“I’m the PI,” I said. “He’s just slumming.”
Bubba grunted again and kicked me in the ass.
“Down, boy,” I said. “Heel.”
Bubba sipped some coffee.
Karen Nichols looked as if she’d made a mistake coming here. I decided then not to lead her up to my belfry office. If people were uncertain about hiring me, taking them to the belfry usually wasn’t good PR.
School was out because it was Saturday, and the air was moist and without a chill, so Karen Nichols, Bubba, and I walked to a bench in the schoolyard. I sat down. Karen Nichols used an immaculate white handkerchief to dust the surface, then she sat down. Bubba frowned at the lack of space on the bench, frowned at me, then sat on the ground in front of us, crossed his legs, peered up expectantly.
“Good doggie,” I said.
Bubba gave me a look that said I’d pay for that as soon as we were away from polite company.
“Miss Nichols,” I said, “how did you hear about me?”
She tore her gaze away from Bubba and looked into my eyes for a moment in utter confusion. Her blond hair was cut as short as a small boy’s and reminded me of pictures I’ve seen of women in Berlin in the 1920s. It was sculpted tight against the skull with gel, and even though it wouldn’t be moving on its own unless she stepped into the wake of a jet engine, she’d clipped it over her left ear, just below the part, with a small black barrette that had a june bug painted on it.
Her wide blue eyes cleared and she made that short, nervous laugh again. “My boyfriend.”
“And his name is…” I said, guessing Tad or Ty or Hunter.
“David Wetterau.”
So much for my psychic abilities.
“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of him.”
“He met someone who used to work with you. A woman?”
Bubba raised his head, glared at me. Bubba blamed me for Angie ending our partnership, for Angie moving out of the neighborhood, buying a Honda, dressing in Anne Klein suits, and generally not hanging out with us anymore.
“Angela Gennaro?” I asked Karen Nichols.
She smiled. “Yes. That’s her name.”
Bubba grunted again. Pretty soon he’d start howling at the moon.
“And why do you need a private detective, Miss Nichols?”
“Karen.” She turned on the bench toward me, tucked an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear.
“Karen. Why do you need a detective?”
A sad, crumpled smile bent her pursed lips and she looked down at her knees for a moment. “There’s a guy at the gym I go to?”
I nodded.
She swallowed. I guess she’d been hoping I’d figure it all out from that one sentence. I was certain she was about to tell me something unpleasant and even more certain that she had, at best, only a very passing acquaintance with things unpleasant.
“He’s been hitting on me, following me to the parking lot. At first it was just, you know, annoying?” She raised her head, searched my eyes for understanding. “Then it got uglier. He began calling me at home. I went out of my way to avoid him at the gym, but a couple of times I saw him parked out in front of the house. David finally got fed up and went to talk to him. He denied it all and then he threatened David.” She blinked, twisted the fingers of her left hand in the fist she’d made of her right. “David’s not physically…formidable? Is that the right word?”
I nodded.
“So, Cody-that’s his name, Cody Falk-he laughed at David and called me the same night.”
Cody. I hated him already on general principle.
“He called and told me how much he knew I wanted it, how I’d probably never had a good, a good-”
“Fuck,” Bubba said.
She jerked a little, glanced at him, and then quickly back to me. “Yeah. A good, well…in my life. And he knew I secretly wanted him to give me one. I left this note on his car. I know it was stupid, but I…well, I left it.”
She reached into her purse, extracted a wrinkled piece of purple notepaper. In perfect Palmer script, she’d written:
Mr. Falk,
Please leave me alone.
Karen Nichols
“The next time I went to the gym,” she said, “I came back to my car, and he’d put it back on my windshield in the same place I’d left it on his. If you turn it over, Mr. Kenzie, you’ll see what he wrote.” She pointed at the paper in my hand.
I turned it over. On the reverse side, Cody Falk had written a single word:
No.
I was really starting to dislike this prick.
“Then yesterday?” Her eyes filled and she swallowed several times and a thick tremor pulsed in the center of her soft, white throat.
I placed a hand on hers and she curled her fingers into it.
“What did he do?” I said.
She sucked a breath into her mouth and I heard it rattle wetly against the back of her throat. “He vandalized my car.”
Bubba and I both did a double take, looked out at the gleaming green VW Bug parked by the schoolyard gate. It looked as if it had just been driven off the lot, still probably had that new-car smell inside.
“That car?” I said.
“What?” She followed my gaze. “Oh, no, no. That’s David’s car.”
“A guy?” Bubba said. “A
I shook my head at him.
Bubba scowled, then looked down at his combat boots and pulled them up on his knees.
Karen shook her head as if to clear it. “I drive a Corolla. I wanted the Camry, but we couldn’t afford it. David’s starting a new business, we both have student loans we’re still paying off, so I got the Corolla. And now it’s ruined. He poured acid all over it. He punctured the radiator. The mechanic said he poured syrup into the engine.”
“Did you tell the police?”
She nodded, her small body trembling. “There’s no proof it was him. He told the police he was at a movie that night and people saw him going in and leaving. He…” Her face caved in on itself and reddened. “They can’t touch him, and the insurance company won’t cover the damages.”
Bubba raised his head, cocked it at me.
“Why not?” I said.
“Because they never got my last payment. And I…I sent it. I sent it out over three weeks ago. They said they sent a notice, but I never got it. And, and…” She lowered her head and tears fell to her knees.
She had a stuffed animal collection, I was pretty sure. Her totaled Corolla had either a smiley face or a Jesus fish affixed to the bumper. She read John Grisham novels, listened to soft rock, loved going to bridal showers, and had never seen a Spike Lee movie.
She had never expected anything like this to happen in her life.
“Karen,” I said softly, “what’s the name of your insurance company?”
She raised her head, wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “State Mutual.”
“And the post office branch you sent the check through?”
“Well, I live in Newton Upper Falls,” she said, “but I’m not sure. My boyfriend?” She looked down at her spotless white sneakers, as if abashed. “He lives in Back Bay and I’m over there a lot.”
