Private Eyes

Broad. We used to live here-au pairing for Dave Dumas and his wife when they rented last summer, so people think we still live here and don’t hassle us when we come down, but we want to be right here all the time, or at least somewhere dry.”

“Dave Dumas the basketball player?”

“Yeah. Mr. Stretch.” Shared giggles.

“We took care of his kids,” said the blonde. “Really big kids from a really big guy.” She laughed some more, then turned abruptly serious.

“We’d really like to get back here to Broad- the beach is a total keeper and the concerts at the Trancas CafE are heating up. Last week Eddie Van Halen showed up to jam.”

“We’re willing to work,” said the redhead. “Todd said he could get us a trade.”

“Fag-wuss!” said the blonde. “Last time we’re nice to him.” She gunned the Golf’s engine. The dog jerked in alarm.

I said, “What exactly did he want from you?”

“He was, like, act like we thought he was hot. Let him touch us in front of you.” Turning to the redhead: “Told you, Mar. I was like, sure, Todd, you might ever be.”

“Todd’s not hot in real life?”

Giggles all around. The redhead picked a piece of popcorn out of the box and handed it back to the dog.

“He likes it,” she said. “Bernie’s got a sugar thing.”

“Enjoy, Bernie,” I said, walking over and petting the dog. His fur was matted and clogged with salt and dirt. As I rubbed his neck, he whined with pleasure.

“So Todd’s no keeper,” I said.

A wary look came into the blonde’s eyes. Up close her face was hard, ready to age, already starting to leather from too much sun and risk-taking.

“You’re not like a good friend of his or anything?” she said.

“Not at all,” I said. “I do know the people who own the house. But I only met Todd once before.”

“So you’re not, like-” The blonde smiled, gave an arch look, and raised her wrist limply.

“Tra-ace! That’s like so ru-ude!”

“So?” said the blonde. “He’s the one who does it! He should be embarrassed!”

I said, “Todd’s gay?”

“For sure,” said the redhead.

“A muscle-fag,” said the blonde.

“Wasted buff,” said the redhead. The dog coughed. She said, “Don’t stress out, Bern.”

“That’s why it was rank,” said the blonde. “Using us to make like he’s into girls- I mean, maybe he’s got a buff body but his head’s not buff, that’s for sure.”

“How do you know he’s gay?” I said.

“Well,” said the blonde, laughing and gunning the engine again, “it’s not like we go around watching him do it or anything.”

“He’s got guys coming in and out all the time,” said the redhead. “He says he’s training them, but one time I saw him and this guy holding hands and kissing.”

“Rank!” said the blonde, elbowing her friend. “You never told me.”

“Yeah, it was a long time ago. When we were still with Big Dave.”

“Big Dave,” said the blonde, giggling.

“How long ago was that?” I said.

Bafflement. Both of them looked as if they were struggling with a difficult word problem.

Finally the redhead said, “A long time ago- maybe five weeks. Buffy Todd and this other guy were walking in back of the house. Right over there, I was walking Bernie.” She pointed to the cement pad. “And they touched their hands. Then the other guy got in his car- white five-sixty SEC with these brushed-steel custom wheels- and Todd leaned in and gave him a little kiss.”

“Rank,” said the blonde.

“Kind of sweet, actually,” said the redhead, looking as if she meant it. But the empathy didn’t fit, and she squirmed and burst into nervous laughter.

I said, “Remember what this other guy looked like?”

She shrugged. “He was old.”

“How old?”

“Older than you.” Even.

“Forties?”

“Older.”

“Maybe he was Todd’s dad,” said the blonde, smirking. “You can kiss your dad, right, Mar?”

“Maybe,” said the redhead. “Little Todd and his dad, kissing.”

They looked at each other. Shook their heads, giggled some more.

“No way,” said the redhead. “This was true love.” She gave a reflective look. “Actually, the old guy was kind of buff. For an old guy. Kind of like Tom Selleck.”

I said, “He had a mustache?”

The redhead strained. “I think so. Maybe. I just remember he reminded me of Tom Selleck. An old Tom Selleck. Buff tan. Big chest.”

“How come,” said the blonde, “so many of them are buff? What a waste.”

“It’s ’cause they’re rich, Trace,” said the redhead. “They can afford to buy special supplements, get lipoed-out, whatever.”

“Suck and tuck,” said the blonde, touching her own flat midriff. “If I ever need that, put me to sleep.” She stuck her hand in the box of Fiddle Faddle and groped around.

“Geez, don’t touch everything!” said the redhead, tugging on the box.

The blonde held fast and said, “Almonds.” Smile. “Here we go.” She pulled out a nut and placed it between her teeth. Looked at me, flicked it with her tongue, and bit down slowly.

I said, “That the last time you saw this old guy around- five weeks?”

“Yup,” said the redhead, looking wistful. “It’s been a long time since we hit dry sand.”

“So,” said the blonde, “can you do anything for us?”

“Like I said, I’m not in the real estate business, but I do know some people- let me check around. Why don’t you write down your names and numbers.”

“Sure!” said the redhead, beaming. Then she grew grave.

“What is it?”

“No pen.”

“No prob,” I said, resisting the impulse to wink. I went back to the Seville, found a ballpoint and an old mechanic’s receipt in the glove compartment, and handed it to her. “Write on the back.”

Using the Fiddle Faddle box as a desk, she wrote laboriously as the blonde looked on. The dog planted a wet nose on the back of my hand and wheezed in gratitude when I rubbed him again.

“Here.” The redhead thrust the paper at me.

Maria and Traci. Looping script. Hearts over the I’s. An address on Flores Mesa Drive. A 456 exchange.

I smiled and said, “Great, I’ll do what I can. In the meantime, good luck.”

“We’ve already got it,” said the blonde.

“Got what?” said the redhead.

“Luck. We always get what we want, right, Mar?”

Giggles and a cloud of dust as the Golf shot forward.

I watched them speed to the northern end of Broad Beach Road and disappear. It took a second to register that they were around Melissa’s age.