I swished the information around in my head to blend it with the other data already stored there. “Drugs, Willie. Something is telling me this is all about drugs.”
“Seems like a good possibility.”
“But it still doesn’t explain what my mother was doing crouched over the body of a drug dealer from Boston if the Browns are the local drug contacts.”
The waitress cleared our salad dishes and refreshed our coffee. “Would you folks like anything else tonight? How about some dessert?”
“I’ll take come coffee,” we heard a voice from behind me say.
Turning, I laid my sorry eyes on Brenda Bixby, the pain-in-the-ass reporter. The last thing I wanted was for her to meet up with Willie. I’d told him about her during dinner and about her promise to dig up whatever she assumed I was hiding. He didn’t seem alarmed, just amused.
When the waitress left to get the coffee, Brenda tried to scoot into my side of the booth. I scooted towards the outside, making sure there was no room. “I don’t recall inviting you to sit with us.”
Brenda ignored me and held out her hand to Willie. “Brenda Bixby, reporter.”
Willie took her hand and started moving over to make room for her. “Come on, Odelia,” Willie said, a big smile on his face. “We can’t have this lovely young lady having her coffee all alone, especially since she’s a friend of yours.”
“My friends have more manners than Ms. Bixby.”
Ignoring my slam, Brenda flashed a toothy smile at Willie and sat in the booth next to him. The waitress brought her a cup of coffee.
“Now, isn’t this nice?” Brenda put two packets of artificial sweetener and two creamers into her coffee and stirred while Willie and I looked on—me with a scowl, him with the same delight a kid displays on Christmas morning. I couldn’t tell if his foolish grin was the result of Brenda’s youth, her looks, or the fact that he might be contemplating some cat-and-mouse fun with her.
“Since there’s no wheelchair present,” Brenda began, looking at Willie, “is it safe to assume that you’re not Greg Stevens?” She looked at me and winked. I wanted to club her with my heavy coffee mug.
“Pretty safe,” Willie answered. “I’m William Carter, Odelia’s cousin. Actually, her husband’s cousin.”
“So she’s traveling with you and left hubby home to fend for himself. How convenient for the two of you.”
Willie laughed. “You are a nosy little tart, aren’t you? And not very tactful or tasteful, besides quick with assumptions. Mind those traits don’t get you into a peck of trouble.”
“Tact and taste don’t sell stories, Mr. Carter.”
“Please, call me Willie.”
“Okay, Willie.” Brenda batted her eyelashes at him before looking my way.
I wanted to vomit.
“I’m still Mrs. Stevens to you.”
“Whatever.” Her lips were smiling in my direction, but her eyes were not. They were cold and calculating.
“Did you have a nice visit with your mother, Mrs. Stevens?”
Her question didn’t surprise me. The only way she would have known I was at this particular restaurant would have been if she’d followed me. Then the thought crossed my mind that if she had followed me from the hospital, why was she showing up now? Why not earlier, while we were eating dinner? Unless she’d had the good grace to at least wait until we’d finished to pounce. I studied Brenda Bixby while she studied me. Nope, I determined, etiquette was definitely not one of her priorities.
“Isn’t stalking against the law?” I asked her.
“If you’re implying that I’ve been following you, don’t flatter yourself. I do have other leads to pursue. I just merely mentioned to Cathy Morgan when I interviewed her that I needed to find you tonight. She suggested I try here.”
Cathy Morgan. Of course—she’s the one who’d given me the name of the restaurant.
“You interviewed Cathy Morgan?”
“Right up until her brother ran me off.”
I shot a glance at Willie. “Which brother was that? Clem or Buster?”
“It was Clem. I tried to talk to the boy, but Clem made him get in the truck and stay there until I left.”
“Can’t blame him,” said Willie. “He’s just looking after his nephew. The kid’s been through a lot.”
“Well, that’s not my problem, is it? I’m just here to get the story.”
Willie and I exchanged glances once more. Could this young woman really be this obtuse and insensitive?
She leaned towards me. “But I did learn that Cathy Morgan sure does hate your mother. Any idea why?”
Her look was a lame-ass attempt to intimidate, making me wonder how long she’d been a journalist and if she practiced her look in the mirror. It took all of a split second for me to decide she was a newbie, and yes, she probably did practice her facial expressions alone in her room. I also decided she’d learned most of her techniques from watching TV shows. She struck me as a kitty playing king of the hill in the jungle-cat cage.
“Lots of people don’t get along in this world. Or don’t you watch the news?” I stared back at her with an expression that let her know I had more than enough gumption to take her on.
“She’s convinced the old lady is the killer. What do you think?”
“I told you, Ms. Bixby, I’m not talking to you about anything. And I mean it.”
She turned a plastic smile Willie’s way. “She always like this?”
He returned the smile. “Sugar, you are way out of your league.”
“Speaking of which,” I said, holding out my right hand, palm up. “May I see your credentials again?”
Brenda blanched at the question. “Why? I showed them to you yesterday.”
“No, you flashed them at me while I was trying get by you at the police station. Hardly the same thing.”
“Mrs. Stevens, are you questioning my journalistic integrity?”
My hand still outstretched, I wiggled my fingers in a come on, gimme gesture. “Big time, Ms. Bixby. You see, I have a hunch you’re either not a reporter at all, or you’ve only been one a very short time.”
“Better give her what she wants,” Willie warned her. “I’d hate to have to send you back to your parents in an envelope.”
The girl reporter looked from Willie to me, her face a mix of indignation and fear. Deciding it was better to comply with my request than fight it, she dug around in her handbag and produced the same plastic card she’d shown me yesterday. It definitely claimed she worked for the news station. I turned it over in my hand and studied it, then handed it over to Willie for his inspection.
“This,” I said to her, “is simply a magnetized employee card. I have one just like it for my law firm back home. If I’m not mistaken, this will get you into your office building, your parking garage, and probably the elevator after hours. But it definitely is not a press card.”
She snatched the card from Willie and stuffed it back into her purse. “I’ll have you know that I graduated the top of my class in journalism at Boston University.”
“And I was at the top of my art history class—which still doesn’t make me Picasso.”
The mood at the table was awkward. Willie and I sipped our coffee while Brenda took time to mull over her next desperate move.
“I do work at the station.” She stuck out her chin. “And one day I’ll be a newscaster, you just wait and see. A national anchor, just like Katie Couric. I’m—”
Willie broke in. “But they didn’t send you here to cover this story, did they?”
Her lips pursed as she paused to formulate her answer. “No, they didn’t. I work on the set. The very bottom rung, a gopher.” She turned to Willie, sensing he was the more understanding one of the two of us. At least she was right about that. “You see,” she explained, trying to win him to her side, “this could be my big break. Everyone did coverage on the murder, but no one is sensing the story underneath.”
“My story?” I sug
gested.
Brenda looked at me. “Yes. Yours and your mother’s. It has a great human interest element: ‘Mother and daughter reunited over dead body.’ ”
Willie laughed. “News at eleven!”
Even as I shot Willie a scolding look, I felt it melt into a slight grin. The whole idea did have one of those “believe it or not” twists to it. I would just prefer that I not be the star.
“Brenda, the truth is I did come to Massachusetts to find my mother. Pure and simple. It’s purely a coincidence about the timing. There is no sensational story. I’m sorry.”
“But what about your connection to those other murders in California? More unfortunate coincidences?” She rolled her eyes. “Come on, there just aren’t that many flukes in the world.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d hinted that I might have something directly to do with the murder. “You do realize that you’re implying, and not for the first time, that I had something to do with Frankie McKenna’s death?”
“Did you?” She steeled her shoulders and locked onto my eyes, her foolish bravado returning. “Maybe you were involved with those other deaths, too, but no one’s caught on to your game yet. Maybe you just seem to be solving them, when really you’re just covering your tracks.”
At that point, any sliver of sympathy I was starting to have for Brenda Bixby got flushed. In the back of my mind, I heard the sound of water being sucked down a sewer pipe.
“Brenda,” Willie interrupted. “Once again, dear, you are letting your assumptions run away with your brain and your mouth. I can assure you that Odelia just has an unfortunate knack for getting her nose caught where it doesn’t belong.”
She turned her focus to Willie. “Yeah, and what about you? There was no mention in any of the coverage yesterday about you. And my local source said nothing about her traveling with a cousin.” As she said the word cousin, she made obnoxious quotation marks with her fingers.
I was about to blow my stack, but Willie remained cool and collected, which was annoying in itself.
“Because of Odelia’s penchant for finding murders,” he explained, “I was sent here by Odelia’s husband to keep her out of trouble as much as possible and to give her family support during this difficult time. Being in a wheelchair, it would have been difficult for Greg to tag after her himself. I’m sure you understand. I only arrived last night. Check with the B & B if you don’t believe me. Better yet, call Greg Stevens. I’m sure you’re resourceful enough to already have his phone number.”
“Don’t, Willie.” I started to scoot out from my side of the booth. “Don’t give her any explanation. We don’t owe her one, and she doesn’t deserve it. She’s too stupid with ambition to believe anything not on her own personal agenda.”
Willie gave Brenda a thoughtful look. “I fear Odelia may be right. So if you’ll just move so I can get out, we’ll be on our way.”
After a slight hesitation, Brenda Bixby scooted out of the booth so that Willie could exit it. He glanced at our tab, put some bills with it, and handed it off to our waitress, telling her to keep the change. While I waited, my cell phone rang. It was Greg. I flipped open my phone and stepped outside of the restaurant.
Without an invitation, Brenda moseyed up close to me. I turned my back and walked towards the door. She followed. She was a dog on the hunt, and our earlier swat on her snout had done no good to deter her.
“Do you mind?” I snapped at her. “It’s my husband.”
Willie joined us and took Brenda gently by the elbow. “Let’s give them some privacy. Unless you’d rather spend the next ten to fifteen minutes in the trunk of your car?”
“You wouldn’t dare.” The comment was accompanied with a challenging look and hands on her slim hips.
I stopped talking to Greg for a second. “If he doesn’t,” I said to Brenda, “I will.”
From her look, it seemed she believed it more coming from me. She dropped her eyes and defiant chin and moved away. I went back to my call.
“Hi, honey. I’m back.” I tried to sound cheerful and upbeat. Greg would have received my voice mail saying I was staying a few more days, and I was pretty sure he’d be angry.
“Is Willie with you?”
I motioned to Willie to join me. “Yes, he’s right here.”
“Then, if you can, put me on speaker.” Greg’s voice sounded tense.
I ran my eyes up and down Brenda, who stood next to Willie, her ears as big as satellite dishes.
“Hang on, honey. We’re in a parking lot. Let us get into the car first.” Unlocking my rental car, I slid in and indicated for Willie to do the same. Once the two of us were inside with the windows closed, I hit the speaker feature on the phone.
“Hey, Greg,” Willie said in the direction of the phone.
“What in the hell is going on out there?” Greg yelled. “First, I get a call from Odelia saying she’s staying. Then a call from you telling me to knock some sense into her.”
“I am staying, Greg. Just for a couple more days.”
“Did you finally meet your mother?”
“Yes.”
“And did you talk to her about why she left you? You know, clear the air?”
“As much as it’s going to be cleared.”
“Then there’s no reason for you not to get your ass on that plane tomorrow.”
Willie gave me a told-you-so look.
“My mother needs my help, Greg. It’ll only be a few extra days. I promise.”
“Does this help involve finding the killer?”
“Not exactly. You see, Mom doesn’t want anyone to find the killer.”
“But you’re going to find the killer anyway, right, sweetheart ?” Greg’s tone was strained and sarcastic, in spite of his attempt to keep it even. “Even though no one wants you to.”
“You see what I’m up against here, Greg?” Willie chimed in.
“I’m disappointed in you, Willie. With your resources, I was rather hoping you’d be a bit more creative. Maybe you could drug her. Or perhaps try tying her up and throwing her into the trunk of your car. Have one of your people drive her back to California.”
Trunk of a car. With my luck, they’d double me up with Brenda.
“I’m a thief, Greg,” Willie said, defending himself. “Assault and kidnapping aren’t really within my expertise, though that last idea doesn’t sound too bad. Kind of like a cult intervention.”
I knocked my knuckles on the dashboard for attention. “Hey, I’m serious, you guys. My mother needs help, whether she wants it or not.”
“And I’m serious, too, Odelia. It’s one thing when people ask you to help, but this is different.” Greg hesitated, then added in a softer tone, “I know this is difficult for you, sweetheart, but helping your mother isn’t going to make her love you any more than she’s capable. Especially if she doesn’t want your help.”
Sensing husband-wife talk starting up, Willie exited the car. He went over to his own vehicle and unlocked the door. Bloodhound Brenda sidled up to him.
“I know that, Greg.” A lump formed in my throat. “Believe me, I know that.” In the warm confinement of the car, I held my husband close, even if only through the medium of a phone.
Quickly, I gave Greg a rundown of what my mother had told me about her life and how she came to have three children from three different fathers. I also told him what little she’d offered up about the murder. I topped everything off with news about the drugs and the pesky Brenda.
“You know, Greg, this isn’t just about looking for the real killer. I don’t know anything about my mother’s life prior to what she’s told me about marrying Leland, but I’m guessing it might have been pretty bad or unstable.” I adjusted my position. “She’s also not well-liked, and most of that is her fault, I’m sure. She doesn’t seem to want to make the effort to let people know her in a good way. And maybe there isn’t any good, fuzzy part of Grace Littlejohn. I don’t know. But I do know that she feels alone in the world. Even wit
h her two sons, it’s plain they aren’t close emotionally.”
“That’s not your problem, Odelia. She chose to keep away from you for a reason. And it sounds like she did it to keep you safe from her instability, even if it did start with abandonment. Think about it. Had she not led your brothers to believe you were dead, they might have tried to find you. She felt she’d left you in good, or at least better, hands with Horten.”
“She’s old, Greg. Old and fearful. If I stay for a few more days, I might be able to bring her some peace, if only for a little while. And maybe she’ll talk to me some more about what happened in the corn maze. If I can find out something, maybe it will lead the police to the killer, and Mom won’t have to feel so afraid.”
“But if the killer is one of your brothers, she may be afraid of the police finding out, as well as afraid of them personally. There are a lot of different reasons to feel fear. And this drug angle brings a whole new level of danger to it. Those guys don’t mess around. And if Grady’s fiancée is selling drugs, don’t you think Grady knows about it? Possibly even Clark? Especially with that situation in Boston years ago.”
“That’s true, but it’s also all the more reason to stay and help my mother. If she’s afraid of her own sons, then she definitely needs one of her kids in her corner.”
“You have a good heart, Odelia. It’s one of the things I love most about you.” Greg laughed softly. “Of course, I’d rather that heart of yours not lead you into so much danger. Maybe when you get home, we can find some way to channel that goodness into something less risky, like reading to the elderly.”
“So, you’re okay with my staying a few more days?”
“No, I’m not, but I understand why you want to.”
“Now I just have to tell Steele. I’ll call the office first thing Tuesday morning.”
“I’ll make the call to Mike Steele, sweetheart. I’m not his employee, so he’ll be less of an ass with me. I’ll call the office on Tuesday when it opens. Leave all that to me.”
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