Checking the Traps, page 21
part #3 of Isabel Long Series
“You okay there, Isabel?”
I take a deep breath.
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” I finally say. “I just needed a good laugh.”
He studies me.
“You okay? Somethin’ happen?”
Something did, but I’m not telling.
“I’m fine, really. Hey, could you give me Carole’s phone number? I wanna ask her a couple of questions for my case.” I pull my phone from my bag. “How’s she doing anyway?”
He recites the number from memory as I load it into my phone.
“Not sure if she’s comin’ back,” he says. “Aw, Isabel, I saw your face. Lisa ain’t so bad once you get used to her.”
“I guess I haven’t.” I jerk my thumb toward the door. “Want me to say something to Lisa?”
“About coverin’ herself up?”
“No, about moving closer to the road.”
Jack coughs up a laugh.
“I dare you.” He pauses. “But I’m real glad you came by. I was gonna call you later.”
“About what?”
“What are you doin’ tomorrow night? I was thinkin’ of takin’ you out for dinner. A real date for once. What’d you say?”
“A real date? I’d like that Jack.”
“Good. I already made the reservations.”
“What if I said no?”
He winks.
“I knew you wouldn’t.”
Reconnaissance Man
Surprise, surprise, I come home to find my mother’s car is gone. So are she and the dog, Maggie. Ma did leave a note on the kitchen: Isabel. Went to do some snooping. Ma. What the heck? Frankly, I’m glad my mother took her car for a drive. I’ve offered to go with her, but she complained about my tendency to be a backseat driver or rather a passenger-seat driver hitting that imaginary brake on the floor. But what kind of snooping is she doing? I guess I’ll have to hang out and wait.
I use the time to inspect my flower garden in the front yard. The perennials are pushing their way through the dirt. I’ll be glad when I can start digging again. I glance up when I hear the toot of a car horn, and, yes, my mother is making her way down the driveway in that flashy red car of hers. She’s smiling. She’s got something for me.
The dog comes bounding from the back seat. Ma doesn’t bound, of course, but she’s got a spring in her step and a smug smile on her face.
“You’ll never guess where I went,” she says.
“Uh, no clue.”
“Gee, Isabel, what kind of a detective are you giving up so easily?”
“You’ve got a point. Okay. You couldn’t have gone to visit the Big Shot Poet cause I was there. Right?” I get a nod from Ma. “So, unless you’ve tracked down that mail deliverer, Sue Lehman, my guess is Victor Wilson.”
“Yes, him.”
“What? You went to talk with him without me?”
Ma shakes her head.
“I’d never do anything like that, Isabel. I drove to his property. It took me a while to remember which road, but then it came to me. I parked just before the no-trespassing signs begin on the trees. Those old men in the back of the store were right. He has cameras on along the front of his property. I bet all over.”
“How could you see them if you were so far away?”
She lifts a pair of binoculars from her purse.
“With these. See? I came prepared.”
I laugh and shake my head. I bet there aren’t too many mothers like mine.
“Good idea. Did Victor come out when you were parked there?”
“No. But while Maggie and I were casing the joint, I got a good idea how to get his attention.”
I smile.
“Did you just say casing the joint?”
She sniffs.
Suddenly, I’m a kid again.
“Yes, I did,” Ma says. “Do you want to hear my idea?”
“Of course.
“First, use a marker to write a note on poster board. You’ll have to write really large. Then, you’ll stand in front of his gate, so his camera catches you.”
“Hmm, interesting idea. It just might work. Wanna join me?”
“Let me think about it. But somebody has to know you went there in case you don’t come back.”
I nod.
“Yes, that’s a real possibility. Hey, you wanna hear what happened with the Big Shot Poet? It was rather scary.”
“Scary? Well, you sure have my interest.”
All That He Wrote
The next day I have Sophie, who is getting around on all fours and trying to pull herself up on two, so I need to keep a close eye on her. But the day isn’t totally shot. My plans are to finish reading everything Cary wrote, which is what I’m attempting to do while the baby naps. As I go through the last three books, I will admit Cyrus is right. Cary matured as a poet. He could have been published with the right connections although frankly I have no idea how publishing poetry works. But Cyrus knows, of course.
Speaking of Cyrus, he left me an apologetic message on my answering machine. “Please forgive me, Isabel. I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
Yeah, you did, and I ain’t calling back to accept the apology.
I’m reading at the kitchen table. Ma is in the other room. The cat is on her lap. The dog is outside. It hasn’t started raining yet, so I may turn the baby loose on the back lawn, which is inches from its second mow. Hopefully, I will be out of this sling before that, or I might have to press one of the boys or my son-in-law into helping again.
“Isabel, did you try calling Carole?” Ma asks from her chair.
“I will in a while.”
Nobody picked up when I called yesterday, so I hope Carole is okay. I left a cryptic message since I’m not sure her husband, Mike, is aware of what his wife told me.
I cock my ear, but I detect no sounds from Sophie upstairs. I don’t need one of those baby monitors. I haven’t lost my keen sense of mom hearing. I bet I could still hear a box of cookies being opened three rooms away. A baby waking upstairs? Nothing to it.
I brew myself some tea before I read parts of A Poet’s Notes again. I stand in the doorway between the kitchen and living room.
“When are you planning a visit to see Danny?” I ask.
Ma uses a finger to hold her place in the book.
“I’m waiting for when your sisters visit, so hurry up and solve this case, Isabel,” she says. “The last two times I went away, you got yourself into trouble.”
I laugh.
“That was hopefully only a coincidence,” I say.
“I seriously doubt that. Besides, I want to be here when you solve this one.”
The kettle is whistling.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. We’ll see if I can have a trifecta.”
The kitten jumps from her lap.
“Where’s Jack taking you tonight?”
“Dunno. He says he wants to surprise me. But I bet a million dollars it isn’t Baxter’s.”
She nods.
“That would be a sure bet.”
Carole’s Take
Mike hands the phone to Carole after he asks her if she’s up for taking a call from me.
“Gimme it,” I hear her say on the other end of the line. “Isabel?”
“How are you feeling, Carole?”
“Better,” she answers although her voice sounds thin. “You figure out Cary’s case yet?”
“I’m working on it. You have time for a question?”
She sighs.
“I have all the time in the world these days. I’m bored outta my skull if you wanna know the truth. Sick of watchin’ that damn TV and goin’ to the doctor’s office.”
“Hey, when you worked for Cyrus, do you remember him asking you to clean up a pile of trash in the woods?”
“What kinda trash? People were dumpin’ stuff there and along the road all the time.”
“This would have been after Cary’s death. There were empty bottles of booze and cigarette butts near the cliff on his property.”
“Oh, yeah.” Her words drag out. “That was just before that asshole fired me. He got all bitchy cause somebody dumped a couple of bottles of booze and cigarette butts on his precious land.”
“That sounds about right.”
She cackles.
“But I fixed him. I just got me a shovel and buried it in a hole right there.”
“You didn’t throw it away?”
“Nah. I’m sure it’s all still there if you can find the spot.”
Don’t get too excited, Isabel. It could have been anybody who left that trash. Besides, there’s no way I could check if Cary’s fingerprints or DNA are on the bottles. This ain’t some crime show with all those nifty tricks that gets a case solved in an hour.
Still, it would be worth seeing what’s there. What do I have to lose? Nothing. What do I have to gain? Perhaps something. It sure helped in my last case.
The only problem is that Carole is probably too ill to show me.
“It was six years ago, but do you remember where you buried the stuff?”
“No, I don’t. But I most likely chose the closest spot that had dirt easy enough to dig. That shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
It sounds simple enough. But what’s spinning through my mind is how I can get on the Big Shot Poet’s land. And another thing, how am I supposed to dig a hole with only one arm? Think, Isabel, think.
“This is great. You’ve been so helpful.”
“I have?”
“Yeah. I’ll tell you what I find.”
“Good luck, Isabel.”
“So, when are you comin back to the Rooster?”
“Dunno. Why? Isn’t Lisa workin’ out?”
I weigh my answer here. “She’s okay.”
Carole makes another low cackle.
“Nah, she’s more like a pain in the ass.”
“That, too.”
A Real Date
Tuesday night, Jack and I are waiting for our orders at Luella’s, one of the best restaurants in Mayfield. He’s drinking scotch on the rocks. I have wine. Nothing house, he told me. This is a real date, he said on the ride over in his pickup, not just drinking beer after closing at the Rooster or dinner at my house. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt that doesn’t have a beer or sports team slogan on it and his best jeans. I’m wearing a dress, not too fancy, but heck, when do I ever get a chance to wear one? Besides, I still have that ever-present accessory, my sling.
And we have a corner table for two, his request to the hostess.
Jack tells me a story about one of the Rooster True Blue Regulars I hadn’t heard before. It’s about the time the guy’s live-in girlfriend left him, and he didn’t notice it for two days. Finally, on the third, when he didn’t get supper again, he found the note taped to the stove’s range hood: Ed, you might have noticed this isn’t working out. I’ll get the rest of my things later. Janice
“Uh, if they slept together, why didn’t he figure it out sooner?” I ask.
“Ed said he thought he remembered she was gonna visit her sister.”
“He thought he remembered? Boy, I would hope for more from a man I lived with.”
Jack works up a grin.
“I bet you would.”
The stories keep coming. I tell him a few from my days working for the newspaper. He tells some from his vantage point as the owner of the town’s only bar. His stories are definitely better, certainly more colorful than anything in my repertoire. How about the guy who once brought a chicken to the bar as a joke? “So, where’s the rooster?” he asked.
Jack nods.
“I remember when you and Sam first started comin’ into the Rooster. Sam I knew better cause he’d stop there sometimes after work.”
“We sure had a lot of good times dancing on Friday nights.”
He fingers his glass of scotch.
“Do you miss Sam?”
I make an involuntary sigh.
“There are times when the family does something I wish Sam was here to share it. But he isn’t.” I laugh. “I do wonder how he would’ve felt about my becoming a P.I.”
“Probably like me. I can’t stop you from doin’ stuff you like, but I worry you might get hurt.”
I think about that incident with Cyrus yesterday and my plan to visit Victor tomorrow. I decide I’ll keep all of that to myself. I also won’t tell Jack how I want to dig up the trash on the Big Shot Poet’s land although I think I’ve found the opportune moment to trespass. Cyrus is one of the headliners for a writers’ conference in Vermont. Friday is a day away for him and the perfect opportunity to snoop.
Instead, I smile at Jack.
“I am trying to be extra careful this time.”
“That’s good, Isabel. Cause I care an awful lot for you.”
I can’t help smiling when he says that.
“I feel the same way about you, Jack.”
Suddenly, Jack grins as if he’s keeping some big secret from me. Is there a shy side to this guy? Right now, it appears that way. He reaches across the table for my hand.
“Isabel, I wanna say I… ”
But whatever Jack was going to tell me is interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Now, isn’t this cozy.”
You guessed it. Lisa is here. Jack’s cousin Fred stands behind her. He extends both hands as if he’s feeling helpless. He mouths the words, “Sorry, Isabel.”
You’d better be, Fred.
Jack leans back in his chair. His hand slides, so only his fingertips touch mine.
“What brings you two here?” he asks.
Lisa’s got a big smile on that big mouth of hers. Her skin is also sunburned from her cleavage up to her face. She is one pink woman.
“I wanted to treat Fred to dinner for puttin’ up with me while the floors were gettin’ done. I told him to choose the best restaurant, and here we are.”
Fred shakes his head.
“Wait a minute,” he says. “You told me you heard Jack talkin’ about takin’ Isabel to this place.”
Lisa’s eyes go wide as if Fred is making this all up.
“Hey, why don’t we join you?” she says.
“Uh, this is a table for two,” Jack says.
Lisa looks around and points.
“I can ask the waiter to add that table and chairs. We’ll have a little party here.”
I wait for what’s next.
Jack leans forward. My hand is in his.
“Actually, I came here to be alone with Isabel,” he says. “Why don’t you two find another place to sit? Watch out. Here comes our food. That salmon looks good, Isabel.”
Fred taps Lisa’s arm.
“Come on.”
Jack watches the waiter place his order, a steak, of course, in front of him.
“Catch you two later,” he says.
I say, “Nice seeing you both,” which is a half-lie.
I try not to smile too much as the hostess approaches Fred and Lisa. It appears someone is ahead of them for that table, so they split Luella’s.
Except for that interruption, Jack and I have a good time being two people who enjoy each other’s company. Yes, it’s a date. More stories. More questions about what we like and don’t like. What we want to try.
“Really, Isabel, you want to learn how to fish? You and Sam never did that?”
No, we didn’t. Sam didn’t have the patience for it. Besides, I’m looking for things I never did with Sam and I can do with Jack. I will stop short of hunting, however. Killing mammals is not my thing. I don’t even like eating them.
“How about some time when my mother’s away, we go camping?” I ask at one point.
“Great idea. I could borrow somebody’s RV.”
“RV? I meant sleeping in a tent. I have all the equipment we need.”
“Tent? I haven’t done that since I was a kid in the boy scouts. That’s kinda roughin’ it, Isabel. I’m not so sure.”
I touch his face and give him my best mischievous smile.
“Just think of the possibilities out in the wild, sir.”
Jack barks out a laugh.
“You just changed my mind. When can we go?”
“I thought you’d see it my way.”
A Visit with Victor
Here I am standing in front of Victor Higgins’ gate with a sign that says: Victor, I would like to talk with you. Isabel Long. It’s actually a pretty pathetic sign. I didn’t have any poster board handy at home, and I wasn’t about to drive all the way to the city to buy any. So, I did what I could, gluing sheets of white paper together and then making the lettering as large as I could with a flat black marker. Ma said it should do the trick when I showed her. Now, as I wait on one of Conwell’s truly back roads for Victor to pay attention, I’m hoping my mother is right again.
I parked my car on the side of the road, which probably isn’t as muddy as it was a few weeks ago. There are some dried ruts, likely made by a pickup because they stop at Victor’s driveway. It appears nobody lives farther up the road, and I certainly won’t be venturing there in my car. I take mud very seriously. I did manage to back my Subaru into a solid spot and made sure the car is facing the right direction for an easy exit, if need be.
I give the sign a tilt back and forth.
“Come on, Victor,” I say out loud.
Earlier this morning, I was purposefully vague when Jack asked me what I was doing today. I told him, “Working on my case.” I even hid this sign from him in my office. I don’t want the guy getting worked up about how risky this ploy is.
I smile thinking of the fun time we had last night. I had Jack’s undivided attention. I did the same for him.
But now, I focus on getting Victor Wilson’s attention. My stomach is in a knot despite that pep I gave myself on the drive over. Being a reporter interviewing a hostile source pales to talking with Victor Wilson about his connection with this case.
Minutes go by, but I stand my ground. I try to maintain a friendly face. Yeah, I’m nuts to be doing this. But Ma and I have an arrangement. If I don’t call her in an hour, she’ll call me, and if I don’t answer, she’ll send the cops. She already learned there is cell phone service here when she went on her scouting expedition. The signal’s not terribly strong, but it should be enough. What I didn’t tell her is that it would likely take the cops another hour to get here, if that. But I can’t see any other way to get Victor’s attention, and I don’t want to worry her.
