Rip Tide (A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery, Book 2) (34 page)

"Who just pulled out of your driveway?" I asked Regina when she opened her front door the following morning. While we'd been driving down Flamingo Road, a faded green Chevy S-10 pickup had been backing out of the kids' driveway. When the vehicle passed by, we'd tried to make out its occupant, but the windows were too darkly tinted to identify the driver. As Reggie responded to my question, she was plainly shaken up by whatever had just taken place.

"That whack job just told me to tell Milo he knew what had happened to Cooper. He also said if Milo doesn't pay what Cooper owes his boss, he may be in mortal danger, along with the rest of his family. I didn't know what to do or say to him, but I was ticked off, so I just kind of freaked out on him." Reggie turned to her father as she added, "I'm so relieved you're here now, Daddy."

Rip gave her a quick one-armed hug, and asked, "Did the man tell you his name?"

"No, but he was really creepy. Would never make eye contact with me, which gave me the willies."

"Can you recall the exact words he used?"

"No, not exactly. But, fortunately, I have most of it recorded."

"You do?" Rip's eyebrows arched as he spoke. "That's my girl! I taught you well."

"Yeah, you did. I had my phone in my hand when I answered the door. As soon as he told me to give Milo a message, I hit the record button so I wouldn't forget what the message was. Since he never looked directly at me, the weirdo had no clue he was being taped."

"Can you describe him for me?" Rip inquired.

"Um, let me see. Kind of a hard description to put into words, actually."

When Regina hesitated, I asked, "Does 'weasel-faced little dweeb' seem to fit the bill?"

Reggie thought about it for a second before nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, it does, Mom. That description fits him to a tee! Skinny geek with a bad complexion and gnarly teeth. As you'll notice in the recording, he had a slight British accent. Kind of like he'd moved here to the states years ago but still retained a touch of his native brogue."

I turned and spoke directly to Rip. "I bet it was Paulie Winterkorn, the man Royce told me about."

Then I turned back to Reggie and explained, "Winterkorn works for a loan shark out of El Paso. He's probably afraid he'll lose his job if he doesn't produce the money Cooper owed him. Royce is certain he's the one who called himself Captain Hook in those threatening phone calls and messages to Cooper."

"Who's Royce?" Reggie asked. I merely shrugged. "Loose lips sink ships" was a phrase that came to mind. There was no reason to test how loose my daughter's lips were at this stage of the game. I'd made a vow to keep my conversation with Royce Chrisman to myself, after all, and I intended to keep my word.

"Let's go sit at the kitchen table and listen to the recording," Rip suggested after I'd neglected to answer our daughter's inquiry.

* * *

The transcript of that recording went as follows.

"Tell him I know what happened to Claypool, and I'm not going to let up until I get my boss's money back. I can't afford to lose this part-time job, because working at my regular job ain't cutting it and I got bills to pay." We listened to the high-pitched, nasally voice emanating from Reggie's cell phone. I'd been right about Paulie's insecurity regarding his part-time job. As Reggie had said, there was definitely a hint of an English accent to Winterkorn's voice.

"What kind of full-time profession are you in?" Regina had asked him. I could sense by her voice she was frightened but doing her best to appear calm and collected.

"Well, it's um, I'm a uh—"

"Yes?"

"Let's just say I'm in advertising and leave it at that," the annoyingly effeminate voice replied.

"You're the dude who was leaving those nasty messages on Cooper Claypool's phone, aren't you?"

Silent pause. Reggie's voice is then heard again. "Call yourself Captain Hook, don't you? Does calling yourself that cartoonish name make you feel more intimidating? If so, it's not working. Very childish, if you ask me."

"Well, I, um, it's just that I, uh—"

"Spit it out, numb-nuts. I ain't got all day to talk to some idiot who showed up uninvited on my doorstep."

I was relieved to hear the fear in Reggie's voice disappear and an assertive, almost aggressive tone replace it. It's clear the guy she was speaking to was stymied by this sassy broad he'd encountered. It took him awhile to counter her jab.

"Listen up, sweetheart. I'm not Captain Hook. Captain Hook's a great big muscular guy. A body-builder, you know. Real scary dude. Eats guys like your husband for lunch."

There was no response from Reggie other than a scathing snicker, and the man began to sound desperate to convince her it wasn't he who left the messages. He was realistic enough to know his appearance made it evident that any eighty-year-old female librarian could take him out if she so chose and his wimpy physique wasn't going to induce anyone to cave in to his demands. "Captain Hook competes in cage-fighting on the weekends. You're surely familiar with those fights where the competitors beat each other half to death? Look at me. Now, do I look like the kind of guy who'd compete in something as barbaric as that?"

"Not at all. You look more like the kind of guy who'd aspire to be the hop-scotch champion on the neighborhood playground."

After I heard her response on the recording, I reached across the table with my hand up to give her a high-five. I couldn't recall the last time I'd been so proud of her. I enjoyed seeing her exhibit this seldom-revealed spunky side.

"Listen," the man said defensively. "You can think what you want about me. It's Captain Hook you should worry about. Unless, of course, you don't mind if your husband suffers a similar fate as his friend. Captain Hook shows no mercy to guys like those two. Nor does he go easy on the wives and children of men who won't pay him back the money he loaned them in good faith. You better see to it Claypool's debt is covered for Tiffany and Dusty's well-being, if nothing else."

"Oh, really?" It was clear by the cynicism in Reggie's voice she was not convinced this cage-fighting fiend existed.

"You better believe me, Regina. I work for the loan shark, all right, but more as a consultant. I am not the animal who left those messages, I assure you. That dude's a mean son-of-a—"

"Methinks thou dost protest too much." Reggie cut the man off, but not before I winced at the idea this creep not only knew my daughter's name, but my grandkids' names, as well.
Watch it, girl
, I thought.
Don't let your mouth write checks your cheeky behind can't cash.

Milo had claimed Captain Hook had also mentioned all three names in his latest threatening voice message, which made me even more convinced Paulie Winterkorn was the man who'd made those calls.

Apparently, this guy was not in Reggie's college Shakespearian Literature class. In response to her "methinks" remark, he uttered, "Huh?"

"That's a line from—"

"Whatever. Just give Milo the message. 'I know exactly what happened to Cooper Claypool and he better be careful how he—'"

"Just give me the dude's number and I'll have Milo get in touch with him." Regina was clearly disgusted with the creep at this point. It was obvious she just wanted this slime-ball off her property as fast as possible.

"Milo doesn't need to get in touch with Captain Hook, or my boss. I can promise you, they'll be in touch with him if a cashier's check for seventy-five grand isn't delivered to this address in the next five days." This last remark was spoken in an intimidating tone. Regina told us he'd written down a P.O. box number in El Paso on a frozen burrito wrapper he'd pulled out of his back pocket and handed it to her. The last thing we heard before the recording ended was the slamming of the wooden front door.

* * *

Rip and Regina hashed over her encounter with the man I was sure was the Paulie Winterkorn who Royce had told me about. I sat back and took in the discussion without adding my input to their exchange.

"Can't we track the loan shark through the post office box?" Reggie asked her father.

"I doubt it, honey. These kinds of dude are pretty slick and know how to play the system. They operate on a need-to-know basis. The mail box was probably rented under an assumed name and is checked for mail about once a week by someone different every time before being closed after a month or two. Do you remember anything uniquely specific about this guy; identifying tattoos or other remarkable physical features?"

"Not really. Didn't notice any tattoos, but he did have an unusual odor. I recognized the scent but haven't been able to place it yet."

While the two chatted, I flitted around the kitchen, using a dishrag to wipe off a small coffee spill on the granite countertop, placing several dirty utensils in the dishwasher, wrapping a twist tie around the neck of a overflowing bag of trash and replacing the bag with a new one I'd found in the walk-in pantry. The fact the size of the kids' pantry exceeded the entire square footage of our trailer did not escape me.

I listened to Rip and Reggie's discourse with one ear while I listened for Milo to get home with the other. Reggie had said he was on the way home from his office.

When Milo finally walked into the kitchen, his first words were, "Anything to eat? I'm starving."

"That's it!" Reggie exclaimed. "The dude smelled like Canadian bacon."

"Canadian bacon?" Rip asked, as Milo simultaneously asked, "What dude?"

As Rip and Reggie were filling Milo in on what had occurred earlier, I was thinking to myself,
Where does one usually find Canadian bacon? I can think of no more likely place than a pizza parlor.

Chapter 22

Milo had left his boat in the water after we'd handed over Cooper's body at the boat launch Sunday evening. While I had driven his truck and trailer home from the boat launch parking lot, he and Rip had taken the boat home and left it on the electronic lift attached to the kids' dock. There was also a Jet Ski lift, and I was a bit surprised Reggie hadn't made sure there was a brand new shiny Sea-Doo proudly displayed on it. I don't imagine either she or Milo would have used it very often. But, just adding the illusion of its owners being affluent would no doubt have served Regina's purpose in purchasing it.

I don't know from where she got this spend-thrift trait. Was it an act of rebellion from growing up with a mother who'd scour through Good Will stores and flea markets rather than buy her child a closet full of new school clothes every year? My reasoning was there seemed no point in spending a lot of money on clothes Reggie would outgrow within months anyway.

However, I do remember feeling bad—in fact remorseful enough to apologize the afternoon she'd exited the school bus sobbing uncontrollably. A boy one grade ahead of her had pointed at her attractive, but well-worn t-shirt in front of the entire class, and exclaimed, "Hey, that's one of my old shirts! My mom sold it in our garage sale last month for a dime!" I learned my lesson that day. Saving a buck here and there was not worth causing your child to be humiliated at school.

After that incident, I always bought Regina inexpensive, but brand new outfits she could wear unabashedly to school. Not an over-abundance of outfits, but an adequate supply. We weren't vagrants, after all, and I didn't want her classmates to treat her as if we were.

As I rested on a chaise lounge on the kids' back deck, I was surprised when Regina hollered out the kitchen window, "Mom! Let's go! The men are going to load the boat with everything we'll need while we're gone."

We took Regina's car to town and I had her drive by every dining establishment she could think of that offered pizza. We were looking for the faded green S-10 pickup. There were not many of them still on the road, so I figured it'd be easy to track down.

Regina could only think of a few places likely to serve pizza. There were no S-10 pickups in the parking lots of the first two restaurants, but parked next to a dumpster behind the third one, Pirate's Cove Pizza Parlor, was a vehicle matching the description. I was pretty certain it was the one we'd seen that morning pulling out of the kids' driveway. Regina recognized it immediately.

"That's it!" She exclaimed. I motioned for her to pull into the parking lot.

"Milo expressed the desire to squelch his hunger, and there's still plenty of daylight left. We all should get a bite to eat before we head out on what might well be a long day on the water. How does a Canadian bacon pizza sound?" I asked.