“There you are,” he said, finishing the job.
“Did you enjoy the view?” she asked coquettishly.
“Yes, frankly, it was wonderful,” he said taking a last look before she got up.
“My uncle Bob will sit on a chair for an hour if I’m on the sofa with my dress up a little. It’s really quite funny.”
“It’s the nature of man,” Sunderson said self-righteously. She had to be sixteen and above the age of consent.
“Boys are terrible now. All they want day after day is blow jobs.” She was apparently eager to talk about sex.
“Well, I suppose you avoid pregnancy.”
“I simply don’t like it one bit. I’m saving for college if you have any work you need done. I’m good at weeding. I get two bucks an hour.”
“I have a flower garden that needs work when you have time.”
“Sure thing.” She hiked up her dress to throw a leg over the bike seat, a view which gave him a jolt. She smiled and rode off.
She hadn’t returned as of yet. He meant to have her rake some leaves which he loathed doing. People in Munising used to be cheapskates. You’d rake for hours and get blisters on your hands for a couple of quarters that you very much needed. He was always saving for another fishing reel he’d seen in the Montgomery Ward catalog.
It was a warm day for September and later that morning he saw Barbara in a pair of tan shorts in the grocery store buying a box of Cheerios. He imagined her eating from her bowl in her early morning nightie. When she saw him she cocked her hips and apologized for not yet taking care of his flowers saying, “Maybe this afternoon.” He had no plans other than to watch the University of Michigan — Michigan State football game on television. When he got home he arranged a peeking laboratory up in his bedroom where a window looked out on the backyard flower garden. He adjusted its shade for concealment and polished his binoculars. Barbara made him lonesome for his ex-girlfriend Monica who had worked at the Landmark Inn in town, but now had a boyfriend close to her own age, a college student at that. Monica liked sex even more than he did and during their months together he was frankly so worn out that he missed a lot of the last week of trout season. Since Monica left a couple of months before, he had made love twice to his ex-wife Diane. He had had dinner at her place and been lucky enough to see Mona, who was home for the weekend from college, step out of the shower. He winced and ran for the kitchen where he had a nasty glass of Diane’s cooking sherry.
An insane desire occurred to him to go down on Barbara, as unlikely an idea as world peace. Did this call for the services of a mind doctor? Sexual fantasies could easily become tiresome, the mind migrated anywhere it could get its nose tweaked. He defended himself with the contention that Barbara was aesthetically overwhelming but even he had to admit that this was truly lame. Her father was on the city council and they had been at odds several times. He was a classic liberal who was sure the police were forever on the verge of taking away human rights from everyone.
He finally checked his cell for an explanation for all of the irritating predawn calls. They were from Ziegler, Marquette’s only possible tycoon. When Sunderson was still on the force and Ziegler’s son was thirteen, one of his friends had sneaked a five-pound joke turd, a true monster, into their toilet at a party and Ziegler had called the station demanding a police investigation to catch the guilty perp. The captain had Sunderson answer the call because Sunderson was thought to have married well and therefore to be a gentleman by the movers and shakers of the city. The captain of course knew this was an illusion. Ziegler was a local boy who had done phenomenally well, becoming an all-American tight end at the University of Michigan. He had graduated with high honors and his senior thesis had been published as a book. It was an exposé of his own family’s turpitude in the mining business. When they came in contact, which was not often, Ziegler always pretended he couldn’t remember Sunderson’s name, an old tactic.
His son and twin girls were students at the University of Michigan. Mona had said they were typically perky rich kids. On the phone Ziegler said that one daughter was a problem and arranged to meet Sunderson on a street corner three blocks away. He was careful about appearances and didn’t want people to see him consorting with a private detective. Sunderson met Ziegler’s Lexus at the corner. He was obviously transfixed by two girls doing wheelies on their bikes at the intersection. One was a sprightly, handsome girl, the niece of the president of the university, and the other was Barbara, her light short skirt flipping up to her waist. Legs to die for, he thought. He knocked on Ziegler’s window and got an irritated look then was beckoned into the car.
“I’d give thousands for a night with that one.”
“Which one?” Sunderson teased.
“Don’t fuck with me. I want those legs around my neck.”
“I think she’s underage. She lives three houses down the street from me.”
“I don’t give a shit. I’d take the chance. That’s what lawyers are for.”
“Her father is on the city council.” Sunderson said this with an air of threat.
“I don’t care. I can buy those little chickenshits for lunch.”
Barbara rode close to the passenger seat, looked in the open window. “I’ll be over in a little while after I pick up lemons for lemonade, darling.”
“Why the fuck is she calling you darling? Why is she coming over?” Ziegler exploded.
“We’re friends. She takes care of my flower garden.”
“A big tough detective with a beautiful pussy weeding his flowers. That doesn’t add up.”
“A medium-size ex — state police detective with ten black belts in karate.” He added the latter as manly decoration. Ziegler was restless as they danced around the main business.
“Here’s the killer. I sent one of my daughters, Margaret, a check for three thousand to buy duds because she got all A’s at the university. She signed over the check which was cashed by an organization called the Circle of Heaven and Hell. I had an old friend in the athletic department check it out. It’s a Zen Buddhist group headed by a California kook. Now I’m not so dense that I don’t know that Zen Buddhism is a time-honored group. But this cucaracha floated in with a costume of black robes and picked up a bunch of strays. He has them howling like monkeys.”
“Monkeys?” Sunderson played dumb. Ziegler’s wife had engaged Sunderson to look into the group when all three of the kids were involved, and he wanted to avoid reminding the man that he hadn’t taken it all that seriously. He wondered why the athletic department.
“Yes. That was the report I got. I want you to look into this. Obviously I pay well.”
That took care of that. It should be easy. He’d begin with Mona. She had looked into it before and he was sure she’d be up for it again. Meanwhile Ziegler implied he’d like to come over in order to see Barbara again. Sunderson, wanting privacy for his voyeurism, said that he had too much work to do.
“What does she wear?” Ziegler asked plaintively.
“Soft khaki short shorts. She’s working on a tan.”
Ziegler looked up at the sky through the windshield as if some answer might be there. He shook Sunderson’s hand.
“Let me hear from you ASAP.”
“Of course.”
Sunderson walked hurriedly home to assume his upstairs perch. He reached the front porch just as Barbara pulled into the yard with a sack of lemons. He waved her into the house and followed her down to the hall into the kitchen with a sharp eye on her wagging butt cheeks.