Checking the Traps, page 2
part #3 of Isabel Long Series
And so it goes all night. I take orders and questions about the case. I admit to being a bit of a smartass as I do.
Speaking of smartasses, Jack’s cousin, Fred, plunks himself down on an empty stool at the bar.
“Isabel, you’re lookin’ more gorgeous than ever even with that sling,” he says with a wink. “Glad to see my cousin’s treatin’ you right. But if you ever change your mind, I’m still available.”
It’s not as sleazy an exchange as it would have been a couple of months ago when Fred used to give me the creeps although there might still be wishful thinking on his part. After all, he does have a reputation as a ladies’ man. But after getting to know Fred better, I’ve had a change of heart and don’t even call him el Creepo behind his back any more.
“Sure, Fred, sure,” I say.
The phone rings, which doesn’t happen too often at the Rooster. Jack’s across the room, so I grab the phone.
“Rooster Bar and Grille. How can I help you?”
“Isabel?”
I don’t recognize the man’s voice right away, but then I hear his goofy laugh. Gary Beaumont is on the other end of the line.
“You wanna talk with Jack?” I ask, which is a highly unlikely situation given their relationship.
“Him? Nah. You still doin’ that private investigating stuff?”
“Yes, I am. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Cause of the crash and you getting hurt.”
“It’s only a broken collarbone and a few bruised ribs. I’ll get over it. Why? You know of a case?”
“Sure do.”
“Yeah?”
“I got one you might want to take on for me.”
Well, knock me over. Gary Beaumont wants me to investigate a case. This is the guy who made my life miserable not that long ago, even tailgating me for miles on a backcountry road and confronting me at a bar, never mind that ugly scene at his house. He must have a short memory or is desperate. But I’ll be professional, even with Gary Beaumont, and hear him out without being a jerk about it.
“A case? Really? What’s it about?”
“It’s about my brother, Cary. They say he killed himself jumpin’ off that bridge in Titus, but I don’t believe it for a second. Cary wouldn’t do somethin’ like that. Somebody must’ve pushed him.”
“Pushed him?”
“Yeah.
A line of drinkers form at the counter.
“Hey, Gary, I can’t talk right now. I’m kinda busy. You’ve got my home phone number, don’t you? I think I gave you my cell, too.”
“I called your house first, but your mother said you were workin’ tonight.”
Hmm, I sure would have liked to be in on that conversation between my mother and Gary.
“I wanna hear more, but I gotta wait on customers. Call me again soon. I gotta go.”
I hang up the phone. Gary Beaumont has a case for me? This is a surprise. The name Cary Moore sounds familiar, but I do live in a place of small towns and large families. I’m familiar with the bridge in Titus that Gary mentioned. As I recall, it’s attracted a few jumpers over the years.
I take my place behind the counter.
“Sorry about that,” I say. “What can I get you fellas? Bud? Coming right up.”
Midway through the band’s second set, Jack is back from another sweep for empties. He makes a careful step around to avoid my left side. We’ve had to cool things a bit sex-wise since the accident. I take painkillers, but the broken collarbone makes it risky for any wild bedtime romps, so we keep it light and easy when he spends the night. Besides, I still feel awkward having a man over with Ma living there. Yes, it is my house and I am a grown woman, but she is my mother.
Jack pours bottom-shelf whiskey into shot glasses, and then he’s back into the crowd with a tray. He glances over his shoulder.
“Get ready, Isabel.”
“Get ready for what?”
He chuckles.
“You’ll see.”
Before the accident, this would have been Jack’s chance to tip the musicians with free booze, so they’d play Waylon Jennings’ “Good Hearted Woman,” which has become our song of sorts. Then, he’d clang that cowbell to announce the bar was closed while we hit the dance floor. He’d keep me moving all over the place, but with my injuries that would be impossible. He understands that, so I’m a bit mystified when he returns, and darn, he’s reaching for that cowbell. He clangs it and yells over the crowd.
“Bar’s closed while this woman and I take the dance floor,” he says. “You all gotta keep your distance though. We don’t want Isabel gettin’ hurt worse than she is.”
“Jack… ”
“Don’t worry, Isabel. I’m gonna go easy on you.”
With his fingertips pressed against my back, Jack leads me onto the dance floor as the Back Door Men start Alabama’s “Feel So Right,” one of the mushiest country and western songs ever, and certainly a lot gentler than our usual. People move aside when we get to the middle of the floor. Jack has his arms caged protectively around me as we move slowly together. No twirls tonight, no fancy stepping, but we are dancing. I rest my head against his chest. I hear his heart beat.
“You doin’ alright there, Isabel?” Jack says at the end.
I look up.
“Yeah, Jack.”
He grins that big Jack grin.
“Good. Time to get back to work,” he jokes.
“Right, boss.”
Ruth
Ruth arrives the next morning with the baby, Sophie, to help me get a start on the food for Ma’s ninety-third birthday party. Normally, I would do everything myself, but with my left side banged up and bound up, that’s not possible. It’s late enough that my mother is awake, but not too late, so Jack is still here. I watch my daughter stop abruptly when she sees a man drinking coffee at the kitchen table. She knows Jack. Who doesn’t in this dinky town of a thousand people? And Ruth is certainly aware Jack and I have a relationship. She got to know him better at the emergency room when he drove me there after the crash.
Frankly, having Jack in the emergency room saved me from getting a full-blown lecture from Ruth about the hazards of my paying hobby as a private investigator. Just a short one. She cried and said, “I told you something like this could happen.” I tried not to give her a wise-ass remark. Of course, my daughter loves me. But she’d prefer I stop doing stuff that puts me in danger. That goes double since her father, my Sam, died eighteen months ago.
But this is the first time Ruth has seen Jack in my house. There’s no hiding the man slept over. Her mouth hangs open. Yup, my daughter is a little shook.
Jack nods.
“Howdy, Ruth. That’s a pretty baby you’ve got there. Sophie, right?”
Ruth gives the baby a hitch.
“Hi, Jack. Yes, that’s her name.” She glances back at me. “Where’s Grandma?”
“She’s getting changed.”
“I see you brought the high chair down from the attic,” Ruth says.
“Actually, Jack did.” I smile at him. “It would’ve been too hard for me with one arm.”
“Sorry, I forgot. Thanks, Jack.”
I’m amused to see my composed daughter has lost it a bit. Her father, Sam, and I used to joke she’s the family CEO, certainly the one who always takes charge at any family gathering. She’s the bossy daughter, but the nice bossy daughter.
“You have anything in the car you need to bring in?” Jack asks her.
“Yes, do you mind?”
Jack’s work boots scrape against the wooden floor as he gets himself up.
“Not at all.”
Later, when we are mixing the batter for the birthday cake, under my mother’s watchful eyes, of course, Ruth finally brings up the topic I imagine has been burning inside her ever since Jack left. The beater’s paddles spin as she adds flour to the batter. She doesn’t even glance my way.
“How serious are you two?” she asks.
I could pretend I’m clueless but decide it’d be more fun to be direct. After all, Jack gave me a semi-chaste kiss and a quiet, “Will I see you tonight?” before he left for his Saturday chores. I told him, “Yes, you will.” I spied a wince from Ruth. My mother, who had the kitten, Roxanne, on her lap, laughed, more at Ruth’s reaction than being embarrassed about the kiss.
“Serious enough that we sleep together,” I answer.
“Mom!”
“Sorry to embarrass you, but I wouldn’t sleep with a man if I didn’t care for him. A lot.” I tip my head toward my mother. “Grandma likes him.”
Ma nods.
“Yes, I do.” Ma sighs. “Then, there’s that other guy.”
Ruth stops the beater.
“What other guy?”
I giggle.
“Your grandmother’s talking about Dave Baxter. He owns a biker bar called Baxter’s in Caulfield.”
“Biker bar? What’s with you and bar owners?”
That’s a good question. Dave showed up on my last case. He’s definitely what my mother would call a gentleman caller, or at least he wants to be. He’s made that clear. Dave phoned me a few times after the accident and sent me flowers. I owe him a date, gulp, which was put off because of the accident, a fact he’s reminded me twice. Jack is aware of Dave’s interests. But my relationship with Jack hasn’t advanced to forever love or even steady couple yet. As I once told Dancin’ Dave Baxter, Jack and I are figuring it out. We did have that time out a few months back after I solved that missing woman’s case. Eh, I don’t have to remind you what happened there because of his sister, but it sure put the brakes on our relationship.
Brother, my life is beginning to sound like one of those mysteries Ma likes to read.
“Bar owners? I dunno. I guess there’s something about those guys,” I joke.
Ruth rolls her eyes. The beater begins spinning again.
“And what’s with you inviting those two women to the party?”
“You must be talking about Marsha and Annette.”
“Yes, those two.”
“Your grandmother and I happen to like them a lot. Right, Ma?”
Ma hums.
“The Floozy and Tough Cookie are real sweethearts.”
I wink at my mother.
“I dunno if I’d call them sweethearts. But we got to know them well during my last case. And please don’t call them those names to their faces. They’re nicknames your grandmother and I gave each of them, like I call those guys in the backroom of the Conwell General Store the Old Farts.”
“Mom!”
I glance at Sophie, who’s listed to the right in the high chair. I go over to fix her.
“Sorry, kid,” I tell her. “Don’t listen to Grandma.”
Ruth starts mentioning the names of people we know in town, all newcomers and most of them parents of my kids’ friends. All are respectable people, as far as I can tell.
“What about them?”
“Your grandmother hasn’t met any of them. Besides, Marsha and Annette can hold their liquor unlike certain people we know.”
Ruth chops the sides of the bowl with a spatula.
“You’re talking about my mother-in-law, right?”
“It does get interesting at family parties when Anne gets a few drinks in her. You’ve heard her. She’s interrogated me about my cases. I’m sure she’ll do it again when she and Phil come tomorrow.”
Ruth gives the batter a quick spin, and then she’s reaching for the cake pans. I probably shouldn’t have brought up her mother-in-law. I like Anne and Phil. We invite them to all the Long family gatherings. But the woman does tend to get a little tipsy at them. Secretly, I look forward to seeing how she does with the Floozy and Tough Cookie tomorrow. That should be fun. Yes, I can be a bit evil at times.
I can’t help smiling when Ruth clears her throat. I’m certain about what’s coming next. Well, I asked for it.
“Are you still going to take cases?” she asks.
Bingo!
“Yes, I am. It keeps your grandmother and me off the streets,” I say although I detect my humor doesn’t please her. “I’ll just try to be more careful next time.”
Ruth slides the cake pans into the oven then sets the stove’s timer.
“That’s what you say now. But you’ll get carried away like you always do.”
I laugh.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.” She wipes her hands on her apron. “Don’t tell me you have another case already.”
I keep Gary Beaumont’s call last night to myself.
“No, not yet. Why? Do you have one for me to solve?”
There goes that eye rolling again.
“No.”
“Don’t worry. Something good will turn up. Right, Ma?”
“I can’t wait,” my mother says. “I hope it’s another murder.”
I laugh.
Ruth huffs.
“You two are impossible.”
I raise my one good arm.
“I won’t deny it.”
Happy Birthday Ma
For a person who didn’t want us to make a fuss over her ninety-third birthday, my mother is sure living it up. She’s sitting at the head of the table, laughing and chatting. She’s even wearing a party hat, actually a crown one of the boys brought her. My mother doesn’t drink booze although she accepted a small glass of wine she hasn’t touched.
Everybody keeps saying Ma doesn’t look her age, and the God’s honest truth, she doesn’t. She has gray hair, of course, but her face doesn’t have any deep lines. It has to be all that clean living.
“Maria, open mine first,” Anne, Ruth’s mother-in-law, says as she places a wrapped gift in front of her.
We’ve gone through the food. Now, we are onto the gifts. People are sitting around the two tables we pushed together in the kitchen or leaning against the kitchen counters as Ma goes through her haul. I keep hearing her say, “This is too much,” or “You shouldn’t have.” And no, it’s not too much and, yes, we should have.
Ma even walks up to Jack to hug him for the gift certificate he gave her for four free dinners at the Rooster. Jack’s standing beside me, and I swear the man blushes to his hairline as he bends over, so my mother can wrap her arms around him.
I give him a gentle poke with my free elbow after Ma returns to her seat.
“Smooth move, Jack,” I tell him.
“Gotta keep the mother happy,” he jokes.
“Well, don’t forget the daughter.”
He leans in closer.
“I’ll take good care of her later,” he says in a low voice.
“I’ll hold you to it,” I say.
“Yes, ma’am.” He points. “Hey, your boys gave your mother a stack of lottery tickets.”
Sure enough, Matt and Alex did. They know how much their grandmother loves to gamble. She used to be a regular at the local Bingo games, when that was the thing in Massachusetts, and the Indian casinos in Connecticut. I laugh because my mother sets the tickets aside. She’ll scratch them after everybody’s gone home to see if she wins anything.
Ma is definitely not the only one having a good time. Annette and Marsha have made themselves at home, freely grabbing beers from the fridge. Ruth’s mother-in-law has been hitting the wine, and, uh-oh, she just took the open chair next to Marsha. What does the Floozy give my mother? A bottle of Port, with the comment, “Ain’t this what all you Portuguese people drink?” I love her for it.
Good sport that my tee-totaling mother is, she answers, “Of course, Marsha, thank you.”
Annette, aka the Tough Cookie, gives my mother driving gloves.
“For that car we’re gonna get you,” she tells my mother.
“Will it be red?” Ma asks.
Annette glances my way and laughs.
“I’ll make sure,” she says.
So, it goes. There are gifts from my sisters and brother, and other members of the family that were mailed to the house. After Ma finishes opening her loot, we’ll have cake. Oh no, Anne is talking with Marsha and Annette. Her voice is loud enough I can hear her clearly over the sounds of crumpled paper and laughter.
“Which one of you owns a junkyard?” Anne asks with a slight slur in her voice.
Marsha hooks her thumb toward her cousin.
“Her.”
Annette sits back in her chair. She’s got her fingers curled around a beer bottle.
“Yeah, I do. Why? You need a part for that Mercedes parked outside?”
Anne laughs.
“A part? Not me,” she says. “But isn’t it unusual for a woman to run a business like that? Isn’t it rather dirty?”
Annette makes a snorting laugh.
“Dirty? Sometimes. But soap and water can take care of that.” She snorts another laugh. “What do you do?”
“I was an elementary school teacher,” Anne answers. “I retired last year.”
“Teacher? Isn’t it dirty being around those little kids all day?”
Anne gasps. Score one for the Tough Cookie.
That’s when the phone rings. I normally wouldn’t answer, but we’re expecting calls from my sisters in California. My brother already checked in. I take the phone out to the deck because of the party noise.
“Isabel.” Gary Beaumont, alpha brother, is on the other end of the line. “You havin’ a party at your place? Sounds like a lot of people there.”
“Yes, my mother turned ninety-three today. We’re having a party for her. What can I do for you, Gary?”
I half-expect he will invite himself and his brother, Larry, to come over.
“You interested in my case?”
“I’d need to hear more first. Let’s meet in person.”
“Fair enough.”
I scramble fast to think where we could meet. The Beaumont boys are banned permanently from the Rooster. If I bring my mother, I don’t think she’d be comfortable at the brothers’ dump of a house. Have them come here? They may have been nice helping Barbie and me out of that wreck, but I’m hesitant to invite them over to my house for a meeting until I know what this case is about. I’m not about to go chasing guys who owe those drug-dealing brothers money.
I believe it comes down to one place.
“How about Baxter’s?” Gary asks.
