“Let’s not get hasty here. Just collect the data and call me back. We can evaluate it and then make some decisions. Got it?”
“Yes, oh, and thanks.”
“Not a problem. I got a niece who’s one of you gay gals. She had a girlfriend like yours—had herself in a nice bit of a pickle, but I got her out of it.”
“Do I owe you anything for this?”
“Just one thing.”
“Yes?”
“I want you to find yourself a decent girlfriend after this. Think with your head and follow with your heart and don’t listen to that voice in your underpants. The world would be so much better off if someone would just invent soundproof underpants.”
Vibro snickered.
“I know what I’m talking about.”
“I’m sure you do,” Vibro said.
“I’m Letty, by the way. When you call back, ask for me.”
“I will. My name is Vibro.”
“That’s an unusual name.”
“It fits me.”
“For now,” Letty said.
How did she know? Vibro wondered. Did you have to have PI genes to figure stuff like this out? Is that why she picked bad girlfriends—she lacked discerning genes?
“I’ll call back when I get the pictures.”
“Be careful.”
“Is this going to be dangerous?”
“Depends on your girlfriend,” Letty said. “One thing I’ve learned in this business is that people are not predictable.”
“Right.”
Vibro clicked off and ran downstairs to find Lexus. She’d have a camera or know where to get one. Life coaches were amazing. She wasn’t certain she wanted to tell Lexus what it was for—she hated to lie, but maybe she’d use the “skirting the issue” clause instead.
Lexus answered her knock. “Do you need to borrow a cup of sugar?” she asked.
“No, I need a high-speed digital camera with a telephoto lens and a pair of binoculars. How’d you know I needed to borrow something?” Were life coaches mind readers as well? That was a creepy thought.
“Neighbors when not making a social call usually need to borrow something. It’s simple statistics. I had a fifty-fifty chance of being right and it didn’t really matter if I was wrong. I used it as a method to engage you and put you at ease if you were needing to borrow something because I eliminated the cause of your trepidation at asking for something. People have a difficult time asking for what they want or need for fear of being turned down. I don’t have a camera with a telephoto lens per se. It does have a zoom feature. I also have a small movie camera.”
“Do you have binoculars?”
“No. How about a telescope?”
“That’ll work.”
“Come in and I’ll get it.”
Vibro stepped inside.
“Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
Vibro sat on the couch. She studied the odd ceramic piece on the coffee table. “Did you get some new pottery?”
Lexus and Cheryl actually had artwork, as in real paintings and drawings and ceramics. That was where Vibro had gotten the idea to buy paintings. Lexus worked with a lot of artists with low self-esteem who couldn’t afford her services but traded in artwork instead.
“No, that’s an urn.”
Vibro stopped running her fingers over the ornate Chinese lettering. “An urn?”
“Yeah,” Lexus called out from the hall closet where she was rooting around for the telescope. “I know it’s in here somewhere.” She’d found the camera easily enough. “Pen’s mom, Martha Sue, is inside. Or a facsimile of Martha Sue.”
She came out with the camera around her neck, the telescope under her arm and the movie camera in her hip pocket.
“A facsimile?”
“Well, I think it might actually be Arm and Hammer Baking Soda.”
“What?” Vibro said, taking the cumbersome telescope from Lexus, who looked like an over-accessorized Japanese tourist.
“It’s not like I’m going to stick my finger in there and see.” She was about to pull the lid off.
Vibro panicked. “Don’t. Please, I don’t want to see it.”
“That’s kind of how I feel. And what does it really matter? I mean, we are operating under the belief that Martha Sue’s remains are in the urn so in essence she is. We even took her to IHOP to celebrate her return home. IHOP was her favorite restaurant. It was kind of like a post-wake. Pen told us happy stories—we figured that would be best, instead of wallowing in the bad ones—and we had a good time. I think it was beneficial to Pen’s need for closure.”
“You took an urn with what may or may not be the remains of Pen’s mother to IHOP? Didn’t it freak people out?”
“We didn’t announce it. We were discreet. I think the waitress thought we’d gone shopping. She mentioned something about Pier One.”
“How come you think that the ashes might be fake?” Vibro asked.
“Well, now remember this is only supposition and ultimately it doesn’t matter as Martha Sue’s spirit is with us and I’d prefer to keep it quiet.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Two points. Number one, Cheryl had trouble finding the body. I think Martha Sue may have joined the remains of others in the less fortunate section of the cemetery. We didn’t claim her in time. Cheryl felt bad. Number two—I found five cartons of Arm and Hammer Baking Soda in the trash and five more hidden behind a case of ramen noodles. I took those to the daycare at the Community Center so they could make clay. We recycle cardboard so when I took the trash out I noticed the infraction—our trash man, if you haven’t noticed, is a little OCD, so I pulled the cardboard out, which wasn’t really hard. It was sitting right on top.”
“So you’re thinking that Cheryl, in a desperate attempt to please Pen, has perpetrated a fraud?”
“Yeah, isn’t that sweet? I don’t think she’s sleeping well, though.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Let the universe decide. Now, here’s the charger for the movie camera. It’ll need to be charged and then you just point and hit the start button.”
Vibro forgot about the urn and listened at Lexus explained all the electronic gadgets. “Do you have the instructions on any of this?”
“Of course. I file them all. I’ll be right back.”
She handed the instructions to Vibro when she returned. “Now, do you want to tell me what this is all about?”
“Do I have to? It’s kind of embarrassing.”
“No, but let me guess. You found out Jennifer is cheating on you and now you’re going to play I Spy and catch her in the act, get irrefutable truth and throw her out. Am I close?”
“Spot-on,” Vibro said.
“You deserve better.”
“People keep telling me that.”
“And you need to start believing it.” Lexus took her by the shoulders. “Stuff like this is really hard, but it’s worth it in the end.”
“I know.”
“Okay, go get ’em. Oh, and don’t kill anyone. You’ll regret it later.”
“Will I?” Vibro said.
Chapter Seventeen
Snipe Hunting
Sparky answered her cell phone. It was Vibro.
“Are you busy?”
It was early Friday evening and Sparky was at her usual loss for something to do. When she was with Wesson, they drank beer. Wesson would sit on the porch and smoke cigarettes and they’d talk a while. Then came dinner, a movie, an argument perhaps and the evening was complete. Now no one smoked. No one drank. And Sparky didn’t like to watch movies alone—so she read a lot. She’d resigned herself to the loss of her library, so she’d entered the twenty-first century and bought a Kindle Fire. Sparky wasn’t much for tech, but she had time on her hands.
“Not exactly,” Sparky said.
“What does ‘not exactly’ mean?” Vibro inquired.
“It means I feel like a masturbator who had her hands amputated in
some terrible accident. I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“That is a gruesome metaphor. I wouldn’t suggest using it on any of your future dates.”
“Is this a date?”
“No, I have a girlfriend, remember, but when I’m finished with her you’ll be the first one I call.”
“I always hoped I had a special place in your heart.” Sparky wondered why it was so much easier to kid around with Vibro on the phone. In person, Vibro flustered her. Maybe it was because she was gorgeous and Sparky had a thing for her.
“What I need is a surveillance partner,” Vibro said.
“You’re spying on someone?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Jennifer. I found a pair of red silk panties under my pillow.”
“Oh my. You’re not going to kill her?”
“No, but I would like her out of the apartment and my life so I need evidence—the irrefutable kind. Will you come?”
“Sure. Isn’t she going to recognize your car?”
Vibro hadn’t thought about that. She drove a mandarin orange Volkswagen Beetle—the new kind. It wasn’t a good blend-in car. “You’re right. I could rent a car.”
“How about I borrow a family car?”
“Really, you’d do that for me?”
Vibro didn’t seem used to anyone being nice to her. Sparky refrained from saying “I’d walk on hot coals if you asked me to.” Instead she said, “Of course. Let me get stuff arranged and I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“Perfect, Jennifer is getting all dolled up as we speak. She’s going out with a ‘friend’ tonight. Yeah, right.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“The hallway.”
“Why didn’t you just come see me?” Sparky said.
“It’s easier to talk on the phone. I was embarrassed.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed by me—I’m the one with a mucked up eye, a bad breakup and no stuff.”
“True.”
“And you did save me with your bat,” Sparky said.
“There was that,” Vibro said.
“So I’ll see you in an hour.”
Forty-five minutes later, Sparky was sitting in Uncle Milton’s black Lincoln Navigator listening to Lady Gaga. She had turned on the CD player to discover Lady Gaga in the player. She tried to imagine her uncle listening to it and decided it wasn’t much of a stretch. The more she listened the more she liked it. Uncle Milton had gladly given up his car keys as it was Whist Night. Sparky didn’t even know what whist was, much less how to play it. He informed her it was an English card game. The guys from his nineteenth-century English literature book club came over once a month to play. He was making cucumber sandwiches when she arrived. She tried one—they were surprisingly tasty.
“Is this kind of like those Civil War reenactors thing?” Sparky had asked him. He was wearing a wool vest with a watch chain.
“Certainly not. We just like a good game of whist.”
“You’re right. Wearing a vest, watch chain, playing an archaic card game and eating cucumber sandwiches certainly doesn’t add up to that. My bad.”
“Go catch that wayward woman before I stick you in a corset and dress.”
Sparky left immediately. She stopped at the It’s All Good Bakery and picked up six cream horns, six chocolate éclairs and two large coffees. She hoped Vibro liked them. She also got a box of assorted doughnuts in case she didn’t. No sense having your first gesture of desire being a flop. Was that what this was—a gesture of desire? Her cell phone rang. Thinking it would be Vibro, she didn’t check the call screen. “Hello?”
“Hey, there, how are you?”
Sparky’s heart dropped. She didn’t think that was anatomically possible, but it sure felt that way. She swore her heart was now sitting on top of her shoe. “Wesson?”
“Don’t hang up, please. I just want to talk for a minute.”
“What about? I’m driving. I don’t like to talk and drive.”
“I remember,” Wesson said, her voice soft.
There was a silence, the big kind like they were both being sucked into the Lake Superior of Remembrance.
“I thought some day when you’re ready we could have coffee and talk. I’ve stopped drinking and I got a therapist for my anger management problem.”
“That’s great.”
“I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry about what happened between us—that stuff should never have happened. We were good together once.”
“I know. Look, I’ve got to go.”
“You can get your stuff anytime you want or I can store it for a while until we see how things go. Whatever you want, okay?”
“Sure.” Sparky clicked off and because she wasn’t taking an Anger Management program threw her cell phone in the backseat. She turned on Pike and headed toward home. Vibro was in the parking lot when she pulled up. She was dressed completely in black—tight black T-shirt, black cargo pants and black combat boots—and she had a belt with a flashlight, a Leatherman, what looked like a grappling hook, her cell phone and a wrench attached to it. She looked like a Special Forces operative.
“Sweet ride,” she said. “Jennifer will think she’s being followed by a film producer or a gangsta rapper if she does notice us.”
“It’s Uncle Milton’s.”
“And what’s this?” Vibro said, pointing to the doughnuts.
“We’re doing surveillance. You’re supposed to eat doughnuts. I got coffee too,” Sparky said, glancing over at Vibro to see if she’d done good. She had never known with Wesson. She’d think she’d done something nice and Wesson would look at her queerly and say nothing. Vibro opened the box of cream horns and shoved one in her mouth.
“I love these things,” she said, licking the cream off her index finger.
Sparky smiled. “So what now?”
“The suspect parked her car out front in case she needs to make a quick getaway, I suppose. Like I ever stopped her from doing anything. She told me that she’s going to a Pampered Chef party with her friend Susan. I figured we could observe the street from the alley, barring anyone needing to come in or out. Wait for her to leave and commence the operation.”
“Is Jennifer really into cooking?” That was one of the bonuses of working with men, Sparky thought. You didn’t get roped into Tupperware parties, Pampered Chef parties, buying Girl Scout cookies or knitting socks for soldiers.
“She can’t boil water and I’m not completely certain she has a basic working knowledge of the microwave,” Vibro said.
“Then why is she going to a Pampered Chef party?”
Vibro rolled her eyes. “Is it any wonder I’m suspicious?” She ate the rest of her cream horn. She picked up her coffee.
“There’s cream and sugar in the bag,” Sparky said.
“Thanks,” Vibro said, dumping three packets of sugar in her coffee. “You know what really pisses me off?”
“Besides the fact that she’s cheating on you?”
“Well, there’s that. But what really bothers me is that she thinks I’m downright stupid. She doesn’t even try to come up with a credible lie—like she can’t be bothered to try to fool me. If I was going to philander I would at least grant the other person the respect of coming up with a decent lie.”
Sparky thought the whole thing was nuts. At least she and Wesson hadn’t had that elephant in the room to deal with. Wesson hadn’t cheated on her that she knew of—or maybe she was just smart enough to come up with a good lie. And Sparky hadn’t cheated on her—although her libido might have wanted to.
She and Wesson stopped making love halfway through their relationship, so if Vibro needed advice on Lesbian Bed Death she could supply those answers. Or could she? What caused it? Is that when their relationship went downhill? Was sex a bonding agent and when it stopped the relationship fractured? How important was sex?
Sparky was eating a chocolate éclair and ruminating on this when Jennifer
came out of the apartment building in the highest pair of high heels Sparky had ever seen. She tripped over the curb and nearly face planted.
“Serves the bitch right,” Vibro said, stuffing another cream horn in her mouth.
Sparky wondered if pastries, with their high sugar content, were such a good idea when Vibro was already feeling hostile.
Jennifer got in her silver Toyota Camry with its decked out tires and rims.
“Nice wheels,” Sparky said.
“She stopped paying rent for six months in order to buy them—they ought to be. Maybe when I throw her out I’ll take those too.”
Sparky imagined Jennifer coming out to find the Camry sitting on blocks minus the tires and rims and found it rather humorous. “There is a downside to that.”
“What?” Vibro slurped her coffee.
“She couldn’t leave.”
“I’ll visualize it then.” Vibro closed her eyes and sat quiet. “Okay, that was almost as good as the real thing without all the work.”
“Good, because I want you to know that I would’ve helped you.”
Vibro looked over at her and smiled. “I believe you would.”
“Does that visualization thing work?”
“Supposedly it does. Lexus told me about it. She says you have to tell the universe what you want and visualize it, then you get what you want or at least find a way to work toward it.”
Jennifer started the Camry. Sparky memorized the plate number MNR 559 in case they ran into other silver Camrys. Sparky watched as Jennifer backed out of the parking space. She waited until Jennifer got to the corner of the block and then she eased forward. Jennifer turned right without using her signal.
“She never uses her turn indicator. It bugs the hell out of me. It shows flagrant disregard for the rest of the world. I mean, think about it, she can’t be bothered to let anyone know what her intentions are. Like why should she bother? Turn indicators are there so other drivers have a clue as to what you’re going to do—it’s a courtesy and she isn’t even aware of it. The world is all about her. She can’t be bothered with anyone else, even though her self-absorption may cause bodily harm to others. There are statistics about the number of accidents caused by not using your turn indicator. How fucked up can you be? Is it any wonder she’s cheating on me?”
Love Over Moon Street Page 15