do you think happened?” I asked, interested in Wayne’s views on the subject.
“Well . . . if I had to put money on it . . . I’d go with the running off with another woman theory.”
“Why?”
“Have you seen Mrs. Jones? Homely as a runt pig - and you know I’ve seen quite a few of those in my time.”
Pretty much describes Trudy, doesn’t it? I reflected to myself.
“Any proof that Mr. J. was fooling around - or was it just talk?”
“Police said it was all talk.”
Again I recalled that none of the police reports stated any inquiries about Barry Jones’ alleged infidelity. “Are you sure the cops actively pursued this?”
Wayne thought hard for a moment. “I just remember seeing a news conference on TV,” he finally said. “An officer was asked if there was any truth to a rumour that Jones had skipped town with a woman from Kelsey Lake. This guy looked real annoyed but said that no evidence had been uncovered indicating Mr. Jones was having any type of extramarital affair. Unquote.”
“Interesting.”
“Gee, look at the time,” Wayne said suddenly, quickly emptying his beer and standing up. “I’ve got cows to milk.”
“Expanding your livestock business, are you?”
“Had to after the pig market took a dive a few years back.” He turned his chair around and pushed it back against the table. “Anyway, don’t be a stranger. Trudy and I live in a house behind my dad’s place. Why don’t you drop by for dinner tomorrow night?”
Visions of my new friend from the library popped into my head.
“I already have dinner plans for tomorrow. How about Wednesday?”
“Wednesday’ll be fine. Come by around seven.”
Just before exiting the bar, Wayne stopped and turned back to me. “Would it be okay if Maria was there?”
My heart skipped a beat but I didn’t want to offend Wayne, who sported a hopeful gleam in his eyes.
“Sure, that would be fine,” I responded with a genuine, yet resigned smile.
“Great,” Wayne replied jubilantly. “We’ll see you there.”
I slowly got up from the table and approached the bar.
“You come back to ask my mirror if you’re the fairest in the land?” the barkeep from earlier in the day asked.
I chuckled at the question. “I was trained to never ask a question you don’t know the answer to, because it usually leads to grief.”
“I’ll say one thing for you, mister - you’re much smarter than your farmer friend Wayne looks.”
Again we laughed together.
“Are you still on duty or am I witnessing your night club routine?”
“Depends on what you’re ordering.”
A short time later, after downing a large Alabama Slammer – a wonderful alcoholic concoction - I left Scooter’s and walked the half mile back to the motor inn. Although I tried to focus on my conversation with Wayne dealing with the Jones case, thoughts of Maria kept clouding my mind.
I’d always regretted leaving her behind, but had assumed at the time she would simply get over me and continue on with her life. The revelation she’d done the exact opposite had floored me.
My new beginning was meant as a clean break and a catalyst for change. In reality however, it had turned into a dreary life sentence for both of us.
Before going to bed, I sensed that my dinner appointment with the Dugans and Maria would be less than a success. But somewhere in my heart I was silently looking forward to being in the same room with Maria again. Sharing past experiences and hearing (hopefully) a house filled with her laughter.
I felt that alone would be worth the price of admission.
TWO
Tuesday
I’ve always hated the rain - especially the half rain/half snow stuff which was falling this morning. Conducting surveillance in any type of downpour is always a frustrating exercise. On cool mornings your vehicle’s windows undoubtedly fog up. Worse yet, the rain hitting the front windshield distorts the view of the street ahead. Tree branches suddenly look like people and visa versa. But after awhile you get used to it.
On the force, when not working undercover, I’d often spent long days sitting in a truck painted to look like a phone company’s vehicle. My assignment was to watch, photograph, and videotape drug deals going down as part of sting operations. After being sliced and diced by the leader of the Cuban Arms gang however, I was deemed “damaged street goods” by my superiors and was assigned truck duty full-time.
Not that I minded. The pay was the same.
Upon my forced retirement, I soon discovered the act of surveillance was suddenly a very stressful experience. I no longer had the luxury of working with eight or more other officers, all communicating with each other by radio. If I lose sight of my subject or the subject’s vehicle in traffic, there is no back up. I am now a one man operation consisting of a dark green van with tinted windows, a couple of cameras, one set of eyes and a large pair of binoculars from WWII which I’d bought at a pawn shop.
I dubbed today’s surveillance a “fact-finding” mission. I was here only to observe. No one would be followed. No one videotaped or photographed. Hopefully, no one would even notice the unfamiliar van parked at the end of their quiet little street. Duke Drive is one of four short streets that make up the decade old, forty lot Delta Haven subdivision, located at the south end of town. All of the two storey homes were fashioned on variations of six basic designs - with each appearing warm and friendly.
I could only imagine what evil (if any) lurked behind their front doors.
I arrived at six in the morning and drove past 15 Duke Drive, which was a brown bricked residence with a single car garage. Parked in the driveway was a white late model Monte Carlo. I pressed the record button on my mini-cassette player and noted the licence plate. As expected, there were no lights on within the dwelling. I then surveyed the houses directly beside and across from the Jones place. Again (not surprisingly) they were also dark.
I then set up position near a small park and began doing what I do best: minding other people’s business.
An hour later the first sign of activity was observed: the Kelsey Lake Free Press newspaper boy entered the subdivision on foot, placing papers in the screen doors of every third house or so - including the Jones door.
Soon after it was time for everyone and their brother it seemed, to take the family dog for a short walk down to the park. Luckily, due to the light yet constant rainfall, no one paid attention to my van.
I watched as they passed by, mentally evaluating each person. I knew instinctively which
