Several long hours later, the whole thing was finally locked up. Paul was arrested and charged with attempted murder, with more charges pending. A judge was called and a search warrant obtained for Izzy’s home, although nothing was found. There was an argument about whether a warrant was needed for Paul’s office at the post, considering it was actually police property. In the end one was procured anyway, just in case anything found there could be considered personal property. Better safe than sorry in a case of this magnitude. When evidence was found in a locked box at the bottom of a drawer linking him to several murders, the whole precinct went into shock. There was no possible explanation as to how he could have come by those things, no explanation possible except he’d been present at the time the women were killed, or had, somehow, tampered with evidence. And there was no reason, or excuse, for him to have done that. Paperwork, with a more complete list of charges, was pending.
Over the next few days, Jimmy felt a change in attitude at the precinct, detectives and uniformed cops alike. At first they’d been sympathetic and even awed. But it seemed with each day that passed, the mood changed. He was avoided, ignored, and even shunned by the end of the week. Sadly, Jimmy had known it would happen. As Paul was considered more and more guilty, Jimmy was considered more and more a turncoat. He was the one to bring shame and suspicion down on the department. He knew it wasn’t fair. But he also understood the unwritten rules of a tightly knit police community. He was a rat. Someone who had turned on his brother cop. They didn’t actually blame him, but they had no intention of associating with him, either.
Now he was just a ‘private dick’. And, until enough time had passed, that’s all he would be. He could kiss goodbye any chance of getting his old job back, probably for years. It saddened him, but not to distraction. He accepted it for what it was. Such was life in the fast lane. And, since he found he enjoyed being a private investigator, he was surprisingly unconcerned.
It was a big old world out there, with possibilities everywhere.
Chapter 41
Three days later, there was a quiet little knock on the door and Jimmy jumped to answer it. He was delighted to find Izzy standing outside. What surprised him was her attitude. She stood looking down at the scuffed wooden floor of the building’s hallway and wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Come in,” he urged. “I have coffee on. It’s not good, but it’s hot.”
“Thank you, but no thanks,” she murmured. “I was hoping you would drive me home. If you can leave your office… Or I can call a cab. That would be better. I’ll call a cab.”
“How did you get here? Is there something wrong with your car? I’m not much of a mechanic, but I can look at it for you.”
“No, that’s all right. I just don’t want to drive.”
Jimmy looked at her in concern. Was the woman ill? Why wouldn’t she drive her car?
“Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine. I just don’t want to drive. If I can use your phone to call a taxi, I’ll be out of your hair. I don’t want to be a bother.” Her gaze had switched to her hands where she wrung slim fingers together, twisting them back and forth. It was as if she was embarrassed, or too afraid to raise her eyes to his. He was positive now that she was sick, and he hoped it was nothing serious. Her face appeared flushed. Was she running a fever? Jimmy was bewildered with her appearance and mood and that she seemed close to tears. This was so unlike the Izzy he knew, and not at all like the woman he’d been so impressed with in the garden, with a gun pointed at her.
“Of course,” he responded. Anything for her. Anything to make her smile again. Please. Please, no tears. Jimmy had never been able to handle a woman’s tears. “I’ll take you home. And I’ll get your car home to you.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll handle it.” Her voice sounded peevish, almost snapping at him.
Jimmy stared at the agitated woman wondering how he had offended her. If so, what had he said? Or was there something else? If so, he had no clue. Uh-oh, what if it was a female thing? If this turned out to be the situation, there was no way he could even hope to help. Jimmy, like most of his gender, was way out of his element regarding anything pertaining to the ‘curse’. The subject was scary and not something he cared to investigate further.
“Could you call please? I need a taxi.”
“I’ll drive you,” he offered firmly, allowing no objections. “Just let me put turn my answering machine on.”
While he jumped around securing the office, Jimmy stole an occasional glance at the young woman. She was pretty as ever, but seemed distant and different, almost like she was someone else. He’d given up all hope of understanding women, but couldn’t help thinking that it was more than his failure on that score. A possible explanation flashed into his mind that she simply wasn’t interested in him, not like he was in her. She didn’t like him, and had only been being polite. And that he’d completely misunderstood her kindness, imagining it into more than it was. Truthfully, she wanted nothing to do with him, but was too nice to say so. How could he have been so stupid?
This conjecture was like a hard wallop between the eyes. Disgusted with himself, it only proved what he’d suspected for a while. He had turned into that fourteen-year-old boy. Middle-aged maturity? What a laugh. What had once been a sunny day was now miserably overcast. At least to him.
“Let’s go. I’ll take you home.”
There was very little said between them on the ride to Izzy’s house. Small talk, nothing important. And nothing that should have been said.
Hurt, wearing his heart on his sleeve, Jimmy was tongue-tied, not finding the words he needed to say. He couldn’t get around his fragile, strained emotions to break the wall of ice that grew between them. Those few miles to Izzy’s home were a very long ride.
All he knew was that she was the strangest woman and he didn’t know why she could affect him so. He understood the attraction; she was definitely lovely with a kind of sweet, sometimes wicked, charm. What he didn’t understand was how she could make him feel like an inarticulate teenager, beyond that, the most awkward and unfortunate kind, one with greasy hair, cracking voice, and acne.
He pulled the Crown Vic into the driveway, these thoughts still uppermost in his mind, yearning for her to linger so they could talk it out. But Izzy didn’t hesitate. She opened the door and jumped out as if there was nothing between them. Smarting but always gallant, he felt obliged to walk her to the door. It was old school, maybe, but hell, she already knew he was old.
“Thank you, again,” she said in a small voice, then unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving him standing on the craftsman-style porch alone. The door shut in his face. For some reason, it felt final.
How could it be over when it had never begun?
A few seconds ticked away as he stared at, and then more carefully studied, the dark-stained, hand-carved wooden door. It was old, well made, solid, not the cheap stuff they sold in the big box stores. Workmanship like this wasn’t common today. Jimmy looked up and down the street of ranch-style homes and wasn’t surprised to see the bungalow didn’t fit in. It was solidly built, almost hugging the ground with a tenacity that few newer homes had. With tornados a common threat in the Ohio valley, being low to the ground with sturdy six- and twelve-inch framing material, it was better able to weather whatever came its way.
The house was a good one and he wondered what secrets it held. All houses have secrets and this one looked like it held several. The little Craftsman seemed to radiate a peculiar sort of smugness. For some reason he was reminded of the little hut that Hansel and Gretyl had found in the woods. It was rare to find such an unconventional home in an industrial city like Cincinnati.
If Izzy ever talked to him again, he would question her about it.
As he started back toward his car, Jimmy noticed the old woman sitting on a por
ch swing next door. All done up in tan and green suede from the pointed hat on her head to the toes of her boots, she looked like a little elf or leprechaun. (Albeit one who appreciated color and style.) He smiled and waved when he realized it was Eleanor Winthrop, changed directions, and strode toward her.
What he didn’t see at first was that Eleanor had turned her back to him, as least as much as was possible for her, considering her position on the swing. He had already put one foot up on the step when he dawned on him that he was being snubbed. His friendly greeting was met with a back view of a suede mini-vest and steel-gray curls that rolled up onto a cap Robin Hood would have coveted.
Now what? This just wasn’t his day. From Izzy and her abruptly changing mood to the mystery of her car parked in his lot to being snubbed by an old woman, he decided that when this date came up on the calendar again he would just skip it.
“Eleanor? How are you today?”
“Hmmph,” was her only response as she hiked a shoulder and hitched away even further. The top half of her body was turned, nearly facing the bricks behind the swing. Pretty flexible for an old lady. She must be in better shape than he’d thought. Of course, at her age being shot and checking out of the hospital the next day should have shown him that.
Standing there as a full minute ticked by, while he stared at the back of the little fashion plate of a woman, he wondered what he’d done to deserve such treatment.
“Eleanor?” Jimmy asked in a gentle voice, curious why he felt the need to be kind to the elderly. They were so rarely kind to him. Lately, no one had been kind to him. He might as well be wearing a sign that said kick me.
“I’m not leaving,” he continued. “Not until you tell me what’s got you so upset.”
Eleanor didn’t move for three more seconds, before finally turning around with another “Hmmph.” At the same time, she pushed her hips forward, stretching as if her back hurt. Which, in all likelihood, it probably did, having maintaining that strained position for such an extended period.
“I’m mad at you, buster,” the old woman said, sniffing with disdain.
Surprised again (it was one of those days), and not knowing what affront he could possibly be guilty of, Jimmy stared at her, so confused that wrinkles formed around his eyes. The last time he’d seen her she’d been lying prone on a stretcher being loaded into an ambulance, and she hadn’t been angry with him. Although shot, the wound hadn’t been serious. Without the appearance of the Velasquez brothers (why were they there, anyway?), he didn’t know how bad things would have turned out. Paul’s gun was pointed at Jimmy, when Thug Two rammed the screen door into Lewinski’s shoulder, fortunately causing the man’s aim to be off. Eleanor had picked that moment to burst through the backyard gate. Subsequently, his arm jerked up and Eleanor had been the one hit. He’d heard she’d remained only one night in the hospital, and that strictly for observation. Apparently, the doctor couldn’t believe that an old woman could come through the experience as well as she had. But Jimmy believed it. Eleanor was tough. Now she was looking at him as if he was pond scum.
It didn’t seem to matter what age a woman was; he doubted that he would ever understand them. And he was beginning to wonder if they weren’t right. If all women felt the same about him, then maybe it was true. He was pond scum.
“What did I do?”
“I got shot!” she exclaimed, her face reflecting the fact that she thought he was an imbecile.
“Yes, I know that. And I’m sorry that happened,” he murmured, attempting to placate her. It was plain that the little elf had an avian side. Her feathers were ruffled.
“It’s all your fault!” She was shaking and her face had turned an interesting shade of red. She was really hot now; so hot she was approaching broiled.
Involuntarily, Jimmy took a step back. He’d thought for a second that the ‘roast chicken’ was going to leap up and attack him. Of course, he shouldn’t expect anything different. Being attacked by a hen in an elf costume would be the fitting ending to such a memorable day. And being attacked by one with a propensity for suede was even better. He wondered if he should take up writing comedies. Truthfully, nothing could be funnier than his life lately.
“Why would you say that, Eleanor? You know that Lewinski was going to get caught sooner or later. It just happened to work out that I was around to help do it. I’m just glad that you and Izzy didn’t get more seriously hurt. He could have killed you both.”
“Yeah, well, we can take care of ourselves. If you aren’t around to help, that is.”
“As I remember it, Izzy and Daisy called me over,” he said, trying to explain himself. “I wouldn’t have been around otherwise.”
“You didn’t do much, other than get me shot,” Eleanor hissed. “The Velasquez boys are the ones who saved us.”
“If I hadn’t been here, they wouldn’t have either,” Jimmy said. His words sounded lame, even to his ears. But it was funny how an old woman could put you on the defensive. No, I wasn’t out late drinking beer with the boys… Yes, I ate my vegetables and brushed my teeth… Of course… I want to live to be a hundred like you, so I can make my children just as miserable.
“I’m not mad because he shot me,” Eleanor said. She seemed positive now that he had only half a mind, and that it should be obvious to anyone except the most seriously deficit what the problem was. Her voice had assumed the tone of a pissed off kindergarten teacher.
“Then why are you mad?” He really didn’t know and he was losing his patience. If she thought him dimwitted, then so be it. Since she wasn’t going to tell him, he would ask.
“I’m.. mad.. because.. you.. ducked!” She paused between each word for emphasis, glaring at him as only an angry little elf-hen can.
Jimmy’s mouth hung open again. He had ‘ducked’? Was this what it was about? Had she actually wanted him to take the bullet? He shook his head. No, he would never understand women. Never. Not even in the coffin. Which it seemed is where she wanted him.
Finally, he roused himself from the stunned stupor her declaration had caused. Time to bite the proverbial bullet, (since it hadn’t hit him). And he knew what he had to do. This was not his first rodeo. After all, he had been married for eighteen years.
“I’m sorry. It was entirely my fault. I hope you weren’t hurt too badly. I was miserable when it happened.” His apology was sincere. He was sorry she’d been hurt and, truthfully, he didn’t want her mad at him. He liked the old biddy.
“Hmmph,” she snorted again. Jimmy was heartened that although she didn’t voice forgiveness, she hadn’t said she wouldn’t.
“Hmmph.” This was repeated in a quieter tone. Jimmy wondered if just maybe the word ‘hmmph’ was old lady-speak for ‘I forgive you’. It was beginning to look that way. He watched as her face eased back to its normal color and her eyes, as the anger drained away, return to their customary expression of bright alertness. Those sharp eyes now focused on his intently.
“All right, young man. Now what can I do for you?” Eleanor asked. Although not warm, her tone was civil. She was aware he’d walked over for a reason, not just to shoot the breeze and certainly not to get attacked by her. She was a sharp old bird.
“I need some advice,” he admitted, wondering why women read him so easily. It was certainly regretful that it was not a two-way street.
“What’s that?”
“I’m having trouble with Izzy,” he said. It was embarrassing, but true. And it was surprising that he felt the need to open up to a little hen/elf. Just what did he expect someone less than five-foot tall and older than dirt to do about his personal problems?
“She’s one person one minute and another the next,” he continued in exasperation, not knowing any other way to explain the situation.
“That’s because she is,” Eleanor said.
“What?” he asked, even more confused.
&nb
sp; “You’re right. She is.” Eleanor nodded as if that explained everything.
Jimmy stared at her amused, wrinkled face. She was talking in riddles, or had gone over to the dark side. He didn’t remember Izzy saying anything about Eleanor’s mental health. But the old woman was not a spring chicken. At her age, she could easily have started onto that long downward slope to senility.
Eleanor shook her head, exasperation written on her face. It was painfully apparent that she hadn’t changed her mind about his IQ. She now spoke slowly, as if that would help her words be more easily understood by someone of his intelligence.
“Izzy is two people. She and Abby inhabit the same body.”
Her expression changed to one of contemplation. “In layman’s terms, they call it a ‘split personality’. I was stunned when I found out. In fact, I went to the library and read up on it.”
Skeptical, Jimmy didn’t know whether she really believed her strange diagnosis, or if this was just another twisted branch on the old senility tree. But the woman looked completely serious. Her eyes were clear; she wasn’t drooling, or chasing imaginary butterflies. Was there a possibility that what she was saying was true? If so, it would explain a lot.
“Yeah, when I first met them, it was Abby I talked to,” Eleanor was saying. “Later, after Grant’s dea… I mean disappearance, Izzy came out more.”
Jimmy scowled as he tried to make sense of what she was saying.
“What’s really funny is when you get both of them at the same time,” Eleanor said with a laugh. “That’s really a hoot!”
“Are you serious?” Jimmy sputtered.
“Yeah, it’s hilarious!”
“No, I mean, are you serious about Izzy having a split personality?”
“That’s what I just told you. She’s Izzy and Abby. Or Abby and Izzy, whichever way you want to look at it.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “I think it’s now Izzy and Abby. Izzy’s the one around most of the time.”