Authors: Jeffrey Allen

Stay At Home Dead (15 page)

BOOK: Stay At Home Dead

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After breakfast I went home to actually rest. The erratic night of sleep and the headache were catching up with me, and I didn’t want to pass out somewhere in the middle of town. So I spent the rest of the morning on the sofa, watching ESPN and generally feeling like a slug.

Julianne called at noon. “Hope you’re better by tomorrow.”

“Why’s that?”

“Just got an e-mail. The WORMS have rescheduled your hearing for tomorrow night.”

The headache pulsed some more at the thought of that. “Great.”

“Yeah. I say we go in with your head all bandaged up, shoot for the sympathy vote.”

“I’ll think about that,” I said, hitting mute on the television. “You know anything about phone records ?”

“A little. Why?”

I told her about Shayna claiming I went to her house uninvited and the restricted call.

“Could be tough to track,” she said. “Those restricted lines tend to be hidden pretty good behind privacy laws.”

“Cedric said he knows somebody who might be able to unlock it,” I told her.

“I’ll ask the investigator we use here in the office. Or maybe I’ll ask your little friend tonight.”

I could tell she was smiling.

“How is your head?” she asked before I could pop off.

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t mean to douse your fire this morning,” she said.

“I know. Shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. I just didn’t want to keep it from you.”

“It’s just something we have to think about.”

“I know. I get it.”

“I promise to be a little less melodramatic about it tonight.”

“Always a plus.”

“Not saying I’ll approve. But I will listen.”

“That’s all I want.”

“No, what you want is for me to be thrilled about you doing this,” she corrected. “And I’m not sure that’ll happen, regardless of what we decide. But I promise to listen.”

She would. She tended to go off like a firecracker initially, her stubbornness getting the better of her, before she lapsed into a more reasonable version of herself. Unlike me, who was always calm and cool and collected and never flew off the handle about anything. I didn’t mention that difference to her, though.

“And don’t think I missed the fact that you talked to Cedric this morning,” she said. “Hope you enjoyed your morning out.”

Stubborn, but didn’t miss a damn thing.

Victor Anthony Doolittle said, “Seriously. You give me any crap tonight and I’ll give you another concussion.”

He was standing outside the screen door. I’d spent the rest of the afternoon lounging around the house, and the headache had finally subsided. I’d done some laundry and vacuuming and arranged to pick up Carly in the morning. I didn’t want her to be traumatized by Victor.

I pushed open the door. “I promise to watch my step.”

He looked pleased with that, as if he’d actually scared me. “Good, because I’d hate to have to hurt ...”

“I meant I’d try not to catch you under my shoe.”

The blood rushed to his face, and his face screwed up in anger.

“Relax,” I said. “I’m kidding. We invited you. I’ll be on my semi-best behavior.”

The anger slowly receded from his features, and he glanced around the living room. “Where’s your wife?”

“She’ll be here shortly,” I told him. “She’s running late. You find anything out?”

He smiled at me, but he looked more like Grumpy than Happy. “Yes.”

We stood there for a moment. It was clear he wasn’t going any further.

“You want something to drink?” I finally asked.

“Mint julep.”

“Try again.”

“A Flaming Eyeball.”

“I could find a cat to piss in a cup.”

“Beer’s fine.”

I retreated to the kitchen and grabbed two Lone Stars out of the fridge. I felt certain that I wasn’t supposed to drink with a concussion. But there was a sarcastic dwarf in my living room, and I needed something to take the edge off.

He was sitting on the sofa, his feet sticking off the end of the cushion and his fedora on his lap. I handed him the beer, and he made a face like I’d actually brought him the cat piss. “Lone Star? Really?”

“It’s Julianne’s favorite,” I lied, sitting down in the chair across from him.

His expression immediately changed, the beer magically morphing into the greatest thing he’d ever seen. He took a long drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So.”

“So.”

“We havin’ dinner?”

“Julianne’s bringing food home.”

“Excellent.”

“And if you want to eat any of it, let’s hear what you found out.”

He took another drink and moved the fedora from his lap to the arm of the sofa. “I can find out who owns the truck.”

“You got the full license plate?”

He nodded. “I started with the partial and worked my way through it. I’ve got friends at TxDOT.”

I didn’t think he had friends anywhere, but I let it go.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Truck was a Ford Ranger.”

“Any way to find out who owns it?”

He rolled his eyes like I’d asked him if he knew how to spell his own name. “Of course. There is always a way to find anything out.” He tapped his forehead with the beer bottle. “If you’re smart. Which, lucky for you, I am.”

I was being talked down to by an arrogant midget. Where had I gone wrong?

The front door opened and Julianne walked in, several bags smelling of barbecue in her arms.

Victor wiggled off the sofa and ran to her knee, reaching up with his hands. “Let me help.”

“Oh, thank you, Victor,” she said, handing him one of the bags. “That’s kind of you.”

He beamed. “My pleasure. A lady shouldn’t have to do all the work around here.” He tossed me a dirty look.

We organized ourselves around the kitchen table, spreading out the brisket sandwiches and baked potatoes. Julianne did a quick change into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and sat down next to me, across from Victor, who was halfway through one sandwich already.

“What did I miss?” she asked.

“Victor was about to tell me who owns the truck he saw in the parking lot,” I said.

He dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “Yes, ma’am. I did my due diligence and was able to locate the pickup truck that I saw at the scene of your husband’s assault.” He frowned. “He hasn’t yet thanked me for that, though.”

I started to say something, but Julianne clasped a hand onto my thigh. “He has a concussion. He’s not thinking correctly. I’m sure he meant to thank you.”

He wolfed down the rest of the first sandwich and grabbed for another. “Sure, sure. Okay.” He pulled the piece of paper from before out of his lap and laid it on the table. “Owner’s name is Zeke Stenner.”

The name meant nothing to me.

“Did you do any checking on him?” I asked.

He wrinkled his nose at me. “No.”

“Why not?”

He bit into the sandwich and chewed with his mouth open for a moment. “Because you didn’t hire me to.”

My impulse was to reach across the table and smack the food right out of his fat little hand. Julianne could sense it, though, and dug her nails into my leg again.

“Of course we didn’t,” she said. “We appreciate you tracking the license plate, though.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

“That’s all we get?” I asked, unable to contain myself. “We let you come over here, feed your fat face, and that’s all we get?”

The barbecue sauce was smeared all over his mouth now as he laughed. “Hey. I didn’t say you had to feed me. And you didn’t hire me. I did what I did as a courtesy. You want more, it’s gonna cost you.”

Julianne looked at me. “It’s all right, Deuce. I spoke to the investigator at our firm. He owes me a favor.”

The smug smile on Victor’s face evaporated.

“Excellent,” I said, looking at him and grinning.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, holding up his sauce-covered palm. “Let’s hold on a sec here. I didn’t say we couldn’t work something out.”

Julianne fluttered her eyes at him. “Oh? Really?”

“For a nominal fee, I’m sure we can work together.”

“Define
nominal fee,
” I said.

“How about if we discuss it after you get me another beer?” he said.

Before I could dunk his head in the barbecue sauce, Julianne had the good sense to claw my leg one more time.

“That sounds like a good idea,” she said, smiling at me. “And will you grab me one, too? But I’d like a Shiner Blonde. You know I can’t stand that Lone Star stuff.”

Victor glared at me.

I had to admit, it was fun tricking dwarves.

After another beer and another brisket sandwich, Victor Anthony Doolittle said, “Three hundred bucks will get it done.”

Julianne turned to me. “The investigator at my office? I set up a trust for his mother, who has cancer. He was so grateful—”

“Two hundred,” Victor said, wiping a paper napkin across his face. “Half up front, the other half when I get you a full write-up on this Stenner guy.”

“One fifty,” I said. “Payable as you said.”

His lips tightened up, and the skin on his bald head stretched tighter across his skull.

Julianne just batted her eyelashes some more.

“Deal,” he said.

I wrote him a check for seventy-five bucks, and we escorted him to the door.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, staring at Julianne.

She pointed at me. “Call him.”

The corners of his mouth turned downward, as if she’d asked him to eat something out of a trash can. “Fine.”

The phone rang, and Julianne excused herself to go answer it.

I walked out with Victor. It was strange. In twenty-four hours, I’d gone from taking a shot in the groin from him to hiring him. It felt like we’d known each other for far too long.

He walked over to bright red convertible MG parked at the curb.

“That’s yours?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yep. Chick magnet.”

“Not what you were driving yesterday.”

“Man, you tall guys are mentally deficient,” he said, shaking his head as he opened the door to the sports car. “I was following you. It was a rental. This is
my
car.”

“You ever plan on telling me why you were following me?” I asked. “Who was running some background check on me?”

He removed the fedora and tossed it like a Frisbee onto the passenger seat. “Look, I know you’re curious. But part of what I get paid for is to keep my mouth shut.” He held a stubby finger up. “For instance. When I run down whoever Stenner is—and I will run him down—if he and I get face-to-face, he’s gonna wanna know who hired me.” He pointed the stubby finger at me. “Even though I just gave you and your unbelievably stunning wife a sweet deal, it’s still a deal. That guy won’t get your name from me, I promise you that. That’s the way it works.”

Cedric told me that he’d heard that Victor Anthony Doolittle was good at what he did. I didn’t like him sneaking into my backyard, and I sure as hell didn’t like him flirting with my wife, but until that moment I hadn’t seen him as anything more than an arrogant little person. He was, in fact, a professional.

“Fair enough,” I said.

“I know,” he said, crawling into the seat of the MG.

I could see blocks on the pedals, and the driver’s seat appeared to have been customized to his height.

He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine fired to life. He gunned it for a moment, letting it rev high.

He looked over his shoulder at me. “Tomorrow. I’ll call you.” A sneaky smile spread across his face. “And then I’ll let your wife thank me.”

I jumped at the car and it screeched away from the curb, his weird little snorty laugh echoing back at me as he drove away.

Julianne and I went to bed early, feeling tired and groggy from the staccato rhythm of the previous night’s sleeping schedule. When I woke the next morning, my headache was gone and the lump on the back of my head seemed to be receding.

I drove over to my parents to pick up Carly and take her to school.

My mother had her dressed and sitting on the sofa, waiting for me, when I walked into their living room.

“How’d you do that?” I asked.

“Do what?” my mother said.

“Get her to sit still.”

My mother chuckled the laugh of a mother who knew all the tricks. “I just asked her.”

“Can I go hug Daddy now?” Carly asked, already inching off the sofa.

“Of course,” my mother and I said at the same time.

She bounced over to me, and I bent down so she could grab me around the neck. She clutched onto me like I’d been gone for six months, her damp hair cold against my cheek. I would face a thousand Doolittles, Caldwells, and WORMS for one of those hugs any day.

She pulled back, her pink lips pursed together tightly in concern. “Grandma said you hit your head.”

“I did, but I’m okay now.”

“Papa said there wasn’t anything in your head to hurt,” she stated. “Is that true? Is your head empty?”

My mother shook her head and let out a disgusted sigh.

“My head is just fine,” I said. “Papa is the one with the empty head.”

“Deuce. Don’t encourage it.”

“We’re all fine,” I told Carly before she could ask more questions about her grandfather’s faculties.

My mother followed us out to the minivan. “Buckle her in. Wanna share something with you, Deuce.”

I got Carly situated in her car seat, shut the door, and turned to face my mother.

“I heard something yesterday,” she said, waving at Carly on the other side of the window. “I took Carly over to the park and ran into some of the ladies.”

Some of the ladies could have meant just about anyone, as my mother was probably better known throughout Rose Petal than I was. She’d never held a job her entire life, but she’d spent every free moment volunteering on just about every committee she could possibly find. As a result, if there was a lady she didn’t know, it was either because she was new to town or she’d just been born. She used the phrase “the ladies” to simplify the process of telling a story, because if she had to stop and explain to me who specifically she was speaking about every time she referred to a female friend, we’d never get to the point in the conversation.

“They, of course, wanted to know what the story was with you,” she said, moving her eyes from the van to me. “I set them straight, that none of this was your doing.”

“Thanks.”

“I would’ve lied if needed.”

“Uh. Thanks again?”

“Anyway,” she said, folding her arms across her chest, “there was some scuttlebutt about Shayna.”

“When isn’t there scuttlebutt about Shayna?”

“Well, I thought once you found the good sense to break up with that girl, we would’ve been free of the scuttlebutt.”

“Mom, she broke up with me. And it was twenty years ago.”

She rolled her eyes. “And, yet, it still hangs around our necks like an albatross we can’t get rid of.”

While my father tolerated Shayna when we dated, my mother would just stare at her, attempting to turn her into dust. She never bought into the whole glamorous couple of Rose Petal High idea. Shayna rubbed her the wrong way from the first day she met her, and that enmity had only grown over time.

When Shayna broke up with me, my mother told everyone that I broke up with her. She just couldn’t stand the idea that her son had been dumb enough to not get out of a relationship with Shayna first.

“Anyway,” she said, brushing the truth aside, like always. “There was some discussion about Shayna.”

“Why would I care about this, Mom?”

She glanced in the window and wrinkled her nose at Carly, who giggled inside. “Because it would appear that Ms. Barnes wasn’t exactly faithful to her husband. I know that’s about as surprising as finding out that water is wet, but there it is.”

I thought of Odell Barnabas’s insinuations and nodded. “I heard that, too. Nothing concrete, though.”

My mother cocked an eyebrow. “Well, Lillian Vardan saw something concrete.”

“Lillian Vardan has glasses thicker than a bank vault.”

“Watch your mouth,” she said, pointing a finger at me. “She saw them over in McLinney several weeks back. Some Italian restaurant. In a booth, where they could paw at each other.”

The thought of Shayna pawing at Odell’s hair was somewhere between laughable and disgusting. I didn’t get it, but I didn’t want to think about it anymore.

“Mom, I don’t need the details on this,” I said, squeezing the car keys. I kissed her on the cheek. “I could care less what she and Odell do.”

She pulled back, her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed together. “Who is Odell?”

“The guy,” I said. “With the big, fake hair. Who may or may not have been having an affair with Shayna Barnes.”

“I have no idea who the man with big, fake hair is.” The headache was returning at breakneck speed. “I thought you just said Lillian saw Shayna and Odell over in McLinney. I already heard that maybe she had something going with him.”

“Lillian did see her over in McLinney,” my mother said. “But not with someone named Odell.”

“Then who was she with?”

My mother smiled triumphantly. “She had her mouth all over Billy Caldwell.”

BOOK: Stay At Home Dead

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