“The murder!” Anna shouted. “Gable was murdered in cold blood, and I want to know why! I need to know what happened to my husband. Everything was going really great. He was attending his meetings and he was sober. But he came home two nights ago and something was wrong. I know something was wrong!”
“Anna! You have to calm down, honey. This isn’t good for you,” her mother pleaded as people traipsing through the lobby began to stare.
But Anna yanked her arm away from her mother again. “No. No, Mother, I will not calm down. I know her uncle knows something. I know he had to have seen or heard something!”
“He’s still heavily sedated, and he was unconscious when he was taken by ambulance from the scene. He only just came out of surgery, Anna. I can’t help you until he wakes up, but do you mind if I ask you a question? What makes you think it was about drugs if Gable was sober?”
Her full lips thinned and her eyes went stormy. “Because he wasn’t right when he came home from work, and he didn’t smell like alcohol. When he was drinking, he always smelled like whiskey. I’d bet anything he was mixed up with that scuzzbucket Landry again. I’d bet my soul on it!”
I looked to her mother for help. “Who’s Landry?”
Regina grimaced, her heart-shaped face, so like her daughter’s, contorting. “He’s who Gable used to hang out with when he was using, and for a while, he,” she leaned down and whispered, “sold drugs for him.”
I’d had no idea Gable was a drug user, too. I’d thought only alcohol was involved. And that name, Landry…I was sure I knew it.
Looking to Regina, I asked, “Wait, do you mean Landry Tithers? The one who used to play football at Marshmallow Hollow High?”
Regina made a face of sheer disgust. “That’s the dirtball. I don’t care what all of Gable’s AA buddies say, Landry was the one who got him addicted, and if I get my hands on him, I’m going to kill him!”
Just then, Hobbs popped out of the elevator, his eyes concerned when they met mine as he crossed the room to where I was sitting with Anna.
“So you think Gable was mixed up in selling drugs again, and he was killed for it?”
“I don’t know!” she cried, twisting her fingers together. “I don’t know what’s happening. Nothing is right anymore. He wouldn’t talk to me, even though I knew something was wrong. But now he’s dead. He’s dead and our daughter’s going to grow up without a father! I’ll be alone forever! He wasn’t supposed to leave us alone like this!”
Her hysteria left me feeling deeply anxious. I couldn’t imagine how torn up inside Anna must feel, and I hated that she was in such obvious agony. So I did the only thing I could think to do. I made her focus on me and tried to cast a quietly covert incantation.
“Anna, look at me, please,” I urged as I tried to subtly create a calming spell. “Listen to my words. I heard this once somewhere, and while I don’t remember who I heard it from, I hope it helps you. Will you listen?”
She nodded wordlessly when I took her hand, making circles on her palm, and whispered, “Soothe my soul in times of sorrow, give me peace until the morrow. Allow me these next hours’ rest, for then I shall be ready for the test.”
Anna stared at me for a moment…and then she relaxed, almost slumping against me.
Looking to Regina, whose blue eyes had gone wide, I gave her a sympathetic smile. “I think the meds have finally kicked in. Maybe now’s the time to take her home? But please, take my number, and if you need anything or if Anna remembers anything else I can pass on or help with, she can call me. Day or night.” I took her phone and typed in my number.
Regina gave me a grateful if not weary smile, tucking her bobbed hair behind her ears before scooping Anna up. “You’ve been very nice, Miss Valentine. Thank you for indulging her.”
“It’s nothing. Bundle up now, it’s mighty cold out there,” I reminded her before she helped Anna out of the lobby, and I turned to Hobbs. “Everything okay?”
He was staring at me so hard, his dark chocolate eyes so intense, I felt naked. But then he appeared to shake it off. “It depends on how you define okay. But first, let’s talk about what just happened.”
As I began to rise, I froze. “Talk about it?” I asked with a mouth as dry as the desert.
“Yeah! Holy smokes, Hal. You were really great with her. I’d like to know where you heard that quote, because it did the trick. I’m gonna look it up when we go home.”
Oh, jeepers. Would I never learn? “And second?”
He sighed, his big chest rising and falling, his eyes unable to hide his concern. “Monty is awake.”
I hopped all the way up and straightened, my heart pounding. “That’s great, right?”
Hobbs stared at me again, but this time he put his hand on my arm. “Sort of.”
I cocked my head and narrowed my eyes. “Explain?” I asked with a hesitant wince.
“He doesn’t remember Uncle Darling.”
Aw, come on, Universe. Cut it out!
Chapter 7
Last Christmas
Written by George Michael, 1984
We stood outside my uncle’s ICU room and hovered there, unsure what to do. From the small window in the door, I saw my Uncle Darling struggle with the fact that Uncle Monty didn’t appear to know who he was as he held his hand and kissed him goodnight.
Dr. Jordan had been very clear when he’d said Monty was still under the effects of the heavy anesthesia from a major surgery, and the loss of memory wasn’t uncommon, but it had clearly shredded my uncle.
That blank stare—and even a bit of fear—in Monty’s eyes before he’d fallen back to sleep had shredded me, too.
As Belinda went in to collect Uncle Darling, I turned to Hobbs, knowing my eyes held the helplessness I was feeling.
He looked down at me, his expression filled with warmth and sympathy. “You heard the doctor, Hal. This could be only temporary. I know the inclination is to project, but for Uncle Darling’s sake, try to avoid that.”
“You’re right. Logically, I hear you. Emotionally, I’ve gone deaf and can’t hear anything but my uncle crying.”
“Do you want the pep talk I have prepared?” he asked.
“You have pep talks all ready to roll out?”
“One for every occasion.”
“Sure. Give it your best shot.”
“We have a killer to catch, Hal. The only way we can do that and keep Monty from any possible further harm is to find the guy who did this.”
The moment he said the words was the moment someone from Marshmallow Hollow PD showed up, tipping his hat to us as he placed a chair by Uncle Monty’s door and sat down.
But Hobbs’s words struck a chord in me and lit a fire in my belly. “You’re right. Though, if there’s an award for Best Detective of The Year, I’d like to remind you of our last,” I swiped the air with my fingers, “investigation. We didn’t exactly nail it.”
Hobbs rolled his eyes at me. “Maybe Sherlock Holmes isn’t going to ask us to join his investigative club, but we did, in a very roundabout way, figure it out.”
I fought a snort. “We fell into the answer. That’s what we did, tripping and flubbing all the way.”
“But we found the answer nonetheless.”
“I like your go-get-’em attitude. But here’s something to think about before you get involved, Hobbs. If he’s worried my uncle saw something, and he thinks my other uncle might know something, too, he could come looking back at the house. It could get dangerous. So I want you to know you can back out at any time.”
He lifted his bearded chin and shook his dark head. “Nope. This cowboy’s in it for the long haul.”
My body tingled from head to toe, and I had to fight off a fresh batch of tears. Instead of sobbing in gratitude, I offered him my fist to bump. “Then yeehaw, Lacey. Let’s do this.”
He mock sighed at me and rolled his eyes. “How quickly we forget. I’m Cagney with the good hair, remember?”
I managed a tiny gi
ggle. “Right, right. I’m Lacey with the mediocre coif.”
Uncle Darling came out of Monty’s room then, looking ragged and defeated, his shoulders slumped, his coat dragging beside him. He walked straight into the arms I held out to him. When he collapsed against me for the second time today, I hugged him close.
Taking his hand, I led him away the way he’d done with me when I’d scraped my knee or my heart had been broken by some silly boy. “Let’s get you home, Uncle Darling. We’ll let Uncle Monty get some rest, and I bet things will look better tomorrow.”
Uncle Darling didn’t say a word as I helped him put his coat back on and wrapped his scarf around his neck, pressing a quick kiss to his chubby cheek.
Neither Hobbs nor I spoke, either, as we filed back into the elevator, and it remained that way while Hobbs heated up his Jeep and we waited in the lobby for him to come get us, then continued on the ride home.
Fighting my desolation and fears to stay strong for my uncle, I focused on Hobbs’s words about finding the killer.
I wanted to find whoever did this and zap them to kingdom come. For Anna and Gable and their new baby.
For my uncles Monty and Darling.
“Is he resting comfortably?” Hobbs asked when I entered the kitchen.
He sat at my walnut-stained dining room table, his head poking out from behind a miniature sleigh filled with candy canes and greens.
He held up a cup of hot chocolate and enticed me to sit with him.
I took a chair at the table across from him and smiled, taking the mug to find some of the fresh, homemade marshmallows I’d brought home bobbing in the chocolatey goodness.
“He is. He took a bit of a sleeping aid to help him get some rest. I think for the moment, he’ll be okay.”
By the way, in witch-speak, that means I cast a spell on him to keep him asleep and dreamless for the next eight hours or so.
“Good. He’s had a hellish night,” Hobbs said, pushing his phone at me. “So, I’ve been doing some digging around about Gable Norton, his wife Anna, and that missing girl you told me about, Kerry Carver.”
I looked down at his phone as I took a sip of my hot chocolate, and my eyes widened. “Wait, am I reading that right? There are two more missing girls?” As I quickly scanned the article by a guy named Westcott Morgan, I almost gasped.
Hobbs drummed his fingers on the table, his lips a thin line under his neatly trimmed mustache. “That’s correct. This guy Westcott wrote an opinion piece on the police department’s lack of interest after talking to Jasmine Franks’s mother. I guess Jasmine’s mom thinks they dropped the ball, because they did next to nothing about Jasmine’s disappearance other than to make her feel as though her daughter was off on some adventure. And because both she and the other girl, Lisa Simons, are basically adults, there’s been very little done.”
“So their disappearances aren’t suspect because they’re legal adults and maybe they ran off with some guy, that type of thing?”
“Yep. When Lisa went missing, they also did nothing. He has a theory about these girls and their economic backgrounds. He thinks their abductions are all connected. I mean, look at their pictures. All brunettes, average height, every one of them has blue eyes, all within the same age range. Makes sense, right? But his assertation is Jasmine and Lisa have a different socioeconomic background than Kerry, and maybe that’s why no one’s been making a fuss. He’s calling it class discrimination.”
“So Kerry’s parents are making a stink and the Chester Bay police are taking note? Or is the truth just that she’s underage and they’d look stupid to chalk it up to running off with a boyfriend?”
Hobbs’s lips thinned. “It looks like they’re at least looking into it a little harder than they did the other two girls. Not by much mind you. Basically, what Westcott’s doing is stirring up controversy by heavily suggesting Jasmine and Lisa weren’t worthy of the police’s time because of their socioeconomic status. That’s his angle, anyway. He doesn’t really have a lot of facts to back it up, because let’s face it, Kerry’s disappearance is brand new and she’s underage, but he’s getting noticed, which is typically a journalist’s hope—even if he’s going about it salaciously.”
Blinking, I set my mug down and went to get my laptop so I could see these girls clearer. Popping it open, I typed in the article and pulled it up, making the pictures of the young girls bigger.
Staring at their pretty faces, so young and dewy soft, my stomach turned and my hands went clammy.
I bit the tip of my fingernail, feeling a headache forming as I finished reading the article. “So this guy Westcott seems to be talking possible serial killer without saying serial killer, or at least that’s what this article feels like he’s implying. He makes some good points, too. Add to the similarities in their looks, age, etcetera, he says there’s something else to consider—they’re all from nearby towns.”
Hobbs bobbed his head. “Uh-huh. All within a thirty or forty-mile radius, all very similar in looks, all ranging in age from seventeen to twenty, all missing within the last few months, with Kerry Carver being the most recent at three days ago.”
“All traveling on foot.” Cracking my knuckles, I rolled my head from side to side and remembered we hadn’t discussed what Anna told me. “Before we get sidetracked on this, let me bring you up to speed with what I learned from Gable’s wife, and her mother, Regina.”
Hobbs held up his finger and nodded. “Before you show me yours, let me show you mine. While you were tucking in Uncle Darling, I also looked up Gable. He’s had a handful of DUIs, a drunk and disorderly, and a couple of arrests for disturbing the peace. And I found on the Facebook page of a friend of a friend of Anna’s that his rehab was court ordered.”
“But no drug charges?”
“Nope. Not listed online, anyway. But everything’s online these days, so I don’t know how it could have been missed. Mostly the devil he knew was booze. Also, nothing out of the ordinary on his own Facebook page but a lot of bad grammar and memes about hunting and football.”
His comment made me snicker. “Bad grammar? Are you one of those people, Hobbs?”
He smirked at me, his eyes amused. “I told you, I do a lot of crossword puzzles. I like a solid vocabulary and good spelling. So I guess I am one of those people, and I’m not going to apologize for it. Anyway, why would you mention drugs in connection with Gable?”
I passed on what Regina had told me about Landry Tithers. “The fact that Anna wondered about whether Gable was selling again for Landry makes me wonder if he just never got caught with drugs. She said he’d been weird for a couple of days, but he didn’t smell like alcohol. She assumed his strange behavior had to do with drugs.”
Hobbs stretched his long arms out in front of him. “Then possible scenario? Landry Tithers maybe sold him drugs, or tried to get Gable to sell drugs for him, and he was the guy who shot Gable?”
“That’s definitely a possibility, I suppose. Let’s look up Landry and see what kind of charges, if any, he’s got.”
I don’t know Landry Tithers personally. I only knew of him, and what I knew wasn’t good.
“Already done,” Hobbs said, showing me the screen of his phone. “A couple of possession charges, one possession with the intent to sell.”
“But nothing violent?”
“No assault. Though he does have one resisting arrest. I guess that could be considered violent, depending on how you define it, but no real history of violence. Just a bunch of drug charges.”
“Then there’s the SD card, the one Uncle Darling heard the killer talking about, what does that mean?” I put my head in my hands and groaned. “I can’t make any sense of why the killer would want that if he was disguised by a mask. According to Uncle Darling, the killer said, and I quote, ‘Give me that effin’ SD card’ like he specifically came to the store for it, as proven by the fact that he didn’t steal anything, according to Stiles, and no merchandise was missing. Was the SD card the reason he was
in the store in the first place?”
He cupped his chin. “I don’t think it’s such a stretch to think a criminal wouldn’t want to be on any tape, even disguised, but I think you’re right. I think. I don’t think it has as much to do with recognizing him and more to do with something he did. But then that begs the question, what’s on the SD card that’s so bad he was willing to kill for it? And if it’s Landry Tithers, is he the kind of guy who’d wear pants with a crease down the front? Because look at this picture of him. He’s unshaven and a little scraggly. Does he look like the kind of guy who wears pants with a crease—a big enough crease for fashion-forward Uncle Darling to notice?”
As I stared at the picture of Landry Tithers, I definitely questioned whether he was a candidate for murder, considering what Uncle Darling told us. He was indeed unkempt and greasy and even a bit scrawny. I don’t know that he could have wrestled a gun from Gable without help.
“And here’s something else to think about,” Hobbs said. “Maybe the SD card isn’t from Feeney’s at all? Maybe, whoever killed Gable wanted an SD card that had nothing to do with Feeney’s at all. Maybe that just happened to be where he confronted him about it? Maybe the card is from a phone or a camera?”
Now my head was spinning. “I say we move on from our only suspect at this point and look up the missing girls’ Facebook pages and Twitter handles, maybe see if we can dredge up any clues from them. I don’t understand the connection between Kerry Carver’s lipstick, the murderer, and Gable Norton, but I think we should try and look for one.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Hobbs agreed.
As I stared at the pictures of the missing girls, I had to agree with Westcott. His theory didn’t seem so outlandish. “I have to admit, I don’t know about the economic angle of things, but the rest of it? Westcott might be on to something. Their looks coupled with how they were taken, all walking somewhere, it’s all very similar. But can we call him a serial killer if no one has turned up dead? Is that why I haven’t heard about it on the news? I mean, there are no bodies to speak of. Or that we know of. Just a lipstick.”
Have Yourself a Merry Little Witness Page 6