“Thanks, Mom,” I said and, maybe for the first time in my life, I meant it.
She kissed my cheek and then walked to Mrs. Stark, who was looking away but wiping her face and I knew she had heard. I stood and watched as they went to their cars. Mom and Mrs. Stark stood beside Mrs. Stark’s Audi and it looked like they were settling in for a chat.
I left them to it and went to the local Starbuck’s where I had arranged for Shirleen to come and get me and I got myself a skinny vanilla latte. I decided I would think about this latest life revelation later when I had Sissy and cookies drenched in tequila.
Or, better yet, Luke, a warm bed and a dark room.
That thought made me smile as I walked out of Starbuck’s.
Shirleen’s Navigator was at the curb, Tex was in the passenger seat and he jumped out when he saw me.
“Hey Tex, did you win any euchre…?” I stopped talking when he snatched my cup right out of my hand and threw it in a trash bin.
“This family don’t do Starbuck’s,” he boomed and then turned and shouted at Shirleen. “The girl needs coffee! Fortnum’s! Now!”
Eek!
*
The Rock Chicks all met at Fortnum’s except Indy and Ally who were off to some prison to interview one of Noah’s friends who’d managed to acquire a five year state accommodated stay.
Ally hadn’t gotten “some” info out of Brody, he sang like a canary under the influence of Red Bull and vodka (ee-yikes!).
Unfortunately, Lee and the Hot Bunch knew that Brody wasn’t exactly discreet so they hadn’t shared much. What they did share was that they’d tracked down both of Noah’s buddies, one was in prison, the other one Brody didn’t have information on.
Ally also learned that Noah had a gazillion aliases but the name he was born with was Walter Ellis. He was wanted in Nevada and California and he’d been on the con practically since babydom. For a percentage of the con, Noah’s informant (now wiling away his days fashioning license plates and likely shivs), would troll legal records pointing Noah in the direction of malpractice payoffs and highish stakes inheritances. Nothing too big so as to fly under radar, but nothing too small that wouldn’t be worth the effort.
Lastly, Brody shared the name of the lady who Noah had conned while he was conning me. Her name was Winnie Conrad, she was seventy-two and had a spine operation go bad when she was sixty-six and it took away the use of her legs. After a years-long battle, she got a payoff for the botched operation which enabled her to buy a decent, handicapped accessible house in a decent neighborhood as well as augmenting her meager retirement money which allowed her to live, and pay taxes and utilities, in a nicer neighborhood. Noah got his hands on what was left of the payoff, which set her back to scraping by but somehow she had managed to keep her place.
Jules had done some research from Command Central and discovered Mrs. Conrad’s address in Aurora.
Shirleen informed me that the Rock Chicks worked hard on my behalf, pumping their men for information. This didn’t work but apparently they had fun trying. Also, they’d all had fun sharing their escapades over coffee while I was at breakfast. I didn’t find any of that hard to believe but I was pretty pissed I had missed out on the gossip.
Tex made me a skinny vanilla latte to replace the one he threw out and we hit the road. Jet, Roxie, Smithie, Duke, Tod and Stevie took off to Noah’s old neighborhood to knock on some doors. Tex, Daisy, Shirleen, Sissy and me took off to pay a visit to Winnie.
We pulled up to Winnie’s and we saw she was sitting in a wheelchair on her porch enjoying the sunny, warm day. She was a round, black lady, hair recently set, dressed in her Sunday best. She had likely just got home from church. She was drinking an iced tea.
We trundled up and she stared, but then again anyone would stare. Sissy and I had black eyes (Sissy’s was fading but mine still looked angry). Shirleen’s Afro seemed to have grown two inches in the last week. Daisy’s hair rivaled Shirleen’s in size and volume, she had five-inch, shiny white, platform go-aheads on her feet and her body was encased in skintight denim with enough rhinestones to supply Celine Dion’s wardrobe technician for emergency mending on a concert tour. And finally there was Tex who looked like a recently reformed serial killer (and that was being nice).
We were undoubtedly not the popular choice for Sunday visitors.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Conrad. We may look crazy but we ain’t gonna hurt you,” Shirleen assured her as we hit the porch.
Winnie didn’t look like she believed Shirleen. “How do you know my name?” she asked.
“We’re lookin’ for Walter Ellis, AKA Noah Dexter but I think you knew him as Jeremiah Levine,” Shirleen said.
Winnie sucked in breath, her kindly face got hard then she muttered, “Jeremiah?”