Retirement Plan (24 page)

“You’ve been working on the midden.”

“Ruby’s sponsor is coming to dinner, remember?”

“Tonight?”

“No. Sunday night.” Sophie pointed. “See, she marked the calendar. She told us a week ago.”

Lois nodded. “Does this mean I have to go through my stuff too?”

“Unless you want me to go through it.”

“Okay.” Lois took a handful of chips. “But not today. I’ve done enough.”

They ate quietly for a few moments, then Sophie said, “We got a letter from Wilma and Gwen. They’ve bought a condo five miles from the Atlantic in a gay-and-lesbian senior community. She’s says the lots are going fast and we should get one while we can. What do you think?”

“Would be nice to be snowbirds. Live there in the winter and here in the summer,” Lois said. “We are going to look at that motor home, but I worry about Ruby.”

“Honey, Ruby is forty-two years old. She’s doing fine.”

Lois snorted. “You have a short memory.”

“I remembered that company is coming Sunday.”

Lois ate quietly. This wasn’t the first time they’d talked about going away for the winter. It was the first time that it might be in their reach, though. A long time ago, she’d dreamed of a small motor home, reasoning that Matt might live in this house while she and Sophie enjoyed the warm Florida winters. Those dreams were gone now. She sometimes grieved the loss of the dream, though it seemed irrational to grieve for something that never was.

“I wonder if they ever see Myrtle’s ex and the geriatric Playboy Bunny?” Lois said.

“I think they’re farther south.”

“You know, Soph, if Myrtle doesn’t find a girlfriend and settle down soon, I’m going to have to dust off the stationary bike.”

“Just say no to that coffee cake. If you got out the bike, what would we use for a coatrack?”

Lois picked up the letter from the top of the stack of mail, pushed her black- rimmed glasses back on her nose, and opened the envelope. Enclosed was a picture of both women with their three little granddaughters. Lois sighed and started to read.

With Sophie at her side, Lois believed she could have whatever she wanted from life if she stuck to it. But, more recently, she felt that life was short. It seemed impossible that she was sixty-six. She hadn’t gotten all the things she wanted, but she’d stopped wanting so much after learning that the important things (as long as she had a roof over her head and food in her belly) were people—her family, her friends.

When Lois reflected on her life, she remembered the huge mistakes that turned out to be just the right thing. Many years ago when fifteen-year-old Ruby had come home pregnant, Lois’s first inclination had been abortion. Of course, it had been far too late for that. And so, she and Sophie had taken the infant into their home. Ruby came and went after his birth. She and Sophie provided any consistency that Matt had. By the time he was six months old, Lois couldn’t imagine her life without him. Yet now she was without him.

Lois wanted some of those times back, to fix the worst mistakes and to relive the happiest times, especially the years when Ruby, and then Matt, had been children. It seemed that one day she’d thought she’d never be able to teach them to tie their own shoes and the next day they were adults. Thinking about Matt hurt as much today as it did during the days after his body had been shipped home and she’d sat in stunned silence through his funeral. Who knew that after all these years she’d still be sitting here in the same kitchen eating leftover Thanksgiving turkey?

She told herself to be thankful for the important things, the little things that were close to home: a good woman, a warm house, and a paid-for truck. Most people didn’t have that much. But the letter from Wilma and Gwen made her remember the motor home. She and Sophie had more money in the bank than they’d ever had, but how much was enough, really?

*

Morgan stopped at home to shower and change clothes while Redick took the suspect in. Later, at the station, an open bottle of Diet Pepsi in hand, she felt much better.  She sat at her desk, paging through Vice’s file on Christopher Moon, aka Moon Candy, Doctor Moon, and Candy Man. The drug dealer had removed his soiled jacket and was waiting in an interview room.

Redick sat on the edge of his desk waiting. “Do you think Captain Ward will want to watch the interview?”

Morgan looked up. “Call him. He should see for himself what a colossal waste of time this whole thing is. Phone down to Vice too. They know this guy. Maybe they’ll have some suggestions.”

Redick picked up his phone and Morgan returned to the file. This guy had been in trouble all his life. A picture of a young Mr. Moon was attached to a written report. Someone had typed up a brief history. A juvenile officer had found him sleeping in the streets and brought him in. He and his unemployed mother had been evicted from their apartment, and the women’s shelter had refused to take a male over the age of twelve. He was put into a group home and bounced from one foster home to another. In trouble for one thing or the next since then, he had been making a living selling drugs since he was seventeen. Morgan scanned the file again. Mid-level pusher. Age thirty-three. No weapons. No violence.

“Hear you brought in the Candy Man.” 

Morgan looked up. Eddie Meyer from Vice stood over her wearing what she supposed was his undercover outfit: jeans, flannel shirt, and dark sunglasses. His hair was thin on top, but shoulder-length, and he sported a three-day growth. She said, “Want to watch? Maybe you can give us some pointers. What’s his Achilles’ heel?”

“Oh, he’s a pretty smooth guy. I’d let him date my daughter if he’d wash his damn hair. What you bring him in for?”

Morgan took a draw on her Pepsi. “We’re investigating several murders—”

“The sniper?”

“Yeah.” Morgan nodded. “Seems the last victim was a customer of his.”

“At one time or other, half the town has been a customer of his.”

“Captain Ward told us to bring him in for a talk. So he’s here.”

Eddie nodded knowingly.

Morgan looked up in time to see Redick walking toward her with Captain Ward a few steps behind. She said to Eddie, “Looks like we’re ready.”

Inside the small room, Morgan introduced Redick and herself, then asked if Christopher Moon was comfortable and if he wanted coffee.

The young man raised his head, and she took in his face. He had slender features and soft-blue eyes. He flashed a smile. “Honey, just tell me what you want and it’s yours.”

Behind her, Redick was pacing. He stopped and said, “Detective Holiday and I are homicide officers.”

She saw a single blink of concern and then it was gone, hidden behind the charming façade. “Who’s dead?”

Morgan said, “A customer of yours.”

The guy leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs beneath the table. “I don’t have customers. I supervise a couple of salesmen who have customers.”

Redick pulled out a chair next to Morgan and sat. He lifted a picture of Tia Johnson’s dead body from a folder and turned it so Christopher Moon could get a good look. “Do you know this woman?”

Moon shrugged. “I meet a lot of people. I heard about this though—a rifle, right?”

“Can you help us, Chris?” Morgan asked, quieter now. “This isn’t about you or your business. Someone’s killing people, seemingly at random.”

Redick added, “We have a witness that puts you at the St. Peter’s on more than one occasion, speaking to Miss Johnson.”

Chris Moon pretended to study the photo again. “I remember her now. She was usually broke. Not a good customer. As far as I know, her only income was tricks…”                 

And so the conversation went. After about thirty minutes of spinning her wheels, Morgan stood to leave the room. “I’m going to get another soda. You want anything?”

Moon shook his head.

Captain Ward and Eddie Meyer were watching the interview from the next room. She entered and checked the monitor. Moon had pulled his arms inside his T-shirt. The room was purposely cold. The more uncomfortable suspects were, the more they’d want to get the interview over with. Often that was a distinct advantage. Morgan looked at Captain Ward and shook her head. “We’re getting nowhere. He doesn’t know anything.  He’s not hesitating and he’s meeting our eyes. He’s telling the truth—about Johnson, anyway.”

“I hope you don’t have to hold him,” Eddie said. “We got bigger and badder fish to fry with Mr. Moon. We’ve been working to get next to him and his supplier for over a year.”

Captain Ward shoved both hands in his pockets and said, “Cut him loose.” Then he stalked away.

Eddie waited until Ward was out of earshot and asked, “Did I read that one of the sniper victims was a sex offender?”

“Jon Woods,” Morgan said. “Last registered address on the South Side of Chicago a few years ago.”

“We got a man working on an Internet sting,” Eddie said. “You know, connecting with little girls, some kiddie porn. If you want to talk to someone close to Woods, he might be helpful.”

“Locally?”

“Sure,” Eddie said. “We get our share. Our juvenile-predator specialist likes one local perp for several Internet crimes. He’s just waiting to get something solid or catch him in the act.”

“You have a name?”

“Curry, I think.  Phil Schmidt’s always worked Juvenile, knows more about it than I do.”

“I don’t want to screw up what he’s working on, but I’d sure like to know more about his guy.  Can you put me in touch with Schmidt?”

“No problem. He’d probably be interested in the Woods’s business too.”

*

The first thing that Lois noticed about the motor home was an American flag across the back with the word “Southwind.”

“She’s a pretty good investment,” the old man walking next to her said. “Got her in 2000 and she’s still valued at about $40,000. We put a lot of miles on her, me and the wife.”

“It’s huge.”

“So, you’re a friend of Don’s?”

“My daughter is.”

“The little Asian girl from the meetings?”

“Yeah. Plus my spouse was his fifth-grade teacher.”

“Miss Long?”

“Un-ha.” Lois pulled the flaps of her hunting cap down over her ears and shoved her gloved hands deep in her pockets. Her glasses had fogged up. Crazy weather. Two days ago, she’d been out in the yard cutting tree limbs wearing only a hooded sweatshirt.

“My God. He talks about Miss Long all the time. I guess she was the first one who wouldn’t take his crap. Probably saved his life.”

Her feet were starting to tingle. She hopped from one to the other. “That’s right. She doesn’t take crap from anybody.”

“It is cold out here, isn’t it? Go ahead and kick the tires while I get the keys.”

He left Lois standing alone and went in the house. Under the cloudless sky, the wind was stone cold. Lois fastened her chinstrap on her hunting cap. According to the For Sale sign in the window, it was thirty-four feet, had two slide-outs for extra space, and slept six. But she hadn’t realized motor homes cost so much. Forty thousand was more than she’d paid for her house. It was best not to look inside. Life was easier when she didn’t waste time wanting something she couldn’t have.

By then the old man was back. He extended his hand and said, “Name’s Chuck, by the way.”

“Lois.”

Chuck’s eyes got bigger as he pumped her gloved hand. He stammered, “I-I, ah...”

He’d mistaken her for a man. It happened often enough, especially with a stranger on the phone. She’d been told her voice was a deep alto.

Chuck exclaimed, “By God, you’re a woman.”

What could she say to something like that? She smiled and tried to sound friendly. “I get mistook all the time.”

“That right?” He turned to the door, unlocked it, pulled it open, and stepped up and inside.

She followed him. This place was way out of her price range, but what else could she do? She felt a little sorry for him even though it was his mistake. She supposed she’d try to let him down easy.

He pointed to a TV set secured up high over the passenger seat. “It’s digital. Don’t need a converter box. The antenna will pick up quite a bit, and if you ever park her for a while you can hook her to a dish or cable. Got both VCR and DVD too.” He turned away from the front and said, “This is the living room. Couch makes out to a double bed and so does the dining table over there.”

“How are you keeping it warm?”

“She’s hooked up to the house right now. I keep her set high enough that the pipes don’t freeze and low enough that my electric bill don’t go haywire.”

“Hooked to the house?”

“Yeah.” Chuck walked forward and pointed through the windshield. “See that orange extension cord? It runs up by the deck and is plugged into a socket by the back door. A lot of campgrounds have sites with electricity that you just have to hook up to. Good for heat in the winter and air in the summer.”

Nodding, Lois turned and looked toward the back again. The colors were tan and browns, and while things looked used, they were clean and in good repair. The kitchen area was almost as large as the one they had at home.

“Got your sink and stool on the right here and the tub and shower on the left,” Chuck said. “On through here is the bedroom. Queen-sized bed, vanity, closet, and another TV.”

Lois said, “A couple could live in this?”

“Wife and I did. Once, all summer.”  

“This is a beautiful place, but we’ll have to get something smaller. Forty thousand is out of our reach.”

Chuck sighed. “What could you afford?”

Lois shrugged.

“Winter’s a bad time to have to sell this old Southwind. But I need the money and I can’t see me ever using her again.”

“I wouldn’t feel right taking advantage of your situation.”

“You’re just the kind of, ah, person that Mary would have wanted this old ship to go to. Woman or not, you look like you could take real good care of this baby, our baby.”

Lois searched Chuck’s face. “Would have wanted?”

“Lung cancer. Took her mighty fast. Even with insurance, I have a lot of bills to settle up. But even if I didn’t, I’m plumb out of the mood to travel. I want to stay close to home where my son and my grandkids are.”