I’d stolen an hour of sleep anyway, Eileen’s summons notwithstanding. Bowl of Cheerios. What the hell, I’m late as it is—set up the laptop on the desk.
Nikki snored, moaned a little.
Checked my email—first time in two days. Meet horny housewives in your neighbourhood. You, too, can make fifteen thousand a month, doing absolutely nothing. Enlarge this body part, shrink that. Click—junk. Most of the other traffic was from a single address. Sweet emails. May-the-Lord-bless-you emails. Hope-you-don’t-mind emails. Old-time’s-sake emails. So-sorry-to-hear emails. Hope-you-are-well emails. Would-love-for-us-to-get-together emails. Wanted-to-bring-you-a-casserole emails. Damn—I’d get to the bottom of this.
Kill two birds with one stone. This nonsense first. Then whatever it was Eileen wanted to see me about. So I hit SEND on a vague reply, then drove over to Red Line.
I opened the front door oh-so gingerly, so Eileen’s cute little jingle bells didn’t ring. Shushed Jackie before she could say a word, and barged on back, plopped myself in a chair, facing Eileen.
She didn’t look up. “Practising our stealth skills, are we?”
“Did some of that last night,” I said. “Feeling kinda done with all that, for today. What are you practising?”
She looked up. Her face asked. Then answered her own question. “She’s contacted you?”
“Numerous times,” I said.
Eileen feigned a smile. “Good, good. So you two will be getting together, then?”
“I’ve no doubt.”
“Good. Well. Reason I called you in—”
“We’re not done with this yet, Eileen.”
“Oh?”
“Question, Eileen. Barbara Jean McCorkle—does she drive a Cadillac?”
“No. Um, more like an SUV, I think. An…Escapade?”
Come off it, honey. Ex-cop. She knew her cars better than that.
“Escalade,” I said. “Black?”
“Um…not quite. More like a—”
“Really, really dark purple.”
“Could be…yes. I think that’s it.”
“This is bullshit, Eileen.”
“I don’t appreciate that kind of lang—”
“And I don’t appreciate games.”
“Then maybe you won’t appreciate this, either.”
She handed me a larger-than-usual envelope, flap open. Cheque. Twelve hundred dollars and change, for the divorce case. Two months at the Benbow. Or a month plus eats and gas, maybe even a few revenue stamps for my collection. She passed it along with a card, in a pretty, perfect hand, turquoise fountain pen. Simple. Thank you, Jack, for a wonderful job. Please know we love you…Eileen.
I didn’t know anyone loved me.
Deep breath. “I’m sorry, Eileen. I owe you better. I’m just…”
“Tired,” she filled in.
“Not an excuse,” I said.
“No,” she said. “But perhaps a cause. She’s been pestering you with calls?”
“No,” I told her. “Just emails.”
“Well, good. Because I didn’t give her your phone number, Jack.”
“Thank you.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
“And what would prompt you to give her my number?”
“Your consent.”
“Why would I give that?”
“Because I’m asking.”
“Asking because…”
“Because she…needs…and because, well…you need.”
“You don’t mean…”
She looked at me querulously, then the realization broke across her face. “That I’m playing matchmaker? No. Definitely. No. Good God, no. Didn’t even think of that angle. Didn’t think you’d think…I’m sorry, Jack.”
“No sorries required, Eileen. If what you say is true. And if Barbara Jean McCorkle has the same understanding.”
“She’s happily…she’s married, Jack.”
“Still married to…”
“Um…far as I know, Jack.” She knew, all right.
“So what does she want, Eileen?”
“You know Barbara Jean,” Eileen said. “She’s not happy unless she’s helping.”
“‘Helping.’ Like the Boy Scout who helped the little old lady across the street—”
“—even though she didn’t want to go.” Eileen laughed. “That is true. The thing of it is, I guess, is that she’s not happy unless she’s involved.”
“Involved in what?”
“Well, in…giving to people. Doing things for people. You know…”
“Back to the question. What does she want?”
“Well, I think she really does want to…to see you…to help you if she can…to…”
“Bring me a casserole?”
Eileen laughed again. “If she gives you a choice, go for the green bean with the almonds and the crunchy cracker crust. It’s pretty good. It’s a hit around our house…my house.” Her smile faded, took a few seconds to come back.
“I’ll remember that,” I answered.
“Of course, the thing about casseroles…” she said.
“Is what?”
“Well, you’ve got to wash the dish. Then you’ve got to give it back.”
“Barbara Jean McCorkle and I are not just going to slurp a thirty-minute Americano at Starbucks, are we?”
“Umm…I expect not.”
“There’s going to be a whole…thing here, isn’t there?”
We both started to laugh. “Yeah,” she said. “I reckon there is.”
I made my smile go away. “One more time, back to the question. What…” Big, dramatic pause. “does she want?”
“Bring you a little cheer. A casserole, maybe?”
“That’s to me, Eileen. What does she want…” I love pauses. “from me?”
There’s a certain look crosses Eileen’s face when she’s about to say something glib or smartass. Whatever it was Les had fallen in love with, it surely included that. “Other than her casserole dish back,” I said.
“Just some information, Jack. Just that. I think.”
“And whatever that…information is, Eileen, I presume it’s not the sort can be gathered from a desk and a phone and a high-speed internet connection.”
“No.”
“How much do you know?” I asked.
“Truly, Jack, next to nothing. I asked, but you know Barbara Jean—she did all the talking.”
I nodded. “Way less informative than it was long.”
“She came in at four that day,” Eileen said. “And we weren’t out till seven.”
“And she said…?”
“Like I say, next to nothing. There was something she wanted you to ‘look into’.” A big pair of air-quotes. “Said she wanted a real…”
“Real what?”
Her mouth made a tiny smile. “‘Gumshoe,’ is what she said, Jack.”
“That the actual word?” I felt my eyes roll.
“As God is my witness, Jack.”
“Those only exist in fiction,” I said. “As well you know.”
“Not in her mind.”
“I need a trench coat for this?”
“And a fedora hat as well, I expect, Jack.”
“Jesus.”
“You might need him, too.” Her face was dead serious.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I don’t,” Eileen replied, “mean…anything. I just have this… feeling.”
So did I.