was just about to take her car and go pick up a pizza.”
“With all this food sitting around here?” I indicated the stacked loaves of fresh-baked bread and brownies and pies and the containers of fruit salad and other goodies I was sure were now crowding the refrigerator.
“All this Tupperware makes me nervous,” he said. “I need some grease.”
I shook my head.
“How was the lawyer?” he asked.
“Very smooth and very professional. Maybe has something to hide. He’s also a cigar smoker.”
“At least he’s got one redeeming characteristic. That didn’t stop you from taking his money though, did it?”
“No. And it’s Betty’s money anyway, at least eventually.”
“What’s in the bag?” He indicated the plastic shopping bag under my arm.
“New cell phone to replace the one the guy took from me earlier. Plus that GPS unit of his I picked up. I went by a store and they showed me how to pull up coordinates this turkey has stored in the memory. Tomorrow I want to go check them out.”
“You bet. I could’ve showed you how to do that.”
“Yeah, but you know me. Mr. Tech-savvy. Sometimes I like to figure these things out for myself.”
He shrugged.
“I also want to go pay a visit to this used-car dealer you were telling me about.”
“No problemo. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see us. Anything else?”
“All I can think of for now.”
He twirled Betty’s keys in his meaty hand. “My stomach’s growling. Let me know how you make out with the lawman.”
I used the wall phone in the kitchen to dial the number Deputy Nolestar had given Betty. It turned out to be a pager so I punched in the Carews’ number and hung up. I went to the refrigerator, found a nice piece of untouched pumpkin pie, poured myself a glass of milk and sat down at the kitchen table to wait.
I’d only taken a couple of bites when the phone rang. I went to the wall and snatched the phone off the hook so it wouldn’t disturb Betty or Jason any further.
“Frank Pavlicek speaking.”
“Pavlicek, I see you got my message.”
“You Deputy Nolestar?”
“That’s me.”
I could hear the hollow sound of the inside of a moving car. He was obviously on a cell phone. His voice was a tenor with a slight wheezing quality that made him sound too young to be an investigator, but who was I to argue.
“I figured you’d call me after what happened,” I said.
“Yes, sir. I talked with the other two deputies who took your report. I’d like to sit down and have a talk with you.”
“Okay, when and where?”
“How about right now?”
“Right now, tonight?”
“No better time than the present. In fact, I’m headed out your way now. Just across the river in St. Albans.”
“All right. But Betty Carew and her son are asleep upstairs. They’ve had a long day with the funeral and all. Is there someplace else we can meet?”
“How about the McDonald’s down on First Avenue? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
“Give me half an hour,” I said.
Deputy Nolestar turned out to be a tall, wholesome-looking (in a Clark Kent sort of way) young man with a dark crew cut and dark hair on his arms. His eyes darted back and forth nervously. They were the color of cobalt; not cobalt blue, which is actually the dark color belonging to a mixture of cobalt and aluminum, but the color of cobalt itself—steel gray. I judged his age at late twenties, give or take.
“You got a good chop on you,” Nolestar said, pointing toward my mouth with his thumb after we’d sat down over our coffees in a quiet booth in the back. A huge family of eight or ten—a baby, two toddlers, and multiple other kids running everywhere around a weary-looking mom and dad—sat devouring their Mcfood up at the front, but their three tables were around the corner from ours and mostly out of earshot.
“It’ll heal,” I said.
He nodded. “So you disarmed this guy, huh? Took his gun and everything? Pretty slick move.”
“I thought it was
“With all this food sitting around here?” I indicated the stacked loaves of fresh-baked bread and brownies and pies and the containers of fruit salad and other goodies I was sure were now crowding the refrigerator.
“All this Tupperware makes me nervous,” he said. “I need some grease.”
I shook my head.
“How was the lawyer?” he asked.
“Very smooth and very professional. Maybe has something to hide. He’s also a cigar smoker.”
“At least he’s got one redeeming characteristic. That didn’t stop you from taking his money though, did it?”
“No. And it’s Betty’s money anyway, at least eventually.”
“What’s in the bag?” He indicated the plastic shopping bag under my arm.
“New cell phone to replace the one the guy took from me earlier. Plus that GPS unit of his I picked up. I went by a store and they showed me how to pull up coordinates this turkey has stored in the memory. Tomorrow I want to go check them out.”
“You bet. I could’ve showed you how to do that.”
“Yeah, but you know me. Mr. Tech-savvy. Sometimes I like to figure these things out for myself.”
He shrugged.
“I also want to go pay a visit to this used-car dealer you were telling me about.”
“No problemo. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see us. Anything else?”
“All I can think of for now.”
He twirled Betty’s keys in his meaty hand. “My stomach’s growling. Let me know how you make out with the lawman.”
I used the wall phone in the kitchen to dial the number Deputy Nolestar had given Betty. It turned out to be a pager so I punched in the Carews’ number and hung up. I went to the refrigerator, found a nice piece of untouched pumpkin pie, poured myself a glass of milk and sat down at the kitchen table to wait.
I’d only taken a couple of bites when the phone rang. I went to the wall and snatched the phone off the hook so it wouldn’t disturb Betty or Jason any further.
“Frank Pavlicek speaking.”
“Pavlicek, I see you got my message.”
“You Deputy Nolestar?”
“That’s me.”
I could hear the hollow sound of the inside of a moving car. He was obviously on a cell phone. His voice was a tenor with a slight wheezing quality that made him sound too young to be an investigator, but who was I to argue.
“I figured you’d call me after what happened,” I said.
“Yes, sir. I talked with the other two deputies who took your report. I’d like to sit down and have a talk with you.”
“Okay, when and where?”
“How about right now?”
“Right now, tonight?”
“No better time than the present. In fact, I’m headed out your way now. Just across the river in St. Albans.”
“All right. But Betty Carew and her son are asleep upstairs. They’ve had a long day with the funeral and all. Is there someplace else we can meet?”
“How about the McDonald’s down on First Avenue? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
“Give me half an hour,” I said.
Deputy Nolestar turned out to be a tall, wholesome-looking (in a Clark Kent sort of way) young man with a dark crew cut and dark hair on his arms. His eyes darted back and forth nervously. They were the color of cobalt; not cobalt blue, which is actually the dark color belonging to a mixture of cobalt and aluminum, but the color of cobalt itself—steel gray. I judged his age at late twenties, give or take.
“You got a good chop on you,” Nolestar said, pointing toward my mouth with his thumb after we’d sat down over our coffees in a quiet booth in the back. A huge family of eight or ten—a baby, two toddlers, and multiple other kids running everywhere around a weary-looking mom and dad—sat devouring their Mcfood up at the front, but their three tables were around the corner from ours and mostly out of earshot.
“It’ll heal,” I said.
He nodded. “So you disarmed this guy, huh? Took his gun and everything? Pretty slick move.”
“I thought it was
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