He folded the letter he'd been reading and stuck it in his shirt pocket. His hand trembled a little.
"I just wanted to check on Zach, see how he's doing. Is he still over at the lake?" I couldn't bring myself to mention the jail.
Fred looked pretty tired, like he'd been up all night, too. When I mentioned Zach, his eyes hardened and he clenched his jaw. I could see the cords of his neck straining against his green work shirt.
"Zach's gonna be all right," he said. "That worthless sheriff is keeping him locked up all weekend, but I've got my lawyers working on it. He'll get out first thing Monday morning. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it. Okay?"
I hated being patronized, but decided to let it slide. "Okay. Just tell him I'm thinking about him."
"Sure thing." He pulled the letter he'd been reading out of his pocket. He looked like he was anxious to get back to it.
I said good-bye, and started for the door. He told me to wait. "I almost forgot. I brought some stuff of yours down from the lake house," he said. "Some clothes and your purse. Figured you might need it. I know how you women are about your purses."
I let that one slide, too. Sometimes, I'm just too darned nice. "Thank you, I really appreciate your doing that." I waited for him to get my stuff.
He kept standing by the desk, holding the folded up letter.
I cleared my throat. "Uh, Mr. T? If you tell me where the stuff is, I can grab it and get out of your hair."
"Of course. Sorry. It's out in my trunk. Here, let's go get it." He stuck the letter back in his shirt pocket and went outside. I followed him to his car.
He opened the trunk. "Here you go."
I picked up my tote bag and clothes. "Well, I better run. Tell Zach I'll talk to him Monday."
Fred pulled the letter out of his pocket again and immediately opened it. Must have been the one notifying him he'd won the ten million dollar sweepstakes.
My phone, of course, was completely dead and my car charger was nowhere to be found. I stuffed it back in my bag and drove around to the side of the building to turn around. A blue van sitting behind Nancy Winslow's used car office caught my eye. I pulled over to where the van sat and parked next to it. I tried the van's doors. They were all locked. I shaded my eyes and peered inside. It was empty. I walked all around it.
"You looking to buy a van, Marty?" Nancy Winslow's gravelly voice came from behind me.
"Uh no, not really." I turned around to look at her.
I wondered if she knew about me and Vanessa being inside her house. "It's just that this one looks like Vanessa Young's. You haven't seen her by any chance, have you?"
Nancy studied me before answering. She wore khaki pants, a pink polo shirt, and that red floppy hat she'd been wearing a lot lately.
"No, haven't seen Vanessa since she brought this van in Wednesday and asked me if I'd buy it from her."
That took me by surprise. "Vanessa sold you her van?"
Nancy sucked on her lower lip and made sort of a half smile/half grimace. "Yes. I don't usually do stuff like that. Buy outright from folks, I mean, but she was really desperate. I felt sorry for the poor kid, so I gave her a good price for the van."
"What's she planning to do for a car?" I asked.
"I gave her a seventy-seven T-bird as part of the deal." Nancy dropped her eyes for a split second. "Hated to see her without transportation, you know."
"I'm sure she appreciated it. Listen, if you happen to see her, could you tell her I'm looking for her?"
"Sure thing." She waved as I left, the rings on her tiny hands sparkling in the sunlight.
I was almost all the way to the street when I realized she'd said Vanessa had sold her the van on Wednesday. I turned around and went back.
She was standing by her office door, watching me. I didn't get out of the truck. It was probably the only way I'd ever have a height advantage over her. She gave me a quizzical look.
"Nancy, you said Vanessa sold you the van on Wednesday. What time was that?"
She dropped her eyes down for a split second again, and then looked straight into mine. "It was right after Warren's visitation at the funeral home. Actually, we discussed the deal there at the visitation and then right after it ended, we came over here and made the trade. Why all the questions?"
So, it had been Vanessa who'd hit me. But why? Had something happened during the visitation that had made her go off her rocker?
"Just trying to figure what time it was that you last saw Vanessa."
"Is she missing?" Nancy asked. "Are you saying nobody's seen her since Wednesday night?"
"Oh no, nothing like that. It's just something personal between Vanessa and me, that's all. Don't worry about it," I said. "Thanks, Nancy, I gotta run. Talk to you later."
I drove off before she could ask me any more questions. I tried to keep looking for Vanessa after my talk with Nancy, but I could hardly keep my eyes open. I went back to Charli's instead, hoping one of the others had good news.
Charli, her three kids, and Vanessa's two were in her dining room staring up at the top of a tall antique pie safe. Two chairs lay on their sides, the centerpiece from the table was upside down on the floor, and two broken candlesticks lay beside it. Delbert perched on top of the pie safe, eyes half closed, watching Charli and the kids watch him.
"Hey, what's up?" I asked.
Charli glanced around at me. "He won't come down. We've tried everything. I even climbed up on a chair and tried to pick him up, but he hissed and swatted at me.” She held up her arm and showed me the damage Delbert’s razor sharp claws had done.”What should we do?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? You mean just let him stay up there?"
"He'll come down when he gets hungry." Or, judging from the path of destruction, when the kids were at a safe distance. Like say, maybe, Mars.
I picked up Jaelyn and gave her a kiss. "Any news on Vanessa yet?"
Charli shot me a warning glance and put her finger to her lips. "Shh! Hey, y'all go out in the back yard and swing. Play nice, and we'll go to the pool after while," she said to the kids.
They tore off running, screaming at the top of their amazingly loud little lungs. Charli scooped Jaelyn up. "Not you, sweet-pea. You stay here with me."
Once the kids were outside, she told me there hadn't been any luck in finding Vanessa.
"Tim did find the car, though. It's parked down at the Glenside shopping center in front of Kroger's. He's taking turns with Dad and Mom watching it, hoping Vanessa decides to come back to pick it up."
"How come you have her kids?" I sat down on one of the dining room chairs.
"Her sitter had to go to a wedding today. I told her I'd keep them until Vanessa gets back." She sat down next to me, snuggling Jaelyn into her lap.
Delbert jumped off his perch and nuzzled my leg, meowing loudly. "See, told you," I said. I went in the kitchen to fix Delbert some food. Charli followed me.
While I opened the can, I told her about seeing Fred and about my conversation with Nancy.
"Nancy lied," Charli said immediately. "I saw Vanessa driving her van Thursday morning. When I came over to pick you up for the funeral, she was sitting at the stop light right behind me."
"She lied? I wonder why?"
"Obviously, she wants you to think that Vanessa was the one that hit you. Which means Nancy probably did it."
"You think she knew I was spying on her and Steve?"
"That's exactly what I think. I think she believes you know something incriminating about her and now she's out to get you." She looked worried. "Be careful Marty. Nancy's pretty scary. Plus, she might have been the one that set the fire. And killed Warren."
"I will. Be careful, I mean. Too many bad things have been happening the last few days." I yawned and stretched. "Listen, do you mind if I take a nap here? I've gotta work six to midnight tonight and I'm beat. I don't want to fall asleep on the air."
"Six to midnight? I thought you go on the air at seven.
"
"I do. I gotta be there at six, though. Prep time."
"Tell you what. I'll take the kids swimming, get them out of your hair. John's not due back until tonight. You'll have the place all to yourself."
After they left, I wandered around for a few minutes, trying to find the best place to lay down. Charli's house is like everything else in her life - perfect. I wandered into the master bedroom, turned the radio on and adjusted the volume so that it was playing softly, kicked off my shoes, and stretched out on the bed. Within seconds, I was asleep. About two hours later the kids burst into the room and woke me up.
"Aunt Marty, guess what," Mark screamed directly into my left ear, "it started fundering so we had to leave. Mom tooked us to get ice cream! We bringed you back some. And we rented a movie, too!"
The other four climbed up on the bed and started bouncing and screaming. I groaned and sat up.
Charli stood in the doorway, calmly watching. "Ice cream is in the freezer when you get hungry." She clapped her hands together with some sort of cupping action. Bomp! Bomp! "All right you little monkeys, let's go put that movie on. Aunt Marty needs to rest."
"Sorry we woke you up," Charli said, after they left. "I'm going to do a load of laundry. Do you want me to wash those clothes you had on last night?"
"That'd be great. Let me go get them." I got my shorts and the t-shirt I'd had on when Vanessa locked me in the shed and handed them to Charli. A few cobwebs clung to the shirt.
"Wait," I said, "there's some papers in there! In the back pocket of my shorts.
Charli pulled out the two pieces of paper. She glanced at the first one and handed it to me. "Where'd you get these?" she asked.
"They fell out of that shoe box Vanessa was carrying when she pulled the gun on me." I looked at the paper she'd handed me. "What are all these numbers on here?"
Charli held up her hand. She was reading the other one, a newspaper clipping. She sat down on the edge of the bed and began shaking her head while she read. Suddenly, her eyes got wide. "This is incredible. Here, read it." She handed me the clipping.
I sat down next to her and read it. She watched me anxiously, barely able to contain herself from talking about it. When I finished reading it, our eyes met and we just sat there staring at each other, shaking our heads, not quite believing what we'd learned.
31
"This is too wild." I said. "I can't believe it. No wonder Vanessa is running around with a gun, locking people in sheds. Do you think he's still alive?"
Charli brushed at the tears slipping down her cheek. "I don't know what it means. I sure hope we can find Vanessa soon, though. I'm terribly worried about her, especially after reading that."
According to the article, O'Del Young, Vanessa's husband had been in a car accident up in Michigan eight and a half months ago, but he hadn't even been hurt in the wreck, much less killed.
I re-read one part of it out loud. "When police arrived at the scene of the minor accident, they discovered that the driver of the car, Mr. Young, was not wearing any pants. The seventeen year old female passenger, who has an extensive police record for prostitution, protested that they were conducting a scientific experiment. Mr. Young was charged with public nudity. Other charges are pending." There was a small picture of O'Del below the headline.
A few minutes later, Mom came by to tell us that they hadn't had any luck with the stake out and had pretty much decided to hang it up. We showed her the newspaper clipping. She was stunned, too.
"That poor child," Mom said, "I wonder where she got this?"
"I don't know, but the shoe box she had was full of papers. Another one fell out too. I'm not sure what it is."
I handed the other piece of paper to Mom. "Ever seen anything like this?"
"I think it's a betting slip," she said. "Although I've never seen one that looks like this. We should ask your Dad or John. There's always betting pools and stuff going around out at the tire plant."
"Do you think we should turn these over to Tim?" Charli said.
"No way," I said. "I don't want him to go into his 'cop mode'. Let's find Vanessa first, find out what's going on."
"I agree. To a point," Mom said. "But if we don't find Vanessa by tomorrow morning, we really should bring in the police. I'm starting to get very frightened."
"Okay," I said. "I'll go along with that."
I had to go to work -- my regular Saturday night show -- but I knew it was going to be a tough shift. My mind was definitely not going to be on my work.
Normally, Saturday's show is my favorite. I play the regular hot hits for the first hour, do a request line for a couple of hours, then play old stuff -- Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, George Jones, 'Whispering' Bill Anderson, Kitty Wells, The Carter Family -- all of the great artists who made me fall in love with country music, for the rest of the shift. I figure one of these days, Georgina is going to get with the times and kill the show, but for now, it was the bright spot of my job.
I spent about forty-five minutes prepping before time to go on the air. I'd just grabbed a couple of candy bars and a soda from the break room and was heading for the booth when I saw Herb coming toward me like a man possessed. Exactly who he was possessed by, I couldn't be sure, but I don't think it was Elvis.
Unfortunately, there wasn't any place to hide. He stuck his hand out and grabbed my arm. "Marty, doll! Effing brilliant!"
Spit flew from the corners of his mouth. "This stuff just keeps getting better and better. I mean first that dead guy thingie, then coming up with a fire! It's just great, effing great!"
He'd apparently visited the pizza place for another dose of double garlic and anchovy pizza. I backed up. He put his other hand out and grabbed my shoulder, keeping me too close for comfort. Tonight's ensemble, evidently chosen for a special occasion, consisted of a purple and green jacket decorated with music notes, purple pants, also heavily decorated, green snakeskin boots, and a green and purple striped bolo tie with a clasp shaped like a note. He was so excited the bolo was swinging from side to side, undulating like a cobra's head.
"Uh Herb, I hate to break this to you, but I didn't exactly 'come up with' a fire. I almost lost my life in that fire. I'd really rather not talk about it, if you don't mind." I tried to break free so I could get out of the spit firing range, but he had my shoulder in a vise-like grip.
He looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "So. It don't effing matter who come up with it. Fact is, it's brilliant. Just plain brilliant."
He let go of me and danced a little bit of Ricky Ray's line dance from the 'Hot Blooded Woman..." video. "Lemme see you do that." He looked at me expectantly.
"What?" I asked, backing up so he couldn't grab me again.
"That dance. The one I just did." He kindly demonstrated again. "Lemme see you do it."
"No. I don't dance." I backed up a couple more steps. He moved closer.
"Aw, come on. It's easy. See." He did the moves again, this time grabbing my hand and pulling me toward him.
I jerked my hand away. "I said no. I don't like to dance. Listen, I've got to get on the air. Maybe we can finish this later."
He stopped dancing and glanced at his watch, also shaped like the music note. "Nah, you got plenty of time. Just hear me out. Here's what I'm thinking."
Herb, thinking? Now that was a scary proposition.
"I'm thinking we can parlay this effing fire thingie onto the dead guy thingie and really get us a heavy duty marketing theme."
I started shaking my head as hard as I could. "Oh no, no, no, no! This is not going to be turned into one of your lame publicity stunts. I will not do anything crass and unprofessional."
He held up his hands in front of him. "Now, now. Just bear with me a minute. You been wanting that three to seven drive shift something awful, ain't you?" He winked at me.
"Just hear me out, doll. I might be able to pull a few strings. You know what I mean?" He winked again. "You sure you can't dance? All right. I'll figure out something else. Let's
see."
He shook his body around from side-to-side. Everything jiggled. "Yes! I got it." He used his fingers to draw a TV screen in the air. "Picture this. You, in a bikini, standing in one a them green trash thingies, fire licking up all around you. We'll get permission to use "Hot Blooded Woman" -- you can sweet talk Ricky Ray into it -- for the background. Then, in your sexiest, take-me-I'm-yours voice, you say, 'WRRR, Hoooot Hits to Heeeat You Up'."
"Are you out of your ever lovin' mind? For Christ's sake, Herb! That's the stupidest, tackiest, thing I've ever heard you say! Not to mention the fact that I've already told you, I'm not putting on a bikini. End of conversation!"
He looked hurt. "What? You don't like it? Listen, babe, if it's the choice of music, we can work something out. It don't gotta be 'Hot Blooded Woman...'."
"It's not the music! It's the whole ridiculous thing! Don't you get it, Herb? Are you that far gone? You're talking about exploiting a murder. One person is dead. He had a family. People who loved him. Two other people -- including me -- were almost killed in that fire. These are real, Herb. Real tragedies. Not schemes dreamed up for the purpose of promoting a radio station!"
I took a deep breath. "No more. I can't listen to any more of this crap. I gotta get on the air."
He wasn't listening. He'd started doing that bizarre shadow boxing thing he does to help him 'think'. "Okay," he said, "don't get your effing tush in a tangle. I'm thinking. I'm thinking. Let's see. Songs. What other songs are there that might fit? What's the angle. Fire. Trash cans. Hmmm."
I scooted around him and dashed down the hall to the broadcast studio. I slid into the on-air chair with four seconds to spare.
32
I'd never fallen asleep on the air before -- it's sort of a DJ's nightmare kind of thing -- but I guess there's a first time for everything. I still can't believe it happened. The worst part about it? Dead air for several minutes. It's a good thing I’d forgotten to put my phone on silent. Otherwise, I might still be sleeping, snoring away.
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