Authors: B A Trimmer
“Interviewing for a new admin?” I asked.
“Yeah, but she wasn’t qualified.”
“Don’t you think you’ll get in trouble upsetting people like that?”
“Hey, I know employment law. I never ask anything out of bounds. If they infer something, that’s not my problem. I want someone good who won’t get pissed-off every time I try to talk with them. I’ve been told I have a difficult personality so it’s probably best they get a sense of my style before they start to work here.”
“Don’t you think you’ll get a reputation as being a little, ummm, aggressive?”
Lenny just looked at me with a vacant and slightly confused expression on his face. I could see him working the concept around in his mind but nothing was registering.
“I need to talk to you about this,” I said as I dropped the folder on his desk. Lenny’s eyes came back into focus as he opened the folder.
“Yeah, this one. What’s the problem? I thought you’d like this. It’s your chance to do a good deed. I know how much you like to save the world and this one should be straightforward. Besides, it’ll be a nice break between doing the next cheating spouse stake-out.”
“It’s a missing person,” I said. “We don’t do missing persons. Shouldn’t we hand this over to the police or at least a real private investigator, like Magnum, P.I., or somebody?”
“The client is Terry Lennox. He can afford what I’m going to charge him. He’s only a singer in a local band but his father is a wealthy Scottsdale developer and an old friend of mine. His dad set him up with a trust fund the size of Camelback Mountain about five years ago. Howard and I worked together a few times over the years and I owe him one. This will help me clean the slate. Go on over to Terry’s house and he’ll fill you in on the details. Did you get the pictures of Paul Marston yet?”
“I’m working on it. I’ve run into a dog problem.”
“So, you’ve met Buddy?”
“Buddy? He looked more like a Cujo. Why didn’t you tell me he had a dog? He’s huge and he drools. I could have been eaten.”
“According to Mrs. Marston, he usually keeps the dog in the house. He must have had to poop or something.”
“I’m putting the steaks on the expense report. The way he ate the first one, I might need to buy four or five more.”
“I could care less about a few steaks. Get him a side of beef if you think it will help. Just hurry up and get me a million dollar shot. I need you full time on this new one.”
~~~~
I went back to my desk and flipped through the folder. Terry Lennox, the client, had a fight with his girlfriend, Jacquelyn Wade, and she had run out on him. According to the file, he hadn’t seen her in over a week. He wanted us to find her, supposedly so he could try to patch things up. He hadn’t contacted the police because he didn’t think there was foul play involved. She apparently had money and didn’t need to work. She had no family in the state with the exception of an ex-husband named Roger. She had a couple of grown children living in Southern California. Her cell phone either was turned-off or was out of range. Either way, she wasn’t answering his calls. Terry’s occupation was listed as singer and his address was listed in a nice part of Scottsdale.
In the file was a picture of Jacquelyn on a tropical beach somewhere. There was a white sand beach, a blue ocean, and a grove of bright green palm trees. She looked somewhere in her late forties and was pretty. Her long auburn hair was wet, as if she had just gotten out of the ocean. She had on a light blue two-piece swimming suit and brown sandals. When I saw her, I thought she looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. This feeling isn’t unusual for me since in the course of my work I can meet a dozen new people every day.
I went up and asked Sophie to run the standard checks on her: DMV, employment, and criminal background. I also asked her to check for recent bank and credit card activity. I went back to my cubicle and called our contact with Jackie’s cell phone carrier. I asked her to see if Jackie’s cell phone was turned on and if we could locate her through that.
~~~~
I went out the back security door and walked to my car. Since it was the end of March, temperatures had been climbing back into the nineties a couple of times a week. The winter had been beautiful and mild, as it usually was in Scottsdale, but I loved the feeling of sunshine and being warm again.
Thanksgiving to Easter is the traditional season for the flood of winter visitors into Arizona. With the warm weather, the snowbirds had started to drive their Cadillacs, Buicks, and RV’s back to Canada, North Dakota, or wherever it is they all go in the summer. The Scottsdale roads were already feeling less congested and you could now get into most of the restaurants without a reservation.
I unrolled the window and shoved Green Day into the CD player.
TWO
I drove up Scottsdale Road to Jackrabbit, then west to Monte Vista Drive. Terry Lennox lived in a large house in the prestigious Stoneview subdivision, to the east of Camelback Mountain. The houses here have desert landscaping with creosote bushes, jumping cholla, ocotillo, prickly pear, mesquite trees, and at least one huge saguaro cactus per block. I’ve always liked this part of Scottsdale. It’s a nice change from the tropical oasis theme in the rest of the city.
I pulled into the large circular driveway then stopped to make sure I had the right address. In stark contrast to the rest of the pristine houses on the block, this house was trailer trash gone wild. There was a pile of garbage and beer cans piled against the side of the house. The landscaping looked like it had been neglected for months, if not years. It was a mix of both dead and overgrown vegetation, along with a pile of tumbleweeds stuck against a row of dying rosemary bushes.
I got out of my car and walked to the front door. On the porch next to the front door was a toilet that had apparently been there for some time. Someone had set a plastic flowerpot in the cracked toilet bowl. The flowers had died long ago, but the flowerpot was still there. It added to the shabby feeling of the property. It goes to show money can’t always buy class, even in Scottsdale.
I rang the doorbell and a man, who I assumed to be Terry Lennox, came to the door. Terry was somewhere in his mid-twenties. He had on leopard-spotted gym pants, a black tank top, and was barefoot. He had long blond hair hanging in loose curls along with a three-day old beard. I’ll admit he was cute and had a nice body. Unfortunately, the illusion was shattered as soon as he started to talk.
“Yo, must be my lucky day,” he said, looking me up and down. His voice had a New York ghetto rapper accent sounding more MTV than actual ghetto. “What can I do for you, beautiful lady?”
I handed him a business card. “I’m Laura Black. I work for the law firm of Halftown, Oeding, Shapiro, and Hopkins. I’m looking into the disappearance of Jacquelyn Wade.”
He took the card, then turned and walked back into his living room. I took this as an invitation to follow. His sparsely furnished living room was as much a disaster as the outside of the house had been. There were overflowing ashtrays, empty pizza boxes, and beer bottles everywhere. Dirty laundry was draped haphazardly over most of the furniture and on the floor. The room had the smell of cigarettes and unwashed socks.
“Yeah, Jackie-D,” Terry said as he collapsed onto a black leather couch. He picked up a half empty beer bottle sitting on the coffee table and drained it. “I hope you can find her. We had a fight last week and she took off. No one’s seen her since. I just want to talk to her and see if we can patch things up. We weren’t together very long but I could tell Jackie and me had a real connection.”
“I’ve read your file so I know what you’ve already told Lenny. I’d like some more background information. How’d you two get together?”
“See, it’s like this. I’ve known Jackie-D for a couple years. Everyone knows Jackie-D. She’s sort of a groupie for the band. First time I saw her was when we were playing Barcelona. That was a few weeks before they closed it down, which was a damn shame, by the way. It was a great club. But, Jackie and me didn’t actually get together until last month. She came down to hear the band when we was playing the Roxy and we got to talking after the show. You might have heard I’m the talent of the band Dog Farts.”
“You’re the talent?”
“Yeah, all great bands are based around a talent. Some, like the Stones, or U2, are built around two talents. But in Dog Farts, I’m the one.”
“You know that’s a terrible name for a band, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I get that all the time. But it only sucks when you first hear it. It actually promotes ridiculous name recognition. How many time have you gone to a club and then can’t remember the name of the band a week later? Everyone remembers Dog Farts
.
”
I handed him the picture of Jacquelyn from the file. “Do you know how old this picture is?”
“She texted this to me right after we got together, so about a month maybe?”
“Any idea where this is or who took the picture?”
“She just said she was at the beach with friends. She didn’t say where or with who. Jackie gets around, you know?”
“Any idea where she can be now?”
“She usually hangs out at the clubs, but no one has seen her all week. I’ve gone over to her house a couple of times since she took off but it looks like no one has been over there either. The newspapers and mail are piling up.”
“Do you have information on her friends? Can I get some names and addresses?”
“Names are easy, addresses are tougher. There’s Shannon, Elle, Annie, Sonia, Pammy, and Cindy. I don’t know any of their last names, but they’re an easy group to find. They’re older, but still hot. Annie is the only young one in the group. If you want to learn about Jackie’s friends, go to the Roxy, or Dakota, or Maya, or the Casablanca, or even the Rock Bar. It’s only Tuesday, but some of them will probably be out trolling tonight.”
I told him to give me a call if he heard anything. He said he would.
~~~~
Golf is to Scottsdale as skiing is to Aspen or gambling is to Las Vegas. Golf drives the economy and directly, or indirectly, employs most of the people living in the city. Most of the best courses are part of large golf resorts. These golf resorts are surrounded by some of the most desired real estate and housing to be found in Arizona. Jackie’s house was located along a fairway at one of these upscale resorts.
I drove up Scottsdale Road, past Thompson Peak Parkway, and then onto Greyhawk Drive. I drove until I found Jackie’s house and parked in the driveway. Like most of the houses along the golf course, it was beautifully landscaped and well maintained. As Terry has said, there were was a small pile of newspapers in the driveway and the mailbox was full.
I rang the doorbell, and when no one came to the door, I tested the lock. Having no luck, I went around to the side of the house where there was a gate in the wall leading to the backyard. It was unlocked and I let myself in.
I couldn’t see in any of the windows, since all of them had inside shutters. The back door was locked, but I could see the deadbolt lock was covered with fresh scratches. It appeared someone, who didn’t know what they were doing, had tried to pick the lock. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell if they had succeeded or not.
I spent another ten minutes walking around the house, trying to look into windows and testing door locks, without success. Finally, I convinced myself the house was indeed empty.
~~~~
As I drove back down Scottsdale Road, I called Sophie at the office.
“Hey chica, anything on my missing person yet?”
“I’m still gathering,” she said, “but nothing exciting so far. I’ll have the report put together in the morning.”
“You interested in dinner before the schedule goes to hell again? I need a burrito.”
“Oh, dinner sounds great. It’s been a long day and I could use a margarita or maybe even a Top Dropper. Gina should be here in about a half hour. I’ll see if she wants to come too.”
“Perfect, I’m stopping by my place to change then I’ll swing by the office. See you in about an hour.”
~~~~
I took the elevator to the third floor and walked down the hall to my apartment. As I got close to my door, Grandma Peckham opened her door and stuck her head out.
I had met Grandma Peckham when I first moved into the apartment, just after my divorce. She came over the first day and had offered me a Diet Pepsi as a housewarming present.
Diet Pepsi is all I’ve ever seen Grandma Peckham drink and she has me hooked on the stuff too. Sometimes she slips in a little Appleton rum with her Diet Pepsi. She calls these drinks Jamaican Jerks. I know from experience it only takes two Jerks to make Grandma loopy.
“Well Laura, come on in,” Grandma said. “It’s been weeks since we’ve talked.”
I went in and saw Marlowe was asleep on his afghan on his chair. Grandma also has a cat door in her bedroom door to the balcony. Marlowe thinks he lives in both apartments, which he sort of does. About two years ago, Grandma had crocheted a cat-sized afghan for Marlowe and designated a chair for him to sleep on.
Grandma went to the fridge, pulled out two Diet Pepsis, and handed one to me.
“It’s so good to talk to you,” she said, lightly touching my arm. “I was wondering if you are doing OK. Did you break up with that policeman boyfriend of yours again?”
“I’m not sure he even really is my boyfriend again. We get along OK for a couple of days, then nothing for a week. I don’t know what to think.”
“Well, that explains it,” Grandma said. “I knew you two had started dating again. Oh, if I could ask you a favor from you? Let me know ahead of time if you’re going to start dating someone like that again. The first time you brought him back over was about two months ago. I was asleep when you started moaning and screaming. It startled me awake and I had to listen for about five minutes before I figured out you were with the policeman again and not being chased around the apartment by an axe murderer.”
Oh God, how embarrassing.
“Of course, the thing clinching it for me was the little high-pitched whimper you always get towards the end. Only the policeman ever made you do that.”
Really? I do?
“I’m not sure what to do with him,” I said. “Our schedules are so messed up we hardly ever see each other for dinner. Getting together for sex almost takes a miracle.”
“Well, I’d tell you about my sex life, except I don’t have one. I told you about the time a while back when I tried to have sex with Walter from the drugstore and what a disaster it was when his penis wouldn’t work. Lately, I’ve been thinking the best way to get some action might be to put an ad on one of those internet-dating sites. I’ve been looking at one called NaughtyMatureBabes. Land sakes, the site is crawling with men looking for some no-strings-attached sex.”
“Is that what you’re looking for?” I asked.
“I think so. To be honest, I’m not sure I want a full time boyfriend. I’m kind of settled and I don’t think I want to go through the problems of learning to be with someone new. But it would be nice to have a gentleman caller from time to time. It’s been so long even once would be a nice change.”
“Sounds good to me. Can I do anything to help?”
“Well, now that you mention it, I’ve noticed most of the woman who put ads on the web site put in a lot of naked pictures of themselves. I guess the pictures drive the men wild with thoughts of having dirty sex with them. Back in my day, a man would need to marry a woman before he got to see those things, but I guess times change. I’m going to need some naked pictures to put in my ad. Maybe you could come over and take some pictures of me?”
I got a cold shiver at the thought at taking naked pictures of Grandma Peckham.
“Umm, I’d probably stick with selfies or maybe you could try taking some in front of the bathroom mirror. I’ve heard guys really like those.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll let you know how it works out.”
~~~~
I went back to my apartment and changed into a mid-length navy blue dress, one good enough to hit the clubs later on. It wasn’t one of my favorites but since I was going to spend an hour or two sitting on the picnic table in Paul Marston’s backyard it was definitely good enough.
~~~~
I pulled into my space behind the office and went in through the security door. Lenny was out, apparently for the night. Gina was there and said she had time for dinner, so we all went out the front. Sophie stopped to lock the door and set the alarm.
The three of us walked across the street and down Craftsman Court to our favorite Baja place, Dos Gringos. We like that all of the tables are on outside patios, underneath either a big umbrella or one of several large trees. Colorful lights are strung everywhere and upbeat music is constantly pumping from a dozen overhead speakers. It’s a great place to day drink, the food is good, and the atmosphere on the patios is always lively.
We walked in from the street and grabbed one of our favorite tables, up front near the sidewalk. From here, all three of us could watch the guys as they walked by on the sidewalk or cruised by in their convertibles.
Our waitress came over and I ordered a margarita, Gina had a Corona, and Sophie ordered a Top Dropper with an extra shot in it. Within five minutes, our drinks arrived and we ordered dinner.
“How’s it going with Paul Marston?” Gina asked.
“Slow, I need to get the money shot before Mrs. Marston comes back into town on Friday.”
“If you can’t get a good photo by then,” Gina said, “I don’t think we’ll have a choice but to install cameras in the house. I know Mrs. Marston doesn’t like the idea of cameras in her bedroom but it may be the only way. What about your new one, the missing person? At least it’s a break from cheating spouses.”
“Too soon to tell,” I said. “The woman in the photograph looks vaguely familiar and her boyfriend doesn’t think there was foul play. Sophie’s running the standard checks. So, we should know more in a day or two. What about your assignments? Aren’t you working on three of them?”