Bury Me When I'm Dead by Cheryl A Head Page B

Gil said. “So, I followed up with a search in a legal database. I found a couple of real estate transactions on behalf of a Joyce Stringer but they’re listed as private so I have to go another route. Don’t worry. I’ll get the information. No real estate transaction is really private when there are title companies and taxes to be paid.”
    Don shouted a directive: “Acosta, see if you can find out who owns the house where the cousin lives.”
    â€œThat’s a good idea,” Charlie said. “The return address is on the envelope in the case file. And while you’re checking real estate records, would you see if the family home in Detroit has been sold?”
    â€œOkay, will do,” Gil said. “Here’s Judy, again.”
    â€œHow’s Birmingham?”
    â€œFrom what I’ve seen, I’ll take Detroit.”
    â€œI guess it’s like that song about home from The Wiz: ‘I wish I was back there with the things I’ve been knowing,’” Judy said.
    Charlie laughed. “Right. That fits.”
    Gil tolerated Judy and Charlie’s show-tunes game but Don thought the habit was odd, bordering on ridiculous.
    â€œJudy, I know it’s late but will you follow up on those phone logs? Will you fax them to the motel office when you have them?” Charlie asked.
    â€œSure. Should I take the case file home?”
    â€œYep, and please give Gil a copy of the cousin’s letter.”
    For the second time that day, Don and Charlie lined up at the Wendy’s drive-thru. They ordered burgers, stuffed potatoes and a couple of Frosty’s. Charlie also ordered a garden salad to counter the salt and fat. They ate hunkered over the coffee table in Charlie’s motel room while watching the local and national news. The newscasts were filled with reports of mayhem near and far. Don went to his adjoining room to call his wife and Charlie checked in on Ernestine.
    â€œHow was your trip, honey?” her mother asked.
    â€œWe had a delay but we arrived safe and sound. We’re staying in a motel north of downtown. It’s nice and we’re just starting to get a little breeze. You were right, It’s almost twenty degrees warmer here.”
    â€œYes, it can be really hot all the way up to October.”
    There was a pause in the conversation.
    â€œDid you have a good day, Mom?”
    â€œOh, yes, nothing eventful to report,” Ernestine said tersely. Charlie waited. Her mother was unusually quiet, that meant she had something to say. Charlie girded herself with a stiff pull on the straw in her Frosty.
    â€œAre you and Don sharing a room?”
    She’d introduced Don to Ernestine two and a half years ago during a reception for Immigration and Customs Enforcement graduates. He was thirty-five, married, just under six feet tall and built solid through the middle, some might even say stocky, with thinning brown hair and intense blue eyes. Although he could be a son of a bitch, he was smart and you always knew where you stood with him. With a mother’s instincts, Ernestine immediately knew there was something between them.
    â€œWe have separate rooms. But we’re using my room as a makeshift office,” Charlie added.
    There was a longer pause. Ernestine was a social liberal who claimed to have no prejudice against interracial relationships but neither did she condone them. She was also religious enough to count adultery as a major sin. She had made her views on both issues very clear to Charlie.
    â€œWell, just be careful, dear.”
    Her tone was loaded with admonition despite the accompanying endearment. Charlie sighed audibly.
    â€œI know you’re annoyed, Charlene, but as long as I can think straight, I’ll worry about you,” Ernestine said.
    They said their goodbyes and disconnected. Despite her irritation, Charlie preferred her mother’s criticism to the dementia threatening to envelop