For Whom the Minivan Rolls by JEFFREY COHEN Read Free Book Online Page A

you
have to go with the classics.
    “I want to go over your strategy. I want to know
everything you’re going to do before you do it.” Beckwirth, I
guess, was used to dealing with employees. Now that I was,
indirectly, working for him, he thought I was an employee.
    “I can’t do that.”
    He stared. No doubt his minions had never said “no”
to him before, and his body language said clearly, “You must have
misunderstood. This was not a request.” Then, with real words, he
put it to me this way, “Of course you can. Just tell me what you
plan to do.”
    “No. For one thing, I don’t know that you didn’t
have something to do with Madlyn disappearing.”
    Now, Beckwirth positively sputtered. It was a good
performance, though I’m no drama critic. I’m no detective, either,
so any observations I make have to be taken with a shaker of salt.
“Why would I be so anxious to have you investigate if I were behind
Madlyn’s kidnapping? That’s ridiculous.”
    “You could be doing your best to divert suspicion,”
I said calmly. “Or you could be doing your best to hamper the
investigation by making sure the least competent person available
is working on it.”
    Beckwirth did his best to smile a friendly smile in
a regular-guy sort of way. I’m sure most women would have ripped
off their underwear and launched themselves at him after he gave
them such a smile, with just enough teeth and a twinkle in his eye.
Well, some women. Not Abigail, I’d like to think.
    “Oh, you’re just being modest,” he said.
    “No, I’m not. I haven’t the faintest idea if I’m
doing the right thing. I could be hampering the investigation
myself, because I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m what you asked
for, and I’m what you got. At a bargain price for an investigator,
I hasten to add. And an inflated price for a freelancer.”
    His eyes narrowed. “Is that it? Not enough
money?”
    I threw my hands up, exasperated. “No, that’s not
it!” I, well, screamed. “I’m telling you that if you’re really
trying to find your wife, you’re going about it in the wrong way! You’ve hired the wrong man! Is that clear enough?”
    Apparently, it wasn’t. Beckwirth tried the ol’
regular-guy smile again. “Don’t worry. I have faith in you.”
    There is nothing you can do with some people. Gary
Beckwirth was one of them. So I proceeded. First, though, just to
show him my level of irritation, I sighed.
    “Ooooooooookay,” I said. “The first thing I have to
do is talk to your son.”
    The businesslike frown and impersonal tone came back
to Beckwirth. He picked up a croissant from—I swear to God—a silver
tray on the coffee table, and took a bite. Apparently, he could
shift gears easily, too. I considered taking myself in for a
tune-up. “Joel? That is your son’s name, isn’t it?” I said.
    He ignored me. I was getting used to being ignored.
“Joel is very upset by his mother’s disappearance. I don’t think he
would be very helpful to an investigation.”
    “All right, we’ll wait a little while on Joel.”
    Beckwirth stood, to better intimidate me. It wasn’t
working, largely due to the croissant crumbs on his shirt. “I don’t
think you understand. I don’t want you to involve Joel at all.
Besides, there’s no reason to talk to Joel. This is a case of
kidnapping, and it’s tied to the campaign for mayor. Joel has
nothing to do with it.”
    “You think that people would resort to abduction
over a $20,000-a-year part-time job?”
    “You have no idea, Aaron. The corruption in this
town is rampant. And the other side will stop at nothing to keep
what they have.”
    The other side? I wasn’t interested in
playing this role. I wasn’t interested in being in this movie. I
had no response to the torrent of clichés he had just tossed at
me.
    “When do I get to talk to your son, Gary?”
    “I just don’t see the point to that,” he said, his
face impassive.
    I stood. Two could play this