Tahoe Ghost Boat (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller)

by Todd Borg

  “And now you are beautiful and you have a great car, right? So you can move past that.”

  FIVE

  Nadia stared at me.

  “What’s your daughter’s name?” I finally asked.

  “We named her Gertrude. You know how old-fashioned names are back in style. Merrill, my ex, calls her Gertie, but I call her Trudy.”

  “Is Trudy your only child?” I asked.

  “Yes. I have visitation rights. But Trudy doesn’t want me to come.” The woman used a pleading tone in her little speech, but it felt flat to me.

  “It doesn’t sound to me like you ever liked your daughter.”

  “What do you mean?!” Nadia said. “I love her dearly!”

  “She was last on your list of people who are close to you. Maybe the truth is she’s just the victim of two parents who don’t care about her.”

  Nadia squinted at me. Her cheeks colored a shade of burgundy. “Merrill and Ian weren’t the only bastards I have to deal with.”

  “Were they bastards for the same reason I am? Because they made you face your real feelings about your daughter?”

  Nadia’s eyes moistened. Tears thickened and spilled over her lower lids. She cried soft at first, then harder. Eventually, her lungs heaved as if she couldn’t get enough air.

  She reached into her purse and pulled out a tiny designer handkerchief that had a stitched logo and wouldn’t be sufficient to blot the tears of a distraught parakeet. She used it on her eyes, but tears escaped and fell onto her pantsuit.

  Spot was worried. He looked at her, turned to me as if to see if I was going to do something, then turned back to Nadia.

  I reached a box of tissues off the little sidebar that held the coffee maker and handed it to her.

  Nadia reached her fingers into the box and pulled out most of the tissues in a bunch. She held them against her eyes.

  In time, she calmed a bit, sniffled, blew her nose.

  Spot and I waited a long time.

  When she could breathe well enough to talk, she said, “Do you have a powder room?”

  I wondered how much of her reaction was sincere and how much was for dramatic effect. “In this building, we just have restrooms. Even the ones for women are just restrooms. Bad light. Tiny mirror.”

  She stood up. Even though she held the tissues in front of her face, I could see that her makeup had smeared. The pretty eyes were now more Halloween than beauty queen.

  “May I use your window for light?” she said, a little catch in her voice.

  “Certainly.” The only window in my office was behind my desk. Spot and I were blocking it. I stood, pushed my chair to the side, took hold of Spot’s collar, and took him to stand by the door with me.

  Nadia walked behind my desk, pulled a little makeup case out of her purse, and flipped open the mirror. She stood at an angle to the window, looked in the tiny mirror, and made a gasp.

  Eventually, she focused. She patted and blotted with the tissues. She found a cotton ball in her purse and rubbed it around her eyes. She used a miniature brush to draw with blue pigment. Then she pulled out a little tin and an applicator to dab at what looked like light chocolate parfait. She rubbed it on her cheeks and under her eyes. The cotton swab came out once again for touch-up. Then came a Q-tip for fine tuning. She blinked hard. Blotted some more. It was a long time before she put her tools back in her purse.

  I’d once had two rusted fenders repaired and the entire Jeep repainted with less work.

  Nadia went back to the chair and sat down, her back to Spot and me where we were still standing at the door.

  I let go of Spot and went back to my desk chair. Spot tried to sniff Nadia’s face. She held her hand up and ducked.

  “Spot, c’mere.” I patted my thigh.

  He didn’t even look at me.

  “C’mere,” I said again.

  Spot glanced at me, then looked back at Nadia. His head was taller than hers when she was sitting. She kept her hand up as a barrier.

  Spot walked over to the rug by the door, turned one and a half circles, lay down, and sighed, no doubt wondering why people put on strange-smelling stuff and then didn’t even let him smell it.

  “I’m a bad mother,” Nadia said. “I know that. But Trudy has been a difficult child to love. She’s hard in every way. Hard acting, hard personality, even hard looking.”

  “What does that mean, hard looking?”

  Nadia closed her eyes and took a deep breath as if to calm herself. She let it out and said, “Trudy was born with a cleft lip. They did surgery, of course. But it didn’t turn out very well. The scar kind of pulls at her lip. I’ve suggested several times that she could get it fixed. She could have pretty lips. If she got braces, she could have pretty teeth, too. But she won’t hear of it.”

  “How old is Trudy?” I asked.

  “She’s fifteen. Plenty old enough to know how important it is to look good.”

  “You mean, look good on your terms, like you,” I said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect makeup. What you like. Maybe Trudy looks just fine according to what she likes.”

  “With a scar on her lip? How could that ever be fine?”

  “There are some famous actresses with scars or at least some imperfections. Most people think they look great.”

  “They’re famous.” she said. “And they’re beautiful otherwise.”

  “They achieved in spite of their scars,” I said. “They can afford to get surgery, but they decide that their marks are part of who they are.”

  “But Trudy is young,” Nadia said. “She needs all the help she can get. She’s got her entire life in front of her. And she’s never going to be famous. She’s weird. Normal girls play with dolls. Trudy likes to make videos of weird stuff. Normal girls practice singing along with popular songs. Trudy recites rap lyrics. And she plays softball. She’s not very athletic, yet she wants to be a softball pitcher. How could I ever connect with a girl like that?”

  “I don’t know, Nadia. You said Trudy lives with her father?”

  “Yes. In Sacramento.”

  “What’s Merrill’s last name?”

  “O’Leary.”

  “What’s Merrill like?”

  Nadia looked down at her lap. “He’s pretty rough on the outside, especially when you first meet him. But he can be a nice guy. At least, he was when I first met him. I was at a sports bar and he was next to me. He was the first guy who didn’t try to use a stupid pickup line on me. Instead, we just watched the game. And we discovered that we liked the same teams. So we started going to some games. Pretty soon we got married. He promised me he’d take me to Hawaii for our honeymoon. But when we got married, Merrill’s probation officer wouldn’t let him go.”

  “What was Merrill’s crime?”

  “Assault. He’s a big guy, and, you know, sometimes fighting just comes natural to big guys.”

  “Why did you and Merrill get divorced?”

  “What does this have to do with me getting blackmailed?”

  “Everything about you and your life and the people closest to you matters because somewhere in your world is some bit of information that might lead us to the blackmailer.”

  She took a big breath and let it out. “The reason we got divorced is that Merrill’s kind of a loser. No ambition. No drive to improve himself. I suspected that when I married him. But I believed all that stuff about how money doesn’t buy happiness. I stayed married to him for ten years. I gave him and Trudy my best years, but I couldn’t take it anymore. And because of Trudy, which we didn’t plan, we couldn’t afford a new car or even new clothes. We couldn’t eat out. We couldn’t travel. And Merrill never even applied for promotions when they came available at work. I’m a girl on my way up. I’ve got big plans. Merrill is never going up. Level or down is his direction.”

  “What’s he do?”

  “He drives a forklift in a warehouse. He says it’s fun and that i
t’s useful work. Imagine that. What could possibly be fun about driving a forklift?”

  Nadia held out her hand, palm down, fingers outstretched. Maybe she was admiring her nails.

  “We lived in Reno all ten years we were married. After we split, he took Trudy to Sacramento.”

  “When was that?”

  “Our divorce was finalized six years ago. He asked for custody of Trudy, but I think it was more about spite for me than wanting to care for Trudy. So I gave it to him.”

  “Custody,” I said.

  “Yeah.” She nodded.

  “Did you give him custody just to spite him back? Or because you didn’t want to care for Trudy, either?”

  I thought she’d get mad, but she was reflective for a bit.

  “Probably both,” she said. “The truth is that I’m shallow. I admit it. I care about presentation more than I should. Merrill is a regular guy. He likes sports and blow-’em-up movies, and he drinks Budweiser. Too much Budweiser.”

  “You liked sports, too. That’s how you met Merrill.”

  “Yeah, but not anymore. Big guys slamming into each other. That’s like – I don’t know – like those ancient guys with horses and buggies and trying to throw the losers to the lions. I forget what they’re called.”

  “Gladiators.”

  “Yeah. That’s what Merrill likes. He’s more into the violence of sports than the skills involved. He’s pretty primitive.”

  I nodded. “And you like opera and intellectual films, and you drink red wine.”

  Nadia’s eyes looked afire. “You’re making fun of me.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  She paused “No. Well, sort of. I don’t like opera, but I like musicals. Grease and Lion King are my favorites. I mostly watch rom-coms.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Romantic comedy movies. The only real intellectual film I’ve seen is Forrest Gump. That one really made me think. The lines he says are so profound. And yes, I like wine. Sitting around with a bunch of Monday-Night-Football fans drinking beer and yelling at the TV is the last place I want to be.”

  “Is Merrill a handsome guy?” I asked.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Curious, that’s all.”

  Nadia looked at me with suspicion. “No, he’s not. And he’s overweight. Real overweight. It’s not like it’s a genetic thing because his brother Ellison is normal weight. I’m convinced that if Merrill didn’t chow down constantly, he’d be like Ellison. He’d be handsomer, too.”

  The way she said it was wistful. “Handsome like Ellison,” I said.

  “Well, yeah, not that I care about that, of course. And if you’re wondering if Merrill being overweight had something to do with my leaving, the answer is no. And when I say that Trudy isn’t attractive, either, that doesn’t mean I don’t love her. She just doesn’t love me back.”

  Her answer sounded sincere, but I had no doubt that Trudy was aware of her shortcomings in her mother’s eyes.

  “You said that Trudy doesn’t want you to visit. Do you think Merrill has manipulated Trudy’s feelings?”

  “To be fair, no, not in any significant way. I don’t think he says bad things about me. But he doesn’t try to convince her that she should spend time with me, either. The truth is that I managed to ruin my relationship with my daughter all by myself. See, I’m willing to admit that. I don’t think I’m all that great.”

  “Has Merrill been in any other trouble besides assault?”

  “No. And anyway, that was a long time ago. Years before we were married. And it wasn’t his fault, either. The other guy attacked him. He was just defending himself. But because he won the fight, he was the one who got charged.” Nadia stared at me. “You’re a really suspicious man, aren’t you?”

  “Part of my job.”

  “You think Merrill might be the blackmailer?” she asked.

  SIX

  “I’m just wondering. He could be the blackmailer and a murderer.”

  Nadia made a short, quiet inhalation.

  “He lost you because he wasn’t flashy enough,” I said. “You said he was on the down track and you were going up. With two million, he could buy a large amount of flash.”

  “I find that insulting.” Nadia flared her nostrils.

  “Is it untrue?” I asked.

  She looked as if she were about to stand up and leave. “Yes, it’s untrue. I know Merrill. He would never blackmail me.”

  “Do you think that the blackmailer’s threat could mean that Trudy is at risk?”

  “Trudy?” She sounded shocked.

  I waited.

  “The blackmailer threatened me, not Merrill and Trudy. And that... that would be pure evil to threaten a child,” she said. “But even if the blackmailer were that evil,” she continued, “no one in my world even knows that Merrill and Trudy exist.”

  “Two million is a big reward for effort. It’s not that hard to poke around and look for ways to pressure you.”

  “I just can’t see it,” she said.

  “Would you respond to a threat to them?”

  Nadia paused, then said, “Of course! I couldn’t let anything happen to them. They’re my family. Like Ian. Well, not like Ian. But I still care.”

  “Would you pay the blackmailer’s demand if he threatened Merrill and Trudy?”

  “Oh, that’s what you meant. No way. That would be like negotiating with terrorists. That’s morally wrong. I won’t pay it because of the threat to me, either.”

  “You are a woman of high ethical standards,” I said. I tried not to sound sarcastic, but this woman made it difficult.

  “Of course. Good morals are the only way to have a worthwhile life. You must know that, working in law enforcement.”

  We were silent a moment.

  “Where does Merrill work?” I asked. “Do you have the phone number?”

  “I don’t know where he works.”

  “Do you have his home address?”

  She nodded. “I’ve never been there, but I have it in my purse.” She reached into the small bag, pulled out a tiny book, flipped through the pages. She wrote on a Post-it and handed it to me.

  Nadia suddenly frowned. “You’re not going to go there.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Please don’t. Merrill is kind of a privacy nut. If you tell him about my problem, he’ll be angry.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he wants the world to leave him alone. He’s ornery. He would think that my problem was forcing him to deal with the world. He wouldn’t like that.”

  I wondered if Nadia didn’t want me to visit him for reasons of her own. “Ornery doesn’t give him a pass regarding his responsibilities. Being in charge of Trudy means he has to accommodate any kind of threat that might touch her.”

  Nadia seemed to ponder the thought. “If you go, I’ll come with you.”

  “That’s not a good idea. I may just talk to him on the phone. Either way, I don’t want to interject the tensions between you and your ex into the situation. Better if I just talk to him. It will keep things calmer.”

  “Then I should prepare Merrill for your visit.”

  “No, it’s best that I approach him independently, not as an emissary from you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “If he thinks of me as your representative, his response will be different than if he thinks of me as a law enforcement officer warning him of a threat.”

  SEVEN

  I ushered Nadia out. She’d given me a job to do, and I was happy to have the work. But I didn’t want to spend any more time in her self-focused world than necessary.

  I took Spot with me and drove over the summit heading west. The sky was a dramatic mix of fast-moving, dark gray clouds. The sun stabbed through in short bursts like stage lights going on and off in a theater. Snow showers of hard, little pellets pinged on the windshield. When I turned on the wipers, the snow stopped, and the sun hit the win
dshield making the wipers squeak. Off with the wipers, and the snow fell again as if I could control the weather with the wiper switch.

  Traffic was mild, and I was in Sacramento in two hours.

  I found my exit off the freeway and navigated multiple turns through the Oak Park neighborhood before I drove by a small bungalow with the house number Nadia had given me. I found a parking spot down the block and walked back.

  The house was a narrow, rectangular box on a narrow lot. There was a short wire fence of the type to suggest property boundaries to a pet, but it was not substantial enough to restrain an arthritic Chihuahua. I opened the little gate, walked up a short stretch of broken concrete sidewalk, and knocked on a white door, my knuckles breaking off little chips of peeling paint that had maybe never been subjected to knuckles. The door was old and had panels like a thin interior door, not like a secure, exterior door. There was no deadbolt lock.

  If this house had visitors, they weren’t frequent.

  After a minute, the door opened, and a roundish girl with a messy mop of red hair looked up at me. She made me think of a Raggedy Ann doll. But despite the soft exterior, she looked strong underneath. She had three large silver rings in her right ear. They weren’t the smooth silver of jewelry but tarnished gray rings like the rims of very old nickels. Her left ear was plain. Barely hanging from her lips, looking about to fall, was a cigarette. It distracted from the cleft lip scar that so irritated her mother.

  In the girl’s left arm, she cradled a small dog with long, wiry gray hair and intelligent eyes. The dog stared at me, panting. In the girl’s right hand, she held an iPhone.

  With a single deft thumb, she pressed several buttons, then pocketed the phone. The girl took a drag on the cigarette then plucked it from her lips with the first and second fingers of her right hand. She lifted her arm up so that her hand rested against the door frame. The cigarette ash was a quarter inch long, and it wavered next to the door frame molding. Her fingers were callused and looked strong, and her skin was tan in color, no doubt inherited from her mother. It was a startling contrast to her red hair and blue eyes.