Stocks & Blondes
21
Stakeout and dossiers
WHY IS IT that whenever you wake up refreshed, ready to conquer the world, and really get some work done, it turns out to be Sunday and everything is closed?
Maizie Day
We literally bounced out of bed this morning in the airport motel. Everything was suddenly clear to me. I decided I was not going to be Peg today at all. Cinnamon and I went to 13 Coins for way too much food for breakfast and then headed to my apartment to visit Maizie. I call every day but Mrs. Prior says Maizie has been worried about me and missed me. She thinks she should be my backup.
When I walked into the apartment, though, Maizie was curled up on Dag’s chair—with a cat. Maizie has free range to come in and out of the apartment when she is staying downstairs with Mrs. Prior. It’s her home. None of Mrs. Prior’s other animals have ever ventured to follow her into the apartment because Maizie is a little territorial about her apartment. It looked to me—not being a pet communicator—like I had been replaced by a gray ball of fur I would have expected Maizie to use as a squeaky toy.
Maizie ushered the cat downstairs when I shook her leash and Mrs. Prior picked it up while the other three of us went for a walk. When we got to Tovoni’s, Jackie served espresso just the way we like it and gave Maizie a treat. Maizie carried the treat to the fireplace and sat down to take dainty little bites while Cinnamon and I sat to talk.
“I know it’s still early in our employee/employer relationship,” Cinnamon said, “but I was wondering if I could ever have a day off.” It suddenly dawned on me that Cinnamon had been my almost constant companion since I was drugged last weekend. I was totally embarrassed. How self-centered can I get? When I’m on a case, I work it day and night until it’s cracked. I guess it’s my own manifestation of OCD behavior. I hadn’t even considered that the case might not have Cinnamon as engrossed as I was.
“Oh, my gosh, Cinnamon!” I said. “Of course you can have a day off. I shouldn’t have kept you at the hotel last night. I just completely got wound up in what we were doing and forgot you have a life, too.”
“I’m a big girl, Deb. I could have spoken up,” she answered. “But there is no way I leave a friend in the condition and danger you’ve been in this week. I screwed up last month and I know what the consequences are.” Cinnamon had allowed herself to be used by Angel to get me to the Condo. That ended with Angel and Brenda going off a fourteenth floor rooftop. Neither of us were proud of the way we handled that case. And Cinnamon had only been working for me a few weeks. She came in with such a flurry of efficiency that I started depending on her immediately.
“You’re too generous, girl,” I said, laughing. “I appreciate a friend as much as anyone and you’ve really been there for me. But you work for me and you’ve got your own life, too. I’ve already decided not to go back to the house today and maybe not tomorrow, either. It’s mostly errands to run and research to do. Why don’t you take today and tomorrow off? Then we’ll talk about some kind of regular schedule so you aren’t tied down by my crazy hours. Just because I went undercover doesn’t mean you have to be with me all the time.”
“It’s been fun in a spooky sort of way,” Cinnamon said. “But a couple days to tend to personal business would be good. I’ll have my phone on… unless I’m indisposed.”
“Speaking of which, please remember that Jordan and I do not share details of any cases we are working on unless we have agreed to work together. He doesn’t know all the aliases I have and he doesn’t want to know. Officially, I’ve been in isolation analyzing some computers in an estate on behalf of the heirs. That’s all he needs to know.”
“No problem, Sugar,” she said. “But now that you mention it, he did say something about a movie this afternoon and I’d like to change clothes first.”
We walked back to the apartment and I watched Cinnamon drive off. I looked at Maizie.
“Want to go on a stakeout with me, partner?” I asked. She danced all the way to the car.
Back to whore corners
It was a lazy Sunday. We stopped at Dick’s Drive-in and had burgers for lunch. I used the restroom, not being sure when I’d get another chance. Then I parked in the SuperValue parking lot across the street from the coffee shop at Whore Corners, as I now thought of the place. I pushed back my seat, turned on the radio for Maizie, and opened my computer. I’d started compiling a dossier on each of my suspects and needed to put in all I could remember while it was still fresh.
Dolly Martin. Age 43. Single mom of fourteen-year-old Cam. I found she has two addresses. One is the apartment she shares with her son. The other is a house she rents on Newbury Street, two blocks from Georgia. Rick and Susan Thomas are the registered owners. While I was entering her data, she arrived at the café almost exactly at noon.
She picked up a drink inside and sat at the same sidewalk table I had with a newspaper. She wore skintight jeans and a bomber jacket and impossibly high heeled shoes. At twenty past, a male around forty years old arrived and approached the table. Dolly invited him to sit. Less than ten minutes later, Dolly and the male stood and left the table, walking north on Ralston. She left the newspaper. I decided not to follow. That’s the direction of the Newbury house.
Marcie Donovan. Age around mid-thirties. Marital status unknown. Address unknown. I figured it was an assumed name. She arrived at one o’clock sharp, bought a drink, and sat at the same sidewalk table. She became engrossed in the newspaper Dolly had left. Ten minutes later, a man I estimated to be in his late twenties or early thirties arrived and sat down at the table. He was about six feet tall with a stocky build. Marcie greeted him like an old friend she’d been waiting for. At one-twenty, they left the table and headed north on Ralston. A search of city property records revealed that eight properties within five blocks of the café were owned by Rick and Susan Thomas. I stayed put.
Jenni Rodriguez arrived promptly at two o’clock. The bus should run so dependably. Jenni is over fifty, is divorced, and is a little overweight. That didn’t stop her from packing it all into a skirt so tight the seams cried for mercy. A man who had entered the café earlier, short, dark skin, possibly Hispanic, followed her out and they both sat at the table. Very relaxed conversation as though they’d known each other a long time. Jenni left with the man and headed north on Ralston.
I waited until three-thirty but Abby Rowe never showed up. Of course, she could have been there in the morning. Maizie had to pee and so did I. At least the mystery of being asked “How much?” was solved. I had been sitting in the prostitutes’ chair.
I wondered what Georgia’s normal hour was.
I took Maizie home. We had a cuddle and then I went back to the airport hotel. I’d need to be Peg again tomorrow.
Comments
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
