For Whom the Minivan Rolls: An Aaron Tucker Mystery - By Jeffrey Cohen Page 0,31
me to do, Milt? Everything I’ve turned up so far has been a dead end. But Barry Dutton is. . .”
“I’ll get you in to see Joel,” said Milt.
“What?”
“I said, I’ll make sure Gary lets you talk to Joel. Give me an hour.”
I gave him maybe ten minutes before he called back. I was right. “It’s all set. But Gary has to be in the room with him, and you only get fifteen minutes.”
“For crying out loud, Milt, I’m not asking for an audience with the pope!”
He ignored me as only a man with a manicure can. “You can do it today at three.”
“No, I can’t,” I said. “I have an 11-year-old coming home after detention and a seven-year-old getting off the bus. If Beckwirth wants, I’ll come over after dinner, when Abby’s home.”
Ladowski grumbled a bit, but saw the logic in my reasoning. Either that, or my voice told him that I wouldn’t budge. Ladowski is an experienced mediator. “I’ll clear it with Gary,” he said. “Be there at seven-thirty.”
“Okay,” I sighed. “And Milt?”
“Yeah?”
“Does Joel like barbecue sauce?”
Chapter 19
There were pictures of professional wrestlers on Joel Beckwirth’s walls, and that surprised me. In a house that had no visible TV set (and no Nintendo or Playstation in Joel’s room), I didn’t expect pictures of “The Rock” or “Stone Cold” Steve Austin. I expected pin-up posters of Mozart or Pierre Cardin.
The room, except for the posters, was just like the rest of the house—impeccable. No socks on the floor—no potato chip crumbs, either. The bed was tightly made. The large boy sitting on it was tightly wrapped.
Joel Beckwirth had inherited from his handsome father only his blue-green eyes. In fact, judging from the picture of Madlyn now prominently displayed on the piano downstairs, Joel didn’t much resemble either of his parents. His face was mostly chin, some forehead, and not much in the middle. He looked like Humpty Dumpty in an Eminem T-shirt.
Gary ushered me into the room, speaking in hushed tones, as if we were about to enter the presence of the great Oz and should speak only when spoken to. He had informed me, through tight lips, that Milton Ladowski had “strongly recommended” he allow me to speak to his son, but that Joel was still “extremely upset” over his mother’s disappearance and should be handled with great care. I believe “kid gloves” were mentioned once or twice.
I did my best to smile and fought a natural urge to ask about Joel’s preference in fast-food toppings. “Hi, Joel,” I said. Mr. Rogers couldn’t have been less threatening.
“Uh.” The boy was clearly a witty conversationalist.
“You know why I’m here?”
“Uh-huh.” My God, the lacerating brilliance of it all! I considered asking Gary if the boy had been to Professor Henry Higgins for diction lessons. Once again, though, I forced myself to remember the task that had brought me to this Ozzie-and-Harriet-Meet-Goldberg place.
“You’re worried about your mom, huh?” Now he had me saying “huh.”
“I guess.” Words! Who could possibly have hoped for more?
“Well, do you know why she might have gone away?”
The boy’s eyes narrowed, and Gary stepped in before he could say anything. “Do you really think it’s necessary to be asking. . .”
Just what I’d been waiting for. “Gary, I’m here to do a job. One which, as I recall, you were pretty set on me doing, even when I told you I didn’t know how. Now, you’re either going to let me do that job, or you can do it yourself. But if you leave it to me, you must stand back and be quiet.” I glanced at Joel. Had challenging his father’s authority at my very first opportunity produced the desired effect? It had. Joel was grinning nastily.
But Gary wasn’t done. “I don’t have to listen to. . .”
“That’s right, you don’t,” I said. “In fact, I’d prefer it if you’d wait outside so I could talk to Joel privately.”
Beckwirth positively gasped at the very notion, and his face took on color, making him look like a remarkably handsome strawberry. “I absolutely forbid it!” he shouted, and Joel snorted, trying to suppress a giggle.
“Fine,” I said. “It’s been nice meeting you, Joel. Good night, Gary.” And I headed for the exit. Beckwirth senior was harrumphing even as I turned away from him. He came close to actually choking on his own words when I placed my hand on the bedroom doorknob and began to turn it.