by Mike Befeler
Jennifer turned her head toward me. “When I visited you in Hawaii, I read some letters from your dad to your mom. What do you remember about your parents?”
I scratched my head. “That was a long time ago.”
“But I know you remember things fine from the distant past.”
I sighed. “Let’s see. My mom took good care of me, and my dad worked hard as a salesman, but he died young. He provided for us and seemed proud of me, but he never shared his feelings—not the type to give me a hug. I inherited that, I guess. I never hugged your dad either.”
“But I’ve cured that.” Jennifer reached over and put her arms around me.
“You certainly have.”
“What of your grandparents?”
“I never met my mother’s folks, but my dad’s parents came from the old country. They spoke Polish, lived on a farm in Minnesota and we visited them once a year or so.”
“I have relatives from Poland?”
“Yes. The family name originated as something like Jakubowski and must have been changed to Jacobson by some lazy immigration official.”
“Have you ever researched the history of our family, Grandpa?”
“No. I never had an interest in genealogy.”
“But what if we have kings or murderers in our past?” Jennifer asked, her eyes widening.
“I’m sure every family has some of each, sometimes in the same person. I’m perfectly content to know all of you. You’re the relatives who matter to me.”
“I have cousins on Mom’s side, but with you and Dad being only-children, I don’t have any uncles, aunts or cousins on your side of the family.”
“That’s right. You’re the third generation of spoiled kids.”
She stopped and stomped her foot. “I am not spoiled.” Then she grinned. “Maybe a little rotten.”
“People raised large families back then. My dad shared a house with six siblings.”
Jennifer grabbed my arm. “Sometimes I wish I had brothers and sisters, but I have lots of friends to make up for it.”
“That’s good. I felt the same way and your dad probably did as well.”
“Yes. I’ve talked to him. He says being an only-child caused him to learn things on his own.”
“I guess that’s true.”
* * * * *
That evening the doorbell rang, setting off Max woofing and scurrying into the entryway. I happened to be closest, so I opened the door to find a skinny man in a dark suit. “I’m sorry, we already donated,” I said.
“Very funny, Mr. Jacobson. We need to speak.”
I looked at him carefully. “You know my name, but who are you?”
He gave a resigned sigh and pulled out a badge. “I’m Detective Lavino. Your memory problem again?”
“Yeah. Have you closed down that retirement community scam yet?”
“No, but I have some further questions to ask you.”
“And I have some questions to ask you, too. What do you know regarding Gary Previn and Peter Kingston?”
“Mr. Jacobson, we have a more pressing matter at hand. A Mrs. Evans at Marshall Middle School told us you left school today with a girl named Katherine Milo.”
“My granddaughter has a friend named Katherine. We walked her home.”
“Her mother came home and found no sign of her. She called to report a kidnapping.”
“What?”
“And since you were the last person seen with her—”
“The last I saw of Katherine, she was giving her father a hug in the driveway.”
“That puts a whole new light on the situation. Mrs. Milo has custody of Katherine. It looks like her ex-husband may have abducted Katherine.”
“I didn’t realize he was doing anything wrong. Katherine seemed happy to see him.”
“These things get kind of messy sometime. I’d like to speak with your granddaughter as well. I need to ask you to leave the room while I speak with her.”
Allison called Jennifer, who came bouncing down the stairs.
I went to my room to ponder my strange life in Boulder while Detective Lavino gave Jennifer the third degree. I felt overwhelmed by everything happening so quickly. I didn’t seem to be able to stay in front of being around crimes. Here I was a law-abiding citizen and, whammo, I’m interrogated regarding murder, robbery and now a domestic kidnapping. I felt like I had been punched in the gut.
Later Allison came to retrieve me, saying the detective wanted to speak with me again.
“Your granddaughter corroborated your statement,” Lavino said.
“I would have expected as much. Now we need to discuss Previn and Kingston.”
“Another time, Mr. Jacobson. I have this reported kidnapping to attend to. I need to get back to Mrs. Milo with this new information.”
“Have it your own way, Detective.”
“We’ll be speaking, Mr. Jacobson.”
After the detective left, Denny said, “You seem to keep witnessing crimes. Do we need to find you a lawyer, Dad?”
“I don’t need any stinking attorney. I can handle this myself. Jennifer, I’m sorry things have become problematic for your friend Katherine.”
“In spite of the problems between Mr. and Mrs. Milo, Katherine loves her dad, and he’s always treated her well. I also told that to the detective.”
An hour later the phone rang. “It’s for you, Paul,” Allison said.
I picked it up.
“This is LeAnn Milo. Why did you let my asshole ex-husband take my daughter away?”
“And hello to you too, Mrs. Milo,” I said. “I’m sorry to hear of your daughter’s disappearance.”
“The detective said you walked her home and allowed my ex-husband to take her away.”
“I didn’t allow anything. Jennifer only told me later that you were divorced.”
“If I find you had anything to do with my daughter’s abduction, I’m going to make your life so unpleasant you’ll wish you never set eyes on me.”
“I’m wishing that already, and I’ve never even met you.”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
“Look, I’m just an old codger and haven’t done anything wrong. Let me put my lawyer on the phone to explain.”
I cupped the phone and called to Jennifer. “Come describe to Katherine’s lunatic mother what happened today.”
Jennifer grabbed the phone. “Hello, Mrs. Milo . . . Yes, ma’am . . . No, my grandpa and I left right after Katherine hugged her dad . . . No, ma’am . . . Yes, I’ll let you know if I hear from her, and my grandpa didn’t do anything wrong . . . Okay.”
“What did Mrs. Dracula have to say?” I asked.
“Oh, Grandpa, she isn’t so bad. She’s only worried. I tried to explain to her that I think Katherine is safe with Mr. Milo. Mrs. Milo has this wild idea in her head that you’re at fault for the kidnapping. I told her that wasn’t the case.”
“That’s me. The hired gun”
Jennifer pursed her lips. “She’s pretty upset.”
“Great. That’s all I need. In addition to Detective Lavino breathing down my neck, there’s a misguided lawyer disguised as a mother after me.”
“With all the things happening to you, get a lawyer, Dad,” Denny added from his easy chair.
“I don’t need one. I have enough trouble with the ones around me. I’ll let Jennifer represent me. She’d be better than any scumbag I could hire.”
“Cool. My first case.”
Chapter 8
During the rest of the week no one showed up to throw me to a pack of hungry lawyers, so on Saturday we prepared for a family outing into the mountains to check out the real estate touted by Colorado Mountain Retirement Properties.
We all piled into the family van with Max perched on Jennifer’s lap, nose pressed against the window.
Jennifer let out a loud hiccup.
“Where’d that come from?” I asked.
Jennifer scowled. “Uh-oh. When these start, they sometim
es last for hours.”
“Hold your breath.”
“No. That doesn’t work for me. I’ve tried that, putting a bag over my head, standing upside down, drinking water. Nothing helps. After awhile they seem to stop.”
“Why the interest in seeing this place?” Denny asked as we left I-470 and merged onto Highway 285.
“Hic . . . sorry.”
“I can’t mooch off you forever,” I said. “But more to the point, I’m suspicious of this outfit. With two of their salespeople flopping over dead practically on top of me, I need to check out their operation.”
“Grandpa and I will get to the bottom of this,” my backseat companion piped in, and then she hiccupped.
“Jennifer has been helping me with research on the computer, but I want to see for myself this property they’re trying to railroad people into buying.”
We continued our journey with the backseat jiggling every minute or so from the cacophony of hiccups.
An idea occurred to me. “I have a puzzle for all of you.”
“I love puzzles . . . hic . . . Grandpa.”
“And I know your mom likes puzzles. Are you all game?”
“Sure,” Allison replied.
“I’ll concentrate on driving but will listen,” Denny said.
“All right. Pay attention. A man walks into a bar and asks for a drink. The bartender points a gun at him. The man says ‘Thank you,’ and leaves the bar. You can ask any question that can be answered ‘yes’ or ‘no’.What happened?”
“You’re sure you remember the answer, Dad?” Denny asked.
“Yes. I learned this before my memory went on the fritz.”
“I’ll start, Grandpa. Was the gun loaded?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Did the two men know each other?” Allison asked.
“No.”
Jennifer bounced up and down. “Does it matter what the man asked to drink?”
“Good question. Yes.”
“Booze?” Denny chimed in.
“No.”
“Soft drink?”
“No.”
“Hummm.” Jennifer put her finger to her chin. “Could it be water?”
“Bingo.”
“He asked for water and the bartender pointed a gun at him . . .”
“I notice your hiccups have stopped,” I said to Jennifer.
A big smile crept over her face. “You’re right. I was so involved in the puzzle that I forgot about them, and they went away.”
“Does the man’s occupation matter?” Allison asked.
“No.”
A Cheshire cat grin spread across Jennifer’s face. “I think I have it, Grandpa.”
“Whisper in my ear. If you’re right we can let your folks keep guessing.”
She cupped her hand and in a soft voice said, “It’s something I was just suffering from.”
“You’re right.”
So Denny and Allison kept guessing, and Jennifer ricocheted around the backseat like a pinball shouting “yes,” or “no.”
Finally, Allison snapped her fingers. “Of course. A man walks into a bar and asks for a glass of water because he has hiccups. The bartender points a gun at him, scaring the hiccups away. The grateful man thanks the bartender for helping rid him of the hiccups and walks out.”
“Yes, Mom. That’s it!”
“Too bad someone couldn’t point a gun at me and scare my memory back,” I said.
We stopped for a snack in Buena Vista with Max whining when left by himself in the car. A friendly waitress took our order.
“Do you know anything about a retirement community being built just north of here off Highway 24?” I asked.
She gave me a pleasant smile. “Nope. Nothing I’ve heard of.”
“How did the town get its name?” Jennifer asked.
The waitress placed a finger on her chin. “The original name was Cottonwood because of all the cottonwood trees growing here along the upper Arkansas River. Then the name changed to Mahonville after a local rancher. But in 1879 it became Buena Vista because of the beautiful view.”
When we left the restaurant, I admired the fourteen thousand foot peaks off in the distance, agreeing with the name of the town and wondering what the retirement property would actually look like.
Back on the road, we followed the directions from the brochure and came to a dirt access road off Highway 24.
“Pretty place,” Allison said.
“Yeah, I wonder how much of the development they’ve completed. The property should be a mile up this road.”
And after that, the dirt road simply ended; no signs, only sage and tumbleweeds.
We jumped out of the car to wander around. I scanned in all directions like an Indian scout checking for buffalo. Nothing.
Max shot off after a prairie dog that had taunted him before disappearing into a hole.
“There’s a sign on the ground over there,” Jennifer said and pointed.
We moseyed over, and Denny picked it up. It read: “Future home of Colorado Mountain Retirement Properties.”
“Future as in another century,” I said. “They haven’t even broken ground yet. No sign of a bulldozer or even a shovel having been put in this ground.”
“Let’s divide up and check it out,” Jennifer said. “Mom and I will go this way.”
Denny and I strolled in the opposite direction. We found no evidence of construction other than the mounds from the colony of prairie dogs and several anthills.
“Dad, I’ve been wanting to ask you. When did you first start noticing your memory loss?”
I stopped and looked at Denny. “I can’t remember. That’s the doggone trouble with this rotten memory business.”
“I’m worried that I’m starting to have the same problem.”
“Well, if you end up like me, you’ll be an old codger in good shape except for your memory.” I patted my stomach. “With walking and excitement from the law, I stay fit.”
“But I’m too young to be experiencing memory problems.”
“Most people over fifty start forgetting things. Have you been to a doctor?”
“No. I’m afraid of what I’ll hear.”
“Go get a checkup. No sense worrying.”
“I guess you’re right.”
We turned around and hooked up with the girls back at the car.
“Any luck?” I asked Jennifer and Allison.
“I found a cool arrowhead,” Jennifer said, holding it up for me to see.
I inspected it. “Looks kind of old. Maybe this used to be a Native American retirement community. Certainly no sign of any current construction.”
I scanned the mountain backdrop. I had to admit that the view was spectacular, but living here in a pup tent and snuggling with prairie dogs wouldn’t be my idea of retirement luxury.
We headed back to civilization with Max sleeping on the backseat floor, no doubt dreaming of actually catching prairie dogs.
I whispered to Jennifer next to me in the backseat, “I need to speak with Gary Previn.”
“You can see him next Saturday at the Kinetic Conveyance Race,” she whispered back.
“What are you two plotting?” Allison asked from the front seat.
“I’m telling her to stay on her side of the seat,” I replied and gave Jennifer a wink.
* * * * *
When we returned home, Denny went off to finish one of his woodworking projects in the garage and Jennifer said she had plans to meet a friend at the club for a quick game of tennis.
“Paul, I’m worried about Denny,” Allison said. “He’s starting to forget things but seems overly concerned that he will seriously lose his memory.”
“I know,” I replied. “He talked to me while we scoured that empty field today. He’s afraid he’ll end up like me. I’m not exactly the role model for the memory branch of Mensa. I told him to go get a checkup rather than worry.”
“That’s probably best. I’ll call our family do
ctor and see what he recommends.”
“Now I need your advice on something. I may be taking a young lady out to dinner. Do you have a restaurant recommendation?”
“Do you already have a girlfriend here in Boulder?” Allison asked with a smile.
“I did meet a woman when I went to the Community Center last weekend. I promised to tell her what I found out when we visited that so-called retirement property. I thought I’d invite her out for some vittles.”
Allison thought for a moment. “The Red Lion Inn up Boulder Canyon offers a good meal and overlooks Boulder Creek. They even have an early bird special before six P.M.”
“Sounds perfect for a pair of old birds. Now I need to use the phone.”
I retrieved two phone numbers from my room. First, I tried Gary Previn. The same damned recording. Then I called the number given me by Helen Gleason.
“Helen, this is Paul Jacobson. We met at the Centennial Community Center during the presentation from that Colorado Mountain Retirement Properties outfit.”
“Yes, Paul, it’s nice to hear from you.”
“I went with my family to check out the real estate, and I promised to tell you what I discovered.”
“What did you find?”
“Well, it’s a long tale. Would you be interested in accompanying me out to dinner tomorrow night, and I’ll relate the whole sordid story?”
She laughed. “That would be wonderful.”
“My daughter-in-law recommended the Red Lion Inn. I’ll get a cab and be by around five-thirty.”
“I’m still driving. I could borrow my daughter’s car and pick you up.”
“Fine. You provide the wheels, and I’ll bankroll dinner.”
After giving her my address and hanging up, I sat down with Allison. “I have a date. I wonder what she looks like.”
“Paul, what an adventurous life you live.”
“It’s a shame I have to waste such good health and fitness on a defective brain.”
“It seems to always be something. Before she died, my mom suffered from MS. Such an awful degenerative disease.”
“So’s life,” I said.
* * * * *
The next afternoon I showered, patted a little aftershave lotion on my baby-soft cheeks, put on my party shoes and loped into the living room, ready for my date.
When Helen arrived, imagine my pleasant surprise to see that she was an attractive young chick probably still in her seventies.