One Lost Soul More: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 1)

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Mind if I join you?” I said, approaching the bitch with caution.

  “You’re Craven’s new protégée, correct?”

  “That’s me.”

  “And your name?”

  We hadn’t discussed changing my name, so I told her the truth.

  “Where you from?” she asked.

  “Virginia.”

  “Where’d you meet Craven?”

  “Mutual friends.”

  “He’s a hard worker. Relentless. More energy than I have.”

  “Were you close to Joey?”

  Her eyes widened and she stared at me without answering. I wondered if I had actually said what I thought I had said. Maybe the words came out wrong. I wanted to repeat it, but I was afraid to say anything at the moment. I waited.

  “Why do you ask that?” she said rather defensively.

  “Oh, no reason. I had heard that you were business associates.”

  “Yes. Business associates. I don’t know what else you have heard, but we were not close.” She sounded firm and convinced, so I decided not to challenge her on that point. Besides, I was making mental notes and learning. I had truly heard nothing as to their relationship.

  “I don’t know many people here, except the ones I came with. Do most of these folks work in the office with you?”

  “Honey, most of these folks work for me.”

  “And I bet they love it, too.”

  She stood abruptly, placed her plate hard on the seat she had just vacated, and walked off towards Craven Malone. Anger personified. Obviously my winning personality had captivated another individual.

  34

  “What in God’s name did you say to Andy at the funeral?” Craven asked me as we were speeding along towards our hotel in the stretch limo.

  “Just being my friendly self. Wanted to get acquainted with her.”

  “Well, she certainly did not take a liking to you, whatever you said. She called you several choice names and suggested rather strongly that I dismiss you as my protégée.”

  ‘Good thing you don’t take orders from her,” I said.

  He coughed a few times in an unsuccessful attempt at clearing his throat. His color was a shade whiter than normal. He was struggling. J.C. leaped across the seat to assist him.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Malone?” she asked.

  “Fine, fine. Just lost my breath there for a moment. This old body is closing down quickly. I need some rest, that’s all.”

  He coughed again and this time strained to clear his throat. Sounded the same to me. J.C. remained at his side the rest of the trip back.

  I stayed in the lobby while the rest of our motley entourage retired, presumably, to their suites. I had no real reason to remain in the lobby except that I wanted a break from my business associates and needed some privacy to call Rogers. Time to check in.

  “How’s life with the rich and famous?”

  “Luxuriously boring.”

  “No handsome hunk waiting on the terrace anxious to sweep you off?”

  “Rein in that wild imagination of yours. Tell me about that home in Mooresville.”

  “Not much to report.”

  “Pulling my leg?”

  “Not this time. Apparently they were given an anonymous gift, and the donor insisted that no paper trail lead back to him or her. Everything seems to be above board as far as I can discern. I can find no misappropriations or even the hint of impropriety. Looks like you will have to travel to Mooresville and check them out in person if you are to find something.”

  “And I pay you so well to find things out. Now you fail me.”

  “My efforts have not been completely wasted, love.”

  “You have something with which I can actually work?”

  “Guess who is the head of state at Lusty?”

  “Now that Joey Malone is out of the picture?”

  “Even before that.”

  “You mean it wasn’t little Joey?”

  “Joey was the boss on paper, but the files I hacked revealed a rather different pecking order.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Barbara Anderson Dilworth. Have you had the pleasure?”

  “I’ve had something, thank you. Pleasure would not be my first choice of terms to describe the encounter. Generally speaking, she’s a bitch, and that’s a nice word for her. She’s the editor, of course she runs things.”

  “She’s been that since the late sixties. Can’t find anything yet on how she got there, but she came in as Assistant Editor two years prior to her big advancement. Nothing like a quick trip up the corporate ladder. She’s a cutthroat. Watch your backside. Dangerously smart. Anyhow, it’s documented that Joey Malone liked her from the beginning. I found some non-public interoffice memos to that effect. I read a little between the lines and figured that maybe there was something more than professional respect between Dilworth and Malone.”

  “Believe me, I’ve met her and there is nothing alluring about this woman’s appearance or charm. She goes by B.A. to everyone but Craven. You can easily figure out what that B.A. stands for behind her back, and it’s not Barbara Anderson. You truly think she and Joey were an item.”

  “I found nothing that absolutely confirms it, but you know my female intuition. I sense something there. Subtle, well hidden from public scrutiny, except to an expert like me.”

  “Toot your horn, babes.”

  “Well somebody has to. Getting a compliment from you is like getting tea out of a milk pitcher.”

  “I adore your metaphors.”

  “Classy, huh? So, snoop around Editor Dilworth, but do be careful. She’s actually fired more people than she has hired. Strange stat, but verifiable. And since her charm is closely linked to that of a piranha, you might keep both eyes open and on her around the clock.”

  “Noted.”

  “I’m just sayin’.”

  “Dogs good?”

  “Margie is spoiling them rotten. Wait. Here comes Sam now. Let me see if he wants to say something to you. I’ll turn on the speaker phone and you two buddies can talk.”

  I heard a whine and then a short bark. Clear enough to me.

  “Hey, buddy. You taking care of the place for me?”

  A single bark response.

  “Margie handling your every whim?”

  One bark.

  “When I get back, we’ll travel to North Carolina together. I have a several-day trip down to the Tar Heel state. I’ll need my partner on that one. You up for some investigative work?”

  One bark.

  “Rogers?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “See if you can find anything on Joey Malone’s murder investigation. The Detroit police are bound to have a file on it already. Call me back tonight and give me some names to check. Ten or so.”

  The line went dead. She never really got phone etiquette.

  “You got a partner?” Reno’s burly voice interrupted my pondering on B.A. Dilworth just as Rogers disconnected us.

  “I have lots of aides and contacts who help me from time to time,” I said. I figured I could probably tell Reno the truth and it would be safe with him since his IQ matched his waist size. However, not wanting to risk exposure to him and his contacts, I decided against being openly truthful.

  “Peoples on the inside?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Like me. I sorta have some pull on the inside myself. I know some big-time folks who sets the mood, you know?”

  “Sets the mood?” I said.

  “Yeah. You know. In charge. Runs stuff. Tells peoples what to do and how to think.”

  “Oh, yeah. Those kind of folks. I bet you do.”

  I walked towards the elevator thinking we would part company and life would be grand. He followed me.

  “You come looking for me?” I said as we both entered the elevator to go up.

  “Yeah. Mrs. Dilworth said I should find you and see what you wuz up to?”

  “I’m up to f
ive feet and nine inches, Bubba,” I said and put my right arm on top of head to help him understand my line. “Tell her that.”

  “Huh?” he said. It didn’t help.

  35

  Craven Malone and B.A. Dilworth were having a private meeting in his suite. I didn’t remember seeing her come in the hotel. Perhaps she had walked through the lobby and seen me on the phone. Reno was sent down to retrieve me. Apparently everyone, in addition to every thing, has its place.

  “You think I should crash the little meeting next door?” I said to my roommate.

  “What meeting?” Whitmore said.

  “Craven and B.A. are in session.”

  “Mr. Malone and B.A. Dilworth?” she seemed genuinely surprised.

  “That’s what my watchdog told me.”

  “Your watchdog. What are you talking about?”

  “Reno came down to the main lobby to entice me to come upstairs. Apparently B.A. was worried about me being alone downstairs.”

  “Makes no sense. Why would she be concerned about you … unless she suspects something.”

  I was surprised at her insight. I also happened to agree with her. She must suspect that I am not just another protégée. Bad acting on my part. Too much wit to be a business associate.

  “Think I blew my cover?”

  She chuckled at me.

  “What? Don’t I act like a person under the employee of Mr. Craven Malone?”

  “Not in a million years, lady. You’re not subservient enough.”

  “You don’t grovel so well yourself,” I answered.

  “Only when I have to. Around the boss, Mr. Craven, I grovel. He could fire and replace me in a breath. I make too much money to have to change my lifestyle at this point. I could never find a job making six figures.”

  I had assumed she was highly paid, but my number didn’t have six digits before the decimal.

  “Everyone has his price.”

  “Don’t sound so damn uppity. You have a price, too.”

  “Everyone can be bought?”

  “You betcha.” Wow. She actually used some slang.

  I dropped the subject since she obviously had her mind made up about people in general. She may have been right, but I would like to think that I could draw lines at some points along the way towards selling out. I still figured that there would be some things I would not do. Not that I could not do them, just that my scruples would stop me short of violating my own ethics. One hopes. The end does not always justify the means. However, I had to admit even to myself that my most recent squabble alongside of Rosey at this cabin retreat forced me to give pause. I killed three people.

  “I think I’m going to go next door.”

  “You’re crazy, you know. You’re asking for trouble.”

  “Craven will be upset with me?”

  She chuckled, but it was not the sound that comes from someone amused. More like an incredulous laugh. Derisive. To the point.

  “Hardly. Mrs. B.A.D. is the serpent in this story,” she said.

  “I thought you could only crunch numbers and do health checks. I like that, Whitmore. Mrs. B.A.D.”

  “Wait till you taste her venom.”

  “Voice of experience?”

  “No. Reader of data.”

  I checked my weapon under my left shoulder hidden by my jacket. Just in case Dilworth got ugly, I could always shoot her. I knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Craven’s voice rasped out from the other side.

  I opened the door and found Malone and Dilworth sitting in the living room section of his suite. They were drinking something.

  “Yes, Clancy? You need something?”

  “Enlightened conversation,” I said.

  Dilworth gave me a strange look.

  “Have a seat. Join us. We were just talking about the new subscription figures released for Lusty this quarter.”

  “Up or down?” I said.

  “Up,” Craven said with great enthusiasm. I figured he was acting since he had previously told he hated the magazine. Playing to the crowd.

  “Why are we having this conversation with this peon?” Dilworth said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry Andy. I should have told you earlier, just didn’t have time. Listen, this is strictly hush, hush. Clancy here is a private investigator. She’s working for me to find out who killed Joey.”

  “The Detroit police can do that. In fact, they are very good at what they do. I would trust them a whole lot more than some prowling private eye.”

  Her disdain for me was more than just as a peon business associate. True affections run deep. So do afflictions.

  “Well, Clancy here will just make sure that things add up, that’s all. She’s not here to get in the way of the police work. You never know, she might find something they overlooked.”

  Dilworth rolled her eyes as she sipped whatever it was she was drinking.

  “Would you like something from the bar?” Craven said to me.

  “Martini. Shaken, not stirred.”

  “Well, well. A regular James Bond, we have here. Licensed to kill?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Especially vermin.”

  If looks could kill, I’m already dead and someone is writing my eulogy. Dilworth was not like Reno. She was especially fast on the uptake. I would definitely have to watch my back with her.

  Craven was at the bar shaking my Martini. Dilworth was giving me the evil eye.

  “So this explains, I suppose, why you were asking those horrid questions of me at the reception.”

  “Suppose so.”

  “And all this time I just thought you were a rude and obnoxious underling.”

  “I am rude and obnoxious. Underling is a stretch.”

  I thought that deserved a smile, but she was a tough audience.

  “Olive with this?” Craven called from the bar.

  “Absolutely.”

  “So you heard that Joey Malone and I were close?”

  “Not exactly. Sometimes you ask questions just to see what the person will say. You assume a bit here and there, and then you watch reactions. Clues.”

  “So you have heard nothing about Joey Malone and myself?”

  “Nary a peep.”

  “What?”

  “Not even a whisper. Your reputation is still intact.”

  She finished her drink in obvious displeasure. She set the glass down on the table beside her with such force, I knew that the glass would surely break into small pieces. No breakage. Sturdy glass.

  “Craven, I must be going,” she stood up when he handed me my drink. “Thank you so much for all you have done. It was a lovely funeral.”

  They embraced without touching. It was that high-society ethereal cheek to cheek sort of ritual that goes on among folks who love to pretend.

  “Well, Andy, you did all the arranging from this end. Couldn’t have done it without you. Let me know if you need anything. I mean that. Call me anytime.”

  “You’re a dear. Thanks for the drink and the suggestions. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

  He walked her to the door. They embraced once more without touching. Love that maneuver. Must get her to teach it to me sometime.

  Craven walked back to the chairs and sat down. He let out a great breath and stared at me over the tops of his reading glasses.

  “You really piss her off, don’t you?” he said and laughed. It was a good, strong hearty laugh as if he really enjoyed what was happening.

  36

  We were riding in separate cabs heading towards The Rattlesnake Club for our nighttime meal and adventure. Craven and his associates were returning to Virginia Beach the next morning. Our last evening on the town together. Whoopie.

  I was riding with Reno and Pee Wee. Georgio rode with Malone and Whitmore. Something was up. My keen detective skills were buzzing around inside my intuition. I could taste it, but I couldn’t identify the label.

  “Boss says you stayin’ in De-troit,” Reno said. We were friends by
now. Intimate communication will do that.

  “Found some work to do.”

  “Big cities can be dangerous.”

  “So can little villages,” I said thinking of my hometown.

  “Yeah, but there’s more bad here than good. Watch your step.”

  I was touched. His tone sounded as if he genuinely meant it as a warning to be careful. It could have been a warning shot across my bow.

  “Whatdaya know about De-troit?” Pee Wee said.

  “I know plenty,” Reno said with gusto.

  “You know squat,” his little brother answered.

  “Know more than you do,” Reno offered.

  “Shut up. You talk too damn much.”

  Reno stopped talking. Pee Wee looked out the window. It had stopped raining, but the streets were shiny from the city lights. Maybe Reno did talk too much, but a heads-up to a world class detective never goes unheeded.

  The Rattlesnake Club has a great view of the Detroit River. Their specialty is steak, thank God. They also offer a variety of seafood, so I was relieved to discover that I could dine with the crew once more and eat something I could name. I was also relieved that Craven was still picking up the tab.

  Instead of separate tables, the hired guns dined with the rest of the family. I included myself in the hired gun category since everyone in our little group now knew who I really was and what I was supposed to do. I still wondered what I was supposed to do despite my having a rather strong sense of who I was.

  Our host began his dining pleasure with an appetizer of Malpeque and Cape Ann Oysters with Lemon Vodka Mignonette and Spicy Shoestrings. They sounded exotic to me, but I somehow managed to pass. Whitmore chose the Yellow and White Peaches Entwined with Prosciutto, Arugula and Vidala Onions, accompanied by the Parmesan Crisp. I love the names of these dishes. Sounded truly uptown. All the way. I passed on the peaches and onions, despite the great looking crisp.

  The three stooges and I had more in common than I realized. Without planned collusion, we each decided to watch the boss and Whitmore eat their starters while we sipped our way to the entrees of choice.