Oh, if only the doctor would let her drive. “Well, then what, Janie? Where would you go?” She chided herself for whining and tottered back to the sofa. The players were in motion, so she’d done all she could. She clicked through the TV channels and landed on a game show. A switch in thought power might ease her mind into a more restful state.
Sure enough, within a few minutes, her head tilted back onto the pillow.
* * *
Connor Hemphill and Blake entered the first gate of the prison. “Sorry sirs. Visiting hours are over at four.”
He flashed his badge, again. “We aren’t here to visit. We are here to interview Edwin Newman’s cellmate, Joseph Sanders. Need to chat with the warden as well.”
The guard shuffled through his papers. “He’s left for the day. You were to be here at one.”
Blake sucked in a lung of air to keep his cool. “I called. We had an emergency situation.” His voice pitch heightened as he spouted each word. “Now, do we get to talk with Sanders or not?”
The guard’s face reddened. He led them into a small, windowless room away from the public. “Wait here, sirs.” He motioned to a row of four institutional-styled, plastic chairs.
Another guard sat behind a teller-like window. “I need you to surrender your guns, communication equipment, loose change...you know the drill. Shoes off as well, please.”
After ten minutes the first officer returned. “You’re cleared, but only for fifteen minutes. This way, please.”
The detectives were buzzed through a steel door with chicken wire layered between green coated glass panels in the upper half. They walked down a long corridor, out another door and through a breezeway into a second building. A security officer stood on the other side of a similar window as if ready to take their movie tickets. “Detectives Johnson and Hemphill to see Joseph Sanders, number D158239.”
“Badges, please?”
Blake and his partner slid them through the slit in the glass. The guard took his sweet time eyeing the IDs and writing down their numbers. Raising his glance to their faces, he shoved the identifications back towards them. “Okay.”
He relayed to have the prisoner brought down to the interrogation room.
Hemphill rocked back and forth on his heels.
“First time?”
“Yes, sir. Shows, huh?”
Blake scoffed. “Never fun. But gives you a good feeling knowing the scum you help put in here are likely to stay put.”
Hemphill humphed. “We wish.”
A buzzer vibrated and the lock on the door released. The two were led down a short hall to the right and into an eight-foot by six-foot room with only a table and four chairs. Blake sat down. Hemphill dug out a pocket recorder and placed the device on the Formica top.
Within a few minutes, the door on the opposite side opened and a small man dressed in prison garb entered. He looked more like a tax clerk than a criminal. Bald, with wispy gray hair on either side of his ears, his wrinkled skin appeared to be weathered by age and sun. His hands were clamped together. The guard pushed the inmate’s shoulders, indicating he should sit. Next, the inmate’s handcuff chains were attached to two metal rings at the edge of the table. With a scoff, the prison official put his thumb and forefinger to his temple in a mock salute. “Gentlemen, he’s all yours for fifteen minutes.”
After the door closed, Sanders stared at them, his jaw working a piece of chewing gum.
Blake introduced himself and his partner. “We understand you were Edwin Newman’s cellmate.”
He slid down into the chair as far as his chains would allow. “If that’s what you want to call him. Didn’t change his name until he got a squeaky-clean attorney. Up until then, everyone called him Norm.”
Hemphill scribbled in his notebook and cocked an eyebrow. “You know he’s dead, right?”
“If you mean the man who occupied the other bunk, yeah. So?”
Blake and Hemphill exchanged glances. ‘Did anyone put a contract on him?”
“Pfft. Think I’d tell ya?”
“What you say won’t go past these walls.” Blake set his jaw and clicked off the recorder.
Hemphill sputtered. “But, sir—”
Blake raised one eyebrow. “This is my investigation, Sergeant.”
Sanders chuckled. “You two can play good-cop-bad-cop all you want, but time’s running out and I ain’t talking. I’ll be in enough hot water when they learn I’m in here with ya.”
Blake stared into the man’s eyes. “Okay, you don’t have to answer. But we have to ask. Your choice if you wish to say yes.” He held up one finger. “Or no.” He lifted two fingers off the table.
Sanders noted his hand signals, stone-faced. He shifted his gaze to Blake’s face. “Do what ya gotta do, man.”
“Do you have reason to believe Edwin’s life was in danger while incarcerated here?”
Sanders fixated on the wall behind them and chomped on his chewing gum.
“Did you catch wind of anyone wanting to oust him once he was released?”
He shifted in his chair as he continued to concentrate on some spot a tad above Blake’s head.
“Sanders, did Edwin ever confide in you about any deal he made with two prisoners named Lopez and Smithers to assume the identity of Edward Norman?”
The prisoner dashed his eyes for a second to Blake, but went back to staring at same imaginary spot as before.
Blake eyeballed the wad of green as it swirled over the inmate’s tongue. If he smacks his gum many more times, I’m gonna lose my cool.
The door opened. “Time’s up.” The guard unhooked Sanders’s chains from the table and led him out of the room. The guy never looked either detective in the eye.
Hemphill heaved a long sigh. “Talk about a waste of time.”
A smirk curled across Blake’s lips. “Not necessarily. By not answering any of my questions, he said a great deal.”
He got up to exit and snickered at the crinkled brow of his underling.
“Body language, Connor. He spoke volumes with his subtle gestures. Did you expect him to do otherwise?”
“Guess there’s a lot I still need to learn.”
The two chuckled as they exited the building and shuffled to the institutional chairs room to collect their department-issued paraphernalia and shoes.
Chapter FORTY
George dropped Ethel off and drove the short distance to Betsy Ann’s. He parked at the curb and turned to face her. “Thank you for allowing me to come along. Quite an adventurous day, I must say.”
He stroked her forearm, which sent tiny little prickles up her veins to her heart. George walked around and opened her passenger side. He extended his hand, and when she placed hers inside his grip, she took a sharp breath as her cheeks rose in body temperature.
His left eyebrow cocked and a smirk cupped his mouth. “Here you are, m’lady.”
“Thank you, George. For everything. But buying my and Ethel’s lunch seemed a touch much.”
“Not to me.” He tucked her hand in his arm and escorted her to the stoop. When they reached her door, he took her fingers and squeezed them. “I have a confession to make. I volunteered for this mission for the sole reason I wanted to spend time with you. Besides, now I know where you live.” He winked and bent to brush her cheek with his lips. “And I have your phone number, which I hope to use to call you again soon—with your permission.”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “Of course, George. I’d like that.”
He back-stepped. “Good. Until we speak again.”
Betsy Ann held her breath as he bowed and pivoted to walk to his car. Halfway down the sidewalk, he stopped and turned in her direction. “I will wait here until I am confident you are safe inside your abode.”
She gazed at him. “Oh, yes. Thank you.” She jostled her keys from her handbag, unlocked the front door and slipped inside. Before she shut it, she gave him a wave.
He returned the gesture with another wink and drove off
.
Betsy Ann leaned against the jamb, her hand to her chest. Her feet seemed to float above the floor. She hummed as she hung up her purse and scarf and glided into the kitchen to fix a cup of tea before changing for Bunco.
She never expected to feel this way again.
* * *
At five after five, Ethel and Betsy Ann turned up the alleyway to Janie’s house at the same time. “So, we meet again.”
Betsy Ann brushed the comment away with one hand as a gelatin mold jiggled in her other. Ethel carried a casserole papoosed in a quilted cover.
“I’m contributing Bing cherry and walnut Jell-O salad. What did you bring?”
“My famous chicken enchiladas with mozzarella topped with sour cream jalapeno sauce.”
“Oooh, yummy.”
The two entered Janie’s back door. “Yoo, hoo. We’re here.”
In the distance Janie’s more chipper than normal voice sung out. “Come in, come in. Boy, do I have things to share with you.”
The ladies set their dishes in the kitchen and shuffled into the living room.
“How did the road trip go?”
Ethel and Betsy Ann eyed each other and shrugged. “Okay. Albert Washington turned out be an interesting man.”
The two took turns recapping their conversation and adventure, except Betsy Ann left out the part of George walking her to her door.
“So, tell us what you did all day. Lie around eating chocolate truffles?” Ethel grinned.
Janie swiveled her leg to rest on the coffee table. “Melody hired a cleaning lady to come give the place the once over.”
“I did whiff a pine-like aroma when we came in.”
Betsy Ann agreed. “And the room is so sparkly and clean.” She paused, hand to mouth. “Not that your place ever is disheveled. You’re a meticulous housekeeper. It’s only with your foot and all...”
Janie chuckled. “I understand. To continue. Next, I ate lunch, watched the noonday news, and learned Lopez’s son Emilio was in the same unit as Edwin.”
Betsy Ann shook her head. “I thought only senior citizen prisoners were sent to Wallace Pack.”
“Evidently one section is, but not the whole facility. Back to the point, the police arrested him for a botched attempt to hijack the transport vehicle carrying Lenny Weber from Navasota to San Antonio.”
Ethel leaned back. “Wow. That is interesting. Did you tell Blake?”
“Yes. He already knew. But then I went to get the mail...” She paused for effect. “The man who broke into my home before lurked nearby. He pinned me against the post and put a knife to my neck.”
Betsy Ann shot to her feet, spilling the contents of the purse she’d laid on her lap. “What?”
Ethel’s face paled. “Are you serious?”
Janie smiled. “Yep.” She pointed to the flesh colored bandage near her jugular vein. “Ask anyone. Police, sirens, fingerprinting team, sketch artists. They all crowded into my condo, again. I think Mrs. Fluffy may disown me if this keeps up.”
“Did they catch the guy?”
Janie shook her head. “Not that I know of. Which means he plotted this community and its grounds quite well.”
Ethel gulped. “My, what a comforting thought.”
“Are you going to tell the ladies?” Betsy Ann asked as she gathered her items from the rug and shoved them back into her bag.
Janie waved her wrist. “I gather most of them have found out by now, as would you two if you hadn’t gone traipsing all over North Texas.”
Betsy Ann pouted to Ethel. “We did kinda miss the excitement.”
“Yes, but lunch was superb, and I think George likes you.” She waggled a finger at her friend, whose rouge darkened by three shades.
Janie laughed. “I’ll relay all when everyone gets here. But the clock says twenty ’til, so would you mind getting the card table and chairs from the guest closet and setting them up?”
Her friends jumped to follow her command.
* * *
One by one, the Bunco Biddies entered, chatting and sampling what each had brought. A folding table had been set near the sofa, making it easier for Janie to play. Betsy Ann patted her shoulder. “You are exempt from moving, even if you don’t score the highest.”
After everyone had stuffed themselves with the latest recipes gleaned from postings on the social media, they settled into three groups of fours and rolled to determine who’d go first at each of the tables. The bell dinged and the fast-pace attempts to roll as many ones as possible began. When someone at the head table rolled three dice all landing on one, the round ended, scores were tallied, and the ladies with the higher points switched seats. The whole process started over with twos. Afterwards, they rolled for threes, then fours, fives, and sixes.
Janie received the prize for the most Buncos, or rolling the same number on all three dice. Mildred won the highest score, which under normal circumstances would have her grinning like a cat who just dined on grain-fed mice. Tonight, however, her mood remained subdued. Before Janie got the chance to question her, she dashed out the front door with the remnants of her caramel fudge torte in hand.
“What’s up with Mildred?”
“Dunno.” Ethel wiped the water rings from the card table. “Ever since the funeral, she has been quiet. Maybe the gruesomeness of what happened next door is sinking in.”
Janie handed her the tally pads. “I guess that make sense.”
Betsy Ann spoke up as she gathered the other tablets and dice. “I recall her nephew visiting her last week. You know? The one who is the butcher and gets her those great cuts of stew beef for her famous goulash?”
“Oh, yes. He gave her the biggest lamb roast for Easter. So tender, the meat fell off the fork.” Ethel licked her lips at the memory. “Oh, you didn’t come, did you Janie? You were at Mel’s.”
Janie smiled. “Hmm, a great day. Sunny, cool. Jamie hid the golden egg with a dollar bill tucked inside and Blake’s great niece found it. She’s only three. You’ve never seen such a grin on a child’s face.”
“Well, I thought he’d cheer her up, but she’s seems even more moody.”
“They may have had words.” Janie stopped. “Wait? Did you say he’s a butcher?”
“That’s right. At Fred’s Foods down the road.”
Janie plopped on the couch, rubbing her forehead. She recalled her conversation with Miranda about her son Juan who worked there as well.
“What is wrong, Janie? Are you too tired to meet?”
She re-positioned her elevated foot and grimaced. “No, racking my brain. Tell me. What does Bobby look like?”
Ethel titled her head up to the ceiling. “Let’s see now. He is tall, rather brawny. Broad shoulders and stocky. Played linebacker. I’d say early twenties by now. Single.”
A chill tickled Janie’s earlobes. “Does he have a gruff voice?”
Ethel nodded. “You could say so. I recall the first time I met him. I thought to myself, I sure wouldn’t want to make him angry.”
Betsy Ann shook her head. “He is a giant, but he is as gentle as a kitten. In fact, he loves Poopsy so much. That dog became quite attached to him while he lived there and vice versa. I remember Mildred being a tad jealous.”
The blood rushed from Janie’s face. Now she knew who had broken into her home smelling like raw meat and slapped her and today, shoved a knife to her neck.
Moreover, she discerned without a doubt he’d been involved in Edwin’s death. But why? Over his love for his aunt’s dog?
Chapter FORTY-ONE
Janie wanted to pace, which is how she thought things through. Of course, her foot wouldn’t allow her that privilege. Nor could she walk or drive yet, so the idea of having to totter over to Mildred’s garden home one block over and two more down lasted about thirty-seconds. It would take her at least a half-hour to hobble in that direction, and the temperature, which had yet to drop below eighty even at nine at night, might wilt her. Having the Bunco Biddies over did relie
ve the doldrums, but all the chattering and dice rolling drained her energy tonight. No way would she make it to Mildred’s front door.
Mrs. Fluffy sat under the coffee table and peered up at her mistress. A small questioning mew let Janie know the animal sympathized, worried, or wanted some of the chicken spread Betty-Lou brought. Janie bent down to face her. “What? You should know by now I don’t speak cat.”
She thrust her back into the cushions. How could she suspect Mildred’s nephew? She’d never met the kid. Well, yes, unless...
Should she call Blake? Not until she had reasoned this through without a shadow of a doubt. Only then would she muster up the confidence to accuse Bobby of being the one who threatened her. Mildred would never forgive her otherwise.
The gals did convey Bobby had landed on the wrong side of the law before. However, the idea he’d kill someone because he threw a mug at a dog seemed over-the-top weird. Something else triggered his actions. But what?
He did match the description, even down to the reason his hands smelled like hamburger. Plus, having bunked in with his aunt for a few weeks, he must have learned about the community’s schedules and layout. It would be easy for him to find a cubbyhole in which to hide until the police search thinned. A bush, under someone’s deck, even in the maintenance shed off the first tee. He could become invisible in the nursing or assisted living sections if he figured out a way to get in without being detected. Oh, yes. Dozens of places to lay low. She’d have to remember to speak to the neighborhood watch committee about how unsecure their community really was.
Janie’s brain bounced these ideas around like a tennis ball volleying between two professional Wimbledon players. One thing for sure, she and Mildred needed to have a heart to heart. The possibility was that Mildred knew nothing about her nephew’s shenanigans, though something told Janie it wouldn’t be the case. Her unusual moodiness would make sense if her conscience tickled her.
Janie slapped her cell phone against her thigh. She hated to call Ethel so soon after she’d left. Even more, Janie loathed being dependent on anyone. But she needed a ride and having a witness might be a good idea. Besides, Mildred and Ethel had a history of confiding in each other. And Ethel looked after Poopsy from time to time when Mildred had to go out of town or into the hospital for her diverticulitis. If anything, Ethel would be honest enough to tell Janie if she barked up the wrong tree, no pun intended.
Dumpster Dicing (Bunco Biddies Book 1) Page 18