Call Me! Page 10

  It is insane. My mom called Ben from an ad he put up at the grocery store. At least that’s the story I heard. But did I hear that from Mom? Or Ben?

  Roy says, “The next time I called Ben, he said Mindy Renee was nuts, and he quit tutoring her to take a teaching job at Clifton State. A few months later, he turns up married to you. I didn’t think much about it till I saw you last week. When I saw how young you were and thought about Ben tapping that fine ass of yours, I remembered how Ben was obsessed with that little girl. She was also blonde.”

  “He was probably concerned for her welfare.”

  Roy laughs, but it comes out ugly. “Is it true what they said about how you escaped?”

  “It wasn’t me. I have no idea if her story is true. I sincerely doubt it.”

  He looks at me like he’s sizing me up. Then says, “Your sweet Ben was creaming his jeans to get the tutoring job. When he got it he couldn’t stop bragging. A few months later little Mindy Renee disappears and changes her name and Ben marries a blonde happens to be the same age.”

  “You’re repeating yourself.”

  “Doesn’t make me wrong.”

  “Actually, you are wrong. Mindy Renee changed her name shortly after escaping. She and her mother went into witness protection to escape being harassed by the media. She was fifteen. Witness protection has a one hundred percent success rate. It’s never been breached. So I doubt Ben tracked her down at age seventeen. And I doubt Mindy and her mom ever relocated to Cincinnati.”

  He flashed a smug smile. “You sure seem to know a lot about it.”

  “I’m a private investigator. I know how witness protection works.”

  “Ben never said her new name. Just that it was the same girl. And he never said he tracked her down.”

  “Then what did he say, Roy?”

  “He said Mindy and her mom moved to Cincinnati, and in an incredible stroke of freak luck, Mindy’s mom—your mom—contacted him. About a tutoring job. And even though he signed some sort of secrecy agreement, he couldn’t keep from bragging to his old pal, Roy.”

  “Let’s see if I’ve got this straight,” I say. “You’re warning me that Ben had a creepy obsession for Mindy Renee Whittaker, and through dumb luck got a job tutoring her, but found her crazy. So he met me and decided I’d be her replacement? Is that your warning? That Ben wasn’t in love with me when we got married? Or are you warning me you think Ben’s a hebephile?”

  “I don’t even know what that is,” he says.

  “An adult who’s attracted to children in the early years of puberty. Is that your warning, Roy?”

  “No. My warning’s more specific.”

  “Can you just give it and go?”

  “When the world finds out you’re Mindy Renee Whittaker your life will never be the same.”

  “Roy.”

  “Yes, hon?” he says, in a mocking tone.

  “Why on earth would the world think I’m Mindy Renee Whittaker?”

  “Because I’m going to leak the story to the tabloids.”

  I force a chuckle. “You’re going to end up looking stupid if you do.”

  “I’m willing to take my chances.”

  “If you’re dead set on doing it, why haven’t you done it already?”

  “I wanted to tell you first.”

  “Why?”

  “To watch you sweat.”

  “ROY?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “What really happened between you and Ben?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been calling him for years, bragging, flaunting your success in his face. You spent a small fortune and went to a great deal of effort to set me up through Carter Teague. You didn’t go to all this trouble because you’re competitive. Ben obviously did something to you, years ago. Or at least, you think he did.”

  “Ask Ben.”

  I frown. “What are we, in junior high? Ben will have his own version, if he says anything at all. I’d like to hear your side.”

  He says, “I’ll make you a deal. Tell me how you erased the photos from my cell phone and I’ll tell you the truth about what Ben did to me.”

  “Carter sent the photos to your cell phone,” I say.

  “So?”

  “Since you didn’t take the photos from your phone, there was no memory of them. I didn’t have to erase them from your SIM card, I only had to delete them from your inbox. For example, I couldn’t have erased the pictures you took of you and Carter after I left, because those were taken by your phone.”

  “And they’d be in the memory chip somewhere.”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  He nods. “You’re not stupid.”

  “Sometimes I am.”

  “He cost me a scholarship.”

  “What?”

  “Ben. He cost me a football scholarship.”

  “How?”

  “I used to play practical jokes on him. Nothing major, just funny, you know?”

  “Funny to you.”

  He shrugs. “Whatever. Anyway, one night he found me passed out on my bed and decided to play one on me. He wrapped twine around me, tying me to the bed. Then he hung my alarm clock from the ceiling so it was inches from my ear.”

  “Sounds harmless enough.”

  “Except this was the night before the away game with Georgia Tech, and the alarm clock was set for five a.m. And when Ben was screwing around with it, he somehow turned the alarm off by mistake. I woke up at eight the next morning and missed the bus.”

  “Why didn’t someone call you?”

  “College kids didn’t have cell phones back then. To make matters worse, the kid who replaced me played the best game of his life. Six weeks later our team went to the Independence Bowl, and the coach started him instead of me. The game was close, and I had to watch from the bench. I was a junior. That was my first and last bowl game, because the coach pulled my scholarship.”

  He’s staring off into space, reliving it. I remain quiet until he speaks.

  “I’ll never forgive him for that,” he says. “Never.”

  I nod. “That’s a big thing.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Yes. But you said it yourself. He turned the alarm off by mistake.”

  “What if I killed Ben by mistake? Would you forgive me?”

  “Not at first, probably. But eventually? Yes, I think so.”

  He gives me a doubtful expression.

  I shrug. “I can’t guarantee it,” I say, “but I like to think that after all this time—”

  “Well, you’re obviously a better person than me,” he says.

  I note the disgust in his voice. “I’m sorry for what happened, Roy.”

  “No need for you to be sorry, Mindy.”

  I sigh. “I’m not Mindy. But I am sorry. Sorry for what Ben did to you all those years ago, and sorry you feel the need to punish him through me. But here’s what I don’t understand. Say I am Mindy Renee, and you make it public knowledge. How does that punish Ben?”

  He shrugs. “When I hurt you, I hurt Ben.”

  “You’d do that to me, knowing what I went through?”

  He smiles. “You mean, hypothetically?”

  “Of course.”

  “The answer is yes. I’d do that to you in a heartbeat.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t give a shit what happens to you.”

  “Okay then.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Go sell your story.”

  “Would you like to know what it would take to keep me quiet?”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I’m not Mindy Renee, so your revelation won’t affect me in the least.”

  He points to the gun. “Am I free to go?”

  I lay the gun sideways on my desktop, but hold it just in case. He chuckles, then gets up and leaves. I wait ten minutes to make cer
tain he isn’t standing in the hallway, then I put my head on my desk and sob like I haven’t sobbed in years.

  “JEREDITH,” I SAY, “This is…”

  Dillon gives me a look.

  “This is what?” Jeredith says.

  “Captain Spaceship,” I say.

  Dillon bows.

  “You’re a captain?”

  “That’s right,” Dillon says. “Captain Spaceship.”

  “What branch of the military?”

  Dillon sneers. “What do you mean, branch?”

  Jeredith frowns. “I’d cut that hair off if you were in my barracks, mister. And I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about your rank, neither. I’d do it in the middle of the night. Put some bars of lye soap in a burlap bag, and smack you in the head, and knock your ass out. Then I’d cut that nasty hair off your filthy head!”

  “You got any Lucky Charms?” Dillon says.

  Jeredith looks at me and says, “Is he retarded?”

  “Dillon likes to eat sugary cereal while he works.”

  “I’m a tweaker, man,” he says.

  “You’ll fire up no crystal meth in my house,” Jeredith says. “Nor snort it.”

  Dillon and I look at her in total confusion.

  She says, “I know what tweeking is. I watch cop shows on TV.”

  I look at Dillon.

  He says, “That’s tweeker with two e’s. I’m a tweaker with an a.”

  Jeredith gives me a look.

  “He’s brilliant,” I say. “He just loves his sugar.”

  “You,” she says to Dillon, giving him a wary look.

  “What?”

  “Stay out of my pantry. I won’t be a party to your addiction.”

  She stands aside to let us enter the house. To our left is a small dining room. To our right, an office.

  “Is that Burt’s computer?” I say.

  “Try not to leave evidence,” she says.

  Dillon parks himself in Burt’s chair and fires up the computer. Jeredith and I head to her kitchen to chat. We sit at her table and talk a few minutes.

  At one point she asks, “Where are your people from?”

  Before I finish answering, Dillon joins us, holding a sheet of paper in his hand. In a very matter-of-fact voice, he says, “Burt’s fucking Amy.”

  I glare at him while saying, “Jeredith, I have to apologize for Dillon’s lack of tact.”

  She says nothing.

  “Do you know an Amy?” I say.

  “Only Amy I know is his Aunt Amy. But she’s eighty-two.”

  Dillon says, “Amy Lattimore?”

  Jeredith frowns. “That’d be Aunt Amy.”

  To Dillon I say, “You’re sure?”

  “They’re at her place right now.”

  “They’re probably just visiting,” I say.

  Dillon starts to read from the page he’s printed from Burt’s computer:

  Amy, I can’t wait to see you today! Do you have any lube left? I hope so, because I’m going to pork you six ways to Sunday! Just make sure your teeth are out before you—”

  “Thanks, Dillon!” I say. “We’ve heard enough.”

  I ask Jeredith if she wants to confront Aunt Amy and her husband.

  “A’ course I do!”

  “Would you like us to be there?”

  “You’ll have to be there,” she says. “I don’t have a car.”

  “We can drive you,” I say.

  “Go start the car,” she says. “I’ll get my shotgun.”

  “JEREDITH! YOU CAN’T bring a weapon!”

  “What?”

  “You can’t bring a weapon!”

  “Well, how the hell am I supposed to kill ’em without a weapon?”

  “You don’t kill them, you divorce him.”

  “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard! You’d have me give what little money we got to a damn attorney?”

  Dillon says, “Can I get paid now?”

  I look at Jeredith. “If you kill them, you’ll go to prison.”

  She says, “If you won’t let me take the shotgun, I reckon I’ll have to quietly poison him when he gets home.”

  I hold up my hand. “Why would you say that to me?”

  “Are you going to tell?”

  “Yes, of course!”

  She frowns. “How much do I owe you?”

  “How does a hundred sound?”

  “Like ninety dollars too much.”

  “Make it sixty,” I say.

  “Fifty-five,” she says. “And a box of Sugar Smacks for the kid.”

  I look at Dillon.

  “I don’t know what that is,” he says, “but I like the sound of it.”

  Jeredith counts out fifty-five dollars, hands it to me, and heads to the pantry. I pass the money to Dillon.

  Now in the car, I check my phone and see three voice mail messages. Sometimes I go a whole day without getting three. I put my ear buds in and listen to them. Then see Dillon staring at me.

  “What?”

  He says, “Is it all about sex?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “PI work.”

  “Yeah, pretty much. For me, at least.”

  “Do you ever get paid?”

  “Not for PI work.”

  He stares at the crumpled bills in his hand like he’s making a major decision. Finally he says, “I’ll give you fifty for a blow job.”

  I laugh, try to stop, then laugh some more.

  “What’s so funny?

  “Eat your cereal, Dillon.”

  THE FIRST TWO voice messages are from Sophie. I’d called her on my way to pick up Dillon, but she’d been working on a song and didn’t hear the phone. When she got my voice message she could tell I’d been crying, and wanted to console me. Hell of a friend, Sophie. The third message was from Janice Uvula, an attorney who said we met at a wedding reception a few months ago. I don’t remember Janice, but she said I made a good impression. She also said she left a subpoena with her secretary, if I want to deliver it.

  I call the secretary.

  “Conner, Palate, Tonsil, and Uvula. This is Donna. How may I help you today?”

  I tell her.

  Donna gives me the address and says she’ll supply the details when I come to her office. I punch the address into my GPS and realize how close I am.

  “I can be there in five minutes,” I say.

  We hang up. Dillon groans.

  “Quit griping. You’re still on the clock.”

  “That’s bogus!”

  “Bogus? What does that mean?”

  “It means I’ve been paid. Which means my job is done.”

  I start the car and ease out of the driveway, so my GPS system can guide me to Janice’s office. “You’re free to walk home,” I say. “It’s only what, twelve miles? Otherwise, indulge me.”

  “How long?”

  “Five minutes to the attorney’s office, five more inside. I’ll have you home in thirty minutes, tops.”

  He frowns.

  “Look,” I say. “This might be an actual PI job.”

  “Not related to sex?”

  “Possibly not. Anyway, it’s my first job for an attorney. If I don’t screw it up, I might get some regular work.”

  “This could be your big break?”

  “Not even close. But it could be something.”

  Within minutes I’m pulling in the parking lot.

  Dillon says, “You getting paid?”

  “I am.”

  “How much?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “Uh huh.”

  He breaks open the Sugar Smacks and starts eating.