Cross Roads

by Fern Michaels

  “Potty mouth.” Jack sniffed as the hostess appeared with a bottle of champagne.

  “Does anyone want information on Idaho to broaden his mind?” Ted asked. “I am a virtual encyclopedia of information. Espinosa can do a color show on his phone, if you like.”

  “Will you please shut up, or I will see to it that you sleep for the entire trip to wherever it is we’re going, Ted,” Harry said as he shook his head, declining the champagne. He held up a little bag of ground tea and instructed, “Let it steep for ten minutes. I prefer a cup with no handles.”

  “Of course, sir,” the hostess said sweetly. So sweetly, Jack thought he was going to gag.

  “Not that I care, Ted, but why was it so difficult to get tickets to Idaho? I thought no one went there,” Jack commented.

  “Some potato festival, Maggie said. Gourmet cooks from all over the country are making the trip. Everyone wants to win a gold potato on a pedestal. And it was a last-minute booking. You complaining, Jack?”

  “Nah, just making conversation. I have to admit I am a little perturbed that the girls don’t want us around. What’s up with that?”

  “They always have a reason for what they do,” Espinosa said, authority ringing in his voice.”

  “Yeah, and you know this…how?” Jack said sourly as he finished off the champagne in his glass.

  “I know because Alexis talks to me. We discuss everything. That’s what couples do. I probably know more than all of you put together. Just because I don’t blab my business to you…because none of you can be trusted to keep a secret, doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s going on.”

  They were on him like fleas on a dog. Alarmed, the hostess backed away with her champagne bottle, muttering something about dinner at thirty thousand feet.

  Espinosa clamped his lips shut, his signal that he wouldn’t be parting with any information anytime soon. Even Harry’s threat—“Don’t worry, when we land, I’ll kill him. I’d do it now, but I don’t want to be the first man to kill someone in midair on a private plane”—kept Espinosa’s lips clamped shut.

  Bert, who had been quiet throughout the exchange, sat upright. “You know, Espinosa, if you know something we should know, it’s not going to do you a bit of good to withhold that information. We’re brothers under the skin. A team, I thought. If I had information, you guys would be the first ones I would share it with.”

  Espinosa thought about it for a moment, then said, “The girls don’t know what to do.”

  “That’s it! The girls don’t know what to do!” Jack said in disbelief.

  “Yeah. They signed on, Lizzie did it all, and she’s on her way, or will be shortly, to London. Elias says the CIA and DHS say nothing is going on on our turf. Of course, Elias did not let on that the big shots in the foreign intelligence and law-enforcement worlds contacted the girls. But our side is saying there is no threat to the administration, nothing covert is going on or has been going on, which brings it all back to Hank Jellicoe, who started the whole thing in the first place. That’s why we’re going to Idaho, back to his beginning. The girls are waiting and depending on us to come up with some workable information.”

  Harry stirred, which was never a good sign. “Then why didn’t you say that in the first place? Then I wouldn’t have had to issue my threat to kill you,” he complained, one eye open and one eye closed.

  “Because I don’t take kindly to threats. Alexis wouldn’t let you go free if you killed me. She loves me.”

  “Oh, yeah, well, she’s no match for Yoko,” Harry blustered.

  “Enough with the pissing match, boys. We now have the information we need, which is, the girls need us. ‘Need’ is the operative word here. Are you all following me? In addition, I think we should all thank Espinosa for clueing us in.”

  Before anyone could comment either way, the hostess appeared carrying dinner trays. They managed to use up an hour cutting, chewing, and mumbling about the gourmet dinner. When coffee was poured, they went back at it, but not with any real intensity. Smarting from their lack of knowledge, Ted zeroed in on Espinosa. “And why were you picked to get this information and not us?”

  “Maybe because your phones were off? Well, I was supposed to share it with you, but you were all so belligerent, I just didn’t feel like it. You know now, so just shut up. I have nothing more to say.”

  “I’ll pray for you,” Jack said solemnly. Bert and Ted agreed to do the same. Harry slept.

  Three hours later the plane landed in Boise, Idaho. Ted spoke at length to the pilot, tapped some numbers into his phone, and was the last off the plane. “We have a rental car waiting. We have a two-hour drive ahead of us, so who wants to take the wheel?” Jack volunteered, and they were on the road in less than twenty minutes.

  “Okay, Bert, you’re my navigator. Type in the address and let the GPS do our work.”

  “Where are we going, Ted?”

  “The only address I have is Emma Doty’s.” He rattled it off. “I guess we should start there. How big can a town with a population of thirty-six hundred be?”

  “I thought you said the population was two thousand,” Harry said. “I hate falsehoods. And the people who tell them.”

  “It’s two thousand if you don’t count the people who live outside the town limits. Do we really care what the hell the population is?” Not bothering to wait for a response, Jack answered the question. “No, we do not care. Let’s all just kick back and think about our mission here and how the girls are depending on us to come through for them. Now, sit back and think pleasant thoughts.”

  By local time, it was the dinner hour when Jack drove the rental car down Main Street. “Here we are, boys, Mayberry, USA, or Prairie City, Idaho, which is also in the good old U. S. of A. There’s the town square to the left. That’s town hall next to it. I know this because there’s a sign on the lawn. To the right is St. Albans Church—not sure what the denomination is. Let’s just go with religious and be done with it. That brick building is the post office. There’s a sign on the door saying UNITED STATES POST OFFICE. Ah, here’s a hardware store, a drugstore, and Miss Eva’s café. To the right of Miss Eva’s is Waddell’s Emporium. The sign says they sell everything. I guess that means a toaster or a pair of socks. Looky there, on my left is the police station. Hiram Sherman sells all kinds of insurance to fit your needs right next door. Cody’s Beauty Shop does discreet waxing in a back room if you’re interested,” Jack said, enjoying his witty monologue. “Farm Bureau is coming up on the left, right alongside McBride’s one-stop shopping. Groceries,” Jack clarified.

  “In case none of you noticed, there are no traffic lights. Ah, here’s a stop sign, so I am stopping. You know what, I like this little town. Look at all these trees, and the sidewalks with benches. All the stores have flowers, probably donated by the Garden Club. Make a note, Harry, so you can tell Yoko. Better yet, take some pictures and send them to her. She loves flowers.”

  Two ladies in flowered dresses carrying string bags stopped in the middle of the road to stare at them before they moved on.

  “Oh, shit, they made us. Strangers from out of town. Now the cops will be trailing us, and before you know it, we’ll be locked up. I saw that in a movie once,” Espinosa said in a jittery-sounding voice. “Nobody came for them. They were rotting away before they were found, and none of them were ever the same again.”

  “Relax, we’re going to see Emma Doty, and she won’t let anything happen to us,” Ted said.

  “Hold on, Jack. Look, there’s a funeral home. James Dial and Sons. What better place to start than there. We can go to Emma’s after we pay a visit. Looks quiet, so probably no customers. It’s worth a shot,” Bert said, excitement ringing in his voice.

  “Yeah, let’s see what they can tell us, if anything.” Jack made a right turn and parked behind a shiny black hearse. “You can do the honors, Bert, since this was your idea.”

  Inside the mortuary, it was dim and cool. The decor was burgundy walls, dark blue carpe
ting, and cherrywood. The sickening smell of flowers was everywhere. Somber music played in the background. There was no one behind the shiny cherrywood desk, so Bert rang the little bell sitting on a pedestal. A door opened; the scent of flowers grew stronger. A balding youngish man in a three-piece suit, who looked more like one of his customers, extended a snow-white hand. He had polish on his nails. “Marshall Kelly. How can I be of service to you and your loved ones?”

  Bert debated just a second before he reached for his wallet, flashed his retirement badge, and hoped Kelly didn’t look too close. He didn’t. “We’re working a cold case, and our leads have brought us to this beautiful little town of yours. We need some information on a couple who used to live here a long time ago. I’m sure before your time, but you must keep records.”

  Marshall Kelly’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He would have so much to talk about at the next Rotary meeting if he could last that long. The FBI right here in his mortuary in Prairie City. “We have records dating back to the day my grandfather opened this mortuary. I’m sure they’re somewhere. To be honest, I couldn’t say where they are at this precise minute. Tell me who it is, and possibly my father might know, and we won’t have to go through all that digging. No pun intended. It’s rare that I get to use mortuary witticisms.” He laughed.

  Bert winced. “Madeline and Gerald Graverson.”

  “I’ve heard the names. Dad’s napping in the back. Let me fetch him and see what he has to say.”

  “Napping in the back,” Ted hissed. “You don’t think he naps in a…”

  “Do not go there, Ted,” Jack hissed in return.

  Five minutes went by, then another five minutes. Finally, Marshall Kelly and a white-haired, suited-up senior came through a burgundy leather door that didn’t make a sound. Introductions were made all around. Tea or coffee was offered and declined.

  Marshall Kelly Senior motioned the men to sit in a row of dark burgundy leather chairs. “It was sad; Gerald passed first, then Madeline six months later. They both looked lovely. We get so many compliments on our work, that’s why people elect to come to James Dial and Sons, opposed to going out of town. There’s the travel, the caskets are discounted, the satin is tacky.” He shuddered to show what he thought of such places.

  “How was the turnout?” Harry asked bluntly.

  Both Senior and Junior Kelly looked at Harry as though they’d never seen a live Oriental. And they probably hadn’t if they’d never left Prairie City. “And you are?”

  “Harry Wong,” Bert said.

  “He’s our resident terrorist,” Jack said.

  Harry stared at the two men until they looked away.

  “Well,” Mr. Kelly Senior said, “Everyone in town came to pay his or her respects. Funerals and wakes bring out the best in people. There was an overabundance of flowers, as I recall, but with no name attached to the cards at either funeral. That’s the only reason I remember it. People sign their names to gifts of flowers. Both Madeline and Gerald are buried in St. Albans Cemetery. It’s two miles down the road, right off our main street.”

  “Any family members attend?” Bert asked.

  “As I recall, there was no family, just friends and neighbors. The Graversons had a son, but no one knew where he was to notify him. We tried. We held the bodies an extra week, just in case we were able to locate him. I’m sorry to say we never did.”

  “Who paid for the funeral?”

  The elder Kelly held up his hand. “Now, that was very strange. A bank draft came in for a large amount of money. It paid for the cemetery plots, top-of-the-line Springfield caskets, the minister, our fee, of course, and the refreshments that were served afterward at our home. Actually, I think there is still fourteen hundred dollars in an escrow account we set up. I’m sure the interest has accumulated nicely. We would be more than happy to turn it over to the son if you can locate him for us.”

  “We don’t know where he is, either,” Jack said.

  “Their home, what happened to it?” Ted asked.

  “Nothing, as far as I know. It’s still standing. I believe the neighbors boarded up the windows and doors. I do know their cars are still in the garage. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember who told me that.”

  “That’s okay,” Bert said. “Who pays the taxes on the property?”

  “I really don’t know for certain. You could ask at the town hall. I would assume they were paid ahead, possibly by the son, or else there was money in an account. This is a small, friendly town, gentlemen. I’m sure if there wasn’t enough money, the townspeople would have chipped in. We’re not talking a huge amount of money for property taxes—less than two hundred dollars a year. Ask for Ellie at the bank. There are no secrets in this town. There will be records.”

  “Did the Graversons own any other property anywhere?”

  The elder Kelly slapped playfully at his forehead. “How could I have forgotten that? It was all this little town talked about when Madeline inherited a house in Florida. The land of sunshine and oranges. They went there once a year, and they even posted a bulletin at the church saying that anyone wanting to go to Florida could stay there for a vacation. I don’t think anyone ever took them up on the offer, but it just goes to show how kind the Graversons were.”

  “What is all this about?” the younger Kelly asked.

  “We think they were witnesses to something that happened in Florida a long time ago. As I said, we’re working a cold case. It’s probably not going to go anywhere, but we have to check every possibility. I don’t suppose you have an address for the property?” Bert said.

  “Shouldn’t you have that if, as you say, something happened there? I certainly don’t know it. Maybe Pastor Homes has it, I really can’t say.”

  “No problem, it’s in our files someplace.”

  “Good record keeping is as good as a good memory. It’s a mark of a successful businessman, but then, the government is not known for good record keeping, considering the mess the world is in today,” the senior Kelly said.

  “Dad! These men are from the government.” What he didn’t say was, Shit, now we’re going to be audited. The old man tossed his mane of white hair and turned to leave. He didn’t offer to shake hands.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Kelly,” Bert said.

  “I hope we were some help. Dad gets cranky at this time of day for some reason. I’m sorry if you think he was rude.”

  “Not a problem. Thank you for talking with us, and, yes, you were helpful,” Bert said as he followed Marshall Kelly to the door. They all heard the snick of the lock falling into place.

  Back in the car, everyone started to talk at once. Jack let loose with an earsplitting whistle. “We can bat this around later; next stop, Emma Doty’s house. Bert, turn on that GPS, and let’s get this show on the road. Jesus, I’m never going to get the smell of that place out of my nose!”

  A ripe discussion followed, with an agreement that when they died, no one wanted flowers at their wake.

  Chapter 24

  It was going on six thirty when the GPS announced they had reached their destination. It was a small house, more like a cottage of possibly a thousand square feet. It was painted white and looked like it was in good repair. Their were four rocking chairs and pots of colorful flowers arranged neatly on the old-fashioned front porch. Two lush, green ferns hung from the rafters. A coiled hose was nestled in a rack of sorts behind one of the rockers. Something that looked suspiciously like a keg was sitting next to a huge clay pot of bright red geraniums. Jack led the way to the front door, which was painted a dark hunter green. The main door was open behind the screen door, which didn’t have even one hole in it. The screen was stretched taut and looked new. Jack pressed the doorbell. It rang, one loud bong that didn’t interfere with the sounds coming from the back end of the house, probably a television. “Come in, come in!”

  “Small-town people are hospitable,” Espinosa said.

  They heard the sound before Emma Doty appear
ed around a corner in a motorized wheelchair. She didn’t miss a beat when she said, “Hello, what can I do for you?”

  “I guess it never occurred to her we might be Jack the Ripper’s apprentices,” Jack mumbled under his breath.

  “Jack the Ripper doesn’t know where Prairie City, Idaho, is,” Bert mumbled back. He had his badge in his hand and held it out.

  “No need for that, young man. Miss Spritzer said you would be stopping by. She called earlier this afternoon. Now let me see if I can identify you from what she told me about all of you. She said you five were the finest human beings to ever walk the earth. People only say that about their friends. I’m Emma Doty. You must be Jack, and you’re Bert. You, young man, are Joseph, and the man next to you is Ted. So this handsome man is Harry. Not that you aren’t all handsome, mind you, but Harry stands out for some reason.” Harry blushed.

  “Maggie said I should use her given name. I don’t want you to think I’m being forward. She asked me to talk to my friends to see if any of us could remember something that we might not think is important but you would. Please, come in and sit down. Can I offer you anything to drink?”

  “We’re fine, ma’am. Did you come up with anything?”

  “No, I’m sorry to say. Perhaps if you ask me questions, specific questions, it might help to jog my memory. My friends are standing by in case I have to call them to confirm something.”

  “Mainly what we need to know is where the Florida property the Graversons inherited is located. We stopped at the funeral home on our way here, and Mr. Kelly Senior told us what he could remember. He said the house is boarded up, someone has paid the taxes, the son Andy didn’t attend either parent’s funeral, but there was an abundance of flowers with no name on them, and a bank draft arrived that paid for all the funeral expenses,” Bert said.

  “I wasn’t living here then. Neither were my friends. The Graverson house is boarded up. It’s just two streets over. It’s not like it’s a blight on the neighborhood. The neighbors maintain the lawn and flower beds and rake leaves in the fall and shovel the snow in the winter. Prairie City is a lovely little town of people who care for one another.”