Rhythm & Clues Read online

  That whole conversation came to mind now as I watched Mom and Art sitting contentedly side by side on padded plastic patio chairs while sipping iced tea. On a table between them was a plate of my mother’s yummy banana bread. Thanks to her AC, Mom baked year-round. I sat down, took a slice of the bread, and bit off a large chunk.

  “There are no nuts in it,” I complained around a half-full mouth.

  “Art’s allergic to nuts,” Mom said. “I also made a batch with nuts. It’s inside. You can take a loaf home to Greg.” I took note that she didn’t include me in the gift of banana bread. Mom adores my husband.

  I continued chewing and shook my head. “Greg’s out of town for the next week to ten days. It’s his annual trip to visit the Phoenix and Colorado shops. I put him on a plane early this morning. He’s going to stay with Clark while he’s in Phoenix.”

  Mom touched the side of her head with an index finger. “I’d forgotten that his trip was coming up.”

  “Greg does that every year?” Art asked.

  I nodded as I swallowed my second bite of nut-free banana bread. “Yes. He and his partner Boomer meet in Phoenix to check out that store and meet with its manager for a few days. Then they’ll fly up to Colorado to have their annual meeting and go over the books at Boomer’s branch.” I grabbed a napkin from a small pile on the table. “Greg also wants to visit some friends from college who have recently settled in Denver.”

  “Are they still thinking of starting another store?” Mom asked, knowing that it was something Greg and Boomer wanted to do but had held off doing because of the economy.

  “They revisit that possibility every year,” I told her. “Greg is thinking if they do, it might be in Seattle. He’s learned of a shop up there for sale, so instead of starting from scratch, they could buy it and turn it into one of their shops.”

  “Isn’t your friend Dev Frye up in Seattle now?” Art asked.

  An elderly couple, both with hair as white as snow, strolled by. As they passed, they waved to us. Mom and Art waved back. Mom leaned toward me and whispered, “That’s George and Eleanor Brown. Enlarged prostate and incontinence issues.”

  “Yes, he is,” I answered, ignoring Mom’s commentary on her neighbors. “He’s the one who told Greg about the shop for sale.”

  “Maybe he could get Dev to run it,” Mom suggested. “It would give him something to do in retirement.”

  I laughed, not imagining Dev for a second sitting on a porch cataloging his neighbor’s health issues. “Greg said the same thing.”

  Six months earlier our good friend Dev Frye had retired from the Newport Beach Police Department and moved to Seattle to be with his girlfriend Beverly. He’d been a homicide detective for a long time and a good one. We all miss him a great deal. We heard from him via email about once a month. He reported that things in Seattle were fine, but Greg and I both thought he sounded bored.

  Mom put her glass on the table and got up from her chair. “Let me fetch you some iced tea,” she said to me.

  “I can get it,” I protested.

  “Nonsense,” Mom said. “I need to get up and move my old joints anyway, or would you rather come inside where it’s cool?”

  “No,” I answered, “outside is fine. There’s a nice breeze now that the heat’s given us a break.”

  She looked at Art. “You need a refill?”

  Art looked down at his glass. “No, thanks, Grace. I’m good.”

  “When I come back,” Mom said to me, “Art and I can tell you about these suspicions we have about a neighbor.”

  “Is that what you’ve been bothering the management office about?” I asked, my last bite of banana bread halfway to my mouth.

  Mom shook a bony finger at me. “I’ll bet that Mona D’Angelo called you. She’s such a snitch.” Before I could respond, Mom disappeared into her cool condo. I turned to Art with unasked questions plastered across my face.

  “I’ll let Grace tell you the details,” Art began, “but have you ever heard of Boaz Shankleman?”

  I ran the name through my memory bank, then slowly said, “I don’t think so. Does he live here at Seaside?”

  Art nodded, then took another sip of his tea. “Yes, he does. How about Bo Shank? Does that name ring a bell?”

  This time a sharp ding went off in my head. “Bo Shank? Do you mean the lead singer for the old band Acid Storm?” I gave my head a gentle shake. “He lives here?”

  “Yep,” Art answered, “but he goes by his real name now: Boaz Shankleman.”

  “I loved that band when I was in college,” I said with excitement. “They had a couple of hit albums, then disappeared. I believe the band broke up.”

  Mom returned with my iced tea. I took it from her and took a long thirsty drink.

  “I’m so glad you called today, Odelia,” Mom said after settling back into her chair. “I was going to call you anyway. We need you to help us. We think something’s happened to Bo. He’s gone missing for a couple of weeks, and no one will do anything about it.”

  “Maybe he’s off visiting his kids,” I suggested.

  Art shook his head. “Doesn’t have any. At least that’s what he told us.”

  “In fact,” Mom added, “Bo claims he doesn’t have any family. He told us he was married once in his forties for a couple of years, but that’s it.”

  “He can still take a vacation, can’t he?” I asked before taking another sip of tea.

  “He can and he has,” Mom answered, “but he always tells us when he does. He usually has Art take care of his plants when he leaves town.”

  “And Ringo once in a while,” Art chimed in. “If he doesn’t take him with him, which he usually does.”

  “Ringo?” I asked, still in shock that one of my favorite singers from the ’70s was living in the same place as my mother.

  “That’s his taco terrier,” Mom clarified, still leaving me in the dark.

  “A taco terrier?” I asked, sounding like a repetitious dunce.

  Mom let out a big loud sigh. “As nutty as you are about animals, Odelia, I would have thought you’d know what that is.”

  “Educate me,” I said, getting annoyed with her attitude. I turned to Art, the much nicer of my two current companions.

  “A taco terrier,” he explained, “is a hybrid—half Chihuahua and half toy terrier. It has a sturdier body than a full-bred Chihuahua, but it’s still pretty small.”

  “It has the big ears of a Chihuahua, too, but it’s not as yippy,” Mom said. “At least Ringo’s not obnoxious.”

  “Okay,” I said, getting the conversation back to the original topic. “Recapping, you haven’t seen Bo in a while.”

  “It’s been a couple of weeks,” Mom said.

  “You haven’t seen Bo in a couple of weeks,” I clarified, “and he didn’t tell anyone he was leaving town.”

  “Right,” Art said, “and he’s not answering his phone or returning voicemails. Grace and I have both left several messages. We also have his email address, and he’s not answering that either.”

  “Considering that Bo lives alone,” I said after thinking about it a few seconds, “I can see why you’re both concerned, but if the dog and car are gone, then Bo probably went on some extended trip and forgot to tell you. Maybe it was a last-minute thing.” I took another sip of tea. “Art, if you took care of his plants and dog once in a while, did he give you a key?”

  “I always returned it when he came back,” he said. “He never offered to have me hold on to it. And this time he didn’t even ask me to look in on the plants.”

  “By the way,” Mom interjected, “Art and I have exchanged keys. I keep it in the junk drawer along with your extra key.”

  “That’s nice to know,” I nodded, trying to keep my earlier ideas out of my head. I took another drink of tea. “I understand you asked the management
office to look into it.”

  “So Mona did call you,” Mom said, peeved. “She treats us all like a bunch of special-needs kids.” She twitched her nose. “It’s annoying.” I didn’t say how I already knew about this. I’d rather she think Mona D’Angelo was a snitch than Shelita was coming to me, wanting to break up this friendship. “Yes, we notified the management office. They went over there and knocked quite loudly, and then the security guard opened Bo’s place. Art and I went with him.”

  “Not a thing was out of place—and no Boaz or Ringo,” Art reported. “The plants needed watering, but that was about it. The guard let me water them while we were in there.”

  I put my tea on the table and got up to stretch. It was nearly noon and I was starting to feel very warm sitting outside, even if we were under the shade of the patio roof. “I still think you’re going to find out that Bo went on a long trip or vacation and simply forgot to tell anyone. It might have been last minute.” I waited, wondering if Mom was going to tell me about contacting the police. When she didn’t, I decided not to bring it up. I’d learned long ago with Mom to let sleeping dogs lie—taco terriers or not.

  Picking up my tea glass, I opened the slider to go into the house to get my bag. “I have lunch plans with Zee,” I told them, “so I have to shove off.”

  Mom followed me in and Art followed her like ducklings crossing the street in a row. “Aren’t you going to snoop around a bit?” Mom asked. “That’s what we want you to do.”

  I picked up my bag and pulled out my car keys. “I’m sure Bo put an emergency number on his Seaside application. Do you know if the management office called it?”

  Art and Mom looked at each other, then shrugged in unison.

  “Tell you what,” I told them. “How about I swing by the front office before I leave and inquire if they did that or not?”

  “Sounds good,” Art said with his killer natural smile. “I think they’re tired of hearing from us anyway.”

  I turned to my mother. “Will that make you feel better, Mom?”

  She crossed her arms in front of her, clearly not happy with my meager offering. “Well, it’s a start,” she groused, “but I think he’s met with foul play, Odelia, both him and the dog. And the sooner we start looking into it, the faster we can solve it.”

  “Why do you say that, Mom? Was Bo a shady character or into drugs or stuff like that?”

  “He’s a great guy,” answered Art.

  Mom nodded in agreement. “Yes, one of the best around here, funny and smart.” She uncrossed her arms and rubbed her abdomen. “I’ve just got a gut feeling about this, Odelia, like I ate something bad. Do you know what I mean?”

  I knew very well what my mother meant. Gut feelings were a family trait.

  three

  “So what did the front office say?” asked Zee after I told her about Mom and Art’s concern and my coffee with Shelita.

  I picked up a piece of my turkey club sandwich, ready to take a bite. “They said they did call his emergency contact, and that person—his band manager, I think they told me—said he had no idea where Bo is at the moment and hadn’t heard from him either.” I took a bite and chewed. “But Mona in the front office also told me that he said it didn’t strike him as odd at all that Bo took off on a long or unplanned trip without telling anyone. He claimed Bo did it often.”

  “But Grace and Art thought it odd?” Zee asked.

  “Yep. According to them, he would have someone at least check on his plants while he was away.”

  Across from me, Zee was working on rebuilding her burger. No matter what she orders, Zee has to take it apart, then reassemble it exactly the way she wants. Only soup is safe from this habit of hers. I simply pick up what’s in front of me and dive into it like I’m bobbing for apples.

  “On the way here, I called Mom and told her what Mona said, but she’s still not happy.”

  Zee stopped fiddling with her food and looked at me. We were sitting outside at a favorite café, and she was wearing sunglasses. The darkness of the lenses and frame nearly matched her dark skin, making her head look like a large, round chocolate truffle. “So what’s your next move?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Nothing more I can do.”

  “Don’t give me that.” She fixed me with her ninja mom stare. Zee was now an empty nester, so I was getting it more and more since her kids weren’t around, like she had that look stored up inside and if she didn’t let it loose on someone, she’d burst at the seams. She picked up a sweet potato fry and aimed it at me like an extra finger. “I know you and I know Grace. Neither of you can keep your nose out of anything.”

  “How is Hannah feeling?” I said, changing the subject to Zee’s very pregnant daughter, who lived on the East Coast. The pending birth of her first grandchild was Zee’s favorite topic.

  “She’s fine and big as a house,” Zee said with a wide smile that rivaled Art’s. “And about to pop!” To confirm her claim, she pulled out her phone and showed me a recent photo of Hannah. My unofficial goddaughter did, indeed, look about to explode.

  “I’m surprised you’re still here in California.” I licked mayonnaise off a finger.

  “Seth and I are leaving tonight, as a matter of fact.” Zee bit half of her fry and chewed it. “We were going next week, but Hannah said she thinks the baby is coming early, so we’re hopping a red-eye tonight.”

  “Give Hannah a big hug for me, and I have a gift for her in my car.” We each took another bite of our food.

  “So, what are you going to do about this Boaz guy?” Zee asked again, after taking a drink of lemonade.

  “What can I do, Zee?” I asked, trying another maneuver by answering a question with a question.

  Zee wiped her hands on a napkin before speaking. “Odelia, I’ve never seen you at a loss before on what to do in such circumstances. Do you need a dead body before the Sherlock Holmes part of your brain kicks in?”

  Ouch!

  But she had a point. There was no body and my big behind wasn’t in a jam, nor was anyone I loved in danger. This was a simple snoop job, with the only downside being that I might end up annoying the hell out of someone. My mother and Art had already paved that highway ahead of me.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I guess I could snoop around and see if I can find out something. And doing that would make Mom happy. The folks at Seaside didn’t give me the name of Bo’s manager, but that shouldn’t be too hard to find out. He’d either be the one from before, which means he’s probably mentioned on Acid Storm’s Wikipedia page, or he’s someone who books their current gigs.”

  Zee looked at me with surprise. “But I thought Acid Storm broke up decades ago.”

  I nodded as I chewed and swallowed the bite of sandwich in my mouth. “They did, but I think I remember reading somewhere that some of the members of the band still make occasional guest appearances. Of all the guys in the band, Bo Shank would be the biggest draw, even now. Either way, I’m sure I can track down his manager online.”

  I took another bite of my club sandwich and washed it down with a healthy gulp of iced tea. What I could also do was check Marigold, but I didn’t mention that to Zee because I had never told her about the ultra-secret Internet search engine I’d stumbled upon via Barbara, a contract researcher that my boss, Mike Steele, and I had used in the past. When she retired and moved into a rest home, Barbara had given me her passwords to several of her subscription search engines, and I had paid her for the time left on them.

  When I’m not stumbling over dead bodies, I’m a corporate paralegal at a law firm called Templin and Tobin, or T&T for short. The T&T main office is in Los Angeles, in Century City, but I work in their Orange County branch. Several attorneys and staff migrated to T&T from our previous law firm, including Steele, who manages the OC office. Marigold has proven itself quite useful in my paralegal work. Now when Steele needs useful in
formation on a party to a business transaction, especially if he’s smelling something a bit off, he gives me the job instead of contracting it out. I haven’t exactly told Steele about Marigold, just that Barbara gave me a lot of her research information when she retired.

  Marigold isn’t exactly in the deep dark web, where nefarious activities of all kinds take place, but it’s not crawling on the surface waving a red flag announcing its existence. You have to be referred to it by another user to even know it’s there. It can pull information on anyone or any company, much of which is public but not easily attainable and certainly not conveniently located in one spot. And some of it may not be public but gathered from servers that the folks who operate Marigold have accessed, legally or illegally. Marigold was invaluable to me after that body was found in the trunk of my car in February, and it might be useful now in finding a lead on the whereabouts of Boaz Shankleman. As soon as I got home after lunch, I would run his name through Marigold’s digital brain and see what cropped up.

  After lunch Zee and I went to a local baby store and ordered a gift for Hannah’s baby from Greg and me. We were getting her a stroller, and I wanted Zee with me to make sure I ordered the right one. My mother had had one of the ladies at Seaside knit a darling blanket, booties, and cap set for Hannah, and I passed that gift along to Zee to carry with her on the trip since they could be packed easily.

  “I didn’t know Grace did such beautiful handwork,” Zee said as she stroked the blanket. “These are gorgeous. Hannah is going to love them.” I didn’t wrap the items because I wanted Zee to see them. They were pretty spectacular and done in the softest yarn and palest green imaginable.

  “She doesn’t,” I said as I stood next to my car in the parking lot of the baby store. Next to it was Zee’s car. “My mother gets these from a lady at Seaside named Teri Thomson. Whenever Mom needs a handmade gift like this, she’s Mom’s first stop. Teri’s work is amazing. Mom is a great baker; that’s her talent. Speaking of which,” I said as I dipped my head back into my car and pulled out a loaf swathed in plastic wrap. “Here’s a loaf of Mom’s banana bread for you and Seth.”