The Perfect Coed (Oak Grove Mysteries Book 1)

by Judy Alter

  Jake’s disbelief angered her. “Why else would Missy Jackson have been able to shop at Neiman’s? Why would that redhead ask Ellen if she wanted money? I’m sure he mistook her for a coed. And what else could Brandy be doing here?”

  “Okay,” Jake said, “you better tell me, in detail, about your lunch with Brandy. I’m going to have a brandy. And that’s not a bad pun.”

  By the time she repeated Ellen Peck’s story in detail and gave a blow-by-blow account of her meeting with Brandy, Jake was on his second brandy and Susan had asked for iced tea. It was eleven o’clock.

  “You drive,” Jake said. “I shouldn’t have had that second brandy, but by God, Susan, I don’t think I’d have believed your story without it.” He shook his head.

  “And do you believe it?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll think about it in the cold light of day.”

  He fell asleep on the way home, and Susan welcomed the solitude. It gave her time to think about how to get the truth out of Brandy and how to trap the redheaded man. She’d start by tracking down Eric Lindler. But tomorrow—ah, tomorrow there was Aunt Jenny.

  She drove straight to her own house, woke Jake, and led him into the bedroom, where he shed his clothes, fell into the bed, and was asleep again while Susan was still brushing her teeth. And he, she thought, worried about our lack of privacy when Aunt Jenny’s here.

  Jake woke her in the morning by rubbing her back, and they stayed in bed a long time, enjoying each other, concentrating on their bodies and totally oblivious to either Missy Jackson or Aunt Jenny. When Susan finally looked at the clock, it was nearly eleven.

  “Good Lord,” she said, jumping from the bed. “Aunt Jenny could be here any minute.”

  “I thought you said one-thirty at the earliest,” he said, raising himself up lazily on one elbow and reaching for her with the other hand.

  “Stay away from me, Jake Phillips, and get out of that bed. You know how old people are. They always start a trip at the crack of dawn.”

  He could see that Susan was really concerned, so he dressed rapidly, helped her straighten the bedroom, and gratefully accepted the cup of coffee she finally offered. He’d been up thirty minutes and felt like it was three hours. “Can I take a nap?” he asked.

  “At your house,” she said firmly. “It’s time for you to go. You come back at suppertime, and we’ll pretend it’s the first time we’ve seen each other today.”

  “Susan,” he said patiently, “you’re thirty-what? Your aunt knows you’re not an eighteen-year-old virgin.”

  “Not Aunt Jenny,” she said forcefully.

  He shrugged. “You sure you’ll be all right alone?”

  “Nothing’s happened in forty-eight hours, has it?” she said lightly.

  The minute the words “Nothing’s happened” were out of her mouth, Susan regretted tempting fate. She knocked quickly on the wooden counter top.

  “Superstitious?” Jake laughed. “I’d never have believed it of you.” Then, giving her a quick kiss on the nose, he slid open the doors to the deck.

  “Goddamn!” His voice echoed back into the kitchen, its tone sending a wave of fear through Susan.

  “What?” she asked, throwing down the dishtowel she held and hurrying to the sliding glass doors.

  Absolute disaster greeted her. Every plant drooped, lifeless—all her herbs, the mums she had planted for fall color, the pot of ferns and ivy which had been so lush and green. Color drained from her face, and she grabbed Jake to steady herself. “How?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Looks to me like someone poured acid or something on them. You’ll have to throw out everything—potting soil, even the pots.”

  She knew better than to ask why. It was the next step in the war that began with the rock through the Jeep windshield and led then to the dead kitten. “Jake, this is no student with a grudge. This is… it’s someone who wants me to know how close he can get to me without my knowing.”

  “Yeah,” Jake said glumly. “Some protection I turned out to be. This happened between three-thirty and, oh, I’d say, daybreak. I was right here, keeping you safe.” He kicked angrily at a pot, knocking it over and spilling the contents on the deck.

  “Don’t pick that up with bare hands,” she said practically. “Acid. I’ll get gloves.”

  When she handed him the gloves, he began loading pots into the bed of his pickup. “Can’t have Aunt Jenny see this,” he explained. “I’ll drive them to the landfill.”

  “Aunt Jenny! I hadn’t even thought how this will look. What will she say when she sees a bare deck? She knows I garden, she’s been here… she’ll know something is really wrong.”

  “Susan, you’re going to have to tell your aunt the truth.”

  “No, I’m not, Jake Phillips. I’m not going to worry that poor woman.”

  “If this keeps up”—he looked ruefully at the wilted plants—“you won’t have to tell her. She’ll find out for herself.”

  “I’ll see that she doesn’t.”

  Jake didn’t want to tell her she was fooling herself. He took her in his arms, hugged her tight, and said, “Lock yourself in the house. Don’t come out to sit on the deck.”

  “I have to sweep it up!” She was being stubborn.

  “Okay, sweep quickly, while I stay here.”

  She swept not only quickly but angrily, vicious strokes pushing dirt into a pile for the dustpan. With each powerful thrust of the broom, she thought she was beating whoever it was that had done this. When she put the broom up, Jake asked her, “Scared?”

  “No,” she said, “angry. Madder than hell. And puzzled. Trying to run me down is one thing; dead kittens and plants are in a whole different category.” Suddenly, she had a thought. “Maybe it’s Brandy Perkins. She sure wanted to scare me away.”

  “I’ll talk to Jordan,” Jake said, “in the morning.”

  Susan shook her head. “No, don’t tell him. It won’t do any good.”

  “Okay, but then he’ll get you for withholding evidence,” he said grimly. “I’ve got to go. See you later.”

  Susan did as she was told and spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon behind locked doors. But she was restless—worrying about Aunt Jenny finding out about all that had gone on, trying to puzzle out why these things were being done, going from window to window to peer outside. By the time Jake came back at two o’clock, she felt like she’d been alone—and trapped—for days.

  He didn’t pull the truck up to the parking area as usual. Instead, he backed carefully up next to the deck. In the bed of his pickup were pots of ivy and ferns. For color, there were three pots of golden and rust mums. And two pots of rosemary and one each of oregano and thyme, all of which would winter over well.

  She ran shrieking out the door. “Jake! You’re wonderful. Where’d you get those?”

  He beamed and opened his arms as she hurled herself toward him. “Nice to be appreciated,” he murmured into her hair. “I went to the nursery out on the highway. Sorry, but you’ll have to wait till spring to replace most of your herbs and native flowering plants. But these should winter over.”

  “Oh, they will. Jake, they’re perfect. And Aunt Jenny will never know.”

  “Why do you think I did this?” he asked dryly. “Not for you, I hope.”

  She kissed him soundly and didn’t care if Mrs. Whitley was looking out her back door.

  They spent a half hour arranging plants, and when they were through Susan surveyed the result with obvious delight. “It looks better than it did before. I hate to admit it, Jake, but you’re a plant man, after all.”

  “I’m a beer man right now,” he said. “Those things are heavy.”

  Inside, Susan saw that it was nearly three o’clock. “Jake? She’s not here yet.”

  “Aunt Jenny? She’ll be along.” He was unconcerned.

  “She’s two hours late, and I’m worried.”

  “Susan, contrary to what you think about old people—ah, elderly people—
she may not have left first thing this morning. Maybe she hadn’t finished packing, maybe she went to church. There are a thousand possibilities, and you haven’t heard from the highway department, so no news is good news. May I please have that beer?”

  Absently, she handed him the beer. “What if… what if whoever did that”—she nodded toward the deck—“knows she’s my aunt and, you know, runs her off the road or something. I think we should call the highway department or the state patrol or whoever.”

  “What you think,” he said, taking a swig of the beer, “is that I should call. I’ll call the office, have them check accidents. But Susan, the idea that her being late is connected to this other stuff… that’s crazy!”

  “Thanks,” she muttered.

  * * *

  Aunt Jenny arrived about four. She had gotten lost, gone to Dallas, even beyond that to Mesquite. She was flustered.

  “My, I just don’t know where I took a wrong turn,” she said. “I was following the signs and next thing I knew…”

  “Probably missed the I-35 West turnoff,” Jake said to no one in particular.

  Aunt Jenny collapsed on the couch, and Susan brought her a glass of iced tea. Sipping at it, she eyed Jake. “You’re Susan’s boyfriend?” The smile on her face indicated that she hoped he’d say “yes.”

  “I hope so,” he said. “Most times I think you have to ask Susan that question.”

  “Oh,” the aunt replied with a dismissing wave of her hand, “I’ve given up listening to her long ago. She’s the silliest child.”

  Jake stole a glance at Susan and saw that she was standing, hands on her hips, staring at them.

  “I…” he ventured into new territory for him, “I think she’s pretty wonderful.”

  “Then you’ll do,” Aunt Jenny beamed, patting the seat on the couch beside her. “Come sit down and tell me all about yourself.”

  Jake thought he might fall in love all over again, this time with this unexpected treasure of an aunt who spoke her mind and was perhaps the only person he knew—and that included himself—who wasn’t somewhat cowed by Susan Hogan.

  “Aunt Jenny, if you’re going to cook chicken and dumplings, it’s already nearly five o’clock,” Susan’s voice was businesslike.

  “Oh, my, did I tell you I’d do that?” she asked with complete innocence. “It takes me most of the day to cook chicken and dumplings. I’m afraid we wouldn’t eat by ten, and that’s past my bedtime.”

  “Not to worry,” Jake said. “Susan, if you’d just run to the store while I visit with your aunt. Get chicken breasts, ah—some artichokes, and salad makings. Okay?” He hid a smile, knowing that it made Susan furious to run his errands and yet she wouldn’t complain because he’d been practically ordered to visit with Aunt Jenny.

  Thirty minutes later Susan stomped back into the house with the bag of groceries, in time to hear Jake giving a sort of “and then” account of his life—growing up in Canyon, Texas, being orphaned at the age of ten and raised by an older brother, running away at seventeen, tending bar to put himself through junior college in Fort Worth and the law enforcement program there, and finally ending up at Oak Grove.

  Susan knew which fact Aunt Jenny would fix on.

  “You’re an orphan?” she said, her voice softening, her pudgy hand reaching to take his.

  “Yes, ma’am, my parents died in an automobile crash. I think it’s one reason I wanted to go into law enforcement. They were hit by a drunk driver.”

  Play it for all it’s worth, Jake, Susan thought. You’ll have her eating out of your hand any minute now.

  “Well, son, I never had children of my own, but I had Susan, and she was a real joy to me. It will pleasure me to adopt you.”

  “Well, ma’am…”

  Was it Susan’s imagination or was he really drawling?

  “I’d just be delighted to be adopted. But right now, you best let me get those chicken breasts to marinating, so I can grill them.”

  “He cooks too!” Aunt Jenny murmured, throwing Susan a look that clearly said she should not let this one get away.

  “Jake’s a very good cook, Aunt Jenny,” Susan said and wondered why she hated herself for being mad at both of them.

  Susan cut up a salad, steamed the artichokes, and set the table while Jake grilled the chicken and Aunt Jenny sat on the deck and filled his ears with stories of Susan’s childhood. By the time dinner was ready, Jake knew that she’d taken violin but hadn’t the ear for it and had done better at piano, that she’d been in Girl Scout plays but shyness often caused her to forget her lines, and that she’d been a gangly teenager, awkward around boys.

  “But isn’t she lovely now?” Aunt Jenny asked, her voice wafting through the patio doors to where Susan was working.

  “Yes,” Jake said, “she is. But I don’t think she knows it.”

  Susan stopped, paring knife in midair, and stared through the door at him. She found him looking directly at her.

  Looking around, Aunt Jenny called out, “Susan, your deck looks lovelier than ever. You have such a green thumb—and I know you didn’t get it from me.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Jenny. I… I enjoy my plants.” Would God forgive a white lie?

  Jake was watching her again, this time with one eyebrow cocked, and she knew he was sending her a mental message: You’ll have to tell her sooner or later.

  Dinner was delicious, and Aunt Jenny was profuse in her compliments to Jake, until Susan wanted to say, “Wait a minute. I did the salad and the artichokes.” She wouldn’t have added that Jake had to do the hollandaise sauce because she didn’t know how, even when it was that quick kind made in the blender.

  After dinner, the three of them sat on the deck with coffee—decaffeinated for Jake and Aunt Jenny, the real thing for Susan. Aunt Jenny had protested that they must do the dishes, but Susan had been equally insistent that they would wait until tomorrow. Finally, Aunt Jenny gave in, and they sat in the cool but pleasant October night air.

  Murders and dead cats and wilted plants seemed far away until, out of the blue, Aunt Jenny said, “All right. Tell me everything about this murdered coed.”

  Jake spilled coffee down his shirt front, and Susan choked on the hot swallow in her mouth. Finally, she muttered, “Now, Aunt Jenny, you don’t want to hear about that gossip.”

  “Of course, I do, dear. It involves you, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, yes and no. I mean, it was my car, but beyond that, I’m not involved.” Okay, another white lie told, and this one a biggie by now.

  “But other people think you are,” Aunt Jenny said.

  It was not a question, though that’s how Susan answered it. “Well, yes, some do—the police lieutenant in charge of the investigation for one, and my department chair for another.”

  “That awful Dr. Scott who doesn’t want to give you tenure?” Aunt Jenny was indignant.

  Jake hid a smile. He had no idea Aunt Jenny knew that much about either Susan’s life or academic procedure. Then he wondered how much this aunt knew—or guessed—about his relationship with her niece.

  “Then you best tell me every detail,” Aunt Jenny said. “Start at the beginning.”

  So Susan told her, beginning with the body in the car. She told her about the memorial service and Missy’s parents and about Eric Lindler and Brandy and Dr. Scott’s accusations. Jake noticed, however, she did not tell her about nearly being run down by a car nor about the red-haired man, dinner at The City Restaurant, her suspicions about a coed call-girl ring, the dead kitten or the plants.

  She may have told the biggest thing, he thought, but she’s left out more than she’s told.

  “It was the boyfriend,” Aunt Jenny said decisively.

  “Oh, now, Aunt Jenny, you can’t say that. He seems from what I’ve heard to be a nice enough young man.” Jake answered this time.

  “Have the police questioned him?”

  “Sure. But they don’t see him as a suspect at this time.”

  “
Did they question Susan?” The old lady’s voice became sharp.

  “Well, yes, but they don’t see her as a suspect either.”

  “At this time?” Aunt Jenny asked, and Jake shrugged.

  “It was the boyfriend,” she repeated.

  “Well,” Jake said heartily, “we’ll have to leave that to the police to work out. And it’s getting late enough I guess I better get along. Susan, can I help with the dishes?” What he really wanted was two minutes alone with Susan to ask if he couldn’t sleep on the couch.

  Susan, unfortunately, seemed oblivious of the meaningful looks he was throwing her way. “No, thanks. I’ll do them in the morning. I don’t have class until ten.”

  “Okay.” Then he took Aunt Jenny’s hand in his, bent to kiss it, and said, “It’s been a real delight, Aunt Jenny. I’m looking forward to many more evenings together.”

  Aunt Jenny beamed. “So am I,” she said, “so am I.”

  “Now I don’t want you cooking a lot,” Jake said. “We’ll take you out to eat.” He seemed to think a minute. “Susan, let’s take her to Subie’s Cafe.”

  Susan made a face. “I don’t want to go there. Margie thinks she knows everything about Missy Jackson’s murder, and I bet by now she thinks I did it.”

  “Subie’s Cafe?” Aunt Jenny asked. “Where’s that? And why would this Margie person be so convinced?”

  Susan said, “It’s on the square,” just as Jake said, “Margie knows all the latest gossip in town.”

  Aunt Jenny made a mental note to find the café and talk to Margie.

  “Susan? Walk me to the truck?”

  Aunt Jenny got the hint even if Susan didn’t. “I’ll just go on inside,” she said.

  Once they alone, Jake said, “I’m not sure about leaving you two here alone.”

  Susan kicked at a pebble in the driveway. “I’m not going to assure you we’ll be fine—that’d be tempting fate just like telling you this morning nothing had happened for forty-eight hours. But I don’t think you should stay. Aunt Jenny would be alarmed that you thought the situation was that serious.”

  “But I do,” he said. Reaching into the truck, he pulled out a small handgun. “Here. Take this.”