by Dave Stanton
“I’m sorry,” I said finally.
“We were getting a divorce anyway. He was bad news.”
“Oh. But still…were you and your husband friends with Jimmy?”
“Yes. He invited us to visit. We were just leaving when all hell broke loose.”
We came off the pass and drove around the lake, past the casinos, and crossed the state line into California. I pointed out a few hotels.
“My place is just a couple miles up the road,” I said. When we pulled into my driveway, I shut off the motor and looked at her. “Hey, you’re welcome to stay in my guest room. You should probably get some ice on that eye.”
“That’s kind of you. I’m not working now, so money is sort of tight.”
“I hear you.”
We went inside, and I threw some logs in the stove while she showered. When she came out to my living room, she was wearing a loose cotton sweat suit. Her hair was still wet, and she had combed it straight. “Here,” I said, handing her a bag of frozen peas. “Fifteen minutes on your eye, then fifteen on your lip.” She sat curled on the couch, watching me stoke the fire.
“How did you get involved in all this?” she asked.
I closed the stove door and stood. “Are you hungry?”
“Yeah,” she said shyly. “What do you have?” She followed me into the kitchen.
“A couple cans of soup. Some bread. Cheese. Eggs. Cold cuts.”
“I’ll cook,” she said, but I made her go back to the couch. I heated her some soup and made a grilled-cheese sandwich.
“Do you have any booze?” she asked.
“Sure.” She sat at my kitchen table, and I brought her food and a vodka cocktail. I had originally thought she was about twenty-five, but without makeup and under bright lighting, it was clear she was in her thirties. Her nose was on the small side, and her blue eyes looked quite large and doe like. It was her eyes that made her face look so young.
“Thank you, this is very good,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
She took a bite from her sandwich. “So, what is it you do?”
“I’m a private investigator. Jimmy Homestead’s stepmother hired me to find him, after he won the Lotto.”
“Oh. Do you always carry a gun around?”
“Not always.”
“I’m sure glad you did today. It seemed like you knew those cops who showed up. Did you?”
“Yeah, one of them. There was some trouble here last year, and I got caught in the middle of it. I helped uncover some crimes committed by a county sheriff.”
“Does that mean the police like you?”
“Not exactly. But they’ll cut me some slack at times.”
“I imagine that’s convenient in your line of work.”
“Can be,” I said, mixing a drink. “Are you planning to drive home tomorrow?”
Heather stared at her glass and took a long swig. “Yes, I suppose I will. We have an apartment in San Jose—I mean, I have one, and…oh.” She tried to speak, but her voice cracked, then she bowed her head and began crying. After a couple of minutes, she looked up and tried again to speak, but she was sobbing, and her words were incoherent. She pounded her fists on the table and bawled until I thought she probably had no more tears left in her. It became awkward sitting there, so I went and started straightening up the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sniffling. “I was hoping I wouldn’t do that, but it’s been a really bad day.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I said.
“I don’t want to bore you with the details of my crummy life.”
“I’m a good listener. And no one’s life is perfect, believe me.”
She looked up at me with her vulnerable face, and I knew men could easily be smitten by her. Her eyes were her most alluring feature, but what really got me was how her heart-shaped lips moved when she talked, her teeth flashing white the few times I’d seen her smile. It was a face to kill for. As for her body—her outrageous curviness and the trimmed patch of blonde hair between her legs—it could tempt and torment a man until his life was a complete shamble. I squeezed my eyes shut and actually wished I’d not seen her naked.
I chased the lustful thoughts with the remains of my drink. She had been beaten and almost raped, and this after her husband was murdered before her eyes. I felt like a creep for even thinking of trying to seduce her.
We moved to the couch, the heat from my stove warming the room, the flames dancing behind the glass.
“I like your place,” she said. “It’s cozy.”
“I like it too. I moved here about a year ago, from San Jose.”
“Really? That’s where I live. I’ve been there almost my whole life. I lived with my parents, then I lived with girl roommates, and then, I met Eric. This will probably sound really stupid, but you know why I married him? The main reason was because of his looks. He just fit the mold of what I always imagined my husband would look like—tall, strong, blond, and handsome. I figured everything else would just fall into place.”
“Everything else?”
“Yes, well, financially, I mean. He told me he had plans to be a real estate agent, and we’d have plenty of money. I just figured the money would be a given, I guess. Things had always worked out for me. I was very popular in high school, head of the cheerleading squad, homecoming queen. Even after high school, life came easy. My college teachers, the men anyway, gave me good grades, even when I didn’t turn in assignments. I worked as a receptionist, and it was easy and fun, and the pay was fine. But it all started going bad after I got married.”
“How so?”
“Eric turned out to be different than I thought. He liked to talk big, but he had issues with his temper and struggled career-wise. Every time he got a job, he would screw it up. Then, he started taking steroids and things got worse—his personality got more extreme. He was always wound up, and he just had so much anger. He scared me.”
“Did he ever hurt you?”
“Not physically, no. But I knew eventually he would. After he lost his last job, I started working at a strip joint because we needed the money. But I got tired of men drooling after me, you know? All my life I’ve been attractive, and men chased me. But being a stripper meant taking advantage of my looks for money. After a while it made me feel sleazy, like I was a whore. So, I quit. And Eric went crazy. I knew then I had to get away from him.”
“Sounds like he was a bad guy.”
“You’re damn right he was. You know how I feel now that he’s dead? I feel relieved. That’s it. No grief or sorrow. Just relief. I know that might make me seem like a real cold-hearted bitch, but it’s the truth.”
“I think your feelings are justified.”
“Thanks. I mean, thanks for understanding.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“Actually, I see this as a turning point for me. I’m going to get a real job and find a real man. Someone calm and level-headed and nice, someone who makes a solid, consistent living.”
“That sound like a good plan, Heather,” I said, stoically aware that my lack of a steady income precluded me from her vision of a real man.
She smiled and wiped a little tear from her eye. “My life may be upside down now, but I’m looking forward to getting things straightened out.”
“I have a question for you,” I said. “What were you and Eric really doing at Jimmy’s house?”
She paused, and I saw a tiny shift in her expression. “Why do you want to know?”
“Do you know Sheila Majorie, Jimmy’s mother?”
“No. Should I?”
“No.”
“I don’t get where you’re going with this,” she said. “What does she have to do with anything?”
“She hired me to do some investigative work involving Jimmy. I have reason to believe she was somehow involved with the men who killed your husband and abducted you.”
“Wow. That’s interesting. But I have no idea who Ji
mmy’s mom is.”
“That’s good,” I said, more to myself than to her.
“I’m pretty tired,” she said. “I better get some sleep.”
She said good night and went to the guest bedroom. I sat for a minute and considered her life and where it was going. I had the same questions about my own. After turning the lights off, I thought about mixing a final drink, but I was exhausted. I felt sure Heather’s visit to Jimmy Homestead was more than an innocent social call, but I reminded myself that my interest in the case had expired, save for whatever effort, most likely futile, I would expend to get paid by Sheila. I walked to my room like a zombie, wondering what I’d do now that my truck was out of commission and would probably cost thousands of dollars to repair. Pine needles rattled against my window, and when I looked outside, tiny snow flurries were blowing in all directions, as if the laws of gravity no longer applied, and each flake was left to find its own way.
44
From the back seat of the cruiser, Jimmy watched the cops sort out the mess. They covered the dead bodies, took pictures, strung yellow crime-scene tape all over the place, and finally loaded the living into squad cars: Sanzini in one, Debbie in another, and the two dudes who were Sheila’s hired muscle into a third.
Jimmy stared hard at the second man, who had mysteriously shown up. Was he responsible for the death of the three men who kidnapped him? It appeared he was. The longer Jimmy looked at his face, the more he felt sure he recognized him from some time in his distant past. He could actually hear a crackling sound as the neurons in his brain kicked into overdrive, trying to dredge up a clue from who knows how many years ago. But he finally conceded he’d cooked too many brain cells.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to keep the cuffs from digging into his wrists. Why the asshole cop had cuffed him, Jimmy didn’t know. He leaned forward, and his eyes settled dully on the carpet below him. And then, in a quiet and brief moment of revelation, it hit him: the guy’s name was Dan Reno.
Jimmy remembered him from high school, or maybe shortly afterward. His father was a crackpot who had changed the family name from Reynolds to Reno. Someone had teased Dan Reno about it—once. Jimmy remembered Reno as a tough but reasonable type, someone you’d want on your side, if possible.
But what in Kelsey’s nuts was Reno doing here now, and whose side was he on? What was he doing with Sheila? Why had a man Jimmy had casually known fifteen years ago reappeared at this juncture, shortly after Jimmy won the Lotto? Jesus Christ, what a mind fuck. Jimmy shook his head and wished he was drinking highballs somewhere. His day just kept getting stranger.
Things didn’t get any less weird at the station. Jimmy expected the cops to quickly realize that he was a victim, and his escape in the parking lot was a heroic act. Jimmy liked the sound of that. It was true—he was a freaking hero. But the Reno PD brought in a couple of detectives who apparently felt the events of the day just didn’t add up. They sat him in an interview room and questioned him relentlessly about his past relationship with Sanzini, and tried to insinuate that he had some illicit dealings with the Latinos who had kidnapped and almost killed him. Then, they shifted gears to Debbie and her husband. Jimmy told them the pair was running a scam on him, but the detectives had other ideas.
“We think you lured Heather Sanderson to your house to assault her.”
“Heather? She told me her name was Debbie. I met her on an Internet dating site, and she visited me for a date. She was giving me a lap dance when this big motherfucker invaded my house and hit me so hard in the stomach I probably have internal bleeding.”
“And next thing you know, the ‘big motherfucker’ ends up dead. How convenient.” The cop standing over Jimmy had close-set eyes and a receding hair line.
“Yeah, it was real convenient getting my ass kicked, then being forced at gunpoint to withdraw money from my bank.”
“And then, you scamper away, just like that.”
“Like I said, I distracted him, and before he could pull his gun, I darted behind a car and ran away. I thought he’d come after me, but there was a security guard there, and he already had my money.”
“Let’s get back to Heather and her husband. Had you ever met Eric Sanderson before?”
“Her husband? I had no idea the bitch was married.”
The detectives looked at each other, and Jimmy stood. “Just so you know, right now, I’m probably the richest person in Reno. I was thinking of settling down here, but if this is how you treat your residents, the hell with this place.”
“The Chamber of Commerce will be heartbroken,” the balding detective said.
They let Jimmy go after that, but it took another hour for him to recover the leather bag stuffed with cash. At first, the cops wanted to hold it as evidence, but they finally relented after the portly senior detective said there was no need. Before leaving the police station, Jimmy called his father and asked to be picked up. John began asking questions, but Jimmy told him to just calm down and come get him pronto. Holding the black satchel, Jimmy stood in the precinct lobby and waited for the LTD to arrive. At least the cops had given him his money. Other than that, he thought they were the biggest group of dipshits he’d ever met.
Sitting at a table in the Peppermill Casino lounge, John organized the brochures he’d picked up from the local auto dealerships. He had narrowed his choices to a Cadillac, a BMW, or a Lexus. They were all big, comfortable cars. Though he felt the BMW and Lexus had some advantages, the Cadillac really captivated him. When John was a young man, owning a Caddy was a huge status symbol, back before the Japanese and German cars became commonplace. He sipped his cup of coffee and wondered what color would be best.
After a while, he went to his room and tossed the glossy pamphlets on his bed, then headed to the hotel gym. Pedaling the stationary bike, he worked up a light sweat and let his mind wander. Meeting Jimmy was turning out to be exactly what he had hoped for. But now that he felt cautiously optimistic about the financial end of things, he knew he had to take care of his health as well. Being a fat slob didn’t jive with his image of himself for the future. A slim, toned physique would be more like it. That, and a nice car, a comfortable condo, and then, who knows? Anything was possible. Maybe he could even attract a desirable woman and have a sex life again. He pedaled faster, watching the drops of sweat fall off his nose.
Despite all the good things happening, John still didn’t feel comfortable with Lou Calgaretti’s conclusions on Sheila. The woman had gone as far as hiring two thugs to try to convince Jimmy to pay her off. She had obviously invested quite a bit of time and money in her scheme. Would she just give up? John didn’t think so. The virulent words that spilled from her during their divorce were not something easily forgotten. If she still harbored that kind of hatred, who knew what she might do?
Later that night, over a low-carb dinner at the casino restaurant, John decided to talk to Jimmy about safe investments for his fortune—not as a money-making venture, but as a way to protect the money from conniving bitches like Sheila. No doubt there would also be others out there who would view Jimmy as a target. He worried that Jimmy’s millions might evaporate quickly, either stolen by con artists or wasted by his own imprudent spending. Maybe he could help Jimmy put the majority of the money in certificates of deposit, or some kind of account where accessing it wouldn’t be so easy. In the morning, he would visit a bank and get educated on the options, John decided. Right after he bought his new car.
Confident all was in order in his world, John sat down to slay a few hours at a twenty-one table with a cute female dealer. He still had two crisp hundred-dollar bills in his wallet, left over from the $500 Jimmy had given him earlier in the day. He ordered a rum and diet cola, and was on a nice winning streak when his cell rang, and Jimmy asked to be picked up at the Reno police station.
45
The LTD rattled to a stop, and John watched Jimmy come out the glass doors, his hair uncombed, his clothes streaked with dirt.
> “What in hell?” John said.
“Listen, Pop, I need a drink bad, okay?”
“You want to go to a bar?”
“No. Just take me home.”
“I take it your date didn’t go well?”
“That’s an understatement.”
John stopped at a traffic light and turned toward his son. “Were you arrested?”
“What?” Jimmy laughed briefly. “It was nothing like that. What happened to me today…” Jimmy paused and tried to find the right words. “A pack of greedy bastards tried to steal my money,” he said finally.
When they got to the big house, it was dark, and the front door was locked. John let them in, and Jimmy flipped on the light switch in the entryway. “See that?” he said, pointing to a darkened area where the tile met the carpet. “That’s the blood of a man I saw murdered a few hours ago.”
Jimmy found a beer glass and mixed himself a stiff vodka. He walked through the house with his dad, turning on every light. He looked in the closet where the cops had told him Eric Sanderson’s body had been stuffed. Apparently, cleaning up the blood was not part of the ‘serve and protect’ deal.
After a few minutes, they sat in the living room, and Jimmy gave a detailed recounting of the day. At first, John was incredulous. It sounded like two separate schemes had collided at the house. First, Internet date Debbie and her now-dead husband, and then Sanzini and his Mexican drug dealing pals. When John got over his shock, he carefully considered all the details. There was one main issue he kept coming back to: the presence of the big dude and Dan Reno was a clear sign Sheila was still working some kind of scam.
“Son, the most important thing is you weren’t seriously hurt.”
“Yeah, I guess. Although I was freaking humiliated.”
“It could have been a lot worse. I think you need to start thinking what you can do to protect yourself from this kind of thing in the future.”