by Terry Shames
I turn back to Maria. “They’ll be out of here in twenty minutes. You want to wait or come with me?”
She turns to Sanchez. “You okay?”
He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not worried about these marchers, if that’s what you mean.”
“Sanchez,” I say, “I think you can relax about this whole matter. It will be over before you know it.”
Back at headquarters, Maria confronts me the minute we’re in the door. “What happened with the Baptist preacher? Is that why you think the ladies are going to have other things to deal with?”
I tell her everything that went on with Arlen Becker. “I won’t be surprised if he skips town over the weekend.”
“And you’re really sure he isn’t responsible for kidnapping those women?”
“The worst he has done is cheat on his wife. No, that’s not true. Apparently, he has harassed some women in the workplace. And got his hands slapped.”
“The Baptist preacher.” Her voice is full of disgust.
“The important thing now is that we still have to find Loretta.”
“You told Jolene you had a lead.”
“Not exactly a lead. More a piece of the puzzle that doesn’t quite fit. I’m going back over to Bobtail to see if I can make it work.”
“You’re not going without me.”
“I don’t . . .”
“No. I’m tired of this. You always want to be the hero. Always going off and coming back smug as you please with everything all wrapped up. Suppose this time you don’t figure it out? Suppose you could have used me and you didn’t, and Loretta gets killed? I would never forgive you for that.” She isn’t angry. She’s frustrated.
“All right. Let’s go. I’ll tell you what we’re up to on the way.”
She gets Dusty on the leash, and we head out. As we walk to the car, I examine what she said. Am I smug? Do I have to be the hero? Have I pushed her aside for my own ego?
CHAPTER 33
It’s five o’clock when we roll up to Darlene’s Beauty Shop. A woman newly coiffed and pink-cheeked is walking down the sidewalk to the gate.
When we get inside, Darlene is sweeping up the floor around the client’s chair. She looks up, startled. “I didn’t know you were coming back.”
“It’s an informal talk. This is my colleague, Maria Trevino. We want to ask you a few more questions.”
She dumps the hair she swept up into the trash can and bangs the dust pan on the side, making more noise than seems necessary. “I don’t know any more than I’ve already told you.”
“Why don’t we sit down for a minute. Officer Trevino hasn’t been in on our conversations. I want her to go back over a few things with you, maybe get a fresh perspective.”
She gives a humph of annoyance but escorts us back in to her little domain. We sit down, and she folds her hands on the desk in front of her. “Okay, now what do you want to know? Keep in mind that I have a husband to get home to and make dinner for.”
“We’ll be brief.”
On the way over, I told Maria I’d like her to take the lead, and she hops right in. “Take us back to when Lucy Nettleman came to work for you. What was her state of mind then?”
“Terrible. She had lost everything. She had her business and a big house, and she was the kind of person everybody pointed to as a real success. When her husband left, he cheated her out of all that.”
“I don’t understand. Texas is a community property state. Didn’t she get half the property?”
“She should have, but he finagled it so he got almost everything. Something about putting property in his name or owning things before they married. I don’t know the details. He did buy her that little place she lives in. It was the least he could do. She was desperate. When she applied to work here, I didn’t take to her, and I worried that it wasn’t a good idea to have such an unhappy stylist work in the shop. But I felt sorry for her. Besides, she had a good reputation and brought clients with her. I figured she’d settle down sooner or later.”
“And did she?”
She draws a breath and hesitates. “Mostly. I like a friendly atmosphere, and she wasn’t always cheerful, but she really is a good hairdresser, and her clients are loyal.”
“Did she ever disappear like this before?”
“Goodness, no. I wouldn’t put up with that. She’s always on time and does her part to clean up and what not.”
“Did you ever go out with her socially?”
“No, that wasn’t in the cards, ever. I’m a happily married woman and . . .” She raises her eyebrows. “I don’t mean I have anything against a divorced woman. It’s not like it was her fault. But if you play cards or have dinner, it’s a stray person.”
“No girls’ night out or birthday lunch, nothing like that?”
“Well, let me see. I think one of her ladies took her out for lunch on her birthday back near Christmas, but that’s all. And as for ladies’ night out, I don’t think my husband would care much for that. He likes me to be at home.” She gives a satisfied toss of her head.
“Did she ever talk about her divorce?”
Darlene goes still and then says, “Talk about it! I’ll say she did.” A little pink appears in her cheeks. “I’m afraid she overshared. I had to have a heart to heart with her after she had worked here a month or so. I had to tell her that people did not want to hear her complain nonstop about her ex-husband. I mean, I didn’t say it that way, blunt. I tried to be tactful, you know. But I had to put a stop to it.”
“And did she stop?”
“Toned it down. I didn’t want to put a gag on her, just wanted her to . . .” she waves her hand, as if shooing away the unpleasantness.
“Did her daughter ever come in the shop?” Maria says.
Darlene gives a sharp bark of laughter. “You’re getting right down to it, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“That was the other problem. I had to tell her that her daughter could not be hanging around all the time. The two of them were like droopy dogs. I don’t think it’s good for a shop to have gloom and doom. Besides, I thought the daughter ought to have her own life. What was she doing always hanging around here? I don’t mind telling you, I put my foot down on that one. I told her I didn’t want her daughter coming here. She only works here three or four days a week, which I thought left her plenty of time off to spend with her daughter.”
“It’s hard to make ends meet working just a few days a week. Do you know if she works anywhere else?”
“I have my suspicions that she does a few clients at her house, but as long as she has a full schedule here, I don’t feel like making anything of it.”
Another clue to follow up on.
“I understand her daughter doesn’t live with her?” Maria says.
“No, that was funny. I thought that because they were joined at the hip, they must live together, but she said her daughter owns a place outside Bryan. You know that’s where the daughter works part time at a pizza parlor.”
I’m wondering how Holly Nettleman manages to live on the salary of a pizza place cashier, but before I can ask, Maria says, “What pizza parlor?” She has that look she gets when she’s onto something.
“Umm, let me see. I know Lucy mentioned it. Pizza My Heart. Cute name.”
“Yes it is,” Maria says. “Easy to remember.”
I ask, “How can she afford to pay rent when she works in a pizza parlor?”
“That’s one of the problems between Lucy and her daughter. Apparently when Lucy’s in-laws died, they left their farmhouse to Lucy’s daughter. That’s how she got a house.”
“That’s kind of unusual.” Maria is good at this. She has discovered that gossip is in Darlene’s blood.
“It is. And Lucy told me her husband was furious. He blamed Lucy. He accused her of going behind his back to make sure their daughter got the old home place instead of him. She said he practically had apoplexy over it.”
“You�
�d think he’d be glad to have his daughter inherit the place.”
“Lucy thinks he already had divorce in mind, and he wanted every penny he could get his hands on.”
“Was he already seeing the other woman?”
“Yes. A woman he met on one of those dating sites. Oh, you should have heard the things Lucy had to say about those women who go on those websites.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, that they’re looking for a man and don’t care one bit if they steal somebody’s husband. That they are desperate and will do anything to get a man and his money. We all tried to tell her that it was men who usually were after the women—and their money—but she wasn’t having any of it.”
Maria glances at me with raised eyebrows.
I take the cue. “Did she ever make any threats with regard to these women?”
She gets right away what I’m driving at. She puts her hand to her neck. “Well no. She’s not that vindictive. I mean, she said she’d like to strangle the woman who her husband ran off with, but we all said it’s him she ought to be mad at.”
Maria stands up. “I think that’s all for now. Thank you for your help.”
“Wait one second,” I say. “You don’t happen to have Holly Nettle-man’s address, do you?”
“No. I might have her phone number as her mamma’s next of kin, but I don’t know the address.”
“That’s all right.” I remember that Hogarth and I saw the address on the receipt for the stove that Lucy bought. I get up to go because Maria is already halfway out the door, moving so fast that I have to hustle to keep up with her. “Thank you for your time,” I say on my way out. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Well . . .” Her tone of indignation is clear, but I don’t have time to soothe her feathers.
As soon as we’re in the car, Maria says, “Why didn’t you tell me the missing woman’s daughter worked at a pizza parlor?”
“Why would I tell you that? I just found out yesterday. What difference does it make?”
“Remember I told you that the morning she disappeared, Loretta got a couple of marketing calls?”
“Vaguely.”
“One of them was from Bryan, and when I called to find out why they had phoned Loretta’s number, the girl I talked to said they had been having a promotion and were calling a lot of people. The name of the business was Pizza My Heart.”
I shake my head. Of all the crazy possibilities. “No way we could have made that connection. But . . .”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Maria says.
I stare out the front window as I gather my reasoning. “All along we’ve been picturing a man kidnapping those women; talking about a man, searching for a man. But it could as easily have been a woman.”
Maria is nodding as I talk.
“In fact,” I continue, “it would have been easier for a woman to lure other women in than it would be for a man.” I recall Loretta’s next-door neighbor saying that the person he saw carrying Loretta’s suitcase was dressed like a man, but moved like a woman.
“But if Lucy Nettleman and her daughter kidnapped those women,” Maria says, “what did they plan to do with them? We know one of them died, but what about Loretta?”
“I don’t know the answer to that,” I say. I don’t like where my thought are headed. “But it troubles me that Lucy is missing.”
“What do you mean?”
“The women were kidnapped a week ago. Why did Lucy suddenly disappear?”
Maria’s eyes go wide. “If Lucy decided to get rid of Loretta, she may have killed her and skipped out. Is that what you’re thinking?”
My mind is working furiously. I was thinking that, but another possibility occurs to me. “Hold on. Suppose we have it wrong? It was Holly who made the phone call to Loretta. Suppose she kidnapped the women?”
“Was she capable of that?”
“Maybe. I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to meet the daughter. My take on her was that she was a little off. Suppose she kidnapped them, and her mamma just found about it and threatened to turn her in.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Maria closes her eyes and shakes her head. “And now her mamma is missing. You think it’s possible Holly did away with her?”
“We have to consider it.” I start the car. “Let’s go out to Holly Nettleman’s farmhouse and pay her a visit,” I say. “Hogarth has the address.”
We stop by Bobtail Police Department, but Hogarth is gone. I call his cell phone, and he directs Marks to give me the information I need from the file on Lucy Nettleman. “You going out to talk to the daughter again?” Marks asks. I tell him I am.
“Can’t hurt,” he says. “You never know.”
When I get back to the car, Maria says, “You don’t think we ought to tell them what we’re up to?”
“Suppose we’re wrong? No need to get them all excited for nothing.”
Maybe Maria is right. Maybe my ego is involved. But the truth is, if I told Hogarth what we had in mind, it’s likely that he’d want to make a detailed plan that would involve other officers. It would take time that we don’t have. I feel like every minute we spend is a minute that might be taken off Loretta’s life.
After a brief argument over whether to take Dusty with us, Maria persuades me not to swing by my place and leave him at home. “He has to learn how to behave in all circumstances,” she says. Besides, it’s evening, so if we have to leave him in the car, it will be fine. We also argue over whether to take my truck or the squad car.
“Both,” Maria says. “Suppose they do have Loretta? Not only do we have to bring her home, but we also have to arrest them.” Her eyes are shining. She has managed to convince herself that we’ll find Loretta alive and well at Holly Nettleman’s place.
I’m glad for the opportunity to drive to Holly Nettleman’s farmhouse by myself. It gives me a chance to consider what we might find. It’s possible that Holly Nettleman and her mother have murdered Loretta, and we can find no evidence of it and never will. That’s the worst scenario I can imagine, although close behind is that they killed Loretta, and we do find evidence. Either way, Loretta would be gone.
It’s also possible that, as Maria has convinced herself, we’ll find her there with them, alive. I try not to dwell on mental images of her bedraggled and thin, frightened out of her wits.
The other possibility I don’t want to consider is that they kidnapped her and have her hidden where we can’t find her. How would we even prove it? And what would be their motive?
We drive past the site where Elaine Farquart’s body was found. The turnoff is only a few miles beyond it, lending even more weight to the possibility that Holly and Lucy are responsible for all this.
These thoughts are banished as I slow to turn off the main highway. We are three miles outside of Bryan, with scattered houses getting more infrequent. It’s dusk, and although I’ve slowed down considerably, I almost miss the sign to Shaker Road. It’s paved but not well maintained, and the houses grow sparser as I drive slowly, trying to see the numbers on the mailboxes. The road snakes back to the west, paralleling the main highway and then, at a grove of trees, swings back south. In the trees, it’s even darker.
My cell phone rings. It’s Maria. “The mailboxes have names, but no numbers. How are we going to figure out where it is?”
“There’s bound to be a number on some of them, but if not, we’ll stop at one of the houses and ask.”
Dusty seems to sense that something is going on. He is sitting at alert with his nose testing the air. I’ve got the windows rolled up too far for him to stick his head out because I don’t want him barking.
A quarter mile farther, we see the number 15562. The farmhouse lies at the end of a long gravel driveway. Lights are on, and a car and pickup are in the driveway. I call Maria back. “Did you see that? We’re in the area anyway.” We’re looking for 17992. A little farther, and there’s 17778. Maria flashes her lights to show me that she has seen it, too. Dusty
gets up and turns around restlessly, giving a little whimper.
“Easy does it,” I say. “We don’t have too far to go now.” As if he could understand.
Maria and I talk again on the phone and agree that when we find the place, we’ll drive past it for a quarter mile and rendezvous. I go even slower, my pulse quickening. We pass a little clump of houses close to the road, all lit up in the darkening light.
There it is. A black mailbox with Nettleman painted on it in white. We drive on, and around a curve up the road there’s a wide spot where we can stop. Dusty leaps up. “Quiet,” I tell him. I leave him in the pickup, go back to the squad car, and slip in beside Maria.
“What’s the plan, boss?” she asks.
“There are two ways we could proceed: sneak up and case the place or knock on the door and confront them.”
“If we try to sneak up, suppose they have a dog?”
“We have to risk it. If they do have Loretta, then it’s not likely that she’ll be where we can see her if they open the door. And if they don’t allow us in, we have no right to demand it because we don’t have anything concrete to go on.”
She nods. She’s chewing on her knuckle, which I’ve never seen her do.
“If we sneak up and a dog starts barking, then we’ll go knock on the door.” I hope that doesn’t happen. I prefer to get a good look around before we have to act.
“I saw a building like a barn when we drove by. It was big enough for a couple of cars. I’d like to get a look at that too,” Maria says.
I take my holster out of the glovebox and strap it on, something I’ve only done a few times the whole time I’ve been chief of police.
Dusty doesn’t like being left, but I speak sternly to him, and he lies down, looking at me with reproachful eyes. I don’t look back as we walk away.
CHAPTER 34
There are no cars in sight, but the driveway continues alongside the house and on around back. The front and upstairs of the house are dark, but through the front windows, I see there’s a light on in the back. The driveway is paved with shell, so we walk alongside it in the dirt so our footsteps won’t make any noise. I keep my eye on the windows of the house in case anybody looks out. When we reach the porch, I nod to Maria to take the north side of the house, and I’ll go around the south.