Forever Road

by Catie Rhodes

  As I pulled the envelope open to shove the pages back inside, I noticed a phone number written on the inside of the envelope. It had a Tyler area code. Tyler, Texas was only an hour and some change from Gaslight City. Rae could have known someone who lived there.

  I fired up my laptop. A reverse search identified it as a cellphone number. I dragged out my cellphone, restarted it—again—and called the number.

  Disconnected. Another dead end. Disappointment flooded through me and re-emerged as irritation. I didn’t have to be a fortuneteller to see a visit to Hannah Kessler in my future. I could think of nothing I’d rather do less than talk to her. Then I looked out the window and changed my mind.

  A sheriff’s cruiser rolled down the driveway and parked next to the carport. Dean Turgeau got out and stretched. I still dreaded facing him. If I had misjudged his feelings, I might have an antagonistic few minutes ahead of me.

  Dean knocked on the front door. I waved Memaw off and answered it.

  “You called my cellphone.” Dean’s eyes swept over me, lingering a second too long on my chest. He flushed when he met my eyes and realized I saw him.

  “What’s going on?” Memaw spoke from behind me.

  “I don’t know,” Dean said. “Your granddaughter left a cryptic message on my voicemail. Said she had some information I’d be interested in.”

  I stepped aside and motioned Dean into the house. I spoke to both him and Memaw at the same time. “When I cleaned out Rae’s trailer, I found a sketchbook. It had a picture of two men she may have been seeing—other than Chase.”

  “That sketchbook?” Memaw’s smile went south. “I don’t want him to take it away. That’s the last thing we’ve got left of her.”

  “We can make a copy of the pages Dean wants on the printer, Memaw.”

  “That’d be fine.” Memaw went into the kitchen and sat at the table.

  Dean gave me a puzzled look, and I shrugged to let him know this was odd behavior. Memaw always acted so self-assured. Lately, she’d seemed so helpless and confused. Maybe I needed to talk to Dr. Longstreet about her. It would infuriate her, but I could tell something was wrong.

  I took out the box of Rae’s things and let Dean look through the sketchbook. He marked the pages he wanted copied.

  As I made copies, Dean moved in behind me, close enough I smelled aftershave and soap. A bolt of arousal warmed me in all the right places for all the wrong reasons. I would never steal Hannah Kessler’s boyfriend away. I turned and shoved the copies at him. He glanced at them, holding the one of the biker dude close to his face and squinting at some detail.

  “This it?” His tone pissed me off.

  “No.” I did my best to match his snotty tone. “This is not it. The rest is in my bedroom. I just found it out in the barn.” I dropped my voice. “Memaw doesn’t know about it.”

  I led the way back to my bedroom and shut the door behind us. Dean took in my room, his eyes lingering on the bed. I handed him the pages from the barn, and our fingers brushed. Both of us jerked back our hands. Dean turned his attention to the papers, raising his eyebrows as he read the blackmail note.

  “If Rae’s body was autopsied, you know she was pregnant.”

  “Who the hell told you that?” Dean’s voice held an edge of anger.

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” Dr. Longstreet didn’t need to get into trouble.

  Dean shrugged in response. “Tell me about the rest of this stuff.”

  “The pages with the highlighting are—I think—proof she was hunting the Mace Treasure.”

  “You said the treasure didn’t exist.”

  “No. I don’t think it does. But I also told you about people dying trying to find it.”

  Dean nodded. “And this phone number?”

  “Disconnected.”

  “This is not TV. Don’t you know you can get hurt playing detective?” His nostrils flared as we stared each other down.

  “Somebody has to do it,” I said, getting angry. “Because I know you’re not following up on all the leads you have. Jolene Fischer told me about seeing Rae all beat up the Saturday before she died.”

  Dean rolled his eyes and snorted. “I’m sure your crystal ball keeps you apprised of my activities.”

  I flushed with heat, and not the good kind. I wanted to kick this ignorant dog’s butt right in the gonads. Some of what I shared had to be useful. I took a deep breath, planning the insults I’d lay on him. My bedroom door opened, and Dean and I stepped away from each other.

  “I brought the deputy some lemonade.” Memaw’s gaze darted between us. She knew she had interrupted something.

  Dean smiled and thanked her for the lemonade. Memaw grinned and offered him some homemade banana nut muffins. They walked down the hall together, chatting. I followed, wishing Dean would say something rude so I’d have the chance to kick his ass into a second set of shoulders. Crystal ball. I’d show him.

  Dean scarfed down every kind of food Memaw offered. He knew Memaw had taught school and asked her questions that got her talking more than I’d seen since Rae’s death. His transformation from flaming horse’s ass to charming conversationalist shocked me. He told a self-effacing story about falling into alligator infested waters while fishing in Louisiana, which had both Memaw and me laughing.

  Realizing he didn’t quite dare treat me rudely, I snapped up the papers I found in the barn and made copies. I might need them if I didn’t figure out a way around talking to Hannah. Dean frowned as he watched me. I gave him a huge grin. I had him, and he knew it.

  Finally, he announced he had to get back to work and told Memaw he enjoyed the chat. Turning to me, he held out his hand to shake. He winked at me as his fingers closed around mine. The whole thing left me too stunned for more than a mumbled goodbye. Deputy Dean confused the hell out of me.

  Watching his cruiser drive off our property, I thought about his crystal ball remarks. Those stung and brought back years of schoolyard nightmares. Joey Holze must have filled Dean’s head with all kinds of bull. His strong reaction surprised me. Most people branded me as a kook and moved on. Dean acted downright offended.

  On the flip side, how could I forget his reluctance to arrest me? Or the genuine concern he showed the day of Rae’s murder? I suspected a nice guy lurked beneath that trollish demeanor. Then there was the way he looked at me. I knew that look, and it did not fit my conclusions about Dean and Hannah being a couple. Talk about mixed signals. Maybe it’s just that time of month for Deputy Dean.

  My cellphone interrupted my thought. I snatched it, thinking for one silly moment that it might be Dean calling to apologize. But I didn’t recognize the number. I accepted the call and said hello.

  “Um, who is this?” The voice was high and lilting with a thick hick accent.

  I took the phone away from my ear and glanced at the display again. The number had a Tyler area code. It couldn’t be the number on Rae’s envelope. It had been out of service.

  “Who is this?”

  “You called this number.” The caller sounded like a sassy five-year-old. “You tell me who you are.”

  “This is Peri Jean Mace,” I said. “I’m calling on behalf of Rae Mace.”

  “On behalf of? You a lawyer?” She giggled. “Just joking. I know who you are. Rae talks about you all the time. I just use that disconnect message as my voice mail to fool the bill collectors.” Bill had two syllables. “Don’t tell me Rae’s standing me up tonight. I just got back into town. Got lots to tell her.”

  “I, um, didn’t get your name.” I dreaded telling this chick Rae would be standing her up for a lot of nights to come.

  “I’m Dara Wyler, Peri Jean. I keep telling Rae we all need to get together.”

  “Dara, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Rae died almost a week ago. We’re having her memorial service tomorrow if you’d like to come.”

  Dara gasped. When she spoke, her voice quavered. “What happened?”

  “She was murdered at her home.
”

  Dara said nothing for so long I thought she’d hung up. I asked, “You still there?”

  “I’m here,” she said and sniffled.

  “Listen, you wouldn’t happen to know who Rae was dating would you? Any men in her life?”

  “I don’t think I want to get involved. Rae was into a lot of things.”

  “I’m not going to get you into trouble.” I tried to make my voice as soothing as possible. “I just want to know what happened to my cousin.”

  “I can meet you at eleven tonight at The Chameleon.” Dara sounded uncertain, as though she might take back her offer at any second.

  “What’s The Chameleon?”

  Dara giggled. “It’s…a dance club. Both Rae and I work there. Well, I guess Rae doesn’t any more, but I do.”

  I glanced at the time. I had an afternoon job that ended at seven. I’d have plenty of time to change clothes and get to The Chameleon by eleven.

  I asked Dara for the address, told her I’d see her at eleven, and hung up.

  “Where are you going at eleven tonight?” Memaw’s voice, which came from behind me, nearly scared me out of my skin.

  “To see a friend of Rae’s in Tyler. She didn’t know Rae had passed on.”

  “You’re going all the way over there to meet someone you don’t know?”

  I didn’t dare tell Memaw I was meeting this someone at a strip club. What else could The Chameleon be?

  “It’s going to be okay.” I hoped it would; otherwise, I’d have all eternity to feel guilty.

  11

  I spent the afternoon serving tea and cucumber sandwiches to the big spenders of Silver Dream Antiques. Julie Woodson, daughter of Dottie, paid me well for my time, so I wanted to impress her. But I struggled to keep my mind off my plans for that evening.

  I didn’t make a habit of hanging out at buck-naked dance clubs. Matter of fact, this was a first for me. As conversations about carnival glass and art deco furniture buzzed all around me, I wondered if Dara Wyler would talk to me between dancing sets. Would she be clad in some eye-averting attire?

  Something else to consider: her information might come with a price tag. Rae would have tried to dupe me for every penny I had regardless if she knew anything useful. I needed to keep the conversation focused on the identity of Rae’s boyfriends and anybody Rae owed money.

  I raced home to get ready and found I had no clue what to wear to a strip club. I dressed in my usual worn out jeans and cowboy boots. To commemorate the occasion, I wore a purple silk top and actually took more than five minutes on my makeup. I spiked my short hair with gel and, not for the first time, wished I were more of a girly girl.

  At the last minute, I got out Rae’s sketchbook and made copies of the drawing I suspected was Low_Ryder and the drawing of the naked man. Anybody recognizing the latter drawing was a long shot, but I thought it worth a try.

  Out of Gaslight City, I drove west until I hit State Highway 155. From there, I sped south, at a rate of speed I’d rather not disclose, until I hit Tyler city limits. Using directions from online, I found The Chameleon with no problem, parked in a huge parking lot, and paid too much to get in the door.

  My first glimpse of The Chameleon’s interior took my breath away. The roar of noise, the crush of bodies, and the underlying stench of humanity’s darker side overloaded my senses. The room was a cavernous circus of flashing lights and naked flesh. On a raised dance floor at its center, a topless girl shook it for a cawing group of men waving dollar bills. Classy.

  A scantily clad woman wearing heels so high they could have been stilts tottered toward me. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Is Dara here?”

  “Sure she is.” Her eyes darted to the back of the club. “There’s a two drink per hour minimum if you want to stay.”

  “Dara and I have an appointment. Can you let her know Peri Jean is here?” I asked.

  “Oh, she’ll be out anytime now.” Stilts’s pen hovered over her order pad, prompting me.

  I ordered a club soda and nearly dropped when the waitress asked for twenty dollars. She waited an extra beat for a tip. I pretended ignorance.

  “You have a good time, now,” she snarled and tottered away.

  She probably wouldn’t even bring my twenty-dollar club soda. Evidently, I’d have to look for Dara myself. I trekked into the bowels of the merrymaking establishment, fending off unwanted hands and invitations, until I reached a door marked “Employees Only.”

  Before I could reach out a tentative hand, the door slammed open. I backpedaled several steps. A glittery woman wearing a feather boa and not much else strode out. She seemed seven feet tall with the super high heels she’d crammed her feet into.

  “Thank Gawd.” Her West Texas twang was thick enough to fill a canyon. “You here with Maybelline’s makeup, I hope?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I don’t know how she thought I had makeup with me. I didn’t even have a purse.

  “Go on in.” She snorted and held the door open. “Maybe she’ll quit caterwauling and get up on stage and shake her booty.”

  I scooted through the open door. A dimly lit hall with doors on both sides stretched out before me. I’d have to knock on one of these doors. If I picked the wrong one, I’d be out on my butt without talking to Dara.

  A door opened at the far end of the hall and several women walked out. Their style of dress was similar to the woman who’d let me in. They scrutinized me, their eyes lingering on my less than voluptuous body.

  “You here to audition?” one asked. Another giggled.

  A dozen lies scrambled through my head, but I told a version of the truth. “I’m looking for Dara.”

  “What you want? You ain’t here on behalf of her sorry ex, are you?” The woman narrowed her eyes at me. Her dusky complexion shone nearly silver with the glitter she had smeared on her skin. At least I knew where Rae had picked up the habit.

  “No. I have an appointment with her.”

  “Dara took off to Honolulu for two weeks without telling nobody. Got her ass fired for it.” The girl who spoke up had cartoon heroine, big, blue eyes and pouty lips. All the other women turned and glared at her for giving me any information.

  I slumped. So much for that.

  “What you meeting Dara about?” The glitter-skinned girl raised her pencil thin eyebrows at me.

  One of these girls might know something about Rae, but I didn’t belong in their world. They’d join a convent and take a vow of silence before they helped me. Still, I had to try.

  “Dara promised to help me get Rae’s things out of her locker.” I made this up on the spot. Maybe Rae left something here.

  “Why don’t Rae come get her own things?” The thickly accented words came from behind me. I turned and faced the tallest woman I’d ever seen and bit my lip to keep from smiling. She wore a Cleopatra getup, complete with the gold headdress and gold armbands.

  Her question opened up two possibilities. I could tell them Rae quit and didn’t want to show her face or tell the truth. I went with the truth because it left fewer reasons they could refuse me.

  “She died.” The hallway went still and silent.

  “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute.” The glitter-skinned girl held out a long fingered hand. “Rae’s dead?”

  “Murdered,” I said.

  “And who are you?” Glitter Girl asked.

  “Peri Jean Mace. Her cousin.”

  They all nodded as though they knew my name. Dara had known who I was when we spoke on the phone. Had Rae made fun of me to these people? They seemed more interested than put off. Had she simply mentioned me in the natural course of conversation because I was part of her life? The idea hurt. In all the months Rae lived with us, I viewed her as an unwelcome intrusion. I never mentioned her name other than to complain about her. I dropped my head to stare at my feet as the overdressed girls watched me like a TV melodrama.

  “Well, well, well. It all caught up with her, did it?” Glitter Girl shook her head
. “Was it that crazy lady who came here to whup her ass?”

  Veronica wanted to beat Rae up? So much for them being friends. Why had Veronica been after Rae? I opened my mouth to ask, but couldn’t get a word in over the din.

  “No! That old horse-faced boyfriend of hers did her in.” A girl who had been quiet grinned at her cleverness. Trollish laughter greeted her statement.

  “I don’t give a damn who did it,” said Cleopatra. “Rae always mean to me. She call me Bratwurst Girl, and I am not German. I am Russian.”

  That explained the accent.

  She looked down at me. “You don’t have my makeup?”

  So this was Maybelline whose missing makeup got me into this alternate universe. I shook my head.

  “Shit!” Cleopatra-Maybelline slammed back into the dressing room.

  I knew these women could tell me a lot. “Why was the other woman angry with Rae?”

  They ignored me, whispering among themselves.

  “You want the stuff out of Rae’s locker?” Glitter Girl, who seemed to be the group’s leader, had her hands on her hips.

  “If you could help me, that would be great.” I said.

  “Two hundred dollars.” She tipped up her chin in challenge.

  “I don’t have two hundred dollars.” And I didn’t. I had maybe another thirty.

  “Well then, Peri Jean Mace,” Glitter Girl tried out the name, “you are out of luck. I can’t open that locker for less than, say, hundred-fifty.”

  “I don’t have that either.” This sucked. My gut said if I had the two hundred, I could get anything out of these girls.

  “Then we can’t help you. This sounds like a po-lice matter, and you probably shouldn’t be snooping in it at all.”

  The other girls murmured their agreement. They walked single file toward the pulsing music.

  “Some of you have to have seen this guy.” I pulled the copy of Rae’s sketch from my pocket as the women pushed past me. None of them even looked at me. I tried again. “Maybe one of you knows where Dara lives?”