To this day I got cramps when I had to do long division.
“We should talk to her,” I said to Lula.
“Yeah,” Lula said. “Nosy old woman like that probably knows lots of stuff.”
I hiked my pocketbook higher on my shoulder, and Lula and I marched over and knocked on Mrs. Steeger's door.
The door was opened just far enough for me to see that Mrs. Steeger hadn't changed much over the years. She was still rail thin, with a pinched face and snappy little eyes lying in wait under eyebrows that appeared to have been drawn on with brown marker. She'd been widowed last year. Retired the year before that. She was dressed in a brown dress with little white flowers, stockings and sensible shoes. Her glasses hung from a chain around her neck. Her ha
ir was curled tight, dyed brown. She didn't look like she was adapting to a life of leisure.
I handed her my business card and introduced myself as a fugitive apprehension agent.
“What's that mean?” she wanted to know. “Are you a police officer?”
“Not exactly. I work for Vincent Plum.”
“So,” she said, considering the information. “You're a bounty hunter.”
This was said with the same affection one would have for a drug pusher or child abuser. The tilt of her chin warned of possible disciplinary action, and her attitude implied if I'd mastered long division I might have made something of myself.
“What's this have to do with Moses?” she asked.
“He was arrested on a minor charge and then missed a court appearance. The Plum agency arranged bail, so I need to find Mo and help him set a new date.”
“Mo would never do anything wrong,” Mrs. Steeger said.
God's word.
“Do you know where he is?” I asked.
She drew herself up an extra half inch. “No. And I think it's a shame you can't find anything better to do than to go out harassing good men like Moses Bedemier.”
“I'm not harassing him. I'm simply going to help him arrange a new court date.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Mrs. Steeger said. “You were a little fibber in the third grade, and you're a little fibber now. Always trying to sneak gum into my classroom.”
“Well, thanks anyway,” I said to Mrs. Steeger. “Nice seeing you after all these years.”
SLAM. Mrs. Steeger closed her door.
“Should of lied,” Lula said. “You never learn anything telling the truth like that. Should of told her you worked for the lottery commission, and Mo won a shitload of money.”
“Maybe next time.”
“Maybe next time we just open the door and start out with some bitch slapping.”
I gave Lula a horrified glare.
“Just a suggestion,” Lula said.
I stepped over to the next porch and was about to knock when Mrs. Steeger stuck her head out her door again.
“Don't bother,” she said. “The Whiteheads are in Florida. Harry always takes his vacation this time of the year. Won't be back for two weeks.”
SLAM. She vanished behind the closed door.
“No problem,” I said to Lula. “We'll try door number three.”