John Logan: Hindsight

ONE

It was a week before Christmas. Teri was in Iowa visiting her family and Killian was gone. I didn’t know where. I hadn’t really asked in twenty years and wasn’t about to start now. I was wrapping the box that held Teri’s final present of the season. Lucky lay curled up on his favorite blanket in the corner. He would occasionally open an eye to check on me and, being satisfied all was well, go back to sleep.

Canada had been kind enough to send America a nasty cold front that had dumped tons of snow on New England and down the mid-Atlantic as far as the Carolinas. While Florida was spared the white stuff, the temperatures had plummeted, and a biting wind knifed across the bay. The marina’s boats had been secured and then deserted by their owners for warm apartments and winter homes. They bobbed on the water, empty and silent. The cold snap had discouraged all but the heartiest of the tourists; the downtown area was an illuminated wasteland except for a few brave souls in heavy jackets and fur-lined coats. I could almost imagine myself as the last human on earth. Teri liked that concept. She says there’d be nothing better than a good global pandemic or zombie apocalypse to erase many of mankind’s ills.

I love that woman.

My heaters hummed and the chill had left the Shikira but it had not warmed my sense of the holiday spirit. Teri would be home in time for us to celebrate and open gifts but right now I was alone. I placed the last piece of invisible tape on the flap and walked to the artificial tree tucked in a small alcove off of the living room. The colored lights blinked and I placed the present underneath.

Make sure you leave them alone, I said.

Lucky opened one eye.

Yes, I’m talking to you. I’ll not have a repeat of last year.

He opened his mouth wide then commenced to stretch his body out for a long moment before curling back up onto his blanket. He gave me a final feline glare before closing his eyes.

I made it to the kitchen and got a beer and some chips, and sat in my recliner and clicked on the TV. A local station was showing It’s a Wonderful Life and Jimmy Stewart was in the bar praying to find a way out of his mess when Lucky raised his head and a screechy sort of noise escaped his throat. He bounded from his blanket and hopped onto the back of the sofa where he looked through the window.

What is it, pal? I looked out and spotted her.

She looked to be in her early to mid teens. A pretty young woman with black hair bobbed short about ear lobe level that reminded me of Natalie Portman’s character in The Professional. She wore faded worn jeans, battered sneakers, and a thin green tee shirt. No coat. She walked down the dock towards me and glanced around at the slew of boats. Her head lowered as she read off of something in her hand then looked directly at the Shikira. She came to the end of the dock.

Hello?

I was in jeans and a tee and I hated the thought of facing the bitter wind but I didn’t want to take the time to grab a jacket. I opened the aft door and stepped onto the deck. Hi.

I’m looking for John Logan, she said.

That’s me, I said. Why don’t you come in and get out of the cold?

She stepped on board but stopped at the door. Can I see some ID? she asked.

You don’t trust me?

A friend of mine was raped on a boat, she said.

I’m sorry. I pulled my PI license and she nodded.

Thank you.

I’m going in. It’s too cold out here. I walked inside and this time she followed. I shut the door behind her and offered her a place on the couch. Lucky was watching her intently.

Is he friendly?

I shrugged. He’s picky. Only one way to find out, I’m afraid.

She held out her hand and Lucky inched forward, took a sniff. He tensed for a moment until her fingers found just the right spot behind his ear and he began to purr.

Looks like you made a friend, I said. I sat down on the sofa at an angle to her. What’s your name?

Madisyn Tolley. She spelled her first name. Most people call me Maddie.

Can I call you Maddie?

Sure.

She had these big hazel eyes and a small nose. Her complexion hinted at some ethnic background. I said, What brings you out on such a cold day, Maddie?

I want to hire you, she said. I have money, I can pay. She dug into the pocket of her well-worn jeans and brought out a wad of bills and some change. She put it all on the coffee table.

How much is there?

Sixty-five dollars and forty-three cents.

She wasn’t giggling and there was no smirk. The girl was serious.

What is it you want me to do?

Her eyes were steady and she looked square at me. Find out who killed my mom.

TWO

For a moment I couldn’t say anything. I simply looked at her. Finally I said, Can I get you something to drink?

It was a dumb thing to say, especially given her last statement, but I needed a moment to figure out how to approach this.

No, thank you, she said.

I kept looking for some sign that this was a joke and came up with zip. She seemed serious. I didn’t think this was some childish prank she’d been talked into doing by some friends. I leaned back in the sofa. Why don’t you start at the beginning?

Five years ago this week my mom was found dead in our apartment. The police said it was an overdose.

You don’t believe that?

No.

Your mom didn’t use drugs?

She did before I came along, Maddie said. She stopped when she found out she was pregnant with me and checked herself into rehab.

People relapse, I said.

I know. Mom didn’t.

It was said so surely, so matter of fact, that I guessed there would be no point in arguing the issue. What did she do? I was almost afraid to ask.

She was a custodian, Maddie said. Got a job with the night crew at the Wells Building.

A big job.

She worked hard. Harder than she should have had to.

What about your dad?

She bit her lower lip before answering. She did that a lot. Don’t know him. Mom said he was no good and I was better off without him, that I was smart enough not to bother with him.

So where do you live?

She shrugged.

Aunt? Uncle?

She shook her head.

Foster home?

A couple, she said. Didn’t work out.

What about now?

No place in particular.

So… you’re homeless.

I do okay.

What about school?

I got my GED last fall at my last foster home, she said. School was such a waste.

How old are you?

I’ll be sixteen in March.

Dear God….

Anyone that you know would want to hurt your mom?

No.

A boyfriend? Anyone she was having problems with?

No one.

When was the last time you saw her, spoke to her?

Bit the lip again. That morning. She sent me off to school. It was a Friday and she said we’d leave the next morning to go to Raleigh so I could see snow. I knew that meant she’d work overnight and be tired for the trip but she really wanted me to see it. Her eyes grew watery. Later that day, the cops showed up at the school and told me.

Was she acting nervous lately? Scared?

No, but a few days before, I could tell she’d been crying.

Did she say why?

I asked her and she said it was just a hard day at work.

Did you believe her?

At the time, yes. Now…

Now you think there was something more?

Yeah.

For what it’s worth I’m sorry.

Thanks, she said. But you couldn’t understand.

I can, I said. My parents died when I was six. Car crash.

Really?

Really, I said. I lived with my uncle and aunt until they were murdered when I was seventeen.

So you know…

Yes, I said. I leaned forward a little for emphasis. When I work a case, Maddie, I don’t stop until I’m finished. And I don’t believe in blowing smoke and telling you the ending that you want. If your mom did OD and there’s no evidence otherwise, that’s what I’ll tell you. The truth.

I understand. The tears were gone and there was suddenly the strong girl in front of me again. Maddie, the survivor. About the money, I can get more. I can—

You’re in luck, I said. I’m running a holiday special. This will cover it.

So you’ll do it?

Sure, I said.

After all, how long could it take?

THREE

First things first.

I tried to convince myself to take Maddie’s money and send her back to wherever she called home for the day. I’d call Jake Ross later on and set up a meet with him. After all, she wasn’t my kid or my responsibility, but I didn’t do it.

Couple of rules if you’re going to be my client, I said. First of all, go in and take a shower. While you’re doing that, I’ll make lunch.

That’s all right, I—

Your stomach’s been growling since you walked in, I said. And you smell. Do what I say. I led her to the guestroom and showed her the bathroom. Towels are under the sink. There’s a bathrobe you can use. I’m going to wash your clothes, too.

She went inside and shut the door. A moment later the tee and jeans and sneakers came tumbling out. Either she was too shy to give them to me to wash or she wasn’t wearing underwear. She was developing and needed a bra.

One of the best things about the Shikira was the fact that it had a washer/dryer capability. I was also tied into the marina’s power, water and septic lines so I didn’t have to run the boat’s generator. I tossed the clothes into the washer with a liberal amount of soap and turned it on.

I was in the kitchen cutting up stuff for a simple salad when she came out in Teri’s bathrobe and drying her hair with a towel. She gave a curious glance. What’s for lunch?

Subs and a salad.

Can I have a beer?

No.

I was expecting an argument from one so young about eating salad and the beer but she climbed onto a barstool and tore into the food. I set a glass of milk on the bar. She drank it in one gulp. I stared at the empty glass for a moment, then at her, and then refilled it. She helped herself to more and my cell rang. It was Teri. I excused myself and took the call in the stateroom.

Hi.

Hey, she said. I’m in Des Moines airport. Going to Houston then to Coral Bay. Traffic’s cancelled on my original route due to a snowstorm.

What time will you be in?

Tomorrow afternoon, if I’m lucky, she said. If not, I’m going to have to stay an extra night. What’s going on there?

I wrapped your last present, I said.

What is it?

Nice try, I said. And we have a little knot in the rope.

What did you do now?

Who said I did anything?

There was a smile in her tone. I know you, remember?

I told her about Maddie.

You took a case—a nonpaying case—a week before Christmas?

It’s not nonpaying.

Sixty four dollars and change is not exactly your standard rate.

Well… yeah.

You are a sentimental old softie, John Logan.

I’m going to buy her some clothes, I said. She has nothing, T, just the clothes on her back and sixty bucks. God only knows what she did to get it.

You sound very paternal right now.

Whatever. The point is she’s willing to give me every dime of it to look into this thing. That sounds like she’s serious.

What do you think about her theory?

I’ll talk to Ross, find the police report and go from there.

Think there’s anything to it?

I doubt it, I said.

You’d be a good dad, baby.

I doubt that, too, I said and hung up.

* * *

Who was that? she asked when I walked back into the kitchen. She had polished off two subs and two glasses of milk. She’d also found my fruit bowl and munched on a banana.

My girlfriend, I said.