Half an hour later, I was out the door, dressed in jeans and a denim shirt. I buckled myself into Big Blue and motored out of the lot. Two blocks later, I turned onto Hamilton and noticed a car close on my tail. I swiveled in my seat and looked at the driver. Bunchy. I pressed my lips together, getting a smile and a wave from him. This guy was unreal. He'd pulled a gun on me, and probably he had something to do with the body in the garbage bag, but I was having a hard time working up any real fear of him. In all honesty, he was sort of likeable . . . in an annoying kind of way.
I swerved to the curb, yanked the emergency brake up, got out, and stomped over. "What are you doing?" I shouted into his window.
"Following you."
"Why?"
"I don't want to miss anything. In case you get lucky and find Fred, I want to be there."
"I don't know how to break this to you, but between you and me, I think it's unlikely that Fred is going to be in any shape to repay your money if and when I find him."
"You think he's fish food?"
"It's a possibility."
He shrugged. "Call me crazy, but I'm an optimist."
"Fine. Go be an optimist someplace else. I don't like you following me around. It's creepy."
"I won't be any bother. You won't even know I'm here."
"You're driving six inches from my rear. How am I going to not know you're here?"
"Don't look in your mirror."
"And I don't think you're a bookie, either," I said. "Nobody knows you. I've been asking around."
He smiled, like this was pretty funny. "Oh, yeah? Who do you think I am?"
"I don't know."
"Let me know when you find out."
"Asshole."
"Sticks and stones," Bunchy said. "And I bet your mother wouldn't like you using that language."
I huffed off to the Buick, jammed myself behind the wheel, and drove to the office.
"You see that guy parked behind me?" I asked Lula.
"The one in the piece-of-shit brown Dodge?"
"His name's Bunchy, and he says he's a bookie."
"He don't look like no bookie to me," Lula said. "And I never heard of anyone named Bunchy."
Connie squinted out the window, too. "I don't recognize him, either," she said. "And if he's a bookie, he's not doing all that good."
"He says Fred owes him money, and he's following me in case I find Fred."
"Does that float your boat?" Lula wanted to know.
"No. I need to get rid of him."
"Permanently? 'Cause I got a friend—"
"No! Just for the rest of the day."
Lula took another look at Bunchy. "If I shoot out his tires, will he shoot back?"
"Probably."
"I don't like when they shoot back," Lula said.
"I thought maybe I could trade cars with you."
"Trade my Firebird for that whale you drive? I don't think so. Friendship don't go that far."
"Fine! Great! Forget I asked!"
"Hold on," Lula said. "Don't have to go getting all snippy. I'll have a talk with him. I can be real persuasive."
"You aren't going to threaten him, are you?"
"I don't threaten people. What kind of woman you think I am?"
Connie and I watched her sashay out the office over to the car. We knew what kind of woman she was.
Lula was wearing a canary-yellow spandex miniskirt and a stretchy top that was at least two sizes too small. Her hair was orange. Her lipstick was bright pink. And her eyelids were gold glitter.
We heard her say, "Hello, handsome," to Bunchy, and then she lowered her voice, and we couldn't hear any more.
"Maybe you should try to sneak away while Lula's got his attention," Connie said. "Maybe you could roll the Buick back nice and easy, and he won't notice."
I thought chances of Bunchy not noticing were pretty slim, but I was willing to try. I quickly walked to the car, snuck in on the curb side, and slid behind the wheel. I released the emergency brake, held my breath, and turned the key in the ignition. Varoooom. A V8 does not sneak.
Bunchy and Lula both turned to look at me. I saw Bunchy say something to Lula. And Lula grabbed Bunchy by the shirt-front and yelled "Go!" to me. "I got him," she said. "You can count on me!"
Bunchy slapped at her hand, and Lula squashed herself into the car window with her big yellow ass hanging out, looking from the outside like Pooh Bear stuck in the rabbit hole. She had Bunchy by the neck, and when I drove by I saw her plant a kiss square on his mouth.
* * * * *
MABEL WAS IN the kitchen making tea when I got there.
"Anything new in the investigation?" she asked.
"I talked to the man who was looking for Fred. He says he's Fred's bookie. Did you know Fred was gambling?"
"No." She paused with the tea bag in her hand. "Gambling," she said, testing the word. "I had no idea."
"He could be lying," I said.
"Why would he do that?"
Good question. If Bunchy wasn't a bookie, then what? What was his involvement?
"About those pictures," I said to Mabel. "Do you have any idea when they might have been taken?"
Mabel added water to her teapot. "I think it must have been recently because I never saw them before. I don't go into Fred's desk all the time, but every now and then I need something. And I never saw any pictures. Fred doesn't take pictures. Years ago, when the kids were little, we used to take pictures. Now Ronald and Walter bring us pictures of the grandchildren. We don't even own a camera anymore. Last year we had to take pictures of the roof for the insurance company, and we got one of those disposable cameras."
I left Mabel to her tea and got back behind the wheel. I looked up and down the street. So far, so good. No Bunchy.
My next stop was the strip mall where Fred did his shopping. I parked in the same area where Fred's car was found. It was about the same time of day. Weather was similar. Seventy and sunny. There were enough people moving around that a scuffle would be noticed. A man walking around dazed would probably be noticed too, but I didn't think that's what I was looking for.
First Trenton was located at the end of the strip mall. It was a branch office with a drive-through window outside and full-service banking inside. Leona Freeman was a teller at First Trenton. She was a second cousin on my mother's side, a couple years older than me, and she had a head start on the family thing, with four kids, two dogs, and a nice husband.
Business was slow when I walked in, and Leona waved at me from behind the counter. "Stephanie!"
"Hey, Leona, how's it going?"
"Pretty good. What's with you? You want some money? I gotta lot."
I grinned.
"Bank joke," Leona said.
"Did you hear about Fred going missing?"
"I heard. He was in here right before it happened."
"Did you see him?"
"Yeah, sure. He got money from the machine, and then he went in to see Shempsky."
Leona and I went to school with Allen Shempsky. He was an okay guy who'd worked his way up the ladder and was now a VP. And this was a new development. No one had said anything about Fred going to see Shempsky. "What'd Fred want with Allen?"
Leona shrugged. "Don't know. He was in there talking to Allen for about ten minutes. He didn't stop to say hello or anything when he came out. Fred was like that. Not the most sociable person."
Shempsky had a small private office tucked between two other small private offices. His door was open, so I stuck my head in.
"Knock, knock," I said.
Allen Shempsky looked at me blank-faced for a moment, and then I saw recognition kick in. "Sorry," he said, "my mind was someplace else. What can I do for you?"
"I'm looking for my uncle Fred. I understand he talked to you just before he disappeared."
"Yeah. He was thinking of taking out a loan."
"A loan? What kind of a loan?"