Discreet Inquiries: Ex Marks the Spot

By Don DeWolfe

In book 2, an ex-girlfriend of Richard's goes missing, and he's coerced by his best friend Jane - a cop and the current partner of the missing woman - to find her. Along the way he discovers a secret life she's been leading and dark corners of society she's been probing. Richard's investigative efforts lead to various attempts on his life, as he works on finding both the missing woman and his would-be killers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Don DeWolfe
• Release date: Aug 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476162768

Don DeWolfe

I like to say there are 2 types of people on the ice- hockey players, and people who play hockey. Writing is like that too. I've been writing all my life, with varying degrees of intensity and success. Partially I do it because I have to. Partially I do it because telling people I'm an accountant brings on sudden fits of uncontrolled narcolepsy. In the past, I only shared my writing with a few friends and family. Since most of them are still talking to me, I've decided to widen my audience to the rest of the world. Plus, being a published author just sounds cool.

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Discreet Inquiries: Ex Marks the Spot

Don DeWolfe

Copyright 2010 Don DeWolfe, Smashwords Edition

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CHAPTER 1

One of the great things about an affair with a married woman is afternoon sex.

I stretched out in my bed, cosy despite the chill gray weather outside, the shower running and Theresa’s scent still warm on the sheets, letting the pleasant afterglow of sex wash over me. I knew Theresa wasn’t mine. In fact she’d be gone in time for me to take my own shower and make my weekly dinner date with Jane. But she’d be back in seven days. And for those seven days I’d pretend she wasn’t married with kids. I’d anticipate her smile, and her laugh, and her eagerness to share my bed. For a guy like me, life didn’t get much better.

I heard the shower turn off and Theresa came in.

Hey smiley guy, whatcha thinking?

Thinking about you.

She giggled. Smooth talker.

I watched as she got dressed, matter of factly putting on clean underwear, pulling on jeans and a sweater. She reached to the floor and brought a small clump of black silk up for inspection. Shaking the teddy out, she asked, So, did you like it?

Loved it. Especially when it was only a small band of black around your middle. She giggled again and blushed.

Well, it was nice to find something that turns you on that doesn’t need batteries or keys.

Hey, I thought you…

I’m teasing you Richard. She flopped on the bed for a last snuggle. I like everything you have, and everything you do.

We kissed and she then was gone to pick her kids up at band practice. Vixen to mom in 60 seconds.

*****

I got to the Indian place before Jane and grabbed a quiet booth in the back. My drive from Scarborough was a lot longer than hers from downtown, and I figured parking would be a bitch, so I left early. In the end I snagged a spot a less than a block away, and a five minute walk had me ordering tea with a half hour to kill. I found a Globe somebody left behind and flipped to their version of a sports section.

Before I could finish a five paragraph piece on why the Leafs lost to the worst team in the league, Jane’s voice broke my reverie.

Hey Richard.

Is my watch broke, I asked, getting to my feet, or are you uncharacteristically early? She smiled and made for the seat opposite me, giving me a quick, hard hug on the way by.

Jane’s about five foot eight, slim, fit, good looking in a girl-next-door / Ivory Snow sort of way, and my best friend. She’s also a dyke. Not that one has much to do with the other, but it does explain why our last names are different.

Damn, you feel good, she sighed. Too bad about that Y chromosome.

This was a bit odd for Jane, who wasn’t a real touchy-feely type, at least, not with me. We were about as close as two people not having sex could be, but I knew if I ever squeezed her ass, she’d shoot out my kneecaps.

So, what’s up with the Leafs? she asked, sitting down, signalling the waiter and scanning the menu, all at the same time.

Same old stuff. Now that they’ve gotten rid of any player who was even vaguely talented and replaced them with guys collecting Old Age Security, they apparently need time to gel.

Assholes. Only team in the league who figure they can have too many good players. You order?

How could I order?

I’ll order. Our waiter arrived, looked expectantly at me and was disconcerted when Jane rattled off our order, made him repeat it, and sent him packing.

How do you know I’ll like any of that stuff?

How do you know you won’t?

Listen, don’t fuck with me. I don’t want to be eating goat brain curry or something.

Richard, you’ve eaten Indian, what, twice now?

Three times.

So, you’re going to have to try a few things to see what you like.

I liked that sizzling chicken thing.

I ordered that.

And I liked that white creamy stuff.

I ordered that.

And I liked that rice with the almonds, and the bread.

I ordered that too.

Well, why didn’t you order something different? How am I going to figure out what I like if it’s always the same?

You asshole, she said, but I could see her fighting off a grin. So, you busy these days?

Actually, no. I just finished a good gig for Stan Kennedy checking out a photo-imaging start-up he was interested in. My tea arrived and I checked it for strength. Weak.

Yeah, was it a go?

Company was legit, but when I ran the idea past Arthur he said the technology was dead. I told Stan and he passed. Cost him five g’s for me, but saved him a quarter mil down the tubes.

You charged him five grand to call up your buddy and shoot the shit? I should arrest you.

I call it ‘value added billing’. I swirled my teapot, hoping it wasn’t cooling down too much while the tea hit a decent strength. So that’s done. And Mario’s waiting until December or January for funding on one of his bonehead schemes, checking the use of cyanide in reclamation of steel from cans. I guessed the tea had steeped about long enough, so I poured and had a cautious sip. Surprisingly, not bad. Usually I have coffee in a restaurant, but I tried that last time I was here and it was a mistake. If Mario wasn’t deputy director I swear they’d have him sorting the mail.

Didn’t you discover improper use of eighteen out of twenty municipal landfill sites on his last boneheaded scheme? Jane reached over and took my tea, slurping down half before I could protest. Bitch. She had been watching my face intently and knew it was a decent mixture. Now I’d have to start again.

So?

She gave me a look.

Anyway, the coin for the landfill thing arrived Monday and Stan paid me C.O.D. So, it looks like I’ve got some work coming up, and I’m momentarily flush with cash, but my daytimer is empty. I’m thinking I’ll take some time off.

You going to go somewhere? She still had my tea. I was going to distract her with the Elvis thing and make a grab for it, but signalled the waiter for another pot instead.

I figure Mule’s a camper, I’ll go camping. I’ve done the west, so maybe the east coast.

Didn’t it snow in Halifax on the weekend?

Are you serious?

Yup.

Shit. That’s not warm. And because I worked all summer on the landfill job, I was hoping for warm. Maybe swim in the ocean.

Swim in the ocean’s okay, as long as you don’t mind icebergs. She patted my hand. Listen, this is going to sound revolutionary, but what about south?

South?

Sure. Mexico. California. Florida. It’s only October. Some of those places must still be hot.

I was thinking about south as our food started trickling in. First to arrive was a cast iron platter, sizzling, heaped with a bunch of vegetables and some orange chicken, which despite its colour, tasted good, if a little spicy. Then the nan bread, cucumber yoghurt stuff and rice. I ordered a couple Cokes and some water, and we dug in.

About halfway through the meal it struck me I was devouring everything in sight, while Jane was just picking - although she had nabbed my second cup of tea. A bad sign. Usually she ate like a trucker, never gaining a pound. Unlike moi. I’d noticed the extra five pounds I picked up sitting on my ass last summer wasn’t leaving as quickly as I’d like. Having some extra flab around the middle didn’t seem to affect Theresa’s libido, but it wasn’t making me feel good about myself.

When Jane took a sip of tea, I appropriated her chicken and added more rice to my plate. The tea bothered me a bit too. Jane didn’t mind a cup now and then, certainly it was better than the coffee here, but when she went over her one cup maximum, it was because she was using it as a comfort food. Something was definitely out of whack. I figured we’d forgo the warm rice pudding they served here - it looked like maggots in cream sauce to me - and grab some dessert across the street after dinner, and I’d weasel it out of her then.

You seem pretty happy, Richard. She said. Since you don’t give a shit about work, money, clothing or other materials things, I can only guess you’re getting laid. My mouth was full so I didn’t answer. Well?

Now that you mention it…

If I’d been a little swifter, I would have noticed she was toying with her - my - tea cup, not giving me her usual cop stare. Of course, the hesitant way she asked the question, compared to her usual unfettered curiosity about my sexual misadventures could have been a tip off too. I guess spending all afternoon in bed, and then eating weird food had dulled my edge a bit.

Anyone I know?

Um… She did know Theresa, but I wasn’t sure how she’d feel about me getting it on with a married woman. Sometimes she could be a little weird about the women I slept with. Ironic, when the way we met was by sharing one of those very same women. I decided discretion was called for. Yeah, you know her.

Hmm. I figured. She drained my tea and eyed up my Coke. So, how’s it going?

Pretty damn good, actually. I said, surprising both of us. I hadn’t meant to be quite that emphatic, so maybe there was something Freudian going on, because, and this was a shocker, I wasn’t even talking about the sex. I think I got lucky this time.

Well, at least one of us did. Her eyes started to fill with tears.

What the fuck was this?

Hey, you okay?

She shook her head, angrily shaking the tears from her eyes. This was bad news. Jane never cried. Hell, I cried more than her. What’s up? I asked.

You.

Me?

You and your fucking women.

Holy Christ, this was my worst nightmare come true. Jane was crying, I was the reason, and I didn’t even know why. Okay, I told her I was getting laid, but it wasn’t like she didn’t have a girlfriend of her own. In fact, she had my girlfriend.

I watched in horror as she went for her purse. Jane kept her Smith &Wesson 9mm pistol in her purse. My heart froze, starting up only after she brought out a pack of tissues. A relief, but I got the feeling it was only a temporary reprieve, and if I was going to get out of here without needing some hollow point wound care, I’d better figure out what was going on.

Unfortunately, I was better qualified to fly the shuttle to the moon, than to understand why my gay female best friend, who never cried, was both crying and angry at me. Fumbling in the dark didn’t even begin to describe how I felt. The best I could come up with was that since the tears started after I told her I was getting laid, and since she’d never begrudged me sex in the past, maybe it had something to do with her sex life.

Um, is it Heather?

Of course it’s Heather, you dipshit.

Heather. Well, that figured. She’d nearly driven me to tears more than once.

A sweet, curvy, flaky, passionate woman who spent three years alternating between my bed and Jane’s, making the switch every three months or so. Actually, come to think of it, pretty much making the switch with the change of the seasons. Fuck. Richard Hedd - Swift and Sure, figures this out four years later. Duh. Anyway, the first few times Heather changed residences it was a little awkward, but once Jane and I got in the rhythm of it, we didn’t let it affect our friendship. It was kind of like a chainsaw we traded back and forth - whoever was in possession had a handy tool, but was also responsible for the upkeep, which could be a pain in the ass. And a chainsaw was only really useful when you wanted to cut wood, which apparently, I did more than Jane.

Then, about a year ago, just as I was deciding I’d be willing to do the upkeep full time and make it an everlasting commitment, Heather told me she’d decided to switch teams on a permanent basis. I was less broken up than I expected, in fact I felt more relieved than distraught, so I wished her luck, and except for an email on her birthday, hadn’t heard from her since. By long standing agreement, Jane and I didn’t speak about Heather, regardless whose’ bed she was warming. Although now that Jane was her date for life, I guess there was no reason we had to keep that arrangement. Especially now that Heather seemed to be causing her some grief, and as her close bud, I could offer her some sympathy and comfort and stuff like that.

Except she was acting like she’d rather kick me in the nuts than accept any comfort.

Jane, this isn’t some hormonal thing, is it?

Richard, I’m reaching for my gun.

No, that didn’t come out right.

Ever notice how women get pissed off if you suggest hormones might have something to do with their irrational behaviour? Even if it’s true. As if they would prefer to be whacked all on their own.

Hey, come on, what’s up? I tentatively reached out and held her hand, partially for comfort, partially to make sure she couldn’t get her purse. I didn’t do something, did I?

No. I suppose not. Except you’re getting laid and I’m not. She slipped her hand free, and blew her nose. It looked like the crying had stopped, which I figured was good, but we might end up comparing sex lives or something, which wouldn’t be so good. After tidying up, Jane slumped back against her chair, her hand on the table, not quite touching mine. I didn’t know if that was an invitation to hold her hand, giving her the comfort of human contact, or if she was daring me to and would pump me full of 9mm slugs when I did.

In the four years Jane and I had been friends, other than trading hugs like you’d give your sister, and one poorly thought out kiss on my part that almost got my balls blown off, we had very little physical contact. Yeah, we didn’t mind sitting close during a hockey game, or bumping shoulders as we walked, but we never, ever, cuddled. Guys on my hockey team got more affection from me than Jane did. So this half-hearted offering, following a bout of tears, could only mean a bad thing had happened. Or was about to.

You know Richard, Heather’s not particularly discreet, so I know that you like to, ah, fuck, more than me. She was gazing vaguely into her tea cup. A lot more.

Hey, whoa. We don’t gotta talk about this.

I think we do. You know I never really had a lot of girlfriends. In fact, Heather was pretty much my first regular partner. And I love her, and love being around her, although God knows that’s not always easy, but because I wasn’t as…active as you, it caused some problems between Heather and me, and I often wondered if that was why she went back to you.

Yeah, well, all that’s behind me now.

I guess. Tears started rolling down her cheeks again. But, I don’t think it’s behind me.

For the next few minutes she cried, I took a chance and held her hand, and our waiter looked on anxiously, wanting to clear the plates and bring that shitty pudding. I caught his eye and gave him my best Get Lost look. It worked. Meanwhile, I desperately tried to figure out what the fuck was going on.

Finally, the tears slowed and we went through the nose blowing routine again, her hand tentatively returning to mine when she was done.

Well, at least you’re getting laid. She said.

I know you’re a little fragile right now, but I have to tell you, the sincerity of that statement was way down there.

She giggled a bit. I’m not a good loser. Big sigh. Do you guys talk much?

We did before the first time, when I wasn’t really sure it was going to happen. Now we chat a bit in between, but not too much.

In between? Like, you do it twice?

Ah, usually. Somehow, I didn’t think my sexual prowess was going to work in my favour here.

I could never do it twice.

With practice you could.

Shut up, Richard. Jesus. She pulled her hand away in mock disgust, but I could see there was no more anger in her eyes. Do you talk afterwards?

Naw. Afterwards she has to go.

What do you mean ‘she has to go’?

Well, to make supper and stuff.

Richard, what the fuck are you talking about?

Theresa. She’s got to get her kids and make supper. There. I said it. Now it was going to get ugly.

Theresa? What the fuck has Theresa got to do with this?

Everything. I’m sleeping with her. Wednesdays. Today. Tell her we did it three times today? No. Bad choice.

You’re sleeping with Theresa? No way! She sat up, staring directly into my eyes, her expression half confused, half intrigued. But what about Heather?

Um, what about Heather?

You’re not fucking her?

I haven’t seen her in a year. Why, what did you think?

Richard, are you serious? If you’re jerking me around on this, even though I love you dearly, I will kill you and not regret it for a second.

Honest to God.

You’re fucking Theresa? How did that happen?

So, I told her the whole story, even, and it shames me to say this, the nitty gritty about the teddy and other things we tried. I had been dying to tell someone, and I knew Jane would keep this between us. When I was done we both realized our thoughts weren’t as pure as they could have been. An awkward moment.

Holy Christ, Richard. I can’t believe the things women let you do to them.

I cleared my throat and finished the dregs of my tea. She reached into her purse and came out with more tissues as our waiter arrived and did his clearing trick, leaving the check in their place. So what’s up with Heather? I asked.

Oh my God, I got distracted there. Her eyes went from kind of dreamy to the hard cop look I knew and loved. Heather’s missing, she said.

How long?

Last week, after you and I had dinner, I got home and she wasn’t there. When she didn’t come back that night, I figured you must have had a surprise waiting for you when you got home.

Ah. Like I said, not for a year.

She’s missing.

Maybe she’s at her Mom’s?

Her mother is dead. Jesus Christ, Richard, did you ever talk to that girl?

Fuck you, Staff Sergeant Thompson. I haven’t lost my girlfriend.

No, I guess you can always call her husband and ask where she is. She glanced at the bill and snapped her credit card down with such authority the waiter forgot she was a woman and scurried over. Richard, you’ll have to find her.

Find her? You don’t even know if she’s missing.

She is. If she’s not with you, she’s gone. She said. "She hasn’t been to work, she’s not with any of her other