by T. J. Jones
"I'm not sure. Davey had talked about telling Angela, but I think she would have said something when she called. They were so close, he may have told her."
"When did he find out?"
"A few years ago, I think it was the year he turned thirty-two." She bent her head and a tear slipped out. "We had a little party and of course Eddy was working and said he couldn't make it, said it was stupid to have a birthday party for someone that old. Eddy was always so hard on Davey, and so callous. Davey tried not to let it show, but it hurt him. He told me not to worry, that he knew his Dad had always hated him because he was gay. I was upset. I couldn't admit to him that it might be true, so instead I told him Frank was his biological father and that his Dad couldn't get over it, that he didn't hate him, he just hated me. That much was true."
"Frank knew, obviously."
"No, not really. We only slept together one time and that was it. Davey was premature. There were problems early, so I was on bedrest for months. When Frank asked, I swore up and down Davey wasn't his, that he was Eddy's. The timing was off enough that Frank never questioned it. Eddy knew better of course, he's been shooting blanks his whole life, some congenital birth defect. Davey ended up with two men that wouldn't accept him, his biological father and Eddy. Like I told you before, Eddy came around. He and Davey ended up being pretty close the last couple of years. Eddy goes out to the horse barn every time he's home now, sits out there and sobs for what he didn't do. Davey forgave Eddy, but Eddy never forgave me. I should ask him to leave, but there's the barn, and everything." She was crying softly again so I sat waiting.
"No chance anyone else might know this?" I asked.
"No, Davey might have told Angela, but as far as I know, nobody else could know. Are you going to ask her, ask Angela if she knows?"
"I'm not sure. I can't tell you everything I know Edith, not yet. But I can tell you that you should be very proud of your son."
"Thank you, Eric, but I didn't need to hear that from you. I was always proud of him."
***
I had a lot to think about on the drive home. I kept going back to Davey's last letter, and his father issues.
Every mother is proud of their children, every father too, or should be. I thought back to the day my mother sat me down to ask if I was gay. She assured me she would love me no matter what, even if I was gay. At the time it didn't matter to me the way she said it. But wasn't that like saying she would love me, in spite of the fact that I was gay? Had Davey's mother said that to him? Or his Dad? What unintentional message would that send?
Every time I thought about Davey being involved with Rosalyn's kidnapping, I went down the same rabbit hole, questioning what could have caused him to go along with the man I now called Whitey. Had his control over Davey been purely psychological, driven by some need in the younger man, or was there more to it? Did Whitey threaten his family or blackmail him to keep that control? Very possibly it had been a combination of both, but why the change?
If I put together what little I knew and pieced it into a timeline, it seemed like Davey had been drawn into the dark world of child abduction by the man Rosalyn called Diablo Blanco at some point after leaving Point Road and going to Miami. If not an active part, certainly he was complicit, or as I hoped, forced into it somehow. Rosalyn had been put in that cage almost five years ago.
Sandy Foster found herself on that airplane bound for the middle east roughly two and a half years ago, but taken from Los Angeles, half a continent away. Somewhere during that time, coincidently or not, it appeared Davey had turned things around. If he was the villain Rosalyn claimed, what had changed to suddenly make him the hero of Sandy's story? Guilt, some epiphany, or was it the absence of another influence?
If, as I believed, Blanco Diablo and Whitey were the same man, perhaps that was the key. Maybe the man left Miami and set up shop in Los Angeles, went about his dirty business across the country allowing Davey free will. It made a certain amount of sense, if even half my guesses were right. Perhaps freed from whatever control he was subjected to, Davey had turned his life around after Diablo Blanco left town and tried to redeem himself. It didn't exonerate him completely in my mind, but then I hadn't lived his life.
The timing worked with Rosalyn's story and Sandy's, it worked with Davey's bank statements and his move into Sam's apartment. The common thread throughout Davey's story and possibly Whitey's, was the Talent Agency. Granted, there were bound to be a lot of talent agencies in Los Angeles, but the stories Sandy Foster told included girls from a lot of the cities where the company Davey worked for had Agencies. It was one thing they all shared and something to go on.
I wanted to move forward. Much as I liked spending time with Maggie, Angela was right, investigating Davey's death might be dangerous. Seeing Maggie lying across the seat of my plane, in pain and covered with blood had scared me like few things ever had before. It was like the day my mother called, that gut wrenching fear for someone you love. Cancer, it's terminal.
We're all terminal, and when we're young we don't think of it as being real. But time passes and people disappear from our lives, my mother and Davey were gone, and others I hadn't known quite as well. I couldn't imagine having to miss Maggie that way. She was lying in bed with a hole in her leg because I had gone along with the whole crazy rescue idea, mostly because it meant getting to spend a lot of time with her. It was all exciting and romantic, and I was glad that we had pulled a wild young woman back to reality; but the possible consequences had really hit home when I looked down and saw that blood pumping from her leg. She could have died, and part of that would have been my fault, I would have been the complicit one.
I felt like I had to find Davey's killer if I could, I owed him that. But maybe keeping his sister safe, maybe I owed him that too.
***
I went through all the cards, the notes, and the bank statements again and everything seemed to fit the scenario I had worked out in my head. One of the reasons I didn't want Maggie involved was the fact that her father was on my list of possible suspects. It would be a horrible twist of fate if Frank Jeffries had inadvertently killed his own son.
Frank had always rubbed me the wrong way, even as a kid. Maybe Maggie was right and Angela did get her bi-polar tendencies from her father. He was never warm to Davey or I when we hung around their house, and I attributed it to the fact that he thought of us as just teenage freeloaders, using his pool and eating his chips. But too frequently he would blow up for no apparent reason, order us off the place, and not allow Angela to come over to Davey's house. Quite probably that was why I didn't care for him.
When I got older, I heard some of the rumors. He had a reputation as a ladies' man. Even in our public high school there were stories whispered about him, how he had had affairs with married women and that he spent time in Lauderdale so he could chase after college girls. I had blown the stories off as gossip, normal people being jealous of anyone who lived on the Point. Now I wasn't as sure, the gossip might have had a grain of truth to it.
He was gone a lot. Even when Angela and Maggie were young, he spent more time in Fort Lauderdale than at home. Now it was most of his time, and any pretense he had of a normal marriage had disappeared. Business kept him away, that's what he said and what Angela seemed to believe. I doubted Rita or Maggie were that naïve. If I considered him a suspect, maybe I would have to visit Fort Lauderdale and do a little surveillance. With Maggie being laid up, it would give me time to see what her father was up to without her knowledge.
But my priority had to be on what I knew. I knew Davey had worked for Miami Talent, I knew Susy Foster still hadn't told me everything, and I knew there was plenty Sam hadn't mentioned as well. Susan Foster's boss Gleason might be involved. He seemed sleezy enough to send girls too young for the strip clubs down a more dangerous path. It was all about the money. I had to find out more, maybe even track down the mysterious Whitey if that was possible. It meant another trip to Miami, and that meant talking to
Maggie first.
I texted her, then locked up and drove over to the house. There was a car in the driveway that I didn't recognize when I pulled up, a new Audi. Angela surprised me by opening the door. "Eric. Here to see my sister no doubt?"
"I have to go to Miami, more questions about Davey. At least if someone gets shot this time, it'll be me."
"I'm sorry about the other day. Maggie has always been the brave one, it isn't your fault she's reckless."
"I don't know about reckless, maybe a little too enthusiastic."
"She really likes you, you know that."
"I really like her. Is that okay?"
She leaned forward and kissed my cheek, then actually blushed. "I think I missed out, but she's my sister, and sisters do stuff for each other, right? She's out on the porch with her new best friend, she fired the nurse because she wouldn't let her get out of bed."
The exchange surprised me, it was nice. Normal. Not like Angela at all.
Maggie's new best friend had half a head of blue hair and a familiar face. She smiled up at me when I walked out of the house. "Like my new car?"
"It beats the back of a Harley. Shouldn't you be in school?"
"Calm down, Dad. I've had a traumatic experience, I'm rehabilitating."
"Maggie had a traumatic experience. You went on a month long joyride that could have gotten you killed."
"He's been like this since we stayed in the hotel room together." Jasmine said. Maggie was laughing at us. "He thinks he's my big brother now. For what it's worth I have a tutor and I'm going to GED my way into college. Gram says if I don't get good grades, the car goes away."
"A's, good grades are A's." She bent the finger I had pointed at her.
"Do you want to be alone with your girlfriend?" She asked.
"I'm not his girlfriend." Maggie said loudly.
Jasmine leaned over and whispered in my ear. "I hope you're working on that."
"I'm working on the case, the one we were on before we had to stop so we could rescue your punk-ass."
"You realize it's totally inappropriate to talk to me like that, legally I'm a juvenile in this state."
"Juvenile delinquent. Maggie, help me?"
"She's my new nurse, Slater. You should have seen us getting me down the steps. I'm going to move into my Dad's room until I can do the stairs without help."
"I thought he might call and yell at me for breaking his daughter, but not so far."
"If you took Angie bowling and she chipped a nail he'd have the cops after you. I get shot and nothing."
"That's not true. Have you talked to him, is he in Lauderdale?"
"He did call and express concern, almost like a real father. I don't know where he is, Lauderdale usually. Is this Slater the Investigator asking?"
"He might know somebody who knows something. Might be worth driving by the house down there."
"Diplomatic, but I can see why he's on your list. Do what you need to do to eliminate him as a suspect, I'm fine with that. Did you talk to Angie on the way in? She'd be more likely to know where he is."
"She's good today, I don't think I should risk riling her up."
"She doesn't like my hair." Jasmine interjected.
"Go figure. I'm going to run back down to Miami, talk to Sam and Susy again. I didn't want you thinking I was sneaking down there without telling you."
"Do you want my car? It's back from the shop, in the garage."
"That's a big no. We got you shot and we almost totaled your ride once, that's enough damage for a while."
"Give me a week, week and a half tops and I'll be good to go."
"Yeah, whatever." I mumbled and looked at my shoes.
"Slater, I can see the screws turning in your head. My getting shot wasn't your fault and I need this. You don't have to protect me or worry about me. Look what we did, this beautiful little girl is back with her family because of us."
Jasmine posed for me, a huge grin plastered across her face. If it was hard for me to deny Maggie anything, it was doubly hard to deny them both.
"Alright, we'll see. But you need to be healed up completely before we take on anything new. I'll fly down there and rent a car. Might stay a day or two, or maybe not. Depends on what I find." Jasmine looked like she was about to speak. "No, I don't need any help! Maggie, don't encourage her. I have to go home, I'll call you."
There was an awkward moment. I knew what Jasmine expected, but I wasn't sure about Maggie. I finally leaned down and kissed Maggie's forehead, then turned and quickly headed for the door to the sound of Jasmine's laughter. No wonder Cletus did drugs.
***
It was about two that afternoon when someone knocked on my door. I pulled it open just as he was about to rap again. James Kennedy stood there, looking nervous and bobbling his head like there'd been an earthquake. I stood aside and he took the opening, rushing past me to the kitchen table. He was even more fidgety than his previous visit, and fumbled to open his soft sided briefcase, then dropped several folders on the floor. Finally, he composed himself, looked over his reading glasses at me, and apologized for not having an appointment.
"I believe my assistant gave you the wrong impression on the phone the other day Mr. Slater. Our firm is still very interested in doing business with you."
"Hard to get any impression but the right one. He said your company was definitely not going to do business with me. Not a friendly tone either."
"Oh gosh, my goodness! I will have to speak to him. After speaking with another individual, one with holdings much more substantial than Mr. Jeffries, we are prepared to offer you the same deal, a better deal even!"
"And who might this client be?"
"I'm not at liberty to say." His voice rose an octave, more a question than a statement.
"You can tell Maryanne Thatcher that I appreciate it very much, but she's done enough. She has been very generous already, paying for Maggie's hospital bills and my airplane repair. Any more and I would consider it charity."
"A simple business deal, like we outlined before. She moves substantial amounts of substandard housing and you split the profits with her holding company."
"She has the perfect guy already working for her. Why wouldn't she give Luis Sanchez the same deal?"
"He had some trouble years back, he is documented, but he isn't eligible for a Contractor's license. We tried to help him straighten it out, but the immigration laws are dysfunctional, miles of red tape. I can't volunteer more than that. I can tell you that your Contractor's license will soon be valid, the process has been expedited. Mrs. Thatcher wants me to assure you that this a win, win. You will both profit from this."
"What's the time line? I have a small crew of carpenters in mind, but it will take a while to get up and running."
"We need to see progress of course. We will sign on each house case by case and expect delivery within ninety days. I have a sample contract along and we could go take a look at some of the homes today if you have time."
"I'll make the time. Mrs. Thatcher must be a good client."
"Like I said the first time we spoke, Mr. Jeffries is a very important client. But Maryanne Thatcher, she owns the company."
Chapter Fifteen
I didn't get out of town on Thursday. I spent all day with Kennedy and Luis, looking at houses, signing contracts, and shopping for tools. It was hard to say how busy I could stay as a detective. If we figured out who murdered Davey, I'd be willing to walk away. But I had no desire to walk away from Maggie Jeffries and she could be very persuasive.
I wasn't sure going back to Miami was going to produce any results. It was an excuse to some degree, for myself, and something to tell Maggie. Miami and Fort Lauderdale are called sister cities, and I was beginning to think that the solution to this case, in a wry juxtaposition of my own life, might be a visit to the little sister. Perhaps metaphor was the better word, but I found the comparison humorous and sometimes you need that. The point was, that Fort Lauderdale was the location of
Jeffries and Jeffries, the firm founded by Frank Jeffries' grandfather.
The name of the firm had originally been coined by Hugh and Ernest Jeffries back in the days when Fort Lauderdale had been much smaller and quieter, long before the hordes of college kids discovered the beaches and turned the town into party central in the mid-Eighties. By then Hugh had passed away unmarried and childless, leaving the brothers burgeoning real estate empire in the sole hands of Ernest and his son Clarence.
Clarence got a law degree and married well. He used his Law school connections to expand the business and cozy up to state and local politicians, bribing officials when necessary to buy large quantities of undeveloped land to the west of the city. He expanded the family fortune by building tract homes on property ill-suited for that purpose just before stricter codes would be enacted. His wife's family lived in Jacksonville, a burgeoning area south of town known as The Point. He shipped her and his sons up to north Florida, built the ten-story building that still housed Jeffries and Jeffries, and continued draining the swamps.
I knew all of that from stories Gary had told us when he took us on short hops in his float plane. Gary was the youngest of the Jeffries boys. There was quite a spread in their ages, three boys, each born six years apart. The oldest brother, Clarence junior, defied his parents, joined the Marines and volunteered for Vietnam. He flew a Medivac helicopter until a Chinese rocket found its mark. It was too much for his mother and she committed suicide shortly after, leaving Gary and Frank in the sole care of their father. Gary always wore his brother's purple heart around his neck on a gold chain, and he cried when he showed it to us. I remembered thinking it was odd, because I was thirteen, that a grown man would cry like that.
He was that kind of a guy, hot and cold, like another Jeffries I knew. Sometimes we would show up to ask for a plane ride and he would blow up and chase us away as fast as our bikes would carry us. Two days later we'd be swimming in Angela's pool and he would come find us, all smiles, reminding us he was only there for another day or two and that he would be happy to take us flying. Davey was afraid of him, him and his flying, but he always went along to keep me company. I was a little afraid of him myself, but getting to fly his airplane occasionally was worth being a little terrified. He wasn't much of a pilot and I couldn't say I was surprised when I heard he had dumped it into the Everglades.