Ada Unraveled

by Barbara Sullivan

  I didn’t know how to take all this news. Andrea was a puzzle to me but I frankly had difficulty believing she could have just left Ada to her fates. I didn’t think of Andrea as callous. Quite the contrary.

  A horn beeped and I looked up in my rear view mirror to see Hannah shrugging her shoulders in her car, as if to say “What’s up?”

  I made the quick decision not to share my conversation with Andrea until I knew more.

  A gloomy mist had begun sticking to the windows making slow motion tear streaks on the glass. It was getting dark. We needed to hurry. I shook my sadness away and reached for my newest Mocs—a rich rust color. The ground was muddy and Mocs could be washed in the sink. Then I manually lengthened the exposure time on my camera so that I could take low-light pictures without a flash. I was stalling and I knew it. Pulling on my shoulder bag as I went, I stepped out of my car, now almost completely composed.

  Hannah was up on the sidewalk. Gerry still sitting in her car, fussing with something I couldn’t see.

  I asked, “Where have you been?”

  “We stopped to visit Victoria for a few minutes. The visit turned into half an hour. Why are you parked way over here? We couldn’t find you.”

  “Oh, I should have told you I wanted us to park away from the house so Eddie wouldn’t see us coming. Did you stop there?”

  “Well, yeah, but I didn’t notice him in any windows.”

  “Me neither.” Gerry joined us holding a huge leopard skin print umbrella. It wasn’t actually raining, more like misting, but the umbrella was a fashion statement not a tool. I made a mental note to talk to her about clandestine clothing for undercover work.

  “Well, hopefully he wasn’t staring out at the street,” I said. “Let’s go see if we can get him to answer the door.”

  I had my digital camera hanging around my neck, and my new crime scene kit on my back—in case we actually got in the house.

  My new crime scene kit—a navy blue backpack with lots of little compartments—always contains fingerprint powder, fingerprint lift tape, a magnifying glass, six inch ruler, three sizes of tweezers, a small alternate light source, scalpel, goggles, flashlight, and my Weight Watchers scales. And all sorts of other items get put in or taken out of my “kit” as needs dictate. I’ve even carried wire cutters and a claw hammer around in my backpacks.

  I had a lot of backpacks. All in different colors. Gerry wasn’t the only fashion conscious one in our group.

  We huddled together like Siamese triplets under Gerry’s giant jungle umbrella. I was pretty sure anyone still in the house knew we were coming.

  On our approach I noted that Ada’s house had once been painted white, maybe twenty years ago. The peeling trim around the windows and doors was either a faded black or dark green. Some windows had rusty looking screens, most had none. The windows were grimy. The yard was a muddy field of beaten down weeds. Joyless and exhausted looking, the house seemed to have died from the violence it had contained for decades.

  Of course I snapped pictures.

  “Why didn’t the neighbors do anything about Ada’s suffering?” I wondered aloud.

  “California,” Hannah answered.

  Gerry said, “Everywhere. People don’t want to get involved. They close their windows and turn up the television, especially if calls to the police result in negative feedback. Wait. Is that someone in the upstairs window?”

  “How can you possibly tell? The windows are grimy.” Hannah said.

  Gerry said, “I’m sure of it. The curtain moved, over there on the left.”

  A gun went off and we jumped as one startled organism.

  “Okay, that wasn’t a gun, just the back door slamming,” I said. I was talking to myself but Hannah’s shoulders relaxed.

  “Who’s that? Look, driving away. Is that a white truck?” Gerry said and turned to me, eyes wide.

  “Someone is escaping,” I said, willfully controlling the sudden tremor in my voice. Our thoughts had gone to the truck that chased me home from the bee.

  There were lots of white trucks. No reason to jump out of my skin every time one passed me by.

  “From what little I’ve heard about Eddie it would have to be Luke. Eddie’s a recluse. Probably doesn’t drive,” Hannah said.

  “Okay, so—now that the coast is clear, let’s go talk to Eddie.” Gerry was actually eager. Then I began worrying that the recluse might make a run for it too.

  I almost sprinted up the ancient cement walkway to the small front porch. There was no bell or knocker, so I rapped my knuckles hard on the wooden door and called Eddie’s name. There was no response.

  “I’m going around the back,” Gerry said as she headed off. Good thinking. Hannah joined me in my efforts to raise Eddie. But it was no use. We were met with silence.

  I said, “Let’s do a careful walk around and see if we can spot him through the windows.”

  “Isn’t that trespassing?” Hannah said.

  “No, the yard is open. Now, if we decide to break and enter that just might become trespassing.”

  I could feel my bad-girl-spy-self rising in my breast. Hannah’s worried brow knitted closer together.

  The dampness in the air was soaking my hair. In seconds my feet were soaked as well and freezing from the wet weeds.

  We decided to go around to the north—the side with no watching neighbors. The main floor windows were high. Too high to see much more than the ceiling. But on the way we peeked into a filthy basement window where I thought I could see a light somewhere deep in the recesses. Could have just been light from another filthy window on the other side.

  For some reason my mind flashed back to Andrea’s words…that Ada had taken her down to Eddie’s room, and that it sickened her.

  Down to the basement? Could Eddie be living in the cellar?

  We rounded the back corner.

  A dazzling blond stood perkily under her leopard skin umbrella waiting for us. Part of the reason she was dazzling was that a strong light was shining down from the kitchen stoop. And her hair was dry. Our escapee hadn’t bothered to turn off the back porch lights as he departed. Wasteful, but now helpful as it was growing darker by the minute.

  “I was prepared to tackle Eddie if he came out onto the back porch. Or, maybe just sweet talk him into staying awhile, until you two arrived. But there hasn’t been any sign of him and I’ve been knocking and calling. I take it he didn’t show on your side of this creepy house, either.”

  “Right. Looks like I’ll have to B & E,” I said.

  “Uh, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that,” Hannah said, stopping in her tracks.

  She was way too uptight. I would have to train her in the fine arts of snooping. Starting now.

  I climbed three steps to the top of the cement porch and looked out at the littered back yard…sans grass, sans gardens, with two miserable looking trees huddled around a falling down wooden shack. Ancient yard tools that looked as if they were discarded mid-use reminded me of the Stowall’s front yard. The sorry mess ran back about a hundred feet.

  “Look at that.”

  “What,” they said in unison. Gerry joined me on the porch.

  “The cemetery. Aren’t those gravestones back there in the dark?”

  “Can’t tell. Do you think that’s where Luke buried Ada?” Gerry said.

  I was loving her umbrella and the nice dry air beneath. I looked down at Hannah alone in the mist-rain and wondered why she didn’t come up. Her brown hair was gathering crystals that sparkled in the porch light, but would soon condense into drops. She seemed perched on some indecision.

  I said, “We don’t know for a fact that Ada was murdered by Luke. Not yet.”

  “What a waste,” Hannah said. “My urban farmer-self is laying out vegetable beds, a small orchard and a chicken run. There’s got to be close to an acre of land around Ada’s home. And those empty fields….”

  Okay, she wasn’t pondering running away. She was pondering backyard lifestyl
e. And making me feel guilty. Our yard was mostly flowers, grass and weeds, with a smattering of fruit trees.

  I shivered from the cold and suddenly wanted to get on with this chore so I could go home and warm up by a nice fire. Or in a hot shower. Screwing up my courage with a deep breath--it’s easy to talk big about breaking the law but another thing entirely to actually do it, usually makes me worry for days afterward that the police will arrive any minute to drag me off to jail--I said rather loudly, “Was that a scream for help I just heard?”

  I thought I saw Gerry smile a bit. “Might have been. A little voice. Maybe a child’s? I think I heard it too.”

  “Uh, I’m feeling really anxious here, girls,” Hannah said from her low spot.

  More stage-shouting from me. “It might be Eddie. I better go save the poor soul. Part of my responsibility now that I’m working for the Stowall family as a private investigator.”

  I reached into my oversized shoulder bag and pulled out my new pistol pick lock opener--made with the locksmith in mind, it picks pin-and-disc tumbler locks with ease. At least according to the accompanying brochure that came with this gift which my romantic guy Matt, had given to me for Valentine’s Day just this past year.

  I decided not to tell them I was a virgin at this lock picking thing. That I’ve only practiced a few times on my own doors at home. I looked up and into the appraising and maybe disapproving eyes of Gerry. Maybe she hadn’t smiled. Maybe she wasn’t really prepared to break and enter any more than Hannah.

  I hesitated. Big mistake.

  Hannah’s cell phone began chirping like a wild bird. Strange, but interesting. She rummaged at the bottom of her purse and withdrew the phone as if she’d found a prize Buckeye chicken.

  “Hello? Oh, hi mom…” She stood listening for a few seconds, looking from me to Gerry. Then she turned sideways, a definite signal she was thinking of running. She moved a few steps away. I could hear a crackling, disapproving voice coming from the phone even from this greater distance. “No, really mom. We’re okay. We were just…” Hannah crept further away from us, and turned her back. I looked at Gerry.

  She said, “You know, the woman staring out her second story window next door is probably about to call the cops anyway, Rachel. After all our attempts to get someone’s attention inside, it may be a hard sell that we were on a rescue mission. Maybe we better give this up and try again tomorrow.”

  I did not look over my shoulder to see who was watching us. But it was difficult.

  Bummer. Would I never get to use my new lock pick pistol? I stuffed it back into my bag, and sighed, noisily.

  Hannah returned to us and said, “Sorry guys. My mom isn’t feeling well. Guess I should go see her.” But she didn’t move. She looked toward the cemetery, then back at us. Stayed, but…for how long?

  “Well, you’re right, Gerry. Guess we won’t B & E tonight. But I think I’ll do a little more snooping before I leave.”

  “Hey, I can hang in a while longer. My mom isn’t psychic, she’s blocked, remember?” Gerry tapped her head. I guessed she was talking about the brain cancer surgery.

  “My mother isn’t psychic either,” Hannah mumbled. “Just overbearing.”

  I said, “I want to get a look at that shed.”

  Gingerly picking my way toward the target, I stepped carefully through the junkyard garden. The light from the kitchen receded, so I pulled out a flashlight.

  Suddenly my right leg disappeared deep into a mud filled hole.

  Stunned, I plopped down on my butt. Remembering some Girl Scout lesson on how to survive quicksand, I began to lie flat, making myself bigger. I was thinking, quicksand, make yourself bigger. Halfway down, I caught myself with one hand. Better still was extricate yourself now!

  An overwhelming stench exuded from the hole. Good God! That awful death smell again.

  “Hey, could you guys help me pull my leg out.”

  They were laughing. They obviously hadn’t caught a whiff of this yet.

  Hannah and Gerry stepped closer and I grabbed their hands and pulled. The muck released its grip and I finally got my left leg under me. But I’d lost my shoe and sock.

  And now it was officially and totally dark.

  Gerry said, “Lord, what a stink! Is that a septic line?”

  “There’s something dead in that hole. I’m almost positive I felt bones.”

  “Bones? Like, human?” Hannah said.

  “I don’t know, but I have to call this in, ladies.”

  Gerry inhaled sharply with the sudden realization that she and her billionaire husband might end up on the front pages of the San Diego Tribune in the morning, instead of the society section. I watched the blood drain from her face.

  I quickly added, “And the two of you need to get out of here. I’m the responsible authority onsite. You’re just temps. But if the question is asked, Gerry, I’ll have to answer honestly. Especially since we have a witness to our actions.” The lady in the second story window. “So, how about your brother?”

  She nodded and walked quickly away toward her car. Hannah helped me clean up for a few minutes then she left, too. I pulled out my phone and called Matt.

  When deputy-detective Tom Beardsley arrived his face said it all. He was furious. He had two other deputies with him, Tony Malvelli and Rick Rotman. They did all the talking. But I was relieved that no one asked me if I was with anyone else.

  Then I spent the next twenty minutes explaining what I’d seen and where I’d walked, and finally why I’d been here at all. I told them that I’d been hired by Victoria Stowall to explore her daughter-in-law’s death and was hoping to interview either Eddie or Luke Stowall.

  That stopped them in their tracks. I couldn’t tell what they were reacting too—Victoria Stowall’s name or that I was investigating Ada Stowall’s death—but after a couple of seconds they told me I could go. As I was climbing back in my car, a final county vehicle arrived--an authoritative looking guy that I recognized as the CC Sheriff himself, Warren Pike. I waited, in case he would also want to ask me questions. But after a few words to Malvelli, I was waved on. My man’s influence was even impressing me.

  Greatly relieved, I climbed back in my car and drove home. Only much later would we learn that the second story witness wouldn’t live to tell what she had been seen.

  Chapter 21: Apprentices

  Matt and I shared another shower. Always a good thing. At least I wasn’t bawling this time--I was angrier at myself. Worse, I babbled uncontrollably through the whole thing and relearned the timeless lesson that a babbling woman doesn’t get laid.

  Especially after I slipped into the water talk the fact that I’d asked Hannah Lilly and Geraldine Patrone to apprentice under me.

  Matt wasn’t too pleased.

  He reminded me we already had two apprentices on the payroll.

  I told him they’d be working at minimum wage, which I was certain would appease him.

  He reminded me that they would mean more paperwork.

  I reminded him that we already had a serious paperwork backlog and I wasn’t getting to all the research he wanted me to do either—and I was sure at least one of them would be good at paperwork.

  Thinking Gerry here; she was very organized according to Hannah, who told me this at the bee. Said she’d been in Gerry’s bedroom and her walk-in closets were all arranged by color and type; blue shirts together on the top pole, over blue slacks on the bottom pole, etc.

  He reminded me that I wasn’t being paid.

  Of course, this was my own fault. I’d wanted a social relationship with the bee women, not a working relationship. So I’d told Matt to hold off cashing Gerry’s check. Maybe it was time to take it to the bank. Especially after Gerry didn’t blink when I mentioned her check. More importantly, she didn’t try to take the reins during our visit to Ada’s either

  I tried appeasing him with the thought that this was just a temporary situation that would end soon.

  He reminded me that ou
r budget was stretched as it was.

  So then I told him to go ahead and cash the check, and our water-fight was over.

  We finally calmed down, dried off, and filled out the necessary paperwork for Hannah and Gerry to sign—with a small twist. They weren’t apprentices. Neither had begun the coursework necessary to qualify them as such. So Matt figured we could hire them on as contract researchers.

  Imagine that. Why didn’t I think..?

  Of course, I had. And somewhere in the water fight I’d slipped in the idea, and he adopted it as his own.

  Female management.

  As Matt had pointed out during our wet discussion, Lyons Investigations and Research, Inc. already had two apprentices. This is not unusual. California law requires would-be private investigators to undergo three years of OJT–on the job training--before becoming licensed. Apprentices can get their OJT at any licensed agency or for that matter, at several different agencies if they wished. And for all intents and purposes a licensed agency can have an unlimited number of apprentices.

  One of our current apprentices is a young man named Marvin Luis Lewis, who prefers to use his middle name. A computer whiz-kid in his late twenties, he currently works for our Preventive Investigations Division. In fact he’s pretty much in charge of it. That division covers requests we get from employers wanting background and security clearances on potential employees, among other things. Luis began his apprenticeship in Chula Vista, but Spanish is the second (rapidly becoming the first) language in Chula Vista and the talented young man can’t speak Spanish. So he transferred up near us where we mostly still speak English.

  Somewhere in his high school years Luis turned his odd moniker into the catchy logon ID of Louie_Louie.

  Anyway, Luis works out of his home a lot, like we do. Almost done with his apprenticeship, he says he won’t be moving on because he doesn’t want to deal with the hassle of owning his own business at this time. Plus we pay him pretty well. Plus he’s fallen in love with a local gal. The real clincher.

  Speaking of logon IDs, our second apprentice uses a couple of clever handles on the net too, Wild_Willie and Towns_End.