I threw my bike into the back of the Bronco and headed over to Tom Hale’s condo. I knew Pete had been by there earlier and let Billy Elliot out to do his business, but I had a feeling that Billy might not have gotten a good run in—Pete’s knees aren’t what they used to be. So I thought I’d stop by and take him for a short whirl around the parking lot. Plus, I had some other business I wanted to get Tom’s help with.
The entire way over I couldn’t get Ethan out of my head. Every time I blinked I saw his deep brown eyes looking into mine, and when I gripped the steering wheel and turned the Bronco into the parking lot at Tom’s, I could feel the back of his neck in my hands. I looked at myself in the mirror as I rode up the elevator to Tom’s apartment. For somebody who’d been drunk the night before and barely slept a wink, I didn’t look too bad, if I do say so myself.
I tapped on the door and opened it a peek. “Tom?”
“I’m back here, Dixie.”
I found Tom sitting in his wheelchair at the dining table with his laptop and a stack of papers laid out in front of him. Billy Elliot came racing to the door to greet me as I came in.
Tom took off his glasses. “Hey, we missed you this morning. You know Pete stopped by already, right?”
“I know. I’m sorry, Tom. I had a busy schedule today, so I had to ask Pete to fill in for me, but I thought I’d take Billy Elliot out for a jog if that’s okay.”
“Not a problem at all. We thought maybe you were sleeping in because you had a big date last night.”
Before I could stop myself, I said, “What? Who said that?” at about the highest, shrillest level my voice is capable of.
Tom’s eyes widened. “Whoa, I was kidding there, Dixie, but looks like maybe I hit on something.”
I pulled a couple of wandering strands of hair away from my face and smoothed them over my ears. “No, not at all, I’m just surprised because … because…”
He was grinning, and I’m sure my eyes were wandering willy-nilly all over their sockets as I searched for some plausible reason to be yelling like a howler monkey.
“Okay, fine. I had a date last night. Big deal!”
He chuckled. “Hey, I’m pretty good, huh? Maybe I should be a private detective.”
I said, “Huh. Funny you should mention that, because I actually have some detective work for you. I was talking to a friend of mine, and she told me that in Spain, Kermit the Frog is known as René, but last night I was at a Spanish restaurant, and the owner told me that in Spain they call him something different.”
Tom put his glasses on and slid his laptop over. “Hmmm, let’s see.”
His fingers clicked away at the keyboard. I’ve always been resistant to computers, or anything electronic, for that matter. I think I was the last person I know to even get a cell phone. I held out for as long as I could, but eventually I realized the whole world was going to leave me in the dust if I didn’t break down and get one. I was beginning to feel that way about computers.
Tom said, “Yep, he was right. They call him Gustavo in Spain.”
“Huh.”
He scrolled through a couple more screens. “That’s funny. Why don’t they just call him Kermit?”
I shrugged. “Beats me. I guess the name Kermit doesn’t translate right in Spain for some reason.”
Billy Elliot came trotting up and dropped his leash at my feet. I think he’d had enough talk about Kermit the Frog for now. I clipped his leash on his collar while he wagged his tail like a helicopter blade.
“Alright, Mr. Elliot, let’s go out for a spin, okay?”
He wiggled his whole body with excitement, and we started for the door.
Tom was still looking at his computer screen. “Yeah, here it is. This says Kermit the Frog is called René in Guatemala.”
I slid to a stop, and Billy Elliot looked back at me.
“Huh?”
He squinted at the screen. “Yep. Guatemala. Your friend just had it mixed up. They call him René in Guatemala.”
* * *
As Billy Elliot raced around the circular driveway pulling me behind him, my thoughts raced around what Tom had just told me. Instead of feeling I knew more about Corina now, I actually felt like I knew less. I had one pretty good reason why she might lie about where she was from, but I didn’t want to admit it to myself. At least not yet. So I racked my brain trying to come up with an explanation.
Why would she lie? Spain sounds glamorous, but then so does Guatemala. Hell, I’ve never been outside Florida, so Peoria, Illinois, sounds pretty glamorous to me. Was it possible that perhaps she’d just misunderstood what we were talking about? Maybe she was just struggling with the language?
No. I knew I was only fooling myself, and the sooner I owned up to it the better.
The question to ask was: What next? I wasn’t completely sure, but I knew I needed to get over to Joyce’s and talk to her as soon as possible.
As usual, Billy Elliot and I rode up in the elevator panting like two rabid hyenas. I gave him a pat on the rump and told him he was a good boy, then hung his leash up in the hallway and called out to Tom.
“Thanks for the research, Tom! See you later.”
He said, “Hey, hold on a minute. You never told me about your hot date last night.”
As I closed the door I called out, “I know!”
* * *
I raced over to Joyce’s house, trying to figure out what my game plan was. I figured she’d be upset when I told her what I thought. She and Henry the VIII had a nice life they’d set up for themselves, but I knew having Corina and the baby in the house had given their little family a much-needed jolt of excitement. Plus, I think she enjoyed having the feeling that there were people at home who needed her.
I slowed down again as I approached the place in the park where we first saw Corina. Just as I passed, a homeless man in a filthy yellow tank top and dirty white shorts stepped out of the bushes. His skin was tanned dark brown, but his face and neck had the shiny red flush of an alcoholic. He had a red bandanna tied around his head to hold his scraggly, sun-bleached hair back, and he was carrying several overstuffed garbage bags and a milk carton. He waved as I went by, and I sheepishly waved back.
As I pulled into the driveway, Joyce was unloading groceries out of the backseat of her station wagon.
She waved as I got out of the Bronco and walked over. “Whew! Perfect timing! You can help me carry all this stuff in.”
Her backseat was filled with packs of bottled water and groceries, and there was a big fat watermelon strapped into the baby chair.
I said, “Joyce. Before we go in, there’s something we need to talk about. Is Corina here?”
“Sure. She’s taking a nap with Dixie Joyce. What’s the matter?”
“Good. I need to tell you something about her, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
She frowned and set the bag of groceries she was holding down on the hood of the car. “Hmm, that doesn’t sound good.”
“Well, I could be wrong—but it’s something we have to consider.”
She leaned against the car and folded her arms. “I think I know what you’re going to say.”
“You do?”
She nodded. “Is it about the bird?”
“Yeah.”
“You think Corina was going to sell it.”
I nodded. “Joyce, I think she lied when she said she was from Spain, and she may be poor, but I don’t think she’s homeless. You said that bird was from Guatemala, right?”
She nodded sadly.
“Well, my friend Tom looked it up—Kermit the Frog isn’t called René in Spain, he’s called Gustavo.”
Joyce looked down and shook her head. “Oh Lord.”
“I know. And guess what he’s called in Guatemala.”
She nodded. “I think I knew all along and I just didn’t want to think about it. She was on pins and needles the whole time that bird was at the vet’s, and if you’d seen how quickly he took to her … it was like he’d known her all his life.”