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Alex Peres Mystery 5 - Losers, Weepers.docx
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Chapter 9

From far away, I heard my name. “Alex. Alex. Are you all right?” Someone shook my shoulder and my head fell off. I groaned. The voice moved closer. “You smell like a bottle of gin. And what the hell happened to the kitchen? Did we have an earthquake here?”

“Yes, that’s it.” An earthquake was all I could think of to make me feel this way. “Is it Tuesday already? Have I been unconscious under the rubble? I think I may be badly injured.”

Cindy plopped down on the side of the bed, and my stomach gave a gravity-defying lurch. “Oh, God! I’m dying.”

“Before you go, tell me what happened.”

“Tell me why you’re home three days early,” I said cleverly. Maybe by the time she did that, I could remember what happened to the kitchen. “Is everything okay in . . . wherever?”

“Oh, yes. Just fine.” She reached across me and took a cigarette from the table. She does this about once a month, and it consistently amazes and, frankly, pisses me off. How do you smoke one cigarette a month?

“So, what happened?” I thought of a cigarette, but graciously declined, although none had been offered.

“So, I wasn’t needed on the voyage. Ergo, I came home.”

“What the hell are you trying to say? And stop calling me Ergo.”

“There was a cast of thousands. First, you have the core family. My brother Pete, wife Karol, two older kids and now kid number three, Hillary, who’s adorable, by the way. Then there was me, in the guest room, all ready to look after Butch and Abby, so the new parents could look after Hillary and still get some kind of rest.”

“A solid plan.” I was beginning to regain consciousness. I wondered if there was coffee.

“Quite solid.” Cindy rolled her eyes dramatically. “Until . . . until, first, my mother arrived. She knew my brother needed to get back to work, so she came along to help with Hillary, and there went the other bed in the guest room. No more private, quiet moments. And here came a lot of advice on how to raise children.”

“Daunting.”

“Oh, I didn’t give up. I am sturdy. I know my duty. I smiled, and Karol smiled and Pete smiled. And Pete and I drank rather a lot that night. Then Karol’s mother decided she’d better add her assistance now instead of next week as scheduled, and flew in unannounced from Ohio.”

“On the wings of a pure white dove, no doubt.” I’d have been out of there in a nanosecond.

“Something like that, yes. And there went my bed in the guest room. I was now on the foldout couch in the living room, more aptly named Grand Central Station. I was bloody but unbowed. But when Karol’s sister arrived from Pennsylvania—or was it Transylvania?—I knew we would be sharing that miserable couch. I do not share miserable couches in living rooms with vampire bats. I ‘slept’ in an easy chair for a few hours, quietly left at dawn and made good time. However, I am tired. And not prepared for this.” She swept her arm around broadly, narrowly missing my nose.

“Did you also by any chance make coffee?”

“No. That mess in the kitchen—a chair turned over, God knows what all over the floor, Wells and Fargo actually huddled together in his bed. Your stuff tossed all over the bedroom. I was afraid you really might be dead. It must have been one helluva party.” She apparently couldn’t decide whether to look hurt or angry.

I reached for her hand. “It was. But not the kind you’re thinking of. If you will make a pot of coffee—I believe the coffeemaker survived—I will shower and meet you in the dining room. I promise to tell all.”

She looked unconvinced. “I suppose Cassie figures prominently in this and will swear to everything you say.”

Cassie is my best pal and runs a chartered aircraft business. Right now I wished she and I were far up in the blue, headed most anywhere. On oxygen.

“No, my love, Cassie plays no role in this. My witnesses include such paragons of virtue as my fourth-grade teacher, an architect, his evangelical wife and the entire Provincetown police force. Now go, before I put me out of my misery.”

Coffee helped. So did toast. Fargo and even Wells forgave me. I told Cindy about the whole convoluted mess, including that in the kitchen. Her entire attitude changed when I told her of Reed and his jumbo pistol.

“My God, he could have killed you.”

“I think the safety was on. Anyway, I don’t think actual murder was on his mind. I think he is just totally distraught and frustrated that everything went wrong. Imagine thinking you’re going to meet some people to whom you will give money in exchange for the safe return of your beloved daughter, and all you see is two-thirds of the Ptown police force laughing it up over coffee and doughnuts. It’s not a smile maker.”

“Well,” she said indignantly, “He didn’t have to take it out on you.”

I laughed. “My headache is better. His will be with him awhile. And his nose has definitely lost its virginity. I traded fatigue, stress and hunger for a whopping hangover. I’m still ahead of poor Reed.”

“Yes,” she poured us more coffee. “That’s a terrible thing . . . a kidnapping. I can’t even imagine the fear and anger they must feel.”

“It must be ghastly,” I agreed, “and add to that a bunch of very different people trying to deal with it. A man who’s never been a hands-on father. A new stepmother of dubious character. A grandmother who blatantly much preferred her first daughter-in-law to this one. Two teenage boys trying to be adult, but frightened, motherless and antagonistic toward the new wife. It must be a barrel of fun around there even when nothing serious is wrong.”

“God. Who did it?”

“I don’t know.” I poured another cup of coffee. I was slowly returning to life. “The two young men actually did it, of course, and that could be all there is to it. But I cannot imagine myself overhearing some kids fantasizing about how to get some money, and publicly offering my services to commit a capital crime for a mere five thousand dollars.”

“You mean someone else may have hired them first . . . to kidnap Zoe for a lion’s share of the money or for a reason we don’t know.”

“Right.”

“There’s Reed,” Cindy said thoughtfully.

“Why Reed?” I was surprised at her choice. “How would he profit? Other than possibly getting rid of a sometimes troublesome daughter? And placating his wife.”

“Oh, one very good way. Suppose he’s been over billing clients, saying he’s built their structures to certain top-notch specifications, when actually he’s been using very inferior materials and shoddy workmen. Maybe everything is literally about to fall in on him. This is a fine way to liquidate all his assets in a hurry and even get some hefty loans without rousing suspicion. Everyone is busy raising money for the poor panic-stricken father.”

She gave a wicked grin. “Reed’s next communication might have been a postcard from Brazil if the cops had picked another place for their picnic last night.” Suddenly she sobered. “My God, Choate may have the bank in this up to his neck without even knowing it.”

“It’s difficult to believe,” I said. “Reed’s had a good reputation for years around here.”

“He’s got a new wife who sounds high maintenance. And he’s facing college with three kids.”

“Yeah. There’s that. I guess you’ll want to call Choate and give him a heads-up. And call Sonny. He may not have thought of this. I need to talk to him, too, when you finish. Please,” I added.

Cindy moved immediately for the kitchen phone, and I could hear her voice, fast and urgent, as she spoke with her boss.

I lit the first cigarette of the day and let my thoughts move on to my favorite villain. The attractive, sexy, bitchy, rapacious, social climbing Merrilou. Gee, was there something I disliked about her? Well, yes. Upset or not, you don’t go around slapping old ladies. And you don’t threaten young girls with going to hell because they’re gay.

The way Merrilou handled the first call was suspicious. But her reluctance to involve the police was not unusual with the families of kidnap victims. However, I didn’t think Merrilou’s disinclination stemmed from fear for Zoe’s safety. If it were not indicative of her involvement with the plot itself, it was simply that she wanted no scandal to make her entry into Cape Cod society more difficult than it already was. If they had called the police and the “kidnapping” had proved to be just another way to say, “Hey, Dad, all I needed was a loan,” the media would have had a field day.

Actually, I had to admit, nothing Merrilou had done was particularly dubious. Cold, self-serving, unforgivable if anything happened to Zoe, but not criminal. I was probably letting my dislike run away with me.

On the other hand, what about her friend Emily? Emily Bartles came into daily contact with unemployed, broke young men whose morals might be of dubious strength. Five thousand dollars would look like a fortune to most of them. The Bartles drove a beat-up, noisy, off-white van with numerous dents and scratches, as well as remnants of past colors, which might prove interesting. Obviously, Emily had access to it.

If you figured that Reed had somehow added twenty thousand to the hundred and eighty thousand Choate Ellis had brought, that made two hundred thousand. Ten to the two young perps left one ninety. If Merrilou gave Emily, say, fifty thousand, that left a hundred and forty for her. And everybody had a loverly nest egg.

In some of my contacts with Larry Bartles in the past, he had let slip that his marriage was not the happiest. Maybe Emily was building up some getaway funds.

Why did Merrilou feel she needed money? She had a wealthy, obviously doting husband. Or was he as dumb as he seemed? I wondered if there had been a prenuptial agreement Merrilou disliked. I wondered how Reed’s will read. I wondered how much Rob knew. I would find out.

Of the family, I figured Rob and Martin were non-starters for being the kidnappers. So that left Grandma, and somehow I couldn’t see her having anything to do with Tweedledee and Tweedledum. She’d be more likely to brush up their manners and their long division than to stage a kidnapping, even if she could use the money. And I imagined she was not buying day-old bread. So that took care of my current cast of characters.

Cindy came in with the walk-around phone. “Here’s Sonny.” She went back in the kitchen and I heard sounds of a beginning clean-up operation. Bless her neat little heart.

“Hi, Sonny.”

“Hi. I hear you had quite an encounter with Reed last night. Are you okay?”

“The kitchen and Reed are the casualties. I’m fine. How’s Reed?”

“Tape on his nose, bear grease on the balding spot/cum lump on his head. Very subdued and apologetic. If you can believe him, and I’m not at all sure I do. But seriously, Alex, the prosecutor wants to know what you plan to do about this.”

“Nothing. I realize the gun might have somehow gone off, but he wasn’t here to hurt me. He’s a little crazed, I guess, but I think he needs tranquilizers more than jail time. Get him for the unregistered pistol and forget the rest. Doesn’t he have any men friends to help him through this?”

“Choate, John Frost. That’s about it.”

John Frost was a lawyer here in town—bright, sardonic and certainly a loyal friend. “Are they spending time with him?”

Sonny cleared his throat. “Merrilou doesn’t like them.”

“Screw Merrilou.”

“No, thanks. Fortunately, she does not like me, either. But me, she can’t throw out. Look, we’ve got all the tapes set up again, but have had no calls. We’re watching for the van with the blue paint. I got your message from Marcia last night. At least that narrows it down. We’re already checking empty buildings all over town. Any other ideas?”

“Not really.” But I couldn’t resist. I told him my thoughts about Merrilou and Emily.

He said, “Hmm,” which meant he didn’t think I was nuts, but he wasn’t excited, either. “Those are possibilities. We’ll nose around, check the colors on that derelict van.”

“Look, Sonny, I gotta go help Cindy rebuild the kitchen. Keep in touch, okay?”

“You got it.”

Actually, Cindy had the kitchen about done, to my great relief. It was too late to take the dog to the beach . . . too many people still around. So I put on his lead and took him with me to get the Sunday papers. It was a legitimate excuse for an exit. If you didn’t get there fairly early, they ran out of the New York Times.

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