Off the Beaten Path. John Schlarbaum
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OFF THE
BEATEN PATH
A STEVE CASSIDY MYSTERY
By
John Schlarbaum
Copyright 2013
All rights reserved.
Cover design: Hawksworth Designs© 2013
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrievable system, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Schlarbaum, John, 1966-, author
Off the beaten path / by John Schlarbaum
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-1985-5
I. Title. II. Series: Schlarbaum, John, 1966- . Steve
Cassidy mystery.
PS8637.C448O34 2013 C813’.6 C2013-904442-6
SCANNER PUBLISHING
5060 Tecumseh Road East, Suite #1106
Windsor, Ontario, Canada N8T 1C1
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank those who helped shape this novel from its lump of clay beginnings to its fully sculpted final draft. Your opinions and ideas have made this book better on each and every page.
Special thanks to the following individuals who took the time to go above and beyond what was asked of them: Dorothy Schlarbaum, Jennifer Thorne, Jennifer MacLeod, Jessica Jarvis, Tina Bezaire, Julie Deslippe, Jessica Pedlar, Kevin Jarvis, Lori Farmer and Jennifer Hawksworth.
Last but definitely not least, I would like to single out Joe Monteleone for his support and making my previous novel A Memorable Murder a reality.
John Schlarbaum
September, 2013
For Lori
“Where do I go? What do I do?”
Thank you for always aiming
me toward the right path.
Chapter One
There are few things more depressing than walking through a maze of dirty city streets at 3:00 a.m. seeking a hooker with a heart of gold.
Been there, won that stuffed teddy bear.
Yet here I am on a random Wednesday doing just that.
Before you jump to the easy conclusion that I’ve again fallen on hard times and am looking for love in all the wrong places, let me calm your frayed nerves: I’m working a file.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Marital cases and I have a long and troubled past. They are the worst type of investigations for a number of reasons, most notably the fact that information provided by the distraught client is usually wrong. For example, the subject almost always leaves at a different time than the one given, be it from work, a buddy’s house, the ex’s apartment after visiting the kids and so forth. Then there’s the matter of how much time these files can suck out of one’s life. There’s a television program that specializes in this entertaining field and it kills me when the creepy host proudly states, “On Day 9 our investigator locates the target’s vehicle parked in a visitor’s spot near a friendly female acquaintance’s townhouse.”
Are they serious? If I don’t get results by Day 3, my head is on the chopping block.
Day 9. As if.
My current case has the added element of the potential cheater carrying on a disjointed conversation in his sleep with a prostitute named Mary. Or Kerry. Or Sherri. Apparently this dolt snorted or snored at an inopportune time and the exact name couldn’t be rendered. The second strange aspect of this file is the wife’s claim that hubby handed over a gold heart charm hanging from a necklace. More specifically, her necklace.
“I’m certain he mumbled something about ‘a down payment’ and ‘tonight at The Cougar Trap.’ That can only mean that disgusting Drake Road area in the east end, right?” She paused before adding, “And believe me, I’ve searched everywhere and my necklace is gone!”
I examined my early thirties average everything (height, weight, looks) client and had to make a swift assessment. Should I throw her out due to such flimsy evidence or break it to her that if loverboy was making plans anywhere near The Cougar Trap, her marriage was probably already over?
Decisions, decisions, decisions.
“I’ll do what I can,” I stated, making sure to get her money up front, a business practice private investigators and hookers share, among other seamy traits.
The fact that my girlfriend and I were heading out on a mini-vacation in three days probably played a role in how I answered. A little extra spending cash would come in handy.
And really, how hard could it be to locate a phantom lady of the evening wearing a gold heart charm inscribed “I Luv U” and working mid-week in the roughest area of town?
Wednesday: Hump Day. Sounds about right.
***
“Hey honey, if you’re lookin’ for some action you came to the wrong side of the street.”
“And how’s that?” I asked skeptically, approaching an over-the-hill streetwalker. She was quite the vision with her garish make-up, matted mop of brown hair and Daisy Duke short shorts with fishnet stockings, topped off with a stole over her shoulders made of a mink needlessly killed circa 1972. “Let me guess - you’re celibate?”
She shook her head and smiled, revealing gaps in her upper and lower rows of teeth. “Oh no, not this girl. I proudly sell-a-bit here, sell-a-bit there, sell-a-bit anywhere you’d like, sweetie,” she laughed.
Given her outlandishly sad appearance, her laugh wasn’t an unpleasant sound, which caught me off guard, although it really shouldn’t have. After all, she was a human being with real emotions, once an innocent little girl and the glimmer of sunshine in her parents’ eyes. Certain personal characteristics can’t be beaten out of you, regardless of how hard someone (drunken Daddy, pimp, abusive boyfriend) tries.
“Then why am I on the wrong side of the street?”
“Because my dance card is full. I’m just waiting for a taxi to arrive.”
I slowly glanced down the infamous Drake Road and noted we were the only people out at this time of night: no other pedestrians, no barflies stumbling out of the fabled Dark Stallion or Mickey’s Den watering holes, and not a car in sight. It was eerily quiet, too.
“Believe it or not, I wasn’t aiming to hook up, but I am looking for one of your co-workers.”
“To talk or just cuddle?” She stopped and gave me a cool look. “She’s not your sister, is she?”
“Not that I’m aware of, although around here I suppose anything’s possible.” Headlights came into view a few blocks