by Tracy Ellen
“God, you are a wonderful, terrible, rotten little girl!’ exclaimed Bob “Crookie” Crookston while laughing loudly, blushing, and then groaning in despair. He began to bang his forehead against the table.
“Oh, Bel, help me here. What am I going to do?”
Alarmed with the head-banging, I got out my cell and pressed 5, holding up a gimme-a-minute finger at his look of inquiry.
“Hi, Reg. Serious question for you. Yes, I said serious, not spurious. Can you talk?”
Crookie sat up quickly and reached for my phone. “Let me talk to him!”
I shot him my special Librarian frown that’s reserved expressly for grabby, excitable men. I stood up and walked out of his reach zone, but close enough so he could still hear my side of the conversation.
“This is important, but you are not going to like me asking. Please bear with me for a minute, alright? First, I’m going to need you to swear to God here, okay? Yes, a blanket swear to God is exactly what I am asking for, that’s correct. Thank you. Yes, I do appreciate you. Now remember, don’t be mad I’m asking, but have you ever… umm,” I glanced at Crookie and shrugged in apology, “had sex with Cheryl Crookston?”
I winced and held the phone away from my ear so Reggie’s shouted response didn’t break my eardrum. Puzzled, I answered, “No, I’m not calling for Anna. What does Anna have to do with anything?” Then I got sidetracked as he continued shouting.
When he showed no signs of winding down, I interrupted, “Geez Louise, you said you wouldn’t get mad, so enough already! You know I don’t normally get up in your business, so can you just answer my question, please? I said it’s important.”
Reggie’s shouted response of, “No, I swear to God I haven’t sonofabitchin’ had sex with Cheryl Freak-Show Crookston, that fuck-any-dick-with-a-wallet, ditch digging whore!” was audible probably in the next county.
I winced again. Crookie’s face was set in stone. He sat with arms crossed and stared down at the table. He had his answer from my brother.
I know Reg was being truthful about not having sex with Cheryl. Not only because of the sacred ‘swear to God’ clause that we use in our family of mainly atheists, agnostics, and general heathens to determine the ultimate truth; but because he rarely gets mad. One reason Reg would flare up though, was if he suspected his word was doubted by someone he loved, meaning one of his sisters. In his anger, he’s been known to string together colorful swear words. Those curses often make no literal sense yet, somehow, they get his point across quite concisely.
I was taken aback by his immediate anger in this case, and the Anna reference, but I shelved that thought for another time.
I rushed in to calm my brother down. “I hear you, Reg. I didn’t believe you’d touch her with a ten-foot pole. Here’s the problem. Bob Crookston hasn’t seen Cheryl in two months. He was under the impression you may have.” I nodded over at Crookie. “Yes, he mentioned he had called you. I’ll tell him that, but I have one more question. When did you see or talk to Cheryl last?”
I listened to his succinct answer with raised eyebrows. Unfortunately, it was both my eyebrows. I flashed on Luke, thinking of his warmth and strength upstairs in my room.
‘Was I crazy to have slipped out of bed?’ I had a sudden, sharp pang to be up there cuddling with him, instead of down here and dealing with the serious, fast becoming ominous threat of the missing hooker wife. Then the realist in me shook off the unprecedented yearning to be held and protected from life’s little peccadilloes and I snapped out of it.
I listened to my brother relate what he knew for a few seconds longer. My relief he hadn’t been involved with a married woman was more intense than I had anticipated. I don’t know why I’m always surprised when people show their ethical side. It’s not as if I have been constantly battered with deception or immorality to be as skeptical of human nature as I am. Maybe it was from all the reading I’ve done over the last twenty years. I should have watched more television.
“Yes, I agree. Jack will definitely be next on our to-do list after I talk with Crookie. Thanks for being cool about this.” I laughed at my brother’s pithy, one-word response that ended our call.
“When did he see Cheryl?” Crookie asked, leaning forward intently. He looked tired but hopeful, eager for some definitive answers at long last.
“Reggie saw her later that night.”
Crookie shook his fists high in the air. His grin stretched from ear to ear. “Yes! You do not know how relieved I am to hear someone actually has seen her since Tina’s. What happened? And who is Jack?”
I drank some water, thinking I wasn’t as sanguine. “Okay, first of all, Reggie says sorry for not getting back to you, but he’s been super busy with work and forgot. Secondly, it wasn’t Reggie with Cheryl in the bedroom at Tina’s using his candlestick. Maybe it was Colonel Mustard, but it wasn’t my brother.”
Crookie shrugged acceptingly. “Okay.”
“Cheryl, however, did stop over at my brother’s later that night after Tina kicked her out. He was putzing around in his kitchen when he heard the knock. Reggie remembers the time since it was late and he’d glanced at the microwave clock.” I paused to accurately recall what Reggie had said. “It was Friday, the fourteenth of September, at 11:33 PM. I’m sorry, Crooks, but she hit on him the minute he opened the front door. Reg told her ‘Thanks, but no thanks’ and tried to send her politely on her way.”
Crookie blew out a breath. “I am fine. I have had a long time to get used to the idea. Go on, please.”
“Cheryl went off on him in a rage about Tina throwing her out. Then she screamed at Reggie about liking the sex he had with her the previous weekend after the bars closed, so why was he turning her away that night?” I made a face of distaste at the thought. “Reg said she was nuts because he’s never touched her. The most personal contact he’s ever had with Cheryl was to reluctantly buy her a drink over at The Contented Cow the week before this happened. He made her leave that night and she drove off. End of story. That was the last time he has seen or heard from her.” I took another long, satisfying drink from my bottle of cold water. “In answer to your second question, Jack Banner’s a friend of my family. He’s a cop. You’ve met him over the years. Don’t you remember him?”
“Oh yes, that Jack. I did not connect the first name when you mentioned it. He’s the tough guy that always had his eye on you.”
“Yeah, he’s watched out for all of us since I was a kid.”
“I recall very well. For a period of time, I was somewhat concerned he may take advantage of you. When we were seniors, I asked you if older dudes around forty attracted you, remember?” He smiled at the memory. “When you answered that I was trying to make you hurl and it was not going to work, I did not worry about him any longer.”
I let out a peal of laughter. “That’s why you asked me that? I thought you were asking because of Mr. Brock, that sub we had in Biology for two weeks. He was such a douche. So many of the girls thought he was hot, but he was major icky!” Crookie laughed while I shuddered at the memory of Mr. Brock’s fixed, creepy stare on my chest or rear, depending whether I was coming or going. “Jack’s the Chief of Police now in Northfield. Reggie and I both think you need to report Cheryl missing to the cops. If you agree, Jack will tell us the way to go about it.”
Crookie sat forward enthusiastically. “Absolutely, I agree. Something is not right about Cheryl being missing this long.”
“Gee, you think?” I didn’t try to conceal my snarkiness.
Crookie may be relieved to have it off his chest, but I didn’t have a good feeling about any of this. It wasn’t my Law and Order detective voice talking in my head; it was more like my Law and Order detective voice screaming in my head. This was not the end of the mess, but only the beginning.
Cheryl was too much of a troublemaking bitch to drive off quietly into the sunset without a word of farewell. It appeared my baby brother was the last man to see a woman now known to be missing f
or over two months. He had just reacted in uncharacteristic fury at the mention of her name.
I needed another coffee.
Chapter VI
“Call Me When You’re Sober” by Evanescence
Present Time- Saturday, 11/17/2012
9:15 AM
Sitting on my faux leather chair in my office tucked under the stairs, I was swiveling idly back and forth while staring blankly at November’s sales numbers displayed on the monitor in front of me.
I only had a short window of time to get in some work, but I was finding it hard to concentrate on the open Excel spreadsheet. I usually get so absorbed poring over reports that I have to tear myself away from the computer, but today I couldn’t focus worth a damn.
Crookie had left about fifteen minutes ago to meet Jack Banner over at the police station. When I had called Jack, he had listened impassively to my explanation of events without much more than a grunted question here and there. When I finished, he had ordered Crookie to the station immediately.
Jack had also been explicit Crookie come alone. I reluctantly agreed, but only once Jack reassured me that my friend didn’t need me to hold his hand. At least for today, Jack had bitingly added, he’d probably hold off beating Crookie with a police baton.
I guess it was my day to torque off the males in my family circle.
That still didn’t stop me from cautioning Crookie to be careful what he said and to query whether he was positive he wanted to go to the station without legal representation.
He had given me an incredulous look. “Why do I need a lawyer to report Cheryl missing, Bel?”
“Let’s suppose the worst here for a minute. Say something bad has happened to Cheryl.” I could get into this idea. I rubbed my hands together. “Suppose someone has butchered her into manageable Cheryl pieces and then put her through a wood chipper, a la Fargo. Then the killer threw the mulch, formerly known as Cheryl, up in the air like confetti all over a plowed up corn field.” I smiled brightly at Crookie’s horrified expression. “Can you account for every moment of your time over the last two months, without knowing what time you may have to account for?”
Crookie appeared so struck by this idea it was my turn to be incredulous. Had he never once thought of foul play as a reason Cheryl hadn’t shown her face in two months? I wanted to kill her myself and I hadn’t set eyes on her in over two years.
I gave up trying to talk sense. Crookie was too happy knowing Reggie had seen Cheryl later that night. I hoped I wasn’t sending a big-brained lamb off to slaughter.
Before I locked the lobby door behind him, an exuberant Crookie turned and swept me up in a boot dangling, bear hug. He nearly squeezed the life out of me. “I have missed you, Bel.” He squeezed me again. I think I felt a rib cracking. “Thank you so much for your help.”
When he started to squeeze me a third time, I started smacking him about the head and shoulders in muffled protest. My face was mashed against his chest. Being hugged as a five-footer is often not pleasant.
He set me down and lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I will see you tomorrow night for sure. I will contact you later today with an update, if that meets with your approval?”
At my regal nod as I fluffed my messed up hair, Crooks went smiling on his way, a much more optimistic man than when he had
arrived. I glanced over at the door leading to my apartment.
I bit my lip and clenched my fists. I was so incredibly tempted to run up those stairs. I forced myself to turn right and walked back into the store. I checked the time on my cell. 9:20 AM. I touched a finger to my naked earlobe.
‘When would Luke wake the hell up, leave, and quit harassing me?’
My cell vibrated in my hand. It was before ten in the morning but I saw it was a text from my sister, Jazy, so I read it.
R we on 4 2nite @ Macs?
I thumbed, Yep 7. Pick me up?
Almost instantly, Jazy’s response buzzed back. K Ciao
I put my phone away appreciating Jazy’s no frills approach to plan making. It’s her basic approach to life, as well. She wants something, she goes after it. She doesn’t want to do something, she doesn’t do it. No fuss, no muss. It would never cross her tomboy mind to ask me what I was wearing before we went out. Sometimes she was called cold; but that was usually by a frustrated, horned up guy disappointed to realize he wasn’t getting lucky. I call her refreshing.
I headed to my office where I still sat minutes later, staring off into space in a fugue state. I kept thinking over what my brother had said about Cheryl Crookston.
Things weren’t adding up and it was nagging the bejesus out of me. What had he meant when he initially asked if Anna had put me up to asking about Cheryl? That was so high school. I hadn’t even done that sort of thing when I was in high school, so it rankled. It also made me speculate what Anna could know about Cheryl’s disappearance.
I had to wait to talk with Reggie until sometime later today. He was out on a job. I was impatient for answers and waiting isn’t my style, but interrogating him on a job site isn’t cool. Not with power tools to be considered. It was a relief when this train of thought was interrupted by my cell.
It was a text from Anna again.
Do not worry. I’m sure Luke OK.
I leaned back in my desk chair, stretched, and then snickered while shaking my head. Luke really has an admirer in my old friend.
Anna had met Luke, and fallen in love with him, on what was supposed to be our sixth date at the end of October. That was a little over three weeks ago when Luke showed up at the store earlier than expected for our Friday night date. His flight had landed ahead of schedule and he’d driven straight from the airport in Minneapolis to Bel’s Books, about a thirty-five minute drive with no traffic.
Before he’d arrived, I was closing out the last till and preparing cash drawers for Saturday. Anna had been doing her own work over at the Fare. We were alone in the closed store. Anna’s laptop was open on her service counter, softly playing some music. As we both plugged away, we’d talked sporadically of inconsequential things.
I’d been privately amused Anna was still there because it was obvious she was dragging her feet. My friend was dying to get a chance to check Luke out. I had inadvertently whipped up her curiosity to a fever pitch. Not by saying so little about our first few dates- that was the norm- but by the very existence of a sixth date.
Anna had clapped her hands together earlier that day and stated she wanted to meet this paragon of perfection. If Luke still had me interested after the fifth date, then she absolutely needed to meet the man.
I didn’t think I was that bad with the men I’d dated, but Anna assured me that I was even worse. Either I ditched them by the second date or turned them into a friend.
If I had my way, I’d keep my time with Luke a secret and not let the real world intrude. Unfortunately, I have to live in the real world.
It was my choice to live in a smaller town. I am highly visible as an owner of an established store, a big fish in a little pond. For the most part, I’m very satisfied with my choices. This is one of those rare situations when I regret never leaving Northfield. I know what a fish swimming in an aquarium feels like, and I longed for the anonymity of the open ocean found in big city life.
My personal life seems to be of acute interest to many people. Most of these people care about me, so fair enough. If Luke and I are going to continue seeing each other, it is probably necessary for Luke to meet my friends and family before the speculation grows too rampant and our dating is made into some big deal. Secrets appear juicy, but reality often proves duller than the fertile, dirty imagination. Dull is exactly the image I like to present where my personal life was concerned. To continue keeping everyone out of my business, I was going to have to let them in it a little first.
The night Anna met Luke was after he had been gone for work for the longest stretch since we’d started dating. I hadn’t seen him in over three weeks. I had missed
his last two phone calls during the week because I was out on other dates. When I’ve missed Luke’s calls in the past, I haven’t called back unless he requested that I do so.
Luke did ask me to call him back on Wednesday’s voicemail. My date had been with Rob at a Euchre tournament. He’s a guy I consider just a fun friend who likes playing cards as much as I do. The night ran late. I was wiped and fell into bed when I got home. I had meant to call Luke back, but crashed before I did.
Thursday’s date had been with my octogenarian banker, Mr. Charles Barkley. Mr. Barkley’s an old school charmer whom I adore and respect. He’s one of the last of a dying breed of gentlemen from a different era, and that is a great pity because he’s really something.
I always have a vastly entertaining time sharing a late Thursday dinner at his bachelor pad at least once a month. My banker’s forgotten more on most subjects than most people will ever learn in their lifetime, and he is a fascinating conversationalist. Mr. Barkley’s also droll and debonair, and I’ll bet he was extremely hot back in the day.
I like to tease him by saying things like, “Mr. Barkley, with all due respect, if you were even fifteen years younger and didn’t manage my business affairs so expertly, I’d cave to temptation and give you a run for your money.”
Eyes twinkling roguishly, his responses were always something like, “My dear Miss Axelrod, were I even five years younger, it would be to your greatest pleasure to fire me.”
The Thursday night missed call from Luke had no voicemail. The week had been hellishly busy at the store, so during the next hectically busy two days, I had only remembered to text Luke a quick hello in reply to both his missed calls. Getting with Luke over dinner and drinks after not seeing him for such a stretch was a plan I could totally get into.
My smile of welcome was enormous that evening when I looked up and saw him silently entering through the unlocked back entrance of the store. Observing Luke dressed all in black with a matching black expression on his swarthy face, it hit me how much I’d missed him.