and red-tile roofs and dramatic, outdoor lighting. It was as if the exterior of each house was decoratively pre-lit in case the cover photographer from Architectural Digest just happened to drive by, or maybe a busload of tourists, neither of which was likely to happen with the gate out front and my constant vigilance.
Well, almost constant.
All the lights were on inside and out at the Parkus house, and I heard the burbling of at least three different fountains as I walked across the cobblestones of the motor court.
The front door was almost entirely glass, so I could see straight through the circular, marble entry area into the huge, two-story living room, its floor-to-ceiling windows affording a commanding view of the entire valley.
But the view was lost on Cyril Parkus, who was sitting on the floor, staring blankly into the whiskey bottle between his legs. He was still dressed in his business suit, leaning against a wrought-iron and glass coffee table.
I knocked on the door. He looked over and didn’t seem too surprised to see me.
He motioned me inside. I opened the door and went in. The house smelled like a rose garden, but there wasn’t a single flower in sight.
“Come to check up on me?” Parkus asked.
“You didn’t sound too good.”
“Afraid I was gonna stick a gun in my mouth?”
I shrugged. There was alot of antique furniture and maritime oil paintings, but the room was dominated by an old, rotting, wooden sign above the fireplace. The faded, peeling paint read: Big Rock Lake Resort. It couldn’t have been worth much, and didn’t fit in with the rest of the décor, so I figured its value was sentimental.
“I could never do it, even though it’s the Parkus family tradition.” He shook his head and took a big swig from his bottle. “First my mom, then my sister, now my wife. All killed themselves. I must be a real horrible person to live with.”
“You’re not the reason she jumped.”
Parkus cocked his head. “Really? And how the fuck would you know that? You’ve never even talked to her.”
“I saw her face when she met Arlo Pelz,” I said. “I bet if he’d never shown up, she’d still be alive.”
“We’ll never know, will we?”
“We could try.”
“Un-fucking-believable.” He glared at me, set his bottle down on the floor, and struggled to his feet. “Is that what you came here for, Harvey, to shake me down for a few more bucks?”
Parkus reached into his pocket, pulled out his money-clip, and threw the cash at me.
“Go ahead,” he yelled, “take it!”
“I want to earn it, Mr. Parkus. I want to bring Arlo Pelz to justice.”
“Jesus Christ,” he snorted in disbelief. “I hired you do to something anybody with a driver’s license and a two-digit IQ could pull off, and now you think you’re fucking Batman.”
“Arlo Pelz might as well have pushed your wife off that overpass,” I said. “And you’re going to let him just walk away. Well, maybe you can, but I can’t.”
It was true. At that moment, I felt like I was channeling Joe Mannix, Frank Cannon, Barnaby Jones, Thomas Magnum, and all the great private eyes who came before me. Even Parkus seemed to sense that.
“Who the fuck are you?” Parkus yelled, his voice echoing off the walls of his big, wide living room. “You’re not a police officer, you’re not even a security guard. You’re barely even a man. You’re just a clown with an iron-on badge.”
He looked so disgusted at the sight of me, I thought he might vomit right there. But I felt stronger and more sure of myself than I ever had in my life.
Parkus marched over to the front door and held it open.
“Get out of my house, Harvey. Go back down to your little shack and pick your nose for a few more hours. And if you ever butt into my life again, if you so much as wave to me as I drive by, I’ll have you fired. Do we understand each other?”
I understood, all right.
The only reason he wasn’t going to have me fired the next day
Well, almost constant.
All the lights were on inside and out at the Parkus house, and I heard the burbling of at least three different fountains as I walked across the cobblestones of the motor court.
The front door was almost entirely glass, so I could see straight through the circular, marble entry area into the huge, two-story living room, its floor-to-ceiling windows affording a commanding view of the entire valley.
But the view was lost on Cyril Parkus, who was sitting on the floor, staring blankly into the whiskey bottle between his legs. He was still dressed in his business suit, leaning against a wrought-iron and glass coffee table.
I knocked on the door. He looked over and didn’t seem too surprised to see me.
He motioned me inside. I opened the door and went in. The house smelled like a rose garden, but there wasn’t a single flower in sight.
“Come to check up on me?” Parkus asked.
“You didn’t sound too good.”
“Afraid I was gonna stick a gun in my mouth?”
I shrugged. There was alot of antique furniture and maritime oil paintings, but the room was dominated by an old, rotting, wooden sign above the fireplace. The faded, peeling paint read: Big Rock Lake Resort. It couldn’t have been worth much, and didn’t fit in with the rest of the décor, so I figured its value was sentimental.
“I could never do it, even though it’s the Parkus family tradition.” He shook his head and took a big swig from his bottle. “First my mom, then my sister, now my wife. All killed themselves. I must be a real horrible person to live with.”
“You’re not the reason she jumped.”
Parkus cocked his head. “Really? And how the fuck would you know that? You’ve never even talked to her.”
“I saw her face when she met Arlo Pelz,” I said. “I bet if he’d never shown up, she’d still be alive.”
“We’ll never know, will we?”
“We could try.”
“Un-fucking-believable.” He glared at me, set his bottle down on the floor, and struggled to his feet. “Is that what you came here for, Harvey, to shake me down for a few more bucks?”
Parkus reached into his pocket, pulled out his money-clip, and threw the cash at me.
“Go ahead,” he yelled, “take it!”
“I want to earn it, Mr. Parkus. I want to bring Arlo Pelz to justice.”
“Jesus Christ,” he snorted in disbelief. “I hired you do to something anybody with a driver’s license and a two-digit IQ could pull off, and now you think you’re fucking Batman.”
“Arlo Pelz might as well have pushed your wife off that overpass,” I said. “And you’re going to let him just walk away. Well, maybe you can, but I can’t.”
It was true. At that moment, I felt like I was channeling Joe Mannix, Frank Cannon, Barnaby Jones, Thomas Magnum, and all the great private eyes who came before me. Even Parkus seemed to sense that.
“Who the fuck are you?” Parkus yelled, his voice echoing off the walls of his big, wide living room. “You’re not a police officer, you’re not even a security guard. You’re barely even a man. You’re just a clown with an iron-on badge.”
He looked so disgusted at the sight of me, I thought he might vomit right there. But I felt stronger and more sure of myself than I ever had in my life.
Parkus marched over to the front door and held it open.
“Get out of my house, Harvey. Go back down to your little shack and pick your nose for a few more hours. And if you ever butt into my life again, if you so much as wave to me as I drive by, I’ll have you fired. Do we understand each other?”
I understood, all right.
The only reason he wasn’t going to have me fired the next day
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