have to give out any names unless there’s no other way. OK?”
“Fine with me. Just so long as you have someone to vouch for you if push comes to shove. The Captain still remembers you, and that he liked you. So far, he’s being very cool about not bringing you in, but I’m getting a lot of pressure to solve this case. By the way, might I ask you, what prompted you to drive by the marina last night?”
Just like Jeff L., always the cop, “Over dinner I told my friend all about the houseboat, and how I won it, yada yada—she was just curious to see the thing. It’s really her kind of place, and I knew she’d like to see it. We drove by, and as I said, when I saw the officer, I didn’t want to deal with him and the reason why I wanted to see the place, so I came home. How much damage did they do to it?”
“She?” Again, the cop thing never misses a beat, “No wonder you don’t want to give out any names. Well, they busted in several of the walls, they cut up all the furniture, pulled the carpet up off the floor, and they had obviously searched the place. We have no way of telling if they found what they were looking for.”
I interrupted, “Hey! If you had officers guarding the place, how did anyone get into the houseboat?”
“It looks like they came in by boat. They pulled up in the back, and busted out the back door. And, by the way, we found out what Slim’s real name was. Care to guess?”
I couldn’t resist, “Naw, don’t need to. It’s Rockingham. Elmo Fester Rockingham.”
I could tell by the silence on the other end that ol’ Jeff L was not ready for that. Finally, he whispered into the phone, “Shit, Matt! How the fuck do you know that? We didn’t even have his middle name.”
“I talked to his daughter this morning on the phone. She called me about the houseboat. It seems Slim’s attorney has a few questions about it, and she said she was trying to help to clear it up.”
For the longest time he just sputtered. “Da … Da … Daughter!” His voice finally exploded in the receiver, “Daughter, what daughter? Where the hell are you coming up with all of this? He doesn’t have a daughter…”
“Jeff … Jeff …”
Jeff continued to shout into the phone, “The only relative we know about is a stepsister named Bottomsley …”
“Jeff … Jeff …” My voice was rising in volume trying to cut in.
“And his dead ex-wife.” Jeff was not listening to me.
“Jeff!” He stopped shouting. “Chill, friend. Can I talk now?”
“So talk!” he barked back at me.
“I’m about to tell you if you can just shut up for a moment. I talked to a woman just before you called who said she was the daughter. She claims her name is Jennifer Rockingham. Just a second, and let me think ... um ...” I closed my eyes for a moment, and remembered the voice. Her words played through my head like a tape machine. “OK, she said she and her father never had a very close relationship—she was an accident and her mom and Slim split very early in her life. Jennifer believed it was because of her birth ... and ... oh yeah, she mentioned she got her schooling overseas. She told me that by pure chance she was in the States. She didn’t say how she found out about Slim’s death. She also has a slight, but very sexy accent, but I can’t place it.
“As I said, she told me Slim’s lawyer called her, and he was curious about the boat thing. He saw papers transferring title to me, but there was never any record of any money passing between us. I explained to her how I’d won it in a poker game. I even offered to give it back, and she said I could have it. She claimed she wasn’t interested in it at all. I can even give you the name of the attorney if you want.” After waiting a moment for Jeff to say something, I went on, “And I have to say I’m still troubled by the phone call. I can’t quite put my finger on why. Now it’s your turn. You tell me about the stepsister.”
Normally Jeff isn’t supposed to give out that type of information but I hoped with all of mine, that he might just feel rattled enough to spill some of his own. As it turned out, I was in luck. “Well, the murder made the news as you’re aware. The stepsister’s name is Bottomsley, or something like that, and her lawyer called yesterday afternoon about having us release the remains. It turns out ol’ Slim was worth between eighty and a hundred million bucks, give or take a million here or there.” I let out a low whistle. I doubt any of us at our games had any idea Slim was worth that kind of dough. When I thought about some of the pots I could have won…oh well. “According to her lawyer, the stepsister stands to inherit the entire thing since she’s the only relative. However, if what you say is true, now there might be a blood relative, like a daughter, I guess several lawyers are going to make a lot of money for a while fightin’ this through the courts.”
I had to agree. I asked Jeff L. if he knew if there was a will. He told me that from the way last night’s phone call with the stepsister’s lawyer had gone, the assumption was that one existed. However, now that he thought about it, the attorney hadn’t said one way or the other. Jeff admitted that he really didn’t know. “I’ll tell you this,” he spoke forcefully, “We’ll for sur
e be checking up on it now.”
I mentioned that now that there was so much money involved, and if a question arose about a will, many people would start falling in line. They of course, would be the prime suspects, and have about eighty plus million reasons to break into the houseboat. Jeff L. agreed. Before we hung up, I asked him for the name and phone number of the stepsister’s lawyer. By now, I’d decided that I was going to make more of a fuss about what I was now thinking of as my houseboat. After all, now that I knew ‘ol Slim wasn’t as destitute as I’d first feared, and the daughter wasn’t interested in it, and since I’d won the damn thing fair and square, it was mine! I was forgetting about the fact I still needed a place to tie it up.
After I hung up, I started to laugh. Elmo Fester! Damn almighty, no wonder he always went by Slim. If I had that moniker, I would, too. I wondered if any of the others at the poker games knew his real name. I probably would have thought of him a bit differently, had I known he was an Elmo. But then I realized that it wasn’t his choice of name. However, I couldn’t help but feel tickled that anyone would name his or her kid Elmo, let alone Elmo Fester. I was sure that it was a family name; that he was named after his great uncle Fester or something. But, I still felt in some ways his parents must’ve hated him a bunch. Also, his grade school days must’ve been pure hell from all the teasing from the other kids over that name.
I’ve always wondered what some parents must be thinking when they name their kids. Do they not understand that the poor kid has to live with that name forever? Didn’t the parents understand that just because you named your daughter Bambi there was nothing to prevent her from ending up looking more like a King Kong than a Bambi?
One thing I understood now, why he went by “Slim”.
CHAPTER 12
I punched the numbers Jeff had given me into the phone. It buzzed in my ear twice before a female voice with excellent diction and of indeterminate age answered, “Good morning. Stewart, Mitchell and Green, attorneys at law. How might I help you?”
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