by Sue Grafton
A neighbor answered the door, introducing herself while relieving me of the box, which she carried to the kitchen. I stood for a moment and surveyed the room. I counted eight flower arrangements, about half of them containing leftover Easter lilies. Felicia had dimmed the lights, using votives and candles to illuminate the rooms. The effect was nice, but the air had been warmed to a feverish temperature. I suppose the gathering could have been called a wake, though there was certainly no corpse present. Perhaps “visitation” was the better term. That’s how Felicia had referred to it.
On a purely self-centered note, I hadn’t thought I’d need to pack my illustrious all-purpose dress. That long-sleeve black garment is tailor-made for such occasions, but how could I have known? Cheap shit that I am, earlier in the day I’d ducked into a Goodwill thrift store, where I’d found a pair of serviceable black wool slacks and a short black jacket of another fabric altogether. I’d also bought preowned black flats and a pair of (new) black panty hose. My shoulder bag was brown, probably a fashion faux pas given the rest of my ensemble, but it couldn’t be helped. I’d looked better in my day, but I’d also looked a lot worse.
I had no way of guessing how many people had come and gone in the hours before my arrival, but the number of mourners I saw was embarrassingly small. I wouldn’t have referred to them as “mourners,” either. They came closer to being talkers, Nosy Parkers, and consumers of free food. Clearly some of those assembled were Pudgie’s relatives. I could tell because they all looked faintly surprised he hadn’t been shot to death in the process of an armed robbery. I caught sight of Cornell talking to his sister, but both avoided eye contact, and I got the impression neither was eager to talk to me. I didn’t see Justine, and the rest of those gathered were total strangers, except for Felicia, who was standing in the kitchen talking to a fellow I’d never seen before. I’d hoped to see George Baum, to whom I’d given the address before I’d left the car lot. Maybe he didn’t want to risk running into Cornell, having tattled on him.
Since I didn’t recognize anyone except people who didn’t seem to want to talk to me, I crossed to the buffet table on the far side of the room. Felicia hadn’t fibbed about the copious amounts of food folks had brought. There was every kind of casserole known to man, platters of cold cuts, crackers and cheeses, chips and dips, plus an assortment of cakes, pies, and cookies. A big pressed-glass punch bowl had been filled with coral liquid that looked suspiciously like Hawaiian Punch. There was one lone bottle of white zinfandel. I unscrewed the top and filled a clear plastic cup to the brim, then drank it down an inch so it wouldn’t look like I was hogging more than my share.
I moved through the smattering of people, hoping to corner Adrianne so the two of us could have a chat. I saw Cornell go out to the front yard to grab a cigarette, so at least I didn’t have to worry about him. I drifted through the living room and into the kitchen. Felicia passed me with a plate of cookies in hand. I touched her arm and said, “How’re you doing?”
Her red hair was pulled away from her face. “I’m all right for now. I think the hard part comes later when everyone goes home. I’ll try to catch you in a bit. I have to get back with this.”
“Have you seen Adrianne?”
“I think I saw her go out there,” she said. “Cedric would have been glad you came.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it,” I said, and she was gone.
I set my wine cup on the counter and pushed the kitchen screen open. Adrianne was on the back porch, sitting on the top step. I took a seat beside her, my shoulder bag between us. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. This depresses me, that’s all.”
“I have a question for you.”
“Geez, would you give it up already? This is hardly the time.”
“You can talk to me or you can talk to the cops. Take your pick.”
“Oh hell. What do you want? I’m sick of this business.”
“So am I. Unfortunately, it isn’t over.”
“It is as far as I’m concerned. So ask me and get it over with. I’m about to go home.”
“Did you know Cornell was fooling around with Charisse?”
She looked at me sharply and then she looked away. She was quiet for a long time, but I decided to wait her out. Finally, she said, “Not at first.”
“And then what?”
“Do we really have to talk about this? That was eighteen years ago.”
“I hear you were at the Tuley-Belle and walked in on them.”
“Thank you, George Baum. If you knew the answer, why’d you ask?”
“Because I wanted to hear it from you. Come on. Just tell me what happened. Like you said, it was years ago so what difference does it make?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said, with disgust. “A bunch of us had gone out there. We used to do these big scavenger hunts and play stupid games. That Friday night, it was Hide-and-Seek. Cornell and Charisse were in a room on the second floor. I stumbled in, looking for a place to hide, and there they were. I was horrified and so was he.”
She stopped. I thought that was the end of it, but she picked up again. “I guess I was naive, but I genuinely liked Charisse. I didn’t know she was using me to get to him.”
“What’d she say to you?”
“What could she say? I’d caught them in the act. Not that she was ever one to apologize for what she did. I told her she was a shit, but she shrugged it off. She didn’t care for my opinion or anyone else’s. Afterward, I begged her to stay away from him, but she was obsessed. I hated her for that. She nearly ruined his life.”
“How?”
Silence again. “Ask him. It’s really his business, not mine.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “She told him she was pregnant.”
Again, she was quiet.
“Am I right?”
“Yes. She was determined to marry him. She told me about it before she told him.”
“Why?”
“Because she thought I’d help. I told her to blow it out her butt, but she threatened to tell Mom and Dad unless I talked him into it.”
“Did anyone else know?”
“No. She was sure he’d marry her to avoid the embarrassment. Once he did that, it’d be too late for anyone else to interfere—meaning Justine, of course.”
“And he was willing to go along with this?”
“He didn’t have any choice. You know how straightlaced my parents are, especially Mom. If they found out, they’d have forced him to marry her anyway.”
“So what was the plan?”
“There wasn’t a plan. She had it all figured out. They were going to run off together. She knew a place where they could get a marriage license even if they were underage.”
“He must have been in a sweat.”
“He was really scared. I told him he was being dumb. How could he even be sure the kid was his? All he had to do was get five or six of his buddies to swear they’d screwed her too and he’d be off the hook.”
“Nice move, Adrianne. Did you come up with that yourself?”
“Well, what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t let her wreck my brother’s life! Besides, it was true. Why should he pay? He only did what every other guy was doing. Why’s that so wrong?”
“Oh sure. I can see your point. There’s only one tiny problem.”
“What.”
“She wasn’t pregnant.”
“Yes, she was.”
I shook my head. “I read the autopsy report.”
She stared at me, a hand lifting to her mouth as though pulled by strings. “Oh, shit. She made it up?”
“Apparently. So when she disappeared, what’d you think? That she’d gone off on her own to spare him the disgrace?”
“I didn’t know she was lying. I thought she might have decided to have an abortion.”
“If she’d been pregnant in the first place.”
There was another long silence and I stepped in again. “When you heard Medora’d fi
led a missing-persons report, weren’t you worried they’d find her?”
“I hoped they wouldn’t, but it did worry me.”
“But there might have been a way to head them off.”
“Head who off?”
“The cops who were looking for her.”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“The phone call.”
She looked at me blankly, but I didn’t know her well enough to know if she was faking.
I said, “Someone called the Sheriff’s Department, claiming to be Charisse’s mother, saying she was home again, alive and well. The Lompoc Sheriff’s Department and the one down here were on the verge of linking the two—the missing girl and Jane Doe. Then the call came in and that was the end of that.”
“Well, it wasn’t me. I swear. I didn’t call anyone.”
“I’m not the one you have to persuade.” I got up and brushed off the back of my pants. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“I sincerely hope not.”
I went into the kitchen, feeling hyped up and tense. I was treading dangerous ground, but I couldn’t help myself. These people had been sitting on their secrets far too long. It was time to kick in a few doors and see who’d been hiding what. I wondered where Cornell was the night that Pudgie was killed. That was a subject worth pursuing.
In my absence, someone had drained off my entire cup of wine. I tossed the empty plastic in a trash can. As I went into the hall, I glanced into the bedroom Pudgie must have occupied. There was a single bed, covered with a plain spread, the blanket and pillow stacked together at the foot. The room had all the cozy charm of a jail cell. There were no curtains at the window, and the plain white shade had been pulled down halfway. No pictures, no personal possessions. The closet door stood open, revealing an empty hanging rod. Felicia must have swept through, boxing up everything he owned, and then called the Goodwill. I felt a pang of disappointment. Given my curious nature, I’d hoped for the opportunity to search his things. I wasn’t even sure what I thought I’d find—some sense of who he was, some feeling for why he’d died. I didn’t imagine he’d left a note about his final rendezvous, but there might have been a hint of what he’d meant to do in life.
“Bleak,” someone said.
I turned. Justine was standing to my left, making the same sad assessment of the room that I had. I saw her gaze linger on my jacket. “What.”
“Nothing. I used to have a jacket just like that.”
“Really? I’ve had this old thing for years.” I felt a spark of fear and a second lie sprung to my lips. “Hey, what was Cornell up to Friday night? I thought I saw him downtown about ten.”
She gave me a little smile of negation and bafflement. “He was home with the kids. I was out doing stuff for church.”
“He was home alone?”
“Not at all. The kids were there. I told you that.”
“Well, that’s odd. You sure he didn’t pop out to get a video? I could have sworn it was him.”
“It couldn’t have been. I went out at nine after the girls were in bed. He was folding laundry when I left and sacked out on the couch when I got home at midnight.”
“The church is open that late?”
“I wasn’t at the church. I was over at Adele’s, working on a mailing. That’s why he ended up baby-sitting.”
“I thought they did the mailing Saturday at Edna’s.”
“They finished it then. We started Friday night.”
I didn’t point out that Cornell could have driven to Creosote and back in an hour, with plenty of time left for a stop at the Tuley-Belle to deliver forty whacks to Pudgie’s head. She could have done it, too. Three hours would have been more than adequate. I tried to remember what Adele had said when she paid her husband’s parking citation. He’d been ticketed Friday night because he was late for a movie, but I couldn’t remember if she said she’d been with him or not. Changing the subject, I said, “You want some wine? I’m out. I’ll be happy to bring you some.”
“No, thanks. I don’t drink. I’ve seen enough of that.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I bumped into someone as I entered the living room. I said, “Pardon me,” and looked up to find Todd Chilton. He wasn’t in uniform and it took me an instant to realize who he was. I said, “Hey, how are you? I didn’t realize you’d be here. Can I talk to you a minute?”
“Sure.”
We stepped to one side. Music had started up. Someone had apparently put together a tape of Pudgie’s old favorites, starting with Chubby Checker. “Come on, baby, let’s do the twist…” Nobody seemed to think it was inappropriate. I was just happy to have the noise to cover my conversation with the deputy. He bent his head, a hand cupped to his ear.
I said, “Have they found the murder weapon yet?”
He shook his head. “We searched until six and then we had to give it up. No point fumbling around in the dark. Detective Lassiter did say he’d return Detective Oliphant’s call first thing tomorrow morning. Lot of paperwork’s piled up since we’ve been out in the field.”
“I’m assuming Pudgie’s murder hit the news.”
“Oh yeah. Big spread this morning, asking for volunteers. I was just talking to Cornell. We got a lot of desert out there and a weapon like that’s easy to hide. We’ve searched that whole area behind the Tuley-Belle and now we’ll head toward the highway. You’re welcome to join us. We could use the help.”
“Thanks. I may do that.”
Chilton moved away. I scanned the room, looking for Cornell. Adrianne had reappeared and she gave me a look of dark distaste before she walked away. I’d probably overplayed my hand with her. I didn’t want to think she’d tell her brother what I knew, but she was capable of that.
Felicia passed me again. “They’re about to cut that chocolate cake if you’re interested. It looks great.”
“I’ll have some in a bit. Have you seen Cornell?”
She glanced around. “He was here a while ago. He might be in the kitchen. I saw him talking to Adrianne. He might have left to pick up the kids at the baby-sitter’s. I hear he’s a doll about things like that.”
“I’m sure. Thanks.”
I crossed to the front window and peered out to the darkened street. Justine’s sedan was still there but Cornell’s truck was gone. I didn’t like that. His departure seemed abrupt. Maybe it was true he’d gone to pick up his kids, but it was also true he knew the search for the murder weapon was heating up. I let myself out the front door, struck by the chill night air after the suffocating level of artificial heat inside. My thrift store jacket, which had probably belonged to Justine once upon a time, was too light to offer much protection from the cold. I readjusted my shoulder bag and broke into a trot, heading for Dolan’s car.
I unlocked the door and slid in under the wheel. I jammed the key in the ignition and turned it. The car coughed and died. I tried again. No deal. I pumped the gas pedal twice and then realized I was only flooding the engine. I sat and waited and then tried again. The starter ground and turned over. I gave it way too much gas and the engine roared to life. I pulled out, tires chirping as I took off. I turned on the heat, hoping to warm up. My sense of urgency coupled with the dry cold was making me shiver.
Half a minute later, I was on Highway 78, driving north toward Quorum. At this hour of the evening, traffic was light. I thought I caught a glimpse of Cornell’s truck up ahead. There were four cars on the road between us and I was having to peer around and through them to keep an eye on him. Approaching the Tuley-Belle, the car in front of me slowed and I realized that, at the head of the line, Cornell had slowed to a stop. His turn signal winked merrily and he turned left as soon as oncoming traffic allowed.
I slowed as I passed the entrance, watching his taillights disappear into the dark. I drove on a hundred yards and pulled over to the side of the road. I doused the headlights, set the handbrake, and let the car idle while I debated with myself. I’d be foolish to
follow him. The Tuley-Belle was a mile and a half from the main road, not only isolated, but riddled with hiding places better known to him than they were to me. I peered over my shoulder and stared into the darkness, picking up the parallel rounds of his headlights, now facing me. He hadn’t driven to the complex. For some reason, he’d turned the truck around and was now parked by the road, facing the highway. I saw the headlights go out. Soon after that, I picked up a faint smudge of light off to the right of the four-lane blacktop. What was he doing out there? Burying the murder weapon? Digging it up to move it? But why take that risk? Simple. He knew the sheriff’s investigators had been and gone. He also knew they’d return the next morning to start the search again. Todd Chilton had described the terrain the deputies had covered. If the weapon was out there, he could either move it into an area they’d already searched or remove the weapon from a section yet to be combed. Why would the tire iron be out there in the first place? Because he didn’t want the damn thing hidden anywhere close to home? Because he hadn’t had time to dispose of it anywhere else? Whatever he was up to, he must have decided this was his only opportunity to act.
I reached up and snapped the cover from the dome light and unscrewed the bulb. I got out, pushing the door closed without snapping it shut. I walked to the rear of the car and opened the trunk. I wasn’t worried about the trunk light. Nothing on the back end of Dolan’s vehicle worked, including the taillights. I felt my way across the darkened space until my hand came down on Dolan’s Smith & Wesson, snug in its holster. I picked up the gun and the holster, eased down the lid of the trunk, and returned to the driver’s seat. I slipped under the wheel again, leaving the car door ajar. I fumbled in my bag until I found my pen light. I snapped it on and placed it on the passenger seat, keeping my inspection process well below the level of the dashboard. This was the gun Dolan carried on duty; a 9mm Parabellum, with a clip that held fifteen rounds. I hit the clip release button and checked the magazine—fully loaded—and then smacked it back into place. I pulled the slide back and released it, then checked to see that the safety was on. I hefted the weight of the gun, close to twenty-eight ounces, feeling its clumsiness in a hand as small as mine. At least it was an equalizer, wasn’t it?