The Complete Mystery Collection

by Michaela Thompson

  Aaron shook his head. “I’m not listening to that. What happened had nothing to do with Clara Trent. And if you want to blame somebody, blame me. I’m the one who closed the murder case. That’s what got Jim riled up.”

  “Well, if she hadn’t come—”

  “Good-bye, Patsy.”

  Aaron closed the door and sat behind his desk again. Patsy mentioning Clara had touched a sore spot. Aaron wished that Clara hadn’t left town. He wished he could have a beer with her and talk about this. He didn’t blame her for wanting to get out of the Villas, but she had left exactly at the time she might have been getting somewhere.

  Aaron blinked. What did he mean, telling himself Clara might’ve been getting somewhere? He had wanted her to leave town and leave the case alone, so what was his problem?

  One answer was that his mother had died yesterday and he wasn’t thinking straight. Now he’d better concentrate on what he needed to do, which was go to Luton’s Landing and find a nameless man who lived in a trailer. He went to the parking lot in the morning heat, got in his car, and started for Luton’s Landing.

  Standing on the edge of the canal, he tried to imagine what Patsy had seen. She had approached from the same direction he had, since Aaron had parked in the same grassy lot. But how had Jim gotten here? He couldn’t have walked from the highway. He must have gotten a ride all the way down the dirt road to the landing. Aaron surveyed the ground, which was churned up with footprints.

  He moved closer and stood at the dock. Patsy came and parked, she walked to where Aaron was standing now, and she saw Jim’s body in the water. At that point she took off through the woods to find help.

  Aaron scanned the undergrowth and spotted a point where branches were broken. Maybe that was the way Patsy went, or the way she and the mystery man came back. As he looked more closely, he saw broken branches and trampled weeds leading through the woods. Mosquitoes buzzed in his ears as he followed the makeshift track. In five minutes or so, he had found the trailer.

  It sat in a tangle of vines and palmettos. Aaron stepped up to the front door. He knocked, then turned the knob. The door opened.

  He pushed the door open and stuck his head inside. He inspected briefly and discovered that nobody was there. Still, the place didn’t look uninhabited. He found food in the cabinets, sheets on the bed. Maybe the man had gone somewhere and would be back. But why had he left yesterday, after helping Patsy with Jim’s body? Aaron needed to know more.

  As Aaron saw it, he had two choices. He could stay at the trailer and wait for the occupant to show up— if he ever did— or he could ask around. He decided to ask around.

  He returned to his car and drove down the dirt track to the paved road leading to the highway. He took the turn, cruised past the Villas, and pulled up in the parking lot at Margene’s MiniMart.

  He found Margene’s daughter Jasmine behind the counter. Jasmine had blonde hair streaked liberally with raspberry pink and tattoos up and down both arms. Aaron had known her since she was a baby. She smiled when she saw him and said, “Hey, Aaron.”

  “Miss Jasmine,” Aaron said. “Everything all right?”

  “Not too bad. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m going to get a Coke and some peanuts.”

  After Aaron made his purchases he said, “Maybe you can help me. I’m looking for a man that lives in a trailer out near Luton’s Landing.”

  He noticed a change in Jasmine’s face as she said, “Has he done something wrong?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. I just need to talk to him. Do you know him?”

  Jasmine grimaced. “You came to the right place.”

  “No fooling.”

  She nodded. “The guy that lives out there in the woods? In a trailer?”

  “That’s him.”

  Jasmine leaned toward him over the counter. “He’s the night clerk here. Or let me put it this way. He used to be the night clerk.”

  “What happened?”

  “He didn’t show up for his shift last night, the jerk. I was supposed to go to the softball game over in Westpoint. I couldn’t get anybody to work in his place, so it ended up I couldn’t go. He left me flat. No phone call, no nothing. Does that help you at all?”

  “It might,” Aaron said. “What’s his name?”

  “His name is Leo Swain,” Jasmine said. “If you find him, tell him from my mama and me that his ass is fired.”

  14

  Vickie Ann had had a busy morning. There had been so many phone calls, so many offers of help and sympathy that she hadn’t yet gone to the bank to get the money for Coby. Any minute, people would be showing up once again to sit with her and comfort her about losing Daddy Jim. Vickie Ann knew she had to be at home to greet them, let them in, and thank them for their kindness.

  Vickie Ann was grateful, she truly was, but she didn’t want to think about what would happen if she didn’t get Coby’s three hundred dollars and put it in the sewing machine in the garage. He would never understand why she couldn’t do it. He might be so disgusted he’d go away, and she’d never see him again. Their business deal would be off. All because people wanted to come to her house, bring food, and hold her hand and talk about Daddy Jim.

  Vickie Ann was hot in her black silky blouse. She pulled at the neck to get some air inside. Why did things have to be so complicated? She felt utterly miserable.

  After a minute or two of misery, new thoughts started entering Vickie Ann’s head. She let them swirl around for a while before really thinking them: Daddy Jim was dead. This house was Vickie Ann’s house. The money in the bank was Vickie Ann’s money.

  All at once it occurred to Vickie Ann that nobody had to be here at the house to greet people. If they showed up while Vickie Ann wasn’t here, they would have to wait until she got back. Vickie Ann felt her chest expanding. She picked up her handbag and walked out to get in her car and go to the bank. She and her father, Coby, were going into business together. She had promised to get him three hundred dollars, and that’s what she was going to do.

  Vickie Ann pulled up at the drive-up window and slipped her card in the slot. She withdrew three hundred dollars in twenties, sealed the cash in an envelope she had brought with her, and put the envelope in the pocket of her black skirt. She would slip out when she had a chance and put it in the drawer.

  After that, just because of the feeling it gave her, she took a ride around town. She cruised toward the beach for ten minutes or more before she turned around. She could do what she pleased. She couldn’t remember ever having that thought before.

  When she arrived back at the house— her house— several cars were pulled up in front and a few people, including the preacher, were standing at the front stoop talking to one another. Vickie Ann pulled in the driveway, and everybody turned to look at her. They gathered around as she got out of the car, saying things like “Where on earth were you?” and “We were getting worried!”

  Vickie Ann said, “Sorry to make you wait. I had some business to tend to.” She marched past them to her front door and opened it to let them in.

  15

  Clara’s drive back to Luna Bay was uneventful. Before she left St. Elmo Beach she had called Nadine, and Nadine had said all was quiet at the gallery. Clara would unpack. She would talk to Nadine. She would think about doing some painting again. So she imagined, but would any of it happen? Was Clara supposed to pick up the pieces and cobble a life out of the slivers and shards of what she once had? She had no idea how to go about it.

  Worse, with every mile she covered the sting of her retreat from the Villas became sharper. In going to St. Elmo she had followed her impulse, her need to prove that Ronan wasn’t a killer. And she had learned nothing, proved nothing.

  She thought about Aaron. He had opposed her coming, hadn’t believed in her quest, but he had been steady and straight with her and willing to listen. He’d taken her in, even given the emotional turmoil he must have been feeling about his mother’s death. And he had kiss
ed the top of her head. The thought made her smile, if only momentarily.

  By the time Clara pulled into the parking lot of the Clara Trent Gallery she was worn out and depleted. She walked in to find a perky Nadine saying, “Welcome home!” Taking another look, Nadine said, “You look tired. Why don’t I make some tea?”

  Over tea in the back room Nadine eyed her warily. “I sort of hate to ask, but how was it?”

  Clara shrugged. “I don’t even know what to say,” she said. “Maybe when I’ve had time to think it through I’ll feel different, but it was really hard, Nadine. On top of everything, yesterday Alice Rhodes’ father died. He had wandered away from home, and he drowned in a canal. My place at the Villas was vandalized, and somebody stole a carved box Ronan gave me long ago. My pills were in the box, so maybe the theft was drug-related. It could also have been an attempt to scare me out of town— which it did. And I keep thinking— really, I can’t help thinking it was all my fault somehow.”

  “Come on, Clara. It wasn’t your fault. You’re just exhausted.”

  Clara slumped back in her chair. “It wasn’t directly my fault, but I got everything stirred up, and maybe if I hadn’t gone there— you’re right, it’s idiotic, but I can’t help thinking that.”

  “It was about Ronan. It was your life, too. You had a right to find out what you could,” Nadine said.

  “I thought so. Now, I’m not so sure.” After a moment of silence she went on, “Tell me what’s been going on here at the gallery. I feel bad that I didn’t even call.”

  “No problem,” Nadine said. “Things have been pretty much as usual here. With one exception.”

  “What’s the exception?”

  “We’ve been selling Ronan’s paintings. I’ve sold three since you left. Big ones.”

  Clara was astonished. To sell even one of Ronan’s paintings was an extraordinary event. But three? She said, “You have?”

  Nadine hesitated. “I have to be honest,” she said. “I think it’s all the notoriety, Ronan being involved in a murder case. I believe that because every person that bought one asked me if it was the same guy.”

  “There’s irony for you. Murder as a career move,” Clara said bitterly.

  “Something like that.” After a moment Nadine went on, “Why don’t I help you get your things upstairs. You should rest. You had a rough trip.”

  It had been a rough trip. A short while later, after refusing Nadine’s offer to make her a sandwich, Clara sat in her apartment with The Book of Alice on her lap. She leafed through the pages, so familiar now, and found them alien and strange. They depicted a world that was closed to her— a world that had never been open to her and never would be. She had tried to understand, but she understood nothing. And here was yet another irony: at this moment of despair, her exit strategy had been foiled. The box with her pills in it had been stolen. It was almost funny. Clara chuckled, but then the tears started to flow.

  16

  Aaron had had a busy morning at the office. Among many other things, he had reported the vandalism at Clara’s unit at the Villas and had passed along her description of the missing wooden box containing her pills. The box itself might turn up, but Aaron didn’t think the pills would. He had also circulated the description Margene’s daughter Jasmine had given him of the missing night clerk, Leo Swain. Aaron himself or someone else in the department would be checking the trailer periodically to see if Swain had returned.

  He had made and received a succession of phone calls regarding funeral arrangements for his mother. One of them was from a member of the Floral Tribute Committee of the Missionary Society asking what his mother’s favorite flower had been, and also what her favorite color had been. Aaron was uncertain about the flower, but he was pretty sure his mother’s favorite color had been lavender, and that’s what he told them.

  As noon approached, Aaron began to wonder how Clara was doing, and whether she had gotten back to Luna Bay all right. He was reaching for the phone to call her when he remembered that he intended to stop by Vickie Ann’s place to offer his condolences about Jim. He should get that out of the way first. He straightened his tie and prepared to pay his respects.

  He found Vickie Ann’s living room full of people eating and talking in low tones. The preacher was sitting on the couch beside Vickie Ann. Vickie Ann, looking nervous, was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. Aaron cut through the crowd and murmured how sorry he was and what a fine man Jim had been, and Vickie Ann nodded mutely.

  Word had gotten around about Aaron’s mother, too. He spent some time accepting condolences in his turn before he was offered a piece of lemon cake and a cup of coffee. He would consider this lunch, and then he’d go. He was still eating when he noticed Vickie Ann making her way through the crowd toward the kitchen.

  Wondering if she needed help with something, Aaron started toward her. He reached the kitchen only to see that she had speeded up considerably and was already going out the back door.

  Curious, Aaron went to a window and watched as Vickie Ann crossed the back yard and entered the garage. The garage was dark inside, and he couldn’t see what she was doing.

  The garage again, Aaron thought. He remembered coming over to help when Jim got agitated and claimed he’d seen Coby in the garage. Aaron sipped coffee and waited. After a brief interval Vickie Ann emerged, hurrying toward the house. Aaron saw her come in the back door, and in a moment she returned to her place of honor on the couch beside the preacher.

  Aaron decided to stay for a while. He managed to chat, and to eat a second piece of lemon cake, while staying close enough to the window to monitor the back yard. A half hour or more passed, and he had begun to wonder how long he could continue his surveillance without serious damage to his waistline when he saw someone sidling along the outside wall of the garage.

  Aaron put down his plate and walked through the kitchen. By the time he was out the back door the figure— from the glimpse he’d had he was almost positive it was Coby— had entered the garage. From the doorstep, Aaron could see him moving around in there.

  Aaron jumped down and sprinted toward the garage at the same moment Coby ran out the garage door, across the alley, and into the neighboring vacant lot.

  Coby was short, wiry, and skinny, and Aaron was taller, heavyset, and full of lemon cake and coffee, but Aaron was not going to let Coby get away. He galloped forward harder than he’d run in years, shouting, “Coby! You’re under arrest!” Somehow he gained on Coby and managed to grab his shirttail and then his scrawny shoulder, and after a brief but fierce struggle Coby was subdued.

  Aaron was puffing and drenched with sweat. “You’re under arrest,” he repeated, gasping.

  “For what?” Coby’s normally bulbous eyes protruded even farther than usual.

  “Trespassing on private property,” Aaron said. “And maybe stealing. And there’s a couple other things I need to ask you about.” He could see an envelope in the breast pocket of Coby’s shirt.

  Someone grabbed Aaron’s arm, pulling him off balance. “You leave my daddy alone!” Vickie Ann screamed. “Leave him alone! I gave him that money of my own free will!” She tugged on Aaron’s arm. “Run, Daddy!” she screamed at Coby.

  There was no way Aaron was loosening his grip, and Coby had no chance to take off. Vickie Ann dissolved in sobs. Now even more breathless, Aaron said, “Let’s go” to Coby and led him off through a back yard that was now full of people. There would be plenty for them to talk about, Aaron thought. It was time for somebody to brew a fresh pot of coffee.

  17

  “You heard what Vickie Ann said. She gave me the money of her own free will!” said Coby Rhodes.

  They were in an interview room at the department. Aaron wanted to tear Coby’s runty head off, but he sat impassively. In truth, Vickie Ann had said exactly that, which was galling to Aaron. He said, “If everything is aboveboard why did you run when you saw me, Coby? You’ve been hanging around there for days. Jim spotted you, and you know it.”


  Coby crossed his arms over his chest. “I couldn’t go knock on the front door, could I? Old Jim would’ve killed me. You know he had a gun.”

  “Yes. I know he had a gun.” This interview was giving Aaron heartburn. Unless the heartburn was a result of eating lemon cake and then running after Coby. “What were you doing, anyway? Besides figuring out how to get cash from Vickie Ann?”

  “I wanted to see Vickie Ann. She’s my daughter, remember?” Coby’s face was the picture of self-righteousness.

  “I remember that she’s your daughter,” Aaron said. “You’re the one who forgot about that for the past forty years. Why remember it now?”

  Coby raised his shaggy eyebrows but didn’t answer.

  Aaron said, “Could it be that you came back to St. Elmo because the Alice Rhodes case was finally closed?”

  “Jim Tuttle was out to get me,” Coby said. “He was going to say I killed Alice no matter what I did.”

  “Jim Tuttle believed you killed Alice,” Aaron agreed. “And he always said he saw you that day at Luton’s Landing. We never got a straight answer from you about that, because we couldn’t find you. Now you’re sitting here, so why don’t you tell me. Were you at Luton’s Landing that day?”

  Coby shook his head. “Jim made that up. He was out to get me, and he made up a story about seeing me.”

  “If that’s true, and you weren’t at the landing, then you can tell me where you really were, right?” Aaron said. “And you’ll have to wait while we check out what you tell us. It’s been forty years, so it may take some time.”

  “Wait a minute! The damn case is closed!” Coby said.

  “Maybe it isn’t,” Aaron said.

  Coby stared at him. “What the hell do you mean?”

  Aaron leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I mean maybe it isn’t.”