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I watched Corey driving and Raven doing his thing to the cell phones. “So this lady that lives here, does she own an alligator?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Corey said and grinned. “From the advertising, seems like everyone in Florida has one.”
“I want one,” Raven said. “Right next to my tiger.”
“You mean a tattoo?” Corey asked. He adjusted the rearview mirror, looking back at Raven that way. “The one on your leg?”
“Yeah,” Raven said. He had taken out a cell phone, opened the back, and used his pocket knife on the inside.
“You should get a crocodile,” Corey said.
“What’s the difference?”
“One’s ... more badass than the other,” Corey said, smirking.
“Which one is bigger?”
“Crocodiles.”
“Then it should be a crocodile.”
“Wait,” I said. “Where’s the tiger?” From what I could recall, there was only a bear on his back, with three Russian towers on his chest, and more along his arms. But then, he seemed to have tattoos all over, and on some parts, I didn’t get a good look.
“Hang on, I’ll show you.”
“Not in the car,” Corey said. He looked at me, grinning. “It’s on the back thigh, close to his butt.”
“It’s not on my ass.”
“It’s close.”
I laughed. Corey did, too.
Corey used the GPS to locate the address we needed. We pulled up to a duplex at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was a cozy area. Homes were cookie-cutter; each one like the other except painted different. The neighborhood yards were neat, trimmed, with little weather-beaten gnomes and plastic flamingos cluttering flower beds.
The duplex we stopped in front of was neat with gardens and a tidy front porch with a bench swing on one side... The other side of the duplex across the fence was gross. The grass was brown. It was a smudge among the green and bright of the neighbors’ lawns. Trash bags were piled up from the door and covering the entire porch, except for a small path to the door. Paper notices were tacked to the screen door.
“Tell me we get the one on the left,” I said. I looked at the left, with the bright green grass and how it fought against the brown on the right; the brown was starting to creep over the fence line, despite someone’s effort to hide it with rocks for a makeshift border.
“We’re here for the one on the...” Corey paused long enough to give me a moment of terror. “Left, yeah. 234A. B is on the right. We’re here for A.”
I let out a slow breath, temporarily relieved. Someone’s grandmother lived next to a slob. At least her neighbors around the rest of the cul-de-sac seemed decent.
Opening the door, I got a nice ocean breeze. While the temperature in Charleston was starting to almost reflect fall weather, it didn’t appear St. Augustine had been affected. It wasn’t sweltering, but it still had a warm twinge.
After I got out of the car, I realized I had a problem. The cell phone I had that Blake was trying to track me on was kind of big, and I didn’t have a pocket. I kept it in my hands, feeling odd carrying something, because I liked to keep my hands as free as possible—my thief instincts.
I was also worried Blake would show up with guns blazing while we were hanging out with someone’s grandmother. What was I going to do then? I needed a moment to call him, if I could.
Raven hopped out, stretched and grunted. The black T-shirt he wore tightened against his shoulders.
"You coming in?” I asked.
An eyebrow lifted in question. "Yes.”
I eyeballed his tattoos that were visible. "Are we going to scare her into letting us help her?"
He made a face and reached into the car. He pulled out a blue dress shirt and shoved his arms through the sleeves. When he buttoned it up, he smoothed it out over his body, and reached under to tuck the T-shirt into his jeans. He pulled the ring from his lip. He combed his fingers through his hair to smooth it over.
When he was done, he turned to me, his hands out and open, in presentation. “Good?”
Before me was a completely different person. The punk look was gone. Outside of the hole in his lip, which anyone else probably wouldn’t even look twice at, there was no trace of the hardcore Raven. This was Raven, the nice guy next door.
I think I had a heart attack and my jaw dropped. "You clean up nice."
He smirked, shoved an arm around my neck and directed me to the door. "You should see me in a lux," he said.
I nearly tripped in my flip-flops as he maneuvered me toward the duplex. "A tux? A tuxedo?"
"Same."
Corey found his dress shirt, putting it on and tucking it into his jeans. He flashed a smile at me. “Ready?”
We stood together on the tiny front porch. With the boys dressed up, I smoothed my hands over my shorts and tank top, feeling almost naked next to them. "Wish you all told me we were dressing up,” I said, not that I had dress up clothes.
“You look nice," Corey said. "And you're a girl. She'll probably trust us more with you here." He stabbed a finger at the doorbell.
I'm not normally shy, but I stood behind Corey's shoulder as we waited. Old ladies weren't really my thing. They were like babies. You had to be delicate. Talk softly, watch your language and set a good example. Not my strongest talents.
The locks were thrown and the door opened. A short old lady appeared wearing a pastel flowered dress and with peach colored hair all curled up. She squinted out at us. "Hello?” When she spotted the boys, she looked puzzled. When she noticed me, she opened up the door a bit more. “Can I help you folks?"
Worse than I thought. The old woman hunched over a cane, with wrinkles a mile long. She was one of those old farts who lived over a hundred years , would never die, has a house full of ceramic Jesus babies and goes to church with a homemade baked pie every Sunday.
I questioned my sanity. Maybe I should have volunteered to wait in the car.
"Hi, Mrs. Gunther," Corey said, taking on a Charleston accent, thickening the syrup. "Sorry to surprise you, ma’am, but your grandson called us. Harry thought we could help."
"You're friends with little Harry?" She asked, her voice lightening and she opened the door wide now. "Oh, that's so nice. He isn't here, but come in. I've got a strawberry rhubarb pie."
Oh boy. I made my eyes wide as possible and stared at Raven. Get us out of here.
"I love strawberry pie," Raven said.
Five minutes later, I was seated on the tiniest sofa between Corey and Raven with doilies falling on my shoulder, a fine China plate balanced precariously on my knee and a glass of lemonade on the coffee table. The house smelled like old people. The sofa material was stiff and scratchy. There wasn't a TV in sight. How in the world did this woman live?
“It’s so nice to meet Harry’s friends,” she said. “I don’t get too many young visitors. These days, it’s just the postman and the neighbors. I go to church with Mrs. Blume up the road. Her car looks just like my late husband’s…”
Yeah, she was a talker. Stories rambling into each other and
going on forever.
"Mrs. Gunther," Corey started for the tenth time since we had been in the house. "We came over because Harry mentioned…a computer problem.” He turned to me for a quick moment, winking, telling me this was the ruse he was going with, before looking back at Mrs. Gunther. “You’d been complaining about it being slow and not working right?”
"Oh, Harry makes a fuss but I told him not to worry. When I talked to him, I was just a little confused, but it’s fine. Fred’s fine, too.” She paused, took a long sip from her glass.
Was Fred the other grand kid who talked her into a Ponzi scheme? I exchanged glances with Corey.
Corey hadn’t eaten more than a bite of his pie because he was the one talking and making the courtesy nods and noises required in conversations. He cleared his throat. “Oh, was Fred here?"
She paused again for full a minute, like she was thinking and then nodded. “Yes, sweet Fred. He fixed everything. Harry doesn’t have to worry about it. The amount wasn’t that much and I didn’t need it.”
I got the impression she assumed we were actually here looking into the money problem. She wasn’t worried Fred used it in a scam? Two hundred thousand dollars wasn’t anything to sneeze at. We were strangers, though, so it wasn’t like it was our business. If she didn’t want us looking into it, there was nothing we could do. Suited me just fine. I’d be happy to check out a few albino alligators and head home.
Corey slid me a look, silently begging me to help.
Me? I groaned internally and put my empty plate on top of the coffee table. "Ma'am, Harry said he'd feel better if we helped. He said Fred was in over his head and too embarrassed to tell you. This … investment might not be the right one for you."
Corey's look changed to please shut up.
I shrugged. What did he want? I couldn't lie to her. There were Jesus babies in the room.
Mrs. Gunther brightened. "Harry does worry about me too much."
"Exactly," I said. "Harry was worried about you. If you really feel strongly about it, though, would it hurt to show us? He only wants you to keep what belongs to you. Corey here is a real pro at this, though. If you show Corey everything is fine, Harry will believe him and he won’t have to worry about you. We may even be able to find a better investment for you and Fred."
