Chapter Eleven
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Okay, let me get this straight,” Connie said. “You were on your way to the courthouse and there’s a phone call and all of a sudden you’re on your way to a private airfield in Bucks County.”
I selected a second cupcake. “Yep. Not exactly an airfield. I just saw the one helicopter. By the way, these cupcakes are fantastic. I just had one with custard inside it.”
“And then they put Jug on the helicopter…,” Connie said.
“A big one,” Lula said. “With Mrs. Jug and the dog.”
“It said ‘Sikorsky S-76’ on the side of it,” I said. “And it took off and I don’t know where it went. They drove us back to Trenton and here we are.”
“They didn’t take us back to Jug Produce either,” Lula said. “They had Stephanie’s SUV waiting for us in one of the municipal lots downtown. We aren’t sure how it got there because they didn’t have the key.”
“I imagine there are people at Jug Produce who have skills beyond unloading crates of oranges,” I said.
“This isn’t good,” Lula said. “We only got one FTA out there and it’s a vampire that I’d just as leave stay far away from. And we don’t know where he is anyway. What’s wrong with this town? It used to be full of crime. And now there’s nothing.”
“There’s crime,” Connie said. “There just aren’t any FTAs. Everybody is showing up for court.”
“Well that’s a real bitch,” Lula said. “How’s Stephanie gonna buy new clothes if there’s no work for her?”
“The two guys who are out there are high bonds,” I said. “If I could find them, I’d be in good shape.”
“One just flew off in a helicopter,” Lula said. “The other is probably sleeping it off in a coffin somewhere.”
“I want to know where Jug went,” I said. “Helicopters are short range, so either it took Jug to an airport to connect with a plane or else it took him to someplace relatively close.”
Connie googled the Sikorsky. “It says here that it has a range of three hundred air miles and can fly for about two and a half hours.”
“Run some checks on Jug,” I said to Connie. “Where does he have real estate? Check family and close friends. That helicopter took him somewhere perceived as safe. And see if you can find the estate where the helicopter touched down. We went over the Stark Street bridge and drove along Route 32, heading for New Hope. We were on that road for maybe a half hour before it turned off and went into an area of mixed forest and fields, and eventually, we turned right onto a paved gated driveway that ended up at a horse farm with a large stone house and circular drive. The Sikorsky was in a large, flat grassy field at the end of a single-lane paved drive.”
“Hold on,” Lula said. “I got the news streaming on my phone and they’re talking about Jug. Some woman is saying she got a video of him with her fourteen-year-old daughter and they’re doing the nasty. According to the mom, Jug drugged her kid with a date-rape piece of fruit. She didn’t say what kind of fruit, but my money’s on a banana.”
“That’s disgusting,” Connie said. “That’s sick.”
I didn’t have a high opinion of Jug, but a sex crime involving a fourteen-year-old took things to a new low.
“And here’s a shot of the front of Jug Produce with a bunch of crazy reporters and camera guys and a channel twelve satellite truck. That’s probably why Stephanie’s car got moved. They didn’t want to drop us off in the middle of the circus. We were parked right at the front door.”
And I thought they probably didn’t want us talking to the press about a possible sex crime after Bruno had just asked us about a happy ending. Truth is, while I was horrified, I was also relieved. My fear had been that I’d stumbled into a mob turf war that could have been fatal for Lula and me. An ugly scandal was manageable.
“One mystery solved,” I said. “And since Mr. and Mrs. Jug aren’t in residence, I think this would be a good time to break into their house. Maybe there’s a clue about their hidey-hole.”
“And?” Lula asked.
“And then we could go get Jug and bring him back here and I could pay off my credit card. The alternative is to go door-to-door on Stark Street, looking for Zoran.”
“Okay then,” Lula said. “Let’s do some B & E.”
I drove to Merrymaster Street, parked around the corner, and Lula and I walked back to Jug’s house. I went to the front door and realized that the house had a Ring doorbell. We were on camera. There were glass panels on both sides of the door. I looked in one and saw an alarm unit with a blinking light.
“Nobody home,” I said to Lula. “We’ll come back some other time.”
We left the house and walked back to the car.
“That was a bust,” Lula said.
“I should have known he’d have a security system. The back door might not have a camera, but we would set off the house alarm.”
“I’m not doing plan B,” Lula said. “I got no protection against vampires. I used part of my necklace in spaghetti sauce last night.”
“I’m not going door-to-door, but I’m going to drive down the first three blocks of Stark. I know he’s there.”
“I guess that would be reasonable as long as we aren’t getting out of the car. And then after we drive down those three blocks we’re going back to the office, right? It’s way past lunchtime, and I’m thinking about those cupcakes we left behind. Not that we would have them for lunch, but we could have them after lunch. I know you’re trying to be healthy for the little tyke. Have you thought of a name?”
“No! I’m not even sure I’m pregnant.”
“When can you take the test?”
“Tomorrow is the earliest to see if I’m pregnant. I can’t take a paternity test for six more weeks.”
“Six weeks is a long time. How are you going to do that?”
“I don’t know. One day at a time.”
I left North Trenton, did a slow cruise down Stark Street, and didn’t see Zoran.
“I’m thinking we stop at Cluck-in-a-Bucket on the way back to the office,” Lula said. “I’m feeling like a Double Clucky Burger.”
We spread the food out on Connie’s desk. Fries, Clucky Burgers, coleslaw, and shakes.
Connie unwrapped her Clucky Burger. “I didn’t get to run all the search engines, but I got some decent information. I printed out a map and drew a circle showing the helicopter’s range without refueling. Then I looked for possible safe houses that could accommodate a helicopter. I came up with four locations. There’s also a good chance that the helicopter ferried him to an airport and he’s on his way to South America.”
“I don’t want to hear that,” I said. “I don’t want to go to South America.” I looked at the printout of the map. “So he could be in Vermont, New Hampshire, the Outer Banks, or Long Island.”
“Or any place in between,” Lula said.
“Tell me about Vermont,” I said to Connie.
“Jug has a cousin in Dorset. She lives in a school bus with her husband and five cats. They have ten acres of flat field where theoretically a helicopter could land. I think this one is a long shot.”
“Yeah, I think we can cross the cousin off the list. What about New Hampshire?”
“Jug has a son in Portsmouth. He grew up with his mother. Wife number two. He gets along okay with Jug. He’s a chef. Single. Works at a restaurant in town. Rents a little house out in the country. Google Earth shows it sitting in the middle of an open field that’s next to a dairy farm. Zillow says the house has two bedrooms and one bath. Wouldn’t be ideal for the new Mrs. Jug.”
“Agree. Outer Banks is next up.”
“This ties with Long Island,” Connie said. “It’s a big house on the ocean with some property around it. Got a tennis court, pool, four-car garage. A helicopter could easily land on the lawn leading up to the house. Jug grew up with the guy who owns the house. The guy’s in real estate. Jug and wives number one and two used to visit. Zillow says the house has a four-bedroom guest wing. And I found a picture of Jug on the guy’s boat. Seventy-five-foot Hatteras. Jug was holding a fish. Some kind of tournament two years ago. I have a report for you with more information on the guy, including his address.”
“And Long Island?” I asked.
“It’s a small vineyard on the North Fork. It’s owned by Jug’s lawyer. Actually, it’s owned by a holding company, but for all purposes it’s the lawyer’s property. I found an article about it in one of those food and wine magazines. The lawyer uses it as a weekend getaway. Has a large stone house and a two-bedroom guesthouse. The vineyard isn’t open to the public, but it does some private tasting parties to benefit local charities. It sits on a good-size chunk of land, and it has a helicopter pad.”
“It gets my vote,” I said.
“It’s also the closest,” Connie said. “It’s a three-and-a-half-hour drive. One hundred and forty-nine miles by helicopter. Well within the Sikorsky’s range.”
“Do we know anyone on Long Island who can check it out for us?”
Connie finished her burger. “I’m working on it.”
“Did you have any luck locating the house in Bucks County?”
“I haven’t gotten to that yet. If you have time, you might go to Google Earth and see if you could zero in on it. My afternoon is crammed. I have an appointment with the bookkeeper in fifteen minutes.”
“In that case, I might take a cupcake and go have my nails done,” Lula said. “They don’t match my mood anymore. I got Trenton nails and I’m thinking I might need Long Island nails.”
I had do-it-yourself nails, at least until I paid off my credit card. They were currently short and wearing Kyoto Pearl quick-dry polish. They matched my toes. My hair was also professionally neglected, but there was no way I was cutting my own hair. Good thing God invented the ponytail.
I drove to my apartment building on autopilot, thinking about Bruno Jug. Suppose I actually found him on Long Island. Was it unrealistic to think that Lula and I could bring him back to Trenton? He’d gotten on the Sikorsky with Lou and two men from his office. If they’d stayed on the property with him, it would make things much more complicated.
I parked in my building’s lot and took the stairs to the second floor. I got a shot of adrenaline when I got to my apartment and found the door unlocked and open a crack. The adrenaline rush was replaced by a knot in my gut when I remembered that Herbert was installing carpet today. The fact that he was in my kitchen did nothing to ease the cramp in my intestines.
“Did you come home for lunch?” he asked. “You have lots of good food here now. I made myself a sandwich. I hope you don’t mind. You got healthy bread. I like to eat things that are healthy. I eat a lot of carrots. I saw that you bought carrots. I washed them and put them in a plastic baggie. It said they were prewashed, but I always wash them anyway. I gave one to your hamster. That was okay, right? I googled it first to make sure it was okay. I could make you a sandwich if you’re hungry. I make good sandwiches. I’m good at almost everything. You probably already noticed that. Except ice-skating. I can’t ice-skate because I have weak ankles.”
“I already ate lunch,” I said. “I came home to do some work.”
“It looks like you work on your dining room table. I noticed your computer there. I could get you a desk, if you want. I have connections. You could put it in your living room area. I noticed you still don’t have a television. I could get you one of those too. Then we could watch television together. Except sometimes I work at night. And if I decide to go into the mortuary business, I suppose I would be working a lot of nights, but only until nine o’clock.”
I felt my shoulders slump. Herbert was exhausting. He was one more problem on top of all my other problems, and I was having no luck getting rid of him. It would have been easier if he was a horrible person—if he was mean, and abusive, and violent. Unfortunately, he was just obnoxious and annoying and clueless.
I walked out of my kitchen and into my living room and was gobsmacked. The living room and dining room had been carpeted. It was amazing. The carpet was a neutral cream that made my inexpensive couch look wonderful. It felt soft underfoot and the carpet didn’t even have any stains. It was new! The door to my bedroom was open and I could see two men working in there.
“They’re finishing up in your bedroom,” Herbert said.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, “but I can’t afford this.”
“No problem,” Herbert said. “Sometimes in my business I come across things that are looking for a home, and I do favors for people who would like to return the favor, and this is one of those things.”
“What is your business?”
“I’m an entrepreneur,” Herbert said.
“Is that another way of saying you don’t exactly have a real job?”
“I’ve never thought of it that way. Entrepreneur is such a great word. It sounds European.”
“You live with your parents.”
“They like me. And it cuts down on my overhead. I could live someplace else if I wanted to. I have lots of money. Not as much as Jeff Bezos or Oprah. I might be in the Martha Stewart range. I don’t really know exactly how much money I have, but it’s a lot.”
Okay, I get this. Chances of Herbert finding someone, other than his parents, who likes him are slim to none.
“I have work to do,” I said to Herbert.
“I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”
“Thanks. That would be great.”
I moved into the dining room and sat at the table. I opened my laptop and waited while it came to life. Herbert sat across from me.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
“I’m watching you.”
“No. You aren’t going to watch me. That’s creepy.”
“Suppose I watched you from the living room. I could sit on the couch and watch you.”
“No.”
“Okay then, I’ll watch Mike and Manny finish the carpet. I’d watch television but you don’t have one.”
“Don’t you have something to do? Entrepreneurial stuff?”
“Not at the moment. I did some work this morning. I get up early. I don’t need much sleep.”
I pulled up a map of Trenton and zeroed in on the Stark Street bridge and Pennsylvania. I imagined myself being driven over the Delaware River into Bucks County. We turned right onto Route 32. We drove past Washington Crossing and after maybe a mile we turned off 32 and moved away from the river. I had a satellite view on my map, so I could see trees and fields and houses. Jug was talking, asking Lula questions about ice cream, while we were driving through this area, and I wasn’t always paying attention to scenery details.
I slowly scrolled through the map, looking for the house with the circular drive, horse paddocks, and an open field. I could see why Connie passed this over to me. There was a lot of ground to cover. A lot of circular driveways and a lot of open fields. And after we left Route 32, I hadn’t been sure of the direction. The road had twisted, and we made a couple turns. Finding the house was like looking for a needle in a haystack. This was going to take time and require some luck.
I stood and stretched and walked into the kitchen. I ate a couple baby carrots and returned to my laptop. Carrots were okay but they’d never replace a whoopie pie. I continued to search, and I heard the men leave my bedroom. There was some chatter at my door. Herbert told one of them that he’d see him later tonight. The door closed and Herbert came into the dining room.
“They’re done,” he said. “The rug looks good in your bedroom. Do you want to come look at it with me?”
I had a flashback to the last time I was in my bedroom with Herbert. “I’m not going to sleep with you,” I said.
“Okay, how about just sex?”
“No. Especially not sex. No sex.”
“I guess it must be that time of the month,” Herbert said. “Otherwise, women always want to have sex with me. I have animal magnetism.”
“I’m in the middle of something here. I’ll look at the rug as soon as I’m done. I’m sure it’s wonderful.”
“Maybe I can help. I’m excellent with computers. I’m like a computer guru.”
“Thanks for the offer, but this isn’t difficult. It’s just time-consuming.”
“I guess I’ll go then. I have a couple errands to run, and I need to go home and get ready for tonight. Martin Goodman’s viewing is tonight at the funeral home on Hamilton. Maybe you’d like to go with me. I could pick you up in my Prius. Have you ever ridden in a Prius? They’re excellent cars.”
“No. Sorry. I have plans for tonight. I’m meeting a friend.”
“That’s too bad,” Herbert said. “I think this will be a nice viewing. Martin Goodman made a fortune in pharmaceuticals. The legitimate kind. He had wealthy friends. I expect the flower arrangements to be exceptional. I’m not a big flower person, but some people are, and it’s an important part of the death ritual. I’ll text you when I get home and fill you in on the viewing. Unless you want me to come over later and I can tell you about it in person.”
“Coming over wouldn’t be a good idea. I’m not sure when I’ll be getting home.”
“I stay up real late sometimes. You could call me anytime if you want me to come over.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, walking him to the door.
He stepped out into the hall. “I’ll sleep with my clothes on just in case you call and I need to get over here fast.”
I had no idea how to respond to this, so I gave Herbert something between a smile and a grimace, closed the door, threw the dead bolt, and slid the chain across.
I looked into the kitchen. “He’s gone,” I said to Rex. “Everyone is gone, and it will be quiet now.” Rex didn’t say anything. He was inside his soup can, snuggled into his bedding. Rex had the good life.
I returned to the dining room and slumped in my chair. This wasn’t working. I should have found the house by now. I opened the file Connie had printed out for me. There were a bunch of pages paper-clipped together with a sticky note on the top page. Credit bureau profiles on the four safe house prospects. Haven’t had a chance to read them.
I pulled the profile on the lawyer. Anthony Bordelli. No litigation. No derogatory comments. No car loans. No mortgages. Good credit score. Sixty-seven years old. Married to Charlotte Loch Bordelli. Two adult children. No mention of the house in North Fork, Long Island. Office in Trenton. Residence was listed as 1762 Loury Road, Makefield, Pennsylvania. Holy crap. I’d been scrolling through Makefield. I typed the address into Google Maps and there it was in the perfect location. I must have passed over it a dozen times. The problem might have been that the gated driveway was completely obscured by trees and the horse paddocks weren’t obvious. The house with the circular driveway, the garages, and the paved single-lane road that ended at the open field were just as I remembered.
So now I was pretty sure I knew where they’d taken Jug. The big question was, how long would they keep him hidden? And the next question was, how bad did I want to make the capture? If I could grab the vampire, I could afford to wait awhile for Jug. If I didn’t bring one of them in, I was looking at financial disaster.
I went to a couple streaming news feeds. Nothing helpful there. It looked like everyone was still camped out in front of Jug Produce. Just for giggles, I mapped out the drive from Trenton to the vineyard on Long Island. It was no surprise that it was an ugly trip with horrible traffic. At least it was manageable in one day if everything went right. It was too late to go today, and I had Ranger scheduled for tonight. If by some stroke of luck I found Zoran tonight, I was golden. If not, I’d set off for Long Island tomorrow morning.
I read through the rest of Connie’s background material and did some research on the vineyard and the lawyer. At five thirty I pushed back from the dining room table and went into the kitchen to make myself a nutritious meal. After five minutes of staring into the refrigerator, I called my mom and said I was coming over for dinner.
My father looked at the casserole dish in the middle of the table. “What’s this?”
“We tried something new,” Grandma said. “It was on television on one of those cooking shows and it won the award.”
“It looks like dog food,” my father said. “It’s all brown. Where’s the potatoes? Where’s the meat?”
“That’s the good part,” Grandma said. “It’s all there, mixed together. It’s a one-pot-wonder recipe.”
“Food isn’t supposed to be mixed together,” my father said. “It’s supposed to be all separate on the plate. You got the meat, the potatoes or pasta, and the corn or peas or beans. That’s the way it is. And there’s supposed to be gravy. I like gravy.”
“What about lasagna?” Grandma said. “It’s all mixed together.”
“It’s in different layers,” my father said. “You can see the meat and the pasta. And the peas are separate.”
“There’s peas in the casserole,” Grandma said. “If you look close you can see them.”
“I don’t want to look close,” my father said.
My mother was at the other end of the table self-administering anesthesia in the form of whiskey. The casserole was directly in front of me, so I took my father’s plate, spooned food onto it, and gave it back to him.
“Good news,” I said to my father. “I saw an apple pie in the kitchen.”
I helped myself to some mystery meal and passed the casserole dish to my mother. “What’s this called?” I asked Grandma.
“Humdinger Helper,” Grandma said. “You’re supposed to make it in one of those giant iron skillets, but we don’t have any.”
I took some for a test drive. “It’s good,” I said. “Actually, it’s delicious.”
“It has elbow macaroni and cheese and lean ground beef in it,” Grandma said. “It’s got all the essential food groups.”
My father had his head down, forking in the Humdinger.
“Have you been watching the news about Bruno Jug?” Grandma asked me. “They say he’s missing. Is that because you put him in jail?”
“No. He disappeared before I had a chance to deliver him,” I said.
“Nobody knows where he is,” Grandma said. “I think he’s in the landfill. Did you look in the landfill?”
“Ketchup,” my father said. “I need ketchup.”
Grandma jumped up, trotted off to the kitchen, and returned with ketchup.
“There’s been a lot of talk about Jug since this story broke,” Grandma said, topping off her wineglass. “He was known to like the ladies too much, but there’s never been word of him drugging someone or molesting young girls. Some people are saying it’s because he’s not all there anymore. What do you think?” she asked me.
“He’s a little odd, but it’s hard to tell if it’s an act, just his personality, or the beginnings of dementia. What do you think?”
“I think it’s all of those things,” Grandma said. “And I think there’s something fishy about the story of him drugging a fourteen-year-old girl and raping her. Jug wouldn’t drug a kid. He’d buy her. Anyway, I expect to learn more tonight. Mildred Senski is having a viewing tonight at Stiva’s. She’s in slumber room number two because Martin Goodman grabbed number one. I wouldn’t necessarily go to the Goodman viewing but seeing how things have turned out, I wouldn’t miss giving my respects to Mildred Senski. Her cousin, Grace, is married to a Jug. Grace will know all the good stuff.”
“Take notes for me,” I told Grandma. “See if Grace knows where Jug is hiding out.”