I got behind the wheel, chugged out of the parking lot, and headed for Hamilton Avenue. “About Andy,” I said to Mrs. Manley. “Does he come home for dinner sometimes? Does he bring his laundry home?”
“Now and then,” she said. “Tonight is meat loaf and mashed potatoes. I always make that for Thursday dinner. It’s Andrew’s favorite. When he was working for Plover, he always came home right away after work, and I would reheat everything for him. Last week he stopped in for a few minutes and got takeout. He took enough for two people. It’s one of the reasons I think he has a girlfriend.”
“Did he ever mention her name? Would it be Sissy?”
“He’s never mentioned a Sissy.”
“How about Duncan? He used to have a friend named Duncan.”
“No. He’s never mentioned Duncan. Andrew mostly worked and spent time on his computer, playing games and writing his stories. I think he had computer friends.”
“He never went out to socialize?”
“He socialized on his computer. That’s how they do it now. That might be how he met his girlfriend.”
I made it to the Manley house without the car dying and without a single cat meowing or pooping. I got Mrs. Manley and her cats safely inside, reminded her I’d like to talk to Andy, and vibrated and clanked all the way to the office. I parked at the curb in front of the office and there was a loud clunk. I got out, looked under the car, and saw something lying on the road. It was big and black with grease, and I had no clue what it was.
Lula, Bob, and Connie came out and looked under the car with me.
“That don’t look good,” Lula said. “That looks like an important component of internal combustion. And I think it definitely belongs stuck up in your car.”
“Do you know what it is?” I asked her.
“My knowledge of cars is more cosmetic,” Lula said. “I know about things like how to work the radio and choose a paint color.”
“I don’t know what it is either,” Connie said, “but I’m pretty sure the car isn’t going to run without it.”
Lula sniffed at it. “This car doesn’t smell good. It smells like sick doody.”
“It’s from Mr. Meow Meow. He got nervous. He has IBS.”
“Maybe he’s getting too much gluten in his food,” Lula said. “I’ve been hearing a lot about gluten and I’m thinking of eliminating it.”
“You would have to stop eating doughnuts,” I said.
“Say what?”
“Doughnuts have a lot of gluten in them.”
“I didn’t hear about that,” Lula said. “That doesn’t sound right. Doughnuts are a major food group.”
“What about your car?” Connie asked. “Do you want me to have it towed somewhere?”
“Have Sanchez Auto Body pick it up. They’ll be able to tell me if the car is worth fixing. And if it isn’t worth fixing, they’ll get me scrap-metal money from the junkyard.”
“Are we going car shopping?” Lula asked.
I took Bob’s leash from her. “No. I’m short on cash. No captures, no cash. No cash, no new car. And I want to wait to hear from Sanchez. Bob and I are going to walk to my parents’ house. We could use some exercise, and when I get there, I can borrow Big Blue.”
Big Blue is a 1953 powder-blue-and-white, gas-sucking Buick Roadmaster that Grandma Mazur inherited a bunch of years ago. After numerous speeding tickets, Grandma lost her license, but she kept her car. It lives in the single-car garage at the back of the house, and I get to use the beast when I’m desperate.
Bob trotted in front of me, happy to be out and walking. I was feeling the same. I grew up in the Burg and I could walk the streets with my eyes closed and know exactly where I was at any moment. I’d been glad to leave and get out of the fishbowl, but it was good to be able to come back sometimes and get dinner or borrow a car.
Grandma was in the living room, watching television, when Bob bounded in. She was in my father’s chair, and she had a bag of chips in her lap and a drink in her hand.
“Perfect timing,” she said to me. “Your father is in Atlantic City with his lodge. Boys’-night-out bus trip. He won’t be back until late, and your mother is grocery shopping, so I’m having hors d’oeuvres and a cocktail. Help yourself to whatever you can find in the kitchen. Truth is, it’s kind of skimpy, so you need to be creative.”
“What are you drinking?”
“I wanted to have something classy like a martini, but we didn’t have any of the right stuff, so this is whiskey poured into a martini glass.” She held the chip bag out to me. “Want some? They’re spicy barbecue.”
“I’ll pass. I can’t stay. I came to borrow the Buick.”
“What happened to your Jeep?”
“It got smashed by an FTA.”
“What happened to your face?”
“It got punched by the FTA’s girlfriend.”
“That sucks,” Grandma said. “Are you sure you don’t want a whiskeytini?”
“It’s tempting, but no. Things to do. Places to go. People to see.”
“Anybody I know?”
“I’m still looking for Nutsy.”
“I heard his parents’ car got blown up,” Grandma said. “I can’t imagine who would do such a thing to the Manleys.”
“Do you have any ideas?”
Grandma sipped her whiskeytini and smiled. “I suppose I’ve got one or two.”
“Me too,” I said. “You go first.”
“I think it has to do with Nutsy. It looked like Nutsy had settled into his job with Plover. He was living at home. He wasn’t doing anything nuts. And then there’s this robbery. And he’s accused of stealing a tray of diamonds after the robbery. And then he disappears, but he’s still in the area because people see him from time to time. Just glimpses of him. Like he’s in hiding. So, there’s something going on here, but the diamond robbery doesn’t fit. I can’t see it going down like that with Nutsy. I could see him taking something on a dare, but everyone would know about it. And he’d give it back.”
I nodded. “My exact thoughts,” I said to Grandma.
“There was some talk about the robbery and all in the beginning,” Grandma said, “but it got old pretty fast. Nutsy’s stunts aren’t exactly news anymore. Now all of a sudden, his parents’ car gets blown up. Now it’s getting interesting again.”
“Do you think someone thought it was Nutsy’s car?”
“Not for a second,” Grandma said. “Everybody knows Nutsy has a motorcycle. I think this was a warning. I think you’re not the only one after Nutsy. Someone’s trying to flush him out.”
“Who?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” Grandma said. “Who do you think?”
“I don’t know who it is, either. Maybe someone who thinks he’s got the tray of stolen diamonds.”
“Plover?” Grandma asked.
“I guess that’s one possibility, but I can’t see him skulking around under cover of darkness, planting a bomb.”
“He could have hired someone.”
“Or there could be undiscovered people involved.”
“I suppose you want me to help you unravel this mystery,” Grandma said.
“Keep your ear to the ground,” I told her.
CHAPTER TEN