Cold pulp trio, p.1
Cold Pulp Trio, page 1
Cold Pulp Trio
E. R. White, Jr.
Copyright © 2011 by E. R. White, Jr.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in these short stories are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents are purely coincidental
Own It
Miscegenation and Other Acts of Love
Caveman
Own It
I leapt up from my desk and stumbled to my office bathroom. I spun the sink faucet on and grabbed for cold water to throw on my face. I was hyperventilating, dizzy. I held on to the sink for a few moments then threw water again on my face, trying not to throw up. I looked up into the mirror, cursed God, myself and then all the world in a few heartbeats. This was mine now, and I had to fix it…
******
They had shown up, unannounced, at my Charlotte office mid-morning. Husband and wife, both dressed in their Sunday best. Malcolm and Sandra Kincaid. Ages 47 and 45 respectively. To describe them is like trying to describe mediocrity. A waste of time. It was late February, 1985.
Malcolm did all the talking. Sandra sat there like a wounded mouse, head down with only the occasional glance at me sitting behind my desk.
“Mr. Dafoe, you were referred to us by our lawyer, Sanford Milton. We understand you have done business with him in the past.”
I nodded my head and said, “That's correct. Sandy and I have a professional relationship. Now what a can I do for you?”
Kincaid took a deep breath, glanced at his wife and then looked at me straight in the eye. “It's about our eldest, Myra. We haven't heard from her in almost three years. We want to contact her and talk. Mr. Milton told us that you have had experience tracking down people.”
I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I understand your pain of not hearing from your girl, but why now? Do you suspect foul play, was there a falling out or what?”
I saw Mrs. Kincaid take a deep breath and slowly exhale. Her husband didn't hesitate with an answer.
“We’re a God-fearing family. We have tried our best to raise a family with those values. When it came time for Myra to go to college four years ago, we went out of our way to send her to a college that shares our values, Cecil Smith College. She was going to major in music. She's a wonderful pianist. We thought all was well but after her freshman year, she didn't come home. After a frantic week, we get a letter from her in the mail. It was short. She said she wanted to be free, was striking out on her own and never wanted to hear from us again. Needless to say we were devastated. We tried to track her down on our own—but no luck.”
“Okay, I can see why you were upset, but after three years—well, let me be blunt, why come to me now? A private investigator would have been a lot more useful and much more likely to succeed if you had called on one from the start. I don't get it.”
The couple glanced at each other. While his wife resumed her examination of my floor, Kincaid spoke.
“We’ve accepted the fact that we lost Myra, but we will not lose any of our other three girls. The oldest, Tammy, is in her senior year in high school and the twins, Mary and Sarah are in the sixth grade.”
He paused, glanced at his wife then looked back at me. “Last week Myra showed up in Shelby, right after school was over for the day. She was waiting by Tammy's car. Myra tried to convince Tammy to run away once she was off to college. Luckily, Tammy decided to be honest and told us about it.”
I just nodded my head.
“We want to find Myra and tell her to stay away from us. She's caused us enough grief, and I will not let her destroy what's left of our family. I want to know where she lives, what she does, and I want it conveyed to her, in no uncertain terms, we want no part of her, now or in the future. I would prefer to do it in person, but if she doesn't meet us, then we want you to deliver the message. She was the one who wanted nothing to do with us, so now we expect her to keep her word. It's that simple.”
“Did Myra give—Tammy, that's right? Did Myra give Tammy a phone number to call or address to write to?”
Kincaid, all business, said, “She told Tammy to write a letter and send it to the Post Office on Sunset Hills Road in Reston, Virginia. She is to send it General Delivery to ‘Myra Kincaid.’ Myra said she would start checking for the letter once a month after Tammy is in college. Myra would come and get her. Needless to say Tammy won't be going to college till this is settled.”
I thought for a moment, as if to be giving actual serious consideration to the issue, then got to my main interest in the matter.
“If I say yes to this, I want complete cooperation. Be advised I don't work cheap. I'll need money up front and payment in full upon completion. I invoice and justify every expense, so rest assured you'll get your monies worth.”
“I can afford you Mr. Dafoe. I own the largest lumber and concrete business in Shelby, and business is good. Just tell me how much and what else you need to get this situation cleared up.”
“Fair enough.”
I buzzed for my secretary, Maisy, and asked she ready our standard contract for the Kincaid's. Afterwards, I asked for the Kincaids to send to me the latest pictures they had of Myra and write down everything they knew about their daughters abbreviated stay at Cecil Smith College. It came in the mail three days later.
******
She was a stunningly gorgeous brunette. She had her portrait done during her freshman year and despite the modest white blouse and sweater, there was no doubt, she was a beautiful woman. If she had any makeup on, I couldn't tell, and that made her beauty all the more powerful. Her eyes were deep brown, and her hair was a full-bodied halo of dark tresses to her shoulders.
Included in the package from her family was her dorm address at Cecil Smith and letters she had written to her family while there. In the letters were a few names of friends she had met while living in the dorm. It was enough to get started on.
I had my partner, Ernie Twillfigger, start the paper trail search for Myra Kincaid. The next Monday morning, I threw in the front seat a Bible I had stolen from some Vegas hotel stay and got in my car for the two-hour drive to Cecil Smith College, Greenville, S.C.
When I arrived, I locked my .38 in the trunk, grabbed my-never-been-opened Bible and took a stroll on campus. As I walked around in the cool crisp air, I took note of the young students walking around campus. I had to admit, especially after gaudy excesses of the Seventies, it was like going back in time to the fifties. All the boys had short, neat hair, wore coats, ties and slacks. All girls were wearing knee-length dresses and not one sign of any cleavage was visible anywhere. I sort of fitted in. I was wearing my standard dark suit, white shirt and thin tie. My hair was close cropped, blond and slowly receding.
My hair and my clothes were about all I had in common with these geeks. Cecil Smith College was renowned in this part of the U.S. as the epicenter of higher education for “Bible Thumpers.” As I walked around the small campus, I remember thinking about what drove a normal, healthy male to attend a school that frowns on fornication, beer and whores.
I made my way to the main administration building and found my way into the student services office. I went in, signed my name on the waiting list and set down to wait for my turn. Bored, I opened the Bible I was carrying and was pleasantly surprised to find out that it had pictures. There was one of Jesus, then one of a Viking-type dude praying at a tree with his sword and a box, then pictures of Jesus with a bunch of—Aztec Indians?
I was about to figure out what the hell that picture was about when my name was called by an administrative assistant. Slamming my now-newly-opened Bible shut, I got up and made my way to lady and asked her if we could sit and talk. She smiled and told me to follow her to her desk. I did and was soon in her a chair looking at her as she took her chair. The name plate on the desk said, “Marsha Clinton.”
“What can I do for you Mr.—Dafoe? Correct?”
“Yes ma’am, just like the writer. I’ll try not to waste your time. I’m a Private Investigator whose practice is geared towards people of the true Christian faith. I know it sounds odd, but as you well know just because you know Jesus doesn’t mean life is perfect. All part of the struggle of life the good Lord sees fit to let us live so that we might know his way and to make us better souls for that day of reckoning. I’m here to help them over some of—let’s just say—the rougher spots that life throws their way.”
I smiled and let her see me tuck my Bible under my arm, then showed her my P.I. identification.
She took my ID, examined it for a moment then sharply looked at me.
“Did you bring a firearm on campus?”
“Don’t believe in them, ma’am. I place my faith and trust in the Lord.”
“Amen to that Mr. Dafoe, so what can I do for you?”
“My clients are Malcolm and Sandra Kincaid of Shelby, North Carolina, whose daughter, Myra, spent a year at this fine school three years ago before, inexplicably, leaving it and writing her parents that she was cutting off all contact with the school, and more importantly, her parents.”
She frowned at me for a moment and then got a notepad out. “The name was Myra Kincaid, correct? And her parents name again?”
“Malcolm and Sandra, hometown Shelby.”
She scribbled the information down then got up.
“Give me a few minutes,” and she walked out of her small office.
About five minutes passed and then she returned with a folder. She sat at her desk and opened it. She read it for a few minutes and then looked at me.
“During her freshman year, she did write regularly to her parents, and she mentioned in her letters several names of her closest friends.”
I reached inside my coat and pulled out my small notepad. I flipped it open and read off a few names.
“She mentioned a Teresa Ruckel, an Elizabeth Parks and made mention that her best friend was a fellow music major, Cassandra Hyde. By my reckoning, this should be their final semester here. If I could talk to them, especially Miss Hyde, I might be able to glean some information or facts that might help bring peace to this broken, but God-fearing family. Of course, I don’t want to barge in without you and the administration knowing I’m here. That would be disrespectful and not the way I do business. So I came here and am asking you and your college to be my partner in helping this family possibly save their daughter. I’d only need a few minutes of the girls’ time, and we can do it in a public space of your choosing.”
I put my notepad away, touched the Bible under my arm and then looked at her expectantly.
She frowned for a moment then said, “I’ll need to talk to the Dean. Can you wait here for a few more minutes?”
“Of course, take your time. I want to do this the right way. That’s why good Christian people come to me for help. They can count on my honesty and my faith in the Lord.”
I waited in that office for about thirty minutes. Then the Clinton woman walked back in and sat in front of me.
“I talked with Ronald McAlister, the Assistant Dean. Dean Chesterfield is on medical leave for while he recoups from some major surgery, so Ron is in charge. He was here when Miss Kincaid quit and actually remembers talking to her parents when they were first trying to figure out what went wrong. He thought the matter was settled when he never heard from the parents again. Since she is twenty-two, he has no objection with you talking with Cassandra Hyde, in fact he couldn’t really stop you if he wanted to. All you would have to do is wait until she is off campus. He does hope you can get enough information from her so you don’t have to bother any other students. We took the liberty and called her dorm to talk to her. She has no objection to an interview, is free for the rest of the day and said she is waiting for us at the Commons room in her dorm, Winterworth Hall. I’ll take you there and will discretely sit off to the side while you talk with Cassandra. I hope you are satisfied with this arrangement. It's the best and most we can do—I hope you understand.”
“Ma’am, I couldn’t ask for more. I thank you, and I am sure I can say on behalf of the Kincaid family, thank you. Err—God bless.”
I got up and follow her outside and walked to the dormitory.
*****
The Hyde girl was actually a woman. She was tall, close to five feet nine and big boned—Some would say she was “statuesque." Blonde and blue eyed, she was sitting in a comfortable leather chair in the far corner of the large Commons room of the dorm. There were small table and empty matching chair across from her. The Clinton lady went to a sofa at the other end of the room. I walked up to the blonde and introduced myself and asked if I could sit. She smiled and nodded at the empty chair. I sat down, put my Bible on the coffee table and took out my notebook and pen. She looked at my Bible, had a strange look on her face and then looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Mrs. Clinton has already told you I’m trying to locate Myra Kincaid. We—and by that I mean her family—want to try to find her and see if they can reestablish a relationship with her, the good Lord willing.”
I gave what I thought was a pious, earnest look and to my surprise, she started to giggle.
“Tell me Mr. Dafoe, how long have you been—saved?”
Damn! Didn’t see that coming.
“I—ugh—I saw the light when I was eight and was properly baptized at Mt. Calvary Church in Cherryburg, North Carolina and why, may I ask, do you want to know?”
“Because that isn’t a Bible you are carrying around, it’s The Book Of Mormon. You had better not let Mrs. Clinton see it. Some people around here don’t particularly care for Mormons.”
“Well, ughhh—all it is a Bible with more chapters—right?”
“ Hardly," She laughed. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
She leaned towards me and whispered, “Some of us here are just waiting for the day we graduate, so we can enter the real world.” She smiled and sat back in her chair.
She had me nailed. I looked at her, looked at my ‘Bible’, then grabbed it and flipped it around so the title was faced down on the table.
“I guess we understand each other—Cassandra. Now, what can you tell me about the Kincaid girl?”
“We were roommates our freshman year. She was friendly enough with me and the other girls of on the floor, but I could tell she didn’t want to be here. She wanted out.”
“Did she way why? Her parents are baffled.”
“She was adopted. She told me she moved in with her parents as a foster child when she was five. They eventually adopted her. Same story with all her sisters—you look surprised, didn’t they tell you?”
“No—no they didn’t.”
“Myra told me this during the latter part of our second semester. Like I said, she wasn’t very happy to be here to begin with, and once she came back from Christmas break, even more so. Truth be told, I don’t think there was any love lost between her and her parents. She told me that the family wasn’t all that, what’s the word I’m looking for—loving, yes, loving—that’s it.”
I nodded my head, made a note for Ernie to check on the foster child angle.
“Did she have any—boyfriends?”
She looked to floor for a moment then back at me, “Not on campus. She was…” her voice trailed off.
I looked her hard in the eyes, “You started it, now, please, finish it.”
She sat up in her chair and took a deep breath, “She met Congressman Marc Graves when he came on campus our first semester. I don’t need to tell you Myra was beautiful. Well, when we met the Congressman, I could tell he took notice of Myra. I know he gave her his phone number. After Christmas break, she started going off campus at night, breaking curfew. I covered for her. She was meeting him at the local Holiday Inn.”
“That could have gotten you in trouble.”
“She was doing the same for me. Don’t look so surprised! You would be amazed at the amount of ‘sin’ that is happening on this college. Parents think they can delay the inevitable by sending us here. For quite a few of us, it just makes us that more anxious to get out on our own. Myra had the guts to do it three years early. Not really caring for her folks probably made it easier.”
“Did she tell you she was quitting school?”
“No. Not a word. I found out she had dropped out when she didn’t show up after summer break for our sophomore year. I haven’t heard a word from her, since she left school.”
“This Congressman Graves, are you sure she was seeing him?”
“Yes. She was seeing the congressman, and I was seeing a professor. We both knew the score.”
Honest girl—with a nice set of breasts, I thought. She must have been a mind reader, because the way she smiled at me would have resulted in a mandatory session of self-flagellation or such if it had been seen by Mrs. Clinton or other ‘Holy Roller’ on the faculty.
“Did Myra mention anything about her birth parents—names, location, whether she had been in contact with them?”
“I asked her once about her biological parents and all she said was that part of her past was dead to her. I got the impression she really didn’t want to talk about it, so I dropped it.”
“Anything else?” I asked. She shook her head no.
I reached into my jacket, pulled out one of my cards and handed it to her.
“If you think of anything, please feel free to call.”
She looked at the card. “Charlotte—nice town. I might give you a ring if I find myself there after I graduate.”
