“Let me know if anything else gets printed. I’ll take care of it.”
Gemma let the subject go. She didn’t want to tell TJ about Pierpont, not until she found out why he called the paper for her. She and TJ got back to the business of the pictures TJ had taken. When TJ had brought up Teschler’s neighborhood debaucheries, Gemma had seemed eager to change the subject and told her about Norman’s writing.
After they had gone through all the photos, with Gemma adding little to what Billie Jean had already told her, TJ rose to leave. “Don’t bother to blast Haymaker. I gotta drop in on him anyway. I’ll see what I can find out. An’ check out Teschler’s book to see if it could have made him any enemies.”
“I don’t think it could have,” Gemma explained. “The book was far from being published.”
“What’s the book about, anyway?”
Gemma ran her fingers through her hair. “I only know it’s a mystery; he never told me the plot. I’m pretty sure it’s a moot subject because he used a flash drive for backup. It would have been destroyed in the explosion.”
TJ thought Gemma was probably right about the book. Hard to see how anyone could profit from preventing an unpublished book from coming out if it was fiction. Unless it was a tell-all of some kind woven into fiction.
After she left Gemma, TJ made a quick stop at the Tosa police station, and after finding out Haymaker wasn’t in, she left to stop in on some of the neighborhood women who had affairs with Teschler. Braun, the woman she saw leaving the funeral, would be the first. Hopefully, Braun hadn’t returned to her place up north; it was more than a five-hour drive from Milwaukee. The white Lexus was in the driveway at Braun’s house, its hatch door open while Victoria Braun unloaded groceries.
TJ introduced herself, explaining that she had been hired to look into Teschler’s death. “Saw you at the funeral yesterday. You looked pretty upset.”
“I don’t know why you want to talk to me; I wasn’t here when the explosion happened. I was at our lake house.”
“Heard you and Teschler were kinda close,” TJ hinted, thinking it interesting that Braun had immediately gone on the defensive.
Braun stood straight-legged beside her car, making no move to invite TJ in the house for a chat. “Whatever you might have heard about Norman and me is ancient history. I only came to his funeral to pay my respects.”
“I didn’t see your husband paying any respects. Does he know you’re here?”
“He’s on a business trip right now; otherwise he would have come with me.”
She hadn’t answered TJ’s question, the answer visible in her shaded eyes. Braun hadn’t told her husband she had gone to Norman’s funeral, convincing TJ that the mister still harbored bad feelings about the affair.
“So you were up north the night of the explosion?”
“Yes. And my husband was out of town.” Her nostrils flared. “I resent the implication of your questions.”
After assuring Braun her questions were the same ones she was asking everyone, TJ left. She would have to verify the Brauns’ alibis for the evening of the explosion, and if they held up, she could take them off her list. Hopefully she would be able to do it without driving all the way to Manitowish Waters to interview the neighbors there.
She walked a few doors down, passing the cavity in the earth where Teschler’s residence once stood. The foundation wasn’t even recognizable amidst the dark, mucky debris. What kind of anger could make someone incinerate a man inside his own home? Hard to imagine. Maybe it had been just an unfortunate accident.
TJ knocked on the door of Rosemary Haynes, a widow whom Billie Jean suggested Norman probably had an affair with based on the fact she lived right next door to him for the last twenty-five years. And she was female. No one answered. She heard music and walked around the poorly maintained Tudor house to the pool area in the back. She found Haynes lounging alongside an ancient boom box, strains of Adam Lambert crooning, “Mad World,” oozing from its speakers.
Probably trying to absorb the last Indian summer rays, Haynes’s full-figured body filled out a black one-piece bathing suit with its straps undone. Large, thick-rimmed black sunglasses covered her eyes, and her tanned legs, neatly shaved and shiny with tanning oil, were stretched out on a chaise. Next to her on a small table sat a pitcher of what looked like lemonade, but TJ suspected was more likely filled with a supply of margaritas because a saucer of lime slices sat beside it.
TJ reached down and hit the off button on the boom box.
Startled, Haynes dropped the book she was reading and raised her sunglasses, exposing dull blue eyes heavy with mascara and liner. Time and too much sun had not been kind to her.
“Who the hell are you?”
After TJ explained the purpose of her visit, Haynes offered her a drink and pointed to the next chair. TJ turned down the drink but took a seat.
“I don’t know what I can tell you. Norman was a nice man. Don’t think anyone woulda torched him like that. Musta been an accident.” Her voice was thick, her words mushy. The half-empty pitcher at her side had apparently started out full.
TJ thought she should come back another day—before Haynes got into her happy hour and her speech wasn’t slurred. “Coulda been an accident,” TJ said. “I just want to be sure.”
“I know who hired you. That Rosenthal bitch.” Haynes snorted. “Thinks her shit doesn’t stink. She was always sucking up to him. Called herself his protégé, but he was probably boinking her like he did every other chick in this neighborhood.” TJ didn’t comment on Haynes’s guess that Gemma had hired her.
“Did that boinking include you?” Sometimes the direct approach was best. Well on her way to being totally sloshed, Haynes would have loose lips.
“Sure, we got it on now and then. I’ve never been one to turn down a friendly roll in the hay. Especially since my Eddie passed.” She paused to finish off the last swallow of her drink. “So see? I’d never wish the guy any harm. Wouldn’t want to lose my right-next-door, convenience sex.” She laughed as she said it, her blond hair in disarray around her overly tanned face. “If you’re lookin’ for someone who mighta done him in, you gotta go somewhere else.”
“Any idea if anyone might have wanted to kill him?”
“Nah. There were people who plain didn’t like the guy, but no one who’d blow him up.”
“Did you notice anything unusual the day of the explosion, maybe a strange car in the driveway?”
Haynes poured another drink. “Can’t say that I did.”
TJ left a card and told Haynes to call her if she thought of anything that might be helpful and made a mental note to talk to the woman again when she was sober. When she got to the curb, she saw an unmarked parked behind her Mini; Brian Haymaker stood leaning on the hood of his sedan.
“I heard you were looking for me,” he said.
“Yeah? An’ how did you know where to find me?”
“It wasn’t too hard to figure out. I am a detective, you know.”
TJ huffed. “Not that I noticed.”
“Where’s all this negativity coming from, Ms. Peacock? Was it something I said? Did?”
What was it about these young detectives that made them think they were God’s gift? “You talked to some airhead Tosa reporter and hinted that Ms. Rosenthal might be a person of interest in Teschler’s explosion and the Chapman girl’s death. That’s pretty low.” She wanted to add “even for you” but figured she didn’t really know him all that well.
“I don’t know where you get your facts, Peacock. I never talk to reporters. Ever. So what else did I do?”
TJ read him as telling the truth. She’d been bluffing with the accusation anyway. She knew what reporters were like; always looking for attention and doing whatever it took to get it. But she wasn’t ready to let up on him.
“It’s what you didn’t do; you blew
off the investigation into Teschler’s death.”
“Not that I have any obligation to inform you how I do my job, but I did investigate Teschler’s death. I’m sure you know by now that the explosion was ruled accidental by the fire inspector.”
“Ruling it ‘accidental’ doesn’t always leave out foul play.”
Haymaker stood and opened the door of his car. “I know you used to be a cop. You should understand that the department wouldn’t spend a lot of time on a case that has nothing to go on.”
“Then I guess it’s up to me to figure it out.” TJ got in her car and drove off. She saw Haymaker in her rearview mirror, shaking his head. Why did he always make her forget she needed his input? There had to be a way to get in his good graces and that wasn’t going to happen if she kept allowing her irritation with him get the best of her.
Chapter 17
Sondra Jackson sat up in bed so thirsty she was even dreaming about an ice-cold Diet Coke. Keith Fink, the man lying next to her, snored softly and farted into the covers. Sondra wrinkled her nose and left the bed to find something to drink. She descended the stairs to the kitchen without bothering to cover her nudity, and when she reached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped. She heard voices whispering in the guest room; someone else was in the house. Had Craig brought Debra Fink back here? She would be super pissed if he had. The exchange with the other couple tonight had been her idea, although Craig had admitted he found Debra attractive and would enjoy the opportunity to get her into bed.
Crap. The sounds she heard were definitely sex sounds and they were coming from the guestroom. Her asshole husband must have come here with Debra after all; what was he hoping for, an orgy? It couldn’t be. No way the other couple was ready for anything like that. She moved quietly to the guest room, ready to peek in and catch them at it. Sondra, grateful the house was in nearly total darkness and that she remembered the floor plan from the night they had played bridge here with Debra and Keith, poked her head around the doorframe and looked into the room.
What the hell? There were three people in the room, two women and a man. All three were nude. The man was mounting one of the women while the other woman straddled her face. They all wore masks.
Debra must be into some really kinky shit, Sondra thought, and wondered who the other woman could be. Without taking time to ponder how Craig had managed to arrange a threesome without her knowledge, Sondra’s anger flared and she stepped into the doorway. She wanted to scream at them, but she became distracted by the tingling of her nipples and the heat stirring between her legs as she watched. The scene was hot; she couldn’t take her gaze off the sweaty, writhing bodies on the bed.
The woman on her knees saw her. Was it Debra? It was hard to tell. She wore a feathered Mardi Gras mask. Sondra couldn’t move, totally fascinated as they all made eye contact. The couple stopped what they were doing. The man pulled out of his partner and stepped out of the bed. He wore a Darth Vader mask, and once Sondra’s gaze left it, her eyes traveled down his body, and she watched his huge cock slowly begin to shrink. Sondra couldn’t believe it. She had never seen one that size except in porno flicks. She stared at it, her breathing quickening. This man was definitely not her husband Craig.
The instant he noticed where her gaze lingered he swelled to full erection, his penis pointing to her, inviting her to come nearer.
Sondra walked forward.
Chapter 18
At the beginning of our session today, Lisa asked me why I was so passionate about my work. In order to explain it, I had to tell her about my father’s jewelry store.
“I was fascinated with my father’s jewelry store when I was a child. The minute I turned sixteen, I begged to be allowed to work in it. My sister Goldie had no interest in the business other than how much jewelry our father was willing to adorn her with. When she turned sixteen, she rushed to get her driver’s license in order to keep her social life moving at the frantic pace she was so crazy about.
“I loved working in the store, arranging the glittering displays of jewelry, deciding which pieces to promote, and craftily steering a customer toward the perfect selection before he thought about shopping around. The pursuits of most high school students held little interest for me.”
“Your interest in the business must have made you and your father close,” Lisa commented.
“You’d think so, but despite my dedication to the business, my father rejected any of my suggestions for improvement. Everything he did with the store was rooted in decades of past practices. Even my sales record, which surpassed that of his best employee, didn’t persuade him to listen. He believed in the status quo and was suspicious of anything he perceived as trendy. Doing something different might have a negative impact on what he felt was a proven method of running the business. It supported our family, after all, and I should be happy with that.”
“How did you feel about that?” Lisa asked.
“I had to bury a lot of my resentment for fear he would tell me I couldn’t work there anymore. So I did as I was told. My big opportunity came when my father had to have knee surgery and would have to be off his feet for several weeks. He was in a car accident that happened just a few blocks from the store. It was March, and since that time of year isn’t a big jewelry-sales month, he didn’t think we needed any of the part-time employees to fill in. That left Julia, his only full-time employee, and me, to keep things going.”
“Then you were able to try different sales techniques?”
“That’s what I’d hoped, but I had to work around Julia.” Julia, a tall, dark-haired woman, wore clothes more fitting for a secretary on a construction site than a saleswoman in a jewelry store. And worse, she disapproved of the boss’s daughter working in the store.
“She tried to convince my father I shouldn’t be left alone in the store, but that time he stood up for me and insisted I was ready. I made sure of it. I did everything I could to have my schoolwork done ahead of time and talked to all my teachers, who were nice enough to help me plan for the days I would be spending at the store. As usual, Julia would cover days, and I would join her whenever my classes allowed. I would work alone between five-thirty and seven, when we closed, and also on Saturdays.”
Lisa, intent on my story, asked, “How did it go?”
“I was bursting with ideas, and I couldn’t wait for my first night alone in the store. Unfortunately, I underestimated Julia’s control over things and been too naïve not to realize my father had given her explicit instructions on exactly what my role would be while he was away. She thwarted any of my new ideas for marketing. I felt crushed, but I made the most of it. Whenever I could, I used all the techniques I’d read about and never dared to use when my father was around. My sales soared.
“Another sales technique my father resisted was developing online sales. I was enthralled with eBay and quickly became addicted to the auctions that took place for antique jewelry. It was necessary to have a credit card in order to buy or sell on eBay. Unknown to my father, I had signed up for one as a store employee and made sure to pay every bill early. Unless I defaulted, he would never have to know. I lied about my birthday, but as I expected, they didn’t check it out. Through the auctions I acquired an impressive collection of less pricey pieces and wore them whenever I worked.
“My father had boxes of jewelry in the safe, filled with pieces that hadn’t sold, along with dozens of things people had returned or failed to pay for on their payment plans. It wasn’t easy to turn around ‘used’ jewelry, and he stubbornly refused my pleas to advertise them on eBay. When I asked him what good they were sitting in the safe, his answer was always, ‘Someday.’ Someday he would reset them, someday he would put them on a special sale, or someday he would sell them for the gold. Someday, someday. I got frustrated, listening to him go on about it.”
I realized I was rambling on and on about the past, but Lisa didn’t appear b
ored with my dialogue.
“Now someday had come. I arranged an eBay account for an online store and listed ten items from the safe, pricing them high enough for profit, but low enough to be enticing. I had studied copywriting, and I knew that what you said about your product was as important as the product itself. Using all the tips I collected from the experts, I described each piece in a tantalizing manner and included photos of them from flattering angles. I arranged eBay auctions for the most unique pieces, often starting the bidding myself using one of my Gmail addresses.
“By the time my father came back to the store six weeks later, I had significantly reduced the number of ‘stale’ pieces that had been stored in the vault. The sales added thousands of dollars to our profit during his absence.
“I don’t know what I expected, but when I showed him the figures, his silence hurt me like nothing else he could have done. He didn’t praise me, he didn’t ask how I had done it, and even worse, he said, ‘Well, that’s done, isn’t it?’ and never spoke of it again. In that moment I knew my father would never support me, and never use my ideas. The next day I turned in my resignation and started taking a bus to the Southridge Mall after school, where a national jewelry store chain hired me the same day I applied.”
I wrapped up my dialogue about the past and asked Lisa how much time we had left in our session. My story seemed to have lasted forever, but we still had thirty minutes left.
“I’m glad you told me about all of that; it explains a lot about your devotion to your work and your feelings for your father.”
“I’ve gone to the sleep support group two times now,” I added, bringing us back to the present. I had told her all I wanted to about my father.
“How’s it going?’
“It’s hard to say. One of the members believes in out-of-body experiences, and he thinks I’ve had them.”
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