Sandy Gingras - Lola Polenta 01 - Swamped (20 page)

“Have dinner with me,” he says turning his bright blue eyes on me. It’s like looking into a really, really deep well. I can’t tell but maybe there’s an alive person way down at the bottom of it. “We can be lonely together,” he says.

I look at him. Oh God, I think. There’s a part of me that actually wants to say yes to that. Snap out of it, I tell myself. I shake my head at him. “I’ve done that,” I tell him, then leave.

I swing by the Bull residence on my way back to Alligator Estates. I’m going to be late to pick up Joe, but I want to see what’s happening. Dorothy is still sitting in front of the TV eating. I don’t like the way she dabs her napkin to her lips.

Dorothy picks up her cell phone. I watch her speed dial someone. I wonder if she’s talking to Mr. Drainage about how alone she is. I bet she isn’t mentioning how secure she is in her aloneness.

The street is smooth and winding in a kind of manufactured way. It’s a pleasure to accelerate down it and get away.

Chapter 36

Joe, Dreamer and I pull into the crushed shell parking lot of the No Wake Cafe. It’s right on a wide body of water that looks more like a bay than a river. I get out of the car and the air smells like salt. A seagull circles overhead. I take a deep breath. I love that smell.

Joe says, “It’s nice here. Edna and I came here a couple times for breakfast.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you’d been here with Edna.”

“It’s okay,” he tells me. “I like the memories. I was ready to come back.”

“How do you do that? I mean, live with the memories?” I ask him.

He looks at me. “Sometimes it’s hard, and sometimes it’s comforting.”

“Six years ago, when I was engaged, and I got left at the altar by Johnny, I didn’t feel like I could live past it. So, I don’t ever allow myself to think about him. I can’t. If I do think of him, I imagine him in a tux standing in a doorway walking into my life like nothing ever happened. It’s too confusing for my heart.” My voice kind of clutches. “Why is he calling me now?”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Last I heard from a mutual friend, he was hiking Pike’s Peak. That’s was years ago. It was kind of a dream of his. Nobody tells me anything about him anymore, and I don’t ask.”

“He never walked back into your life before now, never contacted you?”

I shake my head. I think of the way he used to clump around in his hiking boots.

“But you keep waiting for that?”

“No, I got married,” I explain. “I stopped waiting a long time ago.”

“Oh,” Joe says, “I see. What if he walks back in now?”

I shake my head.

“There’s a difference,” Joe says, “between loving someone and loving the idea of someone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some people don’t want the reality of love. They can’t deal with the risk of it. They prefer to stay in the abstract. They get stuck being dreamers.”

Dreamer’s ears perk up when she hears her name.

“Are you talking about Johnny, or are you talking about me?”

He looks at me carefully, then he shrugs.

We walk Dreamer around the parking lot. She carries a shell in her mouth. The water is moving fast and sloshing around the pilings. “There’s a good fishing pier right there,” Joe points to the next lot. There’s a bait shop and a wide dock with a railing where several people are casting. “This area is full of fish because the fresh water of the river is mixing with the salt from the Gulf.”

“How far away is the Gulf?” I ask him.

“It’s right there,” he points down the river where the horizon opens up. “You haven’t been there yet?”

“Is there a beach?”

He laughs. “Some of the most beautiful beaches around…”

“I’ve been busy,” I tell him.

“You need to get out of the swamp more,” he tells me smiling.

Tweenie waves at us from the door. “Come in,” she yells.

“Let me put the dog in the car,” I wave back.

“Bring her,” she tells me. Dreamer trots along happily. “Welcome,” Tweenie tells Joe and shakes his hand.

The cafe is like a cheerful old-style diner. The floor is shiny red and white tiles. There are red speckled Formica tables against a wall of windows overlooking the water, and a long white Formica counter with red swivel stools on the other wall. The view is everywhere. It’s reflected lengthwise in the chrome behind the counter and in slices in the chrome napkin containers. It’s ghostly in the glass cases where the cakes are revolving. The diner is half full of people and the music is sha-na-na-iing in the background. “This is great,” I tell Tweenie. She’s got a jadeite green uniform on today and she looks just peachy.

I hold up two bottles of wine, a white and a red. “What goes with pancakes?” I ask her.

“I think Paulie wants you to sample everything on the menu. He’s so excited that you’re here,” she says hugging me.

“He’s happy, isn’t he?” I ask her.

“We are,” she says. It’s not really a correction, the way she says it, it’s got more wonder in it than that. It’s got more how-did-this-happen-to-me happiness in it. I smile. I envy them. I’ve never really had that. She takes my arm and leads us in.

Joe and I sit at the counter. Paulie comes out of the kitchen every twenty minutes to bring us something else to eat. “Breakfast, I’m right here,” he indicates the grill behind the counter. “Six to twelve. That’s my favorite time. But I’m learning the dinner routine too.”

“’We’ll come for breakfast next time,” I tell him. “I’ll bring Mom.”

“I’ll come too,” Joe says. His ears are pink.

“How much wine have you had?” I ask him.

“The pancakes soak it up,” he tells me.

“The pancakes, my eye,” I tell him.

When the sun sets, the lights along the pilings and on the fishing pier come on and shimmer along the edge of the water.

Just as we’re about to leave, Detective Johansen walks in the door with his daughter.

“Hi Juliet,” I say. “They’re closing,” I tell the detective.

Tweenie slaps my shoulder. “We are
not
.”

“I’m not here to eat,” he says, “Your father told me you were here.”

Paulie comes out of the kitchen. “Dave,” he says and shakes the detective’s hand. “Let me make you up something.”

“No, thanks, Paulie. I’m on my way home.”

“Something to go then, for you and your daughter. I know how you like my French toast, Juliet.” Juliet kicks her toe on the floor.

“That would be great, Paulie. It’s been a long day.”

My uncle nods. He’s got an apron on with a floppy bow over his butt. I smile watching him walk away.

“Sir.” The detective nods at Joe.

Joe pours the detective a little OJ glass of wine. He gives Juliet a glass and Tweenie pours her some juice. Juliet twirls around and around on the stool. I can tell she’s kind of listening.

Dave Johansen says, “Thank you.” He sits down on the swivel stool next to Juliet. He seems so big next to her. He spins a little and I get a whiff of his aftershave. We clunk little wine glasses. Our fingers bump together.

“I found out who planted the golf clubs,” he tells us.

“Who?” Joe asks, leaning forward eagerly.

“The clubs belong to Gladys and Susie. The clubs had their prints all over them.”

The detective shakes his head, “I questioned them. They had no idea that their clubs were even gone. They had both gotten new sets of clubs this Christmas. The old clubs were stored in their old bags in their sheds—both sets were missing the two old putters. They were both bewildered by the whole thing.” He stops to sip his wine.

“Were their sheds locked?” Joe asks.

“No. Their washer/dryers are in there and their golf carts. They say they only lock up at night when the golf cart is re-charging.”

“So, anyone could have taken them,” Joe says.

“Not anyone,” the detective says. “Their husbands.”

“Dick?” I say.

“And Richie?” Joe says.

“I got them in a room together, just the two guys. I told them I was going to have to bring their wives in for questioning in the murder inquiry because I believed they planted the golf clubs to scare you two off their trail.

“The husbands’ jaws dropped. The littler one kept looking at the big one, nudging him with his eyes. He asked me if they could speak together alone. I told them no. So, finally the little one said, ‘Dick, we can’t let the girls go to jail.’ The girls—that’s what they call their wives.

“Finally, the big one caved in and said, ‘It was just a joke.’ They just grabbed their wives’ old putters to play a joke on you two. They remembered to wear gloves, but they didn’t remember to wipe their wives prints off the clubs,” Dave Johansen says.

I say, “What’s with the cowboy hat on Dick. Is he from Texas?”

“They do line dancing at the clubhouse on Rodeo Night. They dress up,” Joe says.

I look at him.

“It’s fun,” he tells me. “You should come.” He includes Detective Johansen in his invitation. We both ignore him. Juliet pipes up, “That’s bogus.”

“What?” I ask.

“Line dancing sucks. All country music sucks.”

“What kind of music do you like?” I ask her.

“Rap,” she says. “Reggae.” Then she spins her stool back and forth and makes her hair swing.

“How are your dreads coming along?” I ask her.

She twirls her hair around her finger thoughtfully and stares at me.

“They don’t like you, Lola.” Dave Johansen interrupts me. “Especially the big guy. He did your trailer, Lola. Unscrewed the bulb, went right up to the door to lean the putter. Bold. He wanted to really scare you. But, you,” he looks at Joe, “I think, were just an afterthought. Richie did your trailer. He didn’t have the nerve to go up the steps or unscrew the light. He just left the putter leaning against the deck.”

“I didn’t even find it till the next morning when I was watering the plants,” Joe says. “I couldn’t even figure it out at first. I thought someone had lost it. It wasn’t threatening like yours.” He looks at me.

“So, they murdered Ernie?” I ask.

Dave Johansen shrugs. “I don’t have any evidence of that. I think they didn’t appreciate you nosing around. I think they have something to hide. I don’t know if it’s murder though.”

Paulie’s standing next to Tweenie with two takeout containers in a bag. “Do they alibi each other for the murder?” he asks the detective.

“Sure,” he says. “They were all together.”

“It’s hard for four people to keep a secret well,” Paulie says. “One of them is the weak link.”

“I’ll talk to them all separately,” Dave Johansen says.

“They aren’t going to talk to you,” I tell him. “You’re like a wall.”

His face goes blank for a moment, like I’ve slapped him. He puts a twenty on the counter and gets up slowly. He pats Paulie on the back and takes his bag. “Good night then,” he says.

“Wait,” I say catching up with him at the door. “I just meant, let me talk to the women at least. I have a stake in all of this. I’m the one that got threatened.”

“You can talk to whomever you please. It’s a free country,” he tells me.

Juliet stares at me. “Daddy, let’s GO,” she insists.

We’re standing at the door looking out at the lights of the parking lot, the lights shining on the water. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I had too many juice glasses of wine.”

“I used to be different,” he says.

“Join the crowd,” I say. Although it’s just the three of us standing there.

Chapter 37

First thing in the morning, there’s a jaunty knock on my door: Doopdedoopdoop, doop, doop. By the time I get off my cot and go over to the door, it happens again. Miss Tilney’s got her hands cupped peering in. “About time,” she snaps at me as I open up. She stomps in. “Got any coffee?”

“Not yet. Come in,” I say, although she’s already plopped down in my cardboard chair.

“What, you don’t believe in furniture?” she says looking around.

“Kind of,” I say. I zip to the bathroom and brush my teeth. I let Dreamer out and stand with her in the yard. When I come back, Miss Tilney’s got the coffee going. Her newspaper is spread out on her lap, and she’s reading.

“Thanks,” I say.

“No problemo,” she says. “I can’t wait forever.”

“What’s up?” I ask her.

“I’ve decided that I’ll help you with your inquiries,” she tells me. She folds her paper and creases it with one neat fold. “Do you want my help or not?” she asks. “I know everything. I could be a better P.I. than Joe. Plus, you could use my insider info.”

“Why don’t you go to the police if you have… info?” I ask.

“Police-schmolice,” she says waving her hand.

The coffee is done. She gets up, steps over Dreamer, looks in my cabinet and takes the only mug. She fills it up, adds half-and-half and grabs two sugar packs from my glass canister. “Help yourself,” she says to me. “I see everything… I hear everything,” Miss Tilney proclaims sitting down again.

“I thought you were deaf,” I tell her.

“That’s my M.O.”

“Your what?”

“Don’t you know anything? Everyone has to have a cover. People treat you like you don’t exist if they think you’re deaf. Especially if you have blue eyebrows. They say anything around you.

“If I wear my Miracle Ear, I can hear a pin drop,” she tells me and takes a slurp of her coffee.

I pour some coffee into a wine glass for myself. It’s weird, but it’s all I have.

“You have an interesting lifestyle,” Miss Tilney says as she watches me try to drink my coffee.

“This whole lost soul thing… it’s all a front,” I tell her.

“Uh huh,” she says.

“Maybe you CAN help,” I say sitting down carefully on my cot. “Do you know anyone who has a cow?” I ask her.

“Nope. Why?”

“There were cow hairs found near Ernie’s body.”

“Somebody told me that, but I didn’t believe them.”

“And what do you know about Dick and Richie?”

“Oh, them,” she rolls her eyes.

“What did Ernie have on them?”

“Ernie knew a lot of stuff. He’d go into people’s houses when they were gone,” she says like she’s appalled.

“That was his job, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but he’d sit down on their couch, open their drawers, stuff like that. He made himself at home. It was an invasion of their privacy.”