The Cool Dad (A Calvin Recker Mystery Novel)- Chapter 3

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Here's Chapter 3.

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3

Yeah I do!

His name is Grover.

I learned pretty early on that it’s hard to be a stay-at-home dad and play detective at the same time. I can’t just up and leave the kids behind to follow a lead.

That’s where my buddy Grover comes in.

Grover’s perfect. There isn’t anyone I know who has more free time and less responsibility than my old college roommate.

And check out what he does for a living.

He’s a movie location scout.

He gets freelance assignments from producers to drive around and find suitable Midwest film locations and takes pictures of them.

He’s worked on some pretty big films, too.

The Dark Knight.

Transformers: Dark of the Moon.

Man of Steel.

And a whole bunch of independent movies that no one has ever seen.

This one horror movie he worked on called Knifer 2: Back to the Cutting Board was unwatchable. It’s not even worth streaming.

Also, and this is not an unimportant point, Grover is a pretty big dude. He’s like a hair over 6’5”, and works out like it’s an activity that he actually enjoys. I haven’t worked out since the kids were born. Who has the time? I don’t, but Grover does.

Private detectives get the pulp beat out of them all the time on cases, so it helps to have an intimidating sidekick to watch your back.

Not that Grover is a violent dude. Ninety-nine percent of the time Grover is as gentle as a petting zoo goat. The reason is because 99 percent of the time Grover, like the goat, is stoned.

But let’s hope, not right now.

I call Grover.

“Go for Grover,” he answers.

I hear him huff and puff.

“You sound like you’re exerting yourself? Did you attach your bong to an exercise bike?”

“No. I’m outside running. But I’m going to file that idea away for later.”

“Jogging?”

“No, that’s what you do. Jog. I run.”

I don’t even do that.

“How far?” I say.

“Um, I’m on mile eleven.”

“Jesus, Forrest Gump. Are your nipples bleeding yet? What would possess you to run that far?”

“There’s this outrageously hot chick like twenty yards in front of me. Here, let me take a picture of her ass. Hold on.”

Click.

Do-do-do.

I get the picture text. “Yeah, nice,” I say. “What about her face? All I see is ass, shoulders and ponytail.”

“Haven’t seen it. I’ve been behind her the whole time.”

“How long have you been following her?”

“About ten miles.”

“Has it occurred to you that she might be running AWAY from you?”

“She does seem to speed up every time I get close. I figured she was just trying to play hard to get. I was thinking that maybe after she stops we could split a protein gel. What’s up with you? Diaper wipe drama?”

“No, we’ve got a case.”

“Paying?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What kind of case?”

“Cheating husband with a twist.”

“Is there sidekick work involved?”

“You know it.”

“Fuck yeah!” he yells. “Holy shit, she turned around!”

“And?”

“I’m going to veer off. See you in thirty. I’ll take a shower at your place.”

“Please don’t.”

Click.

He’s there in twenty-five.

The shower wakes up both kids.

Naptime is over.

It’s time for a walk around the block.

Ryan is out in front on the Breeders Street sidewalk in his red Schwinn tricycle with me close behind, and Grover, in back, pushing Daisy in her red and yellow Cozy Coup push car.

“SLOW DOWN!” a woman yells.

Not at us.

At this Dodge Grand Caravan going thirty-eight in a twenty-five.

That’s Mona Denkle yelling. She took her constant bitching on the Stable Bluff Facebook page about cars speeding in the subdivision offline and to the streets. She sits in a lawn chair on the sidewalk wearing a reflective vest with a hand-painted “SLOW DOWN” sign in one hand and a radar gun in the other. When she sees a resident or a pizza delivery driver coming along the curve too fast, she jumps into the middle of the street waiving her sign and screaming. Then she takes a picture of the car and license plate and shame-posts it on the subdivision’s Facebook page with the caption, “If I were your child, they would be dead!”

It’s a bit much.

“Good afternoon, Mona,” I call out.

“Did you SEE how fast that Caravan was going, Calvin?”

“How fast?”

She checks her radar gun. “Forty-frickin’-one! This isn’t Talladega. Children play in this subdivision.”

“Well, they would if they could ever put down their iPads.”

“We need speed bumps in this neighborhood. I’m putting together a sign up sheet to present to the homeowners association. I’ve got your support, right?”

“Right.”

Yeah, right. The last thing I want is stupid speed bumps messing up my car’s suspension.

“I can always count on our friendly neighborhood private detective.”

I smile and put my foot on the back of Ryan’s tricycle and push it forward to get him going.

“Fight the good fight, Mona,” I say.

Mona nods and sits back down in her lawn chair. She takes a quick sip from her thermos, and then leans forward with her radar gun primed.

We continue on down the sidewalk. I make mental notes on whose lawn looks better than mine until we get to the end of the block where the residence of Henry and Elise Newcombe sits.

The house is the same exact model as my own: the Seattle Slew Series. The developer named all the models after Triple Crown-winning horses. I guess it was supposed to add a touch of class.

Gallant Fox, Man O’ War, Citation, Secretariat, Seattle Slew and Affirmed.

Man O’ War didn’t actually win the Triple Crown. I think the developer messed up and meant War Admiral, but since the Man O’ War was one of the more popular models; they didn’t bother to change it.

 Even though all the houses in our neighborhood look about the same, if you get a bunch of homeowners together for a real John Cheever-style cocktail party, they all ask each other, “What series do you live in?” It’s just a not-so-subtle way to gage how much money you have versus someone else. Especially those top-of-the-line Secretariat Series snobs. “We’ve got a super family room AND a tandem garage.” Oh, la-di-da, go fuck yourselves.

Click.

Grover snaps a picture of the house with his iPhone.

“An establishing shot,” Grover says. “For the case file.”

“Good thinking.”

“So, what’s the plan, detective?”

“First, I run into this Henry Newcombe and we get to talking. Then we become friends and I get all the inside dirt. Meanwhile, you do the at-a-distance surveillance. You find out where he goes and who he sees when he doesn’t think people are watching.”

“Maybe we should switch that,” Grover says. “I’m much better at making friends than you are.”

“Having random people over your apartment to smoke doesn’t count as ‘making friends’.”

“Casa de Grover: Come for the bud, stay for the effervescent personality and sparkling conversation. When you work in the film industry, like I do, you have to be able to make fast friends.”

“You’re barely in the film industry. I’m his neighbor. We both have kids. He hasn’t been in town long enough to meet many people. It’s natural for us to strike up a friendship. You’re Mr. Outside.”

“And if shit goes down, I start throwing haymakers.”

“Shit go down? Why, Uncle Grower?” Ryan says, looking up at Grover.

“Because, Ry Guy,” he says to Ryan, holding up two fists. “Sometimes in life, you’ve got to bring the thunder AND the lighting.”

Ryan nods like this makes sense.

I say to Grover, “I don’t think we’ll need the services of any thunder or lightning for this case. At worst, we’ll get a little cheating-husband action. I saw this dude at the pool and the housewives were practically throwing their Spanx at him.”

“Good-looking guy?” Grover says.

I nod.

“Not as good-looking as me, though. Right?”

“Better.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“I don’t even know what that means. Just follow him around, take the pictures and try not to get made.”

“What are we getting paid, anyway?”

“Five hundred a week.”

“Plus expenses?”

“Yes, plus expenses.”

“How long do you think we can stretch this out for?”

“At least a couple weeks, I imagine. Our client clearly has the means.”

Grover pounds his fists together. “I am so pumped for this.”

I smile. “Me too.”

“So what’s the next move?” Grover says. “Knock on his door?”

“No, I’m thinking maybe I’ll run into him at the pool or in the park.”

“Ah, a meet-cute.”

“A what?”

“Like in a romantic comedy when the couple accidentally run into each other in an adorable way. You could spill coffee on him. Or overthrow a football in the park and have it land on his picnic blanket. We could get a dog.”

“I want a dog!” Ryan says.

“No,” I say.

“I want a dog right NOW!” Ryan screams.

I turn to Grover. “Look what you started.”

Grover says, “I think getting a dog is a great idea. He could help us solve crimes!”