Take It On the Run

Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from another you been messing around.

 

“Thanks for helping out with the horses.” Regan ran a careful hand down Jupiter’s leg and carefully squeezed his fetlock.

Jim meticulously cleaned tack and smiled to himself as he watched Regan inspect the horse Jim had just groomed. They worked together in a comfortable rhythm as they returned the stable, and this particular horse, to the meticulous order that Bill Regan insisted upon at all times.

“No problem,” Jim replied as he groomed Jupiter. “It’s been over a week since I had a chance to ride this big guy. Dad’s been doing a good job keeping him in shape.”

“Yeah. He sure hated making that last minute trip overseas.’

Jim shrugged. “You’d think he’d be used to it by now. But he wasn’t going to take a chance on business getting in the way of the fundraiser activities next weekend.” He glanced over at Regan, who was carefully hanging the tack the way he liked it on the stable wall. “You and Lianne are still planning on coming, aren’t you?”

“Are you kidding? That girl will never admit it to anyone else, but she’s just bought the third dress for that shindig.” Regan shook his head. “They’ve all looked just fine to me. I don’t know why she can’t make up her mind.”

Jim laughed. “If it’s any consolation, I know that Mother’s on her second dress.” He held up a hand without even looking toward the groom. “And do NOT ask me how I know. I just happened to know, okay?”

“Women!” Regan laughed. “Can’t live with ‘em and sure don’t want to try living without them.” He cast a sly eye toward Jim. “Speaking of which …. when are you going to do something about living with that little spitfire gal of yours? And don’t try to convince me that she’s on her third or fourth dress. I know better than that!”

Jim grinned. “As far as I know, there’s just been one dress. But … if it were up to me, we’d already be living together. She’s back in New York, but for all that’s worth, she might as well still be in Chicago.”

“What do you mean?”

“Between getting this business of hers started and handling all the business she’s already managed to bring, not to mention hiring three people to help her …” Jim’s voice trailed off and he gave a small shrug. “She hasn’t had much spare time.”

Regan turned to give Jim an odd look. “You’re telling me that her partner’s not even back in the state yet and she’s already busier than a one-eyed cat watching nine rat holes?”

Jim had to laugh. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

Regan shook his head. “That girl is something else. Unless I miss my guess, she must’ve brought some of that work with her from Chicago.”

Jim continued to groom the black gelding without responding.

Regan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not worried that it’s you, are you?”

“What would you think? I’ve only been waiting for ten years for the time to be right for the two of us to be together. She’s been so busy the last few weeks; I’d be surprised if she remembered my name.”

Regan snorted. “Find some other sucker, dude. I’m not buying that one.” He put his hands on his hips and started to speak when the trill of the stable phone interrupted him. He sent Jim a look indicating the conversation was not finished before striding over to his office to answer the call. It was Celia, and she simply advised Regan that Mrs. Wheeler needed to speak with Jim on an urgent matter.

“Gosh, I hope everything’s okay with Tom and Dad.” Jim glanced at his watch. “Tom should be on his way back from JFK by now. Hopefully, everything’s okay.”

“I’ll finish up here,” Regan told him, taking the towel from his hand. “But you and I both know that there is no way that Miss Fidget has forgotten who you are. In every relationship, there is a time when one or the other might have to carry things for a bit. That’s the give and take of it all. Give your girl some credit. And don’t forget what I said.”

“What thing you said?” Jim asked ruefully. “There were only five or six different things.”

“I guarantee you; she was working on a case from the day she arrived. If I haven’t learned anything else in the past fifteen years, I’ve learned how to smell mystery from a mile away.”

 

 

“Dan?” Trixie asked tentatively into her mobile unit. “Are you working or do you have a minute to talk?”

“Affirmative to both questions,” he replied, his eyes never leaving the large garbage dumpster his gut told him was the drop spot.

“I thought you were on third shift this month?” Trixie asked, her brow knitting in confusion.

“I’m pulling some extra shifts this week and over the weekend so I can be off a few days next week,” he explained. “Spill it, Trix. If my guy shows up, I’m outta here.”

Trixie bit her lip and forged ahead. “I need a favor.”

“You got it. If I can, then I will. What is it?”

“What can you find out about the shooting of one Harold Langham?” she asked.

“What?” He asked, straightening in his seat. “Are you talking about an attempted homicide?”

“I don’t know,” she said, blowing out her breath in frustration. “It might be. Could be a suicide. If there was a shooting, it can’t be natural causes. I just know that he’s in a coma at Downtown, and the rumor I heard he was shot multiple times, including the head.”

“That does seem to rule out an accident or suicide,” Dan said dryly. “When and where?”

“Sometime early this afternoon, possibly late morning. After eleven, for sure, because we talked to him around that time.”

“Oh, shit, Belden. What is he to you? A client or a suspect?”

Trixie hesitated, wondering which answer would be best. Actually, she thought, he was both, so she decided to go with her cover story. “He’s my client. He wanted to meet with me, with us, this afternoon. On our way to the meeting, we received a message from the office that he was en route to the emergency room. No other details.”

The phone connection was silent for a full five seconds. “Okay,” Dan finally spoke. “Let me make a couple of calls. Can I call you back at this number?”

“Yes, of course,” Trixie assured him. “Thanks, Dan. I appreciate it. Let me know if I can return the favor sometime. “

“Don’t worry, you can count on it.”

 

 

“Mother? What’s wrong?” Jim noticed his mother’s red-rimmed eyes the moment he entered the elegant but comfortable library.

“Oh, Jim,” she sniffed. “I can’t reach Matthew. He must already be in the air, and Tom has only just left the airport, so he can’t drive me to the city.”

“I can drive you wherever you need to go, Mother. What is it? What’s happened?”

“It’s my friend, Tammy. Tammy Langham. I know you remember her and her husband, Harold.”

“Yes, of course,” he replied, his demeanor stiffening ever so slightly at the mention of the man he found despicable.

“She just called me. The police notified her that Harold has been shot. They’re actually questioning her.” Grace twisted her hands together. “Do you think I should call George? Perhaps she needs a lawyer with her.”

As Jim’s mind processed what she had told him, he tried to assuage his mother’s worries. “If I’ve learned anything from Dan and Trixie, they’re probably just asking her routine questions. When she saw him last and that kind of thing. Tell me, what did she need you to do for her?” Jim asked patiently.

“She wants me to come to the hospital,” Grace explained. “He’s in surgery and she needs someone to wait with her. But there’s just so much to do. Your fundraiser brunch for the volunteers is Sunday and –” She stopped as Jim held up a hand. Despite her agitation, Grace recognized the gesture as one she had seen Matthew make many times.

“Mother, you of all people know your friend is more important than any fundraiser. Get Celia to help you get what you want or need to take with you and I’ll drive you to the city. I’ll throw some things in a bag and plan to stay.”

“But the brunch, and the flowers, and –”

“Mother,” he interrupted gently, taking her hand. “You can call Carol Lynch on the way. Between myself, her and Diana, we’ll manage things while you help Tammy, okay?”

Grace Wheeler breathed sigh of relief. “Of course. Oh, Jim. What would I do without you?” she murmured. “I can’t believe how terrible Matthew’s timing is. Of all the times to leave the country.”

“Dad wouldn’t know,” Jim explained. “He knows that I’ll help take care of things for you and Tammy until he returns. I’ll be ready to leave when you are. Call Ms. Langham back and let her know we’re leaving shortly.”

Grace nodded as she reached for the phone. She waited until Jim left before she started dialing, pondering as she fingered each number, how very much like Matthew he had turned out to be.

 

 

“Mummy? What time is dinner? Mart has challenged the girls to some sort of game on that Wii you bought them for Christmas and ---” Diana stopped abruptly as she realized her mother was speaking on the phone. Her head tilted to one side and her eyes narrowed as she listened, unashamedly, to the one side of the conversation she could hear. It was clear her mother had received some unexpected news.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Grace. Diana will help me, and I’m sure between the two of us we can cover the meeting with David. It won’t be a problem at all. In fact –” She turned and gave her daughter a reassuring look. “Diana and Mart are eating with us tonight. Ed’s gone on business and I’m cooking.”

She laughed at the answer. “Yes, of course. If I can manage to cook enough food to satisfy Mart Belden’s appetite, then I’m sure a few meetings and phone calls will be no problem. Very well, let me know when you know more.”

Carol Lynch sighed heavily as she hung up the phone.

“What’s going on, Mummy?” Di asked. “What am I to help you with?”

“That poor Tammy Langham, you remember her, Grace Wheeler’s best friend for just ages.”

“Yes of course, she’s been super nice. She even gave Trixie some business.”

“Apparently her husband was involved in a shooting earlier today. He’s in critical condition. Grace is going to be with her, and she’s asked us to handle a meeting for her tomorrow morning about the table arrangements for the fundraiser. You’ve met David Steward a few times, right?”

Diana grinned. David was fun. “Oh, yes. No problem. I’ll rearrange my morning and meet you there. But what I was really coming in here to ask you –”

“Will dinner be ready soon?” Mart stuck his head into the kitchen. “I’m surrounded by girls out here, not that I’m complaining mind you. I’ve already beaten them once at their favorite racing game, but before I agree to go two out of three, I wanted to check on dinner.”

“We could already be eating if I could find someone to set the table for me.” Carol Lynch smiled at her son-in-law as she gave the large bowl of salad a final toss.

“Say no more!” he bounced into the kitchen and headed for the cabinet. Mart was as familiar with the Lynch family kitchen as he was his own.

Diana moved to grab the flatware from the drawer, happy to be eating with her mother and sisters. “Mummy, tell Mart about the phone call from Mrs. Wheeler,” she said as she followed Mart around the table, positioning the forks and spoons as she moved.

“That poor Tammy Langham,” Carol lamented. “Grace called to let me know that her husband, Harold has been shot.”

“Harold? Harold Langham? That’s the arrogant miscreant that pinched –”

“Martin!” Diana said sharply. “We agreed that you were never going to bring that up again, remember? Besides, the poor man has been hurt.”

Mart looked thunderous for a moment, until, noticing the look of sympathy in Carol Lynch’s eye, he realized she knew Harold for exactly what he was. “I’m not bringing it up,” he explained. “I just want to make sure I’ve got the right man.”

“From what you didn’t say, I can assure you, you have the right man,” Carol said kindly. “It doesn’t surprise me in the least that he made a move on Diana. She has two legs and breasts, so she’d be on his radar.”

“Mummy!” Diana gasped.

“It’s true, dear. I’m sorry the man is hurt, but that doesn’t change what he is, or was. Your father said he has a sharp business brain, and can structure a deal like nobody’s business. Unfortunately, in the last ten years or so, he’s been a regular womanizer. If you were anywhere in his general vicinity, he probably made a move on you.”

“There are plenty of single, available women for him to move on,” Mart protested. “He had no business touching my wife!”

“Of course he didn’t,” Carol sympathized. “What did you do about it?”

“Mummy …” Diana’s warning was interrupted immediately by her husband.

“Told him I knew how to turn a stallion into a gelding and had access to the equipment to castrate him if he ever so much as looked at my wife again,” he said cheerfully. “I’m fairly certain he got the message especially after my, um, physical persuasion was added on top of my verbal warning.”

“Good for you,” Carol said with a smile, cutting off Diana’s protest with a look only a mother could give. “Now, are we ready to eat?”

 

 

“Belden, you’ve certainly gotten yourself in the middle of things, haven’t you?”

Trixie processed the information as well as what Dan didn’t say. Taking a deep breath, she answered, “I have a feeling that you’re not going to tell me he shot himself.”

“Not unless you think that two gunshot wounds look like suicide,” he replied.

Trixie drew in a deep breath. “Someone killed him.”

“Tried to, anyway. Now, see, Belden. Conclusions like that are probably why my boss is asking me where you are and wanting to give that information to the detectives assigned to the case. Seems they know he had an appointment with you and your agency this afternoon.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m not telling you anything, you got that?” Dan answered emphatically. “Just be available, because any minute some of New York’s finest are going to be calling on you at your office.”

“Dan –” She stopped. “Please. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

The silence grew as neither one of them said anything for one long minute. Dan finally spoke. “There’s a suicide note, but the detectives aren’t buying it. Apparently, he had time to call 9-1-1 before he lost consciousness. And Trix, you better act like you don’t know that, understand?”

“Yeah, thanks Dan. I owe you one.”

“You owe me more than one,” he muttered. “And trust me, you’re going to come clean on exactly what you’re doing over there at that agency, because I’m not buying you in the role of finder of lost dogs.”

 

 

Jim felt stiff and awkward. It was one thing to express his concerns to Tammy Langham, but he knew his presence was neither needed nor wanted. But he couldn’t just dump his mother and run. Such things required courtesy and deference, something he had no problem providing, but he felt awkward nonetheless.

If they’d just give me something to do! he lamented to himself. Something besides getting tea from the cafeteria, he swiftly corrected. His hands kept wandering to his pocket, where he fingered his cell phone. His fingers were practically itching to call Trixie and see what she was doing.

“Jim,” Grace walked over to the chair where Jim was waiting. “Tammy has a favor to ask, would you mind listening?”

“Of course not.” He moved swiftly, glad to have something to occupy his mind, and accompanied his mother to the corner of the waiting room.

“Jim,” Tammy sniffed. “Thank you again for bringing your mother, I just …” She sniffed again. “I just don’t know what I would do without her.” She gave a watery smile in Grace’s direction.

“I’m happy to help,” Jim said, his voice full of the compassion he felt. “If there’s anything I can do, please just let me know.”

“There is something …” her voice trailed off. “It’s a bit of an imposition, I know before I’m even asking you.”

“If it’s something that will help, you only need to ask.”

“Harold told me that, well, he explained about you and Trixie being engaged.”

Jim’s eyes cut over to his mother’s face as that tidbit was revealed and noted her expression remained unchanged.

“I was wondering,” Tammy continued, “if you thought Trixie could find out more for me about Harold? The police, they said there was a suicide note, they showed it to me and everything, but I don’t think Harold wrote it.”

“It wasn’t his handwriting?” Jim asked. He immediately kicked himself for being insensitive.

“It was typed,” she answered. “Harold wasn’t prone to doing much typing.”

“I see.” Jim was quiet as he pondered the information. Based on his education and experience, Jim couldn’t see Harold Langham as the type to commit suicide. No, he thought to himself, he’d go out in a blaze of glory before he’d do something like that. “What exactly do you want her to do?”

“Prove he didn’t attempt suicide,” Tammy said immediately. “If she can, that is,” she hastened to add. “The police aren’t telling me anything right now, and I need to know. They won’t even tell me what happened, and when I can see him and –” She was unable to continue as anguish overwhelmed her.

Grace reached out and touched Jim’s arm. “Perhaps you could call Trixie,” she said softly. “Maybe go see her and talk to her about this.”

“How will you get home?” he asked, wanting nothing more than to leave.

“I’ll probably stay here until the doctors tell us something,” she answered. “If not, I’ll take a cab to the apartment. Just drop my bag off sometime, okay?”

Jim nodded. “I’ll give Trixie a call and let you know what she says.”

“Thank you, dear.” Grace moved to put a comforting arm around her friend as Jim looked helplessly on for a few more moments. His fingers finally grasped his cell phone and he left the waiting room to make the call.

He frowned when she didn’t answer her office number or her cell phone and decided to call the office. Reaching the new receptionist, he identified himself and asked for Sean or Amy. He was immediately transferred to Amy.

“Hello Dr. Frayne, how can I help you?” she asked politely.

“It’s Trix, um, Beatrix that I’m looking for,” he said. “It’s a matter of some urgency or I wouldn’t bother you.”

“The boss is busy with the police at the moment,” Amy admitted. “It may be a while before she’s able to call you back. Can I help you in the meantime?”

Jim explained the nature of his call, giving her the request from Tammy Langham. He was surprised at the silence that greeted him. “Amy? Are you still there?” he asked, wondering if the line had been disconnected.

“Yes, I’m here,” she spoke hastily. “Look, Dr. Frayne. I think you can tell Mrs. Langham that the police aren’t seriously considering this an attempted suicide. In fact, the way they’re questioning my boss at the moment, you’d think she was their number one suspect.”

 

 

Trixie flopped in the comfortable chair in front of her television. She picked up the remote as if it weighed several pounds instead of ounces and located a local news station known for their in-depth reporting of local crimes. She was exhausted but still determined to see what the local news would report on the shooting of Harold Langham.

By the time she had answered the local police detective’s questions, agreed to assist Tammy Langham in whatever method she could, made a full report back to her boss, and dispatched numerous other queries and facts in her case, she was exhausted. The day had drained her. Now that she was finally home and curled up in her comfortable chair, nothing she did could dispel the unsettled feeling in her gut that she could have somehow prevented Harold Langham’s injury.

Jim’s call had rattled her. Trixie found herself reluctantly admitting to Jim that the police had already questioned her extensively. She had used her contract with Langham Industries to avoid some of their questions. However, once numerous people, including two local police detectives who had attended Allison’s funeral, had confirmed her whereabouts, the pressure had eased. The police had warned her to stay out of it, but that hadn’t kept her from calling Tammy and Harold’s partner and suggesting that he and Tammy retain counsel for their protection and the protection of the business. Now, she was finally home. The news program started, and while Trixie knew the information broadcast would be sketchy at best, she was anxious to see the report. She turned the volume up as the picture of Harold Langham and the Langham Industries logo flashed on the screen.

“Earlier today, the New York Police Department told our reporter that at 1:20 p.m. today, they boarded a yacht at the North Cove Marina in response to a 911 call. On board the yacht, registered to Langham Industries of New York, they found an unconscious white male in his late 50s. Police confirmed to WCBC the injured man was Harold Langham, President and CEO of Langham Industries. At this time NYPD spokesperson said foul play had not been ruled out.”

The broadcast continued to give biographic background on Harold, his mother and his wife. Trixie continued to listen, hoping to glean a piece of new information, when she was startled by a firm knock on her door. Glancing at the door, she couldn’t help but wonder why her visitor hadn’t been announced. She moved quickly to the door and peeked through the spy hole. Gasping in surprise, she yanked the door open.

“Brian!” she exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing here?”