“Money?” I asked. Cody’s parents seemed to have plenty of money. I’d thought Cody had everything he needed or wanted.
When Cody didn’t say anything, Frank filled me in. “Cody wanted money for a new car.”
Cody suddenly lifted his head. “Every cent I get goes into repairs on the Thunderbird. It has over one hundred thousand miles on it, and it’s going to need major work. I talked to Mom and Dad about it a dozen times, but I couldn’t get through to them.”
“That doesn’t sound like an argument to me,” I said. “It sounds like nothing more than a discussion.”
“It was … sort of,” Cody said, “until Friday night. I got kind of upset. Kind of … well, mad that they wouldn’t listen. I told them I’d work. I’d pay them back.”
Frank sighed. “I wish that was all you told them. I wish you hadn’t come back and yelled at them that you’d show them, that you’d get the money somewhere, somehow.”
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounds. I was angry. I just said things without thinking. Dad wouldn’t let go. He wouldn’t end the argument.”
“Did you witness the argument?” I asked Frank. I sounded so much like an investigator that I blushed. Well, maybe I had the right to be an investigator. I’d told Dad I’d prove that Cody was innocent, and I had to start somewhere.
“No,” he said. “I dropped by for a few minutes after Cody had just left, a few minutes after seven-thirty. Both Sam and Nelda were so steamed by the argument with Cody that they sounded off and told me all about it. They lived well, but that was mostly because of Nelda’s half of the inheritance after our mother died. Sam is … was always pretty tight with a dollar and wasn’t about to shell out for a new car for Cody when he thought the old car had a couple of good years left in it.”
Tears rolled down Cody’s cheeks, and his shoulders heaved as he gave a deep, shuddering sob. “I wish I’d never said anything about a car!” he cried and beat a fist against the arm of the sofa. “It’s all so stupid!”
“That’s why you were upset and couldn’t sleep?” I asked.
“What are we talking about here?” Frank asked.
“Why the police couldn’t find Cody at the lake house. Cody said he took a sleeping bag out on the deck to sleep, but he had a lot on his mind and couldn’t sleep, so he drove around the lake and finally went to sleep in his car in the woods.”
Frank looked kind of sick. “Oh, Cody, Cody,” he said and slowly shook his head.
“I didn’t know there’d be any problem with what I was doing,” Cody mumbled. “I was upset, and I was angry. I just didn’t know.”
I moved to put my arms around Cody, but Frank got to his feet and said, “Holly, I think what Cody needs most right now is some food and some rest.”
Cody didn’t answer, so I stood up too. “And a lawyer,” I said. “Did you get him a lawyer?”
A smile briefly touched Frank’s lips. “You sound like your father. That’s just what he asked. And the answer is, yes. Before Cody was questioned, I hired a criminal defense attorney who sat in on the session. Paul Ormond and I work out together. He handles lots of defense cases, and he’s got a good reputation. Okay?”
I nodded and tried to smile in return. “Now if the police can just find the man who Mr. Arlington saw jumping the back fences …”
“What man? Who did Mr. Arlington see?” Cody slowly got to his feet, staring at me intently.
“Oh,” I said. “You don’t remember that I told you. You were still pretty much out of it.”
“Tell me again, Holly,” Cody said.
“Sure.” I took a long breath, speaking quickly. “Mr. Arlington told Dad and the reporters that he saw a tall, muscular guy jump the back fences. He apparently came from the Garnetts’ yard into his, then climbed over the back fence into the yard of the people who live behind Mr. Arlington. He was probably headed for a car parked on the next street. The women who live in the house behind Mr. Arlington’s said their dog barked at him.”
Frank looked as surprised as Cody. “The police didn’t tell us that.”
“They probably wouldn’t,” I said. “They wouldn’t have any reason to.”
“It would have made us feel a lot better,” Cody said. He stood a little taller. “Could Mr. Arlington identify the man he saw?”
“No. He said it was too dark to make out clothing or features.”
They both looked so disappointed I quickly added, “Dad said they were checking it out. They’ll hunt for fingerprints or threads that might have caught on the boards, or footprints in the area—there’s a lot of evidence that most people wouldn’t even think about that detectives look for. And they’ll talk to people on that street to see if anyone saw the guy.”
Frank clapped Cody on the shoulder. “There you go,” he said. “We’ve got things working for us that we didn’t even know about. Things are looking up, Cody.”
“Yeah,” Cody said and, for the first time, seemed more like the strong, confident Cody I knew. “Come on, Holly. I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Come back soon, Holly,” Frank said, “and keep us posted about what’s going on. Okay?”
“I will,” I said, but I waited until Cody and I were out of Frank’s hearing before I said, “I’m going to prove that you’re innocent.”
Cody looked down and smiled at me teasingly. “You? All by yourself?”
“No. You’re going to help me.”
Cody gave me a quick hug. “You don’t know what a relief it is to find out that Mr. Arlington saw the murderer. I hope that it doesn’t take the police very long to find out who he is and catch him.”
“They don’t have much to go on, so we may have to help.”
“How?”
“I wish I knew,” I said. “But don’t worry. We’ll do it.”
His smile vanished as he said, “I feel awful about that argument with my parents. And I’m sorry you had to know about it. Sometimes it was hard to talk with my parents. Sometimes I blew it. Dad had a temper. I do too. You probably don’t understand what that’s like—”
“Sometimes I yell too,” I interrupted. “I don’t like it when I do, but Dad can make me so mad …” I broke off and shrugged. “Hey, everybody sounds off once in a while.”
Cody didn’t answer, so I said, “Why don’t you do what your uncle told you to do—eat something and get some sleep? We’ll get past all this. I promise.”
“I’ll never get over it, Holly,” Cody said. “Not ever.”
I live in Bellaire, a nice community surrounded by the city of Houston. And it’s got a good high school—Bellaire High—which is where Cody and I met. The easiest way for me to get from Frank Baker’s suburb, in what’s called the Memorial area, was to take I-10 to the 610 loop, but I surprised myself by heading off the loop just past the Galleria area onto the Southwest Freeway, heading north, instead of following the loop into Bellaire. I knew I should go home and return Sara’s call but, instead, I swung off the freeway at the Kirby exit and drove down to the street on which the Garnetts lived.
The street was shaded with large, overhanging trees, and carefully designed and tended front gardens splashed the edges of the thick lawns with wild late summer color. At this—the warmest part of the day—everyone was indoors. I pulled up in front of the Garnetts’ house and parked.
The yellow crime tape had been removed, and the house faced its neighbors with a gracious and elegant neatness, so carefully guarding its secrets that no one could guess at the horror that had taken place inside.
But someone who lived on the block might not be so secretive. Someone might have seen the man Mr. Arlington had seen. Someone might know someone who could help Cody. I knew that Dad and Bill would contact all the neighbors, if they hadn’t already; but still there might be something one of the neighbors would think of later. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.
There was no point in talking to Mr. Arlington, so I began with the large house on the other side of the Garnetts’. A well-dressed, m
iddle-aged man opened the door.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Holly Campbell.”
“Sorry, Holly,” he said as he fished out his wallet, removed a dollar, and thrust it at me. “I haven’t got time for a raffle-ticket spiel. Put this toward your school fund or whatever you’re collecting for.”
“I’m not collecting money for anything,” I said and waved the dollar away. “I’m investigating a murder.”
For an instant his mouth fell open. Then he started to chuckle. “Houston’s youngest under-cover cop?”
“I’m Cody Garnett’s friend,” I said. “Cody and I are trying to find out who killed his parents.”
He raised an eyebrow. “From what I read in the newspaper, Cody could use an attorney more than an investigator. I assume he has one?”
My face burned. “Cody’s innocent. I’m trying to prove it. And he does have an attorney.”
“May I ask who is representing Cody?”
“Paul Ormond. He’s a friend of Cody’s uncle.”
One eyebrow rose again. “I know Mr. Ormond,” the man said. “In this case I suppose he’ll do.”
“Are you an attorney too?”
“Civil cases only, not criminal.” He began to shut the door, but I fought back my anger and begged, “Please, just answer two questions for me? Were you home last night between eight and ten?”
“The estimated time of the murder? Yes. My wife and I were at home.”
“Did you hear anything at the Garnetts’ house? Like loud music?”
“We didn’t hear a thing. The air-conditioning units serve to insulate us from most outside noises.”
“Did you see anyone come to the Garnetts’ house during that time?”
“You said two questions. I answered them.” The man shut the door quietly but firmly.
I turned and walked to the sidewalk, discouragement settling like a hard lump in my stomach. I stopped long enough to take a deep breath and stand up a little straighter before I approached the next house. So the first person I’d met was rude. So what? Maybe the people in this house would want to help.
But a woman dressed in a white uniform peered at me through the lead-glass pane, then opened the huge front door. The marble-tiled entry hall smelled of stale flowers and antiseptic soap.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said when I told her what I wanted. “There’s only Mr. Plotz here. He’s not only bedridden; he’s practically stone-deaf.”
“Were you here? Did you see anyone come to the Garnetts’ house? Did you hear anything?”
“No. I was watching the TV in Mr. Plotz’s room until close to midnight. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
“Thanks,” I said and walked back to the sidewalk, trying to think. The rest of the block on this side of the street consisted of three more of the elegant houses, which sat smugly in a row as though knowing they were special. The people who lived in them weren’t likely to have seen or heard anything. The people who lived across the street, who could see the Garnetts’ house from their front windows—they would be the ones to ask. Mrs. Marsh lived directly across from the Garnetts, but I’d already heard what she had to say about seeing Cody leave the house twice. I didn’t want to hear it again.
Next to Mrs. Marsh’s house was a lot shaded by at least a dozen pines and oaks, and tucked into this well of coolness was a neat little yellow brick house. With its blue front door and scrolled trim bordering the windows, it could have passed for the witch’s house in “Hansel and Gretel.” All it needed was a row of candy canes marching up to the doorway.
But how much could the people who lived there see from behind all those trees? I’d probably do better trying the house on the other side of the Marsh home—one of the “large lovelies,” as I was beginning to think of them. My mind made up, I took a few steps, then stopped, my gaze pulled again to the “Hansel and Gretel” house.
No, I thought, and started down the block, but stopped again, drawn toward the little house under the trees. Okay. I was here, so I’d try the little house first. Even if the occupants of the house hadn’t seen or heard anything, it made sense not to leave them out.
The walk wasn’t another straight line from sidewalk to front steps. It wound back and forth in curves as round as a garden snake’s, carrying me into a silent, sheltered, green-spun world that was perfumed with a damp, earthy, mossy fragrance.
As I reached the front door, it opened, and the woman who stood there in the dusky light smiled. It wasn’t a smile of welcome but a satisfied smile she had saved for herself.
“The girl with amber in her hair,” she murmured. “I knew you would come.”
Chapter Seven
Her hair was as jet black as I remembered it, her skin pearly, even in the greenish light. She was dressed in a plain white T-shirt and jeans, but around her neck, on a chain, hung an orb of amber, glimmering with golden lights.
As I stood there, gaping, the woman stepped aside and said, “Please come in.”
“Oh … thanks, but I can’t,” I answered. “I just want …”
“You want to ask me some questions. Come in. I may be able to answer them for you.”
She beckoned and, feeling as though I had no choice, I followed her into the living room. It was decorated in soft blues and greens, touched here and there with the subdued sunlight that filtered through the trees. As the door closed behind me, sealing off this underwaterlike aquarium, I settled into a chair. The rippling colors washed over and through me.
“My name is Glenda Jordan,” the woman said as she sat on a hassock opposite me. “Please call me Glenda.”
“I’m Holly Campbell.”
“You sought me out, Holly, so that I—”
“Actually,” I cut in, “I’m going to as many houses as I can on the street, trying to find someone who might have seen or heard something at the Garnetts’ last night.”
“You sought me out,” she repeated.
There was no point in arguing, so I asked, “Did you see anyone besides Cody come or go from the Garnetts’ house?”
“Physically,” she said, “I did not see anyone.”
I must have looked as bewildered as I felt, because Glenda leaned forward, stared into my eyes with those deep pools of black, and murmured, “Let me explain. I see what others may not see, Holly. I am a clairvoyant.”
“What’s a clairvoyant? Is it like a psychic?” I asked nervously. I wasn’t too sure what a psychic was either.
Glenda gave a little shake of her head. “No, no.” She picked up an egg-shaped polished stone that lay on her coffee table and held it out. “A psychic might take an object like this, something that belonged to an individual, and try to make mental contact with that person.”
Suddenly remembering, I said, “I’ve read about that. A psychic in Dallas goes through this routine when she works with the police in finding missing bodies.”
“I’m aware of her work.”
“And some psychics claim to tell the future, don’t they?”
Glenda frowned. “No matter what anyone claims, no one can foretell the future. It is not for us to know.”
“You don’t believe in horoscopes?”
“No. I do not.”
Puzzled, I said, “You haven’t told me yet what a clairvoyant is.”
“A clairvoyant is someone who has the power to see objects, people, or actions removed from natural viewing.”
“I don’t understand.”
“A clairvoyant deals directly with the spirits, through visions. A clairvoyant is a spirit seeker.” When I didn’t respond, she said, “At times I get a direct picture of an event taking place. It’s like a motion picture in my mind. This is why we need to talk about the Garnetts’ murder.”
A shiver ran up my backbone. “What are you telling me? That you saw …” I gulped and started over, my voice quivering. “Are you saying that you saw the murder across the street in your mind?”
“Some of it,” she said. “Only that which I was allowed t
o see.”
I stood up, my knees so wobbly I could hardly stand. What was I doing in this house with this strange woman? “Uh … maybe you should tell the police,” I said.
Glenda stood and put a hand on my arm. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t even move. “As I told you, I saw only some of what took place in the house that night,” she said. A look of horror shivered across her face, and I waited, unable to breathe, until she composed herself. “Unfortunately,” she added, “I did not see the face of the murderer.”
Frantically I pulled away and edged toward the front door. “Well, maybe,” I suggested, wishing I were anyplace but there, “you should think some more about it and …”
“I have thought about it,” she said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have captured the entire scene in my mind, even though it would be excruciatingly hard to bear. But there is another route to discovery. To succeed, I would need to visit the Garnetts’ house.”
I stumbled backward, toward the front door. “Uh … you’ll have to talk to Cody or his uncle or maybe the police about that.”
Her dark eyes drilled into mine as she said, “I would like to visit the house with you.”
My elbow banged against the door, and I winced as I groped for the knob. “No. Not with me,” I said.
“Yes,” she insisted. “With you, because you are an amber person. Because you have the power and the gifts.”
My fingers reached the knob, and I tugged, but it wouldn’t open. Desperately I said, “I don’t! Really, I don’t!”
“Hush,” Glenda said. “Listen. Relax. Just open your mind and listen. I have something to tell you.”
Maybe it was the depth of her dark eyes, maybe I was just so frightened I couldn’t fight another minute, or maybe it was the musical softness of her voice. I leaned against the door, shut out the jumble of thoughts that had been jolting like electric sparks through my mind, and listened.
Don’t be afraid of what you can do, Glenda said.
Spirit Seeker Page 6