“I take it you don’t believe him.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe. The mother says the girl can’t talk; maybe she can’t. But I was there, Miss Cartwright — I was in the other car — and I didn’t have so much as a headache to show for it. Something just doesn’t smell right.”
“I take it you’d like me to find out if this girl is faking.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “ ‘Faking’ isn’t exactly the way I’d put it, but exaggerating, yes. I think the girl — or her mother — is exaggerating the extent of her injuries.”
I nodded. “Well, I don’t see that it would be any problem to just follow the girl around for a couple of days; see if she’s as incapacitated as she claims.”
Gordon Lively cleared his throat, then refolded his hands. “Unfortunately, I can’t give you a couple of days, Miss Cartwright. I was so sure this thing would never get to court that I didn’t start looking for an investigator until the last possible moment.” He looked at me sheepishly. “We’ve got a court date this Wednesday at ten.”
That gave me only one day to find something that would convince these people to drop their suit. I shook my head.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lively. I don’t think—”
“Even a settlement would be a victory at this point,” he added anxiously. “Like I said, I’m happy to make restitution. I just don’t think I owe these people a quarter of my net worth.”
A quarter? My God. This guy was even better off than I’d imagined. Made me start feeling a little greedy myself.
“I charge sixty-five dollars an hour,” I said, giving myself a thirty percent raise on the spot. “Ten hours of it in advance. Expenses are extra, and I’ll give you a call before I start running up a tab, but I can’t promise I can come up with much in just one day.”
He tapped an index finger against his lower lip. “How about I make you a counterproposal? I’ll give you the check for ten hours, and if you come up empty by Wednesday morning, well...” He shrugged. “Then my lawyers will deal with it. But if you come up with evidence to prove this girl is exaggerating, I’ll give you a five thousand dollar bonus. Over and above the rest.” He grinned. “How does that sound, Miss Cartwright?”
I smiled. “Sounds great.”
We shook hands, and I sighed, grateful for the breathing room this windfall was going to afford me. What the hell? For five grand I’d move in with these people if I had to. I fished around in my briefcase for a contract.
Half an hour later I was heading out the door, check in hand.
Lucille and Suzannah Wilson — mother and daughter, respectively — lived in Unit 7 of Ray’s Motel, a double row of rundown clapboard cottages that advertised “One & 2 Bedroom Kitchenettes and Sleeping Units — Pets OK” on the sign above the office. The street out in front was full of potholes, and the space between units wasn’t wide enough to admit two men walking side by side. I parked in a place marked Visitors and poured a cup of coffee from the silver thermos I’d brought along. It was five forty-five A.M.
Gordon Lively hadn’t been able to tell me anything about the women beyond where they lived and the names of the doctors who were treating them for their “injuries.” I’d made a few calls the night before and found out that Lucille’s chiropractor had a history of filing questionable whiplash claims; if she’d been the only one injured, I’d probably have been able to persuade her to settle on that basis alone. But it was Suzannah’s problem that this case was going to hinge on, and so far I’d found nothing to discredit her neurosurgeon. As far as I could tell, he was on the up and up.
I was doing the obvious this morning: sitting, watching, hoping maybe Suzannah would come out and yell at the neighbor’s dog. Sometimes it’s just that easy. You’re in the right place at the right time, and you catch the person off guard. Usually, though, I have to work harder for my supper. Somehow I was probably going to have to insinuate myself into these people’s lives. I just didn’t know where yet, or how.
At six twenty-one, the lights started coming on in Unit 7. In no time, it was filled with a cheery incandescent glow. I screwed the top back on the thermos and set it aside.
The curtains were still drawn across the windows on this side, and no one seemed to be in any hurry to open them. Too bad. It looked like we were in for a beautiful day. There were voices coming from somewhere in the back of the unit. I rolled down my window and strained to hear.
It was a radio, and underneath it, a voice, but if there was one person talking in there or five, I couldn’t tell. It occurred to me that this might be a deliberate ploy to obscure the sounds inside the cottage. If so, it was working. I rolled the window back up and pulled out a bagel.
At eight o’clock, I got out of the car and stretched my legs. I was getting restless, sitting there thinking about how I was going to spend my bonus while time ticked away. I walked to the end of the row of cottages and circled around back to see if I could find anything there.
There was an orange Pinto with some rear end damage parked behind Unit 7. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it belonged to. The rear bumper had been lifted a few inches and crushed into the trunk, making the trunk unusable, and there was a six inch crack in the rear window. The tailpipe was missing, and all four tires were bald.
I sidled up behind the cottage to see if there was any way to peek inside. No such luck. The curtains on that side were closed as well, and the radio was still going full blast. These people must be a joy to live next to, I thought as I circled back and got into the car.
At five minutes of ten, I got my first break. Lucille and Suzannah stepped out onto the front stoop and headed for the Pinto. Neither of them said a word as they got into the car and drove down the rutted road toward town. I started up my Honda and followed at a discreet distance.
First stop was Fairfield Mall, a single level affair with a Sears at one end and a Montgomery Ward at the other. I parked five rows away and followed the women in through the automatic glass doors.
They wandered aimlessly for almost thirty minutes, looking at everything from bedroom furniture to engagement rings, no doubt planning how to spend their coming windfall. For a couple of gals who were living under pretty marginal conditions, they sure had expensive tastes.
At ten forty-seven, Suzannah ducked into Musicworld to root through the bins while her mother went to Woolworth’s for a pack of cigarettes. I sat down on a bench and pretended to fish something out of my shoe.
The window display in front of me had a full-length picture of Crazy Carlos Rubio with the words HOW CRAZY IS HE? LISTEN TO KRZY AND FIND OUT! underneath. Poor Carlos looked as crazy as he sounded, with heavy black eyebrows and a bushy mustache that looked as if triplet caterpillars had taken over his face. But there was something else about him, too. Something that looked vaguely familiar. I resumed my shoe inspection as Suzannah came out of the store and the women continued their stroll.
I’d rather die than have anyone follow me around all day, staring at my rear end. I think most of us, if we knew how bad we looked from behind, would probably never leave our homes. Lucille and Suzannah were no exception.
Both of them favored stretch pants and sleeveless blouses, but whereas Suzannah was appallingly thin, her mother was enormous. Lucille’s upper arms hung down like wineskins from her narrow shoulders, and her chest and stomach had merged into one massive ring that hovered around the tops of her thighs. I could hear her labored breathing from thirty feet back as she strolled down the promenade.