Retirement Can Be Murder (A Jake Russo Mystery)

by Phil Edwards

  “That’s odd. No one wanted to know?”

  “None except Abram and I.” She threw up her hands in frustration.

  “And so you’re still having problems with Sheryl?”

  She smiled and narrowed her eyes.

  “After Sheryl kicked me out of the bridge games, I started to do research on everything about her. I don’t have anything to do at night, since Sheryl won’t let me play. They have two games a week now, too. But apparently not enough space for me.”

  “I see.”

  Charlotte looked down again.

  “I’m starting to discover some very interesting things in the course of my investigations. I’m closer than ever. She’ll regret what she did.”

  “I see.”

  Her hair nearly covered her face. He stood up and touched her back. Bones. Hard, bent over bones. She looked up and smiled weakly.

  “That sounded cruel, didn’t it? I’m so dramatic these days.”

  “No, you aren’t.”

  “I know I am,” she said and laughed. “All this for a game. If my daughter saw me…”

  “Where is she?”

  “Pennsylvania.”

  “I see.”

  “And now I’m causing all this commotion over what you say is a prank call. I’m like a child. I said I wouldn’t cry…” She trailed off. Then she turned her head, her back holding still. She looked at the closed blinds. Jake stood up quickly.

  “You know what? Let’s fix something.”

  He walked over and opened the blinds. Light entered the room and thick beams of it made everything bright. The duck’s bill turned from black to orange, and the walls seemed cleaner. Gary snapped awake and looked around in shock.

  “The white light! Am I dead again?”

  “Gary, let’s get a picture.”

  Charlotte looked worried.

  “A picture for publication?”

  “Of course not. Just for you.”

  She stayed seated in her chair, the walker at her side. Jake helped Gary set up the camera. It was heavier than he thought. Then Gary smiled as he screwed on his special lens. Charlotte touched her hair and pulled it back and up. She sat up as straight as she could. The light smoothed out her face. It was a pale plane, but a pretty one. Around it, her hair looked like rising smoke. Gary adjusted the angle and clicked. He didn’t even need to use the flash because the room was so bright.

  CHAPTER 7:

  It wasn’t until 3PM the next day that Jake realized his problem. When he came home and went inside, he realized it as soon as he looked at his open closet. He had a semi-formal dinner date. His first date with a beautiful woman. But he didn’t have a suit that fit. He’d brought two suits down to Sarasota, but both of them had been made for a different man. Black and navy blue, and both for someone 75 pounds heavier. He couldn’t tell Mel, but he didn’t want to cancel.

  He tried to do all his other work first. He filed his dispatch to Thompson as quickly as he could and hoped he wouldn’t call. He went in the bathroom and took a shower. Razor. Deodorant. Toothbrush. But it was all stalling from trying to solve the problem of his suit.

  He put on underwear and a white shirt. That one was new and tailored. Then he walked slowly to the closet. He picked out the black suit. Black was slimming, he’d heard. He’d heard it when he was 75 pounds heavier. And he was sure that black only made the person look thinner. It didn’t work for the suit.

  He held it up and looked in the mirror. It looked fine then. But he knew that it fit differently on your body than it did held in front of it, like a paper doll. Even his ties seemed fat now. He didn’t know why he’d kept the suits. Maybe it was supposed to be motivational, a reminder to eat carefully. Now he didn’t know if he’d be able to go to dinner.

  He’d have to cancel. He picked up the phone and scrolled to “M.” It was the way it had to be. Her name flashed, but he didn’t press send. No, it would be fine. It was just a suit. People didn’t notice what men wore anyway—he couldn’t cancel over that. The women were the show. He admired the crisp outline of his shirt. Then he put on the jacket and pants.

  It looked like he’d snuck into his fathers’ clothes. It wasn’t just baggier, it seemed longer. His bulk had taken up length, not just width. The sleeves went down through his wrists and the pant legs covered his feet. He didn’t know he’d been shrunk. Around his waist, the belt bunched so much cloth it looked like he was wearing frills. He stood in front of the mirror. Then he jumped. Someone was standing outside the window behind him.

  He didn’t have time to change into something else. Now they were knocking at the door. He never had visitors. Why would he have them now, of all times? He opened the door and stuck out his head.

  The woman standing there was short. She wore a tight green t-shirt that looked soft and she had short, pixie hair that was red or brown. He couldn’t tell in the light. She wore tight jeans and was barefoot, not even wearing flip-flops. When he opened the door a little wider she leaned toward him.

  “Is this a bad time?” Her smooth voice, a little nasal, made it sound like she’d just told a joke.

  “It kind of is.”

  “I just wanted to introduce myself.”

  “Hello,” he said. She tilted her head to the side.

  “Can I come in?”

  He let her in. She walked in like she owned the apartment, taking wide steps over his carpet.

  “Your suit’s too big.”

  “I know.” He pulled his pants up further. “That’s why I didn’t want you to come in.”

  “I live next door. I just moved in. I’m Kaylie.”

  “Kaylie?”

  “Yes. And you are?”

  “Jake.” He sat on the bed. His suit jacket was like a blanket. “Jake Russo.”

  She pulled his desk chair out and sat across from him.

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “Uh, a couple of months. You?”

  She put her hands on his chair like it was hers. She stretched.

  “I’ve lived in Sarasota for a few years. I just moved into this building. Hence the introducing myself. Why is your suit so big?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why,” she repeated, “is your suit so big?”

  “Is it that noticeable?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn.”

  “Why is it?”

  “I should go.” He stood up but she stayed seated. She scanned the room. The short sleeves of her shirt ran up her arm and caught around her shoulder.

  “You can’t go anywhere in that.”

  “I can’t?”

  “Nope.”

  “I know.”

  “Go to the store.”

  “I have to be somewhere tonight. It was nice to meet you though, Kaylie.”

  “What’s going on tonight?”

  “Something.”

  She tilted her head and walked out of the apartment without saying anything. He started to follow, but when he looked out the door, he didn’t see her in either direction. She came out of the door on the right.

  “Here.” She handed him a piece of paper. Hotel stationary. She’d written an address in block letters.

  “What is it?”

  “Directions. You probably don’t know where the Men’s Wearhouse is.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then there you go. You can buy a new suit.”

  “Thank you.”

  They went back in the apartment.

  “So, what do you do?” She sat on the bed this time and tested it with her hands. He sat in the chair.

  “I’m a reporter.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes, right in Sarasota.” He told her his beat and she sighed. He changed the subject.

  “Well, what do you do?”

  “I’m between jobs.”

  “I see.”

  “That means I was fired.”

  “I see.”

  She laughed.

  “Do you smoke?” />
  “No. Do you?”

  “No, I was just asking for fun.” She tilted her head to the side and laughed. She took a single cigarette out from behind her ear. He hadn’t seen it. She didn’t light it. Good.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing.”

  “If you have a date tonight, you need to go.”

  “I have to change. And buy a suit. Thanks for the directions.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “It was nice meeting you.”

  She stayed seated.

  “Yeah. Come over sometime.”

  She stood near him and then put out her arms. She took the cloth from his jacket and pulled it taut. He walked closer to her. They were a foot apart. Then half a foot. She looked at his side and pressed the jacket buttons against his stomach.

  “You have lost a lot of weight, Jake.”

  “How do you know I’ve lost weight?”

  “Because men don’t buy suits this large for no reason.”

  “Right.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed.” She pulled it tighter and he stepped closer. Four inches between them. “You don’t need to be embarrassed now.”

  “Good.” Then she let him go. The fabric flopped around him, loose as a sheet. She turned a little and started walking to the door.

  “Go on! Change already. We can catch up later.”

  “It was nice to meet you.”

  She’d already shut the door behind her. He took off the jacket and gathered it in his arms. He couldn’t believe he’d worn it. He smiled. This was how things were now. This was how it felt to need a new jacket.

  CHAPTER 8:

  “I like your suit,” Mel said.

  “I like your dress. A lot.”

  It was blue and shiny and ran down to her calves. She was wearing heels and they made her almost as tall as him. Her shoulders looked tanner than he thought they would. She must have sun bathed at home.

  They walked to his car from her office. They were already in the car when he realized his mistake.

  “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “I forgot. You’re supposed to open the door for the woman.”

  She laughed and looked at him.

  “You’re such a gentleman.”

  “It’s because I’ve never driven.”

  “Jake, should you be telling me you’ve never driven?”

  “No, no. I’ve driven. But I didn’t have a car in New York. And then I came down here and had to get one. So I’ve never driven as an adult.”

  “You’ve driven here as an adult, haven’t you?”

  “I meant…” He looked at her and waved his right arm. “I meant I’ve never driven on a date.”

  He could feel himself blushing and thought she would too. She started laughing.

  “Jake, do you have a tag on your sleeve?”

  He thought he’d removed all of them. He was wrong.

  “Do I?”

  “Yes, right here,” she said and grabbed it. He lifted his hand off the wheel.

  “It must be from the dry-cleaners.”

  “No, it looks new.”

  “Right.” They were on the highway. He tried to make it seem like he needed to pay attention. It didn’t work.

  “Is this a new suit?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Just for this?”

  “Well, that depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On how you look at it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I got it today. But I’ve needed one for a while.”

  She let go of the tag and put her hand around his wrist. She squeezed it and let go. The smell of her perfume mixed with the air freshener’s pine. It smelled like a season they didn’t have in Sarasota.

  The drive was only a few minutes long. Rothschild’s headquarters was nearby, almost equidistant between all of its developments in the Sarasota area. Sunset Cove was the second largest community in the county. The competition had the biggest one. They passed it on the highway. Palmstead. Jake and Gary had gone there more than a few times. It was bigger than Sunset Cove, but for the most part the places were the same.

  They weren’t actually going to the headquarters, but to a banquet hall nearby. It was a big poured building, a product of too much concrete. Palm trees surrounded the drive as they went to the parking lot in back, a half empty grid with cars clustered at the front. The building stood next to an office supplies store and it was a few hundred feet from a place that sold pool supplies.

  “Do you have a pool?” Jake asked.

  “My building does.”

  “I’m envious.”

  “Doesn’t yours?”

  “No, I wish.”

  “It’s nice. I swim a lot.”

  “I saw your tan,” he said and touched her shoulder. It was warm, like she’d just been in the sun.

  “Look.” She pointed to a sign. Right beneath the name of the place, Giordano’s, block letters were spread out. “Congratulations to Simeon Rothschild.”

  “That’s him.”

  A waitress stood in the reception area, which had linoleum floors and potted plants. She wore a green vest and could have been working a casino.

  “Names?”

  “Melissa Tyllis. And this is my guest, Jake Russo.”

  The waitress didn’t bother to check anything off, and she told them to go ahead.

  The room itself was better than the reception area. All the concrete in the roof had been covered by dark wood. It was a wide-open space and almost twenty round tables were spread across the floor, like coasters on a coffee table. Rothschild was a popular guy. A band sat in the corner and most of the members had tiny plates in their hands. One middle aged man, the youngest in the group, struggled with a shrimp.

  “Where is Mr. Rothschild?” Jake asked.

  She scanned.

  “I don’t see him yet.”

  “I’ve never gotten a chance to talk to him.”

  “You haven’t? Well, he’s very busy. I’m surprised though. He’s very good at being open about projects. You’ll meet him tonight.”

  “Is he as good at PR as you are?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, how could I not give you a good report?”

  She laughed, a little loudly.

  “I didn’t want that to be a problem.” She grabbed his arm. “I asked you, remember.”

  “I remember.”

  “And it isn’t a conflict of interest?”

  “I think that I’ll still be able to write puff pieces about ‘Sunny Sarasota’ without a conflict of interest.”

  Mel introduced him to the people who came around. He handed out and received business cards. There were a lot of them: a director of public relations; a business development director; an architect; a strategic planner.

  “How many people work here?” His suit pockets were full of thick-stock business cards.

  “We’re growing very quickly.” She held a martini and didn’t look like she was worried about spilling. He liked that. “In fact, we’re growing a little faster than Palmstead, I’ve heard.”

  “Is that true?”

  “That’s just what I’ve heard.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Oh, you just see it in e-mails. I don’t know how they know really.”

  “Well, Rothschild won’t catch up to Palmstead just yet, right?”

  Mel stood silent. She was looking over his shoulder.

  The man standing behind Jake had short white hair, disheveled intentionally. He was wearing a tuxedo with a tight knot at the tie and a wide cummerbund. He stood taller than Jake but it might have been because of his heels. The veins in his face drew little marker lines on his skin. His chin jutted out a little and he looked like he was tilting his head a few extra degrees.

  “We’ll catch up to Palmstead soon enough.”

  The most noticeable thing
were the eyes. They were black, surrounding a deeper black in the pupil.

  “Hello Simeon,” Mel said. “We were just talking about you.”

  “Hi, Mr. Rothschild,” Jake said quickly. “I’m Jake Russo. I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Did you say Mr. Rothschild?” He looked around the room. “That’s my father. I don’t see him here. Please call me Simeon.”

  “Certainly—”

  “I’ll tell you something.” His face moved while his eyes stayed steady. “That’s one reason we’re already catching up to Palmstead. They have such an antiquated approach to things. I’m sure that everyone there is calling Jerry ‘sir,’ or ‘Mr. Rubenstein,’ or something formal like that. His staff is busy bringing his puppies caviar instead of scoping new sites. Does he still have that dog?”

  “Well, when I interviewed him, there was a dog in the room...”

  “Jake,” Mel said, “I told Simeon I’d be bringing you. And he’s read your work, of course. So he knows you’ve met Mr. Rubenstein.”

  “He and I play golf sometimes,” Rothschild said, flicking his wrist. “Well, we did. Now things have gotten a little more serious.”

  “I see.”

  “And that’s off the record. Mel, make sure he doesn’t write too much.”

  “Don’t worry. I mostly talk about the good things. It’s just about trends. Lifestyles. Pretty soft focus.”

  “That’s good.” He waved at someone. “I have to duck off. It was nice to meet you. And remember, we will catch up.”

  He walked away, his chin raised. He moved quickly and stood behind someone else. Jake saw a man turn and start laughing.

  “So that was him?”

  Mel smiled and nodded.

  “Yes, that was him.”

  “He snuck up on me.”

  “He gets involved in a conversation,” she said, “whether you know it or not.”

  CHAPTER 9:

  It always started with the rolls.

  The way people passed around the basket. The little pads of butter, slipping inside their foil wrappers. People looked disappointed if you didn’t take a roll and spread it thick with butter. It was like an insult. What they didn’t realize was that if you took one roll, there was no reason not to take another. He passed the basket on to Mel and hoped nobody would notice.