by A.W. Hartoin
Chapter Twenty-Two
IN A FIT of get-up-and-go, I set my alarm for five. I showered and got dressed in my best give-me-some-information-people outfit. A pair of black pants with a perfect, non-flashy fit and a button-down made me look professional, while hiding my boobs. Boobs are never a good thing when trying to get information from women. Mom taught me that. Last, I donned one of Mom’s jackets from last season to make me look like I had two nickels to rub together. Rich is better than poor. That was another of Mom’s lessons and it helped me out on more than one occasion. I expected to be dealing with women at the university and then I’d check out Bart Sendack’s girlfriend. I doubted they had anything to do with Gavin’s death, but he found something that led to Sample’s stalker. Maybe that something was Sendack. Plus, Doreen deserved a favor and I felt generous, despite my overwhelming need for coffee.
At a quarter after six, I decided to make a break for it. I’d never seen Aaron before eight in the morning, so I figured he’d be sleeping. I opened my door and, pow, there he was, leaning on the railing. If I hadn’t looked out my peephole during the night, I’d have thought he’d stood there for the last seven hours. He certainly looked like it with his hair standing on end, not to mention the clothes. He probably slept in them, although it might’ve been a different shirt. It was hard to tell, but the new one was free of rib sauce.
“Hi Aaron.”
“Hey. Ready? Let’s go to this diner on 12th. I hear it’s got the best omelets in town.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Janitor,” he said.
“You’ve been talking to the motel janitor?”
“Nope. He works in an office building,” he said.
“Whatever. Let’s go.”
Aaron directed me to the Kissimmee Diner. I guess somebody had a hankering for Florida. The color scheme was blinding. The bright oranges, greens and yellows made my head hurt and I wasn’t crazy about the plastic palm trees either. The place was more than half full of college students trying to wake up after a long night, truck drivers and business types getting an early start. The omelets were as advertised and we lingered while trying to clean our plates. Aaron managed, but I gave up. I’d have to join Weight Watchers if I kept letting Aaron order for me. He knew what I liked and ordered in volume. It might’ve been my imagination, but that volume was showing on my hips.
After breakfast, I decided to hit the university first. Since it was summer and early, not many students would be there and hopefully the ladies would’ve had their coffee. Aaron looked up the address on his phone. I didn’t know he was technically savvy, but I was beginning to suspect there was a lot about Aaron I didn’t know. He input the address into Dad’s navigation system and it proceeded to tell us where to go. I started thinking about getting a newer vehicle. There was something to be said for climate control and a glove box cooling system. Then again, the words ‘car payment’ made me queasy.
We drove through the university’s well-planned streets shaded by mature trees and watched the early birds go after their worms. Aaron talked. I don’t know what he said. I became a master of the well-placed, “Oh yeah,” and “Sounds good.” Parking was brutal. I wondered if any architect ever thought about how many cars people actually use or maybe they’re too busy designing archways and fountains to worry about how people would get to them. I found a space a good half mile from Student Administration and it was eight o’clock in the morning.
“Why don’t you stay here?” I suggested to Aaron as he munched on a soft pretzel he’d produced from behind his seat.
“No way,” he said.
“Why not?”
“You’re trying to Fike me.”
True, so true.
“How can I Fike you? You’re in the car?” I asked.
“You could get a rental.”
Damn.
“I won’t get a rental.” I gave Aaron the big eyes, but he didn’t look convinced. “I swear, cross my heart and all that.”
“Nope.”
Double damn.
I needed to Fike Aaron and not just because he was a pain in the ass. I was trying to look professional. Aaron’s look said tons, but nothing close to professional or even clean.
“Look Aaron, I have to get information out of these women. Do you really think you can help me do that?”
“No.”
“Then why don’t you stay here?”
Aaron didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. We both knew the reason. Dad asked him to watch me and he was damn well going to do whatever Dad asked.
“Fine you can come, but for heaven’s sake be inconspicuous. Can you do that?” I had my doubts, but Aaron nodded. I got out of the car and walked towards administration. I forced myself not to look back. I didn’t hear Aaron’s breathing or smell him, and I took that as a good sign.
Student Administration inhabited a large brick building with a well-manicured lawn and trees. Students lounged under the trees eating Pop-Tarts and cramming useless data into their heads. I felt a familiar sting of regret as I passed them and jogged up the stairs. I’d gone to a private nursing school. It wasn’t all girls, but pretty close to it. There were no parties, no frats, none of the stuff you’d associate with the college experience. I had fun, but it was harder to come by. We didn’t even have a campus to lounge on. I suppose I regretted that the most, the long walks to class, playing Frisbee on the quad, all that stereotypical crap that I fantasized about in high school. My friends that went to regular schools told me I was out of my mind. The walks sucked. They froze their asses off in winter and they never once played Frisbee. Still, I would’ve liked to have tried it.
According to the directory, I needed the third floor and in honor of Aaron’s omelet, I took the stairs. I felt like barfing on the second floor, but I made it. A mixed bag of women watched me stagger in. They whispered to each other. I get that a lot. There was a blue hair that looked like she had one foot in retirement, one girl who looked college herself, and a mom type. Dad would’ve choosen the old lady. They dig him for no good reason. On the other hand, old ladies don’t like me unless they’ve known me since birth and even then it’s not a sure thing. The blue hair was out. The college age girl blew a huge bubble which smacked all over her face. Forget her. I needed brains.
The mom eyed me with both suspicion and interest. I had a winner. Walking over, I pulled one of Dad’s cards out of my purse.
“Good morning. I spoke to someone a couple of days ago and she said she could help me out with some information. Her name was Trish.”
“What kind of information? Are you a student?” she asked.
“No. Private detective.” I handed her dad’s card. She looked at it and interest piqued in her eyes.
“I’m Carol. What do you need?”
“It’s very simple actually.”
The college girl stuck her head over the partition. “Hey. That’s me.”
The mom rolled her eyes as the girl picked purple gum off her cheek and stuck it back in her mouth.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I’m Trish. You wanted to know about that murdered guy. So lucky I’m filling in for Barb today.”
“What murdered guy?” The mom looked worried and on the spot.
I took out my photo of Gavin and Trish snatched it out of my hand before Carol could take it.
“Do you recognize him?” I asked. “He’d be thinner with less hair.”
“Nope,” said Trish, as she handed the photo to Carol.
“I remember him.” She looked at Trish. “This is the guy you were talking about?”
“That’s him. What did he come in for?” I said.
“Class schedules,” Carol said.
“Who for?”
“That I don’t remember. He told me he was working on a case and that it was important to a young lady. Is this between us? You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”
“I won’t. Trish?” We looked at Trish and she crossed her hear
t. I took that as a promise for silence and continued. “What did you do?”
“I looked up some schedules for him. I’m not supposed to do that, but he seemed desperate,” Carol said.
“How many schedules did you look up?”
“Two. One for a boy and one for a girl. At least that’s what I think.”
“Rebecca Sample ring a bell?”
“Yes, yes. I think that’s the girl. How’d you know?”
I smiled and handed her Sample’s picture. “Just a guess.”
“Is that her?” asked Trish.
I nodded. “Do you recognize her?”
Both women said no and looked disappointed. We stood in silence thinking. I suspect Trish was thinking of the hot guy that walked in for help, but she didn’t move to assist him.
“Gavin, that’s the detective, he called you twice. What was that about?”
“It was for the schedules,” said Carol. “When he came in my boss was here and I couldn’t look them up. He had to call back twice before I could do it.”
“And what? Did you tell him about the schedules? What was he looking for?”
“Continuity, he said. He wanted to know if they shared any of the same classes,” Carol said.
“Did they?”
“Yes. Two or three, I think.”
“What did he say when you told him that?”
“Not much, just that I’d been a big help,” she said.
“Did he sound upset or worried?”
“More angry.” Carol brushed her bangs out of her eyes and leaned forward. “Do you think it’s my fault he got killed? I know I shouldn’t have told him anything.”
“No, it wasn’t your fault. If you hadn’t told him, he would’ve gotten the info another way.”
“How? Nobody has access to our records.”
“Believe me, there are ways,” I said.
Carol looked both relieved and uncomfortable. I knew how she felt. We all liked to think records are confidential. They’re not, but it’s easier thinking that.
“I think that guy’s watching you,” Trish said, pointing at a potted palm that did nothing to disguise Aaron’s rotund form, so much for the brains behind the operation.
“Believe it or not, he’s my bodyguard.”
“He’s your bodyguard? What’s he do, sneak up on people and sit on them?” asked Carol.
“Mostly, he just annoys me.”
I thanked them and pulled Aaron out from behind the palm amid protests that he was incognito. It was my turn to roll my eyes as I pushed him towards the stairs.
“What’d you find out?” Aaron asked.
“That Gavin knew.”
“What’d he know?”
“Who Sample’s stalker was,” I said.
We walked towards the stairs slowly. Aaron eyed the elevator, but I ignored his silent pleas.
“They told him?”
“No. They confirmed it. I think he already knew. He came to Lincoln looking for Bart Sendack. He must’ve come across Sample’s guy accidentally,” I said.
“Are you gonna answer your phone?” asked Aaron.
“How did you know it was vibrating?”
“I can see it.” Aaron pointed to my shaking pocket.
“They won’t leave me alone,” I said.
Aaron held out his hand and I handed my phone over. He hit a few buttons and held it up. “This ain’t Mercy Watts, you freaking losers. Stop leaving me messages or I’ll sue your stupid asses.” He stuck my phone in his pocket and jogged down the stairs.
When I managed to close my mouth, I followed and found Aaron at the bottom, bent over and gasping.
“Aaron, you sounded just like Uncle Morty.” I grinned at him. “That should scare some of them off. Thanks.”
Aaron shrugged and when he caught his breath, he said, “Let’s find Bart Sendack.”
Like most things in my life, it was easier said than done. We went to the address Gavin wrote in the file. Bitsy Meyer, Bart Sendack’s girlfriend, moved out two months before and left no forwarding address. The apartment manager remembered Gavin coming by and told him the same thing he told us. Good riddance. Meyer and Sendack had lived at the address for six months. Their rent was late, if it showed up at all. Sendack grew pot in the window boxes, barely disguised by geraniums. The manager called the cops and Sendack and his plants disappeared. The girlfriend, Bitsy, stayed on for another week, which she didn’t pay for, and then she left too. The only helpful bit of information was that Bitsy worked at Denny’s, but he didn’t know which one.
I drove back to the motel after lunch. Aaron belched in the passenger seat, bringing up unpleasant reminders of his blackened catfish and onion rings. I had a salad and it was a good thing. Something greasy might’ve come back up. I sent Aaron up to his room for a good mouth washing. He must’ve sensed I wasn’t up to anything because he didn’t protest. For once, I could’ve Fiked him, but I didn’t have the energy and went to the motel lobby instead.
The lobby was low budget and over decorated, as if a lot of fake plants make people forget they’re fake. No customers waited at the desk. I leaned over it and coughed to get the attendant’s attention. Her name tag said “Venus” and it was appropriate. She was out there. Venus could’ve passed for a crack addict in a Spike Lee Joint.
“What?” asked Venus.
“Hi. I’m in 120. I need some information.” I showed her my key, but she couldn’t have cared less.
“Uh huh.”
“Do you recognize this guy? He stayed here about a week ago for several days.” I handed her Gavin’s picture and she stared at it. Her eyes didn’t focus and she yawned.
“Nope.”
“Could you look in the computer and see who checked him in?”
“Why?”
“They might remember him,” I said.
Venus sat pondering that, when a guy came out from the back. His name tag identified him as Ted the manager.
“Can I help you?” asked Ted.
“I hope so. Do you remember him?” I took Gavin’s picture out of Venus’s trembling hand and gave it to him. He looked at it and handed it back.
“Sure. Nice guy. Private detective, as I recall.”
Hallelujah.
“Did you talk to him much?”
“And who are you?”
“Room 120. I’m also a detective.” I gave him one of Dad’s cards.
“This says Tommy Watts.”
Damn.
“I’m his daughter. I don’t have my own cards yet. Mr. Flouder was my dad’s old partner. He was murdered last week.”
Ted took a step back. “Not here.”
“No, in St. Louis. It was shortly after he came home from Lincoln. My dad thinks he ran across something while he was here.”
“Why isn’t your dad looking into it, or the police?”
“My parents were on a cruise when it happened and my Dad caught a wicked shipboard virus. As for the cops, I imagine they’ll be around eventually.”
“Which ship was he on?” he asked.
“Star of Freedom. Why?”
“Just checking. I saw that ship on the news. Couple hundred came down with it. How’s your dad?”
“Miserable, but better. He hates being laid up.”
“I hear that. What do you want to know?” He looked at me steadily. I’d seen it before. He looked directly in my eyes, so he could ignore the rest of me. Great. As far as I was concerned, anything that kept his eyes off my boobs worked.
“What did you talk about? Did he ask you for directions?”
“He asked for restaurant recommendations and a phone book. I think his phone was dead. And he needed to stay an extra day,” said Ted.
“Did he say why he needed to stay an extra day?”
“No, just that he had the luck of the Irish, which doesn’t make sense to me. The Irish never seemed lucky with that potato famine and all. He was happy though.”
“Which restaurants did you send him to?”
<
br /> “Only one. Albert’s on Oak. He wanted a good French dip.”
“What’d he need the phone book for?”
“Denny’s. Personally, I don’t know anybody who would need Denny’s.”
“It was a lead. Can I see that phone book?”
He handed me the book and I wrote down all the numbers and addresses of all the Denny’s in Lincoln.
“Thanks. If you think of anything else, let me know.”
“I will. I’m sorry about Mr. Flouder. He was a nice guy. I enjoyed talking to him.”
I thanked him again and practically ran out the door. Tears welled up and my throat closed to a millimeter. I’d forgotten what it was all about again. Gavin was gone and when I finished we might know why, but he’d still be gone.
“What’s wrong with you?” Aaron snuck up on me.
“Nothing, just thinking about Gavin.” I rummaged around my purse for a tissue that I didn’t have.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I just remembered he’s dead.”
“You forgot?”
“Sort of.”
“You hungry?” Aaron rubbed his stomach
“God no. Is that all you think about?”
Aaron scratched his chest and looked confused. Perhaps there really wasn’t anything else.
“We need to go to Denny’s.”
“Denny’s?” Aaron looked horrified, but followed me to the car. He started making numerous restaurant suggestions until I broke down and told him I was following a lead, not looking for fries.
Lincoln had Denny’s out the ass. I supposed the college crowd accounted for it. We went to four without any hits, but got lucky on the fifth. Bitsy Meyer worked there when she bothered to show, which she hadn’t that day. I weaseled her new address out of the manager, who never looked at my eyes.
I was ready to check out the new address, but by then Aaron was starving. I relented and went to Albert’s on Oak for that famous French dip. If we had to eat, at least I could cover another base. Aaron approved, despite the fact that he hadn’t received the tip.
The dips were great, but the info was lousy. A waitress remembered Gavin because he came in several times and ordered the same exact thing, plus he left large tips each time. She didn’t know anything about his business and he didn’t meet anyone in the restaurant.
We left and in a fit of irritation I let Aaron drive to Bitsy’s new address. That was a big no-no in Dad’s book. He didn’t like people driving his car, period. He couldn’t say a thing about me since I was doing him a multitude of favors, but Aaron was out of the question. I wondered if Dad thought it through when he sicced Aaron on me. Aaron left grease stains wherever he went. The sight of Aaron’s stumpy fingers wrapped around Dad’s steering wheel would’ve given him fits.
But despite eating two Twinkies and a Ho Ho while drinking a grape soda, Aaron got us to Bitsy’s in one piece and in good time. The steering wheel wasn’t so lucky. The filth would have to be scrubbed off.
I’d have to say the same for Bitsy’s new place. She’d moved from a decent apartment complex to a trailer park. Her fortunes were failing, and I wondered how much of that had to do with Bart Sendack.
Aaron drove between trailers on a dirt road filled with ruts and rocks. I started to feel nervous, not for us, but for the car. She was too nice to be in that neighborhood. Of course, Dad was a detective and he’d been in worse places, but if something happened to the car, it was my ass. Aaron must’ve felt the same way because he drove so slowly I could count every rock we drove over.
Bitsy’s trailer sat at the end of a crooked row half obscured by weeds and a pile of old tires. The porch had collapsed and a rickety metal step stool gave entrance to the door which looked ready to fall off its hinges. I wondered if she bothered to lock it.
“This is it.” Aaron sounded worried and not in his usual “can I get to food quick enough” way.
I got out and walked to the step stool. My feet crunched broken beer bottles and kicked empty ketchup bottles and slimy hot dog wrappers. I put my hand on the side of the trailer to steady myself and mounted the stool. Paint and slivers of wood stuck to my palm. The trailer was disintegrating before my eyes. I knocked and held my breath, hoping the door wouldn’t fall in. I don’t know if I was hoping Bitsy’d be home or not. Mostly, I wanted to leave and wash the car. A voice yelled from inside. It sounded like, “Come in,” but I wasn’t about to do that.
“Don’t go in there,” said Aaron.
“Don’t worry,” I replied.
The voice got louder and more irritated. I knocked again and the door flung open, knocking me off the stool into the weeds. A hot pain radiated up my arm from my wrist. Aaron grabbed me under my arms and lifted me to my feet.
“Holy shit.” A woman stood in the trailer door with her hand over her mouth. It wasn’t Bitsy Meyer, or at least I didn’t think so. The woman looked fifty and she’d been rode hard and put up wet, as Dad would say.
“You’re not Bitsy Meyer, are you?” I asked.
“No. Are you okay?” She stepped down from the trailer and took my hand. I screeched as a fresh pain went up my arm. I had pebbles embedded in my palm and the start of a killer bruise, but that wasn’t causing the pain. I had an impact fracture in my wrist. It ballooned up as we stared at it.
“I think that’s broken,” said Aaron.
“You think?” I said, trying to remember if I’d seen a hospital nearby.
“Holy shit. Don’t sue me. I didn’t mean for you to fall.” The woman looked at me with watery blue eyes and began wringing her hands.
“I’m not going to sue you.” What would be the point? The woman didn’t have a pot to piss in. “Who are you?”
“Tiffany Meyer, Bitsy’s mom,” she said.
“Is she living here with you?”
“You got to go to the hospital, honey.”
“I will. Does she live here?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Sometimes.”
“What about Bart Sendack? Does he live here too?”
Tiffany’s lips curled back to reveal yellow teeth and red gums. I took it she wasn’t fond of Bart.
“So does he or doesn’t he?”
“He’s here when she’s here. Which ain’t much, I’m happy to say. Who’re you?”
“Mercy Watts, private detective. I’m looking for Bart, not your daughter.”
“I don’t give a God damn which one you want. Take them both. They’re pieces of shit.”
Note to self: hug Mom.
“Do you know when Bart will be back?”
“Never, I hope. Dickhead. He ruined my Franklin Mint plate of President Reagan. God damn bastard used it as an ashtray. I should’ve shot him in his skinny ass.”
“So he won’t be back?” My eyes watered from the pain in my wrist, but I didn’t want to come back to that dump.
“Yeah, he’ll be back. Bitsy left some shit here and he’s coming to get it.”
“When?”
She stopped wringing her hands. “Why do you want to know?”
“His ex-wife wants him arrested for back child support.”
“He’ll be back tonight. I don’t know when.”
“They’ve got a new place?”
“Yeah, some apartment. Got a pool. Like they need a pool,” she said.
I pulled out one of Dad’s cards with my good hand and gave it to her. She looked at it like she couldn’t read. By the looks of the trailer, it was a possibility.
“Ain’t got no phone.”
“Nevermind then.” I turned to leave. Aaron held onto my arm and, for once, I was glad he was there.
“Thanks for your help. Don’t let on that I’ve been here,” I said over my shoulder.
“Don’t worry and don’t be sending me no bill. I ain’t got no money.”
Aaron situated me in the car and found a hospital in record time. I threw up right after we got out, narrowly missing the 300’s intact paint job. It came through the traile
r park just fine, even if I didn’t.