"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For just as the sufferin's of Christ are ours in abundance, so also our comfort is abundant through Christ. This passage is from Second Corinthians, chapter one. It is my sincerest desire that it may offer some consolation to you all."
I squirmed in my seat, not sure I knew what all that meant… except maybe that God could do a whole lot of comforting. Well, He had a big job to do here.
The pastor closed the book, tucked it under his arm and walked to Trudy's sister who sat huddled over, crying. He stooped and took her hand. "I'm so sorry for your loss. If there's anythin' I can do for you while you're here, don't hesitate to phone me. The funeral director has my number."
Her body trembled. The pastor stooped and patted her shoulder. Jimmy Logan wrapped an arm around her.
What a conundrum. The service I'd just sat through had accommodated the sister's wishes. Though knowing Trudy, I'm sure she wouldn't mind. She'd want her sister to feel consoled, although it seemed the service had hardly accomplished that. But Trudy's beliefs were eclectic, embracing a New Age philosophy. How many families had to work through this situation while in the depths of despair? Probably quite a few.
He turned to the young man. "Jimmy, I'm so sorry we're meetin' again under these circumstances. It's obvious you have suffered a great loss as well. Stop by the church if you need to talk, son. Don't be a stranger."
Pastor Standal shook the hand of the funeral director at the doorway. "Mr. Edwards, good day. Give my regards to Mrs. Edwards."
As the pastor left, Mr. Edwards tugged at his starched white cuffs. "This concludes the memorial service for Trudy Bobkirk. You all have my deepest sympathy. Please drive carefully as you leave."
That was it. The service was over and I didn't understand any better than I had before why Trudy Bobkirk had to die.
Reece Morgan was the first to stand. Ava Chandler rose from her seat immediately after. Their eyes locked and Morgan walked toward the woman of great stature, at least in her own mind.
A fractious pout overtook Uma Kantrel's face and she hurried after Morgan and linked her arm through his, plastering herself to his side. He gave a fierce shrug, loosening her grip on him and kept walking.
I grasped the chair in front of me as if my fingers were a vice and pulled myself up. The air seemed thick and warm, even though the air conditioning in the room had been frigid. It was as if a seismic wave struck me. I struggled for air as a shadowy image surfaced from the distant past. I seemed to be looking down a misty tunnel where in some far away time, a man with his back to me thrust away a wisp of a young woman, no older than Trudy. She wrapped her blouse around her exposed breasts and raced frantically down the hallway of our house. I shook it off and inhaled deeply, twice. That must have been the time Mom found a pink padded bra and made like it was nothing.
Hughes placed a hand at my back. "Are you all right?"
I nodded as I pulled myself back to the present, shoving all emotion way down. Tossing my ponytail like a horse would to rid itself of a bloodsucking fly, I slouched, putting on my best tomboy look. The one that was sexless and protective.
Farber was already in the aisle, making a beeline for the lobby. He rocked from side to side as the soles of his shoes pounded the carpet. In spite of my shortness of breath, I giggled. Gumshoe on the case.
Hughes took my elbow and guided me after him, but at a much slower pace.
Marjean assisted Nellie out of her seat, and Hughes stopped to allow them to leave their row as gracefully as possible. Nellie tripped over his foot and mumbled, "I'm sorry, so sorry."
After assuring her there was no harm done, he took a quick side step right into the elbow of Reece Morgan and blocked the path to the door.
The light in Morgan's pale blue orbs flared then went flat. "If you'll excuse me, Deputy, I have to go to the airport and pick up Cassidy Renault."
For the second time, Uma Kantrel pouted like a green-eyed school girl.
Hughes nodded and stepped aside. "So nice of you to act as her chauffeur."
Morgan took a step past Hughes and paused. "It's the gentlemanly thing to do."
By now, jealousy had completely overtaken the pink haired one's demeanor. On spindly stilettos she matched her escort's stride, clinging to him as they proceeded into the lobby.
They nearly collided with the funeral director as he rushed over to assist Jimmy Logan. The two men steadied the wilted form of Marcia Bobkirk DeMarco as she struggled into the aisle. They helped her toward the casket as the matron with the bun atop her head rushed in with a bottle of smelling salts.
There was so much pain in this room… so much devastation. Rage against the killer overtook me. Then a thought I'd had before surfaced, exploding inside my head. We could be investigating a conspiracy spanning from Texas to the Hamptons, an organized group of drug dealing killers. Working in concert, they'd committed two murders that we knew of.
Farber stood near the front door. He did that thing again, his finger pointing down low. "Ava Chandler and that other woman walked out together."
Hughes kneaded the muscles of his neck with one hand. "That woman is Dorothy Chandler, the nutritionist at the spa, and Winslow Chandler's cousin."
I shifted my gaze out the door and to the small portico beyond the entrance. "It's raining Chandlers all over the place."
Farber clambered out of the funeral parlor and we followed. "Forget the Chandler women. I'm going to tail Reece Morgan. I wanna see where he takes that Renault babe, though I suspect he'll drop her home as he's got his jealous gal-pal with him. You can follow me if you want."
We followed Farber to the airport. He stayed three-then four-then three cars behind the BMW. Hughes stayed two to three cars back from the unmarked sedan with me tucking the Smart Car neatly behind the Ram.
It was just as the detective figured. Morgan picked up Cassidy and her four pieces of Louis Vuitton luggage at the arrivals terminal with Uma Kantrel making quite a display. Green and pink do not always go well together.
The BMW let Cassidy out at the front entrance to her building in the Cimarron luxury apartment complex. The car stayed in front until the doorman removed her bags from the trunk and opened the door for her. Neither Reece nor Uma saw Cassidy in.
Moments after the BMW pulled out from under the building's portico, my cell phone rang. Hughes relayed a query from Farber. The detective had wondered if we were hungry. My retort that there'd be no problem with eating as far as I was concerned elicited a laugh from Hughes.
I felt like a baby elephant trailing behind its parents as I roamed the city behind Farber's unmarked sedan and Hughes' Ram. The trip from Abilene Regional Airport to Cassidy's luxury building hadn't given us any new intel, but we hadn't expected much. Then after a short jaunt up a state road and past a complex of modest garden apartments, I finally pulled the Smart Car into an expansive parking lot behind those two.
A bite to eat after a long day often helped take the edge off. Farber had suggested the Metro Diner, a fifties-style joint he knew of in Abilene proper. The outside was an ample chrome rectangle with large plate glass windows. Its interior sported a black and white checked linoleum floor with bright aqua booths and stools. A colorful fifties style jukebox stood in one corner. It played "Walkin' My Baby Back Home" by Jonnie Ray. That was a bit before my mother's time, certainly a more innocent time.
We all ordered the bacon cheeseburger deluxe platter. Farber wanted a draft. Hughes went for a root beer float, and I decided on a vanilla milk shake with whipped cream and a cherry on top.
When the waitress headed for the kitchen, I related my women's room conversations with Nellie and Ava Chandler.
Farber's eyes briefly scanned the room, then came back to me dripping disparagement. "You girls sure do stir up so
me drama there."
I couldn't take much more of his attitude. "Yeah, well, I didn't see you getting any information out of them."
The detective gave me a don't be ridiculous roll of his eyes. "You didn't expect me to chase them into a women's room for a little girl talk, did you?"
I slid to the edge of my seat, planted my elbows on the table, and leaned across, getting as close to him as I could. "You guys think nothing of questioning some jerk over a public urinal and you don't see me squawking about it. So, how about you lay off with the I'm the big detective and you're just the girl PI act? It's getting old."
Hughes wiped the barest hint of a grin from his face and cast a stern look at the detective. Then he turned his head toward me. "Ronnie, every bit of info you and Jack Cooney brought to this case has been useful. Some of it we couldn't have gotten without you. And on my end, it's all been presented to the sheriff and shared with Farber here."
To his credit, Farber appeared to have at least some degree of contrition. "Look, I'll be honest with you. It's not my druthers to be workin' a case with a private cop, especially the wife of the first victim. I have to admit though; you're an asset to the case."
The waitress brought our drinks.
Hughes stuck a straw into his root beer float and took a long pull.
I sat back in my seat and fell into a slump. "It's been my recent experience; we don't always get what we want."
Hughes played with the straw in his tall glass. "Yeah, and that's a fact."
I grabbed the maraschino cherry off the top of my whipped cream, popped it into my mouth, and talked as I chewed. "Hughes, you mentioned Jack Cooney and I think it's about time we gave him a call to find out what he's uncovered about Stanley Fishburn, and where the lovely Cassidy Renault went when she was there."
I flipped open my cell phone, hit speed dial for Jack, and was greeted with that familiar, cranky tone I was so fond of. "Yeah, kid, whaddaya want?"
I put it on speaker phone and adjusted the volume so we could hear, but not so loud others could. "So, what's the scoop on Stanley Fishburn? And did you have a lovely time with your friend at the spa?"
A deep chuckle erupted from the void. "That guy's got this huge pompadour looks like it's held in place with industrial silicone. He could be Buster Poindexter's twin. And yeah, I had quite the time. Thank you for asking."
I placed the phone on the table between us. "How did my BFF Cassidy Renault spend her time in the Big Apple?"
"Shopping at all the finest stores on Fifth Avenue. She must have a platinum American Express card judging from all the store bags she hauled around."
I let out a short, huffy sigh. "As usual, playing the princess. So, what's this spa all about?"
"Well, it's upscale. Caters to the A-list out here. However, my lovely friend tells me Fishburn's wife, the owner, has been on quite the spending spree herself this past year. Expensive tastes."
"Maybe she has money coming in from sources nobody knows about."
Jack gave a hoarse throaty laugh. "Not knowing about it is the point, babe. How you gonna nab them when you know nadda?"
Hughes stirred his float with his straw and looked directly at Farber. "With all due respect, I have a history with Reece Morgan and might be able to push some buttons. I'm gonna to interview him again. Dorothy Chandler says he took Mark Ingels and Cassidy somewhere two nights before Ingels was murdered. I'll ask him where they went and I'll push for an answer I can believe."
A laugh snorted through my nose. Couldn't help it. "Hope you get it. An answer that's someplace in the truth ballpark."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Arroyo
Day Fourteen, morning
Veronica "Ronnie" Ingels, PI
Early morning sun flooded through the Chuck Wagon's front windows. I stood there a moment, basking in its rays shimmering on the front windowpanes, and it made me smile. I'd found many little joys in Arroyo, things I'd overlooked while rushing around, multi-tasking in Brooklyn. If I could bring anything home with me it would be the ability to slow down and let myself experience the simple pleasures in life.
Doug charged through the front door bringing a whiff of hot air with him, which promised another scorcher. At least there wasn't exhaust and grime clinging to the skin making it clammy, like we usually had with warmer weather in Gotham.
He settled in his usual booth, waved, then flipped his fingers upward near his mouth indicating his need for java.
I topped off the coffee cups of the trio of well-seasoned yokels at the counter who were the sum-total of the members of my fan club. They were still yakking about Pete's win in the Cross-Country Trail Competition. Every once in a while, they'd steal a peek toward the back at the golden one, as Pete, oblivious, scarfed down his pancakes.
Stifling a grin, I navigated around the counter and continued to Doug's table with the carafe and a mug. "Your usual for breakfast?"
"Yep, eggs over easy, bacon, home fries, and coffee."
I wrote it down on my pad, though I don't know why I bothered. Could've just told Hoot to give me Doug's usual.
He mopped the back of his neck with a blue bandanna, then jerked his head toward the back. "How's it feel now that one of your regular customers is a local celebrity?"
"Pete's the only one here who's not at all concerned with his new status."
"Since he's got this new found popularity, maybe he should run for mayor." Sadness flashed deep in Doug's eyes.
"If I were a registered voter here, I'd vote for anyone running against Her Honor."
Pink tinged Doug's cheeks. "Sorry, bitterness got me, that's all."
I filled his mug. "You'd make a terrific mayor."
Hughes walked in, looking fine as they come, in a comfortable pair of jeans with his Stetson in his hand. It had to be his day off. And just why should I care how he filled out his jeans? Mark had been a Dapper Dan and look where that got me.
I waved him toward a front booth the busboy had just cleaned. He nodded, but passed that by and stopped to chat with Pete for a moment. They must've been talking about the cross-country competition because Pete swiveled to the side, stretched his torso forward with his arms fully extended. It was as if he held the reins and was giving the horse its full head, just as he had done in the race. Hughes patted Pete on the back and then took a booth toward the back.
After putting Doug's order in, I got a fresh coffee carafe and a mug for Hughes.
He lowered his eyelids. If it wasn't Hughes, I'd swear he had glommed onto my gait. With this awareness, my stomach flip-flopped and I almost missed a step. As if on cue, I lowered my voice. "So, what's your pleasure this morning?" That was kinda cheesy. Not at all suave.
He took a moment allowing his gaze to linger on me then grinned. "What if I want something not on the menu?"
I averted my eyes and poured coffee into his mug. "Not a problem."
"Oh, really?" Surprise competed with glee.
"Um… yeah, Hoot'll make it up for you. Whatever you want."
"Oh, okay." His tone sobered. "Then I'll have two scrambled with bacon, um… jalapenos fried up in my taters, a couple of Bertha's fresh baked biscuits with country gravy and some pancakes."
"That is different for you. Coming right up." I put the order in contemplating what had just happened. Or, had anything happened?
After serving Doug his breakfast, I brought Hughes his order. "Hoot says those potatoes are going to have some kick."
"That's what I ordered. Maybe it's time to get out of my same-old, same-old breakfast rut."
"You got what you ordered, all right." What on earth was with Hughes?
"Say, how about takin' a break from this case and gettin' away? Maybe go with me to play some miniature golf after your shift is over. There's a new place opened near Buzzard Mountain… only about a half an hour drive." There was a slight glint in his eyes.
"I like miniature golf." Could be that distance from this locale would give us a new perspective on these murders
. Like we might put the pieces together on this drug cartel-murder conspiracy. It was worth a shot.?
"They call it Roustabout Adventure Land. It's gonna be real hot today, so bring a bathin' suit. They've got a mini-water park where we can cool off a spell."
"I don't have a suit with me. Sorta came on the fly, you might recall."
He frowned, then his expression brightened. "We can stop at Oglethorpe's and you can pick one up. Or if you don't like the selection there, we can make a quick stop at the Mall of Abilene. It's practically on the way. We have to go down Route Two Seventy-Seven anyway."
"Let's try Oglethorpe's. I've had good luck there and I don't want anything too outlandish."
*****
Arroyo
Day Fourteen, morning
Deputy Sergeant Dawson Hughes
Like most longtime residents of the village, I'd known the man for years, and liked him Most of the garments in my closet, I'd purchased in his store… all of the jeans.
"You'll have quite a selection. Just got a new rack of swimmin' suits come in. They're in the back." Mr. Oglethorpe pointed. "I think you know where the dressin' rooms are, Miss."
"I do." Ronnie took off down the center aisle and I followed. There was a greater selection than I'd figured on, but then probably nobody had picked through them yet. Ronnie went right to her size and started sliding suits along the rack and lifting out ones that appealed to her.
She held up a bright striped one with a top that skimmed the torso and a sort of high-cut bottom. "How's this?"
My focus stayed glued to the bottoms, wondering if the waist would rest above or below her navel and just how high cut the legs would be. I swallowed hard. "Nice, real nice."
She handed the suit to me and continued looking. Finally, she pulled out a halter-top two-piece in a tropical print. The bottom looked a tad skimpy. "What about this one?"
I had to admit; I'd love to see her try it on, but wouldn't want any other guys to see her in it. Although to be honest, the suits on the racks here were tame compared to some I'd seen at poolside and on beaches in recent years.
Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense Page 121