Marti shrugged. “I don’t know. Either the Realtor or maybe Rebecca. She’s the literary agent for his estate, so she’d probably be the one to go through all his papers. I don’t think his wife would’ve found them.” She frowned. “I think they were separated or something by the time he died.”
Marti shook her head and smiled. “Anyway, all I know is that kind of thing happens all the time. Guess his mom won’t have to worry about her nursing-home bills.”
Jake was getting restless. He’d finished his coffee and shook his head when Marti offered more.
“Tom, I need to talk to you about something. Think we could step outside?”
When the two men left, Marti turned to me, eyebrow raised in a question mark.
“We broke into a beach house. Jake just wants to confess before some Realtor comes to show the place and calls the cops.”
This stopped Marti. She cocked her head, eyes twinkling, and grinned.
“Needed the privacy, huh?”
I could feel my cheeks reddening. “No, nothing like that.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Someone took my dog and locked him up in the kitchen of this old house. Get Tom to tell you about it later.”
Marti’s look changed to one of concern in an instant. Her eyes darkened and she frowned.
“Is your dog all right?”
“Lloyd? He’s fine. He’s fallen in love with a beach dog and spends all his time drooling and watching out the window for her.”
Marti smiled. “Love’ll do that!” Her gaze flickered to the window that ran the length of the café and she chuckled. “I guess I’ve been doing a fair amount of looking out the window and drooling myself.”
I spun around on my stool. Tom was outside, leaning against his unmarked car, listening intently as Jake talked, his back to us. There was something in the way they stood that sent a tiny shiver of anticipation through my body. Foolish as it probably was, I liked watching strong men. I liked the unselfconscious way they stood, the way they seemed to assume they could handle anything that came their way, including women.
Oh, God. I was becoming one of those women, the kind who squeezes their man’s arm and squeals over their strong muscles. No. Impossible. I would not get turned on by something as stereotypical as brute force and testosterone. Still, there was a part of me that liked knowing Jake could handle me, the same way I could handle him.
“Shut up!” I whispered, apparently out loud, because Marti said, “What?”
“Nothing,” I said, spinning back to her. “I think maybe that drooling stuff is contagious, that’s all.”
She laughed and I stood up, put the money for our meal on the counter and decided I’d spent enough time thinking about romance and way too little time doing something that was actually productive.
“Marti, do you know anything about Fred May’s brother?”
“Doug?”
I nodded. “Yeah, does he still live in the area?”
Marti frowned, thinking hard. “You know, I don’t know. Seems to me he took off right out of high school. Went to college somewhere far off, or into the military. I don’t know. Why don’t you ask his mother?”
I shook my head. “Tried that. She’s got Alzheimer’s or something and really couldn’t help us.”
“Did you ask the nursing-home staff?” she said. “Wouldn’t they have his name and number? I mean, if something happened, the nursing home would call the family.”
I nodded. “They can’t give out that information, but there are other ways we can try to get it.” Of course, those ways weren’t legal, but I wasn’t going to tell Marti that.
My cell phone chirped deep inside my purse. I caught the call on the fifth ring, nodded a hasty goodbye to Marti and stepped out into the frigid winter morning.
“I was about to hang up,” Pete said. “I don’t like voice mail.”
Jake looked up as I walked past and I shook my head at him, indicating there wasn’t trouble at the house.
“What did you find out?” I asked.
There was a slight pause, Pete’s way of being dramatic without a drumroll.
“There is no Mia Lange in that age range,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
I reached Jake’s truck, heard the doors unlock and looked back to see Jake pocketing the remote.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he called.
“What I mean is, I’ve searched every way I know how to, legal and illegal, and there is no Mia Lange over the age of eighteen or under the age of fifty-six. I think you’ve got a bogus client.”
I climbed up into the cab of Jake’s truck, pulled the door shut against the blustery wind and leaned back against the passenger seat.
“I kind of thought that’s what you’d say.”
“I traced her sister’s phone number, if that helps,” he said. “It’s registered to Carla Bucknell. I haven’t found a criminal record on her yet, but she does have a driver’s license and I got her address. You want that?”
I took down the information mechanically as my mind scurried to figure out all the possible implications of having a phony client.
“I do have some good news for you, though,” Pete said.
“What?”
“Your friend Jake hasn’t been arrested since he was eighteen and picked up for drinking underage.”
I hung up on Pete and watched as Jake shook hands with Tom and started toward the truck. I gave him just enough time to open the door and start up into the cab before I pounced on him with Pete’s news.
“Mia Lange isn’t Mia Lange,” I said.
Jake looked at me, unfazed. “Who is she then?”
“I don’t know, but she isn’t who she said she was. Doesn’t that concern you?”
Jake stuck the key in the ignition, started the truck and pulled away from the curb.
“Not really,” he said finally. “I thought something like that was up when she paid ten thousand in cash.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
Jake shrugged. “Stella, I figured it would all come out eventually. It wasn’t any big deal. The client isn’t required to tell us the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. They pay money for services rendered. Unless they ask us to do something blatantly illegal, or unless we just don’t feel like taking the job, we’re paid to do our job without checking their moral barometer.”
Jake sighed and seemed irritated. He was staring out at the street, frowning, and the little muscle in his jaw was twitching.
“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’m not independently wealthy. My auto-body shop burned to the ground, remember? I can’t earn a living unless I’m working.”
“But what if—”
“Stella, you know what your problem is? You think you’re still a cop. You think like a cop, you act like a cop. That makes you paranoid by nature and a stickler for following the rules. Well, private investigators have a different set of rules. They don’t have to play fair.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You mean you don’t care who this woman is, or why she wants to hunt down her alleged brother, you’re just going to take the money anyway?”
“Exactly. If I find out she’s looking to harm the guy, sure, I’ll do something about it, but for now, I’m taking the money.”
Jake pulled up in the driveway of the beach cottage and looked over at me.
“Come on, Stel, loosen up. I’m not a criminal. I just happen to know the world a little bit better than you do. I’ve seen things you couldn’t even imagine, so if our client wants to hire us under an assumed name, so be it. Doesn’t mean she’s up to no good. I figure she might be looking for the father of her illegitimate kid. Maybe she’s embarrassed about it, or maybe he’s an old flame. It could be anything, Stel. It’s not always sinister.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t like her from the start. I can’t imagine what she’s trying to run on us.”
We got out of the truck and started up th
e steps to the cottage.
“If it makes you feel any better, I asked a friend to check her out.”
“What friend?” I asked, thinking about his earlier phone call.
Jake smiled. “Always the cop investigating.”
“Asshole.”
“Jealous?”
“You wish.”
We would’ve continued this legendary debate, but the arrival of yet another delivery van stopped us. This time the company was local, Vigo’s Floral Ecstasy, the sign on the side read. The van was lime green, with pink-and-orange swirls rippling across the panels in hallucinogenic swirls. A huge gold crown encrusted with multicolored lights topped the vehicle, and tiny flags flapped violently from their posts at each corner. It was a hippie flashback of the worst variety.
A tall, skinny kid with a nondescript goatee slid out of the driver’s seat, walked to the back of the van and produced another flower arrangement.
“Yo,” he said, shuffling up to us in jeans that sagged below his navel. “Qué pasa!”
I saw Jake’s hand creep toward his gun and didn’t move to stop him.
“For me?” I said, reaching to take the arrangement.
The kid shrugged. “Why not? There’s no card. Knock yourself out.”
Jake handed the kid a dollar. “Back at ya.”
The boy looked at the dollar bill the way I used to look at a penny handed to me by a well-meaning elderly relative.
“Peace,” he muttered.
“Whatever,” Jake answered. “Who sent these?”
The boy held out his hand. Jake took the hint and dropped another dollar into his outstretched palm. The kid looked at the dollar, sighed and looked back at Jake.
“Don’t know.”
“You wanted money to tell me that?” Jake asked.
The boy grinned. “I figured you were making a charitable donation.”
Jake snatched the bill from the kid’s hand and pocketed it.
“Whoa, dude,” the boy said. “Did you see those trails?”
Without another word, the kid turned, flinging his hand out in front of him, then following its path with his eyes. He swung back up into the truck and pulled away, still moving his hand back and forth in front of him as he zigzagged down the street.
“See anything?” I asked, holding the pot out for Jake’s inspection.
He searched the flowers, felt along the rim and bottom of the pot, and finally stepped back, shaking his head.
“No bugs.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
We started up the steps. The front door opened and Aunt Lucy stood framed in the doorway. Her face paled as she studied the flowers.
“Where did those come from?” she asked quietly.
“Pretty, huh?” I said, ignoring the question. “A spring arrangement, I think. There’s red tulips, daffodils, violets and something else.”
“Lilies of the valley,” she said softly. “I don’t want them.”
She turned and walked away from us as we followed her into the house. She kept on walking, back into the kitchen where beakers and test tubes once again littered the countertops and table surfaces.
“They don’t have a card attached,” I said.
Aunt Lucy looked up at us. “He knows I know,” she said cryptically.
Jake frowned. “You know what?” he asked.
Aunt Lucy sighed, clearly irritated. “Get rid of them. I don’t want them in my house.”
“Oh, how beautiful!” Nina exclaimed. She walked across the living room and stood at the edge of the kitchen, studying the arrangement.
Aunt Lucy took the vase from my hands, crossed the room to the back door, flung it open and hurled the colorful bouquet out into the backyard.
“Enough is enough,” she cried, turning to face us. “Don’t you see what he’s trying to do?”
A tear snaked its way down her cheek as she looked from one to the other of us in a mute appeal that I couldn’t understand. It was clear she was both angry and frightened, but of what?
I moved, going to her and wrapping her into an embrace. Beneath my fingers I felt her trembling frame shake and for a moment thought of a wounded bird with hollow bones.
I stroked her back. “Come sit down, honey, and tell us about it. Let me help you.”
I looked over her shoulder at Nina. “How about a nice cup of tea, Aunt Lucy? I think we could all use a good cup of tea, right, Nina?”
Nina nodded, gulped and said, “I was just about to make some ginseng.”
Aunt Lucy raised her head, a shadow of her normal self returning at the mention of ginseng.
“Don’t give me that crappy twig stuff,” she said. “I want English breakfast tea. It’s up in the cabinet.”
I led Aunt Lucy to the table while Nina bustled about preparing the tea and Jake moved equipment out of the way at the table. Spike had slipped silently into the room and was efficiently gathering sugar, milk and lemon slices.
“What’s going on, Aunt Lucy?” I asked.
Lloyd, on cue, walked into the kitchen, collapsed in a heap at Aunt Lucy’s feet and licked her ankle. Instead of being pleased, Aunt Lucy began to cry softly.
“I never told you,” she murmured to the dog. “I wanted to, but I thought at first it was you. After that, it was too late. It wasn’t often, maybe once a year, sometimes on my birthday, sometimes in January. I just—I don’t know, I…”
Aunt Lucy shook her head. She looked up at me, her eyes pleading.
“You understand, don’t you? I mean, I didn’t know what to make of it. I didn’t want to make too much of it because what if there was some perfectly reasonable explanation, like a secret friend from church, or our insurance agent remembering me, or something…”
Her voice trailed off and she sat staring at her hands.
“Aunt Lucy, someone’s been sending you flowers for a long time?”
She nodded, clearly miserable and ashamed.
“I should’ve told Benny, but I didn’t think it was so bad, really. And what if I’d been making a big deal out of nothing? It wasn’t as if they arrived regularly. For years there weren’t any at all. But then, after Benny…was gone…after I started selling my formulas on TV, they started again. Only now, there are cards and more flowers and the groceries. I don’t know how to make him stop.”
Nina brought a mug of tea to Aunt Lucy and set it before her.
“Who is he, Aunt Lucy?” she asked softly.
My aunt reached for the mug, cradling it to warm her hands, and stared, unseeing, into the brown liquid.
“I have no idea,” she said.
I took a deep breath. “Never a card? What did you mean when you said, ‘He knows I know’?”
Aunt Lucy brought the mug to her lips, took a tentative sip and carefully set the cup back on the table before she answered.
“The flowers, they’re always the same ones, red tulips, violets, daffodils and lilies of the valley. I finally figured out he was sending me a message with them. Flowers have symbolic meaning, you know.”
“Oh, wow,” Nina breathed. “I, like, totally get this man, you know?”
Spike pinched her arm and shook her head in warning.
“What?” Nina whispered. “I don’t think it’s so bad.”
“What is he saying, Aunt Lucy?” Jake asked.
Aunt Lucy drank a little more tea and seemed to steady herself. “Daffodils are a symbol of unrequited love. Violets say, ‘I’ll always be there, watching out for you. I’m faithful.’ Red tulips are a declaration of love. They also mean ‘believe me.’ And lilies of the valley say, ‘You’ve made my life complete.’ They symbolize a return to happiness.”
I shook my head. “Someone sends you flowers for years and you have no idea who it is?”
Aunt Lucy shook her head vigorously. “If I did, I would’ve put a stop to it years ago. In fact, I thought he’d given up. I didn’t receive any flowers for over twenty years, then, a couple of months ago, they started again.”
“That is so weird,” Nina said.
Aunt Lucy looked around the table at us all. “You’ve got to believe me,” she said. “I would never be unfaithful to my Benny.” She looked down at the sleeping dog by her feet. “Benito,” she murmured, “you do believe me, don’t you?”
Lloyd opened one sleepy eye and smiled at my aunt. Good dog, I thought, good, good dog.
Aunt Lucy, temporarily satisfied, stood up and stepped away from the table. “I believe I’ll go lie down,” she said. “I’m very tired.”
“Good idea,” Spike said. “I’ll carry your tea.”
Aunt Lucy nodded and followed her down the hallway, looking for all the world like a tired, overwhelmed child.
While Aunt Lucy slept, the rest of us tried to make sense of her predicament. This was next to impossible. Flowers arrive annually for a few years, then stop, and then pick back up again over twenty years later. Nina closed her eyes and smiled dreamily.
“I am sensing someone from her past,” she murmured. “Someone who loved her and, oh, my God.” Her eyes popped open. “He died. Now, his son carries on the tradition.”
I rolled my eyes. “Nina, what gave you that idea?”
She shrugged. “I don’t question, I intuit. It’s a gift, Stella. You should try it. Just close your eyes and let your mind clear.” She closed her eyes again. “Now, what is your brain telling you?”
We all stared at her. “Baloney!” I said.
Nina’s eyes opened. “You’re hungry?”
Jake interrupted. “I think your aunt’s TV show started this. Maybe he hadn’t thought of her in years and then, there she was.”
“If it’s even the same person,” I added. “What if the two events aren’t related at all? I mean, this most recent series of gifts goes beyond an annual flower arrangement. Now he’s sending groceries.”
Spike came back and wrapped her long slender fingers around her coffee cup and regarded us with a troubled look.
“Do you think he’s dangerous?” she asked.
Jake said no, but I wasn’t so sure. “Well, he’s escalating. His gifts keep getting larger. He tracked her here. How could he have done that?”
Jake was frowning now. “I don’t know about that one,” he admitted. “It is strange that this guy found us.”
Stella, Get Your Man Page 19