The Golden Years

Retired Be Damned

"He was at the restaurant with the Nursewood dame."

"What do you think he's up to, Gail?" The man turned his attention to the only woman present.

"He's just an old guy trying to have a vacation. I haven't seen or heard anything suspicious. Just because he's a retired cop doesn't mean he's up to something."

"He's sixty-one." The words fell like lead into the room.

Gail closed her eyes and sighed. "It was a figure of speech, Gavin."

There was a silent pause then a clearing of the throat. "I want him watched. I don't care if he is, just an old guy trying to have a vacation. And why is he cozying up to Nursewood? Is she blabbing to him about the restaurant?"

Gail sucked her teeth. "He met her at the art show and had a coffee with her. Hardly cozying, Gavin."

"Really? Then a dinner the same night? And don't give me the, trying to have a vacation line. How come suddenly this retired cop is at the same hotel Biggs was in, and is fast friends with our restaurant friend?"

"You had him checked out, Gavin. Why can't you be satisfied with what you found . . . which was nothing."

"A cop turning up at that hotel so soon after Biggs can't be just a coincidence. What if Biggs had contacted him previously? For all we know Biggs gave him the notebook."

The three enforcers left with their orders, and Gavin Ashby blew out a long breath. "You got something for this guy, Gail?"

"Don't be silly. He's just a guy - we talk. We are at the same hotel, Gavin."

"Yes, I know." The inference was thick.

"Oh, for God's sake. Is there anything else, I would like to enjoy some sun?"

"Just remember your place, Gail." He flicked his hand toward the door, and she stalked out.

******

Eddie leaned back, sock feet up on the coffee table and a fresh tall drink resting on his stomach. He reflected on how, physically he was retired, but his investigative mind hadn't joined the body. Fragments of information fluttered about in his thoughts, none making any sense alone, and too few to make solid connections.

He closed his eyes and made up a list of facts, avoiding his suppositions.

Dead man in hotel named Biggs

Notebook left in book basket

I drew the interest of Jim Monasterio, Gail Amitov, Connor Anthony, and the Three Stooges at the restaurant.

The obvious recording of his room call.

Gil Levit - initials on list?

Riley Nursewood?

He opened his eyes and took a swallow of the drink then spoke to the room. "Okay Detective, how would you weave those facts into a story?"

"Well," he continued speaking aloud, taking another part, "I would suggest that Biggs was killed for the notebook. Somehow he got hold of it and was possibly blackmailing the initialled names listed. When I arrived here, someone ran a check and learned I was an ex-cop. That threw up a flag, hence the tap on the phone and the interest taken by several people."

"How do you know Biggs was killed, Detective?"

"I don't, but it makes my theory work."

"Pretty lean."

He finished his drink and got up. Pretty lean alright, he thought. He looked out at the patio and cursed under his breath. This was his retirement vacation. What the Sam Hill was he doing inside messing with this paucity of clues? He swore again and began changing into his swim shorts. With a towel over his shoulder, a fresh drink and his paperback, he slid open the room door just as the phone rang.

"Hello."

"Eddie?"

"Riley?"

"Yes, I need to speak to you, it's important."

"Gee, Riley. Can I get back to you in a bit? Right now isn't convenient."

". . . Oh . . . okay, I guess . . . no never mind. It's nothing."

Another curse as she hung up, and he hopped back to the bedroom and got dressed again. A few minutes later he was in his car and heading off the lot. He pulled over in front of the car rental and went inside.

"Hi," he said to the perky lady at the counter. "Listen, have you got a phone I can use - it's a bit of an emergency and I don't have a cell."

"You're a customer aren't you. I remember. The Chevy Malibu."

"Right, very good. Phone?"

"Sure, right over there on the table. No long distance."

"Nope, it's local. Thanks."

Riley answered and was about to hang up before he explained.

"I couldn't talk on the room phone and I didn't want you saying anything. I'm sorry. What did you want? Look I'm already halfway to your place, can I just come over and you can tell me there?"

******

Eddie was surprised at the open space layout of the house when Riley let him in. There was only one partial wall separating part of the kitchen from the living/dining room; the rest was all open and attractively furnished.

" Your roommate here?

"No, she's gone."

"I want to apologize again about the call, I have reason to believe my phone is tapped."

Concern marred her face and she sat, wringing her hands. "Tapped? Why?"

"Good question. I don't know."

"Did you mean what you said, are you really a detective?"

He sank onto a thick foam chair, struggling to sit upright. "Yes, I was a Detective Sergeant for a lot of years, and now I'm newly retired. What's wrong, Riley?"

"I need a drink. You want something?"

"I'm fine." He noted the bottle on the counter and the empty glass. Patiently, he waited for her to return and settle down again.

"Those men from the restaurant were outside earlier."

"Did they bother you?"

"No, but they were watching my house, and they didn't care that I saw them."

"Have you had any contact before?"

"Not with them. My husband's partner and the new buyer came here once just after the sale. His name was Ashby. They wanted to know if Tom, my husband, had any material pertaining to the business here at the house. I told them no, but that Ashby was quite persistent."

Eddie waited, to see if there was more.

"I finally had to ask them to leave."

"Anything since?"

"Just those three men last night."

"Is there any business material here, Riley?"

"No! I told the truth . . . sort of. Tom had a safe deposit box that I haven't gained access to yet. The bank says there are protocols to follow and they are waiting for information."

"You have his key?"

"Yes, but--"

"Get your purse, we're going to the bank."