“Wow!’ I said, “I wonder where he’s going in such a hurry?”
“We’re about to find out,” said Flint, putting his Jeep in drive and heading out.
Several minutes later, the cellphone rang, and it was Richard. “I’ve got the owner of that BMW for you. It’s Eddie Crackmeir, just like you thought.”
“Kelli’s uncle, right?”
“Not exactly. Try husband.”
I gave a quick glance to the back of Nick’s head in the front seat and lowered my voice.
“Say that again.”
“Eddie Crackmeir, and that’s C-r-a-c-k-m-e-i-r. Her husband. Recorded marriage certificate, Oklahoma, five years ago. Her father had to sign consent. No record of a divorce. In
fact, they own a house together in Vegas and last year they did a joint tax return. They’ve been married since she was seventeen, and he was twenty-seven. And it gets better.”
“I can hardly wait.”
“Eddie has worked at MAPLAB for the past two years. He’s a technician but a recently demoted one. Seems he made a couple of errors on the screening of micro-components for a smart bomb, which cost the company a bundle in government penalties. They would have fired him if he hadn’t been a union man. It’s amazing what you can learn from online personnel files when their firewalls aren’t adequate. Let that be a lesson to you.”
“So a disgruntled employee.”
“Seems so.”
“That address, is it 1752 Cactus Blossom Lane?” I asked, as Flint slowed down, and we watched the BMW pull into the driveway of a modest, single-family house, bright porch light announcing the address.
“Yes.”
The car door opened, the short squat man got out, slammed it shut, and scurried inside the house. Once again, without checking for the cargo contents. Either he had totally forgotten about the cats, or he had something more important on his mind.
“Okay, thanks, Richard. I’ll take it from here. And thanks again for bugging Tugger’s carrier. We might not have ever found them if it hadn’t been for that chip.”
“About the chip, Lee.” Richard cleared his throat, and I did an inward groan. The clearing of my brother’s throat usually meant some sort of lecture was about to ensue. He went on.
“What I was trying to do was find a more economical way of making a smaller, traceable microchip for use in pets. The smaller they are, the more expensive. The chip you found on Nick’s dog tags probably runs three to four thousand
dollars at a minimum, not including the expense of transferring information, which can be almost as much.”
“Hmmm. Does that mean each chip is duly accounted for or numbered? You can’t just take one from the factory like a nail and hope nobody will notice?”
“Exactly.”
“So there’s a sizable monetary investment here, unless they stole it.”
“Exactly.”
“The plot thickens.”
“You still have the microchip, Lee?”
“On me.”
“I can check its serial number against MAPLABS records; see what the history is. Try to get it to me first thing in the morning. We need to know what we’re dealing with.”
“Right,” I said, thinking about the list with Gurn’s name on it, as well. Another thing we needed to deal with ASAP. “First thing in the morning, I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile, thank everyone for a job well done. Now go home and go to sleep.” I hung up.
The porch lights to the house went out, but no light inside the house came on. Whatever Eddie was doing inside there, he was doing in total darkness.
Flint had been idling his Jeep across the street for a full five minutes. A nondescript man walking two Greyhounds on the other side of the street stopped and stared at us. “Flint, I think we’ve seen enough. Let’s get out of here.”
He nodded and pulled out. I leaned back in the seat, covered with cats and cat hair. Tugger started to purr in one ear, and Baba nuzzled the other, when the cellphone rang again.
Still fisted in my hand, I looked at the number of the incoming call. It was Gurn.
“Hi, sweetheart.” I whispered. “We all still love you.”
“And who would “all” be? You, Baba, and Tugger?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t wait until tomorrow night. I finished my last meeting a few minutes ago. I’m going to catch some zzz’s now. I’ll file a flight plan first thing in the morning and be home around nine-thirty, ten a.m. west coast time.”
I sat bolt upright. Claws raked at my neck from the sudden movement. I did some of my fastest thinking. Flint must have sensed I needed some privacy, because he turned the radio on to a classical station and began to whistle along with “Clair de Lune” to help drown out my conversation.
“Good, good. But listen, how about making a short stop in Vegas and picking us up on the way? That would be Tugger, Baba, and me.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“You’re in Vegas?”
“Yes,” I said, keeping my voice as low as possible.
“You’re in Vegas…with the cats?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he said, dragging the word out. “This is doable. I’m not carrying any other passengers or cargo, so I can fuel up there. Dare I ask why you’re in Vegas?”
“Let’s not go into that yet, but suffice it to say, everybody’s fine; we’re all well, if not a little tired, and we need to hitch a ride back to Palo Alto tomorrow morning.” I turned to Baba clinging to the left side of my neck. With the help of the passing lights of Las Vegas Boulevard, I could see her furry face clearly. Green eyes looked back at me underneath a silky soft gray forehead, the rest of her face surrounded by abundant, long and shiny white fur. She was so cute. I kissed her lightly on her little pink nose, something that if my mother had seen me do, she’d have forced me to use an antibacterial scrub for a month.
“Say hi to your daddy, Baba.” And hot damn if this sweet thing didn’t give forth with a charming meow, right on cue. Not to be outdone, Tugger let out one of his, only more along the lines of an air raid siren with its butt caught in a wringer.
“As you can hear, Gurn, all is well.”
“Glad of it.”
“I just thought of something. Do you have to do a manifest? Because if you do, put down a three-gallon tank with Lady Gaga in it. But not the singer, a goldfish.”
“You have a goldfish named Lady Gaga with you?”
“Yes.”
“As well as the cats? I just want to get the lineup right. For the manifest. Anything else?” His voice contained more humor than I thought appropriate, but I let it go. After all, he wasn’t mad or upset and that was a bonus.
“I’ll have a microchip with me but—”
“A microchip? Man, the things you miss out on when you’re in all-day meetings.”
“But I don’t think you have to write that down. It’ll be in my knapsack. And, Gurn darling, you’re not running any races in between now and when I see you, are you?”
Another pause. “Gee, I had one scheduled for three-o’clock this morning, but it got cancelled at the last minute. What are you on, anyway?”
“Nothing.” My voice came out a little huffier than I’d planned, but it had been a stressful day. I softened my tone. “I’m not on anything, but please don’t run any races before I talk to you.”
He laughed and said, “This can be arranged.”
“I mean it. No races.”
“Not a problem. I’m going straight to bed. I’ll see you at North Las Vegas Airport, around eight a.m. Do you know where it is?”
“I’ll find it.”
“Good. I’ll call you from somewhere over the Rockies. I’m hoping you will explain all of this in more detail when I see you.”
“You got it.”
“I love you.”
“Backatcha.”
* * * *
At Flint’s apartment, the three of us struggled inside with our respec
tive loads. Lady Gee—no longer called Lady Gaga, because she was now in the Witness Protection Program—was stashed on the desk in the guest bedroom by a reluctant but cooperative Nick. I noticed her water was on the murky side, and she was lethargic. I set the cats down on the double bed, where they huddled in the center, their eyes following my every move. I plugged in Lady Gee’s heat lamp and water filter, and she immediately started swimming around again. Flint carried in the litter pan and dishes, set them on the floor of the bathroom, and headed for the door. He opened it and turned back.
“I’m about to order a pizza.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, round jar of dry fish food. “Here,” he said, handing it off to me. “You might want to feed this to the fish before you feed the fish to the cats.” He winked at me to show he was kidding. “Want anything else?”
“Thanks. Could you order a hamburger for the cats? Just a burger, no bun. Flint, I was wondering if you could hang onto Nick for a while, at least until we find out what’s on the chip.”
“No problem. He’s my new best buddy.”
The long-time family friend looked at me with such warmth, compassion, and willingness to do whatever, I felt tears spring to my eyes. I shook my head, looking away for a moment. I turned back with a bright smile and ran fingers through my hair, which hadn’t been brushed since early morning. I looked like I got caught in a wind tunnel and felt even worse. Talk about being tired!
He looked down at me. “Lee, the front door is locked from the inside with a combination lock. This way Nicky Boy can’t do a disappearing act in the middle of the night. But in an emergency, I want you to have the four numbers; in case you need to get out, okay?”
I nodded.
“One, three, six, four. Got it?”
I nodded again.
“And I don’t have a landline. The only phone in the apartment is my cellphone, and it’s on me at all times.” Flint touched the breast pocket of his jacket.
“I’m glad,” I said. “I think it’s better if Nick stays incommunicado for a while.”
“Trust not the rabbit in the middle of his flight.”
The thought of Tío’s bunnies came into my mind. Even though Richard promised to call him, I’ll bet my uncle was still anxious. I should talk to him in person; relieve his mind.
Flint hesitated in the doorway. “One last thing, Lee, and I only mention this because it may prove useful down the line. One of my nephews works at the Fantasy Lady doing a lounge lizard act. He sometimes performs in the penthouse. The act’s pretty bad, but he owes me a couple of favors, so keep it in mind.”
“You’re just the gift that keeps on giving, aren’t you?” I looked at him in awe. “I mean that. ‘Thanks’ doesn’t even cover it. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
He came back and planted a kiss on my forehead. “Hey, what Bobby Alvarez did for my kid, I try to do for his. I can never pay your dad back, but I can try.”
“I think we’re even now, Lonato.”
“I’ll let you know when we are. Keep this door locked,” Flint went on. “I’ll bring you some food when it arrives. Try to get some rest.”
He started to cross back to the door, but my voice stopped him. “In case nobody’s ever told you, you’re a good man, Lonato Tall Trees, one of the best.”
He turned back to me. “There is a Native American saying, Papoose, and one I try to live by: When you were born, you cried, and the world rejoiced. Live your life so that when you die, the world cries, and you rejoice.” He left shutting the door behind him.
I went over, threw the bolt, and leaned against the door. I looked back at the bed and watched the cats separate, gingerly sniff the mattress and its perimeter, come together and touch noses, reassuring one another they were okay. Friendship comes in all forms.
I opened the top on the fish food and sprinkled a few flakes on the water. Lady Gee came running, while I hit the speed dial number for home. Tío answered on the second ring.
“Liana! I recognized the number of your carry phone,” he said, with pride. “I hoped you will call your uncle.”
“Of course, I will call my favorite uncle.” I tried to keep my voice upbeat and cheerful. “How could I go to bed without saying goodnight?”
“Mi sobrina favorita.” He laughed, and I could hear relaxation wash over him. “You are all right, ¿la verdad?”
“The truth, I am all right.”
“And the cats? Richard, he calls earlier to say you have found them.”
“The cats are right here, and we’re all fine. We’re spending the night in Flint’s guestroom. We’ll be back before noon tomorrow, flying in with Gurn. And it’s called a cellphone, Tío, not that it really matters.”
“Si, si. I knew it was something like that. Your mother, she flies back tomorrow, too.”
“She does? Why? I thought she was going to stay in Phoenix for a few days.”
“She will tell you tomorrow. You sound muy cansada, sobrina.”
There’s no fooling Tío. “I am tired, Tío.”
“Then go to sleep. Mañana comes soon enough. Te amo.”
“Te amo.”
I threw myself flat on the double bed, arms outstretched, looked up at the ceiling, and tried to free my mind of everything. Cats walked over and around me, stopping periodically to sniff my face, hands, and neck, tickling me with their fur and noses. It was better than a Valium, and I dropped off for a minute or two. Fifteen minutes later, Flint knocked on the door holding a plate with a steaming slice of pizza oozing with mozzarella cheese and a side of hamburger meat in one hand, and a cloth napkin and crystal goblet filled with sparkling deep red wine in the other. Flint is a wine connoisseur and drinks only the finest.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” I said when I thought about the night before. He looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “Well, maybe just a sip.”
A pizza lover from way back, I shut and relocked the door, relishing what I had in store for me. Then I took a swallow of the knock-your-socks-off cab. Ambrosia.
Noting Lady Gee’s tank had brightened up considerably, as had her mood, I changed into the large man’s T-shirt I often sleep in, fed the cats, and clicked on the remote for the small TV sitting on the dresser across from the bed. After a quick run through the channels, I found the Marx Brother’s Duck Soup nearing its end. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve watched as many black and white ‘30s and ‘40s movies as I could, much to my mother’s alarm.
Having seen Duck Soup at least twenty times, I can come into the story at any point. I love it as much today as the first time my father introduced me to one of the best Groucho, Harpo, and Chico films. Cross-legged on the bed, I ate my pizza, laughed at the movie’s finale, savored the last dregs of wine, and zonked out around eleven o’clock, with a cat cuddled in each arm. Not bad.
Chapter Nine
Things Are Looking Up…Aren’t They?
The next morning, my eyes opened like they were on springs. I checked the watch still wrapped around my wrist. It was precisely 6:30 a.m. I knew precisely where I was, too, not as is so often the case when you’re sleeping in a strange bed, and you need to orient yourself. I raised my head, without moving anything else, and glanced down at the warm weight at my feet. Two cats, curled into one, slept peacefully, bodies pressed against me.
I lay there recapping the previous gawd-awful day, not knowing many of the answers but some of them. I tested myself using a pro and con mental ledger, hoping I’d get a decent score.
What I know:
Kelli, my ex-husband’s new wife, shows up at my home in Palo Alto yesterday.
Why? She needs to find Nick.
Why me? Probably because he told her my family and I run a detective agency, and we might be more likely to find him when she couldn’t.
What did she want him for? Safe to say it revolved around information on the microchip she’d put on his dog tags. Having the chip in my possession, I’ll soon know why it’s so important.
Why did she take the cats? I’d initially told her I’d look for Nick, which must have been what she was angling for, but threw her out when I found out my cousin, Stephen, had died. Apparently, she had Eddie Crackmeir follow her in his car for any necessary help. Taking the cats, I feel sure, was a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants plan.
Wow! This isn’t much.
Other side of the ledger—what I don’t know:
Putting all the emotions of an ex-wife and current wife aside, I know nada about Kelli, other than she is a consummate liar. Like
all liars, she uses the worst of human frailties and weaknesses to her own advantage. Mine, in particular. She’s also resourceful and fast thinking. I will not underestimate her again. Even grading on a curve, I’m probably only going to get a C.
Kelli Crackmeir, or whatever the hell her name is, seems to have no shortage of willing men in her life. First, Nick Papadopoulos, a former marine gone to seed. Whatever backbone he’d had seems to have vanished. Or is that an act solely for my benefit? He and Kelli could be in cahoots, to use her word, and he could be playing all of us. In any event, I know from years ago not to trust him as far as I can throw an overweight bull elephant. My grade is now a lousy D.
Nick says he knows nothing about the races and called Stephen to warn him not to run after he found the list with ‘take out’ written beside my cousin’s name. Is that true? Or did he have a case of the last minute guilts and try to call off what he’d help set in motion? Is Nick innocent of Stephen’s death, as he claims, or is he as consummate a liar as his lady love? He’d lied to me for years about his affairs. Maybe that’s why Nick and Kelli were attracted to one another in the first place. Maybe people who lie together lay together. I’m down to a D minus.
Kelli’s second man, Lou Spaulding, is an internationally powerful and dangerous man from all accounts. Did Kelli really only marry Nick to get close to Spaulding? Or are Nick and Kelli playing him, too? And what info could be on the chip that has Spaulding ready to kill Nick in order to get it back?
Added thought: Why isn’t Spaulding going after Kelli with an ‘i’ as well or instead of Nick?
Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries Boxed Set: Books 1-3 (The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries) Page 55