“I agree, but you don’t have to leave. I can stay with Patty.”
He glares at me, and I avert my eyes, not wanting to see his disappointment and anger. Out of the corner of my eye I notice our neighbor across the street, dressed in a colorful muu-muu, gawking at us. “Hello, Gertrude. How are you?” I say, feigning that everything is all right.
She waves, and the flab under her arm jiggles. “I’m good. You guys going away for the holidays?”
I look toward Lance, and then I blurt, “Lance is. What about you?”
“I’ll be around. How’s your film going?”
I wish she’d go home. “Great. It was good talking to you,” I say, turning my back to her.
Lance shoves the last box into his car and says, “You’ve gotten good at that?”
“At what?”
“Lying, Gretchen. Lying.”
I bristle at the harshness of his words. “Lance, please—”
“Don’t, Gretchen. I have to get off of this rollercoaster with you. I can’t do this anymore. You need to figure out what you want. What don’t you understand about your tires being slashed? You’ve obviously gotten in over your head, and you won’t listen to your parents or me. You’re destined for destruction. You’re going to get yourself killed trying to find out who killed you twenty-six years ago. How sadly ironic.”
I reach out to him, but he jerks away from me, gets in his car, and drives away. I trade looks with Gertrude. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she says.
“I’ll be fine.” My throat shudders as I try to suppress my tears. They spring to my eyes, and I run into the house.
I flop down on the bottom stair and sob out a mixture of relief and sadness. Relief, because now I can conduct my investigation with unbridled enthusiasm. And sadness, because I’m not sure Lance and I can come back from this. We both said some horrible things to each other when I was at the diner, unforgiveable things.
A ringing phone plucks me from the pity pot. I walk to the living room and answer the landline, wondering if Lance has had a change of heart. Maybe he tried to call me on my cell that’s in my purse, still in the car. I need to get it. The last thing I need is for someone looking for a crime of opportunity to snatch my purse with the gun in it.
“Hello?”
“Is this Gretchen Holloway?”
“This is she. Who’s asking?”
“I’m with Dancing Hills University campus police.”
Anger surges through me when I think about them calling the house. If they hadn’t, Lance would still be here. “You know—” Before I can lash out at them, all the lies I’ve told and all the sneaking around I’ve done fills my head. I’m the reason Lance is gone. I soften my tone. “Thank you for calling. I just wanted to mention that I gave the security guard at the scene my cell number. I’d prefer that you call that phone.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. This is the number we have on file. Anyway, I’m calling to let you know we found someone who may have seen the person who slashed your tires. We were able to get a description.”
“Who was it? Who did they see?”
“The witness says he saw a heavy-set white male, around five foot ten, with short hair and wearing camouflage.” My knees wobble, and I grip the top of the sofa. “Ma’am, are you there?”
“I’m here. I think I saw the same man at Kate & Al’s Diner in Shady Grove this afternoon. He may be following me.” Fear grips me. I wish Lance were home.
“I suggest you contact your local police.”
“I will,” I say, barely able to think straight. “Thank you.” I hang up the phone and pass through the kitchen into the garage. I step inside, and my eyes fix on the open door that Lance promised to repair. The sun has set, and the neighborhood is enveloped in darkness. My car is parked on the street, less than a hundred feet away, but in my mind, it’s light-years away. I flip on the light in the garage, run to my car, jump in, and pull it into the garage, my eyes flitting to the rearview mirror, hoping no one is lurking in the shadows. I press the device clipped to my visor, and the door shrieks and grinds and finally shuts. I grab my purse and tote and go inside, locking the door behind me. I set my bags on the kitchen table and remove my wallet and cell phone. I take Detective Williams’s card out of my wallet, and with trembling fingers I call him.
My call shoots to voicemail after the first ring. You have reached Detective Leon Williams. I’m not available at this time. If this is an emergency, dial 911. If not, leave your name and number, and I’ll return your call.
“Detective Williams, this is Gretchen Holloway. Regina Wilson and I met with you today regarding Robert Parker. Please call me as soon as possible. It’s urgent. Thank you.”
I hang up and sit down at the table. I grab the pouch out of my purse and remove the bullets and the gun, keeping the weapon pointed downward. I check the chambers to make sure they’re empty. My father said it wasn’t loaded, but he trained me to always check to be sure. It’s empty. I load it and set it down, thinking about the stalker. I need to call Kate. Maybe the guy paid with a credit card.
She answers on the first ring. “Gretchen, I didn’t expect you to call so soon.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I got some bad news just now.”
“What?”
“The university police called me. A witness saw the man slashing my tires, and he looks like the customer who was at your diner today, when I was there with Regina.”
“The asshole who was complaining about the overcharge?”
“No, the last guy. The one wearing camouflage. He fits the description of the man who slashed my tires. It can’t be a coincidence. He’s following me, Kate. Can you see if he paid with a credit card? I’m trying to ID this guy.”
“You’re in luck, because I’m still at the diner. Let me check with Sarah. Hopefully, he paid with plastic. Hold on for a minute.” I stand and pace, praying for good news. “Fiddlesticks, Gretchen. He paid with cash. Dammit! And we were running our mouths. Maybe it’s not the same person.”
“I’m pretty sure it was.”
“You need to call the police.”
“I left a message with the detective we met with today.”
“Are you safe? Is your fiancé with you?”
“No, he moved out.”
“Well, that’s rotten timing. I have an extra room. Why don’t you come and stay with me?”
“That’s sweet of you, but I’m going to see if my girlfriend can stay the night. I want to start researching the Barnes family.”
“You call me if you need me.”
“I have a call coming in.” I glance at the screen. Shady Grove Police Department. I think it’s the detective. Bye, Kate,” I say, clicking over to the incoming call. “Hello?”
“May I speak to Gretchen Holloway?”
“This is she. Is this Detective Williams?”
“Yes. I got your message. What can I do for you?”
“Someone slashed my tires today while I was at Dancing Hills University, and that same man was following me.”
“Someone slashed your tires?”
“Yes.”
“You need—”
I shift my weight while I wait for him to complete his sentence.
“What’s up, Williams?”
I wonder who’s talking to him in the background.
“Somebody cut up that college girl’s tires. The one who was asking about Robert Parker. I’m sorry, Gretchen. I’m at the station. As I was saying, you need to contact the Dancing Hills Police Department. The university is in their jurisdiction.”
“You’re right. I didn’t think of that. But … I … uh.”
“What is it?”
“Detective Williams, I think this person is affiliated with whomever killed Robert. They’re trying to get me to quit my investigation.”
“Have they targeted Robert’s sister?”
“Not yet. I’m the one who instigated the investigation. Not long after my first visit to your stati
on, I got a threatening phone call. I’d left my number at the police department. I think someone there is involved, Detective Williams.”
He says nothing.
“Detective Williams?”
“I’m here. Can you meet me tomorrow around noon?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know where Hudson Park is?”
“No, but I can Google it.”
“There’s a bench near the water fountain at the playground. I’ll wait for you there.”
“Okay. And thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He hangs up, and I take a deep, calming breath, wondering what he’s going to tell me, wondering if I can trust him. There are only three people I know I can trust. One is Kate, the other is my father, and I’m about to call the third one.
“Gretchen, I was just going to call you. Kate called and told me about the guy at the diner. Damn, he looked suspicious to me. I should’ve said something.”
“Can you believe it? He’s the guy who slashed my tires.”
“You’d better be careful. Kate said you’re home alone.”
“Well, if anyone tries to break in here, I’m going to greet them like Al Pacino in Scarface: ‘Say hello to my little friend.’”
“He had a machine gun.”
“I know, but my little baby will do the job. Are you okay?”
“I’m good. I just put Taylor to bed. I’m about to get online to start searching for Miss Winter.”
“I just got off the phone with Detective Williams. He wants me to meet him tomorrow at Hudson Park. I think he’s going to share some information with me.”
“That’s near where I used to live. What time are you meeting him?”
“Noon.”
“I have an audition tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. I just found out about it, and I’m meeting with Lorraine after that. I was finally able to catch her at home. I’ll touch base with you afterward.”
“What are you auditioning for?”
“I have ten lines from this new Showtime series. It’s a co-starring role.”
“Good luck and congrats. I’m going to start doing some research myself. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Be safe.”
“Thanks. Goodbye.” I hang up, return to the kitchen, and pick up the gun. I aim at the window and say, “Make my day.” I nearly shoot a round when the garage squeaks. I inch toward the entrance leading to the garage. I press open the door and see that the bottom of the garage door is still ajar. I walk to it and force it closed. I return to the house and replace the gun in its pouch. It’s time to get busy.
******
The time looms large on my computer monitor. I can’t believe I’ve been sitting here for three hours. I stand and stretch, then flop down and get back to work. The Barnes clan is an interesting bunch. According to a 1989 feature story the Shady Grove Bulletin published about Captain Jeffrey Barnes, he and Buford are brothers who hail from Dallas. Jeffrey served as captain from 1989 to 2000. He and Buford began their law enforcement careers in Dallas. They moved to Shady Grove in the mid-eighties. Buford is sixty-five, and Jeffrey is seventy and the head of a private security firm.
Other articles I’ve read indicate a tenure rife with allegations of police misconduct involving several officers and detectives, many of whom were accused of racial profiling, and several lawsuits were settled out of court. Other reports alleged that a secret society existed within the department, comprised of a group of white officers with ties to white supremacist groups.
I alt-tab back to images and scan the numerous photos of the two of them—Jeffrey being sworn in, Buford in front of a patrol car, the two men racing in a marathon while wearing Dallas Enforcers jerseys. So they’re Enforcers fans. Makes sense, as Dallas natives. At dinner the other night, Jim had said that if you live in Dallas and don’t love the Enforcers, you’re not a real Dallasite. There’s a picture of Jeffrey sitting in his office. I zoom in on the image, and my eyes scan the numerous certificates and awards on the wall behind him. There’s a photo of the two men at a press conference. A nagging feeling washes over me. Where else have I’ve seen that look—bulbous nose and the widow’s peak?
My ringing cell disrupts my thoughts. “Hi, Dad.”
“How’d the tires work out?”
“Fine.”
“You sound down. You haven’t gotten more calls or threats, have you?”
“No. I’m just tired.”
“How’s Lance.”
“Please don’t tell Mom, but he left. He’s staying at his Aunt Allison’s place. He sent me a text about an hour ago.”
“What happened?”
“The university called here about the tires being slashed, and he took the call.”
“Sorry, sweetie. Maybe this break will be good for both of you.”
“How’s Mom?”
“She’s asleep. I’ll tell her you asked about her. We look forward to spending Thanksgiving with you this Thursday.”
I scowl. “That’s in three days.”
“Yep. Thursday.”
I think about my mother and how disappointed she’d be if I didn’t show up. Now I’m going to have to make up something about Lance. The last thing I want to hear from her is I told you so. “I’ll be there. But I don’t want to get into anything about Lance.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll run interference.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I want to tell him about my meeting with Detective Williams tomorrow, but I don’t want him to know that the tire slasher followed me to the diner.
“Okay, sweetie. Get some rest.”
“I’ll try. Love you.”
“Love you too.
He hangs up, and my face contorts when pain shoots through my forehead. If my stalker doesn’t kill me, the stress of this case will.
Chapter 28
Regina
Sitting in the kitchen with his face in a book, Taylor glances at me over his reading glasses. “Good morning, sleeping beauty. Is it Terrific Tuesday again?” He chuckles.
“I hope so. Good morning to you too. What are you reading?”
“A book about reincarnation.”
“Shut up.”
“Okay.” He claps his hand over his mouth. I swipe his hand away from his face, and he laughs. “You told me to shut up.”
“I can’t believe you’re reading about reincarnation.” He hands me the book, and I leaf through the pages. “So what do you think?”
“I’ll let you know when I finish the book. Right now, I need to get to work.” He takes the book from me, thrusts his glasses into his shirt pocket, and winks. “What time is your audition?” He gets up from the table, and my eyes travel the length of his huge frame. Wearing jeans, a green polo shirt, and his work boots, he looks younger than his age.
“Noon.” The truth tastes good rolling off my tongue.
“I hope you get it. I’d love to see you on Showtime.”
“Me and you both,” I say, standing. I walk to him, throw my arms around his thick neck, and press my lips to his. He slips his warm tongue into my mouth, and I get wet between the legs. Moaning, I rub against him.
“Woman, you’re gonna make me late for work. I gotta go.” He peels me off him and leaves the house.
I fan my face with my hand, thinking about what a turn on it is that Taylor is reading up on reincarnation. He’s really taking me seriously, showing an interest. I love that. I collect myself and go to my office. I have a couple of hours before I have to prepare for my audition. I plan to make the best of it.
I boot up my computer, anxious to find Bertha Winter. First, I check my email. I scroll through and pause when I see a message from Gretchen, with an attachment.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Barnes Brothers
Good morning, Sis. I hope you’re okay with me calling you that. And I hope you’re well. Last night I checked out Jeffrey and Buford. I found a lot of good stuff. I’ve attached a Word
document outlining my findings. The attachment also includes my theory about their involvement in Robert’s murder. I think there was a cover-up. I just don’t know who they were covering for. But I’m sure that together, we’ll find out. As mentioned last night, I’m meeting Detective Williams at noon. For some reason, I’d had an unsettling feeling about him. But I should be okay, because we’ll be at the park.
You want to know something crazy? I realized that since I’ve been working on the case, I haven’t had my nightmare. Robert must be happy with what we’re doing.
Good luck with your audition and your search for Bertha Winter. Let’s talk later.
Love,
Gretchen (aka Big Bro Robert)
Her words embolden me. I’m ready to solve this mystery. I open the attachment and read it.
The Barnes Brothers
Born and raised in Dallas, Texas
Dallas Enforcers fans
Jeffrey joined the Hill Creek Police in Dallas in 1972.
He was 25.
Buford joined the Hill Creek Police in Dallas in 1977.
He was 25.
Jeffrey and Buford moved to Shady Gove in 1985
with their families. They were 38 and 33,
respectively.
Jeffrey was promoted to captain of the Shady Grove
Police Department at the age of 42. He remained in that position until 2000. He was forced to resign due to rampant corruption and abuse in the police department. In addition, reports alleged that he had allowed a secret society to exist within the department, consisting of white supremacists. The officers were accused of racial profiling and abusing African American and Hispanic residents of Shady Grove, as well as being involved in a dozen questionable officer-related deaths.
Jeffrey, now 70, operates a private security firm that
has provided security for several Klan rallies
around the country.
The Truth About Gretchen Page 22