Mad Utopia

Part 1 (to start at the beginning)

The Client
The Butler

Part 2

The Associate
The Notebook

Part 3

The Cop
The Reporter

Part 4

The Boss
The Old Flame

Part 5

The Maid

I tooled on over to #17 to see what the results of my little conversation with the insurance agent would be. I parked on Oakwood, just around the corner, where I could keep a discrete eye on the driveway. Sure enough, before long Mr. Marino showed up, raising a cloud of dust as he whipped up the drive. He slid to a stop and flew out of the car and about bolted to the front door. I found it interesting that he didn’t need to knock – he let himself in with his own key. Hmm.

I wasn’t particularly surprised when my cell phone rang a few minutes later.

“Mann.”

“Mr. Mann?” It was Mrs. Jones. She sounded upset.

“Yes ma’am?”

“I’d like to talk to you.” Her voice was low and forced, like she was trying to keep control. Mr. Marino must have told her of my suspicions.

“Sure, ma’am. Talk away.”

“Not on the phone!”

“OK. You want me to drop by?”

“No.” That was definite. “Where are you? Are you at your office?”

“No ma’am, I’m out in the field following up some leads.”

“Well, I want to see you. Now.”

“Oh jeeze, ma’am. ‘Fraid I can’t get back to the office before, oh, three o’clock. Well, maybe two-thirtyish.” I looked at my watch. It was just before noon. I figured if I gave them some time to stew, they might do something foolish that I could follow up on.

“Two-thirty! Where on earth are you?”

“I’m heading out I-85 to see a man about a dog,” I lied.

“What?”

“Bruno.”

“What?”

“Best scent hound east of the Mississippi, ma’am. Bruno’s out on a farm in mid-state. I think he could help us find your husband. You do still want me to find your husband, don’t you?”

“Well, of course. Well, no. Why yes!” She was obviously flustered. “That is to say, I want my husband found, of course.” Ah. The subtext there was pretty obvious. Found, but not by me. She was going to fire my ass.

“I see,” I said. “Well, if I hurry, I can get back by two-thirty. Of course, any speeding tickets count towards expenses.” The phone clicked off in my ear. I hung up and watched the front door.

The door opened and Mr. Marino stepped out onto the stoop. Mrs. Jones stood on the threshold, and they talked – heads close together. Then she leaned forward and gave him a long and deep felt hug. As she closed the door he turned and dashed back to his car. He wasted no time hitting the road, again raising a cloud of dust. I put the key in the ignition, figuring to follow him when a car suddenly came out from behind the house. It was Mrs. Jones, driving her Mercedes. Unlike Mr. Marino, she seemed to be in no particular hurry. She turned the other way on Park and then, to my dismay, turned left onto Oakwood. I slunk down in my seat as she drove by, but she didn’t seem to have noticed me. Whew. That was close.

Now what to do? Follow Mr. M, or Mrs. Jones? Marino had already passed out of sight, so I figured I’d best follow Mrs. Jones. So once again I put the key to the ignition. Once again I stopped before firing her up. Another car was coming down the driveway!

This was one I hadn’t seen before, a late model Buick. It was driven by none other than my old friend Robert, and he seemed to be in a hurry. He squealed out onto Park and headed off in yet a third direction. Hell! What to do, what to do?

Then a thought struck me. This would be a great time to search the house.

#

I could see through the side panel beside the door that the security alarm had not been armed. They had all been in such a rush to leave they hadn’t bothered with it. That made my life simple. I tried the door knob, but it was locked. So I headed for the back door, where I was less likely to be seen. If Murphy couldn’t pin a homicide on me he’d be perfectly willing to settle for breaking and entering.

To my delight I found the back door was not even locked. I knocked, very lightly, just so I could say that I knocked, and pushed the door open. The kitchen was empty so I slid in as quiet as a cat. As I tried to close the door behind me I bobbled one of my crutches. To my dismay it clattered across the tiled floor. I winched and waited, but the house remained silent. So I closed the door and struggled to retrieve my crutch, trying not to bend too much in the middle. My ribs screamed in silent protest.

Once I was recrutched I considered what to do next. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, so I had no real plan of action. I’d just go over the whole place quickly and see if anything jumped out at me. I decided to start in the study, mostly because it was the one room in the house that I had seen before.

The study was sparsely furnished, lots of books, a desk and chair, and a few other scatterings of furniture. I went to the desk. It was locked. I decided against forcing it and browsed over the books on the shelves. Unlike the books at Mr. Jones’ bookstore, these were fine books indeed. Most were leather bound with titles like The Iliad, The Works of Shakespeare, A Tale of Two Cities and the like. No cheap mysteries or romances here. I pulled down a gilt-edged tome titled Hard Times by Charles Dickens. I flipped it open to the title page and saw it was printed in London by Bradbury & Evans in 1704. I don’t know Jack about rare books, but I’d be willing to bet this baby was a first edition.

“Who the hell are you?”

I about jumped out of my skin and the book went flying. I grabbed for it and bobbled it two or three times before snatching it from mid air. I whirled around to face a heavy set black woman in a white uniform, losing my crutches in the move. I was busted. By the maid.

“Mann. Max Mann.” I had to talk fast before she called the cops. “Mrs. Jones hired me to find her husband.” She folded her arms and scowled, unimpressed. “I dropped by to talk to Mrs. Jones and… well it looks like she’s out, so I thought I’d read a book while I waited for her to get back.”

She marched across the room and firmly removed the book from my grasp. She inspected it, wiped off the binding as if I had contaminated it, and carefully put it back on the shelf. She turned to find me struggling to bend down for my crutches. Bless the woman for she took pity on me, picked them up, and handed them back. “Well if you mess up her books she’ll fire your sorry ass. Damn, she doesn’t like anyone messing with her books.”

“These are hers?”

She folded her arms again and looked at me like I was stupid.

“I just thought… well with the bookstore and all…”

“Hell no. Mr. Jones don’t know a first edition from the Sunday paper.” She lovingly caressed the spine of Hard Times with her rag and smiled. “Oh, he buys ‘em for her all right, but it’s Mrs. Jones that finds ‘em. On the web. Yea, she do love her books.”

“She reads these?”

“What the hell do you think? Of course she doesn’t read them. Hell, she’d get her finger oils on the pages. Shit mister, that book costs over a thousand dollars. You don’t read books like that!”

“Oh.” I decided to change the subject. “So tell me, um… I’m sorry. What’s your name?”

“Helen.”

“So tell me, Helen, do you know when Mrs. Jones will be back?”

She shrugged. “Hard to say. You just missed her. She had to run out to the store to get another steamer trunk.”

“A steamer trunk?”

“Yea. She’s gonna take a trip and damned if one of the steamer trunks isn’t missing.”

A lump formed in my stomach.

“A trip?”

“Yea. She’s going on a cruise. With Mr. Marino.”

“Oh?” Now wasn’t that interesting.

#

I headed back to the office convinced Mrs. Jones had killed her husband and was now preparing to flee the country. According to the maid, she and the insurance agent were going on a ten day Caribbean cruise. Due to leave the day after tomorrow. They could drop out of site at any port along the way and never be seen again. Just one thing bothered me. Why the hell did she hire me?

The Sister

I swung by Carl’s for a burger and fries before heading back to the office. I had plenty of time on my hands, since I wasn’t expecting Mrs. Jones till around 2:30. So I took my time and had an extra cup of coffee. As I sat there drinking my joe, I ran over the facts in my head. Over and over. And the more I looked at it the more I began to think my old buddy Cliff was right. But no dame was going to stick me for a murder I didn’t commit. Still, I’d have to be careful and watch out for the set up.

I killed a little more time so that I could get back to the office fashionably late. After all, I was supposed to be out in the field. If Mrs. J showed up early I didn’t want to have to explain why I was already there.

I drove past the office and sure enough the red Mercedes was parked out front. Nobody in it. I drove around to the alley and parked in my usual spot out back. I would have liked to hoof it up the back stairs to make a show of trying to be on time, but my leg thought better of it and I grabbed the elevator instead.

She was waiting for me out in the hallway. She whirled around at the sound of the elevator dinging. I hustled out, but before I could say anything she closed the gap between us and took a slap at my face.

I grabbed her wrist in mid swing, and to heck with the crutches. This dame had slapped me once. She wasn’t going to get away with it a second time. “What the hell is that all about!” I panted.

She struggled to free herself and tried to slap me again. Again, I caught her wrist and this time she let loose like a bobcat, flailing at me wildly with both hands. I had a good hundred pounds on her, and there was no way she was going to get to me. She tried a knee to the groin, but expecting it, I turned my hip in time and blocked her. She stopped as suddenly as she had started and all at once collapsed against my chest, bursting out in tears.

Now I felt awkward and helpless. Mrs. Arens, the accountant across the hall opened the door to see what all the ruckus was. I gave her a hapless look while Mrs. Jones continued to weep into my chest. Mrs. Arens retreated with a slam of the door.

“Come on, lady, what’s this all about?” I cajoled.

“You… you,” she gasped between sobs. “You’re a beast, Mr. Mann!”

I held her away from me and looked her in the eye. “And how ya figure that?” I asked.

“I talked to Alex,” she was finally beginning to compose herself again. She jerked away, and tidied herself, daubing at her eyes. “He told me what you said.”

“I see,” I said.

“How could you?” Her face began clouding up again. I made a move towards the office hoping to avoid another scene out in the hallway. “Alex told me that you think I killed my husband!” She gasped for air and managed not to cry.

“Well, ma’am, I’ve got to consider all the possibilities.”

“All the possibilities!” she shrieked. Several of the office doors popped open and heads poked out. I tried to shush her, but she would have none of that. “All the possibilities! How could you? How could you even think it! He’s my husband, Mr. Mann. And I love him very much.”

“All right, I understand.”

“No you don’t! And then,” she got even louder, “you accuse me of sleeping with Alex!” Her arm tightened and I could see another slap coming. But she managed to restrain herself. Barely.

“Well, ma’am, you gotta admit it looks a little suspicious…”

“What looks a little suspicious?” she demanded.

“Well, you and Alex seem to go way back,” I said. “Through three husbands, it seems. And he seemed mighty at home by the pool the other day. And now you’re going on a cruise together? Come on. What am I supposed to think?”

“You men are all the same!” Her lip began to tremble again. Tears were welling up in her eyes. “Your minds are in the gutter.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t see, Mr. Mann. You can’t see beyond your tawdry little…” Tears began flowing and she collapsed against my chest. She looked up into my face with the most wounded look I think I’ve ever seen on a person. “He’s my brother, Mr. Mann!”

You could’ve knocked me over with a feather.

#

I finally got her into the office and managed to calm her down. I apologized to her for accusing her of sleeping with her brother, and tried to explain that seeing as I did not have all the facts, it just looked pretty bad. Then I asked her about the sudden Caribbean cruise. She explained that there was nothing sudden about it at all. She and her brother always took a Caribbean cruise around this time of year and had booked the tickets months ago. Seems Murphy had already questioned her about the cruise and by the tone of her voice I could tell she did not think much of my pal. But he had cleared her to go. Evidently Murphy was satisfied that she was not a risk to flee. Again, I explained that I had not had all the facts, so things looked bad, and told her she could have been a little more forthcoming and have avoided all this discomfort. At length we hashed out all our differences and she rose to go. She looked around the office and seemed a little puzzled.

“Well, where’s the dog?” she asked.

“The dog?”

“Bruno. Aren’t you going to bring him over to the house to get the scent?”

“You want me to bring Bruno over to the house?”

“Oh course, Mr. Mann. I want you to find my husband.”

Man, was I confused.

~

Next week – Chapter’s 11 & 12: The Beagle, and The Waitress

Just two more installments. Yet to come: Part 5 – The Beagle, and The Waitress; and Part 6 – The Collar

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(c) 2010, by J. M. Strother – All rights reserved.