“Hey! I’m wearing pants and a shirt with no cleavage,” I protested. “Not to mention a jacket. And boots.” Hell, I didn’t even have any make-up on. Well, not much.
The guy shrugged.
I thought Dee was going to have a seizure, so I gently pushed her aside. “Where’s Gary Tremaine?”
“In the church.” He pointed to the rusted blue van we’d parked behind.
“Thanks.” I pulled my sister off the porch before she regained her ability to speak and/or throw a punch.
“That asshole!” she cried as we walked across the yard. “Assfuckinghole!”
“Put on your big girl panties,” I told her. “This ain’t the suburbs.”
Dee sucked in a steadying breath and after a few seconds of deep breathing, her face returned to its normal color.
“You good?”
“I feel less stabby.” She examined the van. “Do you think he sells drugs out of this thing?”
“In front of the halfway house where social workers and police officers visit? Probably not.”
We walked to the van’s side door and studied the big, white cross that had been painted on it. “I guess it is a church.”
“It’s probably camouflage,” said my sister. “If Gary’s pretending to be a preacher on wheels, he’s probably left alone so he can do the devil’s work. And snatch helpless kids.”
“The van is on blocks, so he not using this vehicle.”
“Good point.” She rapped on the sliding door. “Mr. Tremaine? Are you in there?”
We stared at the door expectantly.
It popped out and slid open.
Gary Tremaine, looking just like his mug shot, grinned at us. “Welcome!” he said. “Do you seek enlightenment?”
“We certainly do,” I answered.
“Come in,” he invited. “And find your joy.”
Dee took Gary’s proffered hand, and he hauled her into the van. I considered using my finger to write “help me” in the dust on the van’s side panel, but when Dee disappeared in the hazy, dimly lit confines of the vehicle, it left me with little choice but to follow.
Gary extended his hand to me. “Your turn.”
I took his hand. “I know ten ways to eff you up in close quarters without breaking a nail, let alone a sweat,” I lied.
He smiled. “You have no need to fear me, sister.” And with those words, I let him pull me into the tomb.
I landed next to Dee on a pile of huge, colorful pillows. Gary slammed the door shut and turned. His wide smile was sincere and welcoming. “Welcome to the Church of the Enlightened!”
The Church of the Enlightened was small, filled with incense smoke, and lit only by candles placed on an altar filled with contradictory deities.
“Aren’t you afraid the church will burn down?” I said, pointing at the flickering candles.
“Those are battery operated,” he said. “Bed, Bath, and Beyond was having a sale.”
“Nice.” I studied the altar. A happy Buddha sat next to a bobble head Jesus.
Gary saw the direction of my gaze. “It was hard to find a Jesus that wasn’t pinned to a cross or didn’t look depressed.”
“I can see your dilemma,” I said.
Gary crawled over to the altar and pointed at a small statue with a cow head and a female body. “That’s Hathor. She’s the Egyptian goddess of happiness, dance, and music.” He moved on to a dude with an elephant head. “That’s Ganesh. Hindu god of happiness. And next to him is Xochipilli, Aztec god of laughter and merriment.”
“I’m sensing a theme,” said Dee. She shared a look with me that I couldn’t quite interpret. Was she buying into the whole enlightenment thing?
“Just trying to cover the bases,” said Gary. “Life should be about being happy. Whatever that means to you.”
He was dressed in a blue shirt and jeans, both of which looked laundered. He didn’t wear shoes, but his feet look well cared-for. Better than mine right now. I needed a pedicure.
“Is this really a church?” asked Dee.
“It’s a chill space for contemplation of the Universe and all her gifts.”
“But you live in the house?” she continued.
“I just bought it. The van was already here, too.” His joyful smile nearly outshone that of Bobble head Jesus. “Everyone needs a second chance, you know?”
“So who’s Harvey Coen?” I asked.
“I have no idea. I kept the name. No need to change it, right? I do a lot of work with the homeless. Make sure people have a meal, or a place to sleep if they need it.”
This guy seemed like the last person in Vegas that would be doing evil. Either that, or he was most relaxed killer in history.
“I might be getting a divorce,” blurted Dee. “So I’m on the wrong side of happiness.”
I stared at her, wide-eyed. I sent her an are-you-seriously-using-this-dude-for-therapy look?
“Divorce, huh? That’s tough.” Gary sat back into a cross-legged position.
“Humans like to maintain status quo and do everything they can to keep it. Change means making different choices, sometimes really difficult choices, to pursue meaningful lives. Happiness is a skill.”
“And other fortune cookie cutter epiphanies.”
He leaned back, ignoring me, and put his hands on his knees. He directed his attention to Dee. “Joy is something you create purposefully. And you deserve it. You deserve a life that fulfills you and makes you happy.”
“What if you don’t know what makes you happy?” asked Dee.
“Only you can find the answer. But I can tell you, intrinsic happiness, that which forms from you and from your relationships and from your kindness to others, has more satisfaction and value.”
“As opposed to what?” I asked.
“Extrinsic value,” he said. “That’s when we seek money, material goods, and pursuing that which only benefits the self.”
Dee looked thoughtful.
Well, Gary was unexpectedly nice and less weird than I’d believed. Still. We were here for a reason. “You used to live in Summerlin, right? On March Street?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?” He studied us. “You’re not here for advice and prayer, are you?”
“No. Not really. The man who rented the property after you left … well, he died yesterday.”
“Dude.” His shocked expression was further evidence that Gary was not the killer/kidnapper type. “Harsh.”
“Natural causes,” I added.
“Death is a bummer. I’ll say a prayer for—”
“Carson Malloy.”
“Carson. Right on.”
“Is there any reason you stopped renting?” asked Dee. The question was a little too abrupt, and she realized this right away. “I mean, didn’t you like the neighborhood?”
“It was awesome. I only rented for a couple of months while I was waiting to close on this place. It was cool because it came fully furnished—even had the dishes.”
“Did you meet the previous renter?” I asked. It was a long shot question, but hey, we lived in a long-shot town.
“I don’t think there was one. Mrs. Keller said that house had been empty for a couple years and they’d only recently decided to rent it out.”
Mrs. Keller? As in, the wife of Robert Keller? When he’d told us that he’d wanted to keep the rental property on the down-low, I thought he meant in general, not that he and his wife were the landlords.
“Did you notice anything weird about the house while you lived there?” This question came from Dee.
“Like what?”
“Unexplained noises. Cold spots. White mists.”
“You mean, like ghosts?” Gary peered at us. “Are you paranormal investigators?”
“Yes,” said Dee. “Just like the Ghost Hunters. That’s us. So. You notice anything paranormal-y at the house?”
“Nope. Sorry. Maybe I wasn’t there long enough to attract the notice of the spirits.”
Dee and I shared a
disappointed look. The theory of Gary being the killer of young boys wasn’t holding water.
“So you said a Mrs. Keller rented the house to you?” Dee pulled out her phone and opened a note app. Dee tapped in the name. “You got a phone number or anything?”
“Yeah. I think I still have it.” Carson took out his cell, scrolled through, and stopped. He told Dee the number.
“Thanks for talking to us,” I said to Gary.
“No problem.” His smile remained bright on his lips and in his eyes. “Want me to say a prayer for your happiness journeys?”
“Yes,” said Dee. “To Hathor.” She looked at me. “I like cows.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I like ice cream.”
“A-to-the-men,” said Dee.
On the drive home, I told Dee about our gossipy friend, Robert, and my suspicions that his wife was the Mrs. Keller that Gary spoke about.
“Why wouldn’t he tell us that he owned the house?” she asked after we got inside.
“Why should he? He didn’t even cross the street to ask the police what was going on. Maybe being the HOA president puts him breach of contract or something.”
“Our Home Owners Association contract was the size of War and Peace,” she said. “It’s possible he’s violating bylaws, but I wouldn’t now. I’ve never read that thing.”
We entered the kitchen. I went for the ice cream, and Dee got the bowls. I glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. I had a couple of hours before I needed to get ready for my date.
Dee left the kitchen while I filled up our dishes with chocolate caramel crunch. When she came back, she was on her cell phone. “Great. We’ll see you there in twenty minutes.”
I pointed a spoon at her. “What did you just do?”
“I called Mrs. Keller and said my sister was thinking about moving to the neighborhood and that Gary had recommended we call her.”
“There’s no way she agreed to that, not the day after a dead guy was found on the lawn.”
“Oh, she agreed all right.” Dee sized me up. “You need to look more like a soccer mom and less like a burlesque dancer.”
“I’m fully dressed.” I must ooze cheap like a drunk oozes gin. “All these hooker and stripper comments are hell on my self-esteem.”
“Well, you’re beautiful and curvy and have those amazing brunette curls and smoky eyes. Especially when you do the cat eyeliner. Your clothes are tight and show off everything. That’s not bad—it’s just people are stupid and judge-y. Especially people in this neighborhood.”
“You think I’m beautiful?” I was stunned by this revelation. Dee was the slim, trim sister with the athletic body and the tight ass. And she was pretty without make-up—a feat I could never pull off.
“Yes. I’ve always envied your body and your confidence.”
“Me? You’re one hot mama.”
She rolled her eyes. “C’mon. I have to de-glam you. Quick.”
Chapter 7
Mrs. Keller brought Muffin with her to show the house, which was confirmation she was married to Robert. She wore a nice dress with nude heels and tasteful gold jewelry. Mrs. Keller was a real estate agent, and she had sold many of the houses in the neighborhood. That explained, sorta, how she’d ended up with two model homes.
As she told us about its attributes, she let us into the house.
Whoa. From the antique furniture and the gourmet kitchen to the premium wood flooring and the plush carpet, the home screamed beauty and luxury. It was the type of house I would easily dirty or damage, and I was uncomfortable as we proceeded with the tour. The longer we stayed, the more claustrophobic I got. Who puts white carpet in a house? Seriously. That’s asinine.
“It’s amazing,” said Dee. “I can’t believe this place is available.”
Mrs. Keller smiled. “Our previous renter left … um, suddenly. Of course, I’ll have it cleaned and readied for the next occupant.”
“I recognize your dog,” I said. “My sister and I met your husband on a neighborhood walk. Muffin is just the cutest.”
“Isn’t she?” Mrs. Keller beamed. “Robert’s retired. He was an ears, throat, and nose specialist. Now, he spends his days gardening and being the HOA president.” Mrs. Keller seemed quite pleased to relay this information. She struck me as the society type. “I consider myself semi-retired because I still dabble in real estate.”
“You live on this block, too, right?” asked Dee.
“We do.” She laughed. “We never intended to buy two homes. Our daughter and grandson used to live here. My son-in-law is in the military, and they thought they’d be living in Vegas for a while.” Her smile dimmed. “He took an assignment in Germany two years ago after…” She trailed off, her gaze going distant. Then she shook off her stupor. “Never mind.”
Dee touched Mrs. Keller’s arm. “Is something wrong with the house? Asbestos?”
“Oh, no. No. Our grandson disappeared.” She patted Dee on the hand. “Not here. It happened at one of the casinos. They went to eat at a buffet and he just…” She inhaled a shaky breath. “But I assure you this neighborhood is one of the safest in Summerlin.”
Was her grandson named Henry?
If he disappeared in one of the casinos, had he returned to his home looking for his parents? But that didn’t explain the other boys. Why would other boy ghosts congregate to this house?
“Do you have a picture?” asked Dee. “I’d love to see him.”
Mrs. Keller beamed. She pulled out her cell phone and pushed a button, showing my sister and I the screen. “That’s Jeremiah. He was such a dear.”
We looked at the blonde-haired boy, and I couldn’t help but notice he looked a lot like Henry Mason and Thomas Whitby. The killer definitely had a type. Had the kidnapper started with Jeremiah? Or was Jeremiah just one in a longer line of victims? My stomach soured. All those sweet lives stolen by a monster. Because only a monster could hurt children.
Mrs. Keller’s smile turned sad. “Robert was inconsolable. After our daughter left, he refused to sell the house. He wasn’t thrilled by the idea of me renting it out, but I thought this might be the best way for him to let go, at least a little.”
“I’m so sorry.” Dee went in for an impromptu hug and Mrs. Keller accepted.
They separated and Mrs. Keller had tears in her eyes. “Please excuse me. Feel free to look around.”
She left the house with Muffin and stood on the porch. Her cell phone rang and she took the call.
“You take the downstairs,” I said. “And I’ll take upstairs. Look for anything that’s weird.”
“Got it.”
We went our separate ways. I swept through each room. Every single one was perfect. Nothing out of place. No strange latches or weird smells or any indication that someone had died.
In addition to all of that, I didn’t see a single ghost.
I met Dee back down stairs. “Nada. You?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“C’mon.” We walked through the kitchen and I opened the sliding back doors. We stepped out onto the porch.
“You’re right,” said Dee. “It’s totally weird out here.”
“Isn’t it lovely?” Mrs. Keller came through the doors. “My husband created this in honor of Jeremiah. He calls it the tree of life.”
“It’s awesome,” I lied.
“A wonderful tribute,” agreed Dee.
Apparently, Mrs. Keller had no heebie-jeebie meter. Muffin did, though. The little dog stood near the back doors and growled.
“Muffie Wuffie!” Mrs. Keller picked up the ball of fluff. “That’s a no-no. You be a nice doggie.”
Muffin shut up, but I totally got why the dog was freaked.
“Well, ladies, what do you think?”
“I love it,” I said even though everything in my body screamed at me to run away. Fast. “Let me talk it over with my boyfriend. He’ll want to see it, too.”
“Absolutely!”
We followed Mrs. Keller o
ut and watched her lock the door. “Would you like a ride home?” she offered.
“It’s a nice night,” said Dee. “I live a couple blocks away. We’ll be fine.”
“Good night then.”
We waved good-bye and started home. Dee was making a to-do list out loud. If we weren’t careful, we might end up one of those Investigation Discovery channel programs, quite possibly Women in Prison. We were nearly to the empty park, the halfway point between the rental and my sister’s home. My gaze was drawn to the right as we passed Cranky Old Man’s house. He stood on the porch, staring at me, and once again, he crooked his finger.
What was this guy’s deal?
“What do you know about Mr. Withers?” I asked. “You think he has a thing for little boys?”
Dee stopped in her tracks. “He’s grumpy, but I don’t think he’s a kidnapper. He’s a million years old, Vie. How’s he supposed to grab an active little boy and get him out of a building without anyone noticing? Have you seen him? He’s a walking skeleton.”
“Well, keep him on the list,” I said. “He could have an accomplice.”
She stared me then she shook her head. “Okay. That’s enough. We need a time-out because we are bordering on paranoid. Let’s take off our deerstalker hats for the night, okay? I have research to do, and you have a date to get ready for.”
“Deal.”
I was putting on my makeup when my cell phone rang. I looked at the display and answered. “Hi, Matt.”
“Hello, Violetta. Look, I’m sorry, but I need a rain check for tonight. It’s all hands on-deck for the missing boy case.”
“Thomas Whitby.”
“Yeah.”
Disappointment pricked me, but I couldn’t fault his excuse. “I hope you find him. Anything I can do?”
“Don’t avoid my calls,” he said softly. “I really do want to take you on a proper date.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” I paused. “Um, Matt? Is Thomas an only victim? Like he’s not part of a serial thing?”
“Serial thing?” Something in his voice made my heart turn over in my chest. I wanted so badly to ask if the Henry Mason case was connected to Thomas Whitby’s—and maybe Jeremiah’s, too. But there was no way I could explain how I knew Henry’s name or why I thought he was dead. “You know … like maybe he’s not the first one kidnapped. And you’ve connected him to others.”
A Spirited Defense (Violetta Graves Mysteries Book 2) Page 5