Digging for Answers

By Charles P. Frank

Digging for Answers finds private investigators Mac and Maggie Mason having to come out of retirement to join in the search for some answers.

What happens to a couple accused of being illegal immigrants?

What can be done to restore a broken family relationship?

Where do you begin looking for a loved one who disappears?

Why would a little boy be abandoned by his loving parents?

How much tragedy can one heart endure?

When is the time for a victim to challenge an abuser?

Check out what Mac and Maggie find out as they find themselves surrounded with all of these questions. Maybe youll have an answer too!

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532023644

Charles P. Frank

Charles P. Frank is a pseudonym for a husband and wife team in Florida and their good friend in North Carolina. Separately, the authors have published a number of other books in the genre of memoir, history, and theology. Digging for Death was their first journey into the realm of the novel. Digging Through Time is their second and is a story of relationship and romance wrapped around mystery.

Book preview

1

MR. WILLIAMSON, THERE’S A MAN on line 1 who says he’s your father, the voice on the interoffice phone stated.

Before answering, Brad Moose Williamson looked around his office in the Mason Investigative Services’ suite. After being promoted to Director of the Miami agency, he still found it difficult to believe the previous few years. On one office wall hung a number of awards he had received while playing defensive tackle for the Atlanta Falcons. His eyes paused on the award for Defensive Player of the Year earned his fifth year, the year before he blew out his knee, ending his professional career. His eyes wandered to framed letters from a number of the agency’s clients who had personally written him, thanking him for services he had provided.

Pictures of his wife, Pepper, and him, as well as those of close friends and fellow agents, lined the credenza behind his desk.

Looking back at the blinking light on his phone, he pondered. Dad? I haven’t heard from Dad in over a year. What could be wrong that he’d call me? I guess I have stalled long enough.

Still with a puzzled expression on his face, Moose pushed the button for line 1 and picked up the receiver. Hello, FATHER. To what do I owe the honor of this call? he asked with a hint of sarcasm.

Listen, Son. Don’t get snippy with me. I’m in Miami and thought maybe you and I could get together for lunch or dinner. I’m not getting any younger and I think that we need to talk.

I’ve always been willing to talk to you. It’s been ages since you cut me off. I’ve given you space for all these years. Why now?

As I said, Brad, I’m not getting any younger and I’ll tell you more when I see you.

You’ve never even met my wife, Pepper. This would be a good opportunity, Moose said as he thought of his lovely wife of three years, Pepper Parker, whose given name actually was Puleng, a reminder of her South African heritage.

I would like for this to be just you and me, Son.

OK, where do you want to meet?

There’s a place near here. It’s called Ray’s Club. Do you know it?

Yeah, Dad. I know the place. It’s a little seedy, but I can meet you there. How about 5:30 this evening? I’ll phone Pepper that I’ll be late.

See you then, Brad.

Moose hung up the phone as he twirled his sobriety coin from AA between his fingers. Going to Ray’s will test my resolve, especially with the stress of meeting my father, Moose thought.

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Pepper sat in their family room running her hand lovingly over her protruding stomach. The condo seemed to be closing in on her. She enjoyed her surroundings in the intimate room with the burgundy leather sofa and recliners. And, of course, she smiled as she looked at the sixty inch flat screen TV that was mandatory for Moose to enjoy watching some of his former teammates play. Displayed on the walls were some of the treasures she had brought from South Africa, bringing a smile to her face in remembrance. Two hand-carved wooden bird sculptures, over three feet in height, dominated both sides of the stone fireplace. Since she was pregnant with twins, she had taken a leave of absence from the consulting firm where she worked. Fortunately, the company had a Miami office and she had been able to transfer there after Moose’s promotion to Director of the southernmost office of Mason Investigations. I hope Brad isn’t super late, Pepper pondered, thinking of Moose by the name she preferred to call him. I’m near the twins’ birthdate and I feel better when he is with me.

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Moose drove the Mason Investigative Services’ black SUV into the area where Ray’s Pub was located. Now, if I can just find a parking space where it’s safe for me to leave the car. Finding a location near the front of the dive, Moose searched his surroundings and carefully locked the vehicle.

As he entered the dark pub, Moose couldn’t fail to notice the sour smell of beer and the stale smell of cigarettes. Guess the authorities don’t enforce the no smoking laws in here. I don’t know that I blame them. More than one fight has broken out here and the result is never pretty. Searching for his father, Moose looked around at the rather scruffy and rough looking crowd. A table of large, burly looking men seemed to be challenging him by their glares. Moose didn’t see anyone who looked like the robust man he had last seen—how long had it been? Eight, ten years ago. Moose saw someone waving at him. Another old-time fan, he thought, having gotten used to being recognized by folks who remembered his career as a pro football player. The man motioned for Moose to come over. When the man stood, Moose saw a frail, gaunt shadow of his father. Moose walked slowly toward the man who was waving. The parent who had walked out of Moose’s life years earlier was sitting in a corner booth, nursing a glass of beer from the tap. Moose approached the table, stepping over a large puddle of an unidentifiable liquid on the floor.

Hello, Father, Moose said with an uncertain bite in his voice. You pick only the best places to meet.

Oh, Brad, Troy Williamson said impatiently, Sit down. Can I buy you a beer?

If you’d stayed in touch, you’d know that I haven’t had any alcohol in a decade. Now, what is it that is so important that you’d look me up after so long?

Son, I was hoping that maybe we could settle some of the issues between us.

Dad, those ‘issues,’ as you call them, have been going on since I was born. You expect me to forget all that you did to alienate me? Brad said, remembering the horrible occurrences that had caused his father’s anger.

Moose, I have two things to talk to you about. Both are serious, but one is something you might be able to help me with.

OK, I’m listening, Brad said thinking he knew what one issue was.

Dad needs money. I’d bet my 10 year sobriety chip on it, Moose thought as he fingered the chip in his pocket; it was what he did when he was having a case of nerves.

Brad, I’m dying, Troy Williamson said with as much emotion as he would have reporting a football score.

Moose, shocked, replied, How…what…what’s happened?

The ‘Big C,’ Son. Cancer. My drinking finally caught up with me. They think my liver is shot too. I’m on a list for a transplant but doubt they’ll find a match in time.

Do you have good doctors? What hospital?

Yes, I’m confident in my doctors and I’m a patient at Moffitt Cancer Center in Tampa.

His mind racing, Moose leaned forward. The lively chatter all around the pub and the constant tinkling of glasses and the shouts at the fast-moving TV game made it hard to hear the soft voice of the tired and weakened man who sat across from Moose.

How are you fixed for money? What can I do to help? Moose asked, forgetting the decades of alienation.

No, I’m well insured. The railroad provided good insurance when I retired and I was smart enough to invest in cancer insurance. What with my drinking and chain-smoking, this should have come as no surprise to me.

Dad, this is a difficult question to ask, but I really feel I need to. If you don’t get the transplant, how long are they giving you?

Suddenly, it seemed as if the quiet of waiting for his father to answer drowned out the noise. Moose took a deep, shaky breath.

Son, that’s a good question. It could be months, or I could linger on for a year. I just don’t know.

If I can’t help you with money, how can I help you? Is that the other reason you wanted to meet? The second issue?

I didn’t say I didn’t need money, Son. I just said I was insured against the medical bills.

Moose looked puzzled. What do you mean?

I’ve gotten myself into deep water with a money-lending syndicate. It’s past being serious.

What? You borrowed money from a syndicate? Why, for heaven’s sake?

I’m embarrassed to say. He paused. Gambling.

Oh, Dad. How much do you owe them?

2

BRAD WILLIAMSON SAT AT HIS L-shaped desk, pondering his meeting with his father the previous night. Is this something I should handle privately? Or, is this a case for MIS? For the past two months, Brad, or Moose, as he was called by most people, had been the Director of the Miami branch of Mason Investigative Services. Moose looked toward his phone as Katrina’s, the efficient Administrative Assistant, voice sounded.

Moose, Mr. Mason is on line 1. Moose looked at the phone, fondly thinking about Adam Mason, the current owner of Mason Investigative Services. I wonder if Adam is sometimes as flummoxed as I am with his new responsibilities. Since Mac Mason turned the agency over to his son, Adam and I have been wading through the new responsibilities as if we were neophytes.

Moose smiled as he picked up the receiver and pushed line 1. Adam, how are you this morning?

A familiar voice responded laughing. When I saw Adam this morning, he was fine.

Mac, is that you?

None other, the retired head of Mason Investigative Services answered.

Where are you? Tahiti? Aruba? Grand Cayman?

A little closer to home, Moose. I’m in Venice.

Florida? Moose questioned.

Not Italy! Yes, Steve, Gertie, Maggie, and I sailed in last evening. Maggie and I are in the guest house at Adam’s. Steve and Gertie are at Steve’s condo here, Mac said, as he looked around the immaculately maintained living room of the small cottage.

I had no idea that you were coming home. To what do we owe the unexpected visit?

We were in a small village on the Mexican coast when Steve started having some health issues. He was having some rather severe chest pains. The doctor there seemed extremely competent, but thought that Steve should see his specialist and have a full physical. Steve really wanted go to his regular cardiologist in California. So, we are here. For how long, I’m not sure. Steve will be flying out to the west coast tomorrow. You know that he decided to keep his plane here at the Venice airport, so he’ll fly out from here. Of course, you know Steve: ever since he retired from the Navy he wants to do his own flying. His plane is a two engine prop jet and more than adequate for the flight to San Francisco.

Moose remembered the story. Steve had been shot down flying a mission over Vietnam, had been taken prisoner, and spent a number of years as a prisoner of war in Hanoi. After being released, he founded Martinson Enterprises, one of the premier software development companies in the California Silicon Valley near San Francisco. Through a number of miraculous circumstances, he had discovered that he had fathered a daughter and found out she was none other than Maggie Miller Mason, a semi-retired top flight model and corporate executive, as well as Mac Mason’s wife. Through Mac and Maggie, Steve had met Gertie Babble and she and Steve had been married prior to joining Mac and Maggie cruising the Atlantic and Gulf of Mexico.

Yes, I believe he wanted that plane here so that he and Gertie could fly back to the Babble Plantation, Gertie’s old home in Mississippi, for occasional visits while you were visiting Adam, Kelly, and Aaron.

True, Mac responded. But, since I’ve been wanting to visit the Venice and Miami offices and see how things are going, this trip for Steve to get his plane has given me the perfect opportunity.

Oh, checking up on Adam and me, huh?

No, ever since I passed ownership of Mason-Phillips to Adam, and you were named Director of the Miami office, I haven’t had a moment of concern. I do see that Adam did as I suggested and changed the name of the company.

Yes, it seems strange to not see Phil Phillips’ name on the letterhead. Katrina still has to catch herself before answering the phone, ‘Mason-Phillips.’

Moose fingered his Pro Bowl ring. Did you call for a particular reason or just to say hello?

Mac said, Mags and I thought it would be great to get everyone together this weekend and play catch-up. Are you and Pepper available to drive up?

I need to check with her. You know that she is in her third trimester. You haven’t heard the news yet, have you?

About the twins? Yes, Kelly called Mags and told her as soon as she found out.

Mac, I tell you. I’m still in a state of shock. Twins? Pepper never could do anything halfway.

If I remember my tenth grade biology class, you had something to do with that.

Chuckling, Moose said, Yeah, I guess you’re right.

Listen, talk to Pepper and give me a call. The gathering will be at Adam and Kelly’s. Invite as many of your staff as can make it and Adam will inform the Venice staff. Mags and I are really looking forward to seeing everyone and getting to know the new ones.

I’ll call you tonight, Mac. It’s great having you back home and seeing you and Mags again.

Moose shuffled a few papers on his desk. Pepper will love to see everybody; maybe that will make up for my missing supper last night because of meeting Dad. He reached for the phone.

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Dad, do you think it is a good idea for you to fly alone from Florida to California when you might have a heart issue? a very concerned Maggie Mason asked her father as they sat in lawn chairs in the magnificently manicured yard of Adam, Kelly, and Aaron’s home. Aaron, playing in a sandbox with his favorite little red truck, was under their watchful eyes. Mags, I won’t be flying alone. I’m hiring a co-pilot to make the trip with me. With the larger jet I bought, I’d never think of making a trip this long without a co-pilot.

Good! That does take a lot off my mind. I kept Mac awake tossing and turning last night worrying about you.

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On Friday morning, Mags and Gertie entered the small snack shop at the Venice airport and looked around for Steve. Steve had left the condo much earlier to check all the plane’s instruments, fuel, and the flight plan. Mags had picked up Gertie at the condo so they could see Steve off. There was a bar with reclaimed soda fountain stools where several men sat sharing stories and enjoying their coffee. Three tables were spaced equally apart in the small open area. Large windows opened out to the commercial flight area beyond.

There he is, pointed a smiling and proud Gertie. Their union was what some people call an autumn marriage, but it was clear that no leaves had fallen from the trees yet!

The two women walked over to the small table where Steve sat with a young man in a pilot’s uniform. The very slight man wore a royal blue uniform with the name Todd over the left pocket. The hair that could be seen looked to be ash blond. He was clean shaven with what might be called a buzz cut under his cap. His cap was in a matching blue.

As the women approached, Steve stood up and looked lovingly at Gertie and Mags. Steve, still handsome even at his advanced years, reminded everyone of Robert Wagner, the movie star and still the heart throb of many women, young and older.

Todd, I’d like you to meet my wife, Gertie, and daughter, Maggie Mason.

Todd looked from one woman to the other and said, Pleased to meet you ladies.

Mags smiled at Todd thinking, He’s not much on manners, is he? Seems he doesn’t stand when ladies come to the table. Mags held out her hand. Todd took it with what Mags thought to be some reluctance. He didn’t offer to shake Gertie’s hand.

Todd advised Steve, Sir, we had better be taking off if we are going to make our first refueling and rest stop in Birmingham before night fall.

Steve nodded and looked at Gertie. "I’ll call you when we stop to refuel and rest. Our flight plan calls for us to stop in Birmingham for the night and then fly on to Denver for another stop. We should get into San Francisco late Sunday. My appointment with Dr. Henderson isn’t until 1:00 pm Monday. Depending on what he says, I expect to be back