The Price of Candy (11 page)

At dark, she had one local left on the list:
Humphrey Towalski, aka Toby Towalski. She keyed in his last known
address. Her GPS guided her to a small house far out on Indian Road
at the county’s west edge, past the dump and within earshot of the
Interstate. She parked at the side of the unpaved road. The
neighborhood wasn’t tidy with old appliances and rusted out cars
sprinkled around. This particular house had a large discarded
cardboard box in the driveway with
Deluxe 50” HD TV
printed
on the box.

She stepped up on the small porch. The bell
didn’t seem to be working so she knocked. She could hear a TV. She
was relieved when an older woman answered the door instead of the
felon on her list.

The woman took the cigarette out of her
mouth. “Yeah?”

Sandy took the textbook recommended one step
back to appear less threatening. “I’m looking for, Humphrey
Towalski.”

“Never heard of him.”

“So Mr. Towalski doesn’t live here?”

“If he lived here, I’d no doubt have heard of
him, don’t you think.” She reached out to close the door. “I’m
busy...you have a nice day. I’ve given up on mine.”

Sandy went into the routine she’d used so
often in Philly to locate people who didn’t want to be located. She
raised the clipboard. The business-sized check was clipped face
down on top of the computer printout. Being careful not to show the
face of the check, which was blank, she made a minor production out
of pretending to read the payee. “I’m supposed to find...ah yes,
Humphrey Towalski?”

The woman standing in her doorway
straightened noticeably. Her eyes focused on the back of the check.
“Oh, maybe I didn’t catch on to what you wanted. Well, Toby isn’t
here.”

“His nickname is Toby? Are you Mrs.
Towalski?”

The woman shrugged. “So I had some bad
luck.”

“And you’re married to...Humphrey?”

The woman flicked the cigarette far out into
the dirt street. “Yes, sweetie, I’m his wife. I handle all his
financial affairs, the stocks, the bonds, all of our trust funds.”
She reached for the check. “You can give it to me.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to see him personally.
Procedure you know.” She was afraid she’d struck out on this lead.
This Toby was an unlikely suspect since this woman was over sixty
and her husband would be much too old to be messing around with
Abby.

“Toby’s in Okeechobee Correctional. You’re
the only one in town who doesn’t know that.”

Sandy checked the printout. Now she
remembered Chip had told her to skip this last name because Florida
had him locked up. “I’m sorry, made a mistake. Must go.”

“But don’t you have anything for us?”

“There’s an error in these papers. Sorry to
have bothered you.”

“Wait...lady. Why don’t you come inside? I
don’t care about the damn check. I don’t get any visitors. My
name’s Ruth, you look like a tea drinker. I’ll make us some.”

“I’m afraid not.” Sandy stepped back off the
porch.

“You don’t want to come in because you think
my house is all messy inside. You think it smells. You think my
house is junky because I got that stupid TV box in the front yard.
The trash truck won’t pick it up big like that. Toby promised to
cut it up tomorrow.”

“But Toby’s serving time.”

“Are we talking about Moron #1 or Moron #2?
Humphrey is Moron #1. They both want to be called Toby, so you see
the level of original thinking I must deal with around here.”

Sandy was instantly interested again in this
family. She wondered how old Toby #2 was. She gave the woman a
quizzical look.

“Yeah, Moron #2 is my stepson. Just as dumb
as his father. If he were any dumber, I'd have to water him. Does
nothing around the house. Glued to his damn computer. Have to beat
him every so often to get him to do anything.”

“You have to spank the little guy now and
then,” Sandy said trying to get at his age.

“I said I beat him. Spanking wouldn’t faze a
lazy thirty-year old. I use an old broken golf club.”

Bingo! Sandy bit her tongue to keep from
looking eager. A thirty-year-old Toby was a perfect fit for Abby. A
dumb Toby fit even better. “Maybe I will come in for just a minute,
Mrs. Towalski. I’m not supposed to go inside houses. Are you
alone?”

“The cats like to jump on people, but seldom
seriously injure anyone. Nothing compared to the dog.” She made a
weak smile. “I'm a lot of laughs. My house is an animal-free zone,
Sweetie. Yeah, I’m alone. The bridge society just left. Come on
in.”

Once inside the house the place was
unobjectionable from what Sandy could see and smell. Considering
the probable income in the vicinity, it was fine. Sandy could
detect the discordant scent of cigarettes mixed with apple pie.
Open up the place, she thought. More air and more light. Bring in
more Florida. Knock out that front wall and put in a large window.
Then again, perhaps this woman didn’t want to see the neighborhood
outside.

In the center of the living room, almost
blocking passage back to the kitchen, sat a huge partially unpacked
TV. A smaller old TV at the side insisted on delivering an
important message. Mercifully, the woman lowered the volume.

“Gotta get someone to come out and hook up my
new TV. Pretty fancy, huh?” She cleared a stack of crossword puzzle
books from the chair opposite the couch for Sandy. “So, you’re from
the government, corrections department, something like that?”

Sandy nodded and glanced around the room. Not
too tidy but clean. She noted there were no photographs resting
anywhere in sight, no evidence of any family whatsoever.

“Got that Motel 6 ashtray there in Branson.
Years ago. Hundred percent tin. It’ll be worth a fortune in a few
years if I can get the rust off. I keep it around as a reminder in
case I start feeling good about my marriage. A honeymoon in
Branson...every bride’s dream. Didn’t know it at the time, but it
was the highlight of my life. Winning a free cup and saucer once at
a supermarket was a close second. I’m sorry, forgive my smartass
mouth. I don’t do much socializing.”

“You’re doing fine. Your marriage could be
better, huh?”

“Our marriage lacked only two things, him and
me.” She crushed the cigarette to death and lit another. “He calls
me a bitch like it's a bad thing. I’m crazy. I admit it. That’s
basically why Big Toby and me don’t get along. We’re both
crazy.”

“At least you have something in common.”

The woman gave a little laugh. “Now you see?
I don’t have any clever people like you to visit with. Not that I
could keep up with you.”

Sandy settled back in her chair. She was
getting a good reading on this woman and began to feel more
comfortable.

“You can smoke if you want. Come clean now,
you’re really a cop aren’t you?”

“No, I’m doing some ancillary fieldwork.”

“Ancillary, huh? Meaning adjunct or extra.”
She nudged the ashtray toward Sandy. “I do crosswords.”

Sandy had to smile. “You got me on that one.
I sense some formal education on your part. Am I right?”

“God, I thought all that had worn off long
ago. Nice of you to mention it. Finished Junior College—they call
it Community College now. Name’s Ruth. Did I already tell you that?
You want some tea or a blast of something? How about some apple
pie?”

A cup of hot tea sounded wonderful to Sandy.
“No, thanks. Can’t stay too long. Must get to my next call.”

“Oh, please don’t go. What can I do to make
you stay?”

Sandy glanced casually around the room. “So,
big Toby is incarcerated and little Toby lives with you.” She
wished he’d come home now so she could get a look at him. See how
well he matched up with Abby.

“Incarcerated, meaning caged or confined. Of
course, I know that one. Three years ago, Moron #1 was in the
garage cleaning one of those antique pistols of his. Told him I’d
clean the damn thing for him. I used to clean my daddy’s guns. Real
men don’t need help cleaning guns, he said just before firing a
slug through his leg. I ask you, how can you clean a revolver
without emptying the cylinder first? When the medical emergency
people came out from town to patch him up, they noticed a big shiny
chest of mechanic's tools sitting there in the garage, must have
been five feet high and bright red. Reported as stolen, they
claimed. Pulled five years for that.”

Ruth lit another cigarette. “I had to start
the beatings when Little Toby was younger. He went through a dirty
picture phase. I’d find stuff under his mattress. Just imagine,
under the kid’s mattress—the one place no mother would ever think
of looking. So I’d have to beat him. Sure you don’t want some tea?
Every week I’d throw out the girlie magazines and the next week
there’d be something worse under there. I’d have to beat him again.
You know, big Toby ran a garage once and had nudie pinups hanging
all over, but nothing as bad as they got on daytime TV these
days.”

“Sometimes a child must be disciplined,”
Sandy said going along with it. She stood and started walking
around the room pretending to be interested in the knickknacks. She
looked down the hall off the living room. All the doors were
closed. If the younger Toby had kidnapped Jamie and brought her
here, then his mother must be in on it.

“You’d think he’d have grown up. I still have
to give him a whack now and then.” Her attention was now divided
with the TV.

“For dirty pictures?” Sandy quietly opened
the nearest door in the hall. It was an empty bedroom.

“No, he outgrew all that girly stuff, spends
all his time on his computer now. Somehow, he met this Abby. That’s
when I started to believe in miracles.”

“Tell me about Abby.” The next door she
opened was a bathroom.

“Hasn’t had many dates. Almost thirty and
afraid of women.”

“Hard to figure,” Sandy walked back to the
living room. “Nice house. How many bedrooms do you have?”

“Three.” Ruth leaned back puffing. She
appeared pleased someone was in her house. “It’s my fault. I knew
he wasn’t quite right in the head. Should have taken him to a
doctor to find out what was wrong with him instead of trying to
cure him by myself.”

“Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

“Sure, down the hall there, you’ll see it.”
She chuckled. “Don’t steal anything.”

Sandy tried the other doors in the hall. All
were empty. Basements were rare in Florida. Could Jamie be in the
attic? More likely the garage.

In an extra loud voice she called out, “You
can call me Sandy, got that, I’m Sandy. Did I tell you that?” She
went in the bathroom. She placed her ear against the wall and
listened. Nothing. She flushed and returned to the living room.
“Will your son be back soon?”

“Anytime. You know, I shouldn’t have
mentioned I have to beat him. You gonna turn me in for doing
that?”

“Not my department.” Sandy gestured and said,
“So your kitchen’s over here, nice and big. Is that the door to the
garage?”

“The breezeway to the garage.”

She quietly tried the door when Ruth wasn’t
looking. Locked. Sandy returned to the living room. Ruth was
sitting on the couch looking down at her hands. “You’re going to
leave me alone again, aren’t you?”

She was shaking slightly and appeared about
to cry. She raised her head a moment and clicked off the TV. Sandy
was afraid of what was coming, so she tried to sound upbeat, “So
you do crosswords. You have to be smart to do crosswords.”

Ruth’s head went back down. She appeared
distressed. “Since you’re pretty you probably never hate
yourself.”

“Sure I do, sometimes,” Sandy said quickly,
hoping it would stop there. “And you’ve going to have that new
super TV to watch. Are there other things you’d like? Do you have a
wish list?”

“What’d be the point?”

“So, have you lived here long?”

The woman ignored the question. “Sometimes
I’m a strong woman, sometimes I’m weak.” She said in a low voice,
talking to the floor. “No, that’s a lie. I’m never strong. Look at
me. No, don’t look at me. I never should have let you in. Seeing
you makes me think about my own life. You’ve got it all. Jesus, you
absolutely have the entire world in your soft little hands. You can
go anywhere and do anything. You could walk out that door, drive to
the airport, and fly across the country. Come back tomorrow. Come
back next year. So what. I could kill you just out of envy. Never
had much of a life and what I had the damn men ruined. Or I ruined
it myself, who knows. Thank God for blame, it lets you turn
everything around. I can even blame Humphrey for being born a man.
It’s your fault Humphrey." She stopped for a long drag. "Did you
ever know a good man? I know that’s like asking did you ever know a
good bastard.”

“I’ll have to stop and think,” Sandy said,
not wanting to disagree.

“Even a good man is not worth the bother.
Look who’s talking. I’m old and useless myself.”

“You should keep dreaming. Terrible not to
dream. You can replace your bad luck with good dreams.”

“Bad luck is all that keeps me going. Gives
me something to look forward to. I jump out of bed each morning,
can’t wait to find out what bad luck is going to hit me that
day.”

“You’ve stopped dreaming because nothing has
come true. That’s sad but not a reason to stop dreaming.”

“So I’ll dream and with any luck I’ll be dead
before I notice none of my dreams have come true. Thanks anyway,
but the entire dream idea has passed me by. Sorry, Ruth, you should
have been here yesterday. Sorry, Ruth, you’re not eligible for
that. Sorry, Ruth, we just gave away the last one. You ever look
closely at a food container you’re eating out of and happen to
notice it expired three years before? That’s my life. Everything I
want, or get up enough nerve to go after, isn’t there anymore.
Somehow, I missed it. It’s already expired. Sorry, Ruth.”