The Homewreckers(38)

18

Blue Light Special




Hattie was on her third trip to the dumpster when she saw the police patrol car rolling slowly down the driveway, blue lights flashing. She tossed the armload of mildewed and water-swollen books into the trash, dusted her hands on the back of her jeans, and waited.

The cop parked next to her truck. He got out and looked slowly around at his surroundings. He was white, in his midfifties, nearly bald, with the exception of a fringe of graying hair and a matching neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. He wore the Tybee police uniform, khaki pants and a navy polo shirt with the city logo. A gold badge was clipped to his belt.

“Hi,” Hattie said, walking over to him. “I’m Hattie Kavanaugh.”

“Al Makarowicz,” the cop said, not removing his aviator-style sunglasses. “You the one who called in about finding the wallet?”

“Yes.”

“Wanna show it to me?”

“It’s inside the house,” she said.

He looked around and shook his head. “How old is this place?”

“It was built in 1922, and remodeled a couple of times.” She started walking toward the house, with the cop matching her stride.

“How long have you owned the place?”

“Just a week. It was condemned, and I bought it from the city. We’re just starting work on it and we’re taping a reality TV show about the renovation.” They were standing just inside the front doorway.

“We got a briefing about that. Hear there’s gonna be a lot of cars in and out here.”

Cass trundled into the living room with a wheelbarrow full of lathe and plaster chunks.

“This is Cass Pelletier. She’s the one who actually found the wallet. Cass, this is Officer Mak…”

“Detective Makarowicz,” he said. “Don’t bother trying to pronounce it. People just call me Mak. Or Al Mak. Or Detective Mak.”

“Hi,” Cass said. “The wallet’s out in the kitchen.”

“It gets worse,” the cop said, following the women into the gutted space. “You really think you can make this place livable?”

“It’s our job,” Hattie assured him. “Rescuing old houses and bringing them back to life.”

“You ask me, this one’s DOA,” Makarowicz said.

“There’s the wallet.” Cass pointed to the sawhorse table.

“How many people have handled it, since you found it?” he asked, donning a thin pair of latex gloves.

“Just me and Hattie,” Cass said.

He picked up the wallet and began examining it. “I understand you knew the woman this belonged to? Lanier Ragan?”

“She was our teacher, at St. Mary’s Academy,” Hattie said. “But she went missing in 2005.”

He plucked the driver’s license from the wallet and studied it. “So young,” he said under his breath. He put the license back, then dropped it into a paper evidence bag.

“Show me where you found the wallet, please,” he said, addressing Cass.

Cass walked to the back wall of the kitchen. She’d tacked a blue tarp to the exterior of the wall.

“This was an old bathroom, which we were demolishing,” she said. “At one time, there was a sink right here, and a medicine cabinet. Beside the medicine cabinet, there was a sort of slot in the wall, where people would put used razor blades. We were knocking out the old plaster and lathe when we found the wallet, sitting back here, between the wall studs.”

“My grandma’s house had one of those slots in the medicine cabinet,” he mused, kneeling down on the floor. “Any idea how that wallet could have gotten back there?”

“Only way we can figure is that someone shoved it through that slot,” Hattie said.

Makarowicz stood up slowly. “Do I wanna know what happened to the slot?”

“It’s gone,” Hattie said apologetically. “I kinda sledgehammered it. What’s left of it is out in the dumpster.”

“Under a couple dozen loads of debris,” Cass added.

“Figures.” He gestured toward the back door. “What’s outside?”

Hattie opened the door and the three of them walked onto the back porch. “See for yourself. I’m not sure when was the last time anybody lived in this house. But beyond all this jungle, there’s a little beach, and of course, the Back River. There’s an old dock and boathouse, too, but I haven’t walked out onto it, because I don’t know how safe it is.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot this is waterfront.” Makarowicz shot her a rueful smile. “I’m kind of new to Tybee. Still getting my bearings.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Moved down here six months ago, after I retired from the Atlanta Police Department. I did twenty-seven years. Detective the last eighteen, but the stress and Atlanta traffic were getting to me. High blood pressure. It was my wife’s idea to come down here to Tybee for some peace and quiet.”

“You retired and then went right back to work again as a cop?”

“Not at first. Hell of a thing. We moved down here for my health, and damned if Jenny wasn’t the one…”

Hattie saw the haunted look in his eyes. She waited.