“Yeah, well,” Bobby said. “You win this hand and get the Viagra, you might start hanging out at the driving range to meet some ladies. Then you can use the pink balls as a gift. They’re a good conversation starter. I read that in the AARP newsletter, that it’s important to start conversations if you want to make new friends.”
“I’ve already got me a lady,” Spud announced. “And by the way, that Viagra ain’t cheap. Use the sample pack and then you’ve got to go buy some more. Although it does work pretty good, so it’s probably worth the money. Problem is, you don’t know exactly when it’ll kick in.”
“I so did not need to hear that,” I said to nobody in particular. No wonder Fran had been spending a portion of her nights sleeping above my bar. Or rather, not sleeping. Cracker sauntered over to greet me and nuzzled my legs. On the other hand, I thought, at least somebody around here is getting some.
Brad folded his hand of cards. Trip fished around in a fanny pack and tossed in a coupon for two free China Buffet early bird specials, arguing that they easily matched the raise value. Spud spread out his cards and fanned his face, looking sweaty and goofy at the same time.
“Hey, kid.” My father gave me the once-over. “In that getup, you look like one of those chicks on TV, on the exercise channel.” He fanned his face again, newly grown mustache twitching from side to side, its tips still aspiring to be handlebars. “I’d bet that people would watch you jump around on TV.”
I looked more closely at my father and instantly recognized the zoned-out look in his eyes. He was still taking the pain pills. I wanted my old father back. The cantankerous, loud, unreasonable one who didn’t spurt out off-the-wall compliments. I held out my hand. “Let me have them, Spud.”
“Have what, for crying out loud?”
“Your pain pills.” The plastic prescription vial had disappeared from my kitchen counter, and I thought he’d finished the pills and thrown it away. Apparently not. “Hand them over.”
“I hurt my leg,” Spud explained to Brad. “Had to go to the hospital ER.”
“You keep taking those pain pills, Spud, and you’re going to do something crazy.” I kept my hand out. “Like ask Fran to marry you.”
“Funny you should mention that,” Spud said dreamily.
“Fran is mad at him,” Hal said. “She found out that we joined the New Age Babes and we’re going on a cruise with a gaggle of women.”
“Yeah, we went shopping for our cruisewear, and Spud brought Fran to help us pick out clothes,” Bobby said. “She wasn’t too happy when she found out what the clothes were for.”
“So your daddy took her next door to the jewelry store to look at rings,” Hal said. “Told Fran that they could have an engagement party on the ship if she’d join the NAB and go on the cruise with us.”
“What happened?” I heard myself ask.
“Frannie told me I could take the cruise and shove it you-know-where.” Spud cocked his head. “Although I don’t see how you could actually shove a big ship anywhere, much less up there.”
“Fran was wound up tighter than a rattlesnake on a highway,” Trip said. “Said she wouldn’t stand by and watch a bunch of women in swimsuits fussing over your daddy out in the middle of an ocean.”
“I wasn’t thinking right or I’d never have talked them into accepting men into their club,” Spud said. “I don’t even remember being inducted as their president, for crying out loud.”
“My point exactly,” I said. “Give me the pills.”
Muttering, my father produced a prescription container and dropped it in my outstretched hand. The label told me there were no refills left. Thank goodness for that. I dropped the remaining four pills into a glass of water. Spud eyed the glass and licked his lips, much like Cracker when staring at a bowl of peanuts.
“Don’t even think about it,” I said.
Spud harrumphed. “Killjoy.”
“You’ll thank me later.”
Brad extricated himself from the poker game and we went to the outside patio. After I explained my father’s use of pain pills due to his recent brush with yoga, the conversation progressed to more important things. Like whether or not Argo’s was still being watched by the DEA. It would be nice to have something good to report to the judge.
“Every location we consider suspect is still potentially under surveillance,” Brad said, careful in his selection of words. “Argo’s is just another on the list. We’re certain there was a link in the past.”
“Meaning Rosemary?” The earless thug had first mentioned Morgan’s mother. The list of names I’d found in the safe was in her handwriting. And Karen, the housewife I’d questioned, had said that Rosemary met her in Argo’s restroom to trade drugs for money. Then, of course, there was the telling fact that she had died from a drug overdose.
Ruby brought us two glasses of iced tea and moved off, ears straining for tidbits.
“Yes, meaning Rosemary,” Brad said.
“Obviously you’ve seen the autopsy report,” I said. “You know she died of an overdose. So she was selling and using. Okay. But why stick with this now? She’s dead, Garland is dead, and Morgan obviously doesn’t know anything.”
Brad positioned his chair to stay in the umbrella’s shade. “You got part of that right.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Never mind.”
I drank half my tea with one tilt, rehydrating after my run. Brad was just doing his job. Obviously he had kept certain details from me, but there was no need to get overly irritated about it.
“Was it you who searched Morgan’s car and apartment?” I asked.
Brad shook his head no. “We’ve watched him closely. Listened to his phone calls. If we decide to search his place or the restaurant, we’ll do it with a warrant.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
I reminded Brad that my interest was to protect the judge’s family, namely Morgan. I didn’t think that people traipsing through the establishment would be good for business or for employee morale. Not to mention Garland and Rosemary’s postmortem reputation.
“Are you trying to tell me what I can and can’t do?”
I smiled, studied my nails, noticed some chipped polish. I needed a manicure. “I’m simply noting the fact that you don’t have nearly enough to convince a judge to sign a search warrant. All you have is hearsay, from me. And I’ll deny the list ever existed. For that matter, I’ll say you’ve misunderstood the retelling of my conversations with Karen and Pat.”
Brad’s arms folded across his chest. He repositioned his chair again, this time moving into the sunshine. The muscles in his jaw worked.
“Besides,” I continued, “didn’t you conveniently leave me off the incident report from Bob’s Mini-Mart? How will you explain that to your bosses when they find out that not only did I tip you off, but I was there helping you?”
“If it came to that, you’d end up contradicting yourself to cover your ass.”
I gave him my best, most brilliant smile. “So? I’m not the one with a career on the line. I’m simply a concerned citizen.”
He mumbled something to himself that might have been “bitch.”
“Did you just call me ‘babe’ again?”
The arms came uncrossed, and the hazel eyes seemed to be reassessing their initial impression of me. “Hardly.”
I used the Block’s kitchen to make sandwiches, and when I returned, the early-arriving lunch crowd had begun to claim patio tables. Several regulars waved at me. A woman I didn’t recognize wore a tee with a message imprinted on the back: “I ain’t from the South, but I got here as fast as I could.” Her companion wore a New York Mets baseball cap.
I spread out two identical plates: sliced turkey with provolone and horseradish mustard on whole wheat with a side of fruit salad. I felt like eating healthy. And I enjoy a nontraditional breakfast sometimes. Brad seemed the type to eat just about anything at any time.
&n
bsp; “Your resourcefulness continues to impress me.” Brad stabbed a chunk of cantaloupe and chewed. “One minute I want to see that enchanting thigh holster again, and the next I wish you’d never dropped into my life.”
“Thanks,” I said. It may have been a compliment. “So what did your people find in Pat’s place?”
Whoever killed the woman had searched her place afterward, Brad said. If there were any drug stashes, they’d been taken. Pat had no criminal record, not even a traffic violation. The DEA was interviewing her social clubs, friends, and husband. Took her computer and BlackBerry, but so far, nothing except old, invalid phone numbers.
“It doesn’t make sense.” I wondered how somebody like Pat got caught up in such a mess. And how a woman like Rosemary became involved with a criminal drug operation.
Brad finished a bite of sandwich, wiped his mouth. “Still having trouble with the fact that this tree’s branches lead to wealthy, accomplished people?”
“I’m not one to stereotype, but if I hadn’t seen the evidence, I never would have imagined that somebody like Rosemary could be into this.”
“Niche marketing at its finest. People like her have reputations to protect, so they’re typically not going to do anything stupid to get themselves caught. Nobody would ever suspect them as users or runners. We’re talking lawyers, business professionals, wealthy housewives. They have the cash to spend.” He ate more fruit, scanned the patio. “Plus, they justify what they’re doing because the drugs are manufactured by pharmaceutical companies. Medical grade, FDA approved.”
The early October day had stretched its way into the eighties. I wiped perspiration from the back of my neck. “In other words, they’re not shooting up with something manufactured inside an abandoned building, or standing on a dirty street corner to score a rock of crack cocaine. So they don’t categorize themselves with the junkies you see on TV or read about in the newspaper.”
“Exactly.”
The last time I recalled sitting on the Block’s outdoor patio discussing a case with a hunky man, Ox was the person across the table from me. It was a few months ago, mid-August, sticky hot. The nearness of Ox made the humidity seem sensual and sultry and he must have felt the same way. Maybe we’d waited long enough and the timing was right, or maybe we were both sun-drunk. Regardless, the day turned into an afternoon I’ll never forget. Hours of pure bliss. We connected on every possible human level. Finally—after first meeting in high school when I taught him the eleventh-grade ropes and he taught me how to box—we slept together. And then his ex-wife showed up. To reclaim him. True, Louise had gone back to the West Coast solo, so that was something. But shortly after that little issue was settled, Ox had stepped into role of chaperone and headed to Connecticut for Lindsey’s internship.
“Hello? Anybody home?”
I looked up to see Brad watching me stare at the river. “Sorry, just thinking about something. I’m back.”
“So where are we on this thing?”
“Other than whatever it is you’re withholding from me?”
He smiled. “Other than that.”
“I’ve got another name for you.” I told him about CC’s Hair Boutique and Theresa, the woman who first told Karen about the network.
“Been there yet?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“Going?”
“Yep.”
Ruby arrived at the table with the pub’s cordless phone tucked under one arm. She gave me the handset and left with our empty plates.
“Hello, this is Jersey,” I said.
“Still missing me?” Ox said, and the air instantly grew hotter. My cheeks warmed.
I excused myself from the table. Outside on the sidewalk, I watched the cars and bicyclists and pedestrians, careful to stay close enough to the building to keep the cordless telephone signal. We talked for ten delicious minutes, condensed updates of our separate lives. I hit the off button and returned to the patio table, thinking the conversation hadn’t been nearly long enough.
Brad eyed the phone. “Was that your complication?”
“Come again?”
“You said that your love life is complicated,” he explained. “Was that your complication?”
I didn’t answer. Things with Ox were complicated, but it wasn’t any of Brad’s business.
Brad stood, stretched, stuck some money beneath a plate, and kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll send somebody in to get a haircut at CC’s. Meanwhile, let me know if you manage to scrounge up something they don’t.” He joined the stream of people walking along Water Street.
EIGHTEEN
Morgan was waiting beneath a picnic shelter when I arrived at Halyburton Park. Even wearing everyday clothes, the man looked like a million bucks. It occurred to me that he blended beautifully with Wilmington’s beautiful-people crowd. If only he had a social life.
“Are you sure you weren’t followed?” he asked in greeting.
“Pretty sure.” I wondered why the clandestine tactics all of a sudden. Morgan had called shortly after Brad left the Block, demanding to meet at a public place, but one that didn’t have a lot of people milling about. Unless the city’s Parks and Recreation Department has a scheduled class or event, Halyburton Park is more of a nature preserve than anything else. It’s usually relatively quiet. Today, even the playground was barren.
“I took a roundabout route getting here to make sure nobody was behind me,” Morgan said.
I nodded. Good for you. I’d planned to take the day off. I wanted to relax and catch up on my magazines. Check out the new fashions, see where the current hem length was supposed be. Maybe grab a matinee movie. Or else find some beach sand and stick my bare toes in it. One nice thing about Wilmington is that you can wear sandals almost year-round, as long as your toes look good. My toes still looked good from my last pedi, and I was ready to go somewhere and do something. Something to remind me that I really am retired.
Yet here I was, sitting at a picnic table with the judge’s brother. Before, I had to practically hook Morgan’s words and reel them out of his mouth. He didn’t want to talk. Apparently he had a change of heart, because now I’d been summoned. And it certainly wasn’t to pick up a paycheck, because nobody was paying me. To make myself feel better during the drive to the park, I started making a mental list of everything I planned to do sometime soon. Learn to ride a horse, for starters. It’s something I’ve always wanted to try, and there are nearby stables that give lessons. And paint. I might turn out to be a decent artist if I were ever to throw some colors on a canvas. And travel. I want to travel without toting weapons. Well, maybe just one weapon would be okay. I could always take my first official retirement trip on my boat, Incognito. Perhaps a nice long cruise to the Florida Keys, stopping to collect mile-marker souvenirs along the way.
“There’s a group of doctors who eat at the restaurant,” Morgan began.
I sighed. Back to reality. “My restaurant or your restaurant?”
“Argo’s,” Morgan said. “Their practice is called the Divine Image Group. They do plastic surgery, and one of them is a psychiatrist. Anyway, they have a standing reservation for dinner every Friday night. Lately, they’ve come in more often than that.”
“Okay.”
Morgan fingered a large splinter of wood on the corner of the picnic table, as though trying to press it back into place. “They uh … well. There’s something going on with them.”
“Would you like to tell me what that might be?” And how it involves you or me?
“I think they’ve been prescribing drugs for patients who don’t really exist.” The words rushed out, as though he wanted to talk before he changed his mind. “One of them was in love with my mother. And they owe somebody a lot of money.”
Now, he had my attention. I garnered as much information from him as I could: full names of the doctors, how long they’d been friends with Morgan’s parents, whether or not they ever dined with anyone else at their table.
A couple
arrived at the playground with a three-or four-year-old. The woman sat on a bench while the man helped the boy climb a slide. I guessed them to be the boy’s grandparents—nobody who had an interest in Morgan or me.
“When did you first meet these guys?” I asked.
Morgan explained that he hadn’t embraced the social aspects of restaurant ownership, but that his head server, Deanna, “made” him go meet the doctors because they kept asking about him. It was the same night that his ex-fiancée had come in with her old boss, he recalled.
“You ever hear anything more from Maria?”
“No,” Morgan said. “She was using me, the whole time, while she waited on Mark Greer to come around.”
“Her old boss?”
“Yeah. He’s getting a divorce so he can marry Maria.”
“You okay with that?”
Morgan removed his shades and looked at me. “Don’t have much choice, do I?”
Something about the judge’s brother was much different from when I’d first met him. Heartbreak? Acceptance? Experience? One month ago, Morgan had seemed tired, deflated, and nervous. Now, he emanated a sort of quiet confidence. He appeared more capable.
“Wilmington is a great place to meet people,” I offered. “Lot of young professionals here, lots to do.”
He smiled. “I’ll get around to that in time.”
An elderly man arrived at the playground with a pair of binoculars and what appeared to be a bird identification manual.
Seeing him, Morgan pitched sideways and nearly fell into me.
“You okay?”
“Sorry,” he said, holding himself upright, palms against the top of our picnic table bench. “I get vertigo every once in a while. Had it on and off since I was a kid.”
That explained why Morgan sometimes had balance issues. The bird-watcher settled onto a bench and opened his book. Morgan stared. I asked if he recognized the man.
“No, it’s … well, it’s weird. It’s no secret that I haven’t spoken to Garland in years and years. I’m sure my sister told you. The only reason I even came to the memorial service is out of respect for her.”
T. Lynn Ocean - Jersey Barnes 03 - Southern Peril Page 13