In Seconds b-2

by Brenda Novak

  “A little,” Jared replied. “The wounds Pat sustained are consistent with the electric can opener that’s missing.”

  “You mean a can opener. You haven’t found the can opener.”

  “No. But Gertie took me to the store to show me the brand, and I bought one. The dents in Pat’s skull match perfectly.”

  “Could there be other objects that match?”

  “I doubt it. I took a short video of the coroner’s demonstration—” Linda searched through her purse and withdrew a very small video camera “—if you’d like to see it for yourself.”

  When she had the camera powered up and ready, she passed it across the desk to him, and he watched the coroner use the can opener like a rock against a Styrofoam head to simulate what had happened to Pat. The indentations clearly matched the protruding magnet.

  Poor old guy, Myles thought. Pat didn’t deserve to die, especially like this. It was even more tragic that he’d been killed for less than fifty dollars. “Does Gertie know you’re investigating her?” he asked as he returned the camera.

  “She knows I’m doing all I can to find out who killed her husband,” Jared said, “and she appreciates it.”

  She’d probably appreciate it a lot less if she knew he’d been snooping around in her personal affairs, looking for a motive. Investigating her added insult to injury. Feeling protective of her, Myles was somewhat offended by Jared’s attitude. “I can’t believe there isn’t any blood at the scene belonging to someone other than Pat,” he mused. “Could we have missed something?”

  “No.”

  “No trace evidence under his fingernails?”

  “No.”

  “What about that smear on Pat’s shirt?”

  “That was his,” Jared said.

  Myles decided he was definitely going to Reliable Auto. He wanted to find “Ron Howard” and Peter Ferguson. They’d given him a bad feeling, and all those clothes “Howard” had been wearing seemed even more suspect now. “Damn, I’d like to think Pat got in a swipe here and there.”

  “Against two?”

  Myles rolled his eyes at Jared’s heavy skepticism. “You can’t allow me the comfort of one harmless fantasy?”

  Puzzled by his response, Jared leaned forward. “How does it bring you comfort if it isn’t what really happened?”

  “Forget it.” Myles gave Linda a look of exasperation, but he knew she wouldn’t necessarily agree with him. Although she used to complain about Jared all the time—the mess that surrounded him, his obsessive tendencies, his literal nature—she’d gained a great deal of respect for him over the past two years. Since he had no wife or children with whom to spend his evenings, and would work 24/7 if left to his own devices, she and her husband invited him over for dinner probably twice a week. Other times, she brought him leftovers for lunch.

  “I must be hanging out with him too much,” she admitted, “because what he just said actually makes sense to me.”

  Myles threw up his hands. “Fine. Let’s face the bitter truth, shall we? Pat had no chance from the beginning. Now tell me about your interviews.”

  When they exchanged a questioning glance, Myles had to acknowledge that he was the one acting strange today. He was as tense as Jared had accused him of being, and had been ever since he’d seen Rex standing in Vivian’s kitchen only hours after he’d made love to her at the cabin.

  “No one in the other rentals saw anything,” Jared explained. “C.C. is the closest neighbor, but there are trees secluding both residences. And she was vacuuming, had no idea Pat was even showing the cabin.”

  “Wouldn’t you know it? With all the folks in Pineview who pay a little too much attention to their neighbors, our murder occurs next to someone who pays no attention whatsoever.”

  “It’s a rental. One of several in the area. She sees a lot of people come and go,” Linda said.

  “Did anyone along the drive to the cabin spot a vehicle that didn’t belong? That seemed to be going too slow or too fast?”

  Jared shook his head. “’Fraid not.”

  Myles glanced longingly at his coffee cup. After being amped up on adrenaline for so many hours, he was hitting the skids, but he’d had enough caffeine for one day. “Delbert called me yesterday. Said you already talked to him.”

  “Yes. A few times,” Jared said. “He’s been very cooperative.”

  “He has an alibi?” Myles hadn’t wanted to ask Delbert where he’d been at the time of his stepfather’s murder, not when he didn’t really consider Delbert a suspect and he had investigators who could do it for him.

  Linda took over. “He was at work. Several people have confirmed his presence there, including his boss. But he let me take pictures of his bare torso to show there isn’t a scratch on him.”

  Myles rearranged the piles of paper on his desk as he digested what he’d been told. “What about Gertie?”

  “No alibi.”

  “She’s still in the running for number-one suspect?”

  Jared stood. “Why wouldn’t she be? I don’t rule anyone out until I have a reason.”

  Myles massaged his temples. “I know.”

  “So…do you have what you need for your meeting with the mayor?”

  He’d hoped for more. “If that’s all you’ve got.”

  “That’s it for now.”

  Jared reached for the files, but Myles said to leave them. He wanted to read the interviews himself, get a feel for what people were saying.

  He was alone in his office and in the middle of Jared’s notes about his first conversation with Delbert when Deputy Campbell appeared. “Hey, you got a minute?”

  Myles looked up. “Sure, what do you need?”

  “Trace over at the auto shop wants to know what to do with that Toyota truck Harvey brought in.”

  Myles had been planning to go there. “The owners haven’t shown up?”

  Campbell popped the top of the soft drink he’d carried in with him. “Trace hasn’t heard from them.”

  Myles closed the folder. “Didn’t they ride back with Harvey?”

  “No. They said they had a friend picking them up.”

  What friend? When he’d been there, they acted as if they were going to ride with the tow. Damn. Had they slipped away already?

  “Thanks.” Once Campbell left, Myles went out to retrieve the pad of paper he kept in his car. He’d found “Ron Howard” and Peter Ferguson suspicious enough that he’d written down their registration information. Maybe he could contact them through Quentin, Peter’s older brother…?.

  It took minimal time and effort to access a reverse directory. Soon he had the phone number for the residence in Monrovia and a man on the phone who claimed to be Quentin. But, judging by his voice, he was at least fifty years older than Peter.

  This couldn’t be the brother Peter had referred to, could it? Maybe it was his father.

  Myles explained who he was and what he wanted, but he didn’t get any farther before the man said, “You must’ve run across the fellows who stole my truck.”

  The hair on the back of Myles’s neck stood on end. “What are you talking about? It didn’t come up as stolen when I ran the plates.”

  “Because I don’t drive it much anymore. I didn’t realize the damn thing was missing until this morning.”

  15

  Vivian’s hand shook as she used a prepaid calling card Rex had in his pocket and dialed Ellen’s number. She’d agonized over every call she’d placed to her old home since Virgil went to prison. Partially because she couldn’t decide if her mother was as complicit in her stepfather’s murder as she suspected. Partially because reaching out to Ellen felt disloyal to her brother. And partially because any contact increased her desire for resolution, which always seemed to be just one step away—no matter how many steps she took in order to achieve it.

  But none of her earlier anxiety could rival what she felt now. Before, the worst she had to worry about was how well she’d be received, and she’d felt fair
ly confident her mother would, at a minimum, be cordial. Ellen was always cordial, to everyone. Soft-spoken and unconfrontational, she was too indecisive to stand up and fight, even for her children.

  Still, the image she projected created an appealing illusion, one of a loving mother wrongfully accused. At times, Vivian was so tempted to believe in Ellen’s innocence, so tempted to reunite and rebuild what they’d lost, that she doubted every decision she’d ever made concerning her mother. Ellen claimed that, at the time Virgil was arrested, she believed the police because of his temper and the fact that he’d threatened more than once to kill Martin if the abuse didn’t stop. He also didn’t have an alibi for the night it happened; he was downstairs in his bedroom, sleeping, and the gunshot didn’t even wake him up.

  Vivian hadn’t been home, so she had no idea what happened.

  Once Uncle Gary’s marriage fell apart years later, his ex-wife’s conscience finally got the best of her—or she was looking for revenge. Either way, she came forward to tell what she knew and the police began to realize what Vivian’s heart had insisted all along—they had the wrong man. Almost as soon as Gary fell under scrutiny, he confessed that Ellen had asked him to do it. He told detectives that she came to him, insisting Martin would kill her or one of the kids if he didn’t step in. He’d also said she’d offered him half of the insurance money if he’d make Martin disappear for good. Because he was in debt and losing his house, he felt this provided a way out for both of them.

  But it was impossible to prove what he’d said. Ellen did give Gary a sizable portion of the money. Was that a payoff for murder? Or because she wanted to help him keep a roof over his family’s heads, as she claimed? It could be either, but Ellen had chosen to give Gary the money rather than hiring a better attorney for Virgil, and that was something Vivian simply could not understand. Considering how often she’d heard her mother tell people what they wanted to hear rather than the truth, she couldn’t trust Ellen. Especially when, instead of being beside herself with worry, Ellen had seemed almost…relieved. Relieved to have a scapegoat, even if that scapegoat was her own son.

  When Ellen quickly got involved in yet another romantic relationship, Vivian left home, at sixteen, and had been taking care of herself ever since. But that didn’t mean she never looked back. There were times she sorely regretted the loss of her relationship with her mother. That she was still in contact with Ellen proved it. If she didn’t need to be so careful about her whereabouts, she might’ve called more often.

  Now that Virgil was out of prison, holding a grudge felt pointless. The older she got, the more Vivian wanted to purge the anger that’d been trapped inside her for so many years. It was too dark, too negative; sometimes that darkness seemed about to overtake everything else.

  And now, just when she’d been closest to forgiving her mother, the doubt was back. Had Ellen let The Crew threaten her or bully her into putting her own children and grandchildren, as well as Rex, in danger? It wasn’t as if Vivian thought Ellen would call Horse or any of the others. She knew her mother wasn’t out to hurt her or Virgil. She just didn’t believe that Ellen would go to much trouble to protect them if her own life or welfare was on the line.

  “What’s the matter?” Rex called.

  She’d misdialed and hung up. Shoving her sunglasses higher on her nose, she waved him off and tried again.

  This time the phone rang. Then her mother’s voice came on the line, but it turned out to be the recorded message.

  Vivian hung up and almost walked back to tell Rex they’d have to wait until later. As long as she didn’t know for sure, she could continue to hope that her mother wasn’t the reason she was once again in danger.

  But if Ellen had heard from a member of the gang, not knowing could cost Vivian one or both of her own children. She couldn’t be a coward.

  “She’s not home?” Rex called.

  “No.”

  “Can you call another family member?”

  “My cousins have moved around so much I’ve lost track of them.” Uncle Gary was in prison. His ex had testified against him, then washed her hands of him and his extended family. But Ellen still lived in the house on Sandalwood Court where Vivian and Virgil had grown up, so Vivian knew quite a few of the neighbors. Were any of them still around?

  She’d once had a terrible crush on Junior Ivey, the next-door neighbor’s son. Could she remember the number to his house? She’d certainly called it often enough, much to his annoyance, since he was four years older and in high school when she’d been mooning over him.

  She racked her brain for the number but couldn’t come up with more than the prefix, and that was only because it was the same as her mother’s. But she remembered Junior’s father’s name and that meant she could get the rest from directory assistance.

  The phone rang so many times Vivian thought she’d wind up with another recorded message, but the breathless voice of the woman who answered told her she had a live human being.

  “Mrs. Ivey?”

  “Yes?”

  Vivian pushed her sunglasses up again. “This is Vivi—er—Laurel Skinner.”

  “Laurel! My goodness. Hang on a sec. I was downstairs doing some ironing. Needless to say, I’m not as fit as I used to be.”

  She’d been overweight even back then. “Take your time.”

  After an audible breath, she said, “I’ll be okay in a minute. How are you?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “It’s been years and years since we’ve heard from you.”

  “It has been a while.”

  “Too long. Your mother tells me you have two children now.”

  “Yes.”

  “She’d love to see them, you know. It’s a pity you live so far away.”

  The disapproval in those words told Vivian that Sonja Ivey had forgiven Ellen for the murder, if she’d ever held her accountable for it in the first place. Ellen could be quite convincing. That was part of the reason she hadn’t been charged for Martin’s murder along with Gary. The police believed Gary was telling the truth, but the D.A. didn’t have enough hard evidence connecting Ellen to the killing, and he felt she came across as too genuine to try with what he had.

  “Maybe someday I will,” she said to avoid discussing why she hadn’t visited so far.

  “How’s your brother?”

  “Good.”

  “Terrible what happened to that boy. So hard to believe.”

  “Yes.” Hard to believe Ellen didn’t have a hand in it, or do more to stop it. “How’s Junior?”

  “Fabulous! He’s a doctor.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. He was always a smart kid.”

  “But we don’t like his wife much,” she murmured.

  Vivian would’ve laughed, except she was too anxious to get to the point of her call. “I’m sorry to hear that. Adjusting to in-laws can be difficult.” No one knew that better than she did. Instead of having an ounce of sympathy for what Tom had put her through, his parents had spent most of the time they were together trying to convince her that he wasn’t really a bad person. Never had they taken her side. Instead, they’d acted as if she must be provoking him into acting the way he did. They didn’t care that something as innocuous as making the wrong dish for dinner could set him off.

  “She’s a spoiled little prima donna from the rich side of town,” Sonja said.

  “Hopefully, Junior is happier with her than you are.”

  “I don’t think he is, but…what can you do? It’s not my place to get involved.”

  Vivian glanced at Rex, who made a motion that said to hurry up. “Listen, Sonja, I’m really sorry to interrupt your ironing, but I’m calling because I can’t reach my mother. You don’t know where she is, do you?”

  “She should be home. I’m standing at my kitchen window, looking out at her car right now.”

  “I just tried her. She didn’t answer.”

  “She’s been pretty depressed lately. Randall left again, you know.
”

  Her mother’s latest love interest. She hadn’t married this one, but they’d been together for a couple of years. “When?”

  “Maybe two weeks ago? Found someone else.”

  That must’ve been a blow to her mother’s self-esteem. It was usually Ellen who became dissatisfied. She was only interested in the initial wining and dining part of a romance and grew bored as soon as the mundane intruded. “Would you do me a favor, Sonja? Do you think you could walk over and see if you can rouse her?”

  “Sure, honey. Here, call my cell. I’ll take it with me and let you talk to her.”

  Vivian had the feeling that Sonja suspected Ellen was simply ducking her call. They’d had so many problems, almost anyone would think that. She didn’t try to disabuse her of the notion. Instead she wrote down the number Sonja rattled off, hung up and dialed again.

  “It’s raining,” Sonja complained when she answered the second time. “Let me grab a coat.”

  Vivian covered the mouthpiece to signal Rex that she was making progress. Then she waited while her mother’s neighbor trudged next door. She heard the knock, heard Sonja calling Ellen’s name, but she couldn’t make out any response. Several seconds later, Sonja confirmed that there hadn’t been one.

  “Can you see inside?” Vivian asked.

  “’Fraid, not. The blinds are pulled. I told you, she’s in a real funk.”

  What now? Her mother was retired and living on social security and what she’d been able to glean from her many divorces. If her car was there, she should be, too. “Could you go around back, please? Something isn’t right.”

  “Sure.”

  Vivian listened to the swish of Sonja’s clothing as she moved. Then Sonja’s voice came through loud and clear. “Oh, boy.”

  “Oh, boy?” Vivian straightened. “What does that mean?”

  “Looks like the door’s been broken.”

  Tendrils of fear slithered around Vivan’s stomach and squeezed until it hurt. That was when she knew her ulcer was coming back. She’d been too anxious this week; it was bound to happen. But that was the least of her worries right now. “Broken as in…someone forced their way inside?” She almost didn’t recognize her own voice…?.