Hair of the Dog Page 7

  Chapter Seven

  Dan could not stop smiling as Fucher tried first one appetizer and then another—the verdict written clearly on his face after usually one bite or a loud, “This one’s yummy.” A generous mound of fried calamari had just disappeared into his mouth and a thin trail of dipping oil left a shiny streak down his chin. But Fucher was oblivious—Sadie was in a car outside in the parking lot, he was snuggly back in his house, and all was right with his world. Joan Carter had set him up with several odd jobs—maybe more busy work than much-needed repairs—and Mel had promised to get him involved in preparing Nero for the track. Life was good again. Dan certainly hoped it would stay that way.

  He looked around the table—Roger, Joan, Mel, Fred, Elaine, himself—this was Fucher’s family. And he could certainly do worse. Mel and Roger were going to petition the judge to allow Fucher to cross county lines to travel to Miami. Next weekend would be Nero’s debut at a Class A track. There was a lot of clinking of iced tea and water glasses and toasting to well-deserved success. Dan thought he’d never forget the look of utter joy on Fucher’s face.

  For the first time in almost a week, Dan felt he’d accomplished something. But he knew UL&C would want more than a gut feeling that the accused was innocent and he wasn’t sure how he was going to go about that. He needed to prove that Fucher not only didn’t start the fire that killed the greyhounds but he didn’t do it at the request of Dixie Halifax. Accidental death, the result of criminal intent—someone wanted to cover a murder? That’s what it looked like. But Fucher just didn’t fit the bill. And, yeah, it wasn’t Dan’s job to prove Fucher’s innocence. But the guy could use a little help. What he did have to prove was that the one insured had no hand in setting up the circumstances that gave him or her the payoff. But Dixie killing her own dogs? Tough to get his mind around. Still, for the moment he just wanted to bask in the glow of a small victory. Fucher Crumm was not incarcerated.

  ***

  “So what’s the plan of action?” He knew Elaine was genuinely curious and the ride back to Daytona gave them time to talk.

  “I need a break. A break in the case.”

  “What would that break look like?”

  “Not sure, but I think I’d recognize it.” A rueful smile. He was always suspicious when things were too neatly wrapped up—especially before he got there. There were a lot of people jumping to conclusions in this case. And not enough people asking questions.

  “See, it’s just this kind of dead end, too-neatly-wrapped-up kind of investigation that makes me second-guess my wanting to be a PI. If the authorities are just accepting the easy way out and don’t seem to be trying to uncover other possibilities, then what chance do you have?”

  “Good point, but I have a two-hundred-fifty-thousand-dollar payout that better go to the right person.”

  “So, if it’s proved that Fucher started the fire that caused the losses, Dixie stands to gain? She gets the full two-fifty?”

  “Yeah. Dixie’s name is the only one on the policy. And I don’t see any breaks in sight. If Fucher is innocent, he’s the perfect fall guy. His explanation of what happened is easy to discount because of his challenges and, before we came along, it didn’t seem anyone was looking out for his interests. All in all, he’d be a good choice to take the brunt of a murder and cover-up. Did Dixie have any part in all this? I just don’t think things happened the way they’re being presented. And I’m not sure my gut feelings have ever been wrong.”

  “Do you think you were born with ‘gut feelings’ or are they more of a skill that can be learned?”

  “Really good question. I think any PI needs to have a healthy natural curiosity and a sixth sense that keeps him from accepting everything at face value. But the rest of it comes from exposure—by the fifteen-hundredth surveillance case you work on, your instincts will be honed to perfection.”

  “I hope so. To even get started I need to align myself with a local PI—someone with a license in Florida.”

  “Leaves me out. Are you sure you want to start now? We could be here two weeks, a month…I have no idea.”

  “All the courses are online so I could be anywhere, but the very first assignment involves actual fieldwork. Real hands-on. I kinda like that—jump right in, get exposure to surveillance work outside of a textbook. I guess I don’t see why I shouldn’t be doing something more than washing dog beds.”

  “Hey, don’t knock it. That was pretty lucrative for a little homemaker.” He ducked the blow to his shoulder. “But when it comes to working with a local PI, there need to be some ground rules.”

  “Such as?”

  “For starters, do not team up with anyone under the age of seventy. Do not agree to any overnight surveillance. Do not—” This time Elaine’s fist connected soundly with his shoulder.

  ***

  The online yellow pages for the area listed five private investigators—only three appeared to have actual offices. Elaine started with those. The first almost laughed in the phone barely covering the receiver before a chortle of disgust. A university professor in the humanities, no less, wanted to start a career in private investigation? That was a good one.

  The second one’s receptionist put her through to an individual who seemed to feel it was his express reason for living to tell her how little money she’d make and how very dangerous the job was. Another strikeout. And, oh my goodness, she’d never shot a gun? And didn’t even own one? She probably imagined the barely discernible “poor thing” before hanging up, then again, maybe not.

  There had to be an easier way. Of course, she should have thought of this first—she called the college. Yes, of course, the department had a list of several PIs they could recommend. But if the receptionist were doing the choosing, it would be Scott Ramsey. Elaine took his number and email address and hung up. She looked him up online. He’d been in the business for twenty-seven years. Would that make him closer to seventy? Probably not, but definitely out of his thirties. And he didn’t want to discuss particulars over the phone; he wanted a personal interview. Could she meet with him in the morning at his office in Palm Coast? Yes. Absolutely. She preferred it, too. She’d see him at eleven.

  The office was easy to find. She dropped Dan off at the track and headed north on Highway 1. Palm Coast was a mere thirty-five minutes away. She took the Palm Coast Parkway exit to Pine Lakes Blvd. and just as the GPS promised, her destination was on the left.

  If she’d expected some rundown rickety storefront, she would have been wrong. This small, two-room office around the corner from a veterinarian had space for a receptionist, ample storage, a wall of local maps, another office, and a conference room that probably only seated four comfortably, but still offered space to meet and work. The magazines were not only up-to-date but offered a wide range of choices—from Money to US to Car And Driver. The wait wasn’t long, the leather chair was comfortable, and if customer satisfaction could be gauged by the looks of adoration from the woman coming out of the PI’s office, he’d just earned five stars.

  “Ms. Linden? Give me another minute or two and then we can talk. Linda would be happy to get you coffee or a soft drink.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Well, he certainly wasn’t going to pass the “close to seventy” test. And he’d probably never seen a gym he didn’t like. This man was forty-something and looked thirty-five. Shaved head, dark tan, a bodybuilder’s physique…he could be a poster boy for the PI industry. Definitely not what Dan had in mind.

  But he asked the right questions, wasn’t in a rush, and didn’t seem to have any preconceived notion of what a PI needed to look like or what kind of background might be a prerequisite. He wasn’t put off by a PhD in English Lit—thought it meant she had solid research skills; in fact, he had a master’s in exercise physiology. Which, as he put it, only meant he could probably win a footrace if called for. He was more than familiar with the coursework from D
aytona State College’s online certification and licensing program—he’d helped design it. He continued to be on their roster as a guest lecturer and curriculum advisor. He appreciated their referrals because he enjoyed mentoring so much.

  Elaine felt herself relax. Scott Ramsey was perfect. He just wouldn’t pass Dan Mahoney’s stringent requirements. Or were those restrictions? Scott took an hour to go through his syllabus—all on-the-ground training exercises involving real-life, hands-on cases and all approved by the college. She would need to apply for a permit to carry. He had the paperwork handy and could recommend the gun-safety school in Daytona. Good material and good instructors with a practice range adjacent. He suggested getting the paperwork in right away. She could get the required passport-sized picture taken at the local library for a nominal fee, and do the fingerprinting at the sheriff’s office. He assumed she had no felonies and hadn’t recently escaped from any type of mental institution. Elaine thought this was a form of PI humor but assured him the answer was “no” on both accounts.

  He’d like them to start on their first assignment Friday and maybe work through the weekend if called for. Uh oh. Wasn’t this a planned getaway weekend? A couple days at the beach? She hadn’t expected going to school to meld easily with Dan’s schedule, still to give up the first free weekend ….

  “Not a good time?” He was watching her closely. “I’m hoping we won’t need any extra time but just in case.”

  “It’s fine.” She hoped her smile supported that statement. How perceptive, but then “reading people” was certainly a part of his job. She left his office with a quick-read book designed to give her a thorough overview, The Complete Idiot’s Guide To Private Investigating, 3rd edition. She was going to ignore the title but, then, it was rather apropos. Still, she had over a page of notes and an appointment time of four p.m. on Friday. And she might as well sign up for that class in gun-safety training, too. She reached for her phone and felt a little blip of excitement—it looked like she was on her way.

  ***

  The car in the driveway outside the townhouse wasn’t familiar. A white Chrysler or Buick sedan. Elaine wasn’t supposed to pick up Dan for another hour, and she didn’t think they were expecting guests. She parked in front, gathered up her class materials and got out of the SUV.

  “Oh, wait. I didn’t mean to block the garage. I’ll move my car.” The woman’s bright red bob was partially hidden by a narrow-brimmed, black fedora. Maggie Mahoney stood on the porch, waving and gesturing toward the car in the drive.

  “Please, don’t bother. I have to pick up Dan in an hour, so I won’t be putting the car in.”

  “I hate to see you leave it on the street.” Dan’s mother leaned in with a loud, smacking air-kiss just as Elaine reached the top step of the porch. “I couldn’t have planned this better. An hour of girl-talk before we’re interrupted. I’ve so looked forward to getting to know you better.”

  “Me, too.” And that wasn’t a fib. One lunch with Mom and sister, Carolyn, in Santa Fe a month or so ago wasn’t really enough to get to know her future mother-in-law. She unlocked the door and held the screen open. “I don’t think Dan knew you were in Florida. When did you get here?”

  “Only a couple days ago. Stanley considers this area home and has his heart set on finding something in The Villages as I told Dan. A condo, probably—I don’t think either one of us wants to get tied down to a big place with an equally big yard.”

  “It’s an interesting area.” Elaine was trying to be circumspect, that is, trying to keep visions of the fakey looking main street out of her head. “Is Stan a golfer?”

  “As he lives and breathes.”

  “Then you’re probably looking in the right place. Can I get you a latte or cappuccino?” The machine she’d found in the garage wasn’t exactly from Starbucks but it wasn’t half bad.

  “A latte sounds perfect.”

  Once coffees were in hand, Elaine moved to the dining room table. “Anything else? Sugar? Cream?”

  “No, thank you. This is great.”

  Elaine was beginning to get the distinct feeling that Maggie might have known that Dan was working—that maybe she had hoped to catch Elaine alone. After exclaiming over the ring and commenting again how lucky Dan was to have escaped serious injury in the rollover in Wagon Mound, she paused and seemed reluctant to continue the conversation.

  “Maggie, is there something we need to talk about?”

  The look of relief said it all. Elaine knew she’d guessed correctly and now just needed to wait.

  “I’m not really sure where to start. I’m a little afraid of what you might think of me…but in this day and age a person just can’t be too careful.”

  Elaine still didn’t know anything but it was a start.

  “Dan mentioned in his email that you were considering becoming a PI—that you would start school down here. I just couldn’t be more enthusiastic. The two of you are just made for each other and to share the same vocation, well, that will just be frosting on the cake.” Maggie sat beaming.

  “Thank you for the vote of confidence. I admit I’m looking forward to a change in career.”

  “How would you like me for your first client?”

  Elaine hoped the shock didn’t show. “That would be great. How can I help you? You know I’m just starting my coursework, I’m not sure I would be the best person—”

  “You would be the most discreet person and surely if things were over your head, you have instructors who could help?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And I’d like to think this might be simple. Frankly, I just need to know if Stanley Evers is who he says he is.”

  “Has he given you reason to think otherwise?”

  “Yes, and no. We met on a cruise—an Arthur Murray dance cruise where a number of single men of a certain age are invited to join the group in order to give everyone a partner. All expenses paid, of course. It’s a shame that at my age women far outnumber eligible men.” She paused for a sip of coffee. “A lot of these toe-tapping gigolos are just that—gigolos—looking for the next meal ticket. Or, and I know this sounds macabre, looking to be made next of kin before the aging lovely kicks. So I knew what I was up against. And then one night on deck a man takes me by the arm and suggests a drink and late-night supper with a stroll in the moonlight instead of dessert. We talked until dawn. I cannot tell you how romantic that was. Dan’s father has been gone for fifteen years. To be paid this sort of attention…it was heady, intoxicating.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Six months. And in that time we’ve been on four cruises. It’s like that joke where the woman calculates what it would cost her to be in a nursing home and she concludes it’s cheaper to just cruise all year. This will be the first extended stay on land that we’ve had since we met. It just seems odd. I know he’s retired and has discretionary money and loves to sail…still I’d love to have my things around me and be in one place for awhile.”

  “Won’t living in The Villages give you that?”

  “Yes. But I’m not comfortable investing in property with him. He’d like us to find a house and share costs. But he wants me to put the house in my name. He’ll pay me his part in cash—something to do with his wife’s children from another marriage. It sounds complicated and a little contentious. I don’t mind pulling my own weight, but I don’t want to get into something that would be too much for me to handle on my own if Stanley decided to go back to sea. Or just disappeared.”

  “Valid point. Let me take a few notes.” Elaine grabbed a tablet and pen from the kitchen counter and sat back down. “Is there anything else that makes you think he’s keeping something from you?”

  He’s secretive—leaves the room to take phone calls, stops the car and walks a block away to make a call. One of his prerequisites for a house? It must have closet doors in the bedroom that
lock. Can you imagine? I’m not the snooping type but that just screams out for me to take a look.”

  Elaine wanted to ask her if she’d given into temptation, but didn’t. “There could be a simple explanation.” Even though nothing was coming to mind.

  “He lived in Palm Coast for at least five years. I know he dated after his wife died, and I’ve certainly suspected he’s kept in touch with a lady or two. I think it’s healthy to maintain a friendship with former spouses or lovers, don’t you?”

  Would she keep in touch with her former husband, Eric? Maybe because of Jason. Without a shared child it would be difficult. “Yes, I suppose I do, too. Under most circumstances…”

  “My sixth sense is usually spot-on—most women can be very intuitive—they just don’t trust it. So I don’t think you’ll laugh when I say my alarms are going off. Let me give you an example. Shortly after we met I was telling him about a case that Dan had solved, and Stanley assumed he was a cop. Seemed agitated, threatened, asked me all kinds of questions; I finally got through to him that he worked for an insurance company. That was okay, somehow, it made what Dan does inconsequential.”

  “You’re doing the right thing by letting me help. Let’s start with the obvious, full name, middle name if there is one.

  “Stanley Richardson Evers.”

  “Age?”

  Hesitation. “Ummm, sixty next month. He’s a year or two younger than I am.”

  A year or two? At that rate she would have been ten when she gave birth to Dan. Elaine thought twelve to fourteen years difference might be more like it. “You know I’m too old to be a cougar—so I prefer being called a lioness.” A coquettish smile and a little shrug of the shoulders.

  Elaine smiled but wisely chose not to comment. “Do you have a date of birth for Stanley?”

  “November 27, 1955.”