Past Due

by Jenna Bennett

  With someone else—like my mother—I might have suspected he was avoiding the question. But he sounded sincere—and sincerely confused—so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. “Rafe.”

  “Sure,” Dix said.

  “No, I mean... do you really like him?”

  He tilted his head to look at me. “What’s not to like?”

  “Rather a lot, I imagine. At least Mother seems able to think of plenty.”

  “I’m not mom,” Dix said. “Why do you ask?”

  “He thinks you don’t.”

  He lifted his brows. “Where did he get that idea?”

  “He’s afraid you’d have preferred it if I had ended up with Todd.”

  “I don’t care who you end up with,” Dix said. “I just want you to be happy.”

  “I’m happy,” I said.

  “Then why do you care whether I like your boyfriend or not?”

  “I don’t. He does.”

  He pushed off from the counter. “Tell him not to worry. Catherine and I like him just fine. If Mother doesn’t, that’s her problem.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Dix glanced at me on his way toward the family room and deck. “What for?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. I guess there wasn’t much need for one. And he was right: it was pretty ridiculous for me to thank my brother for not disliking my boyfriend.

  “You’ll make sure he doesn’t get into trouble tonight,” I called after him, “won’t you?”

  Dix shot me a look over his shoulder. “You think I can stop him?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I gave them a couple minutes to themselves while I availed myself of the facilities, and then I headed back out on the deck myself, too. By then, the conversation had turned to guy talk.

  Sports, not women, in case you wondered. If Rafe was curious about Dix and Tamara Grimaldi, he didn’t ask. Or if he had asked, they had already moved past it.

  When I appeared, he got to his feet. “You OK, darlin’?”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “D’you get in touch with Willem?”

  I shook my head. “I guess we move on to plan B.”

  “What’s plan B?” Dix wanted to know from his chair, and I turned to him.

  “Figuring out where he lives and going there.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “I’ll check the property records,” I said. “If that doesn’t work, maybe we’ll stop by the hospital. See how Danny Emerson’s doing.” And whether Jan could point us in Willem’s direction. However upset she was about Ethan’s behavior, surely she would want to make sure that Willem was alive and well.

  “About tonight...” Dix said.

  “We’ll be back. Around eight. Dress casual.”

  Dix looked down at his polo shirt and khaki shorts, and from there to Rafe’s faded jeans, scuffed boots, and six-to-a-pack T-shirt.

  I was giggling over his expression as we made our escape.

  “You know, darlin’,” Rafe said when we were back in the car and on our way out of the Copper Creek subdivision, “you don’t have to do this. I can drop you off with your mama while I look for Willem.”

  Sure, but— “I’d rather be with you.”

  “You’ve had a rough day already, darlin’. And yesterday was just as bad. You sure you’re up for more?”

  I watched a couple McMansions go by before I answered. “You think he’s dead, don’t you?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “More than a possibility. It’s what you expect.”

  He shrugged. “I could be wrong. We could get there and find Willem alive and well, sharpening his knives.”

  “Why would he—? Oh.” That was the other possibility: Willem as murderer. Although why would he butcher his two best friends?

  “No idea,” Rafe said. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  Guess so. Whenever we found Willem. “He’s not listed as owning property in Maury County.”

  “Maybe he commutes.”

  Maybe. Although widening the search parameters to the surrounding counties didn’t yield any better results.

  “Maybe he rents,” I said.

  “Hard to imagine he wouldn’t have bought his own place. He owns a business. Not like he couldn’t afford it.”

  No, indeed. “Maybe he got divorced and quit-claimed the house to his ex-wife or something. He’s not listed as owning property. And he’s not coming up in a 411 search. One of his numbers is a cell, the other a landline. Both are attached to the business.”

  “Maybe he lives there.”

  Maybe he did. “We can drive by,” I said. “It’s not too far from here. Just on the other side of Sweetwater. On the road to Damascus.”

  “I know the way.”

  I bet he did. Elspeth Caulfield used to live in Damascus. So did Yvonne McCoy.

  “Did you ever...”

  He glanced at me.

  “Never mind,” I said.

  Rafe grunted.

  We got to Willem’s place of business within a few minutes. It was an acre or so of land surrounded by barbed wire fencing, behind which we could see a warehouse and half a dozen trucks and vans with Gunther Electric in cursive on the sides. I recognized the logo—written by stylized electrical cord—from the calendar Dix had shown me.

  Since it was a Sunday afternoon—going on dinnertime now—the place was deserted and the gate closed and locked.

  “Nothing going on here,” I said.

  Rafe shook his head. “Don’t look that way.”

  “He could be inside the building.”

  “If he’s inside the building, he can stay there. I ain’t going over the fence.”

  I eyed it. “It isn’t that high.”

  “It ain’t the height, darlin’. It’s the current.”

  “Current?”

  He gestured. “Electrical contractor.”

  “It’s an electric fence?” No, I definitely wouldn’t want him going over that. People have died from that kind of thing. “You’re right. If he’s inside, he can stay there.”

  We rolled off down the road.

  “So now what?” Rafe asked.

  I wasn’t sure, and said so. “We could call the cops. Just dump the whole thing in their laps. They may have seen the picture and hunted up Willem already.”

  “Could be.”

  “As long as someone makes sure that Willem’s safe,” or not, “does it have to be you?”

  Rafe shook his head. “I’m about ready to give it up, too. Do one thing for me first, though.”

  “Sure.”

  “Call your friend Mary Kelly. You said she lives here. She might know where to find him.”

  She might. And it couldn’t hurt to ask.

  I looked up Mary Kelly’s number and dialed.

  At first, it didn’t seem as if she’d answer. The phone rang and rang. I was about to give up when she finally came on. “Hello?”

  “This is Savannah,” I said.

  There was silence. I guess she needed a few moments to process the fact that I was calling her. When I deemed it had been long enough, I added, “I thought you might be able to help me with something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m looking for Willem Gunther,” I said.

  There was another pause. A longer one. I thought I could hear whispering in the background, but maybe it was my imagination. Or maybe it was just Mary Kelly and Tina giggling.

  “Why?” she asked eventually.

  “Because Ethan and Matt are dead, and Danny’s in the hospital.”

  There was more silence. “How do you—?” Mary Kelly began, and stopped. “Danny Emerson’s in the hospital?”

  “That’s right. And Matt Perkins is dead. I’m sure you can understand why I’m a little concerned for Willem’s well-being.”

  Another pause. She was either having a hard time processing what I was saying—and who could blame her?—or she was thinking about what to s
ay in response.

  If she was, she didn’t come up with anything unexpected. “What happened?”

  “Matt was stabbed,” I said, “same as Ethan. Danny almost died of carbon monoxide poisoning. He’s lucky to be alive.”

  Pause.

  “Willem lives behind his business,” Mary Kelly said. “In a camper. His wife took the house when they split up.”

  Behind the business? In a camper? “You mean, inside the electrical fence?”

  Pause. Maybe we had a delay on the line, or something. “Yes,” Mary Kelly said.

  “I don’t suppose you know how to get in touch with him?”

  “Have you tried calling?”

  I said I had, and she said then she didn’t know. There was another pause. “How do you know about Matt and Danny?”

  “We found Matt,” I said. “Rafe spent some time with him and Ethan in high school, so he’s taking this whole thing a bit personally. And we happened to see the police car headed to Danny and Jan’s, so we followed.”

  Pause.

  “You know,” Mary Kelly said, “I knew you were involved with Rafe Collier. People talked about it, and you said you were. But I didn’t really believe it until I saw you together.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said sweetly, “I made it as plain as I could.”

  Mary Kelly didn’t have anything to say to that. Rafe, meanwhile, shot me a look and an arched eyebrow.

  Chapter Eighteen

  While I’d been cogitating, the car had been moving. We were just coming upon Damascus, one of those specks on the map about which they say that if you blink, you’ll miss it.

  Elspeth Caulfield used to live in Damascus, in a big, white Victorian house I assumed belonged to David Flannery now. That was how we had discovered that Rafe’s son existed: when Elspeth died and Dix opened her will—one my father must have written before he died—he learned that Elspeth had left everything she owned to a son none of us knew she had. The house in Damascus was part of that, along with any fortune and—I assume—the income from Elspeth’s books. She’d written historical romance novels of the bodice-ripper variety, with a bare-chested Rafe look-alike with rippling muscles on every cover. Once she’d been my favorite author, but I hadn’t been able to read a Barbara Botticelli since I realized that I wasn’t the only one who pictured Rafe naked whenever the hero stripped down.

  As we approached the middle of town, and the single stop-sign at the corner of Broad and Main, I told Rafe, “Turn right.”

  He glanced at me, but didn’t ask why. I directed him down a couple of streets and around a corner before I told him to stop. He looked around. “This is Yvonne’s place.”

  I nodded.

  “We breaking in?”

  “Of course not. She was around back then. She might remember something. Some reason why someone would want everyone dead.”

  “You think she’s here?”

  “Her car’s here.” I nodded to the house, a little 1950s crackerbox in a neighborhood of others. It was covered with vinyl siding, and had a flat facade and a little carport off to one side with a small, white Nissan parked underneath.

  “Then let’s do it.” He opened his door and came around the car to get mine. “It’s always a pleasure seeing Yvonne.”

  “Just remember who you’re going home with tonight,” I told him, and let him take my elbow on our way across the grass.

  Yvonne answered on the first knock, and lit up when she saw us. Or Rafe, I should say.

  “Sugar!”

  “Yvonne.” He leaned in for a kiss. I told myself I didn’t mind, although I admit my eyes narrowed a little. Not because I thought he was interested, or about to throw me over for her, but because I didn’t want his lips anywhere near anyone else’s. Just mine.

  Yvonne must have seen it, too, because when she came up for air, she grinned at me. “I’m just looking. I swear.”

  “Look all you want. No touching, though.” I tucked my hand through his arm.

  Rafe grinned, too. “She loves me.”

  “What’s not to love?” Yvonne said with a wink, and stepped back out of the doorway. “C’mon in. What can I do you for?”

  We moved across the threshold into the house. I looked around, deciding to ignore the byplay. She’d do him over my dead body, and since that wasn’t likely to happen, I’d just let her get away with flirting.

  I’d been here before, last fall. Things looked different now, though. The old carpet was gone, replaced with a newer, fluffier kind. Impossible to get the blood out of the old one, I guess.

  In fact, everything else was new, too. Sofa, chair, and coffee table. And the room was arranged differently. Last year, the sofa had been in front of the window. Now it was against the opposite wall.

  “I needed a change,” Yvonne said, reading my mind. “Every time I sat over there, I saw Elspeth coming at me with the knife.”

  And small wonder. “You could move. I can help you sell this house and find another.”

  She looked around. “Thanks, but I like it here. It’s mine. I worked hard for it. I don’t wanna give up on it just cause something bad happened here.”

  That was a nice sentiment. And she was doing better than I was. I hadn’t ever bought a house of my own. I’d gone from college to Bradley’s townhouse, and from there to a rental apartment. If we moved before the baby came, it would be into Rafe’s grandmother’s house.

  I’d be letting a man provide for me again. Wonder if mentioning that would make my mother any more kindly disposed toward Rafe?

  “Have a seat.” Yvonne waved toward the new sofa. “Can I get you anything?”

  “We won’t stay long.” I sat down and pulled Rafe down next to me. Yvonne took the chair opposite. “Let me tell you what’s happened since we saw you earlier.”

  It didn’t take long, since I only hit on the major plot point. Matt was dead and Danny Emerson was in the hospital, hopefully still alive. We had sicced the police on Willem, since we couldn’t get through the electrical fence on our own.

  Yvonne nodded. “Willem’s who I was talking about earlier, when I said that Ethan used to come in to Beulah’s with friends. It was usually him, Matt, and Willem.”

  “Not Danny?”

  “Back a few months ago, sure. But he hasn’t been around much lately. Not with them.”

  “Alone?”

  “With his wife and kids, mostly.”

  Good for Jan.

  I realized that neither Ethan or Matt had ever gotten married. Now Ethan and Matt were dead, brutally stabbed. Willem was divorced, and might be equally dead, although we had no way of knowing as yet.

  Danny had gotten married and hadn’t been stabbed, although he’d almost died, too. But whoever had tried to kill him—assuming someone had—hadn’t wanted him to suffer the same way the other two had.

  Did Danny’s marital status have something to do with that?

  Or was Jan the killer, and she hadn’t been able to bring herself to murder her husband in the same vicious way that she’d killed the others?

  Or had Danny killed Ethan and Matt, and then tried to kill himself, and the bump on his head really had come about when he fell unconscious?

  I turned back to Yvonne, who had kept talking to Rafe. “Can you think of anything that happened in high school that might have made someone want Matt, Ethan and Danny dead?”

  She glanced at him before she answered me. “No.”

  “You did hang around with them some, right?”

  “Course. And plenty happened. Just nothing that would make anyone want to kill anyone else. Nothing I saw.”

  “There was a lot of drinking, wasn’t there? And drugs?”

  “Some pot,” Yvonne said. “Maybe something stronger if someone had the money.”

  “Where did they get it?”

  Yvonne looked uncomfortable.

  “It’s OK,” Rafe told her. “I ain’t looking to arrest nobody today.”

  She looked surprised, and so, I’m sure, d
id I. That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, and I guess it hadn’t crossed hers, either.

  “That’s not...” She clamped her lips shut.

  Rafe tilted his head. “Go ahead and get it out. I can take it.”

  Yvonne sighed. “I’m not sure about before. But I know that after you were gone, they got stuff from Billy Scruggs sometimes.”

  There was a pause. “No kidding,” Rafe said lightly.

  “We knew he was dealing,” I told Yvonne. “I just didn’t know he sold drugs to kids.”

  “People who sell drugs ain’t too particular who they sell ‘em to,” Rafe informed me.

  I guess not. “Do you think there’s a connection between Billy’s murder and the others? I never considered there could be, but...”

  “Dunno. Guess I’ll ask about it tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Yvonne asked.

  “He’s going to Dusty’s Bar. With Dix.”

  Unlike me, Yvonne didn’t ask if he’d lost his mind. She did seem worried for his safety. “You be careful, sugar.”

  “Always.” He flashed her a grin.

  “And take care of that handsome brother of hers.” She winked at me.

  “He can take care of himself,” Rafe said.

  “You know,” I told him when we’d left Yvonne’s and were on our way through the yard to the car, “I keep forgetting that you can arrest people.”

  “I always could. I just don’t do it a lot. Spent a lot of years trying to keep a low profile.”

  Of course. He’d been afraid to blow his cover during the ten years he spent undercover. So he’d let himself be arrested over and over instead, swept up with the other bad guys he’d been hired to smoke out, and processed through the system until someone pulled strings to get him released.

  “Didn’t you ever want to pull out your badge and just arrest everyone? Make a clean sweep?”

  “Sure. But I was going for Hector.” Hector Gonzales, the head of the biggest SATG—South American Theft Gang—in the Southeast. “Getting myself kicked off the case before I got him wasn’t what I wanted.”

  He reached for the door handle to open the car for me, and stopped when a voice hailed us. We both turned, and watched as a figure crossed the grass from the crackerbox next to Yvonne’s.