Authors: Mike Faricy
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Private Investigators, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Crime, #Thrillers
Ting-A-Ling (28 page)
“No rush.”
“Almost ready,” she called five minutes later.
“No problem, take your time.”
She carried two different outfits on hangers from the closet then held them in front of her while she stood staring at the large mirror. I could hear her mumbling, “Oh, I don’t know.”
Truth be told, she looked fabulous in everything she’d tried on. She could have gone to the event in cut-offs and a T-shirt and still have been the most attractive woman there. But, painful past experience had taught me to keep my opinion to myself at this particular moment.
She strolled into the kitchen fifteen minutes later hooking an earring and looking like a million bucks. “What do you think?” she asked.
It’s one of those questions like
‘Does this dress make my ass look fat?’
or
‘How old do you think I am?’
You’re juggling a grenade and hoping the pin wouldn’t fall out.
“I don’t think you should wear that. It makes you look stunningly beautiful and every guy there will be hitting on you. I better go back home and get my gun.”
“Stop, you’re just saying that.”
“Beautiful, Heidi, really nice.” I was telling the truth.
“You don’t think it’s showing too much cleavage? I don’t know, maybe I should wear a different bra.”
“I think you’re asking the wrong guy. I got an idea, let’s skip this fundraiser and I’ll send them a check for a hundred bucks. We’ll stay here, just the two of us, and your wine glass will never be empty.”
“Yeah, you’d love it. That’s my going rate a measly hundred bucks?”
“Actually, I would love to stay here, and I’m sure my personal check would be acceptable.”
“Hmm-mmm, too bad, come on we better get going. We’re already late,” she said making it sound like I had something to do with the tardy departure.
We made the short drive to downtown St. Paul and I pulled into the valet parking lane. I figured parking would probably run me twenty bucks, and we weren’t even inside. The eighteen-year-old valet opened the passenger door for Heidi, then stood and stared at her with a ravenous look on his baby face. Apparently he agreed with me. He came to his senses after a long moment and walked over to me. “Man, I don’t believe it, just like Walter White,” he said as I handed him the keys to my Pontiac Aztek.
“It’s been giving me a little trouble lately,” I said failing to mention it had been a pain for the past ten months. He was still trying to start it when we walked into the reception area.
“Well, Heidi. My, my, aren’t we looking grand,” some guy said then planted a lingering kiss on her cheek. “Here, will a white do?” he asked and handed her one of the two glasses of wine he was carrying.
“Burt, how sweet,” she cooed. “Say, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Dev Haskell. Dev, meet Burt,” Heidi giggled.
Burt nodded and extended his hand. As we shook, he sort of half turned and cut me off. “Heidi, I wonder if I could have a private momentito. If you’d excuse us for just a bit, Dan,” he said over his shoulder then hurried her off to a corner explaining some sort of involved thing I apparently wouldn’t be able to comprehend.
I made my way to the bar, got a lite beer in a bottle for eight dollars and began to mingle. The fundraiser had a bar set up in all four corners of the large, chandeliered ballroom. None of them offered a decent beer, but then these were
‘The Swells’
and I was out of my usual drinking element. I figured there might be a good three hundred plus people milling around paying exorbitant drink prices and trying to look interesting. I recognized a few people, but no one I really wanted to talk to. I couldn’t see Heidi anywhere, but a casual glance around confirmed she would be the most attractive woman in attendance.
I finished my lousy beer and got another. I caught Heidi from across the room involved in an animated conversation with two guys, neither one Burt. I decided to stay away and wandered over to the hors d’oeuvres table. I could have saved the effort.
Apparently this was some sort of gluten free, vegan group. Not so much as a Dorito, cocktail wiener, or a meatball to save my soul. Most of the food trays were already picked over and empty, but the signs were still sitting on the table in front of the crumb-covered trays; Broccoli au Grande, Cauliflower Au lait, persimmon, avocado cubes. I could go on, but you catch my drift. I would have killed for a double cheeseburger or a Ballpark hot dog.
I was ready to leave anytime, but this was actually business for Heidi. She would be talking to clients or prospective clients all night long. I’d known that was the drill before we arrived. I also knew how she intended to unwind once we got home, so I just sipped the lousy beer and bided my time.
I spotted my target maybe twenty minutes later. In a room full of elegantly tailored outfits, summer silk blouses, delicate lace and sprayed on tans there she was in a gray wool skirt, with a red sweater draped over her shoulders. It looked like the perfect winter outfit for an elementary school principle. Unfortunately, it was July in Minnesota with an evening temp still hovering close to ninety and a dew point not far behind. Daft, Daphne Cochrane, Daryl Bergstrom’s appointed public defender, small world.
She appeared adrift in an endless sea of chatty, head-bobbing individuals waxing eloquently about nothing while they stood in small groups all around her. She lifted a wine glass to her lips, but at just about the point where the wine approached the rim, she lowered the glass.
She appeared to be alone. Over the course of the four or five minutes I watched, she spoke to no one and no one spoke to her. If she was waiting for a friend, they were sure taking their sweet time. Not to sound too cruel, but it seemed obvious her reputation had preceded her or maybe it was just the cat hair on her sweater.
I approached with caution.
“Excuse me. Are you Ms Cochrane with the public defenders office?”
She studied me for a moment, but didn’t seem to recognize me as yet another disappointed and poorly-served former client. Finally she nodded.
“I’ve seen you in the courtroom. How are you doing?”
“Just fine, thank you,” she said crisply, but gave no follow-up question like asking my name, wondering if I practiced law, maybe sat on the bench, or was just another criminal.
“I understand you’re involved in this most recent case, the one where the fellow drove the van loaded with drugs over to the parking ramp?”
She gave a slight nod and took a fake sip.
“What was his name, David something?”
“Actually, Daryl, Daryl Bergstrom.”
“How is that going, do you have a trial date assigned yet?”
“No, I’m hoping we can work out a plea agreement and avoid any sort of a trial.”
She’d already told me more than she should have. Based on what I’d observed, it couldn’t be the wine talking, she hadn’t had any. I chalked it up to ineptness.
“How does your client feel about that?”
She sighed and said, “Well, actually at this point, let’s just say we’re still in the initial discussion stage.” She flashed a quick, cold smile. Obviously, if her innocent clients were locked up, she wouldn’t have to waste her time in the court room.
“Always a pleasure chatting with you, Ms. Cochrane.”
She gave a slight nod like this was an accepted fact then looked at me dismissively so I nodded and drifted back into the crowd.
Louie was right, and all my initial fears had just been confirmed, Daryl Bergstrom was royally screwed. I paid ten bucks for a glass of lousy white wine and located Heidi. She was surrounded by four paunchy guys vying for her attention. She looked grateful to see me.
“Oh, here is my significant other, Dev come here and join us. Oh, thanks,” she said taking the glass of wine and handing me her empty. She took two very healthy gulps and smiled.
Two of the guys nodded and quickly left, a third stayed a half moment longer before he fled to the bar. The fourth guy hung in there for maybe five minutes talking some investment scheme that even I thought sounded shady. When he left, Heidi smiled sweetly, looked around, and said “Thanks for the rescue. He wanted to take me up to his cabin tonight.”
“Can’t blame him for trying. I’m ready whenever you are.”
“Maybe just a while longer, I’m picking up some business.”
“Like at that guy’s cabin?”
“Oh, be nice. Maybe once I finish this glass of wine we’ll go somewhere a little more private.”
Well, there you go, Dev’s already in over his head and he doesn’t even know it. If you really want to help him out you can click on the appropriate link below and get your personal copy of Crickett in just seconds. Many thanks and enjoy the read, Mike Faricy.
