Disturbing the Dead

by Sandra Parshall

  “This is my job, Mrs. McClure.”

  “Well, your job is despicable.”

  So I’ve been told, more times than you can imagine. “Your husband’s obsession with Pauline wasn’t a secret. I’ve heard all about his jealousy of her other relationships. And your jealousy. I’ve heard about the scenes you made at her house.”

  Natalie grabbed her cup and gulped the hot liquid. “I suppose you’re getting all this so-called information from Pauline’s housekeeper. She’s probably been spreading lies about my husband and me for years.”

  “Why don’t you tell me your side of the story?” Tom said. “Did you go to Pauline’s house shortly before she disappeared and threaten to kill her if she didn’t leave your husband alone?”

  “Oh, dear God.” Natalie’s hands went to her throat as if she were choking. “Are you going to believe a crazy black woman who claims to see visions? You’ll take her word over mine?”

  “Mrs. Barker wasn’t the only person there that day.”

  “It’s a lie, no matter who says it.” Natalie stood. “I want you to leave.”

  Tom got to his feet. “We’ll be talking again. Soon.”

  “Not without my lawyer present.”

  “That’s up to you.”

  Without answering, Natalie turned her back on him and faced the fireplace.

  Tom walked to the door. Pausing, he said, “By the way, how well do you know Troy Shackleford? I understand he did a lot of electrical work for you around the time Pauline disappeared.”

  Natalie bowed her head and didn’t reply.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “Holly, I’ve got some great news for you.” Rachel settled in an easy chair in the den, where Holly and Brandon were watching lemurs on PBS. Frank slept on Holly’s lap and the two dogs, Joanna’s and Tom’s, reclined at her feet.

  A smile broke across Holly’s face. “It’s not her, is it? The dental records don’t match?”

  “No, they don’t. Tom called a minute ago. He doesn’t know who the second victim was, but it wasn’t your mother.”

  “I knew it!” The exclamation made the cat and dogs raise their heads to look at Holly. “I knew she wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be.” Holly beamed at Rachel, then at Brandon, who patted her shoulder and grinned back.

  But some part of Holly must have believed her mother’s death was entirely possible, Rachel thought. What else could account for the previous night’s marathon of nightmares? The last time Holly saw her mother, Jean Turner was preparing to flee from Shackleford after he’d beaten her.

  “You said your mother wrote to your grandmother,” Rachel said, “and she sent money for you. When was the last time your grandmother heard from her?”

  “Oh, gosh, I’m not sure. Mama sent her a new fridge and kitchen stove last summer, though.”

  “Sent them to her?”

  “One day a truck came with a fridge and a stove. The men said it was all paid for, and Grandma said it must be Mama who sent ’em.”

  Thousands of dollars for a gift of new appliances. Wherever Jean lived, she was doing well.

  Brandon used the remote to mute the TV. “So your grandmother writes to your mother? I mean, how did your mom know she needed new kitchen appliances?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess she told her. Mama sends money orders sometimes. Grandma goes to the post office to cash them.”

  “And you never see the letters or the return address on the envelopes?” Rachel asked.

  “No. But I’ll bet she writes to me too, and Grandma burns the letters without lettin’ me see them.” Holly’s expression soured. “I can see why she didn’t want me runnin’ off to find Mama when I was a kid, but I’m old enough to go anywhere now. And she still won’t tell me where my mother is.”

  Tom would have to get the information out of Mrs. Turner. Jean could be an important witness against Shackleford. “How did your mother get along with your Aunt Pauline?” Rachel asked.

  The question seemed to startle Holly, and Rachel was afraid she would balk at answering. Holly stroked Frank’s head. After a moment she said, “I’m not real sure. I mean, I was little and I didn’t understand everything. But Mama and Grandma used to talk about Aunt Pauline a lot, and it seemed like they were always mad at her.”

  “You got any idea why?” Brandon asked.

  “I think it was because of my cousin Amy. She was spendin’ a lot of time at Aunt Pauline’s house and gettin’ all kinds of presents from her. I remember Amy comin’ by one day in this beautiful white sweater. She said it was pure cashmere and Aunt Pauline gave it to her. Pauline gave her a lot of things.”

  “Why would that upset your mother and grandmother?” Rachel asked.

  “Maybe they felt bad for Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Jack. They said Amy was startin’ to act like she was too good for them, because Pauline was puttin’ ideas in her head.”

  “I can see why that would bother them,” Rachel said. It was hardly a motive for murder, though.

  Holly gave her a chiding look. “You’re askin’ me all these questions so you can tell Captain Bridger what I say.”

  “I—Well—” Rachel threw a furious glance at Brandon, who was trying to suppress a laugh and wasn’t helping her at all. “Okay. You caught me. But, Holly, anything you can remember might help find your aunt’s killer.”

  “My mother didn’t kill her. And my grandmother didn’t either.”

  Rachel hoped not. “I didn’t mean to say they did. But you might remember some little thing about your Aunt Pauline that doesn’t seem important to you, but it could give Tom a lead.”

  Holly bit her lip, her expression showing doubt and resistance. “I thought Aunt Pauline was nice. When she was visitin’ she always put me on her lap and told me I was pretty. But…”

  Rachel wished she could pull the words out of Holly, but willed herself to be patient while the girl pondered her memories.

  “I think she was probably a snob. Grandma used to get upset because Pauline never would bring her daughter to visit. Like she didn’t want Mary Lee associatin’ with her own blood kin. I never even met Mary Lee. But I liked Aunt Pauline anyway. I didn’t know it till about a year ago, but she was helpin’ Mama and me all along. At least that’s what my daddy told me.”

  “He told you what?” Rachel moved to the couch, next to Holly.

  Holly covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m not supposed to talk about it,” she said, her voice muffled by her fingers. “He said if I ever did, he’d—” She broke off and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Troy Shackleford won’t get anywhere near you again. You’re safe now.” Rachel tried to sound confident, but she could hear doubt creeping into her voice.

  “I thought he’d be in jail already, after I told Captain Bridger about him sellin’ drugs.”

  “You gotta trust the Captain to do what’s right,” Brandon said. “Tell us what your father said. He’ll never find out you did.”

  Holly’s face was a tableau of fear, frustration, indecision. She kneaded Frank’s fur too vigorously for his taste, and he croaked a complaint and jumped off her lap. She watched him march out of the room.

  After a moment, she said, “Aunt Pauline paid my daddy to work at her house, and she made him give most of it to my mama. The only reason she had him workin’ for her was so she could make sure he supported me. I guess Aunt Pauline was tryin’ to help us without it lookin’ like charity.”

  Not exactly an earthshaking revelation, and Tom probably knew already. But Holly’s anxiety meant the story didn’t end there. “He went along with the arrangement?” Rachel asked.

  Holly gathered the fabric of her jeans leg between two fingers, formed a crease, smoothed it out.

  “Sometimes he’d get drunk, you know? At Rose’s diner, where I used to work? And he’d start in on me, like me and my family’s the cause of everything bad that ever happened to him. He’d go on and on about how I’m one more Turner b-bi
tch—” She stumbled on the word and her face went red. “And how the Turner women near about ruined his life.”

  When Holly fell silent, Rachel tried gentle prodding. “He seems to be doing okay these days. So I guess the Turners didn’t ruin his life.”

  “Well—” Holly pulled her shoulders up in an exaggerated shrug, as if trying to loosen tense muscles. Brandon began to knead one shoulder, and she gave him a shy smile.

  These two were getting too cozy too fast, in Rachel’s opinion. Having them cooped up together was a bad idea.

  Holly went on, the words tumbling out. “He said Aunt Pauline was always preachin’ to him about his responsibilities. She said if he didn’t support me, she’d pay the best lawyer she could find to help Mama take him to court and she’d sic the law on his whole family for sellin’ drugs. He told me he got tired of a woman bossin’ him around. He said where Pauline was now, she wasn’t ever gonna bother him again. And he was makin’ fun of what Mama told him before she…went away…” Holly’s voice faded.

  Brandon squeezed her shoulder. Rachel asked, “What did your mother tell him before she left?”

  “What he said to me was, Jeannie thought she could scare me. Little bitch said we’d never get away with it. But here we are, every one of us free as the birds in the air. And he laughed like it was the funniest joke in the world.”

  Rachel exchanged a look with Brandon. We? Every one of us? How many people were involved in Pauline’s death? And who were they?

  “The next day, after he sobered up,” Holly continued, “he told me I’d better keep my mouth shut. He said if I ever told anybody what he said, he’d kill me and Grandma too.” Holly lifted her gaze to Rachel, then Brandon. “And now I’ve gone and told both of you.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  After Rachel called to report on her talk with Holly, Tom spread the original case files on the conference room table and started rereading them, searching for some elusive piece of information that would make everything click into place. He’d been at it for half an hour when Sheriff Willingham charged in.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Willingham slammed the door behind him. Under his camel overcoat he wore a suit and tie, and Tom guessed he’d just returned from taking his mother-in-law to evening church service. On his coat melted snowflakes glinted like sequins.

  Tom had a good idea why Willingham was so worked up, but he feigned ignorance. “I’m going through the case files again to see if I missed anything.”

  “You know damned well what I mean.” Willingham leaned on the table and loomed over Tom. “I got home and found five messages on my answering machine from Cecil Merck. Ed and Natalie McClure hired him to get you off their backs.”

  “Merck called me too. Like I told him, all I did was ask the McClures a few questions.”

  “The hell you did. Cecil said you accused them both of murder. What kind of half-baked theory are you going on?”

  Tom sat back and waited, knowing better than to interrupt the full tide of Willingham’s indignation with sensible answers.

  “Or maybe you don’t have a theory,” Willingham went on. “Sounds to me like you’re going around accusing everybody in sight, whether you’ve got evidence or not. I told you that your dad believed Shackleford killed Pauline, and I expect you to find proof so we can put the son of a bitch away and close this case.”

  The reference to his father irked him, but Tom kept his voice cool. “I’m sure Shackleford was involved. The question is whether he did it for reasons of his own or for somebody else.”

  Willingham’s brow puckered with impatience. “You want to tell me what you’re talking about?”

  “Witnesses heard Natalie McClure threaten to kill Pauline. I think it’s possible Natalie hired Shackleford to do the killing. And based on what Rudy O’Dell’s mother told me today, I believe Shackleford coerced O’Dell into helping him dump the body. Or bodies.”

  “I must be losing my mind,” Willingham said. “I could swear I heard you accuse one of the most prominent women in this community of putting out a hit on her sister-in-law.”

  Tom hadn’t expected the idea to be an easy sell. “It’s a theory. I need evidence.”

  “People like Natalie McClure don’t do things like that.”

  Tom could point to any number of murders committed or instigated by people like Natalie McClure, but he let it go. “She had a clear-cut motive. Her husband was in love with Pauline. He admitted it to me. Natalie pitched a fit about it more than once. And she threatened Pauline in front of witnesses.”

  Willingham responded with a sneer. “Who are these so-called witnesses?”

  “Pauline’s housekeeper—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” Willingham threw up his hands. “You believe that nut?”

  “Ed and Robert McClure were there.”

  Willingham’s mouth fell open.

  “I don’t expect either of them to give evidence against Natalie,” Tom said. “But both of Pauline’s sisters were also there.”

  “Oh, well, I’m real impressed. One of ’em took off right after Pauline disappeared and the other one’s a nervous wreck.”

  “Both of Pauline’s nieces heard Natalie threaten to kill her,” Tom said. “Holly was only eight at the time, but—”

  “Who’s gonna listen to her, talking about what happened when she was a kid?”

  “But Amy Watford was in her late teens,” Tom said. “Dennis is trying to locate her in South Carolina. If she confirms the threat, we’ll have at least two witnesses who were adults at the time.”

  “This is crazy, Tom.” Willingham moved to the window and Tom swung around in his chair to keep him in sight. The sheriff scowled at the snow falling on the parking lot. “Where are you planning to go with this next?”

  “Wherever the evidence takes me. I haven’t ruled out Pauline’s relatives.”

  Shaking his head, Willingham muttered something unintelligible. He raised his voice and said, “That doesn’t make any more sense than trying to pin it on Natalie McClure. Your father never found any evidence Pauline’s family wanted her dead.”

  “I can’t turn a blind eye to any possibility. We’ve got two dead women, and now O’Dell’s been murdered. Rachel and Holly were almost killed—”

  “That’s another thing.” Willingham rounded the table to face Tom. “The department can’t afford to pay Brandon Connelly a salary to be a bodyguard.”

  Tom took a couple of deep breaths and didn’t speak until he was sure he could do it without shouting. “Somebody tried to kill Holly. I’m not leaving her unprotected. I don’t want to go out there and find her—and Rachel and Joanna—dead because we left them alone.”

  Willingham shook a finger in Tom’s face. “Now you listen to me—”

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Tom jumped up and glared at Willingham. “We’ve got a killer out there. We’ve got somebody running around with a gun shooting at innocent women. What do you want me to do? Give up? Forget about it?”

  “I want you to find evidence against Shackleford that’ll stand up in court.” In his vehemence, Willingham spit drops of saliva in Tom’s face. “And that’s all I want you to do.”

  “I’ll get Shackleford, don’t worry.” Tom wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “But I’m not stopping there. I won’t be finished till I’m sure I’ve got the whole story. There’s too much I don’t know about Pauline’s life, who she slept with, who fathered her child—”

  “You don’t know what a can of worms you’re trying to open.”

  “If you’re talking about my father and Pauline— By the way, is Mary Lee my half-sister?”

  “What the hell— You little bastard—”

  “No, Mary Lee’s the bastard. Was my father sleeping with Pauline before Mary Lee was born? I assume you know, since you seem to know plenty you don’t want to tell me.”

  “You self-righteous little prick!”
Willingham’s flushed face took on a purple tinge. “You’re not half the man your father was. He saved my life in Vietnam, and he was a better cop than you’ll ever be. I’m not gonna let you smear a good man’s memory to make yourself feel important.”

  “I intend to find out the truth. And you’ll either let me do my job or explain to the citizens of this county why you don’t want these murders solved. That ought to go over big at election time next year.”

  Sputtering oaths, Willingham raised a hand as if he meant to strike Tom, but Tom stood his ground.

  Dennis Murray opened the door and stepped in, a file folder in one hand. He glanced from Tom to the sheriff. “Excuse me, I—”

  Willingham stalked out, nearly knocking the much smaller Dennis off-balance when he charged past.

  “I guess I interrupted something.” Dennis’ face was a picture of innocence.

  Tom had to laugh, and when he did he felt some of the tension leaving his body. “How far up the hall could you hear us?”

  Dennis grinned. “Oh, pretty much all the way to the front door.”

  “Thanks for showing up. What’ve you got? Did you find Amy?”

  Dennis shook his head, his face sobering. “The mailing address is a box at one of those rental places, not the post office. I had information check phone numbers for about fifty miles in every direction, and there’s no Darrell or Amy Wood listed.”

  Tom took his seat again and Dennis sat facing him. “How about unlisted?”

  “I talked a supervisor at the phone company into checking for me, and they’re not unlisted either. I contacted all the cell phone providers down there, and they don’t have any customers with those names. I asked about Watford too, but no luck. Maybe they can’t afford a phone.”

  “If they can afford to rent a postal box, they can afford a phone.” Tom reached for the folder Dennis had brought and flipped it open to look at the cards and notes Holly had received through the years from her cousin Amy. He stared at the return address printed in block letters in the corner of an envelope. He was getting a bad feeling about this. “Doesn’t the mailbox place have a home address or phone number for the Woods?”