“Myrtle…” I begin but she again gives me the over-the-top-of-the-glasses teacher look that worked so well for her with recalcitrant students during her over thirty years of teaching. “No, Catherine, no,” is all she says but it’s enough. I know she’s not going to talk about any problems going on in her life with Harry. I lower my eyes and pretend to check my phone.
KRISTEN HOUGHTON 98
Suddenly I feel Myrtle’s arms around me in a quick hug. “I know you mean well, honey, but you’re like a daughter to me and good mothers do not burden their daughters with personal problems.”
Myrtle carries her tea to her desk and begins checking phone messages and I sit and sip my coffee gazing out the window at my little family of nesting doves. Coffee finished I get down to business. A call to the U-Move-It National trucking company’s main office sheds no additional light on my inquiry for rental records. Legal and polite requests aren’t working so it’s time to do some illegal research. I call one of my under-the-radar contacts for some help. But two hours later, I’m still unable to find out who picked up the coffin. The only thing my sources are able to find out is pretty much generic; average height male wearing worker’s pants and heavy-duty work gloves, a jacket, and an old-fashioned cab driver cap.
While I’m putting the new info into the Brooks-Warren file I hear Myrtle angrily muttering to herself as she sits hunched forward looking at her computer screen, “Well now, that certainly explains it.” Curious, I walk over to her desk and look over her shoulder. Displayed on the screen is an article about sexuality. The number one reason for men past sixty to cheat is boredom in the bedroom. The need for added excitement or romance leads older men to seek a lover with new sexual ideas. “Boredom!” She furiously clicks off the tab, gets up from her desk, and busies herself near the file cabinet. From the look in her eyes, I know enough not to ask about it. But I also know the time has come for me to step in and try to help two people whom I love dearly.
๕๕๕
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into a stake-out on Harry.” Will is complaining between bites of a cheeseburger. It’s getting late and we’re both tired. Around seven at night I had asked Will to come with me to check Adrian’s detail outside Jennifer’s condo. All was well and we spent a few minutes talking with them about any possible activity on the part of the hit man. The topic of the coffin was discussed but nothing was known about its whereabouts. No one at the condo saw any suspicious delivery trucks or knew anything about the Perfect Ruby Rest 0557; there had been no delivery boxes noted of the size needed to house a coffin. Dead end there, no pun intended.
From there I drove to the Tuttles’ house and told Will about my plan to follow Harry when he left their home. Myrtle had accidentally let it slip that Harry had been going out every night around eight-thirty for the last three weeks. Will wasn’t thrilled about spying on Harry but I sweet-talked him into staying with me.
“Just for an hour or two, please, Will. I can’t keep seeing Myrtle miserable every day.”
And Will, for all his negative comments about spying on Harry, saw for himself late yesterday afternoon how unhappy Myrtle looked when he stopped by my office. He reluctantly agreed.
“This isn’t a stake-out,” I say defensively, taking a bite of his burger and grabbing his French fries. Harry Tuttle, along with an unidentified woman, has been in a restaurant for over two hours and I am cramped from just sitting. Thank God Will stopped at a fast food place and came back to the car prepared for a long wait with burgers, fries, and coffee. I’m starving.
GRAVE MISGIVINGS 99
“Bullshit, Cate. We’re sitting in a car, watching everything that Harry does, taking notes, and making sure he doesn’t see us. That pretty much describes a stake-out in detective 101. A real detective would know that, I should add.”
“I am a real detective, Will, and this doesn’t qualify as a stake-out in my opinion. It’s more of a kind of looking out for a friend type thing.”
As I say this there’s movement at the restaurant door. Will sees the woman and Harry coming out of the restaurant and lets out a low whistle of appreciation. “Ouch! Harry, you old dog. He’s got a hot one there,” says Will admiringly. “Nice ass.”
“Stop it, Will.” I nudge him hard and he misunderstands why. “I mean it’s not as great as yours, babe, but nice for Harry.”
“I don’t give a damn about her butt. Take your mind off the female anatomy for a few minutes and concentrate on why we’re here. Can you do that?” In response I get a smile and my ass squeezed. “Will! This is Harry and Myrtle we should be concerned about here. Do you want Myrtle’s heart to be broken after all the years they’ve spent together?”
He sighs and says no. “Seriously there has to be an explanation for what we see here. But, Cate, listen to me, if he is cheating, do you really want Myrtle to stay with him? She deserves better. All good women deserve better. You’re the one who told me that, remember?”
Will’s got me there. Even though he didn’t technically cheat during our brief sojourn as a married couple, the strong potential was there and I knew it. Will knew it too and when I told him I was filing for a divorce I said all good women deserve better than to have to deal with a possibly cheating spouse.
“What should I do?” I ask as we watch Harry usher the woman into a taxi before walking to where we saw him park his car earlier in the evening.
Will finishes his cheeseburger and downs his coffee before answering. “You should do nothing.”
Easier said than done. How can I allow Harry, whom I love as a second father, to break the heart of the woman who has always been a second mother to me? I have to do something.
“But Myrtle is miserable!”
“I know, I know, but Cate, let them work it out on their own. If Harry is cheating, which I’m not so sure he is, Myrtle will have to deal with it one way or another. People, even those we really care about, don’t like the idea of us sticking our noses into intimate and personal business. Anyway, not everything is as it appears to be on the surface.”
“This is Myrtle and Harry!”
“Whom we both know and love, yes, understood, but don’t push this, Cate. Let it go and just wait it out, okay?” I don’t say anything. “Cate? Promise me? You’ll let it go?”
“But…”
“Christ! Come on, Cate! Be realistic here. If you push Myrtle to confide in you, you’ll only make her more upset and probably angry as hell at you. Stop it and wait the damn situation out.” He’s not going to give up so I throw him a bone and say okay. “Are you lying to me? You better not be lying to me because your meddling will create more of a mess than the actual problem. Don’t push this, Cate, let Myrtle and Harry work on it themselves. They are adults for Christ’s sake. Give them their privacy.”
KRISTEN HOUGHTON 100
“All right! Okay. Done and done. I won’t get involved, okay? As hard as that will be, I promise I won’t.”
Will has to be satisfied with that even if he doesn’t believe me and I know he doesn’t. He knows me too well and knows that I’ll break a promise if it’s necessary. To change the subject and get him to think of other things, I snuggle next to him and squeeze his inner thigh.
“Oh come on Cate! Don’t use this ploy and think that I don’t know what you’re doing. This is the oldest trick in the book.” He doesn’t resist or pull away from me but I can sense he knows my motives aren’t completely sexual. After a few minutes of erotic responses, my ploy works and I feel it. He’s definitely not thinking of my meddling with Harry and Myrtle.
“Time for bed, baby?” he whispers nuzzling my ear. I smile, give his thigh a squeeze, and say, “Let’s go.”
On the ride back to my brownstone, I calculate the best way to approach Harry to find out what is going on. I have to do it. Myrtle won’t talk so maybe Harry might be my better choice to find out if there are any marital problems.
I’m pretty proud of myself for being able to distract Will’s train
of thought and I don’t think he’s going to mention Myrtle and Harry again, at least not tonight. But I’m wrong on that score. As I’m putting the key into my front door, Will touches my shoulder and says, “Just remember that meddling in Myrtle’s private life can fuck up your own relationship with her royally.” He looks at me sternly, his eyes warning me to keep my nose out of Myrtle’s and Harry’s business. “That’s all I’m going to say besides get your sweet ass inside and let’s go get naked.”
Chapter 21
THE COFFIN, THAT DAMNED coffin, cannot seem to be found anywhere. Nor can the truck. My sources on the street can’t find out anything about it except the sketchiest details. One of them did manage to “borrow” the list of names from the Bowery office of U-Move-It National of anyone who rented a large truck last week. No coffin pick-ups, just furniture, gym equipment, and the like. I’ve tracked down all but two of those people but the intel on those two indicate that they rented trucks for out-of-state family moves.
In the area around the Luca Memorial Services I spoke with the street people, those ignored members of humanity that the world conveniently refuses to see but who, themselves, see and hear everything. Still, even with a promise of cash in hand, I was unable to find anyone who noted even a partial license plate number. To them a truck picking up a coffin is not a big deal; nothing much is a big deal except surviving.
Only one woman, named DeeLee said she knew something and for twenty-five bucks told me that the plate that she saw on the back was mud-splattered and she couldn’t make out any numbers or letters. I can’t know if she’s a credible witness because, even from a foot away from me, I can smell cheap liquor on her breath. Still, she did mention something about the driver, which might help.
“He had a nice voice.”
“You heard him speak?”
“He sounded like a radio announcer. I listen to the radio when I’m hanging out by that bodega on the corner. An announcer; that was his voice.”
Marc Croft? I have to ask Jennifer if she remembers the sound of Croft’s voice from that night when she saw him in the bar, the night he brought Moira Hollis her dead father’s finger as proof of the kill.
“What did he say? Was he talking to another person?”
She fingers the bills in her hand and then tucks them inside her shirt. “He said ‘It’s a shame when someone dies so young.’ I didn’t see anybody else. I think he was talking to himself. But that’s what he said, ‘It’s a shame when someone dies so young.’ He had a radio voice.”
I tell her I’ll be back in a few days. “If you remember anything else, let me know then.”
“Will you pay me again?”
“Sure.”
“Pay me more if I help you find him?”
“Yes, I will. I have to go now but I’ll be back soon.”
๕๕๕
Myrtle has put several case files on my desk for me to check out before she can put them on the computer in the closed files as well as placing a paper copy in the locked cabinet. She asks me if I have any leads from interviewing people near Luca Memorial Services.
“Not really, no. No license plate, no real description. There was a woman who heard the truck driver say something. She said he had a radio voice, you know like an announcer on the radio. I guess she meant that it was smooth and clear.”
GRAVE MISGIVINGS 102
“Or cultured and well-modulated. Dr. Giles Barrett has that type of voice, so does Will. After all his mother Francesca did send him to the best preparatory school in the city,” says Myrtle, eyes on a folder while keying info into her computer. Unlike me she doesn’t have to look at the keys when she types. “Sounds as if the driver was someone who traveled in a world far removed from the hard-working life usually associated with truckers and such.”
“Yeah well, I would guess that the Eliminator is a world-traveled kind of guy with a very pleasant voice, Myrtle. Doesn’t get his hands dirty except, of course, for murdering people for money.”
I call Jennifer’s condo and after four rings get a message. “You have reached Edward Penn. Please leave a brief message. Thank you.” Almost immediately I get a call-waiting buzz from the same number. It’s Natalie from Adrian’s security team.
“I didn’t want you to be concerned that the machine picked up. Sorry but I was talking with Adrian on my mobile.” I know she and Adrian are engaged but they keep it very low-key and are consummate professionals for his security business. “Everything is fine here; Jennifer is sleeping again. They did have company about an hour ago, someone from the bank. We checked him out before we let him up but he’s been here a few times before, so no worries. He and Edward went down to the lobby a few minutes ago.” There’s a pause. “Listen, Cate, you know Jennifer hasn’t paid Adrian’s company for our services yet, right?” Being his fiancée, I guess she has a stake in Adrian being paid. “I mean I hate to mention it but Adrian did discuss it with me. Is there any chance you can talk to Edward about this? Jennifer is in no state to be bothered with it but, well, maybe you can talk to Edward for Adrian. He’s pretty well off from what I understand so he can deal with this, can’t he?”
“Oh, sure, yes, I will Nat. I’m sorry Adrian hasn’t been paid yet. I would think that Edward would take over paying bills now that Jennifer seems so out of it. I’ve been using Adrian’s security teams for a couple of years now and he’s always been more than reliable so I feel kind of responsible. Yes, I’ll call Edward later.” She thanks me and then says she’s going to check on Jennifer.
As I put down my cell phone and turn to look out the window, I hear the very prim and proper voice of Myrtle Goldberg Tuttle say, “Catherine Harlow, Private Investigations hasn’t seen a dime either other than that retainer check. You might want to ask about your own payment when you speak with Edward.”
๕๕๕
Voices, voices. I find myself trying to remember the voices of men who have had anything to do with Jennifer in recent days. I’m trying to discern any voice that sounds like a radio announcer. The manager of her condo building has a smooth voice sort of like a radio announcer, so do several male tenants I have heard speaking while I was in her building. Giles has a cultured voice, Will’s voice has that definite assertive voice you get in some boys’ prep schools. Edward, her fiancé, has a pleasant business voice. I am obsessed with voices as I try to find where and how the Eliminator is going to strike. What does he sound like? Jennifer is so medicated that she’s no help in remembering his voice.
KRISTEN HOUGHTON 103
To get an answer from someone who has heard him speak I even call Moira Hollis to ask her if the man who eliminated her father had a ‘radio voice.’ I can tell that she is terrified that I contacted her. But after she understands that the call is not in any way threatening to her, she says she doesn’t think the Eliminator’s voice was distinctive. “It was clear but not like an announcer’s.”
Voices, voices; what does the Eliminator, aka Marc Croft, sound like? A few nights later, as I enter the front door of my brownstone, I find out.
“Hello, Cate.” His voice is low, soft, and calm so the startle factor is minimal. Still I let out a small gasp of surprise. He is sitting in the dark in my living room waiting for me. I had assumed the programmed lighting that usually goes on well before I come home had blown a fuse. It’s happened occasionally in the past. Now I know the lights must have been deliberately tampered with by my unexpected guest. My breath quickens along with my heart beat but I will myself to stay calm.
“Who are you?” is all I say as I stand in the entryway of my brownstone.
“You can call me Marc Croft, one of my many names, to be sure,” he laughs. He rises from the chair in one quick cat-like movement. Flight would be futile since I’ve already closed the door and I can sense that he will be on me before I can swing it open again. If I reach for my gun, he’ll shoot me before I can aim.
“Lock the door so we’re not disturbed, Cate. We have some important issues to discuss.”
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All this is said so matter-of-factly that it sounds as if we are two co-workers having a serious business problem and don’t want to have our meeting interrupted. He walks over to where I am standing, his soft-soled shoes making almost no sound on the wood floor. Reaching behind me he takes the Smith and Wesson out of the back of my jeans. Then he quickly runs his hands over my body to check for other weapons. His gloved hands are firm and absolutely professional even when pressing very personal parts of my body. This man knows what he is doing and I pretty much know that I am safe from any sexual assault. In a strange way I am this man’s equal: a professional who has to make sure that the adversary facing me is unarmed. The difference between us is that he is a hired killer and I am not.
“Over by the couch, Cate. Sit down and keep your hands placed on your knees.”
I do as I am told. When you’re weaponless and your opponent isn’t, the smartest thing to do is what you’re told. I am still in an open area so my chances for escape are better than if he had me in a car or windowless room.
“So talk,” I say with as much bravado as I can muster—after all, this man has eliminated people without blinking an eye. If I was in his way he might see me as a liability to getting his job done. Killing me would make sense.
“Jennifer Brooks-Warren.”
I draw a ragged breath and ask, “What about her?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Cate. Let’s discuss why you think you can stop me from fulfilling my contract. You’re a small-time PI. Not really playing in the big leagues.”
Grave Misgivings Page 17