by Deb Baker
Ryan thinks about the concept of remorse but doesn’t feel any. He rarely feels anything.
A being with silver hair comes at him, followed by one the size of a wrestler. He recognizes them from his mother’s shop. Ryan saw them there, talking to the woman cop.
The enormous woman glares at him but is winded and bends over to widen her airway, to make room for her precious air. She glares up at him, then grimaces without saying a word. The other one is filled with anger but hesitates a moment too long. Her eyes flick to the woman on the ground.
His feet pound the pavement, and it sounds like thunder of the gods to him. They have decided to protect him from harm, to champion him for his abilities.
He is one of them.
Chapter 13
Wednesday morning the women at Curves hopped to the beat of “Build Me Up Buttercup.”
Gretchen tried to ignore the pain in her temple where Ryan Maize had struck her. One punch from that scrawny kid and she’d fallen hard, like a rock from a mountain ledge. Her mother and April, miraculously arriving just as Gretchen dropped to the sidewalk, had strong-armed a street vendor into parting with a cup of ice. Their quick thinking had kept the swelling to a minimum.
A couple of ibuprofen tablets this morning, and her head no longer felt like it had a built-in subwoofer. And her hair covered the ugly purple bruise.
“I hear you were clobbered good last night,” Bonnie said, her red wig stiff with hair spray. Lip liner was drawn in an exaggerated arch around her lips. “Are you okay?” She trotted in place on a small platform, swinging her arms above her head as the music changed to “Chantilly Lace.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” Gretchen replied, trying not to wince when she bent over. She had a huge headache and two more hours to go before she could take more pain relievers.
Nina, working the abductor machine, piped up, speaking around her niece as though she wasn’t present. “Gretchen is too impulsive for her own good. Imagine chasing a tattooed, body-pierced crazy man through the streets of Scottsdale. What was she thinking?”
Gretchen shrugged. She didn’t have a good answer and secretly agreed with Nina.
“Where’s Caroline this morning?” Bonnie asked.
“Trying to catch up on our repair work,” Gretchen said.
“I should do a reading for you.” Nina bounced a large pink ball while running in place. “The tarot cards complement my psychic predictions,” she said. “You really need a reading.”
“Maybe later.”
“I’ll take one,” Bonnie said.
“I’ll watch,” April said.
Nina smiled. “Okay.”
Gretchen noticed a definite clearing of the air around Nina and April. Nina’s new friendship with Britt had something to do with it. And Nina seemed grateful that April had helped rescue Gretchen and then cared for her after the blow to her head. April was doing her part by showing interest in Nina’s tarot cards. Gretchen knew how hard that was for her.
April sweated over the shoulder press. “What do you make of the miniature peanut butter jar?” she asked Gretchen. “How does it fit in?”
Gretchen looked questioningly at her aunt, remembering the promise Nina had made to keep the jar’s existence confidential. Nina’s eyes shifted to Bonnie, who had originally shared the information with her.
Bonnie grinned conspiratorially. “I had to share a teensy bit of police work with my favorite group.” She held up her right hand and pressed two fingers together to show how miniscule her sharing really was. “But remember, no talking outside our little circle.”
“Change stations now,” the programmed voice commanded, and everyone shifted to the next station in the circle.
“After all, you are my best friends.” Bonnie’s arms swung to encompass all the Curve’s members working out, even two women who had signed up that very morning and had only introduced themselves moments before.
Her “best friends” nodded enthusiastically.
“That’s right,” said Rita Phyller, the Barbie collector.
“That’s right,” Ora, the Curves manager, echoed. “We’re buddies.”
“Does anyone have a theory about the jar?” April asked.
“I do. I do.” Bonnie shouted, waving her right hand like a kindergarten student. “Charlie always thought her sister had been killed. Matty is looking into it again.”
“Wouldn’t that be something if Sara really had been murdered,” Rita said, shaking her head. “Too bad Charlie’s ticker gave out before the investigation was over.”
Gretchen glanced over at Nina. Other than law enforcement officials working the case, the cause of Charlie’s dead should only be known to Gretchen, Caroline, and Nina. This was the moment that would tell her how reliable her aunt was.
No one said anything. Charlie’s suspicious nicotine overdose was still under wraps.
Nina glared at Gretchen as though she knew that her niece hadn’t trusted her, and Gretchen gave her an I’m-sorry look.
April huffed loudly and paused in her workout to rest. April had chased Gretchen and Ryan down the street yesterday. Today, she couldn’t get through a ten-minute circuit working slow. April’s adrenaline must really spike when she gets excited, turning her into superwoman, Gretchen thought.
“I think someone scared Charlie to death,” Bonnie said. “Literally. Her heart gave out.”
“That’s impossible,” Rita replied.
“No, it isn’t,” April said. “That son of hers was pretty scary-looking. His face could frighten a person enough to bring on a heart attack.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Gretchen said. In spite of Ryan’s grungy appearance, he had seemed young and frightened.
“I almost fainted from fear after looking into his eyes.” April shivered. “He’s lost his grip on reality; that’s obvious.”
“If Sara was murdered, I’d put him first on the list of suspects,” Ora said. “Look how he hurt Gretchen.”
“What if Charlie was murdered, too?” Rita called out.
“That kid’s a drug addict, you know,” Bonnie said. “Crack cocaine, pot, booze, you name it. He’s been in and out of rehab centers, and nothing works. What if he killed his mother in a fit of rage? Maybe she wouldn’t give him money for more drugs, and he was strung out. An addict without drugs will do anything to get them, even if it means killing his own mother.”
“There wasn’t any sign of a struggle,” Gretchen said, before the exercise group got too carried away. “And no marks on Charlie’s body.”
“Does your detective son know about Charlie’s son?” Susie asked Bonnie.
“Of course, Matty’s onto him like lint on Velcro.” Bonnie grimaced. “That isn’t a very good analogy.”
“Like toilet paper on a shoe?” Nina offered.
“Like a flea on a dog?” April said, laughing.
“I’m out of here,” Gretchen said, heading for the stretching area.
Nina followed her over. “I’m having breakfast with Britt.”
“Sounds good,” Gretchen said, bending at the waist and touching her toes while the inside of her head pounded on her skull. “Don’t worry about coming to the shop. Mom accomplished so much yesterday, we might wrap up the project today.”
“I’m your chief problem solver,” said Nina. “I’ll be there. After yesterday’s excitement, I’m staying close by. Who knows what disaster will happen next?”
****
Matt Albright’s unmarked blue Chevy passed Gretchen’s car going the opposite way. The detective waved, not a friendly hello wave, but rather a trying-to-flag-you-down sort of wave. Gretchen recognized the hand gestures, but ignored him. She gave him her best smile and wiggled her fingers as if to say toodle-oo.
Matt wasn’t much of a team player. He worked alone and kept his progress to himself. He didn’t take her seriously enough, so today she was following his example and working alone.
Gretchen turned onto Central Avenue, wondering what the detective was doing in this n
eighborhood. Central Avenue divided the city into two grids. Numbered streets ran north and south on the east side of Central. Numbered avenues lined the west side. Gretchen drove slowly up First Street, crossed Central, and cruised down First Avenue.
Gretchen was looking for Nacho and Daisy, two destitute characters whom she’d become friends with. She had to find time to help out more at the homeless shelter, but life had been busy. Soon, though.
Nacho, an alcoholic who lived inside his mind most of the time, appeared to enjoy his life of freedom from the heavy responsibility imposed on others by what he thought of as a tyrannical society.
Daisy, a would-be actress, was always on the lookout for Hollywood talent scouts; and considered herself an honorary member of the Red Hat Society. She dressed accordingly.
Gretchen had tried to change the two derelicts with limited success. She’d opened her home to Daisy in hopes that a normal environment would improve her roving ways. Occasionally, Daisy stopped in for a bath and a soft bed. But then, to Gretchen’s frustration, she would be gone again, back to the streets and her own circle of friends.
Gretchen drove past St. Anskar’s soup kitchen without spotting them. The streets were quieter today than usual, less foot traffic, fewer homeless with all their possessions stuffed into plastic garbage bags or shopping carts.
When she turned onto Central Avenue for one last look, she finally spotted Daisy, wearing her purple sundress and a red hat adorned with a large feather. The homeless woman was pushing a cart that brimmed with junk. “Today’s my lucky day,” she said with a big grin after Gretchen stepped out of the car. “I can feel it in my bones and in my heart.”
Daisy’s purple dress was crumpled, and her best hat showed signs of wear. Gretchen thought she saw a smidgen of pigeon droppings on the brim. Daisy’s second-hand sandals exposed dirty feet.
“It’s time to take a break from the street,” Gretchen said. “Why don’t you come home with me for a few days and get some rest?”
Daisy shook her head. “Not today. I’d miss an important opportunity to break in to the biz. I’m trying out for a part at Orpheum Theatre.”
Gretchen hid her frustration. “Where are all your friends?” She didn’t see any of Daisy’s usual acquaintances. Even the pigeon-feeding ladies were missing from their designated bench.
“On vacation. I stayed behind for the audition.”
Gretchen almost laughed out loud. Daisy must really be delusional to think all the street people were away on vacation. “Where did they go?”
“San Francisco.” Daisy adjusted her dress, and Gretchen caught the faint scent of the perfume she had given to her, among other odors. “How do I look?”
“Like a million bucks. You’re kidding, right? About San Francisco?”
Daisy shook her head. “No. Nacho heard San Francisco closed the homeless shelters. Instead, the government is handing out money every month. If you’re homeless, you get dough. And they can’t tell who’s a resident and who isn’t, because none of us carry identification. Slick. We’re like a secret society. Like Masons.”
“Did Nacho go, too?”
“He led the pack,” Daisy said. “I tried to tell him the grass is always greener, but he has to find out on his own. California, here he comes.”
“How long are they on this…ah…vacation?”
“Just long enough to pick up some cash and tour the city. Speaking of cash, when is your aunt going to need my services again?”
“I’ll ask her.”
Daisy was a natural with animals, connecting with them in a way she couldn’t with people. Daisy occasionally helped out with the purse dog training whenever Nina had more business than she could keep up with.
Matt Albright’s blue Chevy swung around the corner, two blocks down. Gretchen had been expecting him. The man never gave up. She was running out of time. Gretchen kept an eye on the unmarked car. “I’m looking for a drug addict named Ryan Maize. Do you know him?”
“We stay away from the druggies,” Daisy said. “They’re insane. Totally over the top. And they steal from us.” She looked down at the shopping cart filled with her possessions, then up at the blue car pulling to the curb.
“Wait here,” Gretchen said to her. She stepped off the curb and rounded on the driver’s side. “Please stay in your car,” she said.
Matt paused halfway out of the car and gave her a dazzling toothy smile. “You’re telling me to remain in my vehicle?”
“Correct.”
His eyes swung to Daisy, who had her hands on her hips and didn’t look pleased to see him.
“She’s never going to talk to me if you’re part of the conversation,” Gretchen explained.
“What are you two talking about?”
“This and that. Now please stay in your car.”
“Okay,” he said, and climbed back in.
“What’s he doing here?” Daisy wanted to know.
“You remember Matt Albright. His mother is president of the doll club. He’s a friend.”
Daisy glared at his car. “A cop is a cop. I know you like him, but I wouldn’t trust a cop as far as I could spit, and I can spit a long way. He’ll be nice and friendly until he gets what he wants.”
That wasn’t news to Gretchen. That pertained to all men, not just cops.
“I need to find Ryan,” Gretchen said. “Can you help me?”
Daisy tilted her head, considering the request. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Try Twenty-fifth and Van Buren, pink stucco house. But be careful. Those druggies are dangerous.” Daisy shook her head and clicked her tongue before adding, “This city ought to clean up its streets.”
Chapter 14
“Come with me,” Gretchen said to Matt after Daisy had wandered out of range.
“Where are we going?” Matt said with a grin.
“Have you found Charlie’s son yet?”
“Almost,” Matt said.
“Almost doesn’t count. If you want to talk to him, I’ll take you there.”
“I’ll follow you over.”
“Come with me. It will give me a chance to tell you about my first impression of him.”
“My mother already told me. But I’d like to hear it from you.”
He slid in beside her. Gretchen related the story of yesterday’s chase down Scottsdale Road. Matt sat next to her, gripping the sides of the car’s seat.
“You can trust me,” Gretchen said, noting his clenched fists and braced posture.
“I’ve heard that before,” he quipped.
Gretchen had never driven with a cop in her car. She drove as carefully as she could, obeying every traffic sign, coming to complete stops, using her directionals properly.
What a pain! Twenty-five miles an hour was much slower than she thought.
Out of the corner of her eye, she had the feeling he was watching her every move. She was relieved when he answered a call on his cell phone. Business kept him busy until they were close to their destination.
Gretchen made a turn onto Van Buren and slowed to look for the house.
“This must be it,” she said. “It’s the only pink stucco.” She pulled to the curb.
“Wait in the car. I’ll be right back,” Matt said.
“Not in a million years. This is my gig. You’re tagging along for the ride. I’m the one who found him.”
“You’re impossible.” Matt didn’t look like he meant it. Or maybe he did, but his lips had that amused turn to them. “What next?” he said. “Should we surround the house and go in with guns drawn? You can cover me. Oh wait, you don’t have a gun.”
“Shush.”
They both stared at the house. Chipped pink stucco. A broken window boarded up with plywood. Discolored blinds, all drawn.
“Stay here,” Gretchen said.
“What? I’m the law enforcement official, in case you haven’t noticed. You stay here.”
“No way. I’m the one who found this place. If you weren’t so busy following me
, you would have found Ryan by now.”
“I haven’t been following you.”
“I’m going in.”
“I happen to be the detective in charge of this case. I don’t wait in cars.”
She gave his garb an appreciative glance and wondered if he’d look as good in a uniform. He wore one of his social causes T-shirts, a white one that proclaimed, Running Strong for American Indian Youth. She’d seen him wear several with different motifs. This one had teepees against a backdrop of soaring eagles and an orange setting sun. “You look like a cop,” she said.
“No, I don’t. That’s the whole point of working undercover. So I don’t look like a cop.”
“He won’t even open the door if you go up to it.”
“He isn’t going to open it either way.”
Gretchen was already making her way up a broken sidewalk. Wilted shrubs framed the house. It looked deserted. She knocked softly and listened for movement inside. Nothing. She banged loudly. Then banged again.
Gretchen could smell Matt’s Chrome cologne floating on the breeze behind her.
She thought she heard something inside. A scurry sound like a mouse. Or a rat. The place was probably crawling with rodents and insects. The door opened a crack, and an eyeball peered out.
“I’m looking for Ryan Maize,” Gretchen said. “Is he here?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Gretchen Birch. I’m a friend of his mother’s.”
“No, you’re not. You’re a cop.”
“I’m not a cop.”
Gretchen heard a chuckle behind her.
“Do you have a search warrant?” the person inside asked.
“No. I’m trying to tell you, I’m not a cop.”
The miniscule opening in the door began to close. Matt’s arm shot out to stop it. He flashed identification with his other hand. “I’m the cop,” he said. “Don’t make a bad choice. Open the door and talk to us.”
“Don’t you need a warrant?”
“Not to ask questions about a death.”
The door swung open, and Ryan stepped hesitantly out onto the porch wearing the black do-rag. He squinted and rubbed his eyes. His shoulders slumped with an air of defeat, like he expected life to keep disappointing him.