I was certain my face reflected my dismay, but Henry seemed oblivious and Pearl certainly wasn’t concerned. “Sure thing,” I murmured in lieu of breaking my teeth out with a rock.
I returned to the front gate, where I opened the collapsible wheelchair and piled the remaining items in the seat before I rolled it around to the back. Henry’s kitchen door was standing open and I could see lights on in the guest room. Pearl of all people. Had the man lost his mind? Maybe he’d been drinking when the call came through. He was a softie by nature, but to have Pearl White in residence beggared belief. Why his act of compassion so annoyed me, I couldn’t say. I hate to admit how little sympathy I have for moochers and human parasites. My Aunt Gin had raised me with a strongly worded caution about asking anything of others. Self-sufficiency was her goal. She frowned on the idea of dependency and social indebtedness. Given that she’d raised me from the age of five until her death when I was twenty-three, I was constitutionally unable to argue the point.
I took the liberty of opening the screen door, unloading Pearl’s possessions, and placing them just inside. Everything she owned smelled like cigarette smoke. I could hear the murmur of Henry’s voice at the far end of the house and I paused for a moment, wondering if I should wait and have a quick chat with him. Nah, probably not. One of us would walk away mad. I went back to my studio and let myself in. It was clear I wasn’t going to have supper with Henry at his place or anywhere else. I didn’t have the heart to go back to Rosie’s, given her enthusiasm for Hungarian dishes made with animal innards.
In desperation, I checked the paper for movies and ended up downtown sitting through Parenthood. My dinner was buttered popcorn and Diet Pepsi, which contained none of the major food groups unless corn is considered one. When Parenthood ended, it was only eight fifteen, so I treated myself to a double feature, buying a ticket for Turner & Hooch.
I got home well after ten. Henry’s place was dark, so I assumed he’d gone to bed. One jarring note was the sight of Pearl’s pup tent anchored in the middle of the backyard. Maybe clean sheets were too much for her to bear. In my dealings with the homeless, I learned that many prefer the night sky to a nine-foot ceiling, especially those who’ve been in jail. Ed, the cat, seemed puzzled by the pup tent as well. He sat just outside it, his head tilted as he stared at the zippered flap. I knew what was going on in his tiny mind. Why would anyone elect to sleep in the middle of his litter box?
I managed to avoid both Henry and Pearl for the remainder of the weekend. Really, it was Henry’s business if he invited someone to move in. I counseled myself to keep my mouth shut, no small accomplishment for me.
? ? ?
When I left for work Monday morning, the tent was still there and the surrounding dirt smelled like wee wee. I guess Pearl couldn’t be bothered to use indoor plumbing in the middle of the night. If Henry ever intended to resurrect his yard, he’d have to have the topsoil replaced before he did anything else. I wondered if human excrement was considered compost. If so, she could probably provide a sufficient quantity to fertilize his roses.
Once in the office, I put in a call to Lonnie Kingman, who was mercifully available. “Hey, Lonnie. Kinsey. I have a question for you.”
“And I bet I know what it is. You heard from Lauren McCabe.”
“Exactly. I appreciate the referral, but I’m wondering why you declined her business.”
“I didn’t like the position it put me in. If I agreed to represent the McCabes in the matter of the extortion, I’d have to explain the tape and its contents to the district attorney, which would subject Fritz to possible prosecution. In effect, I’d be saying, ‘My clients are being extorted over this tape showing their son involved in a rape.’ And then what? I’d end up trying to defend Fritz on that very rape charge? It just wouldn’t smell right. Because to do that properly, I’d have to convince the McCabes not to contact the police, which would be inappropriate.”
“Got it. I probably should have turned the job down myself, but I feel badly for everyone concerned. Fritz no sooner gets out of prison than he could be facing another criminal charge. The McCabes already paid a fortune for his defense. Who wants to face another round of legal hassles?”
“Amen,” he said, as though the two of us had prayed.
After we hung up, I considered the situation. It was, I could see in retrospect, the moment when I could have backed out gracefully, explaining that I’d had second thoughts about how effective I might be. Lauren might have been disappointed or annoyed, but all I had to do was return the retainer and that would have been the end of it.
But I was already hooked. The little terrier in my nature was busy chasing after the problem, throwing dirt up behind me as I dug my little hole. There was a rat down there somewhere and I would have it for my very own.
I typed up the contract detailing the work Lauren McCabe had asked me to do. I wrote her a receipt for the advance, which I’d include with the copy of the agreement. As I filled out the paperwork, it crossed my mind yet again that my mandate was weak. Find the extortionist and put a stop to the threat. Oh boy. Best not to think too deeply about what lay ahead.
In addition to her check, I pulled out a couple of other checks I needed to take to the bank and completed a deposit slip. I armed the system, locked up, and hopped in my car. I was gone fifteen minutes and when I pulled into the drive, I was greeted by the sight of a black-and-white patrol car and a uniformed officer, who was coming around the side of the building. He was young, early thirties, slim, and clean-shaven, with an air of competence I appreciated on sight. His name tag said T. SUGARBAKER.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“This is your place?”
“My office.”
“May I have your name?”
I gave him my name and showed him my driver’s license and a business card, watching while he made a note of the information. He kept my business card and handed back my license, which I returned to my shoulder bag. “What’s going on?”
“Your alarm went off and the company dispatcher called the number on record. When there was no answer, she contacted STPD. I was sent to check the premises. Kitchen window in the back is broken. It looks like someone took a rock to it.”
“Wow. I paid extra for a couple of glass-break sensors, but I thought I was being paranoid. Did the guy actually get in?”
“It doesn’t look like it. He was probably scared off by the alarm, but you might want to check.”
“Well, you were quick off the mark and I appreciate that.”