Breaking Point (17 page)

Chapter 18

              After we'd finished the pizza, along with a couple of beers each, we pushed back from the kitchen table and I offered to show Woody where to stash his things. There was a big room on the other side of the former postal box wall that faced the front entrance. I figured his bags could stay in there while he spent a few nights on my couch. He carried his bags and followed me from the kitchen where we turned up the hall past the bathroom and my bedroom. The hall ended at the door to the mostly empty room where I had piled some boxes I hadn't gotten around to yet.  They were mostly full of books and old case files from my years as a private investigator back in Pittsburgh. It seemed sensible to keep them for a while, so I'd moved them out here with the rest of my stuff last spring. I'd already unpacked my paperback detective novels and the manuals and books that Ira had given me. The paperbacks were in my bedroom and Ira's stuff was on the shelves in my office, alongside all the other investigative materials I'd accumulated over the years.

             
Woody walked over to the wall that still held the long metal tunnels that formed the back side of the rented postal boxes. The little numbers were still attached to the wall above each space, but the government had removed the section of metal doors from the lobby side. All that remained was a honeycomb expanse of the square and rectangular tunnels open to the area that I used as a closed porch. I'd nailed a sheet of plywood to the other side of the wall, so the boxes were dark and no one could see in here from the porch. He seemed fascinated by the space, running his hands along the edges of the boxes and feeling the metal surface inside them.

             
"Hey, Rude," he said. "You know what would be cool? If you put a big mirror on the other end of these, it would be like having a bunch of different size mirrors all along the wall. Man, that is neat." He'd set his bags down and turned back to scan the room. "The whole place is neat, you know?"

             
"Yeah, I liked it right away. I forget sometimes that I'm living in a post office. That wall says it all, though. It is pretty cool." We started back down the hall and I stopped in the bathroom to grab some sheets and blankets out of the closet. Melanie joined us and we all moved to the living room where I tossed the bedding onto the couch beside Woody.

             
It was only ten fifteen, but I was hoping that Melanie would leave soon. If we didn't get down to Iris Wilson's place tonight, we'd have to wait until tomorrow after we left Maxine's. I should have mentioned something to Woody when we were in the other room, so he could have said he was tired or something, but I hadn't thought of it in time. He was used to working late and sleeping later, and with the one hour he'd gained by flying west, he'd probably be awake all night. I hadn't been listening to the conversation, but was suddenly aware that Melanie was on her feet and reaching for her coat. I heard her say something to Woody.

             
"I hope you don't think it's the company, but I really have to get home. I promised my mom I'd go over early and help her with Thanksgiving dinner and I still have a long way to drive."

             
Woody and I both assured her that we understood and walked with her to the door. Wood continued outside and helped her into the car. They talked a minute or so but I noticed he didn't kiss her goodnight. He was shivering when he came back in.

             
"Man, that wind is COLD!  Is it always like that?"

             
"Pretty much. The wind chill is always about ten or twenty degrees lower than the actual air temperature. It's the icy stuff that blows in from the northwest that does it."

             
We sat in the living room and caught up a little, while we each had another beer. That made three apiece and I didn't want to have any more if we were going to execute my plan in a little while. He suddenly asked me for my wallet.

             
"Why, you need some cash?" I asked as I reached for it. He caught it as I tossed it over to the couch.

             
"Nope. Just checking on your welfare," he answered as he opened it and dragged out all the cards from the slotted sections. A slip of paper fell at his feet and he picked it up and looked at it.

             
"Who's Felton?"

             
"The local police. He thought I might need him sometime so he left his cell phone number."

             
"Mmphh." Satisfied, he continued to turn the contents of my wallet out onto the footlocker. When all the cards seemed to be there, he reached back inside with his thick fingers and pulled the locket out from the recesses of the tri-fold. Draping the thin gold chain over his fingers, he swung the ruby pendant in the air. A small but elegant diamond sparkled at the tip. He gave me a questioning look.

             
"Still carrying it?"

             
"Yeah, well, I guess I can get rid of it now. I, uh, took her to lunch yesterday and it was...well it was pretty pathetic, on my part I mean." I told him most of the conversation I'd had with Caroline, including her concern that she'd hurt me and my lame attempt to sound "involved" with Melanie after our trek in the woods. "Shit. I must have sounded like such an idiot. A picnic, for God's sake."

             
"So you kind of like Melanie, then?"

             
"Not like that, no. I was just saying it so Caroline would think I was moving right along with my social life. So now, she probably has the worst possible feeling about me."

             
He looked surprised. "You think she hates you?"

             
"Hell no. I think she feels sorry for me."

             
Woody nodded his understanding. He swung the pendant a little harder, spinning it up and around his first two fingers. "So now what do you do?"

             
"I don't know yet, but I have to think of a way to end this on a better note."

             
Woody laughed and dropped the chain back into the wallet, He stuffed the rest of the cards back in and tossed it over to me. "Ah," he lowered his voice to the famous newsreel announcer level. "The power has shifted to the other side and you, Batman, must get it back to save all of mankind." Laughter boomed from his chest.

             
I had to laugh with him. "Damn right, man." We talked some more and I brought him up to date on the happenings surrounding the Charlie Wilson case. There was a lot of information and it was almost midnight when he was caught up. I finished up with my idea for finding the phone number at Iris Wilson's house. He had to know if we could get down to Iowa City and back before one AM so he wouldn't miss American Justice on A&E. I said we should be back in plenty of time, so we both changed to several layers of dark clothing, took the three step ladder and two small flashlights from the tool room and set off for Iowa City. Just before I joined Woody in the car, I remembered to fish out a couple of pairs of surgical gloves from one of the boxes in the storage area. Gloves were one of the items that Ira Grant, my mentor, had stressed as basic for a break-in.

             
I circled the block around Iris Wilson's house a couple of times. The house was on a corner lot and the next-door neighbor's house was dark, as were both places across the street. It was almost midnight and I was hoping that all the local cooks were already asleep so they could get up early and throw that turkey in the oven. I tossed Woody his set of gloves and we each donned a pair before getting out of the car. We parked it about two blocks east of the house, away from any street lights, and walked the rest of the way. Without slowing our pace, we strolled into the side yard between Iris's ranch style and the bigger colonial next door. I stopped under the pine trees and listened. A few complaints from the chirpers asleep in the trees broke the silence for a moment, and then the deep silence returned. The small group of ancient pine trees were right where I'd left them, outside the window with the broken lock.

             
We'd decided to leave the ladder in the car, and not risk being seen with it. If the window was too high, Woody could just toss me over the window sill headfirst. That was his suggestion, anyway. There was only the sound of an occasional car droning by on Rochester Avenue a block or so south of us. Rochester was a pretty busy city street for this part of the country. A little ways east, it became Herbert Hoover Highway from which Interstate Eighty was accessible. To the west, it intersected Dodge, which also met up with the I-80. Probably tonight, there were some late arriving Thanksgiving guests cruising in via that major highway.

             
The window slid noiselessly up, just as I'd remembered. I could reach the sill from the ground under the trees and with Woody giving me a leg up, I was soon in the same bedroom where I'd gone through Charlie's clothes. I saw Woody's thick fingers stretch the vinyl gloves almost to the splitting point, but they held as he gripped the window sill and pulled himself up and over. We didn't speak at all, aware of how sounds travel in the quiet night air. I thought I could feel my way to the living room without any light and he followed me in. Still in the dark, I turned the latch on the front of the cherry secretary and let the front desktop drop open onto my hand. When it had been fully lowered to its horizontal position and wasn't in danger of making any noise, I removed my hand from beneath it. So far, so good.

             
Switching on the small penlight, I trained it on the open secretary. There were seven slots at the back of the desk and some papers stacked up on the flat desk surface. In the center of the small area was an address book. Could it be this easy? I said a silent prayer to the patron saint of thieves, who and wherever he may be. You never know. I held the light close to the book and flipped to the 'W" section. There it was. Drawing a packet of sticky notes and a pencil from my pocket, I quickly copied the telephone number and the address for the senior Mr. and Mrs. Wilson in Everly, California. We made our way back out the way we'd come in and were almost out of the yard when we heard the barking dog.

             
It was a good sized pooch, maybe a shepherd mix. On the other end of the leash was a paunchy looking fellow, trying to keep up with the barking canine as it half dragged him along the sidewalk behind us. He began yelling at us to stop. We didn't. Instead, we took off at a gallop, with Woody out ahead of me in a few strides. He got to the car just before I did, but I had the keys. When I was almost to the car, I swung a quick glance over one shoulder in time to see the yelping dog being set free by his owner. As he narrowed the gap between us, I could hear the beast snarling and barking in anticipation of a free meal at the expense of my ass. I stepped it up a bit, sucking the frigid air into my burning lungs, glad that the wind was now at my back as I bolted through the night.

             
I'd managed to get to my keys and had them in my hand as I hit the car, with the maddened canine's hot breath right behind me. I unlocked the door and jumped in, flipping the lock release at the same time to unlatch the passenger door. The dog ran past my closed door and behind the car, racing for Woody who was scrambling to get in the other side. As he was pulling his right foot in, I heard him yell and saw his arm fly down to the bottom of the door. I had the car started and in gear by the time the chubby Good Samaritan came lurching around the corner, bent at the waist and probably gasping for air. As I peeled away from the curb, Woody slammed his door and pointed his thumb at the guy. "Poor guy," he said. "He should get more regular exercise." If I'd had any air in my lungs, I would have said something clever.

             
A couple of minutes later, with the comfort of sufficient oxygen once again feeding my brain, I remembered Woody's leg. "Did that dog get you?" I asked. We were moving at a legal speed, now, making our way west on Rochester where I'd turn onto Dodge and head north for the Interstate.

             
"Naw, he just got a piece of my sweat pants." He felt the area around his ankle. "Yeah, just ripped off a piece of the bottom, but he didn't get any skin. Man, that was as close as I want to come. You OK?"

             
I said I was.

             
"Rude?" Woody asked a few minutes later.

             
"Yeah."

             
"Did any of Ira's detective manuals mention that we should'a had some dog biscuits with us when we broke in that house?"

             
"Shut up," I said. He did and I got us back to my place in plenty of time for the beginning of American Justice. I left him in front of the TV and went to bed.

Chapter 19

              On Thanksgiving morning I showered, shaved and started the coffee maker before going into the living room to see if Wood was awake. He wasn't, but when I flipped the TV on he rolled over and looked at me.

             
"Time is it?" he mumbled, stretching and kicking the blankets onto the floor.

             
"Ten forty-five. We don't have to be at Max's until one, so I figured we'd take a walk and I'll show you the town."

             
He agreed and when he'd showered and dressed, we each had a cup of coffee and set out to experience the city of Oak Grove. It was impossible to choose a route that would keep the wind at our backs, so I decided to begin going west, into the breeze and let it blow us home later. Starting down Cherry Street from the asphalt parking lot beside my place, we crossed Coral Avenue, and stopped in front of the small animal hospital that took up part of the next block. Woody stepped closer and looked at the signs in the window.

             
"You need a doctor?" I suggested, shoving my hands deeper into the parka's pockets and hunching my shoulders against air rushing along from the northwest.

             
"Very funny. Actually, I was looking at these pictures they have of some dogs that need a home." He poked a finger at one of the little photos. "Look at this little guy, Rude. He's kind of cute. Maybe you need a dog to spice up your life."

             
I continued down the street and called back to him. "Oh no. That is one thing I definitely do not need." He jogged to catch up and we walked in silence for a block. I heard the short toot of a car horn and saw the right front fender of a white car as it slowed to a stop beside us. Bill Felton stepped out of the passenger side while his partner Sue stayed behind the wheel and waved. He walked over and I introduced him to Woody.

             
"I see you're still in one piece," Bill said to me. "How about telling me the location of that place you were telling me about." Before I could refuse again, he turned to Woody and addressed him.

             
"Did Rudy tell you he's planning to track down a drug lab and maybe some bikers to go with it?"

             
Woody raised his eyebrows at me and smiled at Bill without answering. He knew about my plan but wasn't about to give Bill anything to use against me. I tried to make a joke about it. "Now, Bill, it's probably just two old ladies who have a house full of cats and a dirty litter box." Felton shook his head but didn't laugh.

             
"Listen, Rudy, I'm really worried about you. Promise me you'll call as soon as you find out something. You have my number, right?"

             
I said I did. He advised me to use it. "You know," he stopped as he headed for the patrol car, "if I could think of a reason to lock you up for a week or so, I would, to keep you out of trouble."

             
I nodded that I knew that. Before they pulled away, he rolled down the window and reminded us to take care of each other. As they drove off, he stared straight ahead and didn't look at us again.

             
"Sounds like he's worried about you," Woody said as we walked. "Why don't you just tell him where the cabin is?

             
"If I was sure it was really a lab, I would. I guess it's a pride thing. If I'm wrong, I'll look really stupid."

             
Woody stopped and looked at me. "Hey, you don't think that Melanie's in this with her uncle do you?"

             
I thought about it for a few steps. "I don't know. I kind of doubt it. She seemed sort of pissed off at him. If she was hiding something, she's a better actress than I think she is."

             
"Yeah, well I was just wondering. You're sure you don't like her, I mean, you know, like a girlfriend?"

             
"What's the matter? You afraid I'm letting my feelings color my opinion of her?" I said it, but I suppressed a grin, knowing that wasn't why he'd asked.

             
"No, no. I was just wondering, that's all."

             
We walked south on Market Street for two blocks, and circled back to Main again beside the Oak Grove Cafe. They were open until noon for the holiday but we quickly dismissed the notion of stopping in for breakfast. Neither one of us wanted to ruin our appetites for Maxine's Thanksgiving dinner. I waved to the waitresses through the window as we passed by. The tiny tobacco and gift shop next door was having a going out of business sale. The small storefront was scheduled to be razed when the block was cleared for the new police station and city buildings next year. The little shop was closed today but something in the window caught Woody's eye and I left him there, with his big face against the glass, and walked home.

             
By twelve forty-five, we'd changed from our jeans and flannels to chinos and sweaters and were on our way to my sister's. I wasn't anticipating any pleasant small talk with my brother-in-law and wasn't certain how to handle it. Woody had been filled in on the high points of Talmadge's indiscretion, and I was counting on him to keep the conversational ball rolling.

             
Maxine's blue Olds was in the driveway, in front of Talmadge's Black Lincoln. Beside the Olds, snugged up against the garage doors was a dark cherry red Buick Park Avenue. Very shiny, very new and very expensive. Behind the new Buick was an older, Pontiac, smaller, but also red. I parked behind Tal's car and we went up to the kitchen door to greet the family. Maxine was bustling around the kitchen behind an apron that extended almost to her ankles. Tucker was there, his dark hair slicked back with mousse and then fluzzed out in the front somehow. He was in jeans that looked a little short on him. At sixteen, he was already even with my five eleven, but well below my two hundred pounds. He'd shot up an inch or two just in the six months I'd been here, and would need a few years to add some meat to his skinny frame.

             
Just then, Madeline entered the kitchen from the dining room, carrying a tray of olives and pickles in one hand and popping some of the olives into her mouth with the other. She called out to her mother from the doorway.

             
"Mom, there's no room on the table for this. Where do you want..?" Then she saw me and ran over. "Uncle Rudy," she squealed, setting the tray on a corner of the kitchen table and hugging my neck. While my nephew seemed to have gotten his father's stature, Madeline had apparently inherited her height from the shallow end of the gene pool. At twelve years old, she was shoulder to shoulder with her mother. She had the soft pudginess of Maxine's build, too, but that could change in a few years. Her reddish blonde hair was about the same shade as I remembered my sister's being, although I couldn't recall the last time I'd actually seen it displayed in its natural color.

             
I introduced Woody to the kids and Maxine told Madeline to show us to the living room. As I passed the stove where she was lifting the lid from a huge roaster, I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Nice set of wheels."

             
She smiled sweetly up at me and said, "Thanks. I have new living room furniture coming next week." I chuckled and she went back to her basting. It seemed that Max had discovered a way to redistribute the balance of power in her home.

             
Talmadge was seated in his high backed green leather chair, smoking a pipe and holding court with a woman who was seated on the end of the sofa. She was either interested in what he was saying or was too polite to let her boredom show. Madeline introduced Woody and me to the lady, Jessica something, and said she was a friend of Maxine's from a church group. I took a chair near the doorway and Woody dropped onto the other end of the couch, addressing Jessica before he was even seated.

             
"So you're a friend of Max's, eh?" What kind of church thing are you two involved in, that mission thing?" The man had no tact at all.

             
"No, not the mission. We're in a group that's kind of a combination Bible study and ethics discussion." She turned to look right at him. "Why, did you want to volunteer for the mission?"

             
Woody stammered something about knowing the mission was one of Max's projects and wisely closed his mouth. Talmadge took a couple of puffs on his pipe and chimed in.

             
"Jessie is a microbiologist over at the State Lab, up near your place, Rudy." He glanced over toward me, his glance briefly meeting mine then swiftly turning back to the couch. "We were just discussing the possibilities of terroristic attacks here in Iowa."

             
"Wow," I said. "Terrorists? I thought that stuff went out with the Ayatollah."

             
The woman chuckled softly and smiled at me, displaying white teeth with no lipstick smudges, always a plus. "Not the guys dressed in black with submachine guns," she said. "These are biological weapons, like anthrax or smallpox. Iowa's one of the first states to form a task force to deal with the possibility of biological terrorism."

             
"No kidding." I leaned forward in my chair. Before I could say anything else or ask another question, Maxine appeared to call us in to the dining room for dinner. She'd removed the apron, revealing one of her signature, elaborately decorated sweaters. This one was black, with puffed silky patches, beads, ribbons and I thought, paint, applied to form a picture of a woman's profile. The yellow hair was some kind of gold paint, and a huge number of sequins formed a bow in the tresses. It was a long sweater, especially on her. It was loud. It was gaudy. It was undoubtedly expensive. It was Maxine.

             
The dinner was more than ample in amount and variety. In addition to the crisp, juicy turkey with dressing, there were mashed white as well as sweet potatoes, tossed salad, cranberry salad, stuffed artichoke hearts, fresh green beans, hot corn bread and some sort of fried won-tons filled with spicy shrimp and crabmeat. As a tribute to my sister, I ate until I was technically a glutton. Woody ate more than I did, so I don't know what that made him, except very likely to be invited back.

             
The conversation sailed along pretty well while we ate, with almost everyone adding a comment about either the food or some other harmless topic. I noticed that my nephew, Tucker, was silent for the entire meal, although his appetite seemed all right. When Maxine brought out the pies though, and he did start talking, I wished he'd kept his mouth shut. He started with me.

             
"Did you ever have a tattoo, Uncle Rudy?" From the glare that his father gave him, I knew this wasn't the first time the subject had been broached. I had a mouthful of pie and before I could answer or change the subject, I heard Woody's voice to my left.

             
"He didn't, but I have a great snake one I can show you." Getting to his feet, he pulled his left arm down and free of the sweater sleeve and turned to his right so we could all see. He flexed the biceps for the full effect, popping the blue and red snake out a little more. Across the table, I saw Jessie suppressing a smile as she dabbed her lips with a napkin. Talmadge looked like he'd swallowed a live frog, while Tucker jumped to his feet and made his way to Woody's side.

             
"Wow. Cool," he exclaimed as he ran his fingers across Woody's bulging biceps. "Did it hurt much?"

             
"Of course, it hurt," his father interrupted. "It hurts and can get infected and is almost impossible to get rid of when you decide you no longer want a cartoon displayed on your anatomy. And," he continued, "you are not getting one. So just put the idea out of your head right now."

             
Before anyone could say another word, Tucker spun around to face his father across the room. "I will not put it out of my mind," he shouted. "I'll do whatever I want to do and I don't care what you think. I hate you anyway." He ran out of the room and through the living room, where we could hear his footsteps as he stomped up the stairs. It was suddenly very quiet in the dining room. Maxine cleared her throat.

             
"Well, that was nice, Talmadge." Then to her friend, "Jessie, would you mind helping Madeline and me clear the table?" Jessie looked relieved to be leaving the room and I considered offering to join them, but since I hadn't been invited, I stayed in my seat and reached for a second slice of pumpkin pie. Woody did the same.