Kendel Lynn - Elliott Lisbon 02 - Whack Job by Kendel Lynn Read Free Book Online Page A

Slings.”
    “Thanks, Lola, but I can only stay a sec. Just wondering about the shooting up at Tug’s earlier. You hear about the guy in the cap?”
    “Honey, all I’ve heard today is about that kid in the cap. I think it’s Bobby, over in the last row, closest to the highway. But what do I know? I never saw him, or anything, up at Tug’s today.”
    “Seriously? The guy lives here?”
    She waved her hand, letting the air dry her shiny red nails. “Sure sounds like him. Scruffy beard, always wearing that Cubs cap. I haven’t seen him today, though.”
    I scrambled for my notebook out of my hipster. “What’s the guy’s name? Bobby?”
    “Bobby Smith. But don’t worry about writing that down. I’ve got more ‘Smiths’ in this park than a Smith family reunion.” She carefully sipped what I assumed to be a Singapore Sling and leaned back in her bright yellow aluminum chair. “He rented one of my transient trailers, a beater for flopping. Paid six months in advance three months ago.”
    I jotted it all down whether I needed to or not. I’d probably hear a version of this story fifteen times before Monday. But nice to hear it from the source first.
    Her phone rang. A turquoise princess model sitting on the table with a mile of phone line hooked up from inside the trailer.
    She picked up the line and I stood. “Uh-huh… yeah, sure, uh-huh… two shakes, sweetie,” she said, then hung up.
    “Coin machine’s jammed again,” she said. “Don’t know what those kids do in there.”
    “Think it’d be okay if I take a peek at Bobby’s trailer? Just a drive by?”
    “Sure, honey, you go on. It’s the pink single at the end of row five. Can’t miss it. Has a giant flamingo in the front yard next to the parking pad.”
    I decided to drive my car rather than walk. Even though I hadn’t ridden my bike in a week, I didn’t feel the need to make up for it with a walk through a trailer park at dinner time. The line at Tug’s had barely moved since I’d last seen it, and a couple in a golf cart were pleased as punch to take my illegal sidewalk spot as soon as I backed out.
    Five minutes and two turns later, I rolled down the bumpy asphalt road known as Row Five. A mix of motor homes and trailers dotted the small street, with plenty of empty spaces in between. A pair of fuzzy poodles lazed under a palm near the end of the block. They watched me park in front of the pink flamingo. Highway sounds floated over a worn wooden fence. I couldn’t see Cabana Boulevard through the brush, but based on my wobbly sense of direction, it had to be about a hundred feet back through the pine scrub.
    Pretty deserted at this end. Only the poodle house two pads to the north, no one across the way for at least six pads. No car in the carport. The trailer itself was a faded Pepto pink with awning poles, but no awning. Three rickety metal steps led to a front door without a screen.
    I walked around the side, confident the place was vacant. Not much to see. Overgrown brush, wildflowers gone to seed, abandoned cinder blocks probably once used to hold up a car or part of the house. My stomach began to growl again so I decided dinner was much more important than wandering in the scrub around an old trailer.
    I made a note about Bobby and his pink flophouse next to a big star reminding myself to call Corporal Parker in the morning. I may not have discovered anything helpful, but maybe the police did.

SIX

    (Day #2: Saturday Morning)

    I woke early Saturday and ate breakfast on my deck. Cereal and Pepsi, with my notebook for company. The sun was warm as morning joggers took to the sand for their daily burst of exercise, their soft rhythmic steps mixed with the low tide rumble as I tried to find rhythm in the egg case.
    Jaime didn’t seem too concerned about Gilbert’s missing egg, or even his gunshot wound. Though I guess no one should look inside somebody else’s marriage. No way Gilbert told me the whole truth on the Fabergé egg. I