Karen MacInerney - Margie Peterson 01 - Mother's Day Out (17 page)

“Mrs. Peterson, this is a homicide case.  I understand you have a busy schedule, what with all of the
investigations
I’m sure you’re handling, but this isn’t fun and games we’re talking.”

I switched hands, wiping my sweaty palm on my shorts.  “Okay.  Fine.  I just need to set up child care for my kids. I don’t want them around when we’re talking about… you know.”

“Murder?”

“Exactly.  Can I call you back this afternoon? After I’ve set up a babysitter?”

“You have my number?”

“It’s on your card, right?”

“Uh huh.  And I’d better hear from you by five.”

“Got it.  Thanks.”

“Talk to you this afternoon, Mrs. Peterson.”

“Yes.  Great.  Bye.”

I hung up the phone and glanced at the clock.  It was 2:45.  I had two hours and fifteen minutes before I had to call Detective Bunsen and set up a time.  My hands felt icy at the thought of being stuck in an interrogation room with Detective Bunsen.  Had I left any fingerprints on Maxted’s wallet? Did they know about his connection with my husband? And what if Officer Carmes was there?

Maybe I should call an attorney.  Unfortunately, the only ones I knew worked with my husband.

I closed my eyes. 
Calm down, Margie
. Worrying about the police was only going to stress me out more.  I hadn’t done anything wrong—well, I hadn’t murdered anyone, anyway—so what did I have to worry about? I took a few deep cleansing breaths and opened my eyes.  The open phone book lay on the counter in front of me.  What had I been doing when Bunsen called? Oh, yes.  Calling the psychiatrist so I could have my daughter’s doglike tendencies examined.  As my finger moved down the line of numbers, the doorbell rang.

The cops?

It couldn’t be.  I had just spoken with Bunsen two seconds ago.  Probably another solicitor.  I jogged to the front door, ready to tell whoever was selling miracle cleaning products or overpriced magazine subscriptions that they’d picked the wrong housewife.

But when I opened the door, my mother’s housekeeper stood on the doorstep.

“Graciela?”

“Miss Margie,” she said.  “I am so sorry to disturb you, but…”

“Come in, come in,” I said, overly aware of the mélange of shoes, dirty socks, and Matchbox cars decorating my front hallway, not to mention two overflowing laundry baskets on the couch in the living room.  Usually my house was pretty presentable, but with everything that had been going on the last couple of days, it was looking a little like the inside of a dumpster.  I pushed my hair out of my eyes and forced a smile.  Other than my husband, and possibly my husband’s mother, the last person I wanted to talk to right now was my mother-in-law’s housekeeper.

“Are you sure?” she asked tentatively as she stepped through the front door. 

“I’m sure,” I said.  “As long as you don’t mind a bit of a mess.  With two kids…” I laughed hollowly, resisting the urge to scoop up the cars and shove them into my pockets.  “You know how it is.”

She followed me into the kitchen and perched gingerly on one of the chairs, which was wise, as they still bore a patina of Elmer’s glue from a recent art project. “Can I get you a drink?” I asked.  “Water? Iced tea?”

“No, thank you.  I’m fine.”

I filled a glass with water and sat down across from her, my thighs adhering instantly to the wood chair.  My eyes fell on the picture on the fridge—the picture of Blake, smiling—and my stomach clenched.

“If you want,” Graciela said, “I can come help you.”

“What?” My head whipped around to Graciela, who was inspecting the sticky floor.  I rubbed my eyes and forced myself to focus on what she was saying.

“I said I can come help you.”

“Oh, thanks,” I said.  “I know you’re great. Prue’s house always looks fabulous. But with both kids in private school, we just can’t afford to have you come.”  Of course, if the money from Blake’s raise actually made it into our bank account, that might be a different story.

She eyed a sippy cup, which lay sideways in a puddle of congealed strawberry milk.  At least I’m pretty sure it was strawberry milk.  “With the kids, you need help.  I could make a special offer.”

“No, really.  Thank you, but we’re doing okay.”  I took a sip of my water and forced a smile.  “How are things with the girls? Is everything okay?”

Her brown eyes looked desperate.  “I talk with Miss Becky, and she tell me you work as an investigator.”

Uh oh.
  “I just started a week ago,” I said.  I remembered my conversation with Prudence about Graciela’s missing husband, and a warning bell went off in my head.  I wasn’t the only one with problems.  “Does this have something to do with Eduardo?”

Her eyes filled as she nodded.  “My Eduardo, his mother was sick, very sick, so he went back to Guadalajara last month.  We set everything up with the
coyote
.  Eduardo was supposed to come back three weeks ago.  The
coyote
said he would call when they got to Austin.  I wait by the phone, check the answering machine.  Nothing.”  She wrung the straps of her black vinyl purse.  “I don’t know what to do.  Can you help me?”

I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair.  Less than fourteen days after starting a job as an investigator, I had taken on two adultery cases, an embezzlement case, and was investigating my own husband’s lies.  Now Graciela wanted me to track down
her
husband.

“Graciela,” I said, “I wish I could help you.  But the truth is, I just started.  I know squat about looking for a missing person, much less one that’s been smuggled over the border.”

Her shoulders slumped in her Mickey Mouse t-shirt.  “I don’t know where to go,” she whispered.  “Without Eduardo, I can’t pay for the apartment.  My kids and me, we have nowhere to go.  My whole family is in Mexico, and they have nothing.  I have nowhere to turn.”

“But Graciela…”

“I do anything.  I clean your house, I do your laundry… just please, please, help me.”  The rawness in her voice pierced my heart.

I stared at her pinched face, eyes swollen from crying.  “Graciela,” I said, “I don’t know what I can do for you.  I’ve got a lot going on right now, and I’m just figuring things out on my own.  But I’ll see what I can do.”

Her brown eyes opened wide, which made me feel even worse.  She thought she was hiring a real private investigator.  She probably thought I would actually be able to locate Eduardo.  The problem was, not only did I not have an ‘in’ with any local smuggling rings, but I didn’t even speak Spanish. 

“Really?” she said, eyes bright.

I sighed.  “Really.”

She stood up and trotted to the sink, turning on the faucet and grabbing a sponge.  “I clean house, I cook for you…”

“No, no,” I said, hurrying to turn the water off.  “That won’t be necessary.”

“But how do I pay you?”

“Consider it pro bono.”

“Pro bono?”

“Free,” I said.

“Thank you so much, Miss Margie.  I don’t know how to thank you.”  As I sipped my water, she opened her handbag and pulled out a sheaf of papers.  “Here is all of Eduardo’s information.  And this is the number they gave me to call.  The name of the coyote was
La Serpiente
.”

“
La Serpiente?
What’s that?”

“It means snake.”

I winced. 

“How long do you think it will take?” she asked.

I shook my head.  “I’ll do my best, but I have no idea.  Like I said, I have a lot going on right now.”  Like a dead transvestite, an embezzler, and a lying husband.  “And I can’t guarantee I’ll find him.”

“Oh, thank you, Miss Margie, thank you.”  She trotted out the front door fifteen minutes later, a new spring in her step.

I watched her Ford Pinto recede down Laurel Lane with a sick feeling in my stomach.  Whatever I found out, chances were it wouldn’t be good.  For either of us.

FOURTEEN

“I’ve got good news,” Becky said when she called a half hour later.  After Graciela had left, I’d left a message with Dr. Lemmon’s answering service, arbitrated a squabble over a fire truck, cleaned up Rufus’s most recent offering outside the laundry room door, and plowed through half a bag of Dove Chocolates.  I still hadn’t gotten around to setting an appointment with Bunsen.

“I’m glad someone does,” I said.  “My mother-in-law’s housekeeper just swung by.”

“Why?”

“Oh, it was just a casual call.  All she wants is for me to find her missing husband.”

“When are you going to find the time to do that?”

“It gets worse.  He disappeared while being smuggled over the border.”

Becky sucked in her breath.  “Gosh.  I hope he’s okay.  Doesn’t she have two kids?”

“Yeah.  Don’t remind me.  Hey, you don’t speak Spanish, do you?”

“Sorry.”

“Me neither.  Apparently the
coyote’s
name is the Snake.”

“Oof.”

“Exactly.”  I sighed.  “Anyway, what’s your news?”

“I just got off the phone with Michael.  He knows the guy who runs International Shipping, and he’s agreed to set up an appointment with him.”

“And?”

“Duh.  For a private investigator, sometimes you’re not very smart.  You and I are going to go along, of course.”

“Whoa.  I don’t want to get your brother involved in this.  Or you.  Besides, I don’t know anything about shipping.”

“So what? It’ll be fun.  Even if we don’t find anything out, it’s good for you to stay busy.  I told Michael you’re working on a case, and he’s all excited about it—he loves all those spy novels.  And we won’t have to know a thing about the shipping industry.  He’ll say we’re employees in training, and that he wants us to meet some of his contacts.”

“How are we going to get into Maxted’s office if we’re all in a meeting together?”

“Well,” Becky said, “I figure we’ll ask for a tour.  Then, later, when we’re all sitting back in some conference room, you can excuse yourself to go to the ladies’ room and hightail it back to Maxted’s office.”

“You’ve got this all worked out,” I said.  “What if someone sees me?”

“Just tell them you’re lost,” she said.  “Or you needed a pen, and ducked into the nearest office.”

“And who’s going to watch the kids?”

“Do you
not
want this to happen, or what? I’m trying to help you here.”

“Sorry.  I know.”

“It’ll be a morning meeting, doofus.  When the kids are in school.  You think I’m going to leave them out in the car or something?”

I smiled into the phone.  “You know, you’re a pretty cool Mary Kay salesperson, Becky.”

“I’m dropping the order form in your mailbox this afternoon.  Think pink Cadillac.”

“But I don’t wear makeup.”

“After this, I’m counting on you to start.”

I glanced at the clock as I hung up the phone.  It was 3:45; I still had plenty of time to call Bunsen back.  Instead, I took care of vital tasks like emptying the dishwasher and clearing my water glass from the table.  I was about to scrub the glue off the chairs when Elsie trailed into the kitchen with Nick in her wake.

“Mommy, did you find my fry phone?”

I paused with the sponge in my hand.  “No, sweetie, not yet.  But I’ve been meaning to call someone about it.  Let me just finish getting the glue off this chair and I’ll see what I can do.”

As Elsie watched, I picked up the phone and dialed Peachtree Investigations, hoping that Peaches had had a chance to talk with Mrs. Pence.  The line was busy.  “They’re not answering, sweetie,” I told Elsie.  “I’ll try again in a little bit.”

Her eyes filled with tears.  “Did someone steal it?”

“Steal it?” I knelt down and cradled her face in my hands, hoping a missing fry phone was the worst catastrophe my daughter would have to face.  “No, sweetheart.  Of course not.  I’m sure it will turn up.”

I gave her a big hug and steered her in toward Nick, who discarded the two babies Elsie had been walking around the house and filled the baby stroller with Matchbox cars and a toy fire truck instead.  Fortunately, her outrage over Nick’s impropriety eclipsed her concern over the fry phone.  I lured them into the kitchen with the promise of drinkable yogurts and escaped to the computer, where I pulled up eBay. 

Fry phone, McDonald’s phone, Happy Meal toy, toy phone
. Nothing.  And the line at Peachtree Investigations was still busy.

I punched the off button and leaned back in my chair, feeling like I was up against a brick wall.  The investigation of Maxted would have to wait until tomorrow, when I could visit Miss Veronica, and I couldn’t get in touch with Peaches.  I should probably see what I could find out about Eduardo, but I wasn’t ready to tackle a whole new problem yet.

Then I remembered the cell phone numbers from the file in Blake’s office.  I fumbled in the back pocket of my shorts. The list was still there.  Should I call them now? I listened for sounds of discord from the kitchen.  Nothing.

The first thing was to figure out how to block my phone number.  That turned out to be easy; to my relief, the phone book devoted an entire section to it.  All you had to do was dial *67 before the phone number.

I closed the bedroom door and took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever it was I was about to find out.  I dialed the first number and prepared to deliver my free pizza speech.

“Thank you for calling Jiffy Lube.  May I help you?”

I hung up.

Blake might be up to something, but I doubted getting the address of Jiffy Lube was going to get me any closer to finding out what.

I didn’t need my pizza speech for the next four numbers either.  A barber shop, the Dodge dealership, and two longstanding clients, who conveniently identified themselves when they picked up the phone.  I hung up on all of them, feeling only a twinge of guilt when I put the phone down on Dwight Merkum.  He was a nice guy I’d met at the last Christmas party.  Then I dialed the fifth number.

It rang four times before a woman picked up.  “Hello?”

For a moment, I couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“Hello? Hello?”

I recovered my voice.  “Hi.  My name is Mandy, and I’m calling from Widgit’s Pizza.  We’re doing a promotion, and you won a free pizza.  I just need to know where to have it delivered.”