Bouncer (5 page)

Philemon appeared vaguely reassured. “Thanks, Inspector Thayne. I’ll certainly call if I remember anything else.”

“Oh, one other thing. Does Mrs. Simms own a wheelbarrow?”

“Yes, a rusty old yellow one. I keep having to pump up the tire. It gets a lot of use.”

“I’ll have someone take a peek at it. Thanks so much, Mr. Jenkins.”

“Please call me Philemon, or Phil, if you like. Mr. Jenkins sounds like an old man.”

Nick grinned as the gardener escorted him to the door after the detective made a show of drinking down the rest of the sweet lemonade.

“My compliments to your wife, sir. She certainly deserves all the rewards and accolades she’s received for this prize-winning lemonade. I’ve never tasted better.”

As he strolled to his red Mustang, he wondered why Mrs. Jenkins seemed so nervous. Of course, finding a body in the shape of the ex-mayor’s was enough to rattle anyone, but it might be wise to delve deeper into the life of Philemon Jenkins.

Nick’s next stop was back at Chester Street. He squinted at the scrap of paper. Number 621; the home of Lindsey and Mark Lyons. The beautiful two-story brick house with its imposing foyer impressed him as the door opened to reveal a stout, red-faced woman who wiped her face with a dishtowel.

“Hello,” she said tentatively.

“My name is Inspector Nick Thayne. You indicated to one of the officers that your daughter saw something earlier this week. I’m sorry it’s so late but I’m here to follow it up immediately since it sounded so important.”

“Oh, yes, Officer. Please come in.”

“I’m afraid I’m not an officer,” Nick explained as he strolled into the immaculately clean living room. “I’m a private investigator working on contract for Monroe City Police Department, and I run my own private investigative company. The MCPD’s only detective had to have some emergency surgery, and since it is a small police force, I’m helping them out.”

“I see,” said Lindsey Lyons nodding, obviously not caring a rat’s ass about whom he was affiliated with. “I’ll go get Katie right away, and she can tell you what she saw.”

A little blonde girl was led out by the hand by her heavyset mother. Her hair parted down the middle, and her nose and cheeks were badly sunburned. When she parted her lips to smile at Nick, two spaces existed where front teeth should be. She couldn’t have been a day over six, and Nick felt his heart sink. A small child would not exactly be the most reliable of witnesses. He’d been hoping for at least a teenager.

He sank down into the mauve and couch and patted the cushion beside him.

“Why don’t you sit beside me, Katie?”

“Okay,” said the little girl. “So you’re a policeman?”

“I used to be, but now I’m a private investigator. So, you say you know something about the body?”

“Well, kind of,” she answered and glanced up at her mother, who nodded reassuringly.

“Tell him everything you saw, Katie.”

“Well, it was Tuesday evening,” said Katie. “I saw this big old car, one I had never seen before. It was all long and black and shiny.”

“A limousine,” interrupted her mother, who had flopped down on the oversized couch to listen to her daughter’s lisping speech.

“Yes, a lemonusine,” repeated the little girl. “I was skipping rope with my friend Jeanie.”

“Jeanie,” said Nick, “and where does she live?”

Lindsey Lyons blushed, her round cheeks turning even redder. “I’m afraid that Jeanie is Katie’s invisible friend.”

Nick closed his notebook and decided it might be best to just listen to the little girl’s rendition of whatever she thought had happened.

“Anyway,” said Katie. “Jeanie and I saw this lemonusine drive down the road, and it parked right in front of the ghost house.”

“The ghost house?” asked Nick peering questioningly at Mrs. Lyons.

“She’s talking about the big house across from Mrs. Simms’ place—the one that looks kind of like a fortress with its high fence and spikes on top. It certainly doesn’t fit in
our
neighborhood.”

“Well, anyways,” said Katie unperturbed by her mother’s interruption. “This big old man got out with this woman, whose hair was really red, and she was wearing this dress that was just as red as her hair was and big old high heels. I remember her shoes went clickity, clickity clack.”

Nick smiled at her description of Thad’s redheaded mistress. “And what else, Katie?”

“Well,” said the little girl, realizing she had a captive audience. “They went into the house, and it was almost dark, and my mom called Jeanie and me in for dinner, but after dinner, I went out and then I saw it. I was chasing Celeste down the street and had to bring her in.”

“Celeste?” asked Nick.

“Our cat,” sighed Mrs. Lyons.

“Anyway, I was chasing Celeste down the street when I heard this really weird sound like a ‘woo woo woo’ and weird laughing, and then on the second floor of the ghost house, there was a light flickering in the window, and I saw a ghostly ghoul standing in the window.”

“A ghostly ghoul?” repeated Nick, realizing this verged on incredible. Katie’s pale eyes gleamed. She was obviously into her story.

“Yeah. He was standing in front of the window. His hair was all spiky and red, and he had big, fat cheeks just like the Pillsbury Dough Boy. He had his hands on the windowsill and was howling at the moon, ‘woo, woo, woo.’”

“Would you please tell me the night again, Katie?”

“It was Tuesday because it was the day after my Daddy’s birthday.”

If she was right, Thad could have been dead since the beginning of the week.

“When you saw the ghostly ghoul, Katie, was the limousine still around?”

“Nope, it had gone. There was nothing there but the ghost, and he looked something awful, like a monster with a big old head and short body. Kind of like Uncle Fester on
The Addams Family
.”

“Katie watches old reruns with her granddad,” said Mrs. Lyons apologetically.

“Katie,” said Thayne, “all of this is very interesting. I really want to thank you for your information. What you have told me has given us a time frame when we know that Mr. Fisher was on the block. Thank you so much for your help.”

He rose politely and stuck out a hand to the little girl, who amazingly took it before dropping into a pretty little courtesy while holding his hand. Nick grinned. He wasn’t the only one blessed with charm.

“I’m glad to help, officer,” said Katie in her best TV voice. “I’ll keep an eye on the ghost house and let you know if I see anything saspicious.” She had trouble pronouncing the final word.

Nick bid the family goodbye after handing them his business card and easing his long legs into his Mustang. He hoped he’d have better luck with Lee Fox.

Chapter 5

9:30 pm, Fox Investigative Services

Fox Investigative Services ended up being in an older and more pleasantly established part of town than his boarding house. Once a rundown section near the railroad depot, the neighborhood had been renovated and restored to its former, quiet dignity and in the heart of this discreet but tasteful business district, Nick found Lee Fox’s office. Five minutes too early, he arrived at Suite 7, 1257 W. Mesa Street. He wrapped his knuckles upon the glass door and tried to peer through the frosted panes. The door opened abruptly and he nearly fell inside.

A short, nutmeg-haired woman stood before him. Her hair, cropped in pixie cut, would have looked fine on a child or teenager but seemed abruptly out of place on a grown woman. Bug-eyed glasses with rims too dark and oversized perched upon her short, upturned nose. Her dress was an awful blue-checked affair, cut way too long and loose over her slight frame with huge shoulder pads. It dwarfed the already small woman, who glanced at her tiny gold wristwatch as if hoping he were late. Nick felt a childish satisfaction that she seemed disappointed.

“I’m here to see Mr. Fox. I’m Inspector Nick Thayne.” He sincerely hoped Lee Fox was a little more with it than his frumpy secretary.

“I’m Lea Fox,” said the short woman and Nick blanched. “And the name is L-E-A Fox, short for Lea. Do come in.” She led the way into a rear office, a strange thumping noise accompanying her slow progress. Nick’s dark oval eyes shifted downwards to note the metal half-crutch she used to help her progress. She set down across from an expansive polished desk, leaning the crutch against a filing cabinet.

“You had an accident?”

“Years ago, but I re-injured it a couple days ago. So, what do you want?”

Her violet eyes shrewdly analyzed his slender, handsome features as he lowered himself into her brother’s old chair much as a fox might do before it was about to attack a chicken. Lea noted he was incredibly attractive, the kind of man women view as a sinful indulgence for the eyes. Some women, however, probably labeled him simply as an exotic treat; the kind you sample at an ethnic restaurant but never take home. The more racist among them would probably shift uneasily in their seats, uncomfortable with that tightening sensation in their lower regions, the kind of heat their own overweight WASP husbands could no longer inspire within them. Lea Fox felt none of these.

Charm was his best friend. “First, I must apologize. I’m sorry about before. I just assumed Lea Fox was a man.”

“It’s a common mistake. There’s no offence taken. You’re here because you want the files on the Peebles’ murder?”

“You have them?” asked Nick leaning forward in the squeaky chair.

“Just copies. Their originals are in the County Records Office behind the courthouse.”

“They may have been at one time,” said Nick, “but they’re certainly not there now.”

She chose not to comment about the missing records and just continued staring at him. He wanted to smooth back his hair or something under her unwavering gaze.

She finally asked, “And why would you be so interested in a twenty-five-year-old murder?”

“It has a lot to do with your ex-mayor. Mr. Thad Fisher was just found murdered this afternoon in an empty field on Chester Street. His finger—his ring finger to be exact—was hacked off exactly like Ashley Peebles’. I’ve been informed by Police Chief Rollins that she was reported to have been missing a silver ring. A similar silver ring was found on Thad Fisher’s pinkie finger, and I’m hoping you might have a photograph of the original ring so I can see if it’s a match.”

“I might,” said Lea, not seeming inclined to stir from her red-cushioned swivel chair.

“May I look at the report?” asked Nick, wondering what on earth was wrong with the woman. She was that kind of female who made a man acutely uncomfortable, and he was uncertain whether to ignore her, throttle her, or sign her up at a beauty resort for a weekend hoping it might have some modifying success. Yet, there was something acutely odd about her. The glasses were too large and obscured her eyes, which were truly lovely. In fact, she was almost pretty, but he got the strange feeling that she didn’t want anyone to recognize that.

“No, you can’t,” responded Lea defiantly. “Since you’ve indicated the original records are missing and I possess the only remaining records regarding the Ashley Peebles’ murder, it’s apparent that the Monroe City Police Department should now deal directly with me.”

Nick Thayne had not expected this. “I’m just asking for a simple favor,” he said in his most charming tone. It rarely failed to work on an attractive woman, though this one seemed determined not to warrant a second glance. “I thought as one P.I. to another, we could help each other out.”

“We’re not one P.I. to another,” stated Lea Fox sharply. “You don’t even live in this town, so I needn’t deal with you. Where’s Roger Chung?”

Nick noticed that Lea Fox’s teeth were small and straight and even, but for all the mildness of her tone, he recognized them for what they were really were; retractable canines.

“Roger’s in the hospital. Appendicitis. I’m filling in while he recovers. So, I’m asking you, as the Monroe Police Department’s substitute investigator, to share the documents with me. I know your father Jeremy worked long and hard on this case, and I need his insights.”

“My father’s dead,” stated Lea abruptly.

“I recognize that,” returned Nick as evenly as possible, “but because of the similarities between the Mayor’s case and the Peebles girl, I would like to go over those documents, and my suspicions have been doubly aroused since they’re now missing from County Records.”

Lea Fox rose to her full 5’2” height and stared Nick Thayne straight in the eye. “And just what makes you think I’d share them with you? I know your reputation and barely disguised male chauvinism glossed over by your oh-so-delectable charm. I’ve read all about your escapades in the papers and heard your smugly disarming voice on Juniper Cox’s radio show. I believe a recent spellbinding segment covered how you located her long-lost father, who just happened to be a multi-millionaire living in luxury down in Costa Rica, though God knows where you got
that
information. You’re just an ex-hotshot police detective with a rich daddy and a Stanford education, and now you’ve been contracted out by the Monroe Police Department on special assignment. I’m smart enough to know what that translates into. You’re just one of the good ole boys. Why didn’t Chief Rollins come to me himself, as if I didn’t know?”

Nick bristled at her tone. “Maybe he knows my reputation and trusts Roger’s referral. After all, I worked on the San Francisco City Police Force for over four years before starting my own P.I. firm. I get the job done.”

“Ah, that must be it. So, he turns to you, a relative stranger, even while knowing that three generations of Foxes have lived in the area for over forty years. As a matter of fact, no one understood the ins and the outs of the Peebles’ case better than my father and brother. Now that I’ve studied their notes, I’m quite as expert as they were.” She crossed her arms defiantly.

Nick, sick of fighting, settled himself more comfortably into the stiff wooden chair and stretched out his long, gray-clad legs before responding.

“Do you know what I think, Lea Fox? I think you’ve got a first class chip on your shoulder, lady, just because Roger Chung suggested my name to the Chief instead of yours. Come on, we’re both in the same profession and need to help each other out. Haven’t you learned the first rule of the brotherhood?”

“You said it,” hissed Lea. “
Brothers
-in-arms; the little lady can just be classified as one of the secretarial staff.”

Nick had the grace to redden slightly. He ran a lean hand through his dark, well-styled hair. “I
am
sorry, Ms. Fox. That was an unfortunate mistake; one I promise never to make again.”

Lea stood, staring down at him for a full minute, and Nick felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny. Her purple eyes were slightly enlarged behind the black-rimmed glasses as she studied the nonchalant manner in which he sprawled in her brother’s old chair. Restlessly, she moved towards the filing cabinet. A tidy office, Nick was reminded once again how messy and disorganized his own appeared. Of, course that was a misconception many made.
He
knew where everything was and could find it in an instant and while he’d been tempted to hire a secretary Nick enjoyed the solitude and chance to ponder his cases uninterrupted. He sorely needed that privacy considering his methods.

Lea’s office, however, was so painfully neat it made him downright uncomfortable. Everything was labeled clearly and so excruciatingly ordered that he longed to toss a wad of paper upon the floor or disorganize those neat manila folders resting upon her wide desk.

Actually, Nick realized, as he stared at the desk, that it was a beaute; an antique made of rich maple and polished to an unlikely luster. It was at least six feet in length by three feet wide. A brand-spanking-new computer rested on the right-hand side of its brilliant surface, presenting the user with a large monitor that must have cost her a small fortune. A matching maple shelf organizer rested on the left-hand side of the immaculate desk, accompanied by a shiny black speakerphone-combination -fax on the far right. An embossed leather pad two feet square had been recessed into the desk, providing the perfect writing surface. If the lovely desk was any indication, Lea Fox was a real professional.

“Nice desk,” he tried cordially.

Lea snorted. She had moved to another maple filing cabinet and yanked open a heavy drawer. “Wish my investigative talents could warrant as much attention as my father’s old desk,” returned the dowdy woman.

Nick sensed anger and something else he couldn’t name behind the flippant words. Lea Fox briskly rustled through dozens of files, pulling out a few here and there before replacing them neatly, clearly not finding what she was searching for, or pretending not to, he suspected.

Nick took this time to study the petite woman more closely as she jerkily proceeded through the files. Her dark-rimmed glasses did nothing for her oval face and only managed to intensify her old schoolmarm appearance. A teacher from his youth, Sister Theresa, reminded him of Fox, and he rubbed his knuckles in remembrance of the sharp rap of her ruler freely administered when he wasn’t paying attention. She was tiny, a full foot shorter than he, and her violet eyes were distorted under the concealing glasses with brows that could use a thorough plucking and cleaning.

Her lower lip was caught between her teeth as she valiantly searched through the endless files. She resembled an awkward teenager who hadn’t learned how to make the best of what little she had. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was hiding behind a uniform of dowdiness. She gave a small shriek of triumph and flung a big file atop the magnificent desk. Lea Fox shoved the heavy cabinet door closed with a bang. Her outdated tweed dress made her resemble some elderly misplaced Brit in the Big Valley. In fact, as he surveyed the small woman before him and the trappings of the too neat office, he noted that everything had a frayed, almost worn-out look that spoke of better days and richer times.

The desk, the faded Persian rug, the roller chairs—everything had the same antique appearance the woman reflected. She resembled some librarian or schoolteacher from the 40s or 50s who had passed her prime and was suddenly expected to function in the twenty-first century. His head jerked to attention, as he realized she’d noted him studying her.

“Not to your liking?” she stated abruptly.

He flinched. Nick had heard those words before, but they had been directed at him, and he remembered just how much he’d disliked them at the time.

“I’m not sure,” he returned honestly. “Is there a quick mind enclosed behind that probing stare of yours or is it camouflaged behind blue plaid as well?”

She hesitated before firing back. “I guess that’s for you to determine. I was
magna cum laude
at Harvard Law School, if that’s what you need to determine whether or not I have the brains suitable for the job.”

“Well, I guess that answers my question. So, you decided against practicing law?”

“The law decided against me,” she returned. “I was too awkward, too unattractive, and too abrupt for the courtroom and their sitcom notions of what a woman should be. I decided to do my legal work behind the scenes and leave the courtroom battles to the ‘
Young and the Restless.’
It’s a soap opera world. Didn’t you know that, Mr. Thayne?”

Nick cocked a dark head at her. “I believe that some of us don’t fit the expected notion of many Americans. Being half-Filipino isn’t exactly mainstream, you know.”

“You’re still Hollywood beautiful. I’m sure they’d make an exception in the courtroom for a handsome half-breed like you.”

“Don’t call me that!” hissed Nick. Stunned, he was reminded suddenly of the hostess, Ann Peterson, from the British game show
The Weakest Link
, who always went out of her way to be insulting
.
He’d been vaguely amused by the Brit’s caustic nature; that was, until now. He immediately recalled Chief Rollins startled glance, one he’d discreetly directed elsewhere after discovering Nick wasn’t the WASP he’d been expecting.