Body in The Boot: M Falcon Mystery, #2

1 CHAPTER

T arget spotted. Wendy Atlas unconsciously touched the Bluetooth in her ear before, adjusting the hat on her graying head. She shifted the condiments caddy and propped her smartphone on it at the perfect angle to get the shot. As long as someone did not bump the table or block the camera, she could record everything.

Unfortunately, the only thing the man was doing at the moment was eating a sandwich special at a diner where the air was permeated with fried bacon, burnt toast, and stale coffee. If the donuts came from the bakery next door, there was at least a small chance they might still be edible.

The voice on the other end of the phone was filled with concern as Estelle Jones stated her opinion of the matter. Be careful. This guy is supposed to be dangerous. And by his rap sheet, there’s no supposed about it.

I know. Isn’t it exciting? Wendy could not keep her feet from tapping on the food stained indoor/outdoor carpet which covered the floor. She tried not to contemplate the science experiments still stuck in the weave.

The exasperated sigh at the other end of the phone line was followed by, I’ve got 911 on speed dial, and I’ve already called Eddie to let him know we have the guy under surveillance. He’s on his way. But I swear if Barton so much as gives you a dirty look, God help me, I’ll run that idiot over.

With your wheelchair?

No. The van’s faster. It takes me a good ten minutes to get the chair on the ground. Estelle followed up her comment with an evil laugh. I might just do it on principal, seeing as what he’s put our client through.

Wendy touched the screen of her phone and snapped a picture of their client’s husband as he talked to the waitress. Their client had ended up in the hospital the day before with more than just a broken arm. Five months pregnant, she lost the baby.

The waitress came by to refill Wendy’s coffee cup. No amount of cream or sugar could save the caustic brew, so Wendy did not even try. Instead she folded and unfolded empty sugar packets to stave off much of the nervous energy she felt.

A patron caught Wendy’s eye. They smiled at each other over the large brightly colored menus with a laminate so heavy it would take a five alarm fire to so much as smudge the writing. Thick salt and pepper hair covered the man’s head, and there looked to be a fair bit of muscle on his suntanned arms.

Handsome man at 2 o’clock.

Focus Wendy. This is not a scene where the spy picks up a hot date. It’s one where he’s most likely to get beaten up.

Wendy sighed in disappointment. Estelle’s logic had merit. This situation was not one of her favorite movies. The agency demanded she have backup. The only reason she even sat alone at the table was that Mac was still recovering from a bout of pneumonia. Normal restaurants barred Mac, seeing as he was of the homeless set. In this diner, half the patrons looked down on their luck while the other half were most likely looking for a cheap meal.

Martin should be doing this one. He’s got the background, said Estelle.

He’s in court today and... Oops.

Wendy sat at the table like a deer caught in the headlights of a car as the person she was trying to get evidence on glared at her. Estelle’s shouting in her ear pulled her out of her trance.

Oops? Oops what? Do I need to call the cops?

Got to go. I’ve just been made.  Wendy grabbed her purse and smartphone off the table and headed to the door. Mr. Barton, their client’s husband, did likewise and blocked her exit.

What do you think you’re doing? His loud voice carried in the restaurant. Several patrons turned to see what was going on, and a few even pulled out their smartphones, hoping for some social media worthy upload.

Wendy mustered all her acting ability to mask her rising fear and attempted to bluff her way out of the quickly deteriorating situation. I’m leaving. Now if you don’t mind moving.

I do mind. You been taking pictures of me. The man stepped closer to Wendy in an obvious attempt at using his larger size and thick power gym sculpted muscles as intimidation. Who you working for, and what do you want?

The lady said she wanted to leave.

Both Wendy and the angry Mr. Barton turned to the person who spoke. The same patron with the salt and pepper hair Wendy had flirted with stood within striking distance of Mr. Barton. A full head shorter, the man stood calm as if facing a musclebound, steroid filled, raging bull was as common as potholes on the highway.

Stay out of this old man.

So you can bully people? Sorry, that’s not in my nature.

Wendy debated on slipping around Mr. Barton while he was distracted, but she did not feel right in leaving her would be rescuer in the lurch. Instead, she stood her ground and dug a can of pepper spray out of her purse.

This is none a your business.

I’m making it my business.

The contrast between the two men fascinated not only Wendy but everyone in the diner as they watched the odd pair. Barton got louder, and his movements became more intimidating with each challenge. Whereas Wendy’s champion stayed calm and still. When Barton tried shoving the man away, the older gentlemen grabbed his arm. In a movement too fast for Wendy’s eyes to register, Barton ended up on the floor. The shock on Barton’s face quickly turned to one of pain.

That’s when the waitress intervened. Hey, leave my boyfriend alone or I’m calling the cops.

Upon hearing the word boyfriend, Wendy forgot about Mr. Barton, and his current state and made a beeline for the waitress. She dropped her pepper spray back in her purse and dug out a notebook and pencil.

In her excitement, Wendy forgot where she was and went into her stage volume so that every patron in the diner could hear. So you’re the girlfriend. We’ve been trying to find you Miss, Wendy glanced at the nametag on the waitress’ uniform and wrote it down as she talked. Anna. I’ll be needing your last name for the record. Will you be testifying in the divorce proceedings?

The waitress stepped back from Wendy, gaping like a goldfish.

How long have you been seeing Samuel Barton?

At Wendy’s second question the waitress found her voice. His name’s Temple. Sam Temple and he isn’t getting a divorce. His wife won’t cooperate.

Is that what he told you? Is that before or after he threatened to kill her if she ever tried to leave him again? I believe this is her second attempt.

What?

Don’t listen to her— Mr. Barton’s words were cut short, but Wendy was not about to find out why. She was too ecstatic about finding the suspected girlfriend.

If you don’t believe me, you can ask her yourself. She’s in Memorial Hospital. Though you’ll have to get authorization to get past the security officer who’s guarding her room. No one wants Mr. Barton to toss Mrs. Barton down the stairs again. Especially the hospital. And I don’t blame them after all the work they had to do to keep her alive. She paused in the middle of her explanation and scowled. Too bad about the child. A little girl. There wasn’t a thing the doctors could do.

Blue and red lights flashed through the windows of the diner as a cop car pulled up to the front door. Wendy recognized the uniformed sergeant that exited the passenger side of the patrol car and stormed into the diner.

Hello Eddie. Wendy grinned and waved a hand at Sergeant Edward McCloud.

The barrel chested sergeant scowled, pointed at Mr. Barton, and told the other officer who followed Eddie into the diner, Cuff him.

Why? The waitress’ high pitched screech had everyone within earshot wincing. They’re the ones who attacked him.

Because I have a warrant for his arrest, you halfwit. Now do you want to keep telling me how to do my job, or would you like to join him? On a good day, Eddie’s grumpy scowl could curdle milk. Today it had the paint on the walls ready to crumble and scurry away.

Someone didn’t get his coffee this morning. But don’t drink the stuff here. It’s positively dreadful. Unperturbed by the sergeant’s demeanor, Wendy pointed to the waitress. Eddie, this is Anna, Mr. Barton’s girlfriend. She works here. Anna this is Eddie. You might want to tell him everything you know. He seems to be a bit grumpier than normal today.

He ignored the introduction. I hate domestic cases. What did you and that demented kewpie doll think you were doing?

Wendy pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips. We were finding the suspect. We can’t have a dangerous criminal like him roaming the streets. And like I said, we finally found the girlfriend.

Eddie growled. Martin knows better than to put civilians in danger.

It’s not like we didn’t notify you of what we were up to and where. Besides, we were only keeping an eye on him. Martin and everyone else knows the police can’t do a darn thing unless Mrs. Barton presses charges.

Well, this time she did. Let’s hope she doesn’t drop them. Eddie glared at the waitress. Don’t leave town. He turned and followed his partner back to the car with Mr. Barton in tow.

You’re welcome, called Wendy and waved at the officers. Eddie did a backhanded wave but kept his attention on Barton as he and the patrol officer bundled their perp into the car.

Wendy spotted Estelle out in her candy apple red van, complete with racing stripes, as it screeched to a halt in the nearest handicap spot from the door. She figured she did not have much time until Estelle laid on the horn, but when the waitress bolted for the kitchen, Wendy knew it did not matter.

Oh bother. I didn’t even get her fingerprints.

They should be on this. Her champion held up his bill but handed a twenty to the cook who had taken over the register. Keep the change.

With a warm smile he handed the check to Wendy and offered his arm. The name is Simon Alexander.

Wendy smiled though she felt the heat of a blush settle into her cheeks. She held the check by the edges and felt giddy when Simon held the diner door open for her. "I’m Wendy. Wendy Atlas. Estelle and I work for the M Falcon Detective Agency.

It sounds like fascinating work. And from what I just witnessed in there, a bit dangerous.

I have to admit, that’s the first time anyone has ever threatened me. Usually people ignore me, but if they do question me, my dizzy little old lady act works like a charm.

The driver’s side window of the van was rolled down, so Wendy could hear Estelle’s foghorn comment. That’s because you are old and dizzy.

Estelle’s round tortoiseshell glasses sat suction cupped to her face and made her eyes appear twice their normal size. As she glared down from her perch, Wendy had to agree with Eddie’s Kewpie doll comment.

Estelle this is Simon Alexander, Simon this is Estelle Jones.

Estelle snorted an acknowledgement but kept her eyes on Wendy. What happened in there? Or did you assume the words ‘observation only’ didn’t apply to you?

Before Wendy could answer, Simon intervened. The setup was perfect. It was the waitress who blew her cover. He turned back to Wendy and patted the hand that still held his arm. She must have noticed something when she stopped by to fill your coffee because she headed straight for Barton after that.

Darn, I thought having the smartphone propped up on the table was a good idea.

It was. Most people would have figured you were watching a video or something. Good waitstaff tend to be a little more attentive though. You might try putting a twenty under the salt shaker next time as an incentive.

Wendy bit her lip. That’s a bit much isn’t it?

Unfortunately, a fiver doesn’t get you much anymore.

So true. Estelle’s harsh words where in stark contrast to Simon’s honeyed voice. Wendy, get in the van. We need to buzz by the hospital and tell Norman that Barton is in the hoosegow.

Why can’t we just call?

I tried, he must have turned his hearing aid off.

Wendy turned to Simon and explained, Norman’s retired, like the rest of us, but he keeps his old security uniform clean and pressed for occasions like this. And as long as he has a soft pillow to sit on, his arthritis doesn’t act up too bad.

Or his hemorrhoids. Now, if he’d just keep the batteries in his hearing aid changed. Estelle started the van. Come on. I’ve got a game tonight, and I don’t want to miss it.

You and your video games. Wendy dug an agency business card out of her purse and handed it to Simon. Thank you for your help. She smiled, hurried around the van to the passenger side and climbed in.

As Estelle put the van in reverse and pulled out of the parking space she mumbled, Online multi-person RPGs are not video games.

Wendy responded with, Isn’t he just dreamy?

2 CHAPTER

Wendy looked at the scrapbook page in front of her and sighed. Other than the photo she took at the diner, the only other thing she had of the waitress were the prints she lifted from the check Simon gave her. The problem was determining which were his and which were the waitress’s. Size comparison might give her a somewhat accurate idea, but Wendy preferred certainty in her records.

She had not thought at the time of obtaining Simon’s prints and chastised herself for letting such a handsome man distract her from her job. The only thing she could do was make a notation on the print card and hope she could correct the page in the future. It was not the first time she needed to do such a thing. At least it did not happen as often as it had when she first started working for the agency.

The picture of Samuel Barton’s fingerprints she had already glued in place at the top of the page. The nice thing about police prints were the clear and complete prints from both hands. As for the mugshot photo, it only cost her a double batch of oatmeal raisin cookies. A steal as far as she was concerned. The only mar to the page was of her own making.

After writing the last details of names, place, and date in neat block letters, Wendy put the page in the latest binder. She then placed it on the shelf with the rest of her collection.

When her smartphone played the theme song to Mission Impossible, Wendy hurried into the living room. She snatched it off the end table where she had left it and checked the caller ID.

Hello Della. How’s Mrs. Barton?

Hello to you too. Mrs. Barton is fine, but she’s still in the hospital. Mr. Barton made bail, and I’ll give you three guesses at who put up the money.

Wendy’s shoulders sagged. Please tell me it wasn’t the waitress girlfriend.

Got it in one.

Love is blind.

That’s a nice way of saying it. The laughter in Della’s voice told Wendy there was a story behind her comment.

Who said what? asked Wendy.

As usual, Estelle took the prize, but Eddie’s comment wasn’t too far behind.

Wendy could only imagine the pair’s very blunt, yet colorful comments. Do I want to know?

Let’s just say, I’ll be staying away from chocolate and ice cream for a while. But on a lighter note, Norman volunteered to stay on watch, and we managed to get a restraining order. Ginger said one of the ladies at Sunny Days is planning on visiting her daughter down in Florida. She’s agreed to let us use her room to hide Mrs. Barton when she gets out of the hospital. Otherwise, we’ve handed everything over to the lawyers. Case, almost, closed.

That’s wonderful news.

Yes, it is. Now tell me. What is this I hear about a knight in shining armor coming to your rescue?

Oh that. Wendy felt her cheeks redden. His name’s Simon Alexander, or was it Alexander Simon? He had two first names. But he was so dashing. She stopped talking as her mind wandered back into the memory of the event. So engrossed was she that Della’s words almost did not register.

He called here and asked for you.

What? Who? Say that again?

Della giggled. A retired marine, Staff Sergeant Simon Alexander, called the office today. He even asked for your number.

He did? Wendy gasped, fluttering her hand in front of her face for air, and wiggled into the side of the couch. He hasn’t called yet. Did he say when he’d call?

I didn’t give him your number.

You didn’t? But why? Wendy flopped on the couch dejected. Her dreams of being swept off her feet by a knight on a white charger or even a marine in a military green jeep popped like a dish soap bubble.

It would be unethical to give out employee and contractor names and information. And possibly illegal. What if a disgruntled client or crazy person decided to hack you to pieces in your sleep?

I don’t care about ethics or legalities. And I may as well be murdered in my bed now. How am I ever going to see him again? With one hand keeping the phone planted to her ear, Wendy performed a perfect if not dramatic fainting pose on the sofa.

Is he really that handsome? His voice had me daydreaming of umbrella cocktails and moonlight rendezvous. If you want, I can make reservations for you at some clandestine location, or you can call him yourself and make your own arrangements.

"How can