The Gossip

by Nancy Bush

  Cooper nodded even though she couldn’t see him. It was as they’d suspected. “Did they get anything?”

  “Several cars came down the street within the two hours before the house went up. Checked them out. An older Cadillac Seville, blue, front plate missing, but had muddied plates on the back. Tech’s trying to bring the numbers up. The other vehicles have been okayed.”

  “You think our guy’s the Caddy?” The DNA from the blood spot said whoever had left it was male and their theory was that he could have been Bibi’s killer.

  “It’s an anomaly. We’re searching other cameras around the area, seeing if we can pick it up on the street and find where it went.”

  “Okay.”

  “What’s next on Nye? His brother keeps calling.”

  Terence Nye was certain his brother, Granger, had been killed and wouldn’t let it go. He’d fast become more nuisance than help.

  “I’m going to recheck with the neighbors.”

  “That witness knows something,” Verbena said, referring to the woman who’d heard yelling at the site and then swiftly recanted her testimony.

  “Let’s check with the housekeeper again, um . . . Peña?”

  “Norma Peña.”

  “See if she can remember a little bit more about Best’s whereabouts.”

  “On it,” she said. ““I’ll push on tox, too.”

  Cooper acknowledged and they hung up a few minutes later. It was unlikely the results of Nye’s screening would be available until after the weekend. He would check with the neighbor who’d recanted everything she’d heard and see if her memory could be jogged.

  He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table just as Jamie came downstairs in her robe, her hair tousled. “What’s going on?” she asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee and seating herself opposite him.

  Cooper smiled at her. The best part of his life was his family and he was grateful for all of it. “Want to get married?” he asked her.

  “Yes,” she answered without hesitation.

  She looked at him over the rim of her coffee cup and he picked up his cup and did the same. He watched her eyes crinkle with humor and his own lips formed a grin.

  They smiled idiotically at each other a long time.

  * * *

  Mackenzie followed Taft down I-5 toward Wilsonville. There wasn’t a lot of traffic out this early so she had to hang way back. She still didn’t have proof it was Taft in the brown sedan but she was banking on it. A rental, most likely. From the moment he’d jettisoned her, he’d made plans and he wasn’t taking his Rubicon on this sojourn.

  They passed Wilsonville and hit a stretch of I-5 that began to stretch from urban and suburban to more rural. Grassy fields bordered the freeway on both sides. Mackenzie couldn’t see the Best Homes truck. It was too far ahead. She was keeping Taft’s vehicle in her sight and counting on him doing the same with the cube truck. Or maybe he’d planted a tracker on it? Highly possible.

  About a mile farther on Taft exited the freeway, and Mackenzie slowed down even further to take her time doing the same.

  The brown sedan turned right and after a few moments she did the same. Taft then got caught at a light and she looked around for another car, any car, hoping it would get in between them. She was relieved when a pickup truck belching a lot of diesel smoke rattled up behind the sedan before Mackenzie had to.

  She was just congratulating herself on the screen when Taft’s vehicle suddenly pulled into a gas station. Her pulse jumped. Should she drive on past, or turn in, too? He wouldn’t know Stephanie’s car, but he might be looking to see if someone was following him as well. She glanced ahead. Was the Best Homes truck still on this road? Should she just keep going and hope she caught up with it?

  The brown sedan parked in an unmarked area of concrete at the gas station’s outer edge. She confirmed Taft was the driver when he stepped into the drizzling rain, a black baseball cap on his head, and stood by his car, his eyes on her.

  He’d made her.

  Damn.

  There was nothing for it but to pull in beside him and roll her window down, earning her a spray of precipitation slapping her face. “How long have you known?” she asked.

  “A while.”

  “Why aren’t you following the truck anymore?”

  “Because I know where it’s going.”

  “Oh, really. How? You’ve been holding out on me?”

  “Actually, you sent me in the right direction. His stepfather, Larry Perkins, has a farm.”

  “Maybe they like each other better than you know. You have the address?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “Your part of this whole thing was Rayne,” he reminded her. “This drug operation is—”

  “I don’t give a shit, Taft. I’m coming with you. I’m still on Rayne. I still want to know what happened to her, and I might learn something by getting Seth to talk. But I want a part of this, too. Don’t just shut me out because I’m a woman.”

  “That’s not why—”

  “Yes, it is. Overprotection. Stop it.”

  He lifted up his hands in surrender, thought a moment, then shook his head and made a sweeping gesture to indicate she should get into the passenger side of his car. “Hope you’re wearing hiking boots.”

  She wasn’t, but she didn’t care. She quickly grabbed her anorak from the back seat, parked and locked the car, then jumped out and dashed through the rain to the passenger side of the sedan. Inside she was hurrying as well. She sensed he could change his mind in an instant.

  “Do you have a gun?” he asked as he backed out and turned around.

  “Well, no. Not anymore. You?”

  He nodded. “If things go sideways, stay out of the line of fire.”

  She nodded back at him and tugged the hood of her anorak over her head. It seemed the best way to respond to his grim tone.

  About a half mile farther they turned onto a two-lane road with fields on either side and farmhouses punctuating the end of long lanes. The road wound on for some time before angling west where a ridge of trees ran in a semicircle around a distant property where Mackenzie could make out a few grayed roofs.

  Taft said, “Larry Perkins’s farm. I’m going to find a place to park on the road and then we’re going to hike to those trees.” He drove a bit farther until there was a wider pull out on the side of the road. He slid into it and yanked on the e-brake. Mackenzie could tell by the sticker on the windshield that she’d guessed right: The car was a rental.

  He glanced down at her sneakers as they both got out. Mackenzie waited for some comment, but he just opened a rear door and reached for a small backpack that had been wedged beneath the driver’s seat. From the pack he pulled out a Glock, which he then tucked into his hip holster. He slid the backpack over his shoulders and started out. He’d come prepared and she hadn’t. She’d given up her gear when she’d given up her career in law enforcement. Not so Taft, apparently.

  “I checked out an aerial view,” he said as they headed toward the ridge. “We’re lucky in that we have cover to recon the area, but it’s likely the reason Keppler chose his stepfather’s place. Protected from view by the trees.”

  “You think the stepfather is who Seth meant when he said, ‘He won’t be in the way’?”

  “Unless there’s someone else.” Taft shot her a look as rain drizzled down his cheek and jawline. “Just one more reason to be careful.”

  Mackenzie shivered a little and concentrated on keeping up with Taft as they worked their way closer. By the time they reached the ridge and were in place, looking through Taft’s binoculars on the white farmhouse and several outbuildings, it was after nine. A Best Homes cube truck was parked in front of a graying shed, the most dilapidated of the buildings. There was no one in sight.

  “I want to see Keppler with my own eyes,” Taft muttered and they settled in to wait. Mackenzie didn’t have to worry about an unwanted bathroom
trip. She felt dry inside and out, as if there was no liquid left inside her body’s cells. Her mouth was a desert. She would have liked to call it anticipation, but in her heart what she felt was fear.

  But it was too late to let Taft know he might have been right about how much she would help on this foray, and she doubted she could make herself admit she was wrong anyway.

  * * *

  The scream from down the hall sent a jolt through Emma as she headed into her room with Duchess, who was following at her heels after their walk. They’d gotten caught in the rain, which had come down in a wild, cold rush. She’d fed Duchess before they left and now she tried to hustle the dog inside. Duchess shook herself mightily before trotting through the open door, the one that was always supposed to be closed.

  Duchess began urgently barking at the scream.

  “Stop,” Emma told her, practically having to push her head back inside the room in order to keep her from bounding down the hall. After Duchess was inside and Emma had the door shut and locked, she hurried down the hall to find out what happened.

  Jewell was standing at the edge of the dining room, by the kitchen. She threw a wild-eyed look at Emma and grabbed her by the arm, squeezing hard. Emma immediately tried to pull back but Jewell’s grip was intense.

  “The cat slept with Old Darla last night and is still in her bed and Old Darla won’t wake up,” Jewell exclaimed.

  Emma’s heart clutched. “Is she dead?”

  “She’s unconscious.”

  “Excuse me . . .” Supercilious Bob practically pushed them both back into the dining room. “Stay out of the hallway. The ambulance is coming.”

  “Where’s the cat?” asked Emma.

  “Honestly, Emma!” Jewell glared at her. “What about our friend? What about Old Darla? All you can think about is that cat?”

  Emma thought about reminding Jewell that she didn’t really like Old Darla and would never sit with her.

  “Old Darla was fine last night,” Jewell went on. “Just fine. And then that . . . devil cat . . . got in there and killed her!”

  Bob overheard her and whipped around. “I don’t think the fact that Darla needs medical attention can be blamed on Twinkletoes.”

  Faye came out of Old Darla’s room carrying the cat, who was squirming to get free, its eyes wide.

  “The cat doesn’t like to be touched,” said Emma.

  “Too bad for the cat,” said Jewell.

  Emma heard the woo-woo-woo of a siren and soon an ambulance pulled up. The cat shot out of Faye’s arms and out the door as soon as one of the ambulance drivers opened it. The drivers brought a cot that had been raised to normal bed height. Emma couldn’t remember what those things were called, but she knew they would put Darla on it and take her to the hospital.

  Old Darla’s face looked kind of gray and her lips were parted, eyes closed. She looked kind of dead but Emma did see she was breathing.

  Faye said quietly to Bob, “I couldn’t reach her daughter, but I told her grandson.”

  Emma frowned and looked at Faye. “Old Darla has a grandson?”

  Faye said patiently, “Why don’t you both go into the dining room or back to your rooms?”

  “I’m not leaving till I find out what happened,” warned Jewell. “There’s something really wrong around here. First Sara, now Darla . . . There’s something really, really wrong.”

  Bob had walked to the front doors with the ambulance drivers, supervising them from inside the building as the ambulance men put Old Darla into the back and slammed shut the doors. He heard what Jewell said and strode back over to them. His mouth was twitching. He was ‘totally pissed’ as Harley would say.

  “Jewell, I’m sure you know that Darla wasn’t in good health.”

  “Did she have a heart attack? A stroke?” Jewell demanded.

  “She’s being checked out by medical professionals.”

  “I think it was a stroke,” said Jewell.

  Emma saw someone approaching the front glass double doors that the ambulance guys had just gone through. The ambulance took off with its lights flashing but there was no siren this time.

  The person who pushed into the building was Harley. She had a bunch of papers in her hand, and she waved at Emma and held up the papers as she turned toward the girl at the office counter. Emma knew she was applying for a job.

  “Come on, ladies,” Bob said, holding out his arms and heading toward Jewell and Emma. He wanted to push them back into the dining room. Emma ducked under his arm and race-walked over to Harley.

  “Leave the cat alone, Emma!” Bob called, certain he knew where Emma was headed.

  “Where’s the cat?” asked Harley, looking around.

  “Outside. Faye had it in her arms, but it got away and ran out.” She pointed to the area beneath the portico.

  Bob came steaming over. He stopped near Harley and put on a smile. “Have you signed in?” he asked.

  “Sure did,” said Harley with an answering smile.

  Emma knew Harley didn’t mean it, but maybe Bob knew it, too, because his smile faded and he looked like he wanted to say something more but couldn’t find the words.

  Emma told Harley, “Old Darla went to the hospital in the ambulance. She had a stroke or a heart attack.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Harley.

  “We don’t know what happened,” Bob contradicted, swooping into the conversation. “Emma, I think we should all get something to eat before the breakfast room closes. It’s after ten, and you know the kitchen needs at least a half hour to prepare for lunch.”

  “Harley, can you have breakfast with me?”

  “Already eaten, Emma. But I could go for an orange juice.”

  Jewell was hovering inside the door. Today she wasn’t going to sit with her friends because they were long gone. Instead, she chose a chair at Emma and Harley’s table. Emma debated on telling her she didn’t want her there, but it seemed kind of rude.

  Harley said, “It’s Jewell, right?”

  “Yes, hello. You’re Hayley.”

  Harley opened her mouth to point out the mistake, but Jewell ran right over her. “Twinkletoes is a menace,” she said. “We need to send a clear message that we don’t want that cat anywhere around.”

  “Twinkletoes is a menace?” Harley tried, but couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Sorry. Kind of an oxymoron.”

  “A what?” Jewell narrowed her eyes. Emma could tell she didn’t know what an oxymoron was and maybe thought it was an insult. Emma didn’t really know what it was, either, but knew Harley wouldn’t be that mean.

  “Opposites. Like Iron Butterfly. A cat named Twinkletoes doesn’t really sound like a menace,” said Harley. She was scanning the menu. “Maybe I will have a biscuit. Yum.”

  “All I know is that that cat causes problems. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings if it never came back.”

  Emma didn’t like hearing that. She knew that she should change the subject. That’s what Jamie had told her to do when she was in an uncomfortable conversation, so she gave it a try. “Who is Old Darla’s grandson?” she asked Jewell.

  Harley had caught one of the waiter girls’ attention and asked her for the orange juice. The girl then looked at Emma and Emma ordered a bowl of oatmeal. Jewell just sniffed and said she only wanted a cup of tea. As soon as the girl was gone, Jewell said, “He’s the one with the long hair that was kissing Rayne under the portico. I told you.”

  Emma frowned. “But Mrs. Throckmorton said it was Thad.”

  “Are those the two that got in a fight?” asked Harley.

  “It’s confusing,” said Emma.

  Jewell snipped, “They each have a daughter and a grandson. Sara’s daughter is Lorena and her grandson is Thad. I don’t know Darla’s daughter or grandson. They don’t come by too much. I think they’re just too busy. But her daughter was called this morning after that cat stayed in Darla’s room.”

  “You said the boy with the long hair was kissing Rayne,” said Emma. “But Thad does
not have long hair.”

  “That wasn’t Thad!” Jewell half rose from her chair. Emma worried she might be having a heart attack or stroke, too.

  “Whoa,” said Harley.

  Emma reminded Jewell, “You said Mrs. Throckmorton thought it was her grandson kissing Rayne. Was it Old Darla’s?”

  “I don’t know why you’re flogging this dead horse. Poor Darla is in the hospital and Sara’s been taken away and it’s all that cat’s fault!!” Jewell threw back her chair and fled the room just as the waiter girl brought their order. She left the orange juice and Emma’s oatmeal and took Jewell’s tea away.

  Harley lifted her brows at Emma, so Emma explained, “Jewell doesn’t like the cat.”

  “No shit.”

  Emma held herself back from telling Harley, “No swearing,” though it was difficult for her. “And Jewell doesn’t like to be wrong.”

  “Does it matter really whose grandson was kissing that Rayne girl?”

  Emma thought that over. “Rayne is getting a bad reputation and it’s too bad because she’s dead and she can’t stop them from gossiping about her. I want to talk to Mrs. Throckmorton and I’m going to go walk to one of the three houses above the trail. That’s where she lives.”

  “Yeah? When?”

  Emma looked out the windows and saw the rain, which was now running off the eaves. “Not today.”

  “I could go with you,” said Harley. “I kind of like these crazy old people. If everything goes right, I could be starting work here soon.” Harley drank her glass of orange juice, then stopped and said in surprise, “Emma, you’re smiling.”

  “I smile,” Emma protested.

  “No, you don’t. Not usually. Are you glad I’m going to be working here?”

  “Very glad.” Emma could feel that Harley was right. She was smiling and she was very glad that Harley would be at Ridge Pointe. It was like having family moving in with her.

  * * *

  Thad stared at the television where Brenda’s dog-faced roommate was sobbing out her fear, anxiety, and horror over finding Brenda dead and bloody in her bedroom. He was stunned when the reporter broke from her to one of the women she’d been with at the bar. She said Brenda hadn’t left with anyone but several men had attempted to engage her and one had even bought her a martini.