by Tom Fowler
“You don’t seem to be hurting for money.”
“Big difference between investments and cash on hand. It’s also a lot more fun to win the money than hand someone a fucking credit card. I figured I could turn my twelve hundred into at least three grand.”
It would be an impressive profit, but possible in a no-limit cash game. Presuming Francis possessed the skill, of course. “Sounds like some serious winning.”
“It woulda been.”
We made it back to Ko Olina quickly. Gloria sat with Joanie in the lobby when Francis and I walked through the doors. She smiled and came to greet me. Joanie remained seated and scowled at her husband. I pulled Gloria toward the elevator as Francis grabbed a seat beside his wife. “I think we’ll want to give them some space,” I said as we got on the elevator.
“Where was he?”
“An illegal poker game.”
“How’d you get him to come along?”
I smiled. “Don’t you know my powers of persuasion by now?”
“That’s why I’m asking.”
“Fair. I flashed my badge to get in. Then—”
“You brought your badge?”
The elevator dinged, and the doors parted. Gloria and I walked down the hallway to our suite. “Force of habit,” I said. “The place had two guards. They probably played football at Aloha Stadium. There . . . might have been an altercation.”
Gloria shook her head as I opened the door, and we walked into the suite.
“So what happened?”
“Francis came with me. We didn’t really disrupt the games much, but I still think I’m banned from the poker room for . . . probably forever.”
“Did you have any interest in playing poker out here?”
“Thankfully not.”
Gloria walked up to me and pressed her body against me. “Did you have any other more immediate plans?”
“Lots more vacation sex?”
“I like those plans,” Gloria breathed onto my neck.
* * *
The next morning, I checked my messages. Once again, the persistent lady with the disturbed niece left me a long and rambling voicemail. I felt tempted to call her back and spout a string of uncharitable words. A year or two ago, I may have done it. Instead, I deleted the voicemail. She would end up leaving a bunch more anyway. I couldn’t help her from Hawaii, so she’d need to wait for me to get home. By now, she probably stalked my office waiting for my return.
Gloria went shopping. I got my fill of it the previous day, so I stayed back in the suite. If our homebound flight ran low on fuel, the pilot could dump Gloria’s luggage and enjoy a significant weight reduction. After running about four miles on the mean streets of Ko Olina, I showered and took breakfast at the resort’s restaurant. Thirty minutes later, I was on the beach. After fifteen more minutes, I swam laps out to the breaker and back. Once I completed a dozen, I relaxed in the chaise longue again and watched with interest as girls in bikinis arrived. The life of a detective is rarely dull.
After a half-hour of lying out in the futile hopes of overcoming my European ancestry enough to tan, I went back inside. When I walked into the suite, Gloria had returned. A large box, wrapped with a bow, sat on the bed. Gloria herself lay next to the box, in a teddy perfectly highlighting every curve. She gave me a come-hither grin. “Did you think I’d forget your thirtieth birthday?”
“I held out hope,” I said.
“You’re an old man now.”
“I’m in my prime.”
Gloria put the box on the floor, reclined on the bed, and crooked her finger at me. “Show me.”
So I did.
Bonus Preview: Chapter 3 of A March from Innocence
After we finished lunch, my parents called. I got treated to my mother sniffing and tsking over the fact I dared celebrate my thirtieth birthday in Hawaii. Relations with my parents acquired an air of frostiness since the whole flap over my sister’s death turning out to be a murder. We agreed to meet for dinner after I returned to the mainland. They would take me someplace fancy and expensive, which wouldn’t melt all the frost, but it would help.
A little while later, my cousin Rich called. He worked as a detective the Baltimore Police Department, and his rise through the ranks of the BPD coincided with my career as a private investigator. I don’t normally believe correlation means causation, but Rich—though he would be loath to admit it—saw his career greatly aided by mine. In balance, he’d shown me a lot about what it means to be a detective, something I would never admit to him. We got along most of the time, but we were still a distant kind of close. “Hello, favorite cousin,” I said.
“You’re damning with faint praise, considering the competition,” said Rich.
“But it’s praise nonetheless.”
“Happy birthday. How does it feel to be thirty?”
“About the same as it felt to be twenty-nine,” I said, “except the dread caught up to me.”
Rich chuckled. He’d be turning thirty-seven in a few months. “You’ll get used to it.”
Gloria took away our glasses and busied herself in the kitchen. “Honestly,” I said in a hushed voice, “I’m not sure how to feel about it. I know it’s just a number, but it’s a pretty significant one.”
“Where did you think you’d be at thirty?”
“I don’t know. Traveling the world. Having fun. Not working.”
“Well, you’re on vacation in Hawaii. I think you’ve come pretty close.”
“You know what I mean,” I said.
“I do. I remember how you were back then. It’s much better to have you around like you are now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Rich said. “You’ve grown up a lot. You’re still careless and reckless, but you’ve matured since you’ve been working . . . and since you’ve been with Gloria.”
“Wow.” I paused. “I guess I never expected to hear something like this from you.”
“Don’t get used to it. You won’t hear anything like it again until you’re forty.”
“Fair enough.”
“You having fun out there?” he said.
“Pretty hard not to. We still have another week-plus. You should fly out and join us.”
“Some of us actually have to work.”
“Take vacation,” I suggested.
“I’m actually working on something now. Otherwise, I probably would.”
I didn’t really want to talk shop with Rich—a feeling I was confident he shared—so I changed the subject. “What did you do for your thirtieth?”
“Hmm.” Rich paused as if in thought. “Went drinking. I had been with the BPD a year or so by then. Some of my fellow cops took me out.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It was a hell of a lot better than my twenty-fifth. I spent it in Afghanistan.”
“Despite the bad rep Baltimore has, I’m sure it’s much better than Afghanistan.”
“It is,” Rich said, his voice acquiring the faraway tone of distraction. “Look, I need to go. We can do dinner when you get back. I won’t take you to a place as nice as your parents will. Hope you don’t mind.”
“As long as we sit down and order from a menu, wherever will be fine.”
“All right. Have fun out there. Happy birthday.”
“Thanks, Rich.” As he always does, Rich hung up on me without saying goodbye. On rare occasions, I got to turn the tables on him and hang up on him first. Today would not be one of those days. Maybe my reflexes were already slowing down in my dotage.
After I talked to Rich, Gloria insisted I open the large box next to her on the bed. Inside, I found a carry-on sized suitcase. It went well with the rest of my luggage, and—true to form for Gloria—sported a designer label. I doubted Ralph Lauren had much input on the design of the carry-on bearing his name. “Open it,” she said as I inspected the suitcase. I unzipped it and looked inside. Gloria packed it with sweaters and shirts. “I figured you could use a wardrobe refresh this wint
er,” she said with a smile. The garments were as designer as their container. I tried everything on. The garments fit like someone stitched them just for me. Gloria was a shopping ninja when it came to clothes.
“I guess I have a few older things to donate now,” I said.
“Get rid of those young man’s clothes in your closet,” Gloria said with a wink.
“I’ll remember this when you turn thirty.”
“I still have almost two years.”
I thought about it. Gloria and I knew each other going on two years. For a while, ours was a relationship of convenience. Neither wanted a commitment, but both wanted to have fun. Eventually, she confessed she loved me. I couldn’t blame her. I told her I loved her, too, and we’ve been an official couple ever since. Would we still be together in another two years? Would she expect a ring if we were?
Were these the kinds of thoughts men harbored once they hit thirty?
“You OK?” Gloria said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just getting used to being thirty.”
* * *
The remainder of our time in Hawaii passed without any incidents worth mentioning. We came back on another nonstop flight to the mainland at Dulles Airport outside of DC. Nonstop flights between Baltimore and Honolulu were impossible to find. We each watched a couple of movies on the journey before napping the rest of the way. When we landed, it was about noon local time. We collected our luggage, retrieved my Audi from long-term parking, and stuffed it with more bags than we brought upon departure. I almost needed an SUV just for Gloria’s stuff.
My plan for the day was to stay awake until a normal bedtime. Gloria napped in the middle of the afternoon. To fight off the temptation of resting beside her, I decided to run around Federal Hill Park. I hadn’t seen the familiar sights in a month. As much as I love running in Baltimore, the backgrounds in Waikiki and Ko Olina proved much more scenic. If I lived in Hawaii, I would be a marathoner.
When I got back, Gloria was awake and watching a sappy movie on TV. I couldn’t tell if she looked sad from the film or tired from having to adjust to eastern time again. I took a shower, then came down and looked in the fridge. Before we left, I pitched most of my perishable items. My grocery situation is normally lacking, and today’s was the worst it’s ever been. I still owned a pantry, however, so I made some whole wheat pasta with sauce. The sauce would be boring without any meat or sausage in it, but at least it was lunch. Gloria joined me, and we chatted about being home.
After our meal, my phone rang. I looked at the number. It was the same one which plagued me in Hawaii. There is something to be said for persistence. In reality, there are many things to be said for it, and not all of them were kind. I spun a few of the more uncharitable ones through my head as I answered. “Hello?” I said, summoning my professionalism from its long retreat.
“You’re a hard man to get a hold of,” the woman on the other end said.
“I was on vacation as my voicemail told you about a hundred times.” So much for professionalism. Sometimes, I wondered how I kept the clients I found.
“I wouldn’t keep calling if it weren’t important.”
“Of course not.”
“Can we meet at your office?”
I frowned. I didn’t expect to dive back into work so soon. A day or two adjusting to being on my normal time zone would have been nice. Sensing my ambivalence, the woman continued. “I think any more delays would be bad for my niece.”
At least a month passed. Her niece was probably dead. My professionalism reared its head again when I decided not to share this fact with her. In this age of easy information, she must know it already. “All right,” I said. “I’ll be there in a half-hour.”
“Thanks,” she said and hung up.
“I’m going back to work,” I said to Gloria.
“Already?”
“Better than getting fifty more calls from this woman.”
She nodded. “True. She certainly left enough messages while we were gone.”
“I might as well hear what she has to say.” I grabbed my keys and threw a jacket on. I looked at the two guns in shoulder holsters on my coat rack. My license would be valid again by now. I could carry a gun and not get in trouble for it. Did I need one to meet an annoyingly persistent woman at my office? I didn’t know where the case would lead if I chose to accept it. I took off my coat and slipped the 9MM in its shoulder holster around my body. On a colder day, wearing a heavier coat, I would have gone for the .45. I hoped I wouldn’t need either.
* * *
It is my custom to be late. I routinely feel I have plenty of time even when I don’t, and I’ve always felt being prompt is overrated. The drive from my house in Federal Hill to my office in Canton was short, made longer only by traffic lights along the way. I sat in my office in the CareFirst building ten minutes early. I wondered if turning thirty would give me a new perspective on time and timeliness.
I hoped not.
Eight minutes later, I heard the elevator down the hall ding. Footsteps tracked along the corridor toward my office. I saw a woman walk through the outer door, then right through the inner door. If I were a more conventional detective, I would have a secretary and a waiting area. I had the room for both and the use for neither.
The woman was white and looked to be about forty, with blond hair graying at the temples and at the top of her head. She was slender without looking unhealthy. Her face would make people take a few years off her age. She sat in my guest chair without waiting to be invited.
“Welcome back,” she said. Enough sarcasm dripped from her voice to stain the carpet.
“Thank you,” I said, not taking the bait. “I needed some time away.” I figured adding in my suspension would not help me land a client.
“I’m Madeline . . . Madeline Eager.”
I offered my hand, and after a moment of indecision, Madeline shook it. “Nice to meet you, Madeline.” I hoped I sounded sincere.
“Do you want to hear about my niece?”
“It’s why we’re here.”
“She’s a good kid. That’s the first thing. She doesn’t deserve what’s happened to her.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
“I don’t know. Not all of it, at least. Her mother—my sister—is a mess. We’ve tried to get her cleaned up, but it never lasts for long.”
“Drugs?”
Madeline nodded. “She just can’t stay clean.”
“What’s your sister’s name?”
“Karla. Karla Parsons. She was married at one point.”
“Husband left her because of the drugs?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“And I suppose she hasn’t been the best parent?”
“I love my sister,” Madeline said, “but she’s a terrible parent. Libby would get money for things, and Madeline would use it to buy drugs. Libby would get nice gifts for Christmas or her birthday and same thing. The poor kid.” She paused and shook her head. “It’s tough to admit, but I’ve basically given up on my sister. I spent a lot to send her to rehab. It didn’t work. I can’t afford it again.”
“Grandparents?”
“Our parents died a few years ago. Karla’s ex’s parents don’t want to have anything to do with her. They live out west somewhere.”
I nodded. “Tell me about Libby.”
“She’s fifteen. She’s a good kid. I think she blocks my sister out most of the time and tries to live her life, you know? That’s a lot for a kid to have to do.”
“And you’re worried she’s missing?”
“I usually hear from her every few days. Sometimes she stays with me when Karla gets to be too much.” Madeline’s voice cracked. I pushed a box of tissues toward her. She took one and held it in her hand. “I think I’ve done more to raise that girl the last couple years than Karla has. Libby stayed with me while her mom was in rehab a few months ago. I’ve barely seen her since. Only heard from her a few times. That stopped about six weeks ago
.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know. Karla doesn’t know, either . . . not that I’d expect her to know, or care.” Madeline dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. “I just want to find out. I hired a detective but could only afford a day. He didn’t find anything. I’ve heard about you on the news, so I figured I’d ask you to help.”
“Do you have a picture of Libby?” I said.
“Yes, from a few months ago.”
“Good. Text it to me.”
“You’ll help me, then?” said Madeline.
“If I didn’t, you’d keep calling me. This seems easier.” I gave Madeline a small smile to soften the blow, even though I meant what I said.
She smiled in return. “I suppose it is.”
“I have to warn you, though . . . if your niece really is missing, this might not have a happy ending.”
“I know.” Madeline dabbed at her eyes again. “I’ve seen enough movies and TV shows to understand that her odds of being found go down every day. I guess I hope she’s not really missing. Or that she’ll be easy to find if she is.”
“I hope so too. I’ll let you know what I find.”
“Where are you going to start?”
“With your sister,” I told her.
“Do you need her address?”
“I can find it.”
“OK,” she said. “Good luck with her. She didn’t know shit when she talked to me. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”
“I doubt it, but I’ll try to remain hopeful.”
“Me too,” Madeline said. “For my niece.”
END of Free Preview.
A March from Innocence releases 24 July 2019. To get it today, please go here.
Afterword
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