Chapter 11

When I returned with BJ from her usual morning outing in the back lot, I heard my answering machine demanding my attention. When I looked at it, I saw the light on top was flashing; checking the machine it told me I had three new messages. “Gee,” I mused, “I must be getting more popular in my old age!”

The first message was from Scott. He requested I call him to arrange a time to meet today. In the message, he said he wanted to talk over some things with me. The first thing that came to mind was he’d discovered a way out of my houseboat dilemma: like a new spot for me to tie it up. But I also knew better than to get my hopes up.

The second call was from Jeff L. asking me to call his office at my earliest convenience. Perhaps the word I should use is “commanding” I call his office as soon as possible. Due to the tone of his voice, I wasn’t really excited to return his call promptly. I called the tone of his voice “the cop voice,” and I knew I wasn’t ready to deal with him so early in the day. A cup of coffee first and then see how I felt.

The third message sounded the most interesting of the three. A woman’s voice spoke to me from the machine, and from the sound of her voice, she wasn’t very old. The voice was low- pitched and sultry and I also thought I detected a slight accent, but since it was so subtle, I couldn’t quite place it.

“Um, Good morning.” I could hear she was nervous, and I could tell she didn’t know exactly what to say. “My name is Jennifer Rockingham,” she paused and then went on to inform me, “I got your number from my father’s attorney. I was wondering if you could please call me back. There’s a ... ah ... a matter I need to discuss with you.” She left a number where to reach her, and my machine clicked off. Short, but not informative.

Standing there staring at the machine, I halfway expected it to explain to me who it was that called. I replayed the message twice more but still found that I was in the dark. I wondered, “Who the hell is Jennifer Rockingham?”

I glanced at the clock on the microwave and saw it was just past eight AM and I wanted to clean up before I returned any calls. I decided to take my shower first, and everything else could just wait.

Standing in the shower with hot water cascading over me, I tried to recall any person named Jennifer, or any Rockingham that I might have run into during my checkered past. I remembered a Jennifer from college, but the chances she’d ever call me in this lifetime were re- mote, very remote. As I recalled, the last time I saw her was when she slapped my face for some reason that now escapes me. As sad as I am to admit this fact, she was also not the first girl to slap me.

By the time I stepped out of the shower, I was still clueless who this person was. My curiosity was really getting to me. After I dried off, I wrapped the towel around my tummy, wandered into my front room, picked up the phone and punched in the number the woman had left. Two rings later, there was an answer. “Hello!”

I immediately recognized the sexy voice from my machine. “Hello!” I wanted to make sure, “May I speak to Jennifer Rockingham, please.”

“This is she.” No doubt about it, this woman had a nice speaking voice.

“Good morning. This is Matt. Ah ... Matthew, Matthew Preston. You called me this morning.”

“Oh yes, Mr. Preston. Good morning. Thank you for returning my call so quickly.” She sounded genuinely happy to hear from me. “The reason I was calling you is in regard to my father, Elmo. Elmo Rockingham.”

Complete silence on my part.

And?

So?

I waited for more. The name she said meant nothing to me and I waited for her to continue, but it appeared she was waiting for me to speak. The silence grew between us. I was clueless and a bit embarrassed to respond. I couldn’t help but wonder, Who the hell are these people who know me? I don’t have a clue about their identity. First Jennifer, and now a mysterious father? What’s next, the shotgun?

Finally, after a very long pause I broke the silence, “Who did you say you were calling about?”

“Elmo Rockingham.”

“I’m sorry Miss Rockingham. I don’t mean to be rude, but you seem to have me at a disadvantage. The name means nothing to me. Should it?” I tried to make my voice as charming as I could, because I felt embarrassed, I couldn’t be of more help.

She responded quickly, “Oh! Gosh! I’m so sorry Mr. Preston, I didn’t realize you didn’t know his given name. Please forgive me, I just assumed you knew who he was. I believe you probably knew my father as ‘Slim’, ‘Slim’ Rockingham.”

“Excuse me ... ah ... Miss?” I paused.

She replied, “Miss.”

“Miss Rockingham, yes, I knew your father. I’m the one who needs to apologize. I’m sorry, but until this minute, I’d never heard your father’s actual name. Yes, I knew him. When I met your father, they introduced him as Slim, and I only ever heard him called Slim.” I paused for a few seconds, wondering if I should say more. Finally, I continued, “I’m so sorry about your father’s death, my condolences Miss.”

“Thank you, Mr. Preston.” She paused, and then spoke quickly, “The reason I’m calling you is ... well ... I understand you somehow might have an interest in my father’s estate. Am I correct?”

It occurred to me briefly this might be one rather cold lady. A few days ago, someone had killed her dad, and here she’s sounding as if she’s already worried that she wasn’t going to get all of her inheritance.

“Well, yes, in a way I guess I do. Recently, I won your dad’s houseboat in a card game. My plan was to take possession of it the other day when I went over to the marina, and ... um...” For some reason, I really didn’t know how to end what I started to say.

Miss Rockingham interrupted, “Ah — that explains it. About a week ago, father’s attorney called him, and father had informed him that he’d finally ‘gotten rid of the damn thing’, as father had put it, meaning the houseboat.

“Father’s attorney also mentioned you were the new owner. After his death, father’s attorney became rather curious and concerned. Even though father sent him the transfer of ownership papers, signed by both of you, and all the rest of the papers involved with the transfer, none of those papers offered any records of money passing hands. There were no deposit slips, promissory notes, or anything. Father’s attorney handled all of his affairs, so he should have known what the arrangements were. Father’s attorney was going to ask father before he was ... well ... before the other day and when the attorney said he was going to investigate, I told him I’d be glad to call and ask you. I guess father was a bit too embarrassed to tell his attorney what had happened.”

I decided I wanted to rid myself of this goofball in a hurry. It certainly appeared as if she had a real concern about all the money, she thought she had coming. “Look, Ms. Rockingham, I offered to let your dad keep the thing. I felt bad after the game, because I might have put him out of house and home, so to speak. I’ll gladly give up any claim I have to it.

“When I offered it back to your father, he said he was ready to move back to New Mexico, and he told me he was glad to rid himself of it as well. Miss, I’m very happy where I’m living now, and since your dad’s houseboat was winnings from a card game, I’m more than willing to let you have it back. It’s up to you. Tell your attorney, or your father’s attorney, or whomever, I’ll sign anything they need to release any claim I might have.” My feelings were to let her deal with where to tie it up, or what to do with the houseboat. This might be my way out of the damn thing.

Her response was immediate, “Oh no, Mr. Preston, you misunderstand my call. I just wanted to make sure there are no problems with any part of the estate, and given our discussion, we can finish this as quickly as possible. I’ve never seen the houseboat thing, and I can’t imagine why I’d ever want to.” There was a slight pause, and I felt she was considering if she wanted to tell me more, and what that might be. I heard her take a deep breath, then let it out as a deep sigh, before she continued. “Mr. Preston, I know this is none of your business, but since you now seem somewhat involved, I feel the need to explain something.”

She paused for a moment, and then plunged into her explanation, “Father and I have, excuse me, had, a love- hate relationship for most of our lives. He loved and I hated. I was an accidental child, and I always felt that he held it against my mother and me. Shortly after I was born, he decided to leave us, although he continued to provide excellent financial support. In other areas, I received nothing. Mother

had such a difficult time dealing with everything that she eventually sent me away. As she became more depressed, she ended up living as a sort of recluse. I’ve spent most of my life abroad in private schools, paid for by my loving father.” I noticed the word ‘loving’ dripped with sarcasm.

She continued, “For many years we didn’t even correspond with each other. When I finally saw him at mother’s funeral, I was going to let him know he was probably responsible for her early death, but I decided to hold my tongue. We only spoke a few words that day, but I felt genuine remorse on his part for everything that happened. Over the past few months, we finally started to write to each other. Our first phone conversation was about a month ago in ... well, I have no idea. I guess in a way, I’m sad to lose him, especially now I feel he was making an effort to build some type of new relationship with me. But, Mr. Preston, we were never close.”

There was another pause, and I could sense she was feeling uncomfortable, because she realized she’d shared so many of the intimate details of her life. When she continued, her voice was soft, and I had to strain to hear her. “Excuse me, I’m rambling. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to about him ... well, since he ... ah ... passed away.” I felt the young lady had reached the end of her rope; she had told me a lot more than she had planned and now was embarrassed.

After a few more seconds, she gathered her composure, and her voice became brisker as she continued, “As I said, the reason for the call was to clear up any problems with the boat thing. I don’t want to have to deal with it, or see it or...” her voice trailed off.

Another pause, and then she resumed, “The truth of the matter is, I want to return to Europe just as quickly as I can. My life is over there, and there’s nothing here I want to stay for. It was just blind luck, if that’s what you can call it, that I’m in the States now. Mr. Preston, have your attorney contact my father’s if there is anything you can think of that requires resolution. She went on to give me the name and address of Slim’s lawyer, the same one I already had.