The phenom in his senior year
Not even old enough to drink a beer
Hit 100 on the radar gun
With a changeup that was 91
Even then he packed the stands
With as many scouts as there were fans
Every pitch they charted and graphed
He was the first pick of the draft
-2nd Verse of Chuck Brodsky’s song The Phenomenon
This is one of my earliest case, it occurred shortly after I became a licensed private investigator. Florida is my home and I love so many things about it, but one of my favorite things about living here is baseball. We have two Major League Baseball (MLB) teams the Marlins and the Rays, we have fifteen Minor League Baseball (MiLB) teams in the Grapefruit League, and ten teams in the Florida State League, and fifteen teams in the Florida Complex League, and fifteen Major League teams start swinging their bats during spring training here.
Most of the games I viewed in person were at the ESPN complex at Walt Disney World, my backyard, where the Braves cleaned their cleats and oiled there gloves during Spring training for twenty-two years.
Baseball was one of the reason I was here at Disney’s Vacation Club resort in Vero Beach. Because just 40 miles down the road was the St. Lucie Mets. So, when the young pretty blonde in a booth asked for my reservation name in the manner of that great British spy. “Mitchell,” pause. “Miles Mitchell.”
“Welcome home Mr. Mitchell.” She was obviously not catching my debonair sophisticated charm. “If you want to pull up to the lobby, we can check you in.”
An hour later I was working on my third rum and coke that I was conveniently charging to my room and thus my mother.
“Are you Maribel’s son?” The bartender asked.
“That’s my mom.” I said smiling.
“And your name is Miles?”
“Right again. And you are?
“Armin.”
I reached out and we shook hands. Armin asked. “You are some sort of police officer, right?”
“Not exactly, a private investigator.”
“And a darn good one, from what your mother says.” Armin said wiping down the countertop. I waved it off and Armin took the hint. “Your mother is very nice, she remembers everyone’s name, a real classy lady.”
A new bartender had just came on, and the one already on introduced us. “Ted this is Miles, Maribel’s son.”
“Maribel’s son” He paused. “Didn’t you just get out of the Coast Guard?”
“No more swabbing the decks for me.” I said, cringing inwardly, these drinks were a bit stronger than I thought. I needed to slow down my drinking even if it was on mom’s dime.
Before I could answer, Armin the orginal bartender answered. “Yep, what was that thing Maribel was telling us about him, last time she was here.”
Ted spoke up. “Oh, she was telling us about how you found a missing girl on Disney property that was right under everyone else’s nose.”
I played it down with a wave of my hand, and Armin seeing as how my glass was empty brought me another rum and coke.
“Well not exactly.” For the next hour or so I told them the story of the Runaway Bride To Be Case and how I had figured out my client’s dilemma as to as how to win the girl back. Ted and Armin laughed in all the right places then the bar started to get busy but before it really started hoping Ted said something.
“You know you being a Private Investigator and all maybe you should talk to Annie, she could use your help.”
Armin shot his workmate a dirty look which I was not supposed to see but I did.
I replied before thinking. “I would love to help a Cast Member out. Who is Annie and why does she need an investigator?”
“Never mind, forget he said anything, you are on vacation.” Armin said with a refill of my drink with another covert glare at Ted. “This one is on the house.” I saw Ted looking embarrassed and I nodded and turned to face out towards the pool. I wanted to end the conversation so as not to cause more waves in the labor force. I did some people watching so Armin would not get any angrier with Ted. The place was really nice and cozy and I fell into a nice mellow mood watching people enjoy the pool area.
This was my first time I had been back since before I was in the Coast Guard. My mother had been one of the orginal Disney Vacation Club members at Vero Beach Resort. In the Coast Guard we would have labeled her a ‘plank owner.’ She was also one of the first guests to stay there in October of 1995. Vero beach is simply a hotel or what some would call a resort on the beach, no theme park, no boats, monorails, or rollercoasters, just a nice place to simply be, with a Disney feel.
About an hour later I stood up and realized how strong the drinks had been. Too many rum and cokes too fast with nothing on my stomach. I decided to call it a night and forgo my plans to wander around bars in the area.
“Sir, are you okay?”
I opened my eyes slowly and immediately closed them against the pain of the early morning sun. “Huh?”
“Just checking on you sir.” The pleasant but excruciatingly loud voice said from somewhere above me.
I waved a hand and somehow managed an ‘ok’ sign. I heard the person stomp away on the short grass in their soft souled shoes. I laid there in head pounding agony. I decided to roll over in the hammock. Rolling over in a hammock turned into being embarrassed and discomfort on the ground. I studied the meticulously maintained putting green of a lawn from a very close angle for a full minute. Luckily, the ground was soft and I stood up slowly. I tried looking around but it was too bright, luckily my cheap sunglasses were in my pocket and after placing them on I was able to take in my surroundings. I was outside. Outside the main lobby. I recalled stumbling away from the bar, finding the hammock and deciding to take a break in it. I must have fallen asleep. And without the prophylactic slamming of copious amounts of water, multivitamin, and a pair of Tylenol tablets I was dealing with a level five hangover.
I saw a manager approaching me and I got further embarrassed due to my poor ability to navigate back to my room the previous night. “I am sorry, I really did not mean to stay there all night.”
The manager simply smiled and produced a large bottle of water from behind her back. “Really not an issue Mr. Mitchell, it happens all the time, we checked on you throughout the night, but you did not snore, you did not have any other difficulties so we let sleeping guests lie.”
I had downed the entire bottle of water when she was talking and was thankful for it. “Thank you.” I said putting the cap back on the bottle. “Is breakfast being served yet?”
“Not for a half hour sir.” The manager replied without consulting her watch.
I yawned, then I saw her nametag. ‘Annie.’ Then I opened my mouth without thinking. If I had I would have saved myself a lot of trouble for the next two days. “Annie, I heard you might need a private investigator for something.”
She looked shocked and her professionalism melted away if only a split second and I could see she was very worried about someone or something, but just as quickly as her real feelings showed they were covered up just a quickly by that wonderful Disney training. “Ah, I am unsure what you are referring to sir, but you are on vacation.”
“Oh, okay sorry.” I paused for a long second. “But I am available to help or even if you just need a consultation, I really like helping Cast Members out when I can.” And I meant it, I had been on the receiving end of some truly great acts of kindness by Cast Members, and more importantly, I had witness great kindness by Cast Member when no one else was watching. I am not talking about work, at work they get paid to be great, gracious, and generous of spirit. I am talking about off duty, off the clock and out of the public eye. I am not saying Cast Members are better people than anyone else, but maybe Disney just attracts people that have a good nature.
I saw that my honest offer was considered for a minute but then professionalism came back. “I am unsure Mr. Mitchell; but it would be inappropriate to talk to you about a personal matter here and now.”
“Well, I looked at my watch.” I am guessing you worked the midnight shift, that means you probably get off in about an hour.”
Annie simply nodded.
“Well in an hour I am going to be down at Beach Bites, the deli. You know it?” Again, the nod. “So, if you just happen to see me and you want to sit down and have a seltzer with me, we can talk about whatever you want.”
Annie nodded without an answer, then ended our conversation. “Have a pleasant day Mr. Mitchell.” Again, the professional wall was up and she turned and walked away.
I made my way back to my room, drank more water on top of two agony reducing pills, and a Flintstones Chewable, Barney. I showered, shaved, and put on clean shorts and a Hawaiian shirt and made a slow walk up to the deli by way of the beach having an egg sandwich. I waited twenty minutes past when she should have arrived and was about to give up when Annie and her husband showed up.
“Mr. Mitchell, I am Ramon, Annie’s husband.” The large man said extending his hand.
“Just call me Miles. Now tell me why you might need a Private Investigator.”
Over the next half an hour they told me, with starts and stops and addendums and edits, the way a married couple shared a common story, especially about one of their children. In summary: Their oldest son was a natural ball player, a pitcher to be exact, he had been a phenomenal player since he played Pee Wee. A great pitcher, a pretty decent hitter with a lifetime average of .253 and a decent utility infielder. Not only was he a natural at the great American pastime he was also a good student in high school consistently bringing home As and Bs. A kid any parent would be glad to have.
But. The ‘but’ is where people like me entered the picture.
Ramon Jr’s parents argued strenuously for him to accept the offer from a prestigious college, Go Bulldogs. Ivy League schools do not give scholarships for athletics and Junior did not like the uncertainty of the year-to-year grants and loans. The golden armed future superstar had originally just wanted to sign with a Major League Team for a development contract in The Draft. But after much discussion, some arguing and weighing the pros and cons, the family had eventually worked it out and Junior had decided on education instead of money. So, the pitcher had signed his letter of intent to go to school months ago. That is until a female monkey wrench in a wet suit walked entered the picture.
She was a pretty blonde surfer that Junior had met one chilly morning at the beach, and after she showed up, he had started to make noises that he was going to give up on the college route and go pro right away. Letters of intent are non-binding so the pro route was still open. It had all come to a head a week ago when Junior. had stayed out all night. Junior and Dad had a shouting match on the front lawn. Junior had taken off with the Surfer Girl two days ago and except for an occasional text saying he was fine and money disappearing from his joint account his parents had access to he had gone radio silent. The problem was he was eighteen and if he signed the contract with Major League Baseball the college route would no longer be open to him.
The other problem was he was eighteen, and in the cops eyes he was an adult. The money coming out of the joint account was just as much his money as it was his parents. He had taken off in the Surfers Girl jeep, so it could not even be claimed he had a stolen car.
“When does the draft letter have to be signed by?” I asked ending the tale.
“Well, he has to sign the draft letter by the 1st of August, if he wants to go pro.” Ramon Senior said.
“So, if he signs it, the college route disappears?”
His parents nodded.
That was less than a week away. “Well, I consider it a good sign that he has kept texting you, that means he probably has not signed the draft letter yet because he probably would have told you if he had.”
“That is what we thought as well.” Annie said.
I nodded. “Well, we are on the same page at least.”
“Can you find our son; we just want to talk to him before he makes a decision he might regret.”
I let out a long breath. A couple of thoughts went through my head, my buddy Daniel was due in town tomorrow and we had tickets to a ball game, I only had this hotel room for a couple of day and this investigation might take up all that time.
But you never know I might get lucky and find this kid before he got here. Yeah, right and I might find a long lost rich relative who wanted to make me his squire in his crusade of driving fast cars and water skiing in Monaco.
Who was I kidding, I couldn’t turn down these nice people. “Sure, no problem, first off do you have a list of places he has withdrawn money from and how much does he have left in the account?”
An hour later after a trip to the bank with Ramon Senior I had a printout of the withdrawals and a list of locations of where they had occurred. They were all along U.S. Route 1 which was only a good right fielders throw to the Atlantic ocean, I studied it further and realized it was all surfing spots.
Florida has surfing spots, not as many as California, or Hawaii, but it has its spots, and Junior and his blonde girlfriend seemed to be hitting them all. And not in any particular order, north and south, back, and forth, which did not seem to make much sense to me, but maybe it did to surfers.
I stopped at every legitimate surf shop I could find. All because a shop has ‘surf’ in its title does not mean legitimate surfers can afford things there, there is one nationwide store around the everyone knows about, but they are more about selling swimsuits and they don’t shape boards.
My other stops were checking off my list of ATMs up and down the coast. I was about thirty-seven miles north of Vero Beach and I had one more withdrawal location to check out. I had already decided this was my last stop of the day. So far, I had come up with nothing. Two other atm stops had been at Publix grocery stores, where no one remembered a couple of kids from days ago. This location raised my hopes, it was an ATM inside a small convenience store.
But it was closed. Not very convenient. I pulled the door anyways, as you never knew and even though it was locked, I noted the sign said they were supposed to be open, but then a handwritten sign said, ‘surfs up.’ And I noted that the place was due to reopen the next day at eight am.
I leaned up against my station wagon, Florida Man was alive and well in Melbourne, irresponsible, undependable, unpredictable, and totally wonderful. Listening to the rhythms of nature rather than the demands of the clock, or siren call of the paycheck. Florida Man sometimes ran on ‘island time,’ if the waves were tasty or the fish were biting, he could be gone to do something fun instead of responsible.
Which was fine for him, or her if they did not need to keep the business open, but the clock was ticking for me finding Jr. and the sooner I found him, the more relieved his parents would be. Yes, he was technically an adult but that did not mean he was grown. I was not too much older than him, and I remembered what it was to think with lower parts of my anatomy.
I looked up and down Highway 1, nothing but million-dollar homes on the beach side, and a scattering of condos and high-end apartment buildings on the other. No one would put up a vagabond surfer couple in a beat-up jeep with surfboards instead of a roof. I decided to call it quits for the day and head back to Vero Beach, drown my sorrows in a couple of drinks, maybe get some sea food and be up bright and early continuing the search before my buddy Daniel showed up.
Daniel and I were supposed to go see the St. Lucia Mets tomorrow but maybe I could wrap this up before he got there. If not, maybe I could get his help in doing some more searching. I hopped in the car and pointed it south on the hot bubbling tarred road. I kept it slow; I was in no hurry. So, when I spotted a sign up ahead that caught my eye I slowed even more for The Blonde Offer/Brunette Suggestion Motel. The sign had been hidden by some overgrown bushes on my route north earlier in the day, but the northern side was easily viewable. Weird name for a motel and the entrance as almost overgrown with foliage. There was a gate but it was open so I eased my big old station wagon into the drive that was one good rainstorm away from being washed out. Behind the extremely healthy and thick white rhododendrons was a 60’s era plain cement block two story motel, sunburnt, in need of a paint job and with multi-colored metallic doors of assorted colors for the rooms. It was a single row of double stacked rooms running parallel to the beach, with an office at one end with only a few cars in the parking lot, next to the rooms. Just the kind of place a teen aged vagabond baseball player and his beach bunny girlfriend could afford until he signed a contract with a major league ball team.
I was hopeful, even though I did not see the Jeep in the parking lot.
I parked near the office and without rolling up the windows got out of the car, surprisingly the parking lot was devoid of trash and so was the garbage can near the door of the office. Someone cared a little bit about this place. Opening the door to the office I felt the blast of AC hit me fully in the face as I took off my sunglasses. There was someone sitting behind the desk but they did not look up when I came up to the desk. It was a fifties something woman reading a fashion magazine like she was studying for a test.
“Hello.”
“Just a minute.” She said without looking up, I saw her finger moving along with her eyes and when she found the underlying cause of the page she finally looked up. A brief startled look crossed her eyes. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, you can, I am looking for a young man.” I pulled the photograph out of my pocket along with a business card as she came around the desk up to the cracked countertop that had decades worth of wear marks on both sides, customer, and proprietor. “Does he look familiar?”
She pulled out a pair of reading glasses from her shirt pocket. I thought that was strange as she had not been wearing them while scrutinizing the fashion magazine.
“Oh yeah, him and this blonde woman were in here yesterday afternoon looking for a room, but we don’t rent to people without identification.”
“Wait he didn’t show his driver’s license?” I said confused.
“Well, she told him not to use his, and she did not want to pull her’s out even though I saw plain as day she had her wallet in her fanny pack.”
I did not respond with anything clear, I just said “Hmmmmm” and stroked my chin.
“She offered cash, but the owner is very clear, no ID on file, no room.” Now she looked at me kind of funny. “Do you have any relatives that live nearby, you kind of look like a guy I know.”
I shook my head. “No, not that I know of my extended family is from Minnesota, it is just me and my mom, and we live in Orlando.”
“Hmmmm” was her response, but then she turned back to the picture. “So, these a couple of runaways?”
“You get a lot of that down here?” I asked not answering the question.
“Runaways, yeah enough of them, but these two didn’t come off that way. Heck, he came off as a local, but she was not.”
I was curious. “How do you mean?”
“She had a tanning bed tan and she was not a beach blonde, more like a bottle blonde.”
This was news to me, Junior’s parents hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, but perhaps they didn’t have that much interaction with her. I stroked my chin.
I did not have any time to think deeper on this when she volunteered some information. “I saw they had surfboards on their old jeep, so I told them about a local surfers shack, kind of flop house for people chasing waves.”
She gave me the direction and I thanked her.
“You don’t need a room for the night?” She asked. “I bet you have ID.” She said smiling.
“I do,” I said tapping my wallet. “But I have a place down in Vero Beach.” I said as I made my way out the door.
“Okay.” She gave me another strange once over then shrugged and went back to her desk and picked up her magazine. I did notice underneath it was a rather thick book, and I could read the edge, Fundamentals of Aquatic Toxicology.
As I stepped back outside, I put on my sunglasses as I faced the setting sun. I looked around. The parking lot only had three cars besides mine. Something was off about this motel but I could not put my finger on it, but since this motel was not really my concern and finding the younger Ramon was, I hopped in my car and made the requisite turns to the local wave riders nest.
As I turned down the road, I immediately got a little nervous, the house on the corner had a high fence and bars on the windows which was atypical of rural Florida. Then I saw something that made my blood go cold. Ropes hanging from trees. Also known as spring poles, used to strengthen dogs necks for dog fighting. My stomach did a little flip, terrible human beings train fighting dogs. I hoped that the local surfers weren’t involved with those guys.
I passed the menacing house on the corner of the street and found the obvious surfer hangout which was one empty overgrown lot away. Hammocks and wet suits along with beat up cars with boards on top. The motel clerk had not shared with me that this was a dead-end street, which meant I had to turn around right in front of the house. Fortunately, this gave me a chance to confirm that the beat-up jeep I was looking for was not at the residence. Unfortunately, the handful of guys and gals draped on the porch and hammocks got a really good look at me and a couple of them were giving me a bit of stink eye.
I was glad the eighteen-year-old pitcher and his girlfriend were not there, as I did not have a plan for that yet. Maybe they would surface again getting the maximum amount of cash out of an ATM again.
I was just getting back on Highway 1 when who passed me going the opposite direction but the Jeep. Sitting in the driver’s seat with a frown on his face was my wayward south paw. Unfortunately, by the time I got my wagon turned around the Jeep was out of view, so I took a chance and went back to the wave riders casa. This time the guys from the Dog fighting house were out in their yard lifting weights and me slowly driving down the road got some raised eyebrows, but sure enough there was the Jeep and Junior at the old house.
And Junior was arguing with the girl. I got a really good look at her, yeah, the motel clerk had been right, she was older than my young eighteen-year-old friend, I guessed at least twenty-four, her Jeep had a California license plate, something no one had told me about, confirming she was not a local. The California plate was Bob Uecker Plays Lousy Chess Roberto Clemento Willie Stargell. (9PLC 218)
But I ran into a problem going that slow, some of the guys in the surfers yard started walking towards my car yelling. So much for surfers being Zen like chill dudes. The yelling caught the attention of some of the dog guys who just happened to be leaving their driveway, and my slow crawl let them get right behind me. I guess maybe they thought I was checking out their place as well. The muscle building canine abusers tailgated me for three miles. Not sure what they were going to do, but I was glad they got stuck at a traffic light and I left them behind. This was case was getting to be more than I was bargained for. But like Eek the Cat says, ‘It never hurts to help.’
I pulled over to a convenience store and got a Yahoo and leaned against my car sipping the chocolatey drink. The sun was all the way down and I smelled rain in the air along with a noticeable dip in temperature, a big storm was rolling in as I turned over my options. I wanted to call Ramon and Annie and tell them where their son was but I did not want them to rush into that potentially dangerous situation with the hostile attitude I had just encountered. I needed some information, a favorable weather report and a motel room.
The next morning before my buddy Daniel rolled in, I had gotten everything lined up. I just needed Daniel to show up and talk him into helping me out with the most dangerous part of the plan.
I had made a call about the plate, but the name it came back to was meaningless to me, Rebecca Sinclair.
The motel room was a place I could lure the left-handed pitcher with some privacy. Someplace that was close, and I needed something to ensure that he would come. That is where Daniel came in, I needed a wheel man for my plan to work.
Luckily, Daniel was easy to convince. Of course, I omitted the part about the weightlifting dog fighters or the unnaturally angry surfers, he just thought we were getting back a surfboard from a relationship that had turned sour.
Now some people may think this was a rotten thing to do to a friend, but you have to understand, Daniel owed me. I had a long history of throwing myself between him and bullies and people he ticked off while being a wind bag or a wise ass. Sometimes I think he did it on purpose simply to see me uncomfortable. So no, I did not feel bad, besides, he was only driving, how bad could it get?
The morning sky was an unpleasant gray and the rain was slowing down. During the night it had come down in windy sheets, the kind of nasty weather that even in Florida makes you want to stay inside with a mug of hot chocolate and a blanket. But now that morning was here the storm had blown itself out and soon the sun would come out and the humidity would be thick.
We arrived at the turn off to the surfers neighborhood and Daniel and I switched seats. He cursed the non-movement of my driver’s seat, but due to an unfortunate involvement in a flood with the orginal owner the buttons had stopped working sometime when I was in high school. But Daniel adjusted himself to the car and off we went.
Daniel did the turn around as quickly as he could and pulled up to the entrance to the surfers semi-graveled grass overgrown driveway. I did not see movement in either house but I did see what looked like a body or two sleeping in the hammocks, this gave me pause, but I was committed to my task. I opened the car door thankful that I had oiled the hinges recently. The jeep was in the same place I had seen it parked last night. I cut the straps holding the surfboard with my Swiss Army knife. I was not going to play around untying them. Before grabbing the surfboard, I taped a note to the dashboard of the jeep.
That is when I heard the first yell of ‘Hey.’ I chanced a look and saw a figure standing in the doorway of the house. I didn’t need anymore reason to be silent so I grabbed Junior’s surfboard, the green one with the sea turtle on it, just as described by his parents and awkwardly ran towards my station wagon. Putting the surfboard in the open window of the tailgate was easy but by then the surfers were awake and the yelling was getting closer. I was just opening my car door when someone cold cocked me in the back of the head with a fist. Luckily, the guy was off balance and I was moving away from him and his fist just glanced off the back of my head. The angry fellow stumbled and fell to the ground. I had the presence of mind to jump in the car and Daniel floored it before my door was even closed. He fishtailed it out of the area and to the location the note had described.
Ten minutes later the rain had completely stopped and we were in the parking lot of The Blonde Offer/Brunette Suggestion Motel. We pulled into the overhang next to the room I had rented the night before. Waiting in the parking lot was Ramon, Annie and in the room was our secret weapon.
We waited about ten minutes before the jeep roared into the parking lot. Driven by Ramon Jr and with the mysterious Rebecca Sinclair in the passenger seat. They both looked angry but we were expecting that. Junior saw his parent and I saw an immediate change in his countenance. His face got softer, the angry grimace turned into a frown, and his white knuckled grip on the steering wheel loosened. The knowledge that the parents were behind the theft did not seem to phase her, if anything she looked more determined, than ever. She reached a hand over and placed it firmly on his shoulder.
Junior frowned and got out of the jeep.
Ramon Sr. simply nodded.
Annie had her hands on her hips in an angry pose but her face had happy tears.
When you mother is crying, it takes a lot out of you. Junior looked back and forth between his parents and then hung his head down in shame.
The Blonde had missed this exchange. She had already lost but she missed this unspoken family communication when she was walking around the jeep. Rebecca Sinclair put a hand possessively around Junior, more like she was holding onto her property, not a lot of tenderness, more like a boa constrictor.
“Hey I know you.” Daniel said unexpectedly from next to me.
The blonde kept her arm around the young piece of meat. “Well, I don’t know you.” She said dismissively.
Daniel shook his head. “No reason you should.” Daniel turned to me. “You remember last year when we drove down to watch the Pirate’s Pitchers and Catchers early report.”
“Yeah?” I said puzzled.
Daniel continued. “Well, we had those real good seats and we were among those agents.”
I recalled the memory and then something came to the surface. “Oh yeah, we were right behind those guys.”
Daniel nodded. “Mostly guys.” Edging on my thought process.
“Oh yeah there were two ladies in that crowd, the older one wearing the big hat,” I turned and fully faced the blonde in the wetsuit. “and the dark-haired young lady the one in the leather jacket.” I said realizing something.
“Yeah, the daughter of that slimy agent who was barred from the Major League Baseball for what was it, three years.”
I answered. “Yeah, something like that.”
Junior spoke up at this point, staring at her.
“Wait you are an agent?” The blonde was just staring daggers at me and Daniel.
The blonde turned towards the prospective professional pitcher and her meal ticket. “Its not like that baby.”
Junior stepped away from her and towards his parents.
I spoke up. “It seems you may have lost your prospective client.”
It was just then that another vehicle came speeding into the gravel parking lot. A pickup truck full of half-dressed surfer dudes. “Hey Blondie, do you need our help?”
The now revealed agent looked around at the faces. Would she be a sore loser or would take the L gracefully? She didn’t take it gracefully.
“Yeah, these two could use a good thumping.”
The surfers started to get down from the truck when a very distinctive sound was heard off to the side in the direction of the office. A metallic clickety-clack, the sound that could only mean one thing, that me and Daniel were not going to get a ‘good thumping.’
I turned my head just slightly to the sound. There was the lady clerk from yesterday holding a pump action shotgun pointed in the general direction of the pickup truck she spoke loud enough for everyone to hear her, but she was facing directly towards the boys in the pickup truck. “Johnny, Donny, I suggest you get back in the truck and Tommy, you had better not scatter any gravel when you leave.”
The two guys who had jumped down from the truck took one look at the shotgun then nodded. “Yes Miss Gunderson.”
By the time the boys were back in the pickup truck, Junior had disentangled himself from Ms. Sinclair and was standing near his parents and they were talking in muted tones to each other.
Rebecca looked at me and Daniel with anger, but she was powerless to do anything. “You owe me for the straps you cut on my jeep.”
“Send me the bill.” I said.
She gave me a very popular but rude finger gesture and then pulled out of the parking lot. I turned to Daniel. “Hey thanks for helping me out.”
“You never said anything about us being chased.”
“I never said we wouldn’t be chased.”
Daniel rolled his eyes shaking his head. I turned towards the clerk, who was just going back into the air-conditioned office. “Hey thanks.”
Miss Gunderson turned around, keeping the shotgun pointed at the ground. “No problem, bad for business having local boys fighting in the parking lot.”
“Miss Gunderson, is it? I asked.
“That is me, but the only one that calls me that is my former students, I used to teach high school biology and oceanography. Everyone just calls me Shirly.”
“Well thanks Shirly, you saved us a lot of trouble.”
She waved us off dismissively. “I have not had to pull this thing out since hurricane Andrew when some looters were sniffing around.” She racked the shotgun expertly popping out a round. “Sub loads, with rock salt.”
I nodded, then my eye caught something, something that I had seen yesterday and I put together just now, I spoke without thinking. “This is not a normal motel.” I looked around again and did a quick count. “You only have four operating rooms.”
Miss Gunderson squinted at me, then looked over at the reunited family. Then motioned for me and Daniel to follow her into the motel office. Daniel and I shuffled in behind her, like kids who did something wrong but unsure what it was. She put the shotgun away and then came up to the counter. “What makes you think this is not a normal motel?”
Daniel looked at me confused. He would start seeing the things as I pointed them out, I just had a days head start in processing things. “Well, the same cars in the parking lot, but the red car was in front of the 2nd door, today it was at the far end of the parking lot. No one parks there car that far away from their room.” I said confidently.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, the roof overhangs the parking lot by a good seven feet. Most rooftops might overlap by a foot, maybe two. But someone put good money into that roof, so they could load and unload cars with not rain dripping on their heads.”
“Anything else?” Miss Gunderson asked.
“You have a lot of outdoor plugs along the wall, as if whoever designed this place hated the idea of extension cords. Very expensive and unnecessary.”
Miss Gunderson nodded. “It took my six months to pick that little tidbit up.”
We were interrupted by the family, as they crowded into the office, thank yous and hugs were given. They even gave Daniel a hug even though they had only met him for a brief moment that morning when we rented the room. Ramon Jr. didn’t say much, he just kind of followed along with his parents, his little sister in his arms.
The little sister was our secret weapon we did not even have to bring into play. She was sitting in the motel room watching cartoons when the whole anti-climatic confrontation took place. It spoke strongly about the good relationship between the parents and the teenager.
The family settled up with Miss Gunderson and then made their way outside. I told them we would be along shortly. Miss Gunderson looked at us and then smiled. “You are pretty sharp you remind me a lot of the owner of this place.
“Thank you, so this place is privately owned?” I said sneakily.
Miss Gunderson smiled. “Pretty sharp.” She sighed. “Yeah, the owner, bought this place about ten years ago, he wanted a home on the shore, but he did not want his pesky relatives and other irritants to find it.” She paused. “So, he bought this place, gutted the place, including some of the interior walls, and the rooms along the back are all fake, hiding his home inside.”
Daniel whistled. “That is a bit pricey.”
Miss Gunderson. “Well, he had a substantial budget, and he used out of town contractors so not even the neighbors know he lives here.”
“And you keep the illusion up?” I said.
“We don’t get a lot of traffic, no website listing, no public phone number. Just the occasional rare adventuresome traveler without reservations. So, I get to work on my PHD in mostly peace.” She paused and put on a grim face. “Except when pesky private eyes bring confrontations and conflict here.” Then she smiled warmly winking.
“And on that note, we have a ball game to get to. Shirly, again thanks for the back up.” I said, reaching out to shake her hand.
She shook both of our hands. “If you ever are passing by and you need a room stop by, if I have a spare to give you it is your free for the night.”
We climbed into my station wagon, I turned to Daniel. “Well, I guess the first round of stadium beer is on me.”
“Beer and a hot dog you cheapskate.”
Thanks to Greg for the Inside Baseball knowledge, if I got it wrong it is all on me.
Categories: A Miles Mitchell Story, Outrageous Lies and Tales
Stories and Quotes from the Mind* and Keyboard of A.A.Forringer 
Witty observation, disparaging remark, question for A.A., well this is your chance.