“I’m right here, Jeri. I’m not going anywhere.”
“So am I. And now I want to get you into bed, so I think we’ve already decided how it’s gonna go. I really like Sarah. I understand her. Strange as it sounds, I’m glad she’s been enjoying herself. And it was safe, no one got hurt, you and I are still fine, so . . . let’s walk faster, okay?”
I still didn’t know what to make of all that, but I didn’t have a lot of time to think about it because up in our bedroom Jeri put me over the edge, twice, and yesterday and this morning slipped into a fog bank, then oblivion.
When I awoke, it was to a big bowl of chicken soup, Jeri’s idea of a joke. “Might need it after your Boy Scout heroism with Sarah. Chicken soup fixes all kinds of things.”
“Ha, ha. I’m going to have to do something to purge that Boy Scout image, and I don’t think it’ll be pretty.” I sat up higher in bed. The bedside clock showed 2:15. A glance out a window and I decided it was afternoon, probably still Monday, although Tuesday wasn’t out of the question.
“Knowing you I’m sure it’ll be really ugly. Now . . . that thing about loaning you out has me wondering—should I or shouldn’t I?”
I stared at her.
She laughed in my face. “Eat your soup.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“You didn’t ask one.”
“That should-I-or-shouldn’t-I question that you asked.”
She gave me a quick kiss. “Shut up and eat.”
“So we’re good? This soup is what it appears to be? It hasn’t been seasoned with garlic, thyme, arsenic, any of those special ingredients?”
“Hey! We’re great, in case you don’t remember the past couple of hours.”
“Seems like there was something going on. It’s hard to put my finger on exactly what, but . . . something.”
She took the soup out of my hands, put it on a night table, then reached under the covers, grabbed, and said, “That bring back any of it, bucko?”
“Oof. Yeah, it does. Gimme that fuckin’ soup.”
“Odermann,” Ma said. We were in her downtown office, a musty room that smelled of floor wax, cigarette smoke, and a side dish of eau de bathroom drifting up a communal hallway. Ma was sitting at her computer, looking up at Jeri and me. “I was digging around Jayson Wexel, Reinhart’s chief of staff, guy that died in that fire, and got a hit on that list of owners of Mercedes SUVs.”
“Came up with a registered sex offender or someone with a serious criminal background, right?” I said. I try to be helpful, act as if computer searches are the highlight of my day. And I was still a little loopy from some recent activity.
“Close,” Ma said, not batting an eye. “I got a hit when I looked into Wexel’s personal lawyer, Leland—”
“Ah, the lawyer did it. Who woulda guessed?”
Jeri elbowed me in the ribs, so that lovey-dovey thing with the soup was now in the past.
“—Leland R. Bye,” Ma went on, giving me the eye, “Wexel’s lawyer, has a brother-in-law, Bob Odermann, living in Sparks. Got Bob via Mary Odermann, Leland Bye’s sister. Bob wouldn’t be on my radar except your list has a Mercedes registered to a Mary Bye Odermann who, it turns out, died two years ago, which makes me think someone was being too smart for their own good. I’m thinking Bob has the Mercedes, not Mary. If the car was registered in Bob’s name I wouldn’t be all over this like wool on a sheep, but registering the car in the name of a dead woman sorta raised a flag.”
“Sorta?” Mr. Swifty said before I could stop him.
Ma laughed. “Irony ain’t your thing, is it?”
Well, shit. These two women were gonna make sure I didn’t make my next Mensa meeting. Time to shut up and listen, especially since this was entirely for my benefit. Jeri already knew the story.
Ma said, “You probably oughta know what those two drive, in case you gotta follow ’em. According to DMV records, Leland Bye owns a 2017 blue Lexus SUV, and Bob Odermann has an old Honda Civic, 2004, red. Unless, of course, he’s using Mary’s Mercedes.”
“So,” Jeri said to me, “we go nose around Odermann, see if we can get a line on that SUV since it’s in his deceased wife’s name.”
“We, to be clear, meaning you, me, and Ma, right?” I asked.
“Close. You, me, and Sarah, if she has time. Ma’s gonna keep working on the lists. Odermann might not pan out.”
“Great. I was hoping you and Sarah would get together and talk over that Tuesday loan program, get the kinks ironed out.”
This time my ribs were backhanded, kinda hard, too. But then Jeri patted my cheek and said in a matter-of-fact tone, “We’ll see.”
Sonofabitch. If only I could figure women out. They toy with me and I don’t think that’s right.
“Tuesday loan?” Ma asked. “Kinks?”
“Tell you later,” Jeri said. She took me by the arm and led me out of the office.
“You wouldn’t run that nonsense past Ma, would you? She’s brutal. I’d never hear the end of it.”
“Who said it was nonsense? Anyway, I was gonna loan you out to Ma, not Sarah. Well, maybe both of them, but Ma’s got dibs. Now come on.”
It was Monday, late enough that Sarah’s classes were over. She was eager to go with us. Jeri drove us over to her apartment without asking for directions, so they’d done a passel of talking, getting to know each other—and I like the word passel, don’t feel as if I get to use it often enough.
“Hi, Jer,” Sarah said. Jer. Then to me, a subdued, “Hi.”
“We talked,” Jeri said to her. “Everything’s fine.”
Sarah smiled and
