It wouldn’t be so bad trying to get some work done, except for the fact that Daniela kept getting phone calls with nobody on the other end. After the third call from Private Caller and yet nobody there, Daniela slammed down her phone beside her in frustration, only to see Sari looking up at her with tears in her eyes. Immediately she felt terrible and raced over to pick up her little girl. She tossed her in the air, playing with her until the sunshine came back into her face.
“It’s fine, silly,” she said. “I don’t know who’s trying to get a hold of me though.”
“Daddy,” she said.
At that Daniela froze. “No,” she said. “It’s not Weston.”
“Doggy,” the little girl tried again.
“I don’t think the doggy knows how to use the phone yet.” She walked into the kitchen to put on the teakettle and realized Weston had been gone for a couple hours already. She sent him a quick text, asking if he would make it home for a six o’clock dinner.
She got a strange answer back.
Yes, if I can make it.
She didn’t know what that meant, but, if they weren’t having steak, she needed to do something else. But, for her and Sari, dinner didn’t have to be a big deal, only if she was expected to feed him too.
When she’d made a cup of tea, she headed back, and, as she sat down, her phone rang again. She picked it up, saw it was a Private Caller, and she clearly and succinctly told the other person to take a hike. Then she hung up. As she slammed down the phone again, she thought she heard a voice. But she checked, and the call had ended. She waited for a call back, but there was nothing. She started thinking there might be a problem, and what she had taken as an interfering prank caller with time on his hands might have been a person in distress. She frowned at that.
It was hard, almost impossible to get back to her work now. And when the phone rang again a few minutes later, she picked it up with relief when she saw it said Private Caller. When she hit Talk, she said hello; again there was nothing. “Are you in trouble?” she asked. “Do you need help?” She strained to hear any answer, but there was nothing. Finally, she put the phone back down and ended the call.
“Stuff it,” she said. “I don’t know who it is, but they can stop hassling me.”
When Weston got home, she’d get him to take a look at it. But she hated to depend on him more than she already was. Just having him here when Angel was causing trouble was huge. But she didn’t want it to become a habit, and she didn’t want him to think that she couldn’t live without him. Because, at some point, he would go home. If she didn’t move to a state where he lived, chances were she would remain alone.
The phone rang yet again, and she stared at it with growing frustration. Finally she picked it up. “Hello.” This time she heard laughter on the other end. Her stomach sank. “Is this Angel? What’s wrong? Are you high on drugs again? You’ll never get your daughter back if you’re just a druggie,” she demanded. “Leave me alone.”
“Oh my, you’re getting a little unnerved,” Angel said. “What’s the matter?”
“As if you don’t know,” Daniela said in disgust. “You’ve got nothing better to do than make prank phone calls all day or what?”
“This is the first call I’ve made today,” Angel said.
But her tone was mocking. Daniela didn’t know if she should believe her or not, so chose the not.
“Not likely,” Daniela said. “What brought you back to town anyway? Last I saw you, you were desperate to leave here.”
“Maybe I missed the place,” Angel said.
“You couldn’t wait to get out before,” Daniela said. “So I doubt it.”
“I never did say, Sorry about Charlie’s death,” Angel said abruptly.
“No need to say it now either then,” Daniela answered smoothly.
“He was such a sweetheart,” Angel said. “Especially in bed.”
Daniela froze. “Well, Angel, if you were one more of his many floozies in the last few months of his life, I hope you enjoyed sleeping with a dying man,” she said softly. “I certainly didn’t mind him enjoying life for a while.” It was a lie of course. She had just wanted him to enjoy life with her, not with a million other women.
“You really don’t mind that he was sleeping with women back then?” Angel asked in surprise.
“I’ve come to terms with it. Let’s put it that way,” Daniela said. “He was very sick, obviously very sick emotionally and mentally as well. Besides, look at his partners,” she said with an attempt at a smear. “Most of them were drug addicts and women who he never would have touched if he was healthy.”
Angel reacted like she’d been slapped, and you could almost hear her growling on the other end of the phone. “I’m not a drug addict,” she snapped.
“You’re not exactly a prime citizen either,” Daniela said, smiling as she felt she had the upper hand.
“You just keep threatening me and treating me like this,” Angel said. “You’ll get your own.”
“You’re the one doing the threatening,” Daniela said. “I haven’t said anything.”
“Well, you’re not treating me nice, and, if you want to be the mother of my child, you need to,” Angel said, her voice returning to normal, bringing the conversation back again to a threat.
“No. You’re forgetting something, Angel. I already am the mother to Sari.” And, on that note, she hung up and set the phone off to the side. She wouldn’t answer it again.
Weston headed out to the feedstore, not that the dog needed more dog food by any means. But, with a leash on her, he walked around the back of the yard, looking to see just how much anybody would have seen of her.
“Can I help you?”
He turned to see the same young man who’d given him the feed earlier.
“I just wondered who all would have seen this dog in the last six weeks or so. Outside of you.”
“Why?” the kid asked. “I haven’t been here the whole time, but not many of the others come out here.”
“Ah,” Weston said. “I wondered.”
“Wondered what?” the boy asked, perplexed. “She’s a stray. You came and got her, and she looks like she’s taken to you just fine.”
“I wanted to know about her old owner,” he said. “Did you know Grant Buckman?”
The kid shook his head. “I’ve not been here very long though,” he said, “just over a month now.”
“And who used to work back here?”
“Johnny,” he said. “Johnny Ryder. But he doesn’t work here anymore.”
“Why is that?”
“He got fired on account of stealing some cash out of the till. He’s done it a couple times, I heard, but this last time he took more than they were prepared to forgive.”
“That makes sense,” he said, wincing. “What about anybody else who worked in this area?”
The kid placed his hands on his hips. “What do you care?”
“I was looking for somebody who knew Grant,” he said.
“You know he’s dead, right?”
“I do know that,” Weston said. “There appears to be a case of mistaken identity though.”
The kid’s gaze lit up with interest. He looked back toward the front of the warehouse with a shrug. “I don’t think so. I don’t think anybody here, I mean, … Grant used to work here but not for a long time.”
“How did you know him?”
“Because of Johnny,” he said, “but I didn’t really know Grant. I just know of him.”
“Had Johnny worked here long?”
“Years and years,” the kid said in disgust. “I hope I’m not here for very long.”
“You don’t like your job?”
“Who could like a job like this?” the kid said. He gave an irritable shrug. “Anyway, you can talk to Johnny. He’s probably down at the pub.”
“He’s got money for the pub?”
“He got another job,” the kid said. “Pays more money than here too.” He looked around the back warehouse with all the feed stacked up. “But then, anything would pay better than this.” He lifted a hand. “I got to go back to work.” He walked back inside.
Armed with the name of the establishment, Weston and Shambhala walked back to his truck, hopped in and headed toward the pub. He didn’t know if he’d be allowed to take the dog in or not.
As it turned out, a group of men sat outside in a covered patio area. He didn’t know which one was Johnny. Just then he heard one of the men call out.
“Hey, Johnny, you owe me a beer!”
A young man in the corner looked up, shrugged and said, “No job, no money. No money, no beer.”
The guy just snorted and said, “You’ve been telling us that for months.”
“Been unemployed for months.”
And that was inconsistent with what the kid at the feedstore had just said about Johnny. Weston walked into the little courtyard area and walked up to him.
Johnny looked at the dog and smiled. “Well, lookie here.”
Shambhala walked over with her tail wagging, and Johnny reached out a gentle hand.
“Right dog, wrong man,” he said, looking up and eyeing Weston. “I heard Grant died, so you must have ended up with his dog.”
“Yeah, I did,” Weston said with a smile. “I understand you knew Grant?”
“Yeah, I did,” he said. “I knew him for quite a few years.”
“Just from your feedstore job or were you buddies?”
“We used to have a brew together every once in a while,” Johnny said. “Once he got married, things got different though.”
“Ah, so you knew him from before the marriage?”
“Yeah, he was a good guy,” he said. “It’s shitty the way he went out, but I guess it was fast.”
“Did he have any mannerisms or anything to really help identify who he was?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know. Things that only he said or did. Physical things you could see and know it was him from across the way. That sort of thing. Things that, if someone described them, you would know they were talking about Grant.”
Johnny stared at him with a frown, then smiled. “He’d motion at the table and say, ‘If you’re going to sit down, you might as well go grab a brew and make it two,’” he said.
Weston laughed. “Good one. Yeah, I can grab a couple beers.” He walked to the open door and ordered two through the doorway. Then he sat back down across from Johnny, with Shambhala at his heels. “So, tell me about Grant.”
“Not much to tell. He was your average boring old guy who liked to have a beer and get away from the wife every once in a while.”
“He was a twin though,” Weston said.
“Yep, he was. He told me about that. He said his brother was a no-good layabout too,” Johnny said.
Just then the beers arrived in large tall glasses with a white head of sparkling foam. Weston lifted his glass and took a sip.
Johnny took a hefty slug and sighed happily as he put the glass down, wiping the foam off his mustache. “That was Grant. Just a nice simple guy, enjoying life.”
“How’d he hook up with Ginger?”
“No clue,” he said, “because she was a lot of woman for him.”
“Have you ever met his brother?”
“No, but he said they were identical though.” Johnny laughed. “Wouldn’t that be a blast? Living your life with a mirror image of yourself.”
“Maybe,” Weston said. “Might be confusing as hell too.”
“Only if the brother was a dick.”
“And I guess that’s one of my questions for you. What kind of person was his brother?”
“No clue. Grant did say he was a bit of an asshole and superlazy. He didn’t like to work. I thought though, even with that, he’d have come up here to look after things.”
“But, if they’re so alike, then what Grant said meant Grant was an asshole and superlazy too?”
“No, not quite the same thing,” he said. “Grant said his brother was a bit of a loser and always looking for the easy way out, or a way to avoid work, instead of just buckling down and getting something done.”
“Did Grant have any tattoos or scars? Any accidents or injuries that you know about? Any way to help identify him? Obviously, they had his body from the accident, but the accident caused injuries to his body, so I’m just asking out of curiosity.” Johnny might have been an interesting character, but that didn’t mean he was stupid.
Leaning forward with a sharp gaze, he said, “There’s more to these questions than you’re telling me.”
“Just trying to make sure it was Grant they buried,” he said.
And with that, Johnny got it. “You think the brother was the one up here, do you?”
“I’m not sure, but possibly Grant’s brother was in the vehicle with Grant’s wife.”
Johnny let out a long whistle. “Now that would be something his brother would do. Apparently he was always getting in trouble over women.”
“And you did say Ginger was a lot of woman for Grant.”
“Yeah, she sure was. She appeared to be loyal though,” he said with a shrug. “But she was a looker. A tall redhead. Hence the name Ginger, I guess,” he said with a smirk. “Slim, busty, long legs and a bit of a mouth on her. She liked to push him around a little, you know? Be dominant, but he was okay with that. She must have been good in bed. On the other hand, I think Grant was the kind of guy who didn’t care either way. He was hooked up emotionally, and she could pretty well get away with anything, and he’d be fine with it.”
“Would he though?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if his brother was having an affair with his wife?”
Johnny’s eyebrows shot right up to his hairline. “You know something? I don’t think he’d be okay with that. The one bee in his bonnet guaranteed to piss him off was his brother. He didn’t talk about him often, but, when he did, it was usually venting and in a rage.”
“Interesting.”
“Why not just contact the brother and see where he is and what his story is?” Johnny asked, leaning back with his glass of beer in his hand again as he took another sip.
“I plan to. I’ve got a couple calls in but no answer so far.” That was at least the truth. He could make all the calls he wanted, but it didn’t look like Gregory would be answering anybody. Weston pulled out another Titanium Corp business card and wrote his cell number on the back side. “Listen, Johnny. If you remember anything, give me a shout.”
“Why would I call you and not the cops?”
At that, Weston looked at him with a glimmer of a smile. “Because you would never call the cops.”
Johnny burst out laughing. “You got that right.” Chuckling, he picked up the business card and slipped it into his pocket.
With that, Weston led Shambhala back to the truck. He wasn’t sure what else to do, except maybe take those steaks home and enjoy dinner with Sari and Daniela.