With Vics You Get Eggroll (A Mad for Mod Mystery Book 3)

by Vallere, Diane

  I needed a vacation.

  “Interesting palette,” he said. I didn’t offer an explanation. He turned the wood over. A white sticker with the Paintin’ Place logo, address, and phone number was affixed to the bottom edge. I took the board from his hand and set it back in the car.

  “You ever hire out freelancers?” he asked.

  “On occasion.”

  “Here.” He pulled a business card out of his wallet and held it out. “I’m new to town and it’s hard to find job leads. If you need an extra set of hands, I come cheap.”

  His card said Jake Morris with a phone number and email below. No address, website, or endorsement quotes.

  “Thank you, Jake. I’ll keep you in mind.” I opened the car door and set the card in the cup holder.

  “You’re not going to lose that, are you? You want some extras?” he asked, reaching inside his wallet for more cards.

  “I’m not going to lose it,” I said. “Nice meeting you.” I put the car in reverse and left before he could say another word.

  I stopped off at my local mechanic and found him filling out some paperwork behind the counter. He greeted me with a big smile. “Madison, my favorite customer.”

  “The only reason I’m your favorite customer is because I drive an old car that constantly needs work.”

  “True, true, but it doesn’t hurt that you look like the girl I took to the prom in 1959. What’s the trouble today?”

  “Easy. Broken tail light.”

  We walked around the back of the car and he tapped the plastic. “Could be a short. Want me to check it now?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I helped myself to a cup of coffee from behind the counter while he checked the bulb. A few minutes later, he came back. “Good as new,” he said.

  “What do I owe you?”

  “Five dollars for the bulb.”

  “What about the labor?”

  “If I charged you for that, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.”

  I peeled a ten dollar bill out of my wallet. “Buy your wife something pretty,” I said. He shook his head at me and I left.

  I drove to the Tyler house. Yesterday, I hadn’t known if I’d be coming back, but today I knew the work would be the distraction I needed.

  Cleo met me at the front door. Today she wore a fitted red sweater that highlighted her probably-not-real bust line and narrow waist. Short white shorts showed off long, tan legs that ended in gold, high-heeled sandals. It was going on nine o’clock and even in my pantsuit I was painfully underdressed.

  “Hi, darlin’, I wasn’t sure if we’d be seeing you today.”

  “A busy decorating job is probably the best place for me to be. Have you had a chance to look at the bathroom?”

  “I had Molly clean the room up after you left. It’s gorgeous!”

  I cringed. Cleaning up a job site was my job, not her housekeeper’s. “I’m going to finish up in there first, and then I’ll come find you to talk about the removal of the glass wall.”

  “You sure you want to tackle that yourself?”

  I was pretty sure I didn’t want to tackle it myself. I remembered what the man at the pool said about taking out frustrations around the house. “I think it’ll make for good therapy.”

  “Honey, I’ve been in analysis for twenty years and it hasn’t done a darn thing. If tearing down that glass wall helps you, maybe I’ll have to get into the decorating business myself.”

  Cleo walked with me to the bathroom. I cracked the door and peeked inside, and then, delighted with the way the fixtures had turned out, I opened the door wide and stepped into the room.

  It wasn’t often that you found a mid-century house with a pink bathroom in mint condition. The former owners had done the poor man’s version of renovating the room, and their frugality had served to protect the fixtures under the latex paint. It had easily come off with the paint remover, and now matched the ceramic tile that trimmed the walls and the small pattern of tile in the floor. A trip to my storage locker would net me an era-appropriate light fixture for over the sink. The cabinet under the sink would have to be replaced. A custom construction job would be best.

  I pulled a notebook from my wicker tote and made a quick list: Light fixture, cabinet, throw rugs, curtains, towels. “It’s perfect, don’t you think?”

  “It’s pink, that’s for sure.”

  I turned to face Cleo, again wondering about her and her husband’s motivation in hiring me. “Are you sure this is what you had in mind?”

  “Darlin’, you’re the one with the vision. Dan and I agreed on this. Whatever you say goes.”

  “Is Dan here?”

  “No, you don’t have to worry about any more of his outbursts. Today it’s just us girls. Too bad we can’t have any fun.” She pouted as if she wished the Chippendale dancers had shown up instead of me.

  Inside, I relaxed. Dan’s anger over his brother’s death and his hostility toward Tex had made for a tense working environment. I was happy to be able to work without fear of a second confrontation.

  “Cleo, about what Dan said yesterday, about the mentality of a cop…”

  “Don’t think twice about what Dan said. He’s never accepted how his brother changed after joining the force. George was a mild-mannered guy who dated the same woman for four years. Six months after he graduated from the police academy, he changed.”

  “With all due respect, that’s one person. That’s not everybody. Tex isn’t like that. He takes his job very seriously.”

  “Sounds like maybe you know this Tex better than most.”

  I looked down at my notes, flipped the notebook shut, and clipped my pen to the spiral binding at the top. “He took a bullet for me a few months ago,” I said quietly.

  “I suppose if a police officer took a bullet for me, I’d defend him too,” she said. She raised her glass to her lips and took a long drink. “I’ll be outside by the pool if you need me,” Cleo said.

  I left the bathroom and sat by the wall of glass blocks in the living room. Cleo and Dan had hired me for the works, and that included removal of the carpet, removal of the glass block partition, paint, new lighting, new furniture.

  Self-described as having no talent or interest in decorating, they had written me a check for half of the job estimate I gave them, and it had been a hefty estimate. I’d deposited their check, set timetables, and planned out which tasks I could do myself and which I couldn’t. As much as I wanted to test out the theory of demolition as therapy, I recognized that I needed backup. I dug my phone out of my bag and called Hudson.

  “Madison,” he said in his deep voice. It was like dark chocolate coated in espresso and dipped in cigar smoke. “Hope you don’t mind that I have you on speaker. I’m in the car.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I didn’t expect you to answer.”

  “Have you been trying to reach me? Shoot. I went backpacking and didn’t bother with my phone. Suspended my service for a while. Is everything okay?”

  “Sure, I wanted to talk to you about a job.”

  “Should have known. The consummate businesswoman.”

  I listened for something in his voice, a hint that he’d missed me, or that he’d been hoping I’d called for another reason, but the background noise his cell picked up made it impossible to hear anything but the sound of the wind.

  Hudson wasn’t the first handyman who had answered my ad, but once we started working together, he became the last one I needed. If we’d met under different circumstances, who knows what might have become. But I was jaded about things like happily ever after, and the possibility of trading our comfortable connection for a romance that came with no guarantees wasn’t worth the risk. I relied more and more on his talents and let my other contacts lapse. But even he had move
d on. It had been a year since I’d learned the truth about Hudson’s past, and in that year I’d had to deal with my own demons when they came knocking on my door. When Hudson had resolution, I hadn’t. And now that I had resolution, Hudson wasn’t around. I missed him more than I thought I would.

  “Are you back in Dallas?” I asked.

  “Not yet. I don’t know when I’ll be back, to tell the truth. I still have a couple of states to cross. If it’s urgent, why not call one of the contacts I gave you when I left?”

  “I can do that.” Our conversation dropped to silence for a few seconds.

  “Sure is good to hear your voice,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Bye, Hudson.”

  I didn’t realize that Cleo had reentered the room while I was on the phone. I closed the sketch pad and notebook and put my phone away. “I was making arrangements with my handyman.”

  “I was hoping you’d call him. Is he the one who was suspected of that murder?”

  “He was innocent,” I said in Hudson’s defense. “How do you know about that?”

  “It was all over the news. Makes a great story, you know? Why do you think we hired you?”

  SEVEN

  “You hired me because of my history? Because of my involvement in a homicide investigation?” I asked. Even saying it out loud didn’t make it sound more rational.

  “That’s how Dan and I found out about you and your business. Truth is, we’d like to talk to you about buying the rights to your story. Could make a great movie,” she finished in a sing-song voice.

  “Cleo, I don’t know how I feel about this. What happened last year isn’t my story. It involved a lot of other people too.”

  “But you were at the center of it. If you sell to us, we’ll build the whole thing around you.”

  The rundown house and the carte blanche mid-century decorating job were starting to make a bit more sense. Cleo and Dan were movie producers with money to burn, and I was the novelty act du jour. I didn’t need to subject Hudson to an environment like this, where his past would be the deciding factor in getting the job.

  “My regular contractor is out of town. I’ll be hiring someone else to work with me.”

  “Boo-hoo,” she said, pushing her glossed lips out in a pout. “I was so hoping to meet him face to face. But speaking of being out of town, I’ve decided to throw a pool party while Dan is gone. How does Saturday night sound? I know you won’t be done with the renovations, but is there anything you can do in the interim, you know, to make it seem more special than, well, than it is right now?”

  I flipped through the pages of my sketch pad until I reached the one with the list of renovations. It was going to be a long time until their house was ready for entertaining.

  “What part of the house do you want to be available to guests?”

  She stared at me as if she didn’t understand the question.

  “Cleo, once I tackle this wall of glass blocks, it’s going to be a mess in here. Right now you have an empty room. I can stage it with furniture and knickknacks from my storage locker, but that’s going to cost you—”

  “Like a rental? Don’t worry, I’ll pay whatever you want. What’s the going rate?”

  “I was going to say it would cost you in time. It’s going to take time to clean up this room, bring furniture in, have your party, and take the furniture out.”

  “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

  Cleo’s lackadaisical approach to the completion of her deadlines had been bothering me. Add in her confession that I was hired because she and her husband were interested in the development rights to my story, and I was growing less and less enthusiastic about her and Dan’s business. They’d paid me generously to start the work on their house, and under just about any circumstances it would have been difficult to turn down the opportunity to work on a Cliff May house so in need of repair. But still, I was starting to feel like the entertainment.

  “Before I agree to anything, I have to check my calendar and see if I have any other commitments.”

  “I know this is in addition to what we hired you to do. Make sure you track the expenses and hours, and if you need another installment, just let me know. Now, why don’t you come up with a game plan and let me see some new sketches?” She turned to the wall behind her and waved her hands in small circles. “I’d love something Japanese.” I was reminded of Broadway Danny Rose when Mia Farrow talks about doing a room in bamboo.

  “Sure, I’ll see what I can come up with,” I said. I scribbled Japanese? Check storage locker on my sketch pad and flipped it shut.

  “Oh, and you’re invited, of course,” she said. “Wear your swimsuit and bring a date. Eight o’clock?”

  “Cleo, are you sure it’s a good idea to throw a party while Dan is away? In light of what’s been happening around Lakewood?”

  “Madison, you are delicious, you know that? You’re all a kerfluffle over there, trying to look out for me. It’s cute.” She handed me a pre-printed invitation, which let me know in no uncertain terms that “not doable” had not been an option. I headed out to see what I could come up with on the fly.

  It was going on lunchtime and I hadn’t eaten all day. I didn’t want to spend a lot of time or money, so it would probably be fast food. As I grew closer to my studio, I passed the parking lot to the shopping center where Kate Morrow’s body had been taken. There were half as many cars in the lot as usual. Tex’s Jeep sat in a spot in the back. A scruffy version of the man I knew appeared to be asleep in the driver’s seat.

  I drove past the Jeep to the Hunan Palace located in the corner of the strip mall. It was next to Paintin’ Place, and long ago I’d come to appreciate their buffet. I bought two combo meals, left my car parked in front of their shop, and walked to the Jeep. The closer I got, the surer I was that it was Tex inside. He didn’t look good.

  A faint stubble dusted his normally freshly shaven face. His dirty blond hair fell forward over one eye. His head rested against the headrest, eyes closed, and his chest rose and fell with even breathing.

  I wondered how exhausted he must have been to fall asleep in his car in the middle of the Casa Linda parking lot in broad daylight. I had a feeling I knew what he was doing there in the first place.

  I rapped on the front windshield, startling him. He stared at me for a few awkward moments, his icy blue eyes cloudy and unfocused from sleep. A stack of flyers sat on the passenger seat. From where I stood, I recognized images of the missing women. I was struck by the futility of handing out flyers in a parking lot in an attempt to find a lead.

  “Night,” he said. He looked at my outfit and shook his head. “When are you going to start wearing dresses again?”

  “When this job is over. Are you hungry?” I asked, changing the subject. I held up the bag of takeout.

  “Hunan Palace?” he asked. I nodded. “Hop in.”

  I circled the car. Tex moved the flyers from the seat to a webbed pocket inside his door and I climbed in. In the past year I’d learned how to get into and out of a Jeep in a dress; it was one of many new skills I’d picked since befriending the lieutenant. Today I was thankful for the pantsuit.

  The car smelled like Christmas. I looked at the rearview mirror, the floor mats, and the pockets in the door, eventually spotting a green tree-shaped air freshener sticking out from under the seat.

  I handed Tex a small container of white rice, took one for myself, and left additional containers of orange chicken and pork shu mai open between us. Nasty’s words flashed through my mind. He’s not the man you think he is. At least fifty different questions fluttered through my brain while I ate, none of them appropriate for the moment. All of the shu mai and most of the chicken was gone before I spoke.

  “Do you want to talk about this thing that’s going on with you?” I asked.<
br />
  “Not much to tell. Not yet, anyway.”

  “I saw the news.”

  “That’s only half of the story.”

  “If I thought it was the whole story, I wouldn’t have gotten into your car.”

  “Night, I would never hurt you.”

  “I know.” It was obvious that Tex didn’t want to talk about the abductions. I tried out silence for a while, but when that proved awkward, I went with good old-fashioned get-to-know-you small talk. “Do you have any family around here?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Family. You know, a mom. A dad. The people who raised you. Do they live in Dallas?”

  He stared at me like I’d grown a second head. He finished chewing and leaned back against his seat, staring ahead at the windshield. I looked away and bit down on a messy piece of chicken.

  “My dad split when I was six. My mother passed away when I was in high school.”

  “Brothers? Sisters?”

  “Both.”

  “So there are more of you out there?” I said, trying to get a smile.

  “My sister lives in Austin.”

  “And your brother?”

  “Killed in action.”

  My initial assumption that he might like some company seemed far from accurate, and the shortness of his replies told me that he wanted me to leave.

  “What about you? What’s your story?” he asked.

  “You know my story. I worked at Pierot’s in Philadelphia. Fell in love. Got lied to and left.”

  “That guy was a part of your life, but the way I’ve been figuring, there’s a lot of life that you’re not talking about.”

  “What else do you want to know? I came to Dallas to start over. And then one day after I was done swimming, I found a dead body under the wheels of my car. You were there. You know the rest.”