“I thought we were going to pick up your mom at the hair salon. This is the way back to Sand Key. I thought she lived in Tampa.”
“We are,” Mia said. “But it’s not just any old beauty shop. It’s her spa trip. You know where rich people get their total bodies pampered as well as their hair done,” Mia said looking at me curiously. “She’ll likely drop over eight hundred bucks there in about 4 hours of pampering.”
“So where do mom and stepdad live? For some reason I thought they lived somewhere in Tampa. Maybe it was something Langdon told me.”
“Well,” Mia said, “they lived in Tampa when Vickie was with them. Most of Ted’s businesses are in Tampa, but they live in Belleair Beach. They moved there a couple of years ago. Bought the big house and boat and are living the good life.”
“Whew—that’s money big time.” The cheapest place on that strip overlooking the gulf probably weighed in at a million and a half plus.
“Yeah, you’re going out with the step daughter of a rich guy.”
“So it would seem. So why do you live where you live?”
“I can’t stand Ted,” Mia said. “And I like my own space. And sort of like you Joe, I don’t want their handouts. The less time I spend with Terry and Ted, the happier I am even though I live in a dump.”
“That hurts—my room isn’t a dump. I think of it as quaint.”
“I was talking about my apartment—your oars Joe—keep them in the water. Ted doesn’t have a great sense of humour.”
“Sometime, maybe we could talk about the Ted part. Okay?”
“No,” Mia snapped.
“Or not,” I back pedaled.
When the 686 intersected Gulf Boulevard, I turned left through the Beach and on into Sand Key. As we drove along, I noticed that Mia’s left leg had started to pump. She was worried. On the inland waterway side of Sand Key, there was a strip mall with a liquor store, a couple of expensive restaurants and boutiques and an exclusive designer clothing store. A Bank of America as well as The Crescendo sat in the central location of the mall. I pulled in between a large BMW and a new Lexus. Mia jumped out of the Jag and headed for the spa. Seconds later, she emerged from Crescendo and headed off to the liquor store.
A few minutes later she was back at the passenger door.
“Lend me some money Joe—please.”
“Sure, how much do you need? And why do you need it?”
“Mom told me Ted is working at home. I should get him something.”
I reached into my pocket and gave her twenty dollars.
“I’ll need more than that. I’ll pay you back.”
I gave her all I had left—two more twenties. “Thanks Joe.” She ran back to the booze shop.
A few minutes later, she placed a bagged bottle of expensive single malt scotch upright on the floor in front of the passenger’s seat.
“Why the booze?” I asked.
“For Ted.”
“I know, but why? You’re a waitress, and it sounds as if he has more money than a third nation country. Why are you buying him scotch?”
“Er, what do you mean?” Mia said before she turned to head back off to escort her mom from The Crescendo.
“You know what I mean—why a peace offering for your stepdad?” May as well prod the abuse angle when the opportunity presents itself.
Mia stopped and caught her lower lip between her teeth. The tension was palpable. “He sees me and gets angry—go figure. Sometimes, if I bring him a bottle of good liquor, he’s easier to take.”
“Was he always like that?” I asked.
Mia shot me a hard eyed glare. “I don’t remember—okay? Leave it alone.” She ran off to fetch her Mom.
I remembered what Mia had told me about her mother “letting herself go” after Vickie’s murder. The woman coming out of the spa with Mia was very much past that stage of grieving. Jacqueline Bissett in the movie Jaws. An erect five six, perfectly coiffed dyed brunette with a brushed even tan and Mia’s blue eyes. There were expensive diamond rings on three of her lean fingers and a diamond tennis bracelet on her left wrist. Her outfit for her day at the spa had been designer white Terry top and bottom and soft strap beige sandals. ‘Grieving mother? Hard to imagine, but maybe a trophy wife,’ I thought. We were about to find out.
Eliza Bullock slid breezily onto the front passenger seat knocking over the bagged bottle of scotch. She cursed, picked up the bottle and dropped it onto the back seat. Then she turned to me and with disdain said, “So you’re a scotch drinker Joe? Call me Eliza.” Her voice was a purr and her perfume was subtle and probably cost more than I made in a week. I didn’t like her.
“Actually no—that’s Mia’s gift for Ted; and your daughter can’t get into the car because you are in the way.”
“What did you say?”
“Your daughter—she can’t get into the car while you are sitting there.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“It’s a coupe. There are only two front doors—no back ones.”
Once mother and daughter had sorted out the seating arrangement, I pulled out of the parking lot and headed north back towards Belleair Beach. Eliza Bullock nervously reached into her multi-coloured leather beach bag and pulled out a slim gold cigarette case. With a delicate gold lighter, she lit her cigarette and turned towards me. She exhaled into my face dramatically. I liked her even less.
“Mia tells me that you’re helping her try to get that old cop, Langdon, to go back to work on finding out who killed my baby. Is that so?”
I mentally rolled my eyes. Damn, I thought we were going to be discreet. If this was Mia’s idea of not saying anything about what we were doing, I might just as well jump in front of a speeding bullet right now. I remembered yesterday’s note—The bitch will get you killed. Disappear. By the second, I was regretting this whole adventure more and more.
“Not really Mrs. Bullock. We’re just trying to find out if anything more can be done. I think Mia needs closure on this.”
“Can it? And call me Eliza; I don’t like Mrs. Bullock.”
“Can it what?” I said. I didn’t like Mrs. Bullock much either.
“Can anything more be done to find my baby’s killer?” she asked with a barely suppressed touch of annoyance.
“To tell you the honest truth Mrs. Bullock, I don’t really think so.”
I caught Mia’s eye in the rear-view mirror and gave a quick headshake. I knew that she was about to object when I cut her off with what I hoped was a clear enough hint—shut the fuck up.
“Must be a terrible thing to learn that your child has been murdered,” I said more loudly than I needed to. My eyes were starting to water from the second hand smoke mom continued to blow in my face.
Eliza nodded her head in agreement. “You have no idea.”
“Do you have any idea who might have wanted to harm Vickie?” I asked.
“It’s hard to raise kids in a rich place like where we lived in Tampa. There was a lot of peer pressure, and a lot of spoiled brats with too much money. Vic wasn’t too smart. She sometimes didn’t make good decisions if you know what I mean. She probably just said the wrong thing to some guy trying to get into her pants. Who knows? There’s too much sex and violence in films and video games these days. You know what I mean?”
On Mia’s direction, I pulled into a triple wide patterned pink paving stone circular driveway that led a hundred feet to a three story slate gray mansion. Twenty-five feet into the driveway, an ornate heavy metal gate blocked my advance. There was a security stand with a modern keypad mounted at window level beside me. I lowered my window and waited to see if Eliza was going to give me the code or get out and walk around to enter it personally. I did a quick scan of the property with its gulf view. I’m no expert, but I’d guess three and a half million. Lucy, I’m home.
“Well?” Eliza said.
“I need the code to open the gates Mrs. Bullock.”
“Oh, yes. 91605. And it’s Eliza.”
I punched in t
he code. Easy to recall if I needed it again—if they don’t change it the minute I’m out of here. The huge gate slowly rolled back on a hard black rubber wheel attached to the corner base of the monster. I drove the rest of the way to park in front of a solid four bay two-story garage with all its cream yellow doors closed. In the middle of the circular section of the drive was a small courtyard garden. The focal point of the professionally landscaped garden oasis was a huge working water fountain.
I got out of the car and walked around the front to open the door for her mom and Mia. As I did, a silver haired man wearing Gucci driver moccasins, a large gold Rolex, no socks, pleated tan chinos and a designer shirt in vertical white and blue stripes appeared. This had to be Ted Bullock. He looked to be about fifty-five, and he oozed arrogance. He was tanned and fit which can take years off appearances. So, in fact, he might have been older. He twirled a pair of dark aviator sunglasses as he stood there on the flag stone patio watching us. He stared at us without any visible display of interest or warmth—a rattlesnake eying a mouse. Eliza was definitely a trophy wife. She waved to him as she emerged from my car. No response. Unfortunately for her, I had a feeling that the finish on the trophy was tarnishing. After a few seconds, a supercilious frown crossed his tanned, smooth face. Mia had quite a family. Notwithstanding that she may have been abused by this guy, it was no wonder she chose not to live with these people.
The three of us moved toward Ted. Mia had the bottle of scotch extended towards him. The handsome man stood there frowning silently like a lean petty dictator unhappily surveying his troops. His eyes were the small hard black marbles of a pig. They focused on me briefly and darted suspiciously to Mia and the booze she held and then back to me again. The supercilious sneer never left his face. He stood there not saying or doing anything. In fact, he seemed to have lost interest in us. His attention had switched to my Jaguar. Seconds passed. No one moved. I felt like I’d fallen into the Twilight Zone where people become Egyptian friezes.
‘Maybe he’s trying to get his brain and mouth in synch,’ I thought charitably.
Mia nervously looked over at me. She then looked back to where her stepfather stood immobile. Finally, Ted Bullock took a few small testing steps toward us. He moved to the front edge of the elevated patio.
Eliza said with evident trepidation, “Ted, this is Mia’s new friend, Joe. She’s brought you some wonderful scotch.”
“Where in the hell did you get that car?” Ted Bullock said in a deep bass voice.
The three of us looked at each other uncertainly. Which of us he was talking to?
“It’s mine,” I replied simply.
“And who the frig are you?”
‘Ted is either deaf or has a short term memory problem,’ I thought. Keep it simple. “Mia’s friend.”
“She looks like a tramp. Ya fucked her yet?”
Mia visibly flinched and almost dropped the scotch. Eliza’s mouth dropped open. She gulped air like a sea bass out of water and slammed it shut again.
“Ted!” Mrs. Bullock gasped. “That’s not very kind. Mia’s our daughter, and Joe is our guest.”
This guy was a real piece of work. It was as if he had taken the art of being a total asshole to the level of a pure science. I’d met guys like him before—thankfully not too often and never for too long. It didn’t matter that he was rich and successful. As a human being, he was a waste of skin. The beat cops back home used to like to hose down these guys extra hard and cold when completing the standard arrest process. Mia and her mom stood perfectly still—waiting. They wanted nothing to do with Ted Bullock in his current foul mood, and they were afraid of what he might do or say next.
There were a few ways I could play this kind of dickhead. None of them worked very well.
“You must be the incredibly stupid prick I‘ve heard so much about from Mia. It’s a real pleasure to meet you Sir,” I said with a wide insolent grin not meant to please. The change up sometimes worked best of all for me.
He stood there giving me this really hard glare with his mouth partially open. I think I was supposed to be quaking in my thong sandals. I guess he was trying to figure out if he should beat the crap out of me right then or wait until he had help. Perhaps he was wondering if, alone, he could beat the crap out of me at all—ever.
“Fuck you!” Ted Bullock said succinctly and then turned and walked slowly back into his mansion.
“Smartest move of your pathetic life Ted,” I said quietly.
Mia nervously handed the bottle of scotch to her mother before she got back into the Jag. She left her door open. I turned to Mrs. Bullock.
“Sorry,” I said. “Is he always like that?” knowing the answer even before I asked.
“We’ve had a bad few years,” Eliza replied distractedly. “Some days are worse than others. Ted’s never been an easy man to live with.”
A change-up—“Did Vickie seem excited about going to meet with Mia in Orlando?”
“I guess so.”
“Would she have told many people about her planned visit with her sister up there?” I asked following up quickly. I did not want to give the shaken woman a chance to get her brain into gear—old cop trick.
“Maybe that little weasel Eddy Ralston. He was hanging around her like a bitch in heat for a few weeks before she got killed—and that friend of Terry’s, Sammy something. She used to talk with him sometimes I think,” she said back distractedly. It was as if she was pondering some insignificant event of the distant past.
“Eddy Ralston is still in the Tampa area—yeah?” I asked. I was on a bit of a roll. How many guys named Sammy would this family know? I’d already met a Sammy when I had my dance with Billy Ray and again at Walgreen’s last night. It had to be the same dickhead.
“I guess. I don’t mix with that crowd much anymore. I haven’t seen him in months.”
“Thanks Mrs. Bullock. Probably best if I get Mia away from here. I’d like to talk with you again sometime if that’s okay with you. Will you be alright going in there with Ted?”
“I guess. He doesn’t bother with me too much. Call me any time you want Joe.”
I went around and got into the driver’s seat while Mia closed her door. “Bye mom,” was all that she said before stonily fixing her gaze through the front windshield on some distant non-existent object. “Sorry,” she said without looking over as I started the car.
“You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. We don’t get to choose our parents—or stepparents,” I said quickly looking over at her as I waited for the gate to roll out of the way. “Call it a kind of learning experience. Has your stepdad always been such a prick?”
“He’s always been a miserable son of a bitch if that’s what you mean. Didn’t matter what I did; you could never please that bastard. He always wanted more. No wonder Vickie wanted to get away from that asshole.”
Mia’s spontaneous anger melted down. She sat and sobbed. Her crying was the wracking, gasping variety as if life was sliding away from having any meaning. I didn’t know how to comfort her. I put my hand on her leg and squeezed gently. She didn’t object. She buried her face in her hands and cried louder. Mrs. Reilly had been right. The bad things had started early in Mia’s life. I looked forward to my next meeting with Ted.
We were back in Clearwater Beach before Mia was able to fully regain her composure. I decided to drive around for a little while. Strangely enough, she didn’t want to talk about what had happened to her. “Maybe sometime, but not now.” We drove in silence for a while longer. There was nothing that I could do.
New Rules Of Engagement