Savage Summer, Page 2

  “These guys seem to think that they can run everybody’s life for them—that’s what’s going on,” Mike responded. She straightened her tie and ran her hands through her hair.

  “That so,” I replied, turning to the two meatballs. “Well, everyone here is an adult and can make their own decisions. Telling someone they can’t constitutes a violation of the penal code, and physically enforcing such illegality bumps it up to a felony one. Now I suggest you two disperse and let nature take its course.”

  A look best described as not happy crossed the goons’ faces. The dark-haired clown cast a blistering glare in Mike’s direction, but didn’t have the nerve to cross the line I’d drawn. Not when the fight was even, anyway.

  “What they’re doing ain’t natural!” the ape blurted, pointing his finger at the soon-to-be ménage a trois.

  “Neither are 80s mullets,” Mike retorted.

  “Mike, you want to press charges?” I inquired, pulling out my cell.

  “Not tonight, I don’t. Got more important matters going on.”

  “Then I suggest you two move along,” I said, taking a step closer. They took the hint, hightailing it back inside. Mike had that look in her eye.

  “Would you ladies excuse me a minute?” she inquired before bolting into Shotsky’s. I kept Ginny and Derva company, wondering what was going on. Mike was true to her word. A moment later, she returned. Fitting her arms around the bookends, she whisked them away into her chariot, giving a cheery honk as she drove away.

  CHAPTER 3

  I returned home more depressed than how I’d started the evening, but my resolve to get myself out of the rut I’d been stuck in won out the day. Instead of throwing a pity party that consisted of me drowning myself in Jack Daniel’s and a beer chaser, I sipped mint tea and watched a classic Bogart/Bacall flick. You see, I did have NetFlix. As a former boy scout, I never lie. Well, not about things like that, anyway.

  I went to bed before midnight, unprepared for the dreams I had of Ruthie. Strangely enough, I hadn’t had any since her murder, but last night, they came on strong. We were downstairs, kissing on the couch. She slipped off her headband, shaking her raven tresses loose. They resembled the waves in a never-ending sea. Standing, she started unbuttoning her white blouse, giving me a come-hither stare. She took my hand, caressing it with her cheek. We made our way up the stairs, stopping to kiss every so often to stoke the fire burning a hole in both our bellies.

  Arriving at my bedroom, we inched backwards, my Ruthie giving the front of my shirt a tug in the direction of the bed. With no more hints needed, one of my arms went under her shoulders, the other under her knees. As I lifted her up, I kissed her softly, placing her down on my comforter. I slipped out of my shirt, kicking my pants to one side.

  I kissed every one of Ruthie’s fingers, nibbling my way up her arm and neck. Grazing awhile on her ear, I finished unbuttoning her blouse, helping her slide it off. A pair of white slacks came next. I climbed on top of her as I ran my hands up and down her creamy skin as we ….

  The phone jarred me out of the fantasy. I awoke suddenly, shielding the light that assaulted my eyes. The odor of Ruthie’s perfume was everywhere.

  “Ruth?” I called out. Disoriented, I reached out to her side of the bed, expecting her to be there. It took me several more seconds to realize that she was dead.

  “Hello,” I started. The gravel in my throat demanded that I clear it once or twice.

  “I’m responding to the ad about Ruth Warwick’s murder.”

  Those words officially woke me up. More effective than any cup of coffee, the voice synthesizer disguised the caller’s identity, but the point was that someone had finally phoned. Ever since I’d been dispensed with as a suspect, I’d placed small pennysaver ads in papers published in both Pennsylvania and Ruthie’s home state of Connecticut. Somebody knew something, but I hoped this wasn’t some clown trying to get the reward money from punking my ass.

  “Yes, go ahead. I’m listening,” I replied as I ran for a pen and paper. I wanted to be ready, but all I heard was static and heavy breathing. I guessed that it was “all about the money” time. In a second, they’d be asking for the details on how to collect. I figured I’d beat them to that particular punch. “Look, if you’re worried about the reward, the $10,000 will be released when it leads to the arrest of the person, or persons, responsible.”

  “I don’t care about the money. There are bigger things going on.”

  “What? What do you mean? What things?”

  “In due time, Savage.”

  “You know my name? How—“

  “Inconsequential, don’t you think? Right now, all I can say is this—Ruth was having an affair.”

  The click of the receiver on the other end told me the call was concluded. Shocked by the accusation, I stared at the phone, still in my hand. In a million years, I’d never expected a call like that. I collapsed in a chair, trying to think things through. I concluded it had to be a joke perpetrated by someone that thought I hadn’t suffered enough. I slammed the phone back into its stand and took my shower. My stomach was in knots. I was upset that someone was trying to put things in my head about the woman I still loved. Fuck ‘em to hell.

  The downstairs bell interrupted the ceremonial towel drying of my hair. The scissors and clippers I’d been using to stem the tide of new growth weren’t really making it. There were chunks of hair missing, and patches I’d overlooked. Bad haircuts were yet another reason for not going out in the bright light of day, but I’d have to. Well, right after I was done cursing out the asshole making prank calls, I would.

  I loped down the stairs, making it to the front door. Once there, I was treated to a face-to-face with the woman who’d pulled my bacon out of the fire.

  “Hello, Mr. Savage.”

  It was my next-door neighbor, the one that had complained about my card game. Mrs. Danvers had her black Pomeranian named Mooch under her arm.

  “Hello, Mrs. Danvers.”

  “Most people would have invited me in by now,” she snapped, slipping underneath my arm. She put her dog down. He happily ran throughout the downstairs, barking out of sheer joy at having a new place to poop. Marge looked around, choosing to sit on the couch Ruthie had occupied in my dream.

  “How are you doing?” she asked brusquely. The five-foot, four-inch woman was direct, I’d give her that. The red highlights in her light brown hair hinted at a flammable temper. I decided to chance a brushfire.

  “You bring your dog when you visit?”

  “Of course. You got something against dogs, Mr. Savage?”

  “No, I was just wondering. Most people don’t have the nerve to …”

  I caught myself. It was the wrong thing to say.

  “Oh, nerve! People wait for things to be handed to them, rather than having enough courage to ask. Course, then they complain for the rest of their damned lives, and we have to listen,” she summarized, shaking her head. “Answer the question, Mr. Savage. Do you like dogs?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Mooch came skidding into the living room. Not hesitating, he jumped in his owner’s lap. She hugged him affectionately, scratching him under his chin.

  “I know you do. You’re a kind man. Never believed for a minute what they accused you of.”

  “Well, thank you for that vote of confidence.”

  “You’re welcome and there’s no need to be so sarcastic. Just because I worked in banking my entire life, doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two about people’s natures. Like that girl you were dating—the one that got herself killed? That girl had secrets. Big ones.”

  Marge was full of surprises.

  “Like?”

  “How would I know? She was your girlfriend.”

  She was now trespassing on a grave. Nerve or no nerve, she had to go.

  “I’m sorry, but …” I said, starting to get up.

  “Oh, don’t go getting all bent out of sh
ape about what I said. I don’t mean she was an escaped felon or that she took drugs. She was a lovely girl. Sweet, gentle, and kind. I liked her a lot. I like you, too.”

  The cushion said another hello to my behind.

  “That’s better,” she continued. “Now, as I was saying, your fiancée was tenderhearted. It made whatever that sadness she was carrying around all the harder to bear. It’s like that with good folks. The other kind don’t really care, now do they?”

  “I guess they don’t,” I replied, rubbing my temples, which were calling out for caffeine. “Can you please tell me why you’re here?” I said, summoning up my nerve. After all, I’d hate to complain.

  “I’m here because of Mooch. You’re an ex-cop, right?”

  “Yes,” I answered, wondering where this was going. I hadn’t planned on segueing into dog walking, but if it paid enough, maybe.

  “Well, I want to hire you to find out who it was he bit.”

  “Your dog bit someone? Don’t you think you should wait for the lawyer that’s going to sue the pants off you to tell you his client’s name?”

  “No one’s suing, and that’s the problem.”

  “What is?”

  “That people up to no good can’t sue, now can they? If they did, they’d have to explain what they were doing in my backyard at three o’clock in the morning.”

  “If he or she were trespassing, you might have a case.”

  “There is no case, Mr. Savage, and you’re not listening.”

  It wasn’t for lack of trying. It was just that I couldn’t concentrate. All that healthy food I was eating plus the exercise was going to kill me.

  “I’m not really interested in—“

  “As I said, last night, Moochie Poochie woke me up. I thought he had to go wee wee, didn’t I, Moochikins? It’s unusual that he wakes me up at that hour, but he was whining and barking. When you gotta go, you gotta go, so I brought him downstairs and opened the patio doors for him to go out back. I waited, but instead of doing his business, he took off running. He growled and dove into the bushes. The next thing I knew, I heard a man screaming, “Ow,” and a few choice expletives. A second later, someone clothed in a dark shirt and pants took off into the neighbor’s yard.”

  “Interesting, but I’d let it go. He won’t be back.”

  “Oh, yes, he will. He’s stalking someone.”

  “And how do you know that, Mrs. Danvers?”

  “Because when I walk Moochie, I’ve seen a black van parked in the neighborhood.”

  “And what was it doing?”

  “Nothing, as far as I could tell. Just parked, but it never used to be.”

  There’s nothing to see here, folks. Just keep moving and no one will get hurt.

  It was time to talk her down off the ledge.

  “Mrs. Danvers,” I started, using the voice I reserve for infants. “That person prowling around your backyard got you nervous. That’s all. And the van? A neighbor bought a new car or has someone visiting. Besides, the two don’t seem connected. Then there’s the fact that I don’t do private investigations. I don’t even do public ones.”

  “Are you sure? I just have such a feeling, Mr. Savage. Like the one I had the last time I saw your girlfriend.”

  This was getting us nowhere. Next thing she’d do was take out a Ouija board and direct yes and no questions to a spirit called Lunar Eclipse.

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’ll keep my eyes and ears out for that prowler coming back, though.”

  “Well, I guess that’s it then, Moochie. I was wrong. He doesn’t care.”

  The misstating of evidence got to me. I wanted to argue, but conserved my energy until after coffee time. Her foot knocked into the side table, jostling the items on it. Leaning over, she picked off whatever had been knocked to the floor, placing it back on the table. It was the lilac headband Ruthie had been wearing in my dream.

  “Where’d you get that?” I blurted.

  “Didn’t you see? I knocked it off the table.”

  “It was there?” I queried as I sorted through what was real from what was fiction.

  “Yes, and the offer is still open—if you change your mind.”

  After she let herself out, I remained in one spot, staring at the band. I remembered it – Ruthie had worn it a lot, but then she liked wearing purple. The color changed her light blue eyes to a hypnotic shade of periwinkle.

  Even I noticed the alteration in hue, and I don’t notice anything when off the job. It’s probably why I hadn’t seen it on the table since it was obviously there all this time. It had probably been caught behind the lamp even though I cleaned there pretty much every week. I picked it up, fingering it in my hands, as the perfume I smelled this morning drifted in.

  CHAPTER 4

  The percolator finished doing its thing. Of course, it was Ruthie that had turned me onto the difference a percolator could make in achieving a perfect cup of coffee. As I drank the first cupful of the day, the caffeine hit me like a TV thrown into bathwater.

  A knock on the front door interrupted me yet again. I hoped it wasn’t Marge, coming back to say that Mooch had taken a chunk out of another neighbor’s behind. In this state, you were only allowed one free bite. I should know.

  “Hey, Bright Eyes,” Mike greeted as she breezed on by. What was it with people not waiting to be invited in? “On second thought,” she said, taking a second look at my sunken face, “not so bright. Kitchen this way? I could use one of those,” she said, pointing to my coffee cup.

  She was headed in the right direction, so I just nodded. Seemed she knew everything. Maybe she could figure out where the perfume was coming from. That scent had only gotten stronger.

  I was slowed down by stopping to take a swallow of java after every step. By the time I’d caught up, Mike was opening all my cabinet doors. Selecting the biggest mug she could find, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was actually a stein that I’d acquired at a German beerfest. I got ready to perk more java. I’d need to if I was expecting a second cup.

  “What are you doing up so early?” I asked. I thought I remembered her telling me she never got up before noon.

  “Dude, you really are operating at half-mast. Rummaging through the fridge, she emptied half the milk in the quart container into her cup. The coffee was either light enough or there was no more room to pour. Placing the carton down, she waved her hands in front of her body like a cheesy Vegas magician. “Same clothes as last night, but then, I guess you didn’t notice.”

  I had noticed, but I never assume anything.

  “You dog,” I congratulated. Throwing out the old coffee grounds, I rinsed out the percolator before filling it with fresh water. “Must have been some night. Didn’t think you were that into either one.”

  “No. No, no, no, no, no,” she sputtered. I guess I had assumed. Now Mike was into the sugar. She poured in enough to cause an insulin spike and gulped down her first taste. “Damn, that is good!”

  It should be after using up half the pantry.

  “I don’t understand. Are you saying that you weren’t with Virginia and Derva last night?”

  “Yeah, earlier, but those bitches is whackadoodle, dude.”

  “So you didn’t—“

  “Oh, hell, yeah, I did! But then I made like a banana and split. Derva told me about inviting you along, and, dude, no offense, but I don’t want anyone watching.”

  Standing next to one another, we leaned our hips against the granite countertop while perfectly good chairs went to waste.

  “Shy, huh?” I teased.

  “No, not at all! I just don’t want anyone learning my moves. But if you want to know anything, you just ask. I know what the ladies love. I mean, I should.”

  She had a point.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Getting up with the birds part of your ‘Get in Shape or Die’ regimen?”

  “Nope, more like I got a phone call and was dumb enough
not to let it go into voicemail.”

  “Nothing interesting, I take it?”

  “More like incendiary. It’s why I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

  “Was it about Ruth?”

  “What?”

  “I asked if it was about Ruth,” she repeated, sliding out a chair. Sprawling out her legs, she relaxed, fingering the oversized mug. “I followed up on what you said.”

  “Which was?”

  “That everyone knew about you. I looked you up online. Dude, you’re famous.”

  “That kind of fame, no one wants. Believe me,” I stated, joining her at the table.

  “I can understand that. Sorry it happened, but the call—”

  “Just some clown trying to cash in on pain. Caller said Ruth was cheating on me.”

  “I guess it’s out of the question?”

  “Yup,” I replied as I finished the last sip. I was ready for another cup.

  “From what I read, there were no leads, no suspects—besides you—and no DNA? Hard to believe when there’s that much collateral damage.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” I said, waiting for the brewing cycle to finish. “It was because she’d been moved.”

  Mike’s eyes lit up, her head snapping to attention. “Really? The articles I read didn’t mention that.”

  “It was one of those things they held back. Don’t know why. She was discovered by a couple of friends. They’d have to know things were too clean, given what happened, don’t you think?”

  “I would think, but then maybe it’s the professional in us that leads us towards that conclusion,” she said, sniffing the air. “Did you have company, Savage? You holding back on me?”

  “You mean, you smell it, too?”

  “Sure do. It smells good. Kind of classy.”

  Was I really going to go there? Yes, I was.

  “It’s Ruth’s perfume.”

  Not saying anything, she just sort of stared out the window, processing the information.

  “Dude, you’re not trying to say that it’s her?” she said, leaning in.

  “Mike, I don’t know what I’m saying, but it’s hers. I’d recognize it anywhere.”

  “Okay, Savage, you’re creeping me out.” Her eyes widened as she shuddered. Swallowing what was left of her morning brew, she walked to the sink, turning on the tap and letting the cup soak. “I just deal in reality. I’m sure other women wear that perfume, and then there’s the kitchen window that’s wide. Then there’s the fact that odors get embedded into fabric and walls and rugs, but thanks for the coffee and chat, anyway. Oh, I forgot to tell you that after I left those two freaktoids, I met this nice girl.”