Eileen Slovak

Chapter Sixteen: A Case of Girlfriend’s Plural

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and locales are products of the author’s imagination. They are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Eileen Slovak.

Scott

In the Providence Residence Inn, I stretch out on top of the queen-sized bed, clicking through the TV menu. I find an old Clint Eastwood film and leave it on in the background while I sift through the case file: “The Wrongful Death Case of Sean Campbell. From what I’ve gathered so far, I haven’t found anything much to investigate here. I need definitive proof of accidental death. Something to show the grieving parents who can’t accept that their son is dead. I think hiring me was a way of dealing with the grief, to avoid facing facts. Seems like a waste of time and money, all the same.

      The police report reads like a straight up accident, no other vehicles involved. That part doesn’t sit well with me. Why was Sean speeding? He’d have to be a pretty bad driver not to avoid that collision. The car is still in Arkansas at the body shop awaiting a thorough evaluation. The insurance company’s adjuster says the car will be declared totaled. If he decides the crash was the result of operator error, he may not wait for the mechanics report. He says his caseload is overwhelming. If they find anything wrong with the car, it may make little to no difference in terms of the settlement. Another trip to Arkansas sooner than later is in my plans.

I’ve spoken to the mechanic a few times. He says he’s got a dozen cars ahead of this one. He’s been backed up for weeks over parts delays. Doing a diagnostic on the car is not his top priority especially since no repairs are scheduled. I’ll have more luck lighting a fire under him face to face.

      I’ve been working through the list of Sean’s co-workers at Walmart Headquarters in Arkansas over the phone. Sean was a fairly new employee. So far, his new boss and peers have not contributed much about his personal habits. If there’s anything to it, I’ll arrange to meet with them when I’m there next. Although getting a few minutes on the phone with these folks is a challenge.

      When I called the manager of the apartment building, he has little to add. He only says that Sean was quiet and paid his rent on time. He refused to give me the names and phone numbers of Sean’s neighbors without speaking to them first. He only shared that one of the adjacent apartments has been unoccupied, under renovation since before Sean moved in. He seems annoyed that he has another vacant apartment to rent now. He asked if I knew when the personal effects would be removed. I promised to ask the family. Then added that if he would please pass my information on to the neighbors, I’d be most appreciative.

      Not that I need him. Most information is easy enough to find through some basic internet searches and Sean’s social media accounts. He was friends with a Brittany next door who works as a Traveling Nurse. Brittany is blonde, pretty and in her late twenties, close to Sean’s age. I note a possible love interest next to her name. You never know. The woman who lives across the hall from Sean, Mrs. Casey is a retired school teacher. Her Facebook page says she spends the winter months traveling to see her grandchildren in different states. I shake my head. It’s like people want to hang out a “come rob me” sign.

      Most of Sean’s life was spent here in Rhode Island. I have a list of people I still need to interview: close contacts, family, friends, and girlfriend’s plural. This will tie up most of the next few weeks. One of his ex-girlfriends is of particular interest. The family seems unusually close with her, Patricia Iannuccilli. She’s a former dancer and ballet instructor in Boston. I already left her a message.

      The other one looks like a woman who eats guys for breakfast. She’s a fierce redhead with piercing blue eyes, Scarlet O’Brien. We already met at the funeral. She fainted. Myself and another guy escorted her out of the church and set her on a bench. I didn’t stick around. She was pretty out of it at the time. I doubt if she’ll remember me if I run into her again. It could have been grief that led to her sudden collapse, or maybe something else. Maybe she’s the scorned ex-lover? Maybe she’s nursing a broken heart? My best instincts say otherwise. Still, people, especially women, manage to surprise me. Couples break up. It happens. I’ll inquire just the same. Sean was a good-looking guy. I’m guessing he didn’t stay lonely for long. Although, most times in my life that I’ve acted erratically, a woman was somehow to blame. I plan to have lunch or maybe dinner at Scarlet’s favorite local haunt, the Un Pub Club. It’s all over her Instagram.

      Stretched out on the bed, I’m staring up at the popcorn ceiling. I’m still thinking about Scarlet, the way she walks, with the casual confidence of an attractive woman. She has a gorgeous smile, incredibly sexy. I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed head in hands. Focus dude! Pulling on my workout gear, I head to the hotel gym. When in doubt, go workout.