A Dead Red Cadillac

by Rebecca Dahlke

  He shook out the newspaper and turned to the sports page. “I'm thinking about taking a cruise this fall and I don't intend to have to worry about either the farm or a crop-dusting business.”

  I stood up and looked at the wall of newsprint separating us. “Was this something you thought up all by yourself? Or was this Caleb's idea?”

  The paper rustled angrily as he turned a page. “I don't need Caleb or anybody telling me when I need a vacation,” he said. “I can do that all by myself, thank you. Besides, Caleb's idea of a vacation would be you tied to his bedpost.”

  I was thinking of yesterday's fiasco, not really paying attention. “I know.”

  He mumbled something else I didn't quite hear.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘If Caleb had his way, the bedpost would be his.’”

  “His bedpost—-Why Noah Bains!” I gasped.

  “What?” he grunted, putting down the paper. “You didn't know that boy has designs on you? I thought by now, he'd have told you his intentions.”

  “Well, yes, but not exactly in those terms, at least not yet.” We hadn't had the time to have that exact sort of conversation before. Oh, hell. What am I really thinking. We hadn't had the time to pull off each other's clothes, yet. Of course, after yestday's confession, maybe he didn't want me anymore.

  He snorted. “He better hurry up, before you run off and marry some other fool.”

  I grinned. “I think I can manage to stay single until then. You like him, don't you?”

  He moved the paper up between us. “You could do worse, and have. He's here all the time anyway.” Then he put it down and scratched at the back of his neck. “Okay, that's not fair and it's not what I really meant to say. I like him, he's a good man, Lalla, and I think he'd be good for you though I don't know what you'd do for him, other than drive him crazy.”

  I smiled at the off-center recommendation on Caleb's behalf. Then I noticed the front page photo of Autumn staring at me, telling me to find her killer.

  “I have some stuff to do.”

  “What stuff?” he asked, his face now behind the paper.

  “Work stuff.” I wasn't about to tell him I was determined to see if I could either prove or disprove Garth Thorne murdered his girlfriend. Eddy was innocent, he had to be. Or I might yet have to hire a lawyer for this family.

  Cathy Thorne-Levorwosky was Garth's alibi for his trip to California. It took three tries before I located her phone number. When she cautiously acknowledged that I'd reached the right person, I asked to see her. “I'm part of the investigating team,” I said, and still holding the phone to my ear, I fished around into my purse to make sure I still had my fake police badge.

  “Make it snappy,” she said. “I start work at noon and I still gotta get my kid to summer school.”

  Stepping into Cathy Thorne-Levorwosky's neighborhood felt like crossing the Prozac county line. I could almost hear the faint sound of quiet desperation as anxious mothers dealt with kids who must be schleped everywhere and dads who commuted three hours round trip to work. Her one-story ranch had newly installed landscaping. Outside a three-car garage was a Chevy truck with a Louie's Electric decal on the side. A Mercedes 450SL coupe with a ragtop held together with duct tape sat next to it.

  I walked up the brick steps, past a well-manicured yard with green plants and flowers strategically placed amongst newly spread redwood chips, and a real estate sign leaning against the side of the garage.

  A barefoot and sturdy tyke in a scruffy jam dyed Tee-shirt and shorts answered the door.

  I looked down at the towheaded boy and said, “Hello. Your mom is expecting me.”

  “Mom!” he bellowed in a husky voice. “Someone's at the door for you!”

  I had every confidence he had a great future in the pros and could effectively insult any batter to distraction. A minute passed while we stood eyeing each other like two stray alley cats, until the slap of sandals on the entry tile signaled the approach of an adult. The kid eyed me one last time, then eased back toward the cacophony of morning cartoons.

  The sandals held narrow feet with long red toenails like the talons of a predatory bird. I wasn't surprised to see that the rest of her was as predatory looking as her feet. Caleb's description of her was right on, as she looked like she could eat small, feathered birds for breakfast.

  She even held her head to one side like a quizzical bird. “What? Jehovah's Witness? Soccer pool? Hurry up, I'm busy.” she asked, irritation showing on her narrow, pinched face.

  “I called this morning? About the investigation?” I said, holding up my fake badge.

  She looked me up and down, at the neatly pressed slacks and conservative white shirt, and through lips thin as knives, said, “Oh. Yeah. Okay, come in.”

  She opened the door wide enough for me to slip inside without letting too much of the interior cold out. “The living room's that way,” she said, pointing a long red lacquered fingernail at a distant beacon of light. “I'm going to get my husband, Dan.”

  Before she turned away I noticed the telltale lines around her mouth saying she was a smoker and had been for some time, but not in this house. This house smelled like fresh paint.

  “Leave your shoes by the front door,” she said, and left.

  I slipped off my shoes and leaving them by the front door, inched along the dark hall till I stumbled into a room flooded with morning light. The room reeked of new paint and I looked down to see I was standing on a traffic lane of plastic. From a mirrored wall, a tall blond woman in pants and white shirt gawked back at me. I could hear my dad say, “A closed mouth gathers no feet,” and snapped my mouth shut. I chose a fat leather sofa, the newness of it squeaking under me as I sat down.

  She was back in a minute towing Godzilla.

  “This is my husband, Dan,” she said, meaning the oversized man filling the doorway. “Our last name is Levorwosky, in case you need to write it down,” she said, eyeballing the purse sitting next to me in case I wanted to start acting like an investigator and take some notes. “You said your name's Lila?”

  She twitched her head at Mr. Dan and he immediately sat. She took the other chair facing me and waited.

  “You…you have a lovely home,” I said, stumbling in my attempt to find an opener. “I saw the sign outside. Are you selling? Or did you just move in?”

  The two of them exchanged meaningful glances. Then Cathy squinted doubtfully at me. “The cops've already been here. You doing some kinda follow up? I mean, like since Garth's latest whore got whacked?”

  The shock of hearing someone else speak of Autumn's murder vibrated through me. “Oh,” I said, lamely. “You knew about that?”

  “Well, duh…it was in the papers.”

  I reddened at the obvious hostility, but determined not to let her rattle me, crossed a leg and returned her aggressive stare. “I don't believe her relationship to Garth was mentioned.”

  She folded. “Well, he said he had a girlfriend. Autumn, right?” Then she looked to her husband to back her up, but Godzilla just shrugged. “Mind you, I never met the bitch, but they're all the same, Garth's girlfriends; young, stupid, and their bra size bigger than their pea-brain. So, are the cops going to arrest him for her murder?”

  Using a line from Caleb, I said, “I'm not at liberty to say. I'm sure he's being questioned. I wanted to ask you about something else: Apparently someone turned him in on an outstanding warrant. Child support?” I knew the answer to that question, but I had to look like I was hoping she'd make a slip and tell me something different.

  “Don't look at me. Knowing that alley cat, he's probably spawned half a dozen lil’ bastards and they're all trying to collect.” She narrowed her eyes at me, and then sniffed. “So, what are you here for, if I may ask. If he's looking for an alibi, I sure ain't it.”

  I said, “You told the detectives that he hasn't been here to see his daughter, is that right?”

  She gave me a hard-eyed squint. “I already
told the last batch of detectives. He called Friday, said he was pulling into Reno and wanted to see his daughter when he got here. Reminded me he had a right to see her now that he was paying child support. No notice, nothing. I could have refused, but what would have been the point, you know? The bastard hasn't even had the decency to call.”

  “Not before Friday?”

  A thin eyebrow lifted. “We got an echo in here? He's not in jail, is he? So why doesn't he come for his kid?” I thought her husband was either a saint or a knuckle-head to put up with this bird. “But, now I don't think I'll let him see her.” The bitterness glittered cheerfully in her eyes and her voice picked up an edge as words spit out of her mouth like BB’s. “We both work all the time so we can raise these two kids. The boy's Dan's and mine. But, do you think Garth would lift a finger to help his daughter? She's had dental work, school clothes, and skating lessons, but he's never contributed a dime but his court approved child support. Eighteen hundred a month doesn't go very far these days, you know.”

  “Then, he's been paying his support check on time?” I asked, wondering what it'd be like to have eighteen hundred a month tax free.

  “For the last six months, but he still owes me a bundle. He ran my dad's shop into the ground, you know, and I had to go through bankruptcy just to keep this house.”

  Dan's ham-sized hand patted her shoulder in time to her diatribe.

  “I'm sorry,” I said, looking down at the spiral notebook. “Did he promise to pay you all of the back child support?”

  “Sure did. All seventy-five grand.”

  That confirmed what Caleb said. “And did he pay it?” I asked.

  “Didn't I just tell you he hasn't been here?”

  “No direct deposits?”

  “Not a penny. The bank called and said your people already checked. So, why're you asking again?”

  The front door slammed shut and a girl's voice called from the hallway. “Mama?”

  Cathy and Dan exchanged looks. Something was going on with these two.

  I said, “Well, that's all I have,” and snapped my notebook shut. I stood up. “You've been very cooperative, and I appreciate being able to take your valuable time.”

  They were a bit slow to follow my example, passing each other more silent messages. But ,then they stood and Cathy Thorne-Levorwosky ducked past me to make sure she got to the front of the line as we paraded down the narrow hallway for the front door.

  She nodded at the sound of her child's footsteps coming down the hall. “Don't think about trying to talk to my kid on your way out. She's a minor, and you don't have my permission.”

  She pulled the girl behind her and opened the door to give me a little shove outside. “You wanna do something useful, why don't you squeeze him for the child support he owes me?”

  I had to work at keeping a neutral expression. Otherwise, I was sure this bird would see my suspicions, drag me back into her lair and pick my bones clean.

  The girl has talked to her dad and knows exactly when he came into town. The question was, what did Garth have to offer that would convince the mother to say otherwise? Seventy-five grand should do it.

  In the car, I called the realtor listed on the discarded sign at Cathy's house.

  “Oh, sorry,” she chirped. “That property has been put on hold right now.”

  “You mean it's under contract?”

  “Not exactly. They are holding off selling. But, we've got other hot listings in that neighborhood. Shall we make an appointment to see a few tomorrow? Or would you rather see something today?”

  I told the pushy realtor “no thanks” and hung up. So, she was about to sell her house but something or someone had changed her mind. Seventy-five thousand dollars.

  I couldn't wait to tell Caleb. My news sat like a newly discovered coin in my pocket waiting to be spent. When he came on the line, I asked him what I thought of as a simple question. “Has anyone thought to talk to the daughter?”

  He sounded miffed. “Let me guess. That was you at her house just now? No, don't deny it. Detective Rodney got a call asking if we had sent a woman police officer.”

  “I didn't tell her I was with the police. I said I was following up on the investigation.”

  There was silence for a minute, as his father's antique chair protested its age. “Alright. The answer is no, we haven't talked to the daughter. So, why do you want to know?”

  “First of all, Garth never said he was here to pay back child support, those were his ex's words.”

  “What's your point?”

  “I think he's bribed her with the promise of back child support if she plays ball. She may sound belligerent, but it's her cover. She's his alibi. He was there Friday, not Sunday. And if you talk to the daughter, I think you'll find that she'll confirm it. Oh, and I almost forgot, there's a real estate sign next to their garage.”

  “So?”

  Caleb's succinct style was beginning to rub me the wrong way. I said, “She drives a beat up Mercedes, her husband Dan's an electrician, and since the name on his truck is ‘Louie's Electric’, I doubt he's making the big money. Also, there're new plants in the yard, the house has been painted inside and out, and it appears all ready to sell. But get this, the agent said Mrs. Levorowsky recently changed her mind. No explanation, she just took it off the market. I think Garth promised her a split of his aunt's money in exchange for an alibi. She gets her seventy-five thousand in one lump sum, but only if what she says confirms that he came into town Sunday and not Friday.”

  “That would keep her quiet? Somehow I thought she'd rather see him fry.”

  “She's greedy, not stupid. I think the daughter will talk. She had been conveniently out of the house when I got there, but when she came home Mommy suddenly got very nervous and told me she wouldn't give her permission for the girl to talk to me.” I gave him some meaningful dead air time.

  He did that humming thing for a minute more, then said,“Where will you be? I'll want to talk to you later.”

  “I have some errands to do. Are you going to get a warrant to talk to the girl?”

  “Meet me at Roxanne's by five. Be there. We'll talk.”

  Then he hung up. Once again I got no thanks and no respect for my efforts.

  I decided to call Garth. Okay, so it was a knee jerk reaction to getting left with a dial tone instead of the “atta girl” I was expecting.

  Garth was apparently rushing for an appointment to finish up the arrangements on his aunt's funeral, but agreed to meet me at his RV park by six. We had a lot to talk about and we could do it over dinner, he said. The thought of eating another meal with Garth gave me the willies. I said yes, but with every intention of canceling after my meeting with Caleb at five.

  Frustrated that I wouldn't be able to immediately quiz Garth, I came up with a brilliant alternative. I'd search his motor home. Being a private citizen, I didn't require a search warrant, and I didn't have to worry about ducking past a cop either, since the police were tailing him, not his motor home.

  I got into the rental car and fished around the bottom of my purse for my cell phone. GTE kindly did a direct dial for the Modesto Mortuary.

  I asked the woman who answered if Mr. Thorne had arrived for his appointment regarding his aunt's funeral. She was unsure. “Can you hold a moment please? Mr. Jones, our director, is in conference with a client.”

  I could hold and drive. If he wasn't there, I would dive into Roxanne's and eat an early lunch before proceeding with my skullduggery.

  “Sorry for keeping you so long, dearie, but Mr. Jones has a very distraught mother to contend with, such a pity, a sixteen-year old son who insisted on having a motorcycle, and now he's gone. It just breaks your heart.” I hate funerals, hate funeral homes and everything and everybody who goes with them. I was still looking for a way to avoid attending Patience's funeral, but so far without any luck.

  “Could I ask you to look and tell me if Mr. Thorne is perhaps in your waiting room?”

&n
bsp; “Oh, my. Is this an emergency, dearie?”

  “Well, you might say that, if you can find him.” If he answered, I intended to hang up.

  She was back in a flash. “No, there's nobody waiting.” I could hear pages from a date book flipping. “Let's see now, nine, uh, that was the mother, poor thing. We like to leave plenty of time between appointments so as not to rush the bereaved. Ten-thirty, yes, here it is. That's Mr. Thorne's appointment time, but I think we're running a bit late so it's a good thing he's not here yet. Would you like me to have him give you a call when he arrives?”

  Garth was telling the truth. “No, he's probably still at home, I'll give him a call there.” And hung up before she could ask my name.

  If I had been her, I would have had the caller's name and phone number before drawing a second breath, but then some folks are just naturally nosier. Then again, the receptionist might have been a mother with a motorcycle-driving teenager.

  I had time for that early lunch after all, and remembering to put on my turn signal, looked over my shoulder before changing lanes and took the exit to Roxanne's. My exit was uneventful: no horns honked, nor squealing tires as irate drivers forced to brake at my passing. Not one middle finger salute accompanied my exiting the freeway. Gee, maybe I should drive like this more often.

  I ordered a BLT, no mayo, with an iced tea and watched the ebb and flow of hungry patrons. Roxanne was gone, running errands. Leon was at his day job, no doubt sawing someone's house in two. Maya was out of school for the day, bussing tables. She sidled over to my perch at the counter and grinned at me. Her grin made me smile and forget all my problems, if only for the moment.

  She removed my empty plate and swished at the counter with a damp rag. “Have they caught that lady killer yet? I guess he got somebody else besides poor Mrs. McBride,” she said, nodding toward the empty stool at the end of the counter.

  “The police are looking into it,” I said, wiping my mouth of crumbs.