Finding Shelby Moore, Part VII

I was still hurting when we adjourned to the kitchen to discuss things. Shelby and Rachel sat at the glass and wrought iron table. I paced and kept myself from moaning, lest I look less than manly in front of the women.

“So what the hell are you guys up to? Conspiring with Carl on a publicity stunt?”

“Fuck you!” Rachel said. She got up from the table. If she took another shot at my midsection, I'd happily batt her in the head.

“Rachel, no!” Shelby said. Her voice was small, but commanded respect. And though Rachel clearly wanted to beat me until I peed blood, Shelby’s words stopped her. “Sit down, please.”
Rachel sat, but reminded me of a caged tiger.

“It was my idea,” Shelby said. “And it had nothing to do with Carl.”

“Shel!”

“Rachel, please. It was a stupid idea. We’re in over our heads and this guy might be able to help.”

“You don’t know him,” Rachel said.

Shelby studied me. Her eyes were a pale blue that would stop most mens’ hearts from beating. Her face was simple and beautiful and when she smiled, she induced you to want to take care of her. “You’re right. I don’t. But –”

“But nothing, Shel. You went from your father to Dom to Carl because you let your gut feeling guide you. Your gut feeling for men just sucks.”

I stopped myself from saying she didn’t have to worry about me. It was true, but neither of them knew that. They’d have to figure it out on their own.

“I thought you were working with Carl on this,” I said.

Working with that asshole? I’d like to shoot that asshole,” Rachel said. She stood and walked toward me.

I moved away a couple steps, but she went to the sink and got a glass of water. An audible sigh of relief wouldn’t have been manly, so I kept it to myself.

“Why did you meet him for lunch?” I asked Rachel.

“Because he’s about three steps behind you,” she said. “That son of a bitch. I told him off, but he definitely suspects something.”

“Suspects what?” I said.

They faked the kidnapping. But I wasn’t sure about the details. I’d thought Carl was in on it, but Rachel blew that theory away. I sat down at the table across from Shelby.

“You might as well tell me. I figured out most of it and all I need to do is dial the police and it’s all over anyway.”

Nothing happened. Shelby and Rachel locked eyes and tried to communicate with each other without saying anything. They remained locked that way.

I tired of waiting and pulled out my cell phone. Shelby reached across the table and put her hand on mine.

“Wait. Please.”

I put the cell on the table, but left it open. “I’m a licensed private investigator. That means I’m bound to call and let the authorities know that you’re here. If I don’t I’ll lose my license and go to jail. So you got some time to figure this out, but not much.”

They glanced at each other again and Rachel sat next to Shelby at the table.

*****

“Carl’s a loon,” Rachel said. “A dangerous loon. He decided he loves Shelby and that no one else should.”

I glanced at Shelby. She nodded. “He smothers me. I don’t feel comfortable around him.”

“He ever hit you?”

Another exchanged glance. “Yeah,” she said. “A couple times. He’s got a temper.”

I glanced at Rachel and back at Shelby. “Did he do…anything else?”

Shelby looked at the table and spoke. “There was one time. It was when things with my father were going badly. I got drunk and he was nice to me, and I kissed him. I shouldn’t have done it. But I did and he kissed me back, and…”

“Did he rape you?”

“No. It didn’t get that far. The phone rang first.”

I thought for a minute, during which both of them stared at me. “You got Internet?”

Rachel pointed at a laptop behind me in the living room. It was on, so I jiggled the mouse and the screen came to life. Within a minute I had what I wanted. When I picked up my cell, they both gasped.

“Relax, I’m not calling the cops.”

Carl’s wife answered on the third ring. I wondered whether she was loaded yet. “Hi, this is Shane Black. We, uhhh, talked the other day.”

“What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you about your husband, Mrs. Clayton.”

“Louise.”

“Okay. Did he ever hit you?”

She said nothing.

“It’s important, Louise.”

She remained silent. I waited her out.

“I, uhhh, I was young. And I angered him. He came home one night when we lived on base and he found me…I was unfaithful. He’d been gone for eight months and most of the time I didn’t hear from him. I knew he was cheating. Word gets around. Guys talk, even if they aren’t supposed to. And wives talk. I knew.

“He came home and I was with someone.”

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Carl beat him, then smacked me around. He can do that, you know, without making it obvious. It’s something he learned in the MPs. He smacked me around for a while. After that…well, the guy he beat didn’t press charges. He didn’t want other people to know.”

“You never did anything?”

“No.”

“He still beat you?”

“Once recently. He…after he told me that he didn’t love me anymore. I was drunk and I provoked him. He, uhhh, he also said that I was his and when he was done with me, no one would have me.”

“Thanks.”

“You don’t think he kidnapped Shelby Moore, do you?”

“I guarantee you he didn’t.”

“But—”“I have to go.” I flipped the phone shut and walked back to the kitchen. When I got there, Carl was there with the two of them. He held a gun on Rachel and Shelby.

Finding Shelby Moore, Part VI

Rachel Fernandez was also a golfer, though not as good as Shelby. They went through high school together and she often traveled with Shelby to tournaments. According to Jeff, who took a break from seducing the Williams twins to talk to me, there were even rumors that Rachel and Shelby were more than best friends forever.

“Are they?”

“It’s possible, but Shelby’s had some fairly intense relationships with guys, too. She dated a quarterback for the Bucs for a year or so. And there were rumors that she was seeing that kid on those Disney movies.”

Those Disney kids blended together for me, but I understood who he meant. At least I thought I did.

I thanked him and hung up and set to work finding out where Rachel Fernandez lived. An hour later, I sat in front of a brick house in Carrollwood, set back from the road so it was well shaded under a tree, with a garage extending forward to the driveway.

A portable basketball hoop sat on the grass to the left of the driveway. The lawn was well-kept and the hedges were near perfectly trimmed. A covered walkway extended along the left side of the garage to the front door.

The house was probably twenty years old, but the wide paneling along the side of the garage was freshly painted. In my short time in Florida, I’ve noticed that if you don’t keep up with anything made of wood, it ages quickly.

Rachel answered on the second ring. She wore a loose pair of sweat pants and a tank top that didn’t appear to have a bra underneath. Her hair was up and unkempt. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting company.

“Can I help you?” she said.

At the question, my mind went blank. I had no client. So I did what I always do in these circumstances--blundered forward and hoped I didn't do too much damage. I pulled out my wallet and showed her my license.

“My name is Shane Black. I’m a private investigator lo—”

“You were at the beach when it happened,” she said. “Who’s your client?” It seemed like an odd question to start with.

I smiled congenially and tipped my head slightly to the side. Sly, I am. “I can’t disclose that.”

She nodded, but made no motion to let me in. “I’ve already talked to the FBI—a lot, in fact. I’m tired and this has kind of worn on me. Could you excuse me?”

I bunched up my lips in what I hoped would convey equal parts of disappointment and doubt at her sincerity. “I guess. I just have a few questions.”

She glanced inside behind her and then back at me and bit her lower lip. “Um, does the FBI know that you’re doing this?”

“I’m pretty sure they’re aware of my presence.” On a high-profile case like this, if I started to hang around with one of the principals in the case, they'd know. In fact, I expected them to have a friendly discussion with me soon.

“I really need to go,” she said. She pushed the door shut.

Instead of leaving, I sat in my car and watched. I spend nearly as much time in the car as I do in bed. In the early nineties, when I was still relatively new at this, I started eating to pass the time. After about twenty-five pounds, I figured that was a bad idea. Now, I was resigned to drinking coffee.

Fortunately for my caffeine intake, I didn’t have to wait long for something to happen. Ten minutes after I left her doorstep, Rachel pulled from the garage in a lipstick red Mitsubishi Eclipse. Her neighborhood was quiet and I needed to give her a little more space than I wanted to, so she wouldn’t notice me. But as harried as she looked, I could have been driving an Abrams Battle Tank and she wouldn’t have noticed.

She turned south on Dale Mabry and continued past the stadium. Then, she took a left on Columbus, drove a block, and pulled into the office complex where Carl’s office was.

“That’s interesting,” I said.

I drove past, then turned around and took up my position in the side street across Columbus Avenue. Within a few minutes, they came out from Carl’s office and went to her car. With Carl, I had to be more careful. He’d shown that he’d notice both the Abrams Tank and a late-model Accord.

As before, I followed Carl to Bahama Breeze. This time, I didn’t pull into the parking lot behind him, but kept driving to the gate for the apartments across the street. I put the window down and leaned out and made it look like I was trying to buzz someone to let me in. Carl and Rachel got out of the car and walked toward the restaurant. Rachel seemed animated and Carl didn’t seem to react.

I fiddled around for what seemed to be enough time, then backed up and drove the opposite way. I parked in the hotel up the street and waited. An hour later, the red Eclipse rolled past in the other direction.

I gave it a ten beat, then pulled into traffic after them. Unfortunately, I missed the traffic light onto the Courtney Campbell and lost them. They weren't at Carl's office, so I went back to Rachel's house.

The car wasn’t in the driveway, but I’d keep a car like that in the garage. I got out and rang the bell. No one answered after the first ring, so I leaned on it again, and this time left it pressed for about half a minute.

When Rachel opened the door, she was wearing black shorts and a white t-shirt with a palm tree on it. And she was angry.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said.

“How come you were at Carl Clayton’s office?”

Her eyes flew open wide and she opened then closed her mouth. “You—I—.” She pushed the door shut.

I braced it with my foot.

“I’ll call the police,” she said.

I pulled out my cell phone for her. “Here you go.”

For the second time, she was flummoxed. I could almost see her think this wasn’t supposed to work this way.

“What’s going on Rachel?”

She pushed the door harder, but nothing happened.

“Whatever you’re up to, they'll figure it out. If you level with me, you might control where and how it gets revealed. If you don’t, the FBI will unravel it in a time and manner of their choosing.”

She removed the pressure from the door, but didn’t step back.

“Where’s Shelby?”

“How would I know?” Her tone belayed her words.

I pushed through the door. Rachel backed up, then rediscovered her resolve and jumped on my back, telling me to get out of her house. Before I could remove her, she raked her nails across my neck, leaving three parallel welts that smarted immediately.

“Get out of my house, goddamn you!”

I got her off and pushed her away. She was a small woman and I used my girth to control her, but not hurt her. Eventually, I’d have to either become more aggressive or leave. She accelerated things by kicking me in the knee as hard as she could.

“Ow, dammit.” I pushed her back against the wall without thinking about it. She knocked over a small table next to the door and her keys, purse, and cell phone fell to the floor. I stepped back to get a little distance.

“Stop it,” another female voice said.

Shelby Moore stepped into the hallway. I froze and Rachel took the opportunity to punch me in the groin.

Bitch.

Finding Shelby Moore, Part V

Lindsey came to me that night. She does that in my dreams sometimes when I’m struggling with something. We sat on Clearwater Beach in lawn chairs, the water lapping gently at our feet. I turned to her and gasped at her presence. It had been a long time since I’d dreamt of her and I’d forgotten how alive she made me feel.

“It’s you,” I said.

“You know I’m not real,” she said. She wore a tight blue one-piece swimsuit, and though her body wasn’t as tight as Carl Clayton’s wife’s, it turned me on more. For a few seconds, I had to remember to breathe.

“I don’t care. Your here.”

She smiled and the calluses on my heart dissolved. Our fingers intertwined. Normally, she didn’t touch me; she said the rules didn’t allow it. Tonight, she broke them. If she broke them a little more intimately, I wouldn’t leave. Maybe that’s why the rules existed.

“You looking into that girl’s kidnapping?”

“Not anymore.”

She pressed her lips together the way she did when I disappointed her and squeezed my hand. “How come?”

“Not mine to look into.”

“I think you should,” she said. “She doesn’t have anyone else looking out for her interests.”

“It’s a business, not a charity. Last time out, I almost died. Unless there’s a paying customer, I'd like avoid that.”

She nodded and wouldn’t look me in the eye. “You said since your love for your fellow man died with me.”

I nodded and looked away. I'd have pulled my hand from hers, but she might leave then.

“It hurts me to hear that,” she said.

“Lindsey do you know how many people died when I solved your murder?”

She nodded and her eyes glazed “Yeah. And I know who they were, too. But if I meant anything to you, you should try your best not to become a bitter old man.”

I closed my eyes, something I've never done before in a dream. “You’re asking a lot.”

“I know,” she said. “But something isn’t right about this and I think you know that.”

I opened my eyes and looked at her. The bathing suit was sheer, almost like a layer of paint. It was a cruel thing to wear when I couldn't have her.

“I can’t save everyone,” I said. “Sometimes people have to get out of their own messes—or not.”

“I’m not concerned about everyone. I’m concerned about you.” She stood and sat on my lap.
Again, I had to remember to breathe.

“I miss you so much,” she whispered in my ear. Unlike Clayton’s wife, there was no desperation in her voice. But there was hunger and the hunger almost ate me. I almost didn't want to come back.

At that point, I woke up and cursed myself for it. My hear seemed to rattle my ribcage with every beat. My hair was slick with sweat and I still had trouble breathing.

I stared at the ceiling a long time. If Lindsey wanted me to look into this, I’d do it. But she could have given me a little more information, maybe a place to start.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Most people learn after twice. That’s why there’s nothing in that saying about fooling me a third time. And yet, for the third time, I decided to look into this. This time it was because a false image of someone who didn't exist any more told me to do it.

*****

The FBI would’ve gone through Shelby's apartment, appointment book, e-mails, phone records, all that. They had the people and resources to do it. And they were under more scrutiny on this now than anyone. If Shelby died, they'd be blamed.

I didn’t need to fight the bureaucracy and I had a little more latitude to play a hunch. Now, I just needed to find a hunch.

I went back to the beach and walked through what happened again. The van would have been waiting someplace, probably in the parking lot where they'd taken her. It would have followed them there from someplace, meaning they probably staked out either Shelby's house or Carl’s apartment.

I stood by the rail at Frenchy’s and imagined the scene again. The van wasn’t moving very fast. There were no screeching breaks when it stopped. I thought about the parking lot itself. It was fairly full, typical for a summer afternoon.

I could see Shelby’s face from where I stood, but she didn’t react until the taser hit her. Then her body seized up and she fell into the side of the van.

I couldn’t see Carl’s face, but I did see him fall and heard him wail. Then, the big guy loaded Shelby into the van. Her smile stayed with me again. I'd seen it when I closed my eyes to go to sleep.

Getting tasered hurt like a son of a bitch. A friend of mine, a trooper named Tim Owens had prevailed on me to get tasered as part of a training exercise for some Boy Scouts. In return, he offered a steak dinner at his house. It turned out his wife, Karen, had invited a woman they wanted me to meet. That woman was Lindsey. I’d often joked about whether the payoff was worth the pain.

I got back in the car and drove to the nearest Panera, where I got out my laptop and looked at videos of people being tasered. Most of them didn’t have enough resolution to show the tasee’s facial expression, but of the ones that did, none of them looked like they were smiling. Shelby was smiling. It must have been a grimace. Unless it wasn't.

“Son of a bitch,” I said.