~We last left Frank and Roxanne at the office. Roxanne had gotten to Frank in a big and, for her brother, disturbing way. Unable to resist, Roxanne continued to toy with her brother, withholding case information and making Frank go to her~
*
Chapter Five
"Okay, what's so damn interesting?" I commented harshly, walking into the outer office. I really wasn't angry but, I was in no mood for any more games.
Roxanne patted the stack of papers on her desk and then held up the message from Matt. She basically ignored me and my mood, keeping her eyes glued to the computer screen. I snatched the message away from her, reading it over quickly.
"Hum, that's interesting." Roxy commented, resting her chin in the palm of her hand, as she continued to read on. I started to say something when Roxy added, "Did you know about old lady Hawthorn?"
"You mean Cybil?"
"No, not that bitch, the first one, the old lady, she killed herself." Roxanne added, correcting me, as she turned away from the computer screen.
"Suicide, huh, doesn't surprise me much." I replied and moved towards the screen.
"Well yeah but, the odd thing is, maybe not." Roxy retorted and slid back her chair adding, "Take a look."
Moving in for a closer look, I again caught the scent of Roxanne's perfume. I'd noticed earlier but it grabbed me harder this time, for some reason. I gave her a slow staring look, which she returned, twirling a pencil between her luscious lips. "Just got it yesterday. Thought you'd never notice, you like the smell?" She asked, seemingly reading my mind. I nodded slowly and turned back towards the computer.
The article made the front page of The Herald, six years back. I quickly scanned the paragraphs, which slowly brought the entire sad story back to memory. "Huh? I thought the name sounded familiar. Says here suicide but they had reason to believe otherwise and..."
"And couldn't prove it, exactly right!" Roxy interjected. "Read on Mc Duff, there's more that should interest a crack PI like your self." I gave Roxy "The Look" and she giggled, holding her hands up in mock fear.
I did read on, ignoring my wise cracking sister. "Jesus!" I muttered aloud, giving Roxanne yet another opportunity to throw a jab my way, which she took. As I read down, finishing the article, Roxanne continued to feed questions into my ear. When I finished, I eased one leg onto my sister's desk and rested my ass, looking glassy eyed and deep in thought. My recall was total by then and I was amazed that the story hadn't gotten to me six years ago. "You were heavy into the McMurphy case, remember?" Roxy offered, reading my mind again.
"The old lady must have been crazy."
"Yeah, crazy or helped or maybe she wanted a lot of attention paid to her passing!" Roxy came back, pausing for effect and rubbing the goose bumps from her bare arms. "Stickin' a .38 up your twat and pulling the trigger is one hell of a way to get attention." She added.
"A messy one." I mumbled, deep in thought. "Roxy you don't suppose that..."
"Cybil had a hand in it?" She commented. The mind reading thing started to get eerie.
"Yeah, that." I replied, giving her a curious look.
Roxanne rose from her chair and tenderly kissed my cheek. "Sick huh? Hey, sure you wouldn't like to squeeze one of these big girls before I go to lunch?" displaying brief compassion and total absurdity in one sentence, as she giggled and reached for her purse. My mood instantly changed and I pointed my index finger at her, intending to chastise, when, like lightening, she grabbed it and sucked it in between her red glossed lips.
"Ummm, daddy I won't be naughty any more." She purred, after releasing my finger. "See ya later, I mean if lunch with me is out of the question."
"Roxxxy, I swear I'm going to beat your..."
"Ooo don't make promises you won't keep, bye now!" Roxy grinned and side stepped her way around my swinging arm. "Oh, and get some lunch, you know how shitty you get when you don't eat!" She added, reaching for the door knob.
Playfully, I tossed a pencil in her direction and then grabbed the stack of print outs. Ambling back into my office, a renewed desire for answers hit me and I felt that somewhere within the paper mess they waited for me. That desire came with a second, equally strong feeling, Cybil was dangerous, possibly more so than anyone knew. I closed my office door and cut off the ringer to the phone. I wanted solitude and quiet. Roxanne didn't return from lunch and hadn't bothered to tell me she decided to do a little more surveillance. I chewed her out later, after finding out.
Little by little, the news articles painted a, very, sorted picture. The Hawthorn's, a reclusive bunch, had managed to keep other family members out of the press. There were brief announcements on the birth of a son and, a couple years later, a daughter and damn little else. Amazingly, the only other references to either of them were acknowledgements for one award or another in a private school. There was no mention of either of them during the suicide investigation and, apparently, they weren't present when the old lady was buried either. "That's fucked up." I muttered aloud and lowered the paper. At the top of the article a very grainy, black and white, photo captured the pair who apparently were about to board a plane. The boy's face was unrecognizable but, the girl's! I sat back, shocked, not believing my eyes.
Long bars of amber light, a result of half closed blinds, lit my office wall, when I finally realized Roxanne hadn't returned. Tossing the last article aside, I stood up trying to decide what to do next and stretched. "Damn her independent ass!" I cursed and walked off to shut down the office. When I reached the outer office I noticed the phone message light was blinking wildly. I nearly walked off ignoring it, feeling aggravated about Roxanne. The first message contained her sweet voice, assuring me she was okay and where she'd gone. The lump in my throat melted away and I raised my hand to stop the answering machine when I heard Cybil's voice start up on the second message.
"Frank? Frank, God damn it, pick up the phone!" She said in a very agitated voice. Although a dead silence followed, she hadn't hung up. "Frank, if you get this message I want you to know things have escaladed. I think the old fuck is going to try to kill me. Call me!" She added, sounding extremely urgent and scared, without the irritation.
On Cybil's initial visit I'd placed her phone number in my cell phone. I dialed it as I slammed the office door closed, cursing silently.
Chapter Six
"Frank, thank God, I don't know what to do!" She cried out, hearing my voice.
"Cybil, calm down, tell me where you are." I was moving briskly down the corridor, listening to her. "No, don't do that. O'Leary's -- go to O'Leary's Bar at the corner of 4th and Freemont, I'll meet you there!" I replied, calmly but, forcefully after she explained she was driving like a mad woman down the freeway. Minutes later, I was sitting in O'Leary's, nervously moving my foot up and down waiting for Cybil. The bar keep, Johnny, was tied up and as I waited for him concern for Roxanne hit me all over again and strangely, I revisited our beginnings, several years back.
Our father, John Logan, was old school. Starting with little more than a wish, a prayer and a $25 license, he'd opened Logan's PI Service back in the late forty's. Lady Luck, his second favorite dame, had seen to it the business stayed alive - her and a lot of damn hard work by dad. In 1979, I came in as the "son" addition and never got to see the name changed. I was twenty-one and eager to learn everything I could. Roxanne was just entering her first year of college, at age nineteen.
For the first few years, I was dad's gopher, his leg man. He refused to involve me in much more and from that simple beginning I learned a great deal. "Sleuthing was an art." he'd always say and never failed to add in, "Your eyes son, use your eyes and your head. Together they'll give you all you want and more." His words still echo in my head from time to time.
Some ten years passed and neither of us made any effort at having the business name changed. It didn't bother me and it suited dad just fine. I was a licensed, full fledged, PI by then, working side by side with the ole man. That's when mom's health took a turn she'd never recover from. It was the cancer, as they often said back then. She passed away in the fall of 1989 and her death hit dad like a .45 slug to the chest. He never recovered and I found myself taking over the business more and more. Roxy, with a lot of persuasion, went back to the small business she had started.
Two years later I steeled myself against the call I'd have to make to my sister. I found the ole man slumped over in his office chair, his head ripped apart by a single .25 caliber bullet. He'd left a note, a simple one line note.
~Sorry, can't do it any more. Gone to be with your mother~
His actions made me thee Logan of Logan's PI Service and drastically altered Roxanne's life. Roxy sold her portion of the business ownership, refusing to leave me alone. We fought often early on. I did need a secretary but, I damn sure didn't need a nurse maid or partner -- so I thought. As it turned out, she was right about half of her convictions and never stopped throwing in my face. So, in 1991, it was still Logan's PI Service staffed by a pair of, relatively, youthful Logan's, Roxanne and my self. Recalling dad's early treatment of me, I got away with calling her "Gopher" for about two months. It ended when I entered the office one day finding a half dozen of the little varmints running amuck, chewing on everything they could find!
I was smiling when I finally shook my head from the daze I was in and heard, "Frank, you look like hell."
It was Johnny, O'Leary's bartender, as he set my usual in front of me.
"Worried John, just worried." I mumbled and grabbed the hi-ball. I liked Johnny, he was always honest, never lying to me and throughout our friendship years had always shown a brotherly concern for my welfare and Roxanne's, especially hers, as he never thought she should be involved in the business.
"Roxanne again?" He asked, leaning on the bar.
"Nah, a new case, I think it may be going bad."
"Sounds serious Frank, care to elaborate?" Johnny commented, leaning in, sending his voice into a whisper.
