“Can I get you some water?” she asked.
“Yeah. I think that might help,” I said as I lowered my head again.
What was wrong with me? Was I so out of shape I couldn’t walk three lousy blocks? It probably had something to do with the sugar overload the past two days. I would have to find some real food soon.
The woman brought a bottle of water, and I chugged it. My heart rate slowed, and I started to feel better in the cool salon. I suddenly felt sheepish.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I haven’t been eating right lately, and I walked three blocks to get here. With the hot sun, I think it was all too much.”
She took the empty water bottle and asked, “How can I help you? Do you have an appointment?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m looking for a nail technician.” I pulled my phone from my purse and accessed the photo of Ruby’s manicured hand. “Do you recognize this? Do you know who might do this style of nail?”
“That’s a common design,” she said. “I do all the nails here, and I’ve done quite a few like that myself. I can do it for you if you’d like.”
“Maybe another time,” I said. “Right now, I’m trying to find out who might have done the nails on this particular girl. Do you recall doing this recently in these colors?”
She studied the photograph more closely. “No, I don’t think so. When was the picture taken?”
“Last Saturday.”
“It definitely wasn’t me. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
I thanked the woman and left the shop. Rather than to risk heatstroke walking back to the office, I crossed the street and entered Mama Rosie’s Pizza Emporium.
The restaurant was new in town, and this was my first visit. A sign directed me to seat myself, so I chose a corner booth.
Dimmed lighting and more than adequate air conditioning made the dining room comfortable. I pulled a menu from between a bottle of Parmesan cheese and one of hot pepper flakes. No wonder they called this place an emporium. They served pizza, soups, salads, stromboli, calzones, hero sandwiches, pasta, and seafood. When my waitress arrived, I ordered the chicken pizzaiola with peppers and marinara sauce. That should take care of my body’s need for something other than sugar.
While I waited, I contemplated the information I knew about Ruby again. If I wanted to be serious about becoming a private investigator, I would have to concentrate harder on her murder. It was obvious the Buxley police weren’t making headway, so I needed to come up with a plan. Canvassing more salons would be my top priority. I couldn’t start tonight, because Pepper and I were going to Figure Perfect. I would definitely have to take some more time off work. I already planned to skip out on Friday to go to Marietta with Pepper and the kids, so I might as well call off tomorrow, too.
The thought instantly raised my spirits.
My food arrived, and I was astonished at the huge portion size. There was enough for lunch and supper, too, but I devoured every delicious morsel. The waitress didn’t say anything, but she didn’t mask her surprise at my empty plate. If I had been thin, she wouldn’t have batted an eye, but I noticed more and more, at my heavier weight, people didn’t always hide their disdain at my food consumption. There was a lot to be said for take-out and eating at home.
While I was looking over my bill and calculating the tip, Stewie walked into the restaurant with a well-dressed man in a suit. I didn’t recognize the man as one of our clients. They chose a booth near the front door and immediately engaged in a spirited discussion. I couldn’t tell if it was friendly or contentious.
Now I had a dilemma. Should I stop and say hello, or simply walk out and pretend I didn’t see them. After leaving money on the table, I approached the two men.
“Hi, Stewart,” I said. He knew I had already made it a habit to call him Stewie, but I gave him the courtesy of using his formal name in front of his guest. I paused to give him an opportunity to say hello and introduce me, but he did neither, and both men simply stared at me. I became flustered by his lack of manners and said lamely, “I had a great lunch. Try the chicken pizzaiola.”
The man with Stewie showed obvious irritation by my interruption. Stewie was curt. “I’ve been here before. It’s a nice restaurant. I’ll see you later, Jo.”
I barely uttered a good-bye before dashing out the door. The encounter was extremely uncomfortable, and I didn’t understand Stewie’s rudeness.
The walk back to the office wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as the initial walk to the salon, and I arrived with minimal perspiration. Stewie was friendly when he came back to the office, but I pretended to be wrapped in work. His attitude at the restaurant made me angry with myself for agreeing to go out with him on Saturday.
I spent the rest of my afternoon searching online for information to become a private investigator. I was discouraged to see college classes in criminology took four years to obtain a degree. That wasn’t my plan. I wanted to pay a fee, take a test, and get right to work. The only other way to become a private investigator was through on-the-job experience under a mentor. I’d have to ask Jackie about that. And I’d need a gun.
~ ~ ~
My core temperature was rising as the sun beat down on my head. I knew if I didn’t go home before too long, I might have another episode like the one I experienced at lunchtime.
So far, I had walked back and forth across half of the construction site, and so far, there was nothing to see but dirt and rocks. The police didn’t find any evidence here, but I wouldn’t be convinced until I checked for myself.
I spotted a piece of paper sticking out from under a rock, but upon further investigation, it turned out to be a piece of plastic. Leave no stone unturned ran through my mind. I couldn’t help chuckling at the thought. Turning over every stone in the construction site would take the better part of a year. I quickened my pace. My neck and back were starting to hurt.
Being a private investigator wouldn’t be exciting all the time. I knew there would be tedious tasks like the one I was doing now, and late-night stakeouts might be boring. What if I couldn’t stay awake? I used to eat on long trips to keep from dozing, but eating on stakeouts would probably pack on the pounds fast. And running! What if I had to chase a suspect? He’d be long gone before I was barely able to work up to a jog. I definitely needed to get in shape.
A honking horn brought me back to reality. I looked up to see I was only a few feet from the roadway. I didn’t know who honked as they drove by, but I threw my arm up in the air to wave anyway. There was no reason to be unfriendly.
The cars reminded me again that Ruby had been brought here from another location. It dawned on me that there probably weren’t any clues in the site itself, but maybe there were some along the roadway where the vehicle had parked.
I climbed up the grade and alongside the road. As I searched for clues, I endured several more honking horns. I threw my arm up with every honk. I didn’t want to be in the grocery store next week and have Mrs. Murgatroyd from Faye’s Dry Cleaning complain, “I saw you walking along the road, and I honked. Why didn’t you wave?”
There was very little trash. The local jail used the current crop of prisoners as cleanup crews on the weekends, and they did a nice job of collecting trash right down to cigarette butts. I checked the entire grassy area between the road and the site. There was nothing of interest. That left the temporary dirt road made by the construction company along the eastern edge. It made more sense that someone might have parked there to remove a body unseen. I started my walk up the road and looked carefully along both sides.
I was nearly to the end when I spotted a crumpled fast food bag lodged in a tuft of weeds. It was the first large piece of trash I had come across. A worker had likely tossed it there, but it was still something to inspect. I picked up the bag and tore it open to dump the contents on the ground.
There was a wrapper from a sandwich and a container from French fries. Everything else appeared to be trash from the owner’s vehicle. I had used
the technique many times myself and was familiar with quick car cleaning via fast food bags. I bypassed the candy bar wrappers, generic gas receipts, and the broken pen and went right to a piece of torn paper.
The paper was a diagonal section of the bottom half of a business card. The printing remaining on the card didn’t offer any immediate clues. The only two letters that were from the business or the person’s name were TS. The numbers 893 were likely from a telephone number, and the only part of the web address remaining was LS.COM.
It was improbable that any of this trash had come from the killer’s vehicle, but what if the bag had fallen out when Ruby was moved? I didn’t want to assume anything. I needed to keep an open mind and look at everything until I was sure it was nothing. I slipped the business card into my pocket and headed for home.
~ ~ ~
Pepper was excited to try out the machines at Figure Perfect, but I was less enthusiastic. I hated being overweight, but I hated the idea of working out more. I simply didn’t enjoy exercising like I did when I was in shape.
We were on the north side of town in a small, unattractive building behind the city hospital. Brown kraft paper covered the windows to keep passersby from peeking in at clientele. The inside wasn’t wholly unpleasant. Fluorescent lighting illuminated every corner of the room. The smell of new carpet and fresh paint lingered in the air. A local country radio station was semi-blaring from a boom box.
Three large women were on machines that had been positioned along the back wall. I couldn’t tell what the machines were doing, but the women were doing squats as they held onto small rails. I didn’t want to do squats. Neither did my knees.
There was only one trainer on the floor. She was assisting a woman who was lying prone with her face through an opening in a table. The table was shaking the woman from head to foot.
Pepper and I checked in with a girl seated behind a small desk. We each paid an introductory price of nine dollars and ninety-nine cents for a month of unlimited visits. The girl then showed us small lockers for stowing our purses. We were smart to have come already dressed for the workout, as there were no locker rooms.
“What now?” I asked.
Pepper scanned the room. “I don’t know. I suppose we wait for the trainer.”
The girl at the desk looked up from her magazine and said, “The machines are self-explanatory. You can try any of them until Suzy has time for you.”
The three women moved from the squat machines to walk on treadmills. Pepper and I stood next to the machines closest to us - a treadmill and an old-fashioned vibrating machine with a belt. Pepper pushed me to use the vibrating belt machine.
“Just do it, Jo. It’ll feel good, and it’s supposed to work.”
She couldn’t be serious that this vibrating belt was going to shake my fat off. If the machines didn’t work fifty years ago, why would they work now?
She laughed. “I’m not kidding. These machines are all the rage. Shaking really does take off weight. I’ll start on the treadmill, and you start with this. You’ll have your flab all jiggled and loose and ready for melting when you start sweating.”
I reluctantly stood on the machine. It faced the row of treadmills. Pepper started a slow walk on her machine, but she had a huge grin on her face as she watched me position the belt slightly under my butt. I flipped the switch and every bit of flab on my body started jiggling at the same time. It was a more violent shaking than I expected, and I wished my bra gave me additional support. Pepper started giggling uncontrollably.
One of the three women on the treadmills stared at us and rolled her eyes. I didn’t know if she was rolling her eyes at me and my jiggling, or at Pepper and her laughing, or both. I restrained myself from saying something snarky to the woman and readjusted the belt across the biggest part of my butt. I leaned back again and allowed the machine to jiggle me from head to toe. I couldn’t imagine it was doing anything substantial, but it felt good in a strange way.
“Ok. I’m jiggling,” I said. “How long do you think I should do this?”
“More than sixty seconds,” Pepper said and upped the speed on her treadmill. “Just keep jiggling.”
After five minutes, my butt felt numb. The trainer reached in from behind me and flipped the switch to turn the machine off. The tingling sensation continued in my butt, and my legs felt rubbery.
“Hi ladies. I’m Suzy. Is this your first time here?”
We acknowledged we were newbies and introduced ourselves.
She placed her hand on the belt machine and said with a grin, “You won’t be using this one. It’s here to show what women used to have to endure as compared to the technology we have today.”
Swell. Pepper had talked me into using an obsolete machine that did nothing other than allow everyone to laugh at me. I refused to show my embarrassment and said, “I kind of liked it.”
Pepper guffawed.
Suzy led the way to the new Platform Vibration Fitness machines. She demonstrated their use and left us alone to try them out while she helped another customer on the shaking table.
I started by simply standing in the center of the platform. The shaking wasn’t nearly as intense as the heavy-duty belt machine, but I could immediately see how maintaining balance and doing some simple exercises on the platform would work muscles.
Pepper started right off with some squats. “Wow, these machines are great. This is so easy.”
“It’s better than I thought it would be,” I admitted. “I’m willing to give it a try. At least for a month.”
Pepper tried most of the moves Suzy had shown us. When she sat down on the shaking platform, she bolted right back up. Her eyes were wide as she said, “That should be illegal.”
I tried several more exercises on the platform before moving to a treadmill. I wanted to take a brisk walk before calling it quits for the evening. On our way out, Suzy gave each of us a welcome kit that included brochures about the equipment and suggestions for healthy eating.
Pepper pulled out from behind the hospital and immediately drove to Chummy Burgers.
I was floored. “What are you doing? We just worked out. You aren’t really going to get food are you?”
“I’m dying of thirst. I need something to drink. And a French fry. I need some carbs to replace the ones I just used. You do know, don’t you, that Michael Phelps used to eat twelve thousand calories a day when he trained for the Olympics?”
“He did not. That was a rumor.”
“Well, he ate a lot. You have to eat after you work out. You have to fuel the fat burning.”
I didn’t believe her. “Pepper, you’re killing me here.”
She leaned her head out the window to yell into the speaker, “I want two chocolate shakes and two French fries.”
“What are you doing tomorrow?” I asked her.
“Nothing. Probably some laundry. Why?”
“I want to go to some hair salons and look for whoever might have done Ruby’s nails.”
“I can go, but I’ll have to bring Kelly along. Keith will be at a friend’s house for the day, and I don’t want Kelly staying home alone.”
“She’s twelve,” I said. “You and I were both babysitting by the time we were twelve. She can stay home alone.” Pepper frowned, and I could tell she wasn’t going to budge. “I don’t care if she comes” I said, “but it might be a problem if we get a good lead. We can’t take her to strip clubs.”
“No strip clubs tomorrow, Jo. Let’s just do salons. If anything good comes up, you can follow it up on your own or with Jackie.”
Pepper paid for our order and handed the cups and the bag of food over to me. Both milkshakes were vanilla. Inside the bag was an order of fried mushrooms and a cheeseburger. I wolfed down the cheeseburger. I’d be shaking it off soon enough.
Pepper dropped me at the bottom of my driveway. A hot shower was going to feel especially good after the massive sweating I’d done when walking at lunchtime, walking at the construction site, and
walking yet again at Figure Perfect. I’d probably have to scrub my pits three times as much as usual.
~ ~ ~
Comfortable in an old terrycloth robe, and shuffling around in my fuzzy orange slippers, I crashed on the sofa to watch an episode of CSI: New York. Of course, I had seen it before, but now that I planned to be a private investigator, I wanted to pay more attention to how the detectives solved their cases.
Just as a buzzard dropped an eyeball on Manhattan, the red phone rang. I jumped in my seat. I had plugged the telephone back into the wall yesterday morning, but this was the first it had rung since the heavy breather Monday night.
I answered it with some hesitation. “Two Sisters and a Journalist.”
“Ruby was pregnant.”
It was Jackie with the bombshell.
“Wait a minute,” I said trying to wrap my mind around the information. “How do you know?”
“Howard and an elderberry pie. I stopped down at the morgue to see him this afternoon, and he said she was at seventeen weeks, so she definitely knew she was pregnant.”
“Maybe there really was a pimp. Do you think he killed her?”
“No, I don’t. Pimps don’t kill. They abort. Something else is going on. I talked with Sergeant Rorski, but he said they don’t have the manpower to investigate beyond Buxley. He thinks someone will eventually look for her, and that’s how they’ll find her family. After Walker and Butler messed up the notification with Sherry Clarke’s family, the sergeant isn’t willing to put any more money behind her murder, and I guess the mayor is backing him up on his decision.”
I hadn’t yet told Jackie or Pepper about my dreams. If we were going to look deeper into her murder, it was time to share the information.
“Ruby has been coming to me in my dreams,” I told her. I held my breath while I waited for her response.
“Are you sure? Do you think it’s your subconscious mind, or do you really think it’s her? Dreams can be weird things.”
Maddie Cochere - Two Sisters and a Journalist 01 - Murder Under Construction Page 7