Chapter 34
Cindy Santos was having her customary, post-five-mile-run, Saturday afternoon, iced, herbal-fruit tea at The Wilmington Tea Emporium on Water Street when he walked in. She knew it was David as he looked just like his Facebook profile photo. She watched him walk up to the counter in his Pittsburgh Penguins jersey and order. He appeared to be about six-feet tall. Her table was only twelve feet away, just behind his right shoulder. She was close enough to hear the conversation.
“What would you like today, sir?” the young, short, brown-haired barista asked.
“I’ll have a medium, iced, mint-green tea,” David said.
“Is that all?” she asked while looking out the door at some people passing by.
“Yes, that will do it,” he answered.
David paid, and while waiting for his tea, looked around the quaint café. He caught Cindy’s eyes as she sipped her tumbler. They stared at each other for a few seconds. That’s her! / No doubt about it – that’s him.
Then David looked back at the barista. His tea was ready. He grabbed the tall glass and paused. Ok, how do we do this? What to say?
An adjacent, thin-armed, red, antique chair was repositioned; its feet screeched on the concrete-slab floor. Yow!
David then walked over towards Cindy’s round table, tumbler in hand. He made eye contact for a split second with Cindy. I think she knows who I am.
Cindy quickly looked down and studied her smartphone, pretending not to notice his approach. Her hair was in a ponytail, which passed through the adjustable-strap hole on the back of her orange-billed San Francisco Giants cap.
“I don’t think we’ve formally met. My name is David. David Scrapalski.” Not the most flamboyant opening line, but at least he’s being honest. / I sure hope it’s her. If not – awkward!
“Oh, yes, you’re that guy who sent me the e-mail with the tip for an exclusive.” Of course, it’s me. Why is everyone so coy in this town?
“Is this seat taken? I have some more info.” Well, he’s certainly not shy. / I hope some big, burly, Mr. Macho guy doesn’t emerge from the men’s room.
“That seat is reserved for San Francisco Giants fans only. Just kidding! Have a seat.” Cindy could see that she had really shocked him with her little sports-team joke. His stunned expression was just too funny, yet a little unsettling. Wow, I didn’t know that he would be so stunned. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. / She really got me with that one. One-nil.
“Thanks. It’s nice meeting you.”
“Likewise. Are you from Pittsburgh?” She already knows that’s where I’m from. She’s just being a good investigative reporter, looking for any signs of lying.
“Yep. Steelers, Penguins, Pirates and Pitt Panthers all the way. I live in Raleigh now.” Good, he’s telling the truth.
“You don’t root for the [Carolina] Hurricanes? Shame on you!”
“Well, I do when they’re not playing the Penguins, which is like over ninety-five percent of the time.”
“How about NBA?” Cindy inquired.
“Bobcats, wait, I mean Hornets. I just heard that they’re changing their name back. Ok, so, who do you root for – besides the baseball Giants?”
“I’ve been here a little while now. I root for the Panthers, Hurricanes, and Bobcat/Hornets. When North Carolina gets a major league baseball team, I’ll take my SF cap off and put it in the closet. I guess you must love the fact that Pitt is joining the ACC.” [Atlantic Coast Conference]
“Oh, yes; that’s sweet. I’ll be able to see them play in Raleigh, Durham and Chapel Hill. I think we’ll hold our own in football; in basketball, well, we shall see.”
“Ok, now that we’ve got the sports segment out of the way, would you have some more details about the murder of Dale Smite?” I wonder what details she already knows.
“Will you run to the police with it again?” David gave her the eye. Oh, gosh.
“Did the police question you?” Cindy looked surprised.
“They sure did. About six hours ago.” Oh, dear.
“I’m so sorry. All of the TV station’s e-mail traffic is monitored. One of the IT guys probably saw it flagged by a filter and forwarded it to the Wilmington police. They never told me. I really do apologize for that.”
“It’s ok. I actually learned more than they did.”
“Learned more about what?” Cindy was intrigued. Is this just an atypical, intentionally vague, male ploy to try to get me in the sack?
“Well, let’s just say it wasn’t over a ‘large wad of cash’.” Wad – what a word.
“What was it over? Drugs? A woman? A debt owed?”
“Those are three great answers, but they’re all wrong.” Struck out. Even more curious to know now.
A mother and her seven-year-old son passed by, scraping their table. Cindy and David halted their dialogue until they were out of earshot. Cindy grabbed her tea to make sure it wouldn’t be knocked off the small table.
“Well, you got me; I’m stumped,” Cindy confessed. “And, I imagine that the police are, too, David.”
“They are. I can tell from my interrogation that they still don’t know the root cause of the killing. They’re grasping at any grain of sand that falls in their lap.” I’d like to examine his lap someday.
“And, you do know?” Cindy wasn’t sure if he was for real or not, but thought she would play along anyway, just to see where he was leading her. I have more information than David knows, and can quickly catch him in a lie or a false assumption.
“I might,” David said as he rubbed his chin like a theoretical physicist on the verge of a breakthrough dark-matter hypothesis.
“Might you tell me?” Cindy pretended to be extremely interested. The case had already started to somewhat bore her. One knucklehead kills another knucklehead, probably during an incredibly stupid, intoxicated argument. Killed knucklehead had something that belonged to killer knucklehead. Killer knucklehead promptly gets arrested. End of story. Just another violent crime between a pair of dolts.
“I could. But, you will have to win back my confidence and trust in you.” Oh, really?
“And, what might you want me to do? Walk on red-hot coals while chanting ‘mea culpa’?”
“White-hot coals,” David specified with a mischievous grin.
They both chuckled. He’s harmless, though not completely clueless. / Would love to examine her software.
“Ok, silly guy, is it something to do with stocks or bonds? Some kind of securities swindle?” I love her Filipina accent.
“Hey, you only get three strikes. But, no, your fourth swing missed the ball, too. You’re out! Go back to that AT&T Park dugout.” David laughed. He was enjoying having the high card in this conversation.
Cindy just sat there, looking very puzzled. A man has been murdered in broad daylight in his own home, and this David guy knows something about the crime that makes him laugh. Odd. Very odd. I obviously don’t know everything about this.
“Well, baseball rules were never my forte, Mr. Scrapalski,” Cindy calmly stated. “Listen, I must be going. It’s been great talking to you in person. You can text any other info to me at my personal cell number.” She trusts me. / I better not get a sausage-shot from him … well …
Cindy waited for him to get his cell phone out of his left-front pants pocket. When he got to his Add New Contact page, she recited her phone number. Wow! An 00 ending. Did she pay extra for that?
“Ok, I got it,” David said while looking down at his cell phone. I can’t believe that I’ve got her phone number. / What have I just done? That was reckless, Cindy.
“Just don’t abuse it,” Cindy warned firmly. “One non-tip, one flirtatious message, one inappropriate image, and you’re blocked. I’m not kidding.” Ah, so she’s had problems in the past with her phone. She probably dated some nut-job down here, and when she dumped him, he must’ve went into textual annoyance mode. / I think that I can trust him. I want to know what he knows.
“I read you loud and clear, Miss Santos.”
“You’re not some crazy reporter-stalker, are you?” Jeez, another woman who thinks I’m out to kill her. She probably watches that truTV channel twenty hours a week. His guess was only off by two hours – two hours too low.
She was already 97.79% sure that he was a decent guy, but thought it best to go through with the boilerplate caveat anyway.
“No, you know that I’m just an RTP lab tech with a million-dollar hidden fortune.” What did he just say? Why did he say that? Is there something hidden on Dale Smite’s property on Van Buren Street? Is that what he’s alluding to? I wonder what it is.
“Tell me more, David,” Cindy implored. Not now, pretty lady.
“Listen, we both must be leaving. We’ve got busy schedules. I’ll text you another juicy morsel later in the day.”
“I’ll devour it if it’s good; I’ll cut your titi [penis in Filipino slang] off if it’s junk.” Cindy looked at his crotch for a second. I wonder how it would feel in my …
“Tee-tee?” I’ll have to look that word up later.
“Tea-tea.” Cindy pointed to their glasses of tea. Maybe that diversion worked. He’ll probably still go to an online Tagalog-English dictionary right after he leaves. He would.
They shook hands, both thinking that they were being ridiculously way too formal, and left the tearoom. They headed in opposite directions on Water Street. The street smelled of dead, rotting crabs.
They were both sizing up each other as they walked farther apart. David wondered how much Cindy knew about the house’s contents. Cindy now was very curious as to what might be worth a million dollars at 2393 Van Buren Street.
A twenty-foot-long, thirty-inches-wide-at-the-base, hardwood tree trunk was drifting down the river. A small bird was riding on it, enjoying the free transport. David just smiled at the little, light-brown bird as it passed by the docks. It winked back as a fly landed on its left eye. That bird is logging some free miles. If I were a writer, I’d use that thought in some novel.
David thought about what he had said to Cindy as he walked back to the inn. Have I lost my mind? Again? Am I going to turn out like Mark? He just kept walking with his head down.
Then he thought that his Freudian slip of the tongue may have actually planted the right seed in Cindy’s mind. He hoped that it would quickly germinate and get the best of her feminine curiosity.
His hope was justly rewarded. As Cindy walked down Front Street, she called her main contact at the Wilmington Police Department and asked if anything of interest or value was found in the house at 2393 Van Buren Street. The police sergeant told her: “Nada, as in not uh thing, Cindy. Nothing in the attic but pink insulation. Nothing in the sheet-rock walls but stale air. Nothing in the crawl space but brown recluse spiders. Nothing in the shed but a shovel and some sand.” A sandy shovel? Hmmm …