Corpse on the Cob

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “Odelia,” I heard my mother say from behind me. “Quiet! Someone will hear you.”

  I turned on her. “I hope everyone hears me!” I shook a finger at her. “A lot of this is your fault, you selfish old woman. If you’d just told the police what you know, this would be behind us, and Greg and I would be home now, not mixed up in this living hell.”

  “No one asked you to get involved.”

  That stopped me cold. “No, no one did, but you’re my mother, for gawd’s sake. How could I not get involved? Tell me that. You think everyone has a heart of stone and no sense of responsibility like you?”

  “That’s unfair, Odelia.”

  “Is it?” I pointed at my battered, swollen face. “You haven’t asked yet what happened to my face. Don’t you even care why I look like something that ran full frontal into a bus?”

  “None of my business.”

  I walked up to her and got almost nose to nose. “This is all your business. Running away doesn’t change that. I’m still your daughter. I’m still your business, just as you are mine.”

  I was about to say more, much more, but decided it wasn’t worth it. Looking down at the number on the scrap of paper, I punched the numbers into my cell phone. It was picked up on the second ring by a voice I didn’t recognize.

  “About time you called. Was beginning to think you didn’t want your husband back.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine. Got a little rough with us, but it wasn’t anything some rope and a few punches couldn’t cure. Bit of a tough guy, isn’t he?”

  “Please.” I started to cry and stopped to get a grip on myself. “Please don’t hurt him. What do you want?”

  While I was talking, the cell phone beeped that another call was coming in. The display said it was Willie. I ignored it.

  “The old woman with you?”

  I looked over at my mother. She stood near the house, clutching her handbag, looking as shrunken as the day I saw her in the hospital.

  “Yes.”

  “Get her to tell you where the money is. When you deliver the money, we’ll deliver your husband.”

  “Grady? Is this you?”

  The person on the other end laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you, but this is not Littlejohn. And don’t even think about getting the chief involved. No police. Just you and the money. You have twelve hours. We’ll call you in an hour or so to see how you’re doing.”

  I panicked. Who knew how much money Leland had hidden? After paying off Les Morgan, maybe there was only a few thousand left. “But what if there is no money? Or not enough?”

  “Then let’s keep it simple.” He laughed. “Make it two hundred thousand dollars. Anything left, you can consider it a tip.” He laughed again, then was gone.

  When the cell phone in my hand rang, I jumped. It was Willie, trying me again.

  “What’s going on, little mama?”

  I started sobbing.

  “Slow down and tell me. I heard you were assaulting your mother in the front yard.”

  “Huh?” Sniff. “How?”

  “Mrs. Rielley. I left my number on a note, letting her know I could come by later when she got home. She called me when she saw you and your mother having a ruckus. Said her dog was going crazy.”

  I looked across the street and saw the Q-tip coiffure of Mrs. Rielley poking out from behind her curtains.

  “She also said you struck Grace. I hit the road immediately.”

  “I did not hit my mother.” I snuffled. “At least not yet.”

  I told Willie about Greg and the car and the phone number.

  “Hang tight, I’m almost there. Don’t do anything.”

  While I waited, my mother went into the house, saying she was calling Clark and Grady. I wanted to tell her not to bother calling Grady but didn’t. I didn’t care who in the hell she called.

  Less than two minutes after he called, Willie pulled up in front of the house. I ran to him and told him everything that had happened.

  “Is your mother inside?”

  “Yes. And I’m about to go inside and beat the location of that money out of her.”

  “Not sure I blame you, little mama. But let’s try a less brutal approach first.”

  Before I went inside, I held up the phones. “I understand why they left my phone, but why Greg’s?”

  The left corner of Willie’s mouth turned upward. “So you couldn’t track him. These phones can be tracked in emergencies.”

  I stared at him. I’d heard that before and seen it done on TV shows but always took a lot of that with a grain of salt. Until now. “Is it accurate?”

  “To within a certain distance, say a hundred meters or so. It’s used by emergency personnel like 911 operators and the police.”

  “Can you do it?”

  “It’s highly illegal, little mama, except in emergencies, by authorized personnel.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Can you do it?”

  “Without a phone to track, no.” Willie pointed at the phones in my hand.

  “What about the number they gave me?”

  “We can try, but I’m guessing that number and phone are disposables and were tossed shortly after you called them. You watch. When they call you back, it will be on a different line or from a pay phone.” He took the paper from me.

  “Oh, Willie, what can we do?”

  I took a few paces up and down the drive. Willie got on his phone.

  “You calling your people?”

  “No, I’m calling Mrs. Rielley.” He turned and waved at the Rielley house. The figure behind the curtains waved back. “Hi, Mrs. Rielley. Just calling to let you know everything is okay over here. Grace and Odelia got into a little mother-daughter tussle, is all.”

  He talked a bit more to Mrs. Rielley, then made another call, turning away from me as he talked to someone in Spanish. Finally, he turned his attention back to me.

  “Mrs. Rielley didn’t see anything regarding the car. Said she was in the back and only looked out her front window when Coco started going crazy.”

  “You asked her if she saw the kidnapping?”

  “No, I didn’t. Just asked if she noticed any cars coming and going in the driveway here in the last hour or so. The other call was to my office, to see about rounding up the cash, just in case the old lady doesn’t have it.”

  I started crying. “Thank you, Willie. Greg and I will repay you once we get back home.”

  He put his arms around me and held me tight. “It’s going to be okay, little mama. We’re going to get him back, one way or the other.”

  “It’s the other I’m worried about.”

  When we ended our comforting embrace, I looked at the phone in my hand, willing it to ring. The sight of it gave me another idea.

  “Willie, if I gave you my BlackBerry number, could you trace that?”

  He nodded.

  “My BlackBerry was in my purse, and they took the purse with the car. I keep the phone in a side pocket, not in the same place as I keep my personal phone, so they might not have spotted it.”

  “Was it turned on? It has to be turned on to work.”

  I thought about the last time I had used the BlackBerry, then remembered it ringing that morning when Steele had called and I had ignored it. “Yes, I think so.”

  While Willie called the magical fairies he kept on retainer and gave them my BlackBerry number and the number on the paper, Clark drove up to the house. Willie walked towards the back of the house to keep his conversation out of earshot of Clark.

  “Is Mom inside?”

  “I supposed she called you,” I said as soon as he climbed out of his car. “Did she tell you that Greg’s missing?”

  “Greg?”

  Clark looked even more haggard than he had the day before. When he saw my beat-up face, he froze in his tracks. “Yes, just minutes ago.”

  I brought him up to speed. I wasn’t going to, considering what the guy had told me on the phone, but I knew
my mother would say something.

  “Jesus,” Clark said. “Could this day get any worse?”

  “They said not to get you involved, so don’t. Just get Mom to get the money, and Willie and I will make the exchange.”

  “It might not be that simple, Odelia. These guys mean business.”

  “If we don’t give them two hundred thousand dollars, Greg is toast. You want that on your conscience?”

  Clark rubbed a rough hand over his tired face. “Odelia, Brenda Bixby’s dead. We found her stuffed in the trunk of her car.”

  The news caused me to stagger. Clark steadied me. “Considering your assault, you’re lucky to be alive.”

  I looked at my half brother, heavy tears running down my face. “I’m sorry about Brenda, but maybe ‘these guys’ include our brother. Has that crossed your mind?”

  Clark blew out air of frustration and looked around for a hole to drop into. As much as I hated being in my shoes with a missing husband, I really didn’t envy him either.

  I poked Clark hard in the chest several times while I spoke my next words. “Trust me, Clark, I’m going to do whatever I have to do to make sure Greg doesn’t join Brenda in the hereafter. And if that means bringing down baby brother, or even you, tough noogies.”

  I stomped up the back steps and into the house. My mother was nowhere to be seen. I headed upstairs, where there were three bedrooms. I glanced in the first one. A police uniform in a dry cleaners bag hung from the closet door. Must be Clark’s room. A small, unused bedroom was next to it, separated by a large bathroom. At the front of the house was the master bedroom. It was large and sunny and held twin beds with cannonball posts. Each bed had a navy blue bedskirt with matching quilts in rust, dark green, and blue. On one of the beds sat my mother, staring down at her hands as they rested in her lap.

  “It’s time, Mom,” I said, trying to keep my voice even and devoid of the anger and fear eating my gut. “Time for you to come clean about a lot of things—about the money, Les Morgan, everything.”

  She didn’t respond. If not for the occasional blink of an eye, I would have thought she’d expired and forgot to fall over. I fought the urge to grab her and shake her until her dentures were dust.

  “Clark’s here. He just told me that Brenda Bixby, that reporter, was found dead. She’d been murdered, Mom. And my husband …” I had to pause to choke back nervous bile. “Greg might end up the same way.”

  “How much did they ask for, Odelia? Those people holding my son-in-law—how much?”

  “Two hundred thousand. Willie’s raising it for us. I’m sure you don’t have that kind of money.”

  “No, I’ll cover it. There’s enough. That money has been a problem for a long time.” She looked at me. “I always knew Leland had money hidden somewhere. He was afraid I’d take it and run off again. Later, he was afraid Grady would take it and leave, or that I’d give it to Grady. Grady was never happy here. Leland didn’t tell me where he’d put it until right before he died. I should have taken it to the bank then instead of letting those fool rumors run wild.”

  I sat on the other bed opposite her. “I overheard Grady talking about it last night with Brenda, Mom. He said he saw you get fifty thousand out for Les Morgan. He knows where it is and is planning on stealing it.”

  “Grady knows no such thing. I’m not blind. I saw him watching me, so I moved it.”

  “Was Les Morgan blackmailing you about the Brown drug business?”

  “Yes.” She moved her head up and down slowly. “He said he’d ruin Clark and Grady if I didn’t pay him. I met him in the maze before it opened and handed it over.” She paused to catch her breath.

  I looked in the mirror of the dresser and saw Clark’s reflection. He was standing in the doorway, listening.

  “I couldn’t find my way out of the maze,” Grace continued, rubbing her hands together. Her voice fluctuated, rising and lowering every few words, like she couldn’t quite get the volume right. “Kept going around in circles until I thought I’d go crazy. Then I saw him—Les—flat on his back with that spear thing through him.”

  She looked up and saw Clark. “They’re not connected, you know, the money and the murder. Whoever is after Leland’s money didn’t kill Les Morgan.”

  “You saw the killer, didn’t you, Mom?” I asked.

  Her nod was barely visible, but it was a nod just the same.

  “And you tried to cover the prints on the pole.”

  “Yes.”

  Clark came into the room. “It’s okay, Mom. The lab was able to identify some of the prints. We took Troy Morgan into custody a couple of hours ago.” He looked at me. “I came by the house to take Mom in for more questioning.”

  “Troy ?” I looked at Clark in disbelief, then back at Mom. “It was Troy you were protecting?”

  My mother started weeping. “He’s just a boy, and a good boy. Closest I’ll ever come to having a grandson. If Troy killed his daddy, he must have had a good reason.”

  I leaned forward and took my mother’s hands. She didn’t resist. “You saw Troy Morgan kill his father?”

  “When I circled back, Troy was standing over Les with his hands on the pole.” Her voice cracked. “Then he ran off.”

  “So you were trying to help Les?”

  “I could see he was dead, so I tried to help the boy the best I knew how. I scooped up some blood and smeared it on the pole. I thought it might get rid of Troy’s prints.”

  “Did Troy take the money you gave Les?”

  “I … I don’t know.”

  I patted my mother’s hands. “I’m going to get a call in about an hour about where to drop the money. Can you have it by then?”

  She nodded. This time it was a definite, strong nod.

  “I’ll help you, Odelia,” Clark said, moving deeper into the room.

  I got up and faced him. “I told you, no police. Willie and I will handle it.” When he started to protest, I held up a hand. “No, and that’s final. Besides, you have enough on your plate. Why don’t you help Mom find the money before you take her to the station?”

  Again, Clark started to protest, this time with more muscle. “Odelia, no. This is police work. It’s too dangerous for you and Willie.”

  I grabbed my brother by the front of his shirt and yanked him to me, my face turned upward towards his. “Trust me, Clark, you do not want to screw with me right now. We’re going after Greg, and that’s final. You do your job. I’ll do mine.” Renee Stevens wasn’t the only one who could wield a machete when the need arose.

  We heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I released Clark from my clutches. It was Willie. He nodded to me. I didn’t know if that meant he had the money or Greg’s location—maybe both.

  “Clark is taking Mom to the station,” I told him. “We’ll wait for the call and follow the directions to get Greg back.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Clark stared at the two of us. I could tell he wanted to be the heavy but in the end decided against it. He left the room.

  Mom had gone to the window. With her hands on the sill, she looked out, her back with its sagging shoulders turned to us. Clark returned, holding something wrapped in cloth.

  “You know how to handle a gun?” he asked Willie.

  “I’ve been to a shooting range a few times. Not a bad shot, if I say so myself.”

  “Take this. Just in case.” Clark opened the wrapping to display a polished handgun half the size of the one Willie usually carried. “It’s already loaded.”

  Willie solemnly nodded in understanding and took the gun from Clark carefully, like it was a newborn babe. “Just in case,” he repeated.

  “Okay, Mom,” Clark said to Grace. “Let’s round up that money so these folks can get Greg back.”

  Willie and I went back downstairs to wait. I filled him in on the Troy situation.

  “Do you buy that the boy broke the shaft of the flagpole and stuck his father with it?” he asked me.

  “No
t really. Although kids have been known to murder.”

  I got up from the sofa and paced. The waiting was killing me in a slow, torturous death. I wanted to be on the road, tracking down the scum who had Greg, but I couldn’t go anywhere until I had the money and knew where to go. I worked on the murder puzzle to keep my mind occupied.

  “And even though Troy was running ahead of Tara,” I told Willie, “it wouldn’t have given him time to think about it, let alone go back and do the deed.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “My guess,” I told Willie, “is that Troy ran back, saw his father on the ground, and tried to help him. My mother, already confused, mistakenly thought Troy had just stabbed Les.”

  I noticed that Willie was crossing and uncrossing his legs every few minutes with nervous energy.

  “You know, Willie, I’m convinced someone knew about the drugs and the blackmail and was laying in wait for Les to cash in.”

  “A quick kill, so to speak, on many levels.”

  “So to speak.” I stopped pacing and fiddled with some knickknacks on the mantle. “Grady could have known about both. And he might have told Cathy, but she was at the vegetable stand when the murder happened. Tara’s mystery man might have known about the exchange, but how or why would he know about the blackmail money?”

  “What about Joan Cummings? Any idea yet how she ties into all this?”

  “Not a clue. She was at the station that morning, so she couldn’t have committed the murder. But someone tipped her off about something so she could get Marty out of the way.”

  “Grady could have told Brenda, and Brenda told Joan.”

  “Whoever the killer is, they’d have to have a tie somehow to Joan, either directly or indirectly.”

  “Hate to say this, little mama, but all roads seem to circle back to Grady.”

  “Yes, I know.” I turned, one hand on the mantle, and looked at Willie. We could hear footsteps crisscrossing the floor overhead. “Maybe the blackmail and drug money wasn’t enough for him, and he decided to go after the rest of Leland’s stash before hitting the road.”

  “But how would he know about the blackmail payoff in the first place—unless he and Les Morgan were connected somehow?”