Unwilling Accomplice - Barbara Seranella

by Barbara Seranella

  "I’ll get it."

  He backed away and let her work. She felt his eyes on her and made every effort to move as gracefully as possible. It took less than three minutes to jack up his car, zip off the lug bolts, and install his fifth wheel. While sitting on the concrete, she balanced the spare tire on her legs, lined up the holes, and hand-threaded the bolts before tightening them. He crouched beside her, poking at the hole in the ruined tire now lying on its side. If he didn’t watch out, he was going to get his hands dirty.

  "You want me to order you a new one?" She lowered the jack and whipped the air hose out of the way. "Same brand?

  These run about a hundred and thirty dollars, mounted and balanced."

  "That’s not a problem."

  He didn’t look as if it would be a problem.

  "Any luck on locating your niece or our missing jewelry?" he asked.

  "I put the word out as best I could. I might even have found a customer for you if you retrieve the pieces. He’s a collector of old cameos, but he also expressed an interest in the rings."

  "The rings aren’t for sale, but we probably could be persuaded to part with the cameo."

  "He offered to appraise it for free."

  "What's this gentleman’s name?"

  "Colin Webster. "

  "Oh, sure, he has a good reputation." Sullivan pronounced sure with a soft Gaelic roll. He handed her a twenty and his card. Sullivan Development. Probably into real estate deals, she thought, or maybe he was one of those savings-and-loan guys. These were boom times and no one saw them ending anytime soon. Even her little house had almost doubled in value since she’d bought it.

  Most of her well-to-do customers wanted to canonize Reagan. She wasn’t whining. Lord knew, enough of the boom economy trickled down to her.

  She started to refuse the twenty "You can pay me all at once."

  He patted her shoulder. "Keep it. I appreciate you taking care of this so quickly. "

  She pocketed the bill and rolled the damaged tire over to the tire machine. "My pleasure."

  He flashed her a last smile before getting in his car. "What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

  "Some of that famous Irish charm?" she asked, thinking blarney was more like it. Still, she laughed. No one had ever said that to her before. If only he knew what a twenty-dollar tip used to entitle a man to do with her. She wrote the brand and size of his tire on the back of his card, attached it to a clip-board, and went back to the Olds.

  The carburetor went together smoothly Munch had to run the car around the block to clean the carbon buildup off the spark plugs. By the time she wrote up the work order, ordered the Mercedes tire, and put away her tools, it was eleven-thirty.

  "What you got next?" Lou asked, coming out of the office.

  "I’m going to the school," she said.

  "Oh, yeah, right. I forgot for a second."

  "I’ll come back after."

  "Nah, go on. Might as well call it a day."

  "Jill is getting dropped off here later. I’ll be back."

  He rocked back on his heels and squinted out across the islands to the street beyond. Munch had a feeling he wasn’t seeing the traffic. "I keep thinking about that guy with Asia. Sick motherfucker."

  "We don’t know for sure. I’m just glad nothing more happened."

  "Remember what I said."

  "I will, thanks."

  Rico called as she was almost to her car. She came back to the shop in answer to the page.

  "I’m waiting," he said.

  "I was just about to leave."

  "You coming here?"

  "Wasn’t planning on it. This is my day to go to Asia’s school. I need to get there early. Asia told me last night that some man accosted her on her last field trip."

  "Accosted her how?"

  She pictured Rico sitting up suddenly at his desk. "He tried to get her to ride on a horse with him when no one else was around. Asia ran away. She only just told me about it."

  "You’re lucky she told you at all. So many of these things go unreported."

  "That's what St. John said." She knew the words would hurt Rico as they left her mouth. She was playing on his jealousy and it was small of her. "I was going to call you."

  "Where was the field trip? You want me to take a run over there?"

  "Lou wants to round up a posse and pay the guy a visit."

  "Works for me," Rico said, surprising her. She didn’t think cops were supposed to go in for the vigilante thing. Though they were probably just as tired as the rest of the world of bad guys getting away with their crimes.

  "Maybe you, me, and Asia can all go together. I know she feels safe with you."

  "Let me know and I’m there."

  She smiled into the phone. He would know that she was smiling. She was sure he knew precisely all the effects he had on her.

  "I talked to Hollywood PD," he said. "They haven't ruled on David Limitz’s death yet, but they’re investigating."

  Limitz had to be Painter Dave’s last name. "Thanks." He didn’t have to keep her in the loop.

  "They’ve gone in and cleaned out the building. The conditions were incredibly bad, I hear. Kids with staph infections, one even had gangrene. You die from that shit."

  "Gangrene? No kidding?"

  "That’s right."

  Funny Munch thought, how the same subjects have a habit of coming up in clusters. "How many kids were holed up there?"

  "At least a dozen. Those that could cleared out when the Limitz kid fell."

  "Or jumped or was pushed. I hope to God he didn’t die because he was meeting me."

  "You really think he knew something about Charlotte?"

  "He was holding my dog’s tag in his hand when I found him. The same tag that went missing last Saturday when I first saw Charlotte. He knew something."

  "It’s still not your fault. Although you might have men tioned the dog tag a little sooner."

  "I know." That was as close to an apology as she could manage. Sometimes she had trouble getting words out with all that was going on in her head.

  "Munch?"

  "I’m still here." She twisted the cord around her hand. Lou was looking at her, probably wondering what was keeping her from leaving. "Your friend called me."

  "My . . . ?" Then he got it. Rico was always quick on the uptake. She wouldn’t like him if he were dumb. "What did she say?"

  "I didn’t talk to her. I wasn’t here. She left her number so I could call her back."

  "Are you going to?"

  "Any reason why I should? Or shouldn’t?"

  He laughed without mirth. "I’m not stepping into that one. You’ll do what you want. I’ve got nothing to hide."

  "I don’t really have anything to say to her. I can’t see that anything she thinks she has to say to me will make me feel any better or different."

  "Go on to Asia’s school now. I’ve got to go, too. We’re serving a warrant and I need to be there." He paused. "I’ll be home tonight. Call me and let me know how it went at the school."

  ***

  The staff at St. Teresa’s was appalled when Munch told them what Asia had said. Mrs. Frowein, the principal, paled visibly and then urged Munch into her office. She looked both ways down the hall before closing her door.

  Munch repeated her story Mrs. Frowein rubbed her temples. She tapped her pencil against her desk blotter, making a constellation of graphite dots, but no notes.

  Munch noticed that she avoided touching last Friday’s calendar square, the day of the field trip. Mrs. Frowein seemed to become aware of her jiggling pencil and put it down. "So nothing actually happened?"

  Munch crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. "I wouldn’t exactly put it that way."

  "I’ll call a special staff meeting." Mrs. Frowein moved on to her eyebrows, massaging each simultaneously with a thumb and forefinger. Her right hand gripped the pencil again. Her left effectively covered her eyes. "We need to reemphasi
ze to everyone proper behavior when out in the world." She looked up then, as an idea occurred to her. "Does Asia wander off on her own often? Our other problem with her happened this time last year, didn’t it?"

  Munch felt her eyes fill with blood, then realized what was going on. The McMartin Preschool trial was constantly in the news. It had become a circus, a witchhunt. Kids were telling bizarre stories about playing naked movie stars games and traveling through secret underground tunnels to partake in satanic rituals. To Munch, it all sounded like hooey. If any part of the kids’ stories was true, there would be mounds of evidence. So far, the case was built solely on the preschoolers’ testimony Kids lied. Hell, for that matter, parents lied to kids at that age. Santa Claus, the tooth fairy the Easter bunny. Munch had seen the older lady who ran the school on TV. Peggy McMartin was confined to a wheelchair. She wore a teddy bear pinned to her dress. Something about the way she carried her head didn’t indicate that she was anybody other than who she claimed to be. The paper quoted the elderly lady as saying she would never harm a child, that she loved children. Munch believed her. But even if every child recanted his or her story the damage was done. Her school, the life she had known, her reputation—all were ruined. Six nearby schools and one church had also closed. No wonder Mrs. Frowein blanched at the hint of sexual misconduct on a school-sponsored outing.

  "I’m not blaming anyone," Munch assured her. "Not the school." She paused to make herself absolutely clear. "Not Asia."

  "No, I didn’t mean to suggest that. I’m sorry. I’m so glad that she kept her head and didn’t go off with this man, whoever or whatever he was. I’m just thinking, hoping, that we can keep this in-house. I really don’t think we need to involve child services."

  "I already told the police," Munch said.

  Mrs. Frowein looked as if she were going to be ill. "Was that necessary?"

  "Asia’s godfather is a cop. I went to his house last night. He’s going to send a unit to the petting zoo. They’ll probably try to determine if the man works there or what. Believe me, I

  wish this hadn't happened."

  Mrs. Frowein folded her hands in front of her and took a long time studying her nails. Munch almost apologized, but then decided that of her many regrets, going to St. John wasn’t one of them. She was sorry if it put this woman in some kind of bind, but every job had its bad moments. That’s why they called it work.

  Mrs. Frowein shook her head and looked at Munch as if she had failed to complete an important assignment. "Maybe St. Teresa’s and your daughter are not a good fit."

  Munch blinked, not quite sure she had heard correctly.

  "What are you saying?"

  "I have four hundred students. We have enough problems with normal issues. You and your daughter have managed to embroil the school twice—"

  "Four hundred students and we’re the only ones ever to give you problems?" Munch’s eyebrows were almost in her hairline. The smile on her face was not to be mistaken as one of

  amusement.

  Mrs. Frowein’s return smile was equally strained. "I have to look at what’s best for the school"

  Munch gripped the armrests on her chair until the tendons in her wrists bulged. "I can’t believe you’re making this political. I’m inclined to agree with you. This school and my daughter are not the fit I thought they were. Now let me tell you what’s not going to happen. I’m not going to pull Asia out of this school in the middle of the year, take her away from all her friends, and try to explain to her that she isn’t being punished for confiding in me. And you"—Munch pointed at the principa1——"are not going to kick her out."

  "l never suggested—"

  Munch didn’t let the woman finish. She held up a hand and said, "Don’t." Maybe they could find a way back to civility on another day. If the woman started lying to her now, that would make this damage all the harder to repair.

  Munch stood. "This conversation is over." She wanted to tell the woman, Good fucking day, before she stormed out the door. But that wouldn’t help either. She’d probably only draw another one of those disappointed looks.

  Chapter 18

  Munch had a difficult time concentrating on the words as the child read to her. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the large print, forcing herself to put aside her anger and concentrate on the task at hand.

  Sahara was reading to her. Sahara was black. Her mom was white, very blonde, and German. Munch suspected that Sahara was adopted, but never asked. Sahara was one of those talky open kids who was always on top of her classwork, anxious to learn, the first to raise her hand, and usually cheerful.

  When Ms. Hopp asked for a two-page story, Sahara gave her ten. For today’s reading, she had selected a book about the Underground Railroad. The whole concept of slavery seemed new to her, and Munch felt an awkwardness with the subject matter. Sahara was completely absorbed. In the story, white people were kind to the runaways and the escaped slaves

  made it safely to sanctuary in the North.

  Sahara read quickly giving animated voice to the dialogue, complete with proper inflections and facial expressions. Inside the front cover of the book was a map of the continental United States as it existed before the Civil War. The slave states were shaded red, the free states green. Most of the states west of the Carolinas were a neutral white. Munch didn’t know if that meant they weren’t part of the Union or had merely been undecided on the slave issue. Sahara pointed to California, one of the few shaded states on the Western coast. It was green.

  "Whew," she said with a smile that broke Munch's heart.

  "Yeah," Munch agreed. "Lucky thing." Sahara reached the end of her book. Munch looked at her list for the next child’s name. "Would you tell Brittany to come over?"

  "Okay." Sahara bounced back to her table and informed her classmate.

  Brittany brought a book about the neighborhood inventor. He was an eccentric guy who built a submarine in his backyard and then invited the kid in the story to go exploring with him. As Brittany stumbled over the words, Munch thought about the guy at the petting zoo.

  "What would you do if this guy wanted to take you in his submarine?" she asked.

  Brittany looked up, unsure how to answer.

  "lf any grown-up wanted to take you somewhere, you’d make sure your parents knew and said it was okay right?"

  Brittany flipped back a page, wondering if she’d missed something. "The parents aren’t in this book. The mom must be at work."

  Munch sometimes despaired at all the things these kids had to learn. How did you teach them to think beyond their parameters? "Even so," she said, "if this were you, you’d check before going off with anyone, right?"

  Brittany shrugged. "l guess. A submarine would be pretty cool, though." She looked around the room, obviously growing restless.

  Munch pointed to mid-paragraph. "You were here." The inventor had found an old inner tube, which he used to waterproof the hatch. The undersea world they explored was full of brightly colored fish, octopuses, and seashells. They also found a cave and pirate’s treasure. Brittany stumbled over the word doubloon.

  "They’re gold coins/’ Munch said.

  Brittany studied the illustrations, clearly more interested in the pictures than the text. Munch once again directed the child’s attention to the story and its dubious message. Two kids later, Munch’s tour of duty was up.

  Asia was immersed in an art project. Munch stood over her for a bit, admiring. "This is coming out nice."

  "Thanks," Asia said. "I’m going to use glitter on the sky part."

  "That’ll be pretty. What’s the house made out of? Papier-maché?"

  Asia gave her an arch look. "It’s mixed media."

  "Right. I knew that."

  "Uh-huh," Asia said, sounding unconvinced.

  "So I’ll see you later?"

  Asia twisted her face for a kiss. Munch obliged her.

  "I love you, honey. "

  "I love you, too, Mommy "

 
***

  "I’m glad you came back," Lou said when Munch pulled into the Texaco station. "We got swamped after you left. I’ve got five smog checks lined up and three AC charges."

  All gravy jobs. Lou had a smog license, but he was slow.

  "Sounds good to me. Let me make a quick call and then I'll get right on them."

  Lou looked at his watch.

  "Five minutes," Munch said, thinking how quickly he forgot that he had urged her to take the rest of the afternoon off.

  She went into his office and called Rico.

  "Hey," he said. "You just caught me."

  "Did I?" She told him about the principal’s reaction.

  "So she was more interested in covering her ass, huh?"

  "Seems to be an epidemic of that."

  "I'm thinking of giving up coaching for the same reason."

  "That would be a shame." His daughter, Angelica, played softball. When he and Munch had been dating, Munch had spent one Saturday at the park watching him. Loving him for it. The team’s battle cry was "KP" Munch later learned that it stood for "Kick pussy." The teenage girls all thought that was hilarious.

  "I worry now that I might pat some girl on the butt and have it taken wrong," Rico said. "I don’t need that shit. Bad enough the parents taking me aside and telling me what position their daughter should play."

  "Like it’s a democracy," Munch said.

  "Right. I’m the coach. There is no voting."

  She smiled, thinking any misguided yuppie parents who thought they could tell Rico what to do were in for a shock.

  "How’s your day going?"

  "I’ve been looking into Mobile Pet Supply. They paid the phone bill with cashier’s checks and they never applied for a business license. I have a composite sketch of the delivery driver."

  "I’d like to see it."

  "I’d like to show it to you."

  For a second, Munch wasn’t sure what she and Rico were talking about anymore. After a pause, she changed her tone.

  "How about the storage unit?"

  "We gathered a lot of evidence, but it’s not doing us much good yet. Unfortunately, we’re at the wait-and-see phase. Maybe one of the kids from the building in Hollywood will tell us something."