When It's Time for Leaving by Ang Pompano

Author:Ang Pompano [Pompano, Ang]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9781948338929
Publisher: Encircle Publications
Published: 2019-09-22T19:30:27+00:00

28

JOHNSON TOLD ME THAT THEy didn’t have a motive, or means of how Big Al could get from The Palms to Ava Island. But once that was figured out, there wasn’t much he could do to help him.

No matter how tired I was, there was no way I was going to be able to sleep now. After Johnson left I went inside and poked around my father’s office. It was time that I got a better understanding of him.

The old man was a collector but by no means a pack rat. Everything had a place. Most of his mementos were on a floor-to-ceiling bookcase in his office that took up one wall of the small room. I looked at his shelves trying to get a hint of who he was. At one point, I didn’t give a damn about knowing, but things had changed.

Judging from some of the things he kept, the guy that I thought was a hardnosed private investigator had a sentimental side. Although I couldn’t be sure why he kept some of the things he did. I wondered if they had to do with cases he worked on or something more personal. There was a lump of grey volcanic rock, pretty heavy for something that could fit in the palm of your hand. An eight-inch statue that looked like an Aztec god had me stumped. Maybe he was into Mesoamerican religion. I turned the statuette over and found the word Mexico scratched in the bottom of the terra cotta piece and decided it was a souvenir. In a Plexiglas stand, there was a Joe Montana football card. The plaque read “Upper Deck Promo Card Limited Edition of 1991.” Funny, Montana was a hero of mine in those years when my father was gone. I had the same card. I don’t remember who gave it to me. I think my mom said some relative who lived far away sent it to me. Another small statue, this one of Sherlock Holmes—the one played by Basil Rathbone, my favorite Holmes. The old man’s books could have come right off my own shelf; everything from forensics to biographies of Mark Twain and the Beatles, to mysteries by McBain, Chandler, and Christie.

In a shirt box on the top shelf was a stack of papers about an inch thick. I leafed through them. His PI license and several awards, one from the grateful state of Georgia for finding the Granville kidnapper.

There were also a couple of diplomas and course completion certificates in criminal justice. I had a little more respect for him that he didn’t hang that stuff on the wall. Then to my surprise, I found a small picture in a plastic frame with no glass. I knew the picture well. It was my sixth-grade class picture—a chubby kid with curly hair and a big smile. How the hell did he get that? He had been long gone by the time I was in the 6th grade.

From the second shelf, I picked up a plastic Magic 8 ball.

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