For Whom the Minivan Rolls: An Aaron Tucker Mystery - By Jeffrey Cohen Page 0,15
Neuman.
I said a few loving-husband things far too mushy to record for posterity, put the phone—which was already flashing the “battery low” signal—back in my pocket, and rang the bell on Beckwirth’s door. The huge house stood silent, and I half expected a thin, bald-headed butler with a British accent, to open the door. Ian Wolfe, maybe. John Gielgud, if it was going to be a big part, and he was still alive.
My luck, it was Beckwirth. At least he had shaved, and was dressed in clean clothes, but he still had that recovering-addict look in his eyes, and his skin looked like it was made out of vanilla Turkish Taffy that had melted on the sidewalk. There was an upside, though. This time he didn’t hug me. You have to accentuate the positive.
“Well, Gary, you got me. I’m not sure why you wanted to so badly, but you got me.”
“Come in,” he said quickly. I did, and he closed the door. His mood was not nearly as welcoming as it had been the last time. Again, I wasn’t complaining, because it seemed there would be no physical contact on this visit, but now that Beckwirth had gotten me involved in finding his wife, he didn’t seem to want to know me anymore. Familiarity, apparently, really does breed contempt. At least in my case.
“Sit down,” Beckwirth said, pointing at a loveseat in the adjoining room, which I guess was a study, or a library, or a sitting room, or some other kind of a room that people in the middle class generally don’t have. Maybe if I did find Madlyn, I’d tell Beckwirth my fee required the moving of one of his mansion’s extra rooms to my house. I could badly use a separate room for my office. That morning, I’d stepped on a Working Woman Barbie getting to my fax machine, and put a permanent dent in my right instep.
“What’s the matter, Gary? Having me isn’t as pleasing a thing as wanting me?” Star Trek. Sometimes you have to go with the classics.
“I want to go over your strategy. I want to know everything you’re going to do before you do it.” Beckwirth, I guess, was used to dealing with employees. Now that I was, indirectly, working for him, he thought I was an employee.
“I can’t do that.”
He stared. No doubt his minions had never said “no” to him before, and his body language said clearly, “You must have misunderstood. This was not a request.” Then, with real words, he put it to me this way, “Of course you can. Just tell me what you plan to do.”
“No. For one thing, I don’t know that you didn’t have something to do with Madlyn disappearing.”
Now, Beckwirth positively sputtered. It was a good performance, though I’m no drama critic. I’m no detective, either, so any observations I make have to be taken with a shaker of salt. “Why would I be so anxious to have you investigate if I were behind Madlyn’s kidnapping? That’s ridiculous.”
“You could be doing your best to divert suspicion,” I said calmly. “Or you could be doing your best to hamper the investigation by making sure the least competent person available is working on it.”
Beckwirth did his best to smile a friendly smile in a regular-guy sort of way. I’m sure most women would have ripped off their underwear and launched themselves at him after he gave them such a smile, with just enough teeth and a twinkle in his eye. Well, some women. Not Abigail, I’d like to think.
“Oh, you’re just being modest,” he said.
“No, I’m not. I haven’t the faintest idea if I’m doing the right thing. I could be hampering the investigation myself, because I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m what you asked for, and I’m what you got. At a bargain price for an investigator, I hasten to add. And an inflated price for a freelancer.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is that it? Not enough money?”
I threw my hands up, exasperated. “No, that’s not it!” I, well, screamed. “I’m telling you that if you’re really trying to find your wife, you’re going about it in the wrong way! You’ve hired the wrong man! Is that clear enough?”
Apparently, it wasn’t. Beckwirth tried the ol’ regular-guy smile again. “Don’t worry. I have faith in you.”
There is nothing you can do with some people. Gary Beckwirth was one of them. So I proceeded. First, though, just to show him my level of irritation, I sighed.