Nursing a Grudge: An Earl Walker Mystery

Chapter 10

Earl and Jenny got back to his apartment without incident. Neither spoke the whole way. Earl noticed Jenny still had a slight limp. She didn’t complain once.

For his part, Earl was sore in all kinds of places. His fingers ached, his legs ached, his knees, his left side, his left arm—he was a mess. He was glad to get back home. If this is what happened when he got involved in other people’s business, let somebody else take care of it.

Earl just wanted to get back to his TV and his wrestling. So he could watch someone else get battered for a while.

Jenny carried the box the final few feet to the small, round dining room table and dropped it then went to the couch, plopped down, and let out an enormous sigh.

Earl looked out the door one more time then closed it and locked it. The apartment was dark. He rolled his chair backward from the door, slowly, just a few feet. Watching.

You’re being paranoid, Earl told himself. You got home fine. He turned on the lamp and put his hands on his wheels once more and was reminded how much his fingers ached. He needed to rest. This was more wear and tear than his body had seen in years. And years.

He looked over at the box of record albums on top of the table. In his present condition, he was momentarily content to just look at them from a few yards away.

“Thank you.” His voice cracked. “You’re a great sport.”

Still collapsed on the couch, still trying to catch her breath, Jenny waved in reply. She looked around the apartment. “By the way, have you found a new place to live yet?”

“One thing at a time.” Earl put his hands on his wheels and forced himself to roll toward the table. The box was too tall on the table for him to reach into from the top. He tried to work his fingers in to get at the thin cardboard sleeves but couldn’t seem to get one out.

“Wait.” Jenny flailed a second then got off the couch. “I’ll help.” She stumbled over to the table and took a chair. She pulled the end of the box around and delicately pulled at the jackets with her narrow fingers. She got several of them out and handed them to Earl. He gazed at the big square covers. Billy May & His Orchestra. Les Baxter & His Orchestra. She pulled some more out and stacked them—Percy Faith, Frank Sinatra, Doris Day, and more.

Earl looked at the Billy May record cover front and back and front again. “I don’t get it.”

“Maybe there’s nothing to get. I mean, I know we got all worked up, but maybe the guy was just chasing us because, oh, I don’t know, we stole something out of that apartment?”

Earl shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what in the world I expected. But I was so sure.” He slipped the black vinyl disc out of the cardboard jacket. He flipped on the overhead light and held the record up, letting the light reflect off it.

“What’s that?” Jenny pointed down at the floor around Earl’s feet.

Earl looked down. There was a folded sheet of paper. “Huh?”

“It dropped out when you got the record out of the cardboard.”

He set the vinyl on the table, reached down, and picked up the paper. Unfolding it he found a name, a series of words, and some numbers on it. “Huh.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure.” He set the paper on the table and grabbed the Les Baxter record. There was another folded paper tucked inside. Earl pointed to the pile of records Jenny had stacked on the table. “Look in those.”