Marriage Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story (A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery) (23 page)

I think you should report them to the campus security office. Especially if you don’t plan on telling Mark about them.”

Which I think is a big mistake.

I didn’t say that last part, of course.

Jenny flashed me a grin. “That’s a great idea, Mom. I thought of that myself, but I decided to talk you first. I’ll do it as soon as I get back to campus.”

She gave me a hug, which was meant to be reassuring. I just wasn’t sure which one of us was reassuring the other.

“Time to change the subject,” Jenny said. “What else is going on, Mom? Have you had a chance to talk to Nancy yet about Bob? How did she react?” She bent down and gave Lucy a small piece of chicken.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that,” I said. “Now you have to give Ethel one, too, or she’ll make our lives miserable. You know that she’s really the worse beggar of the pair.”

“I already did, Mom,” said Jenny. “You just didn’t catch me doing it. Now, what about Nancy?”

“It was the strangest conversation I’ve had in a long time,” I said. “I was so nervous about telling her that Tiffani had died, and that Bob was suspected of causing her death. I still can’t bring myself to use the word ‘murder.’ But Bob had already called her. He’s in the Barnstable House of Correction, on Cape Cod.

“According to Nancy, he spent a lot of the conversation crying over Tiffani’s death. And then he asked her to help him clear his name.

He insists he’s innocent. And…you won’t believe this, Jenny…Nancy’s decided to let him cool his heels in jail for a while. I couldn’t believe it. The poor guy. I know he’s hurt her. Well, he’s been a real creep. I can’t imagine going through that myself. But to punish him by letting him rot in jail for a crime that he obviously didn’t commit, well, I can’t believe Nancy would ever be so cruel. Bob begged her to come to the Cape tonight. And she refused. You won’t believe why.”

“I already know what Nancy’s doing tonight,” Jenny said. “She has a big date with some guy she met on Dream Dates.”

I looked at my daughter in utter astonishment. “How the heck do you know that?”

“Mom,” Jenny said with great patience, “it was on her Facebook page.”

Chapter 28

Has anyone seen my get-up and go? When I wasn’t looking, it just got up and left.

Keeping tabs on Nancy’s dating life, despite its possible entertainment value, was at the bottom of my to-do list. Right up at the top was Jenny and her safety. So I didn’t let her leave without extracting a solemn promise that she would notify campus security immediately about her possible geriatric stalkers.

Jenny swore to me that she would. And I swore back to her that I would check up on her to be sure she did. One look at me and she knew I wasn’t kidding. The guards may not have the clout of our Fairport police force, but they were better than nothing at all. (In my college days, we used to refer to them as rent-a-cops.)

It was crystal clear to me how I’d be spending my time for the rest of the day. I had many things to check out, and using the Internet was the quickest way to do it.

I also had to stop by Mary Alice’s – again – and pick up the dogs’ crates and other assorted slumber party gear. To be honest, I’d completely forgotten about that errand, but Lucy reminded me by pacing in the very spot in the kitchen where her crate usually stood. She would stop and give me that doggy stare, until she was sure I was paying attention. Then go back to pacing again.

“I get the message, Luce,” I said. “And I promise I’ll get your stuff. But you’ll have to wait a while. You heard what Jenny said. We have to do what we can to keep her safe.”

Lucy sighed deeply, gave me another doggy look, and went to lie in a patch of sunlight. I wasn’t sure if she was sighing because she was worried about Jenny, or if she was resigned to the fact that, for now, she and Ethel had to take a back seat to human needs.

I decided not to ask her, because I didn’t want to hear her answer.

I’m learning, slowly but surely, that I can find anything (or anyone) on the Internet, as long as I put in the proper search words. Of course, going through page after page of possibilities until I finally hit pay dirt can be very frustrating. And I’m not the most patient person in the world.

But you already knew that, didn’t you?

Anyway, I started my search for the Geezer Stalkers – in my mind, they were already in capital letters – with the Internet’s answer to the telephone book, Switchboard.com.

Unfortunately, there were four listings for Bert Johnson in Fairport. Plus one listing for B. Johnson (I figured that one was a woman who didn’t want her identity revealed for safety’s sake), and two more for Bertrand Johnson.

Rats. This wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought.

The correct Ernie Smith was even more difficult to figure out. Fourteen for Ernest Smith, three for E. Smith, none for Ernie Smith.

Hmm. I got out my map of Fairport and started checking addresses for each of the names. I finally realized that Ernest Smith of 12 Clamshell Court in Fairport lived right around the corner from Bertrand Johnson of 117 Marlin Drive.

Coincidence? I didn’t think so. But just to be sure, I then went on Peoplesearch.com and checked out both of them. (I had to pay $39.95 for each profile, but I figured it was an investment in my daughter’s safety and that was priceless.) The ages checked out, too. Both men were 78 years old, and according to their list of previous addresses, had lived in Fairport all their lives. It looked like Bert Johnson was married – at least, he was at one time – and had two children, Sara and Bertrand Junior. Both kids also had local addresses. Ernie Smith’s search mentioned no marital history, but listed Peter and Amanda Smith of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, as relatives. From his age, I figured Peter was Ernie’s son.

Trying to find out more, I Googled both men and came up empty. I guess they’d both led very quiet, law-abiding lives.

Bummer.

Then I had another idea. A brilliant one, if I do say so myself. I checked them out on Facebook.

Here’s the thing I’ve found out about some Internet social networks: If you’re trying to track down someone from your past – an old boyfriend, for example, not that I would
ever
do that – you can put that person’s name in the “search” box and a list of people with that name flashes onto the screen. And if, using the example of tracking down an old boyfriend again – just because I’ve already brought it up and I don’t want to confuse things by giving you another idea – you find a myriad of men with the same name, and some of their photos sort of look like said old boyfriend if you squint a little, how do you know which one is the right one? Do you send each of them a Friend request with a pithy “Remember me?” message?

Well, of course not. It doesn’t work. Don’t ask me how I know that. I just do.

So imagine my consternation when I was faced with at least 20 Bert Johnsons and even more Ernie Smiths. I even tried narrowing it down by adding “Connecticut” to each name, but that didn’t help a whole heck of a lot. This was even harder than using Switchboard. And I didn’t have a street map to guide me.

But I’m not one to give up easily, especially when Jenny’s safety was at risk. So I checked out each and every profile.

I finally found the right Bert Johnson. And he only had three

Facebook friends. Fortunately, one of them was Ernie Smith. “Gotcha!” I said, thrilled with my sleuthing abilities.

Hmm. But neither of their pictures matched Jenny’s description. Of course, thanks to Nancy’s deceptive photo on Dream Dates, I had learned that not everyone posted their most recent pictures. So I trolled around a little in their vanity albums.

By the way, I’m not sure if that’s what they’re called. But, to me, posting pictures from a grandchild’s birthday party, or a prom, or even a night out in a restaurant celebrating who knows what by who knows whom was…well…vanity. But these photos can serve a purpose, I guess, if you’re trying to track a special person down. If only by process of elimination.

Just to be sure I had the right Bert and Ernie, I e-mailed the links to Jenny for her for confirmation. And also suggested, ever so subtly, that if I was right (I was sure I was, but decided to let her make that determination for herself), she could also give the Facebook information to campus security.

After all, even Hercule Poirot needed help sometimes.

“I hope she doesn’t think I’m interfering,” I said to the dogs.

Even Ethel raised her head at that remark. Because, clearly, I was interfering. But that’s a mother’s right, right?

Of course, right.

Pleased with my preliminary sleuthing – and all without even leaving the house – I gave Mary Alice a quick call to let her know I’d be coming by to pick up the rest of the dogs’ gear in about half an hour.

Which gave me just enough time to drive by 12 Clamshell Court and

117 Marlin Drive to check out Bert’s and Ernie’s digs.

And if one of the Geezer Stalkers just happened to be outside, say, raking his leaves, and I just happened to have a digital camera with me and took his picture, all the better. And if another photo I snapped showed a car belonging to Bert or Ernie, with its license plate clearly visible so the Fairport police could run a trace on it should the occasion ever arise – heaven forbid – well, that would be an extra bonus.

Right?

Right.

I just knew you’d agree with me.

Chapter 29

The opinions expressed by the humans in this house are not necessarily those of the dogs.

Just try leaving a house alone when said house has two canines in residence. It can’t be done. At least, not with our two.

All Lucy and Ethel had to hear was the jingling of keys, or see me reach for a jacket, and they were up and ready to go wherever I was heading. Walk, car ride, whatever. The girls weren’t fussy. They just hate to miss anything.

Come to think of it, so do I.

In some circles, it’s a theory that animals and their humans look a lot alike. That’s not true of me. My hair is short with blonde highlights (when I’ve made a trip to the beauty parlor and Deanna has the chance to work her magic). Lucy and Ethel are Blue Roan English Cocker Spaniels – white, black, grey. Beautifully patterned. And no two Blue Roan coats look identical. At least, none that I’ve seen.