P.J. Morse - Clancy Parker 01 - Heavy Mental (16 page)

Muriel laughed. “Wait—I encourage you to go out and talk to members of the opposite sex, and now you tell me to keep you under control? I should make you pay for that drink!” Then she paused. “Just be careful if you’re crushing out on a shrink, okay?”

I shook my head and started moving for an open table. I picked up one of the local weeklies and thumbed through the music section, silently grumbling about how many of the bands with gigs were worse than the Marquee Idols and worrying that not having a bassist meant the end of that precious South of the Slot gig.

Muriel passed, carrying a tray of pastries, so I repeated our regular ritual. “Will you join the band? Just for a night? One little night?”

“No way,” she said. She paused for a moment. “Did you ever ask Shane why I think he is a sumbitch with a capital ‘S’?”

“I have. But every time I do, you change the subject. So, why haven’t you told me?”

“Because I want him to think about it. He should know exactly what he’s done. And, if he doesn’t, then he’s even worse than I thought.”

“I think you’re still hung up on him like you think I’m hung up on Larry,” I said and smiled.

Muriel blushed. Just as she opened her mouth, probably on the verge of delivering a witty, withering reply, Dr. Redburn came through the door of the café. I said, “Hold that insult. He’s here.”

Muriel turned and looked. She said in a low voice, “An older man. I am not surprised. But he’s not bad, Clance.”

Dr. Redburn noticed Muriel giving him the once-over, but he smiled at her and eased his way into the chair across from me. Other women in the café turned to look at him. One woman who appeared to be a client waved, and he waved back. “See you soon, Andrea!” Then he turned to me. “This is a nice place! I walk past it all the time, but I’m always too busy to go in!”

“Would you like a coffee?” I asked.

“Ah, I’ll just ask for something when your friend comes over and checks me out again.”

I laughed. “She’s totally transparent.”

Dr. Redburn chuckled. “Hey, it beats hiding your feelings.”

“I have a question,” I said. “Do you miss rock music at all?”

He played with his fingers. I noticed he wasn’t wearing a ring. “Not as much as I thought I would. I mean, I miss the music, but I do not miss touring.”

“How so?” I asked.

“It’s a hard life. It’s exhausting. If you go on the road, invest in a van with good shocks.”

“That’s good advice. Any more?” I asked.

“Yeah. Don’t let romance get in the way of your band.”

“Seriously? That happens all the time.” I blushed.

“You were saying at the museum you broke up with someone in the band, right? That’s got to be tough. You see that person all the time, and then they’re gone. You lose the lover, and it feels like you lose the band.”

“You got it. You absolutely got it. I was with the bassist …”

“The bassist!” Dr. Redburn exclaimed. “You have exquisite taste, Miss Parker!”

“Yeah, yeah, bassists are the best, right?” I smiled and looked away. Now I was shamelessly flirting with him. I hoped Muriel could see it and even briefly fantasized that word would get back to boring old Larry. Then again, both Dr. Redburn and Larry had something in common. They shed rock ‘n’ roll like a cheap suit when it no longer fit their lifestyles. “Do you still play?” I asked.

Shaking his head, he told me, “In the spirit of full disclosure, I gave up music when my wife died.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“You didn’t know. It was a long, long time ago. She used to be with the singer of the Sun-Seekers, actually, and I wound up marrying her. She OD’d. Heroin.”

I gasped.

“Yeah. I stole his woman, the band broke up, and she died three months later. Karma. It’s a rock ‘n’ roll story, isn’t it? Too bad we didn’t sell any records or it would have been on ‘Behind the Music.’” He laughed, but it was awkward, like he knew the conversation at taken a turn, and he was trying to twist it in another direction.

“Is that part of why you wanted to be a doctor?” I asked.

He laughed. “Hey, now! I thought I was the one who was the shrink!”

I raised my hands in the air. “You got me! Dr. Redburn—”

“You can call me Craig.”

I was about to guide him gently toward the subject of Sabrina and his attempts to raise money for his foundation, but I heard shouting and a police siren. Muriel and a few other Cozy Corner employees ran out to see what was going on. Muriel returned in a matter of moments, her hand clapped over her mouth. “Oh my God!” she said.

I turned toward Dr. Redburn, to share that look people get when something terrible has happened but they don’t know what it is. His mouth had clamped shut, and he looked concerned. “What happened?” I asked as Muriel passed.

“Holy shit, Clance! There was a hit-and-run up the hill. People are saying that this woman got hit by a car and her body went flying! Boom!” She smacked her palms against each other. “And whoever it was just took off!” She put her hand over her mouth again, like she needed another smoke to calm down.

Dr. Redburn stood up and asked, “Is there a doctor on the scene?” He looked ready to run.

Muriel nodded. “There’s an ambulance already, thank God.”

Dr. Redburn nodded and patted her on the back. “They’ll help her. Speed is of the essence, and that’s a good sign.”

I heard rumblings from a few people who were trickling into the coffee shop. I heard the words “There’s no way you come back from that.”

The memory of the ice-cream truck came hurtling back. Whoever was driving would have dragged both me and Harold down Third Street and would have taken off, easy. I forgot the doctor was there, and I asked in the crowd, “Where was it? What street?”

“I think it was at the intersection with Myrtle,” a woman with a few shopping bags replied. “Near the bus stop.”

My eyebrows shot up. That was the same street on which the Buckners lived. I thought of Rosa.

My private-detective switch flicked on. I couldn’t just take off because the doctor was connected to the case, and he might get suspicious. “That is just horrible. You’d think the person would have done the right thing and stayed on the scene.” I turned back to the doctor and apologized. “I’m sorry, Craig, but I’ve stayed too long. I have to go. See you day after tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m leaving, too. I’m going to see if they need help.”

“I hope everything’s okay,” I told him.

I gave a short wave to Muriel and walked with Dr. Redburn out of the café. We said goodbye quickly, and I walked toward the nearest bus stop on Fillmore, while he jogged toward Myrtle Street. Once he was out of sight, I gave him a few minutes and then headed east. I turned left and went running back up Webster as fast as I could toward Myrtle, which was past Lafayette Park.

My legs began to burn, but I kept Dr. Redburn in my sights, several blocks ahead, and I caught up to the sirens. A crowd had built up around the scene, which was a block away from the Buckner home. Several maids, including those I had seen when I was undercover selling cosmetics, were clustered together, crying and clinging to each other. I saw the maid who had unceremoniously kicked me out of the house, but I didn’t see Rosa.

EMTs had already put a white sheet over the body. One man in a golf shirt was being interviewed by a police officer. He said, “I found her body in my front yard, like she’d been thrown in it.” Other officers were taking pictures of black skids in the street. I saw Dr. Redburn deep in discussion with one of the EMTs.

Giving the maids and Dr. Redburn a wide berth, lest I be recognized, I worked my way toward the Buckner house, and I saw Sabrina Norton Buckner standing in her front doorway. Tears were running down her face. I ducked behind a bush and called out, “Sabrina!”

Sabrina jumped backward and clutched at her neck, where there was no necklace. “How did you get here?”

I stretched out my hand, said, “Come with me,” and pulled Sabrina to the other side of the house, out of sight. “Was it Rosa? Is she dead?”

Sabrina asked, “How did you know?”

“I told you I’d probably be in your house. I met her. She let me in.”

“Why would anyone do such a thing?” Sabrina rubbed tears from her eyes.

“I have no idea,” I said. I meant it.

“She was so sweet! Why would someone just hit her and take off?”

“Did you see anything?”

Sabrina shook her head. “I was taking a nap. And then I heard this screech and all this screaming and the police.” Her face crinkled up.

“Sabrina,” I said. “I need you to calm down. Did Rosa do anything strange today? Anything at all that stuck out to you?”

Taking a deep breath, Sabrina replied, “She doesn’t usually say much, but she became upset. It happened maybe half an hour ago.”

“What did she say?” I asked.

“I’m not sure…. She spoke so quickly. She did say ‘very important’ in English. She said that a lot. Then she said ‘husband.’ I thought she was saying my husband was very important. And then she tried to say something else, but she started talking in Spanish.”

“Do you speak Spanish?”

Sabrina rubbed her temples. “No! Hardly anything. Then someone called her. She talked to them in Spanish, and she left.”

“Do you remember what she said? At least phonetically,” I asked. “I speak Spanish.” You didn’t go to college in California without taking a few classes.

“On her way out, she kept saying something like ‘low sento.’ ‘Low sento.” Something was low?”

“Lo siento,” I translated. “It means ‘I’m sorry.’ She was trying to tell you that she was sorry about something.”

Rosa tried to tell Sabrina something important. But someone called, and whatever they said made her change her mind, so much so that she apologized to Sabrina for the mistake.

But Rosa made the mistake by leaving the house. Someone was waiting there to mow her down.

Sabrina started crying again. “If only I’d made her stay …”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “Whoever drove the car is responsible, not you.” I peeked around the corner of the house. Dr. Redburn was still talking and even taking a step toward the body. He hadn’t glanced our way, but, once he saw Sabrina, he would attempt to console her. “I should go.”

“I know I hired you for the necklace … and I need it … but I promise I’ll give what I can to her family, I swear …”

“Look, Sabrina, I will do my best to get that necklace and find out what happened to Rosa. You just sit tight. Call her family, take care of things here, give your employees some time off …”

I was about to advise her to let her husband know what had happened, but before I could finish, Sabrina saw Dr. Redburn. “Craig!” she blurted out. “I have to talk to him. I can’t take this.”

I was surprised that Sabrina would say she needed her psychiatrist before she needed her husband, even if her husband wasn’t exactly a pillar of strength. “Take care of yourself. I’m going to do everything I can, and you will see me soon.” I squeezed Sabrina’s arm. “And don’t tell Dr. Redburn you saw me. Promise?”

She nodded. Then I heard an officer calling Sabrina’s name, so I took off toward the back and darted through another person’s backyard to get away.

CHAPTER 22

ON THE INTERNETS

N
O ONE HAD EVER DIED
during any of my investigations, and I couldn’t get Sabrina’s and the maids’ sobbing out of my head. While maybe Rosa died as the result of an accident, the ice-cream-truck incident was too much of a coincidence. Someone wasn’t happy that I was looking for that necklace. As I walked toward the bus stop, my heart fluttered every time I heard an engine revving up.

But my heart stopped cold when I saw my father, Thomas Clancy Parker the Third himself, sitting uncomfortably on a lawn chair beside Harold, in the dark. They made quite a pair, as my father was in a bespoke suit, and Harold was in plaid flannel pajamas. Harold was blithely ignoring Dad, sipping on a beer and reading Marx’s
Das Kapital
with a flashlight. Dad was picking at his nails and staring at the book’s cover. He jumped up as soon as he saw me.

“Young lady! What have you gotten yourself into?” He was wagging his finger zealously.

“Hi, Dad. Wanna give me a hug before your finger falls off?”

He hugged me quickly and said, “At least you’re dressing better.”

“That’s funny. I just had someone tell me pink isn’t my color.” I leaned over. “Hi, Harold! Thanks for entertaining Dad!”

“Oh, it was nothing.” He sipped a beer and turned another page of Marx.

“Don’t play dumb! You’re not blowing me off!” Dad bellowed. “You know why I’m here! I saw that ice-cream-truck … thing!”

“Who told you that?” I asked. Mom and Dad weren’t exactly chummy, so it couldn’t have been her.

Dad folded his arms across his chest. “Well, well, young lady, I am now fully online, and one of my suppliers here saw you on the news last night! He sent me a link, and I watched the video on my computer. How about that?”

“Whoop-de-do,” Harold commented. “You’re on the Internets. Good for you.”

“If I want your commentary, I’ll ask for it!” Dad hollered.

“Have you guys been fighting again?” I asked. The last time my father was in town, he and Harold launched a screaming match over the repercussions of NAFTA, and Dad had referred to Harold as “your smelly pinko landlord” ever since. That explained Harold’s sudden interest in the works of Karl Marx. He probably pulled it off his bookshelf solely for Dad’s benefit.

“Yes,” Harold said. “It’s more like a Cold War, though.”

“Ignore him,” Dad said. “I don’t know why you put yourself through this!”

“Hey,” Harold replied. “That ice-cream truck almost hit me, too. Your daughter saved my life. Maybe you should think about it from that angle.”

“Okay, Dad,” I said, “Can you show me the video?” Not only would it separate Dad and Harold, but I might also find something illuminating in the news footage.

“All right, then,” Dad said.

I unlocked my door and waved him in. I was glad that Harold stayed put in his chair.

As we went up the stairs, I asked, “You flew all the way out here just to yell at me about the ice-cream truck?”