The Decorator Who Knew Too Much

by Diane Vallere

  As Jimmy got closer to me, I sensed there was more than anger behind his actions. There was frustration. He didn’t know what was going on any more than we did. He probably knew less. “What about the hospital? Do you think I beat myself up? And Hudson too?” he asked quietly.

  When I replied, I kept my voice low and steady. “The only thing I know here is you are not acting like a concerned father and husband. You’re acting helpless and I don’t get that. Your wife is missing. Your daughter is too. Maybe they are at the movies, or maybe something very bad happened to them. Why isn’t Emma home yet? Why isn’t she answering our calls? How come I’m the one asking these questions and you’re not?”

  “Because Emma made it clear she doesn’t want me as a husband. Our marriage has been over for a long time.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  “We had a trial separation a year ago,” Jimmy continued. “After six months, she brought up divorce. I thought we could turn it around. We had Heather to think about. It wasn’t just about what Emma wanted anymore.”

  “So what happened?”

  “The usual. We saw a marriage counselor, but it didn’t do any good. First session was just Emma accusing me of every single thing I did wrong since saying ‘I do.’ I sat there and took it, figured she needed to let it all out. But after that, I knew. She had zero interest in working things out. She was laying the groundwork for a new life. I started to suspect that there was somebody else, but when I asked, she told me to stop accusing her. So I laid off.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked. “This whole setup—us coming here to work for you, staying at your house, all of it—why even go there?”

  “I’ve been dragging my feet on signing the papers. I know what you’re thinking. If I knew Emma was cheating on me, why prolong things?” He looked at me for a second, and then looked Hudson in the eye. “Me and your sister go back a long time. A long time. We’ve had more rounds than a prize fight. She always came back, man. I had no reason to think this time would be different.”

  Hudson put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “I can’t take sides. You know that.”

  “I know.”

  The tension was palpable. I excused myself and let the two men talk. I couldn’t help in this matter. I’d been little more than a pawn from the beginning.

  I went down the hallway. Mortiboy was asleep on the middle of the bed. I went into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and washed the dirt and grime I’d picked up from the Middletons’ driveway from under my fingernails. I was shaking. Jimmy had made no secret of the fact that he was annoyed with my presence in their house.

  The towel grew grimy from dirt left on my knees from earlier. I carried the dirty towel to the hamper where Mortiboy liked to hide and was about to toss it inside when I noticed I’d missed a spot of grime on the outside of my forearm. I wet the corner of the towel, squirted some hand soap onto it, and rubbed at the spot. It didn’t come off.

  I rubbed a little harder. My flesh turned red with irritation. It took three rounds with the towel and the soap to get the spot clean. That was unlike any dirt I’d encountered before. I held the towel up to my nose and sniffed. The gray spots had a faint clay smell to them, almost unnoticeable under the lemon ginger scent of the hand soap.

  I pulled off one of my sneakers and held the sole up to my nose. It smelled like the towel. I reached into the hamper and rooted around for the blue and white towel Mortiboy had been curled up on the day Heather had been missing. It had reddish brown streaks on it and smelled the same. Back in the guest room, I pulled another sneaker out of my luggage and checked the soles. They were clean.

  I felt a little nuts sniffing dirty towels and sneaker soles, but something about the stain bothered me. I carried my towel outside and called Hudson over to me.

  “Does this smell funny to you?” I asked, holding up the towel.

  “Have we already reached that stage of our relationship?”

  “I’m serious. It smells like pottery, right?”

  “It’s clay,” Jimmy said from behind Hudson. “We got a lot of clay-rich soil out here. It’s so dry around here you find it blowing in the wind. Sometimes won’t even notice you picked up a layer until you wash your clothes and see the water runoff.”

  I stepped away from Hudson and focused on what Jimmy had said. “When you say, ‘around here,’ do you mean all of Palm Springs?”

  “Nope, just pockets. There’s some on our street, but not much because the street paved over it. A little on the sides by the property lines. It’s bad out by the quarry. Lucky it’s been dry. If you get it wet, it’s like orange tar.”

  What Jimmy said made sense. I’d gotten dirty this afternoon while trying to dig the pill vial out from in front of the Middletons’ house, and I’d had my yellow sneakers on when I was in the quarry.

  “Why are you so worried about a little clay?” Hudson asked.

  I held up a dirty towel. “The day Heather was missing, we thought somebody took Mortiboy too. We searched the house and found him in the hamper on a pile of dirty laundry.”

  “Cats like dark spaces.”

  I held up the blue and white striped towel Mortiboy had been curled up on. “This towel was underneath him.”

  “And?” Jimmy asked.

  “And it’s covered in the same clay I have on my clothes from my day at the quarry. Earlier that day when Emma drove me to the hospital, she had this towel in the car.”

  “So what?”

  I looked at Hudson. “It was clean. Now it’s filthy. None of us have been at the quarry. That means Emma has.”

  “What would she be doing out there? She’s not a part of my crew. She doesn’t have anything to do with this project.”

  Even though Jimmy was the one to speak and Hudson had remained quiet, I kept staring at Hudson as though we were the only two there. “Don’t you see, Hudson? She’s using Jimmy’s job as a cover. She’s the one Benji was looking for, not me. You wanted proof your sister was at the quarry.” I held the towel up. “This is proof.”

  Hudson took the towel from me. His grip was so tight his fingers turned white. He stared at it for a couple of seconds, and then looked at Jimmy. “You don’t know where she went?”

  Jimmy shook his head.

  Hudson grabbed the keys. “I can’t just sit around here hoping everything’s okay. I don’t believe my sister killed anybody.” He stormed out the front door. I ran after him.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “To the river. I want to look around and see what we missed.”

  There were no cars on the road. We turned off the main road mere minutes after leaving the McKennas’ driveway. It was late and the entrance to the river was closed by a large metal gate secured in the center with a length of chain and a padlock.

  Hudson backed up the Jeep and parked it by the side of the road.

  He turned to me. “Are you wearing practical shoes?”

  “I live in practical shoes.” I climbed out of the car and climbed over the gate. I stopped on the other side and looked back at him. “What are you waiting for?” I asked.

  Hudson joined me on the less legal side of the gate and we made quick time to the parking lot. The Avalanche was back, parked in the same space it had occupied earlier in the week.

  “I thought Detective Drayton said somebody claimed the key and moved the car?” Hudson asked.

  “He did.”

  The once-shiny SUV had grown dingier in the past two days. I stuck my finger out and dragged it along the passenger side of the car, leaving a streak in the dirt. When I was done, I rubbed my grungy finger against my right hand. The residue transferred and left a spot in the middle of my palm. I rubbed my left thumb against it, but the spot didn’t fade.

  “It’s dirty,” Hudson said.

  “It’s dry dirt. Clay,” I said. “Take off your T
-shirt.” Hudson looked at me like I was out of my mind. “I’d use mine, but it’s polyester. Yours is cotton.”

  “Convenient,” he said. He pulled his black T-shirt over his head and held it out to me. I stood there, temporarily distracted by his bare chest and washboard abs. “Is this what you wanted?”

  “It’s a nice bonus.” I balled his T-shirt up and wiped the side panel of the vehicle, including the windows.

  “Hey!”

  “It’ll wash up nice and new. But look. Now the truck is clean.” I pointed to the door. Hudson’s brows pulled together and he frowned. I looked at his T-shirt. Clay-colored dirt particles discolored the black fabric. I shook it out and the loose dirt flew off in a cloud around us while the fabric snapped.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “When we had the accident, the SUV was dirty. The next day, it was clean. But now, when we got here, it was dirty again. After it was moved, this truck went to the quarry. I was so sure the truck belonged to Dr. Hall, but when I heard somebody moved it, I figured I was wrong. Now I don’t know what to think.”

  Hudson pulled on his dirty T-shirt, and then stepped closer to the SUV and pressed his face up against the window. After a second, he pulled out his phone, turned on the flashlight, and aimed it inside.

  “Do you see that?” he asked.

  I stepped closer and followed the beam of light. It shined into the backseat and landed on Heather’s missing stuffed rabbit.

  “What’s Heather’s bunny doing inside the Avalanche?”

  Hudson stood up straight and turned to me. “You told the detective about this car, didn’t you?”

  I nodded. “He told Officer Buchanan to check it out, but when Buchanan came out here for the keys, they were gone and the truck had been moved. With no concrete evidence to tie the two, Drayton wrote it off as coincidence.”

  “Heather must have been inside the car. Emma put her own daughter at risk.” His face grew red and his fists balled up. “She’s right in the middle of everything. It’s bad enough she got involved with that crooked doctor, but to involve Heather? That’s irresponsible.”

  “She’s not thinking clearly,” I said. “You heard what Jimmy said. Emma filed for divorce.”

  “This is grounds for negligence. She could lose custody.” He balled up his fist and punched the side of the truck. The fiberglass flexed in and then bounced back.

  I reached forward and yanked on the door handle. I don’t know what I expected, but I certainly didn’t think the door would open. It did. The truck hadn’t been locked.

  Hudson and I looked at each other. “What the hell?” he asked.

  “The night we got here, Heather was upset because she couldn’t find her stuffed bunny. Emma told me she’d been crying all day until Rocky and Mortiboy arrived.”

  “But why would Heather’s bunny be in Dr. Hall’s car?” Hudson asked. He reached into the backseat and grabbed the bunny. He stood there, next to the SUV, the bunny still in his grip. He stared at the small plush face as though searching for answers. I put my hand on his arm.

  “There’s another explanation,” I offered. He searched my face for answers. I could see a form of desperation there, hope that whatever I said would cast his sister’s recent actions in a better light. Unfortunately, the better light was fraught with a whole other set of problems. “Emma saw Dr. Hall leave the house with two duffle bags. Ernie had the one filled with pills. It’s possible that Dr. Hall took the bunny as insurance—or leverage—or whatever you call it. Something to scare Emma into seeing that he could get to her little girl if she made trouble for him.” I squeezed Hudson’s hands. “Emma searched the house for that bunny. I honestly don’t think she knew it was in this truck.”

  “This isn’t about the bunny,” Hudson said. “It’s about Emma. Where is she? Why isn’t she out here with us, helping to find out what happened?”

  “Because maybe she’s in trouble.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  The color drained from his face. I squeezed his arm to comfort him. Valuable seconds ticked past while we stood there, not speaking, barely touching, Hudson lost as to how to help his sister, me lost in how to help Hudson.

  Headlights cut through the night. It was too dark to make out the car that approached, but there seemed to be no question it was headed our direction. We’d had to abandon our car and proceed on foot. If the person headed our way was acting in some official manner, they’d likely be able to bypass the gate.

  The headlights stopped at about the location where our car was parked.

  “We should call the police,” I said.

  “That might be the police.”

  The headlights cut off. A car door slammed. We didn’t move. About twenty seconds later, the lights went back on and the car jumped backward in an arc. The car pulled forward and completed a U-turn, then picked up speed on its way out of the park.

  “I don’t think that was the police.” I grabbed Hudson’s hand and pulled him forward with me. “I left my handbag in the car. We have to leave. They probably know who we are. It’s not safe.”

  Hudson shoved the bunny at me and ran toward the car. I followed him, but couldn’t keep up. He started the Jeep and swung it around in a semi-circle like the other car but waited for me. I tossed the bunny inside the open window and climbed inside. I felt around on the seat and the floorboards for my handbag. It—including my phone and my ID—was gone. Whoever had followed us to the river knew I was still looking for answers. Hudson slammed his foot down and the tires spun for a second before catching on the loose gravel and dirt and propelling us forward.

  We tore past the gates of the park. Hudson closed the gap between us and the other car and flashed his lights. There was no misunderstanding our intent, but still, the car in front of us sped on. I didn’t tell Hudson my newest theory because it had a frightening reality to it. More frightening than the alternatives we’d suspected so far. There was one other way Heather’s bunny could have ended up in the back of the Avalanche.

  Aside from the occasional “there he is,” “he switched lanes,” and “quick, turn left,” there wasn’t much conversation in the car. It was more civilized than the high-speed chases you saw on TV, probably because both cars involved had a reason to avoid being pulled over by the police.

  I wasn’t clear on whether or not the car in front of us knew we were following it until our chase turned onto a road which turned into little more than a dirt path for off-road vehicles. In front of us, a crane stood next to a construction site. The sign announced new luxury condos. We were at the construction site behind Emma and Jimmy’s house. The car in front of us drove at a breakneck speed, headed for a spot between the crane and the poured foundation.

  “That area is dangerous,” I said. “They just poured the foundation a few days ago. It’s probably not even set. I don’t know anything about concrete, but will it hold the weight of a car?”

  “We’re about to find out.”

  As we got closer to the job site, the car approached the crane. From a distance, I couldn’t tell if the small car had enough clearance to make it through the gap. If it did, it would get away. No way would our Jeep be able to follow.

  Hudson slowed the car to a stop. “I have a bad feeling about this,” he said.

  The car in front of us eased through the opening. I expected the driver to accelerate immediately, to drive between the rows of houses to the dirt road and then back out to the main road of Palm Springs. We were only a handful of miles from Highway 111, and with the light traffic and a head start, he’d lose us easily. But the car didn’t speed up. It slowed and then stopped.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Wait here.” Hudson got out of the Jeep and crept forward into the darkness. When he got about twenty feet in front of me, his silhouette faded into the darkness. I picked up his outli
ne when he crept in front of the partially constructed building. I strained my eyes, trying to make out what was happening. It was too quiet. We’d been led here like mice trailing a piece of cheese. It didn’t make sense the person who lured us here would be sitting quietly in the car, waiting for Hudson to approach.

  And then I saw another figure disappear around the other side of the crane. Hudson was walking into a trap.

  I undid my seatbelt and opened the car door. An interior light went on. I grabbed Hudson’s black bandana from the center console and threw it over the interior light. The only edge we might have was if the driver of the sports car thought there was only one of us. Announcing my presence with the car seemed unwise. I had nothing—no plan, no weapon, no phone. We were the length of an Olympic-sized swimming pool from Emma and Jimmy’s house, and if I could get there undetected, I could call for help.

  I eased the door shut and left it resting next to the latch. I crept forward, keeping to the shadows. Hudson had taken an almost direct path between the Jeep and the sports car, the shortest distance between two points. Now that I’d gotten closer, I could see his silhouette next to the car. I reached the crane and flattened myself against it, slowly moving along the side. Every couple of seconds I looked up to make sure Hudson was okay. I reached the end of the crane and peeked around the other side. The muzzle of a gun equipped with a silencer slowly extended past the edge, pointed in Hudson’s direction.