Hiding Gladys (A Cleo Cooper Mystery)

by Mims, Lee

  I grabbed my cell and in a flash her number was ringing in my ear.

  There was the sound of the phone being picked up, after which, a frail voice hesitantly said, “Hello?”

  “Sister!” I exclaimed as if I’d had known her all my life. “Hi. It’s Cleo Cooper. You remember, Gladys’s friend from Raleigh? I know you guys are having a grand time and I hate like the dickens to bother you, but could I speak to Gladys for a moment?”

  “Oh. Sure. She’s right here … ” She cleared her throat and called out, “Gladys! It’s for you, dear.”

  I heard a muffled “Who is it?” followed by some shuffling about with the receiver. Then I heard Sister say, “I can’t remember who she said she was, but it’s not the kids.”

  Gladys’s voice came on the line. “Hello?” she said hesitantly.

  “Gladys,” I said, almost tearful with joy, “it’s me, Cleo. I’ve been worried sick about you. You didn’t tell me you were going to see your sister. Are you all right?”

  It seemed like relief I heard in her voice when she said, “Oh Cleo, I’m so glad it’s you. I didn’t mean to worry you, honey. I … I’ve been meaning to call, but Sister and I have been so busy. And, well, I just needed to get away for a while. Besides, I thought we’d covered everything about your testing. I can’t wait to hear how that’s going. It is going well, isn’t it?”

  “It’s all going fine, Gladys. It’s Robert Earle and Shirley I’m having a small problem with.”

  “Oh?”

  “Gladys … ” I said, realizing I didn’t know where to start. “Um, Gladys, have you ever signed a Power of Attorney, a document giving your children authority over your affairs?”

  “Oh no. They aren’t trying to pull that stuff on you, are they?”

  “Actually, they are. More important, do they know you’re at Sister’s?”

  “No. They called a couple of times, but she convinced them I wasn’t here. We haven’t talked about this Cleo, but sometimes, I just feel the need to get away from my children. I’m sure you can understand. You don’t need to worry about that Power of Attorney thing either. They might try to make me think I’m crazy and they might be trying to make others think I’m crazy, but I’m not. I’d never sign anything they wanted me to. If I had, I’d have been out on my keister a long time ago.”

  “Good grief, Gladys! Why would your children try to do that to you?” I asked though I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.

  “Oh they’re not bad kids. Just hard-headed is all. And a little spoiled.”

  You think?

  “Sometimes, if they don’t get their way, they try to take over. But I just let it pass. It always does. That’s why I’m down here.”

  “They’ve done this before?”

  “Well, there was the one time when they wanted to grow houses on the land instead of hay. You know, back during the development boom in the nineties? But I was having none of it. Made ’em real mad, but I’m not scared of them because—”

  “Gladys,” I interrupted, “I hate to say this, but maybe you should be. A little scared of them, I mean. At least until I get the testing finished, get your option money to you and the rest of the legal papers filed to see that you’re paid for the land, according to our agreement, over the next ten years.

  “You see, Gladys, there’s a complicated set of hoops we both need to jump through to complete this transaction in a bomb-proof manner so that no one can ever have you declared anything but what you are—a kind, loving, and very competent person.”

  I paused, getting my breath. “Until then, I’d really feel better if you laid low somewhere. Not at Sister’s anymore either. Since it’s crossed their minds that you could be with Sister, it would only take driving down there to find you. Then you and Sister would have to deal with an unpleasant situation with no one to help you. You need to have me or an attorney with you when you see them.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, but I’m not scared of—”

  “I know you’re not scared of your own children. I’m not saying that … ” I paused again, not knowing a nice way to say what needed to be said. The elephant in the room, as it were. I just dove into it: “Gladys, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. It’s about Irene.”

  “Irene. I’ve been calling her for days. I knew it—she ran off with that scumbag crab fisherman from Manteo, didn’t she? Married him too, I bet. I knew it. I just knew it.”

  She yelled for Sister, then came back on the line and said, “When she wouldn’t say for sure if she was going to live with Sister and me, I knew something was up. That woman is bound to live a life of drudgery despite all I can do for her—”

  “Gladys,” I said softly.

  “What? She didn’t marry him? She just ran off with him? How do you know?”

  “Gladys … Irene is dead.”

  “Dead? He killed her?”

  “No, he didn’t kill her. At least, I don’t think he did. I don’t know who—”

  “Where is she now?” Gladys interrupted

  “Still in Chapel Hill at the Medical Examiner’s. It takes a long time to do all the testing required in a homicide.”

  “Homicide?” she said in a tiny voice.

  “Please listen to me. You need to be up here where I can talk to you and you can see to Irene’s … funeral details. I’ll explain the whole thing when I see you.”

  Even as I was talking, I pulled up American Airlines on my laptop and booked a flight for Gladys arriving at eleven fifty, Saturday afternoon. I gave her explicit instructions on how to get her E-ticket at the airport and where I’d pick her up.

  Exhausted, emotions tossing about in my head like clothes in a dryer, I hung up and flopped back on the bed. My cell clanged. I looked at the screen and saw Nash Finley’s name. Hello, distraction.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Hello, there. Where are you?”

  “Where do you want me to be?”

  “Always the mysterious one. Actually, I remember you saying how much you love Wrightsville Beach and was hoping you were coming down, it being Friday and all.”

  “I might be. Why?” I said, wondering just exactly what I was doing.

  “‘Cause I’m down here at the Blockade Runner. I had to be at the Castle Hayne quarry today so I decided to spend the night. What would you say to a little dinner at the Bridgetender? A couple of really dry martinis, some prime rib, and … ”

  “And?”

  Okay, now I knew what I was doing.

  “And whatever you want, sweet pea, for as long as you want.”

  “Well, the dinner sounds good, anyway. What time?”

  “Say, seven-thirty?”

  I checked my watch. Though it would take a little over an hour to get there, I could make it, easy. Mickey Mouse screamed from the watchface, “Don’t do it!”

  “I’ll meet you at the Bridgetender.”

  Hey, it was just dinner and right now I needed some cheering up. I figured I could always get my own room at the Blockade Runner, right? So, being always prepared—you never know when one of several clients I have in the area might call and want to discuss a job over dinner—I pulled my three-inch, peep-toe sling-backs and black body-hugging tank dress made from that material you can wad up for a week without wrinkles from my bag and got ready for dinner out.

  The Bridgetender Restaurant, overlooking the Bridgetender Marina and the Wrightsville Beach drawbridge, is one of my favorite restaurants, not only because they serve delicious food, but because it is so relaxing to sit and watch the comings and goings of boats. I could do it for hours, but relaxing wasn’t what I had in mind when I got there at seven forty-five on the dot. Better to have Nash one martini ahead of me in situations like this.

  He was sitting in the bar area in the front of the restaurant and stood and motioned to the bartend
er as I sauntered in. He looked me square in the eye. In heels, I almost reached his six-feet.

  “I’ve thought about you several times since I saw you last week,” Nash said. “Thought it might be fun to see you again, but now … ”

  “But now?”

  “But now, I’m kinda scared.” He grinned.

  You and me both. “Poor baby. You have nothing to fear from me as long as you play by the rules.”

  “Well, by all means. What are the rules?”

  “No shop talk.”

  The bartender handed me a very dry Grey Goose martini with three olives. Just the way I like it. Nash clinked my glass with his and said, “Fine by me.”

  ELEVEN

  Is there anything better in the whole world than waking to the sound of waves pounding and seagulls crying and your whole body’s limp as a noodle from having used every muscle—and I mean every muscle—all night? The answer to that is no—unless you’ve never experienced it. In that case, you probably can’t imagine how I ended up in a dark hotel room feeling not the least bit guilty. Sex with Bud had always been great. As long as we were married, I never strayed. In all those years—and a few times since—our sex life never lost its fire. But always, always, it had a tender component. A sweetness, no matter how frisky we got.

  With Nash, on the other hand, there was definitely no sweet component. In all honesty, it even had a scary edge, which made me wonder if I’d ever go to bed with him again. Then certain memories brought on a jolt like I expect a cattle prod would produce, and I knew I would.

  But, hey, I did check into my own room. I should get points for that, right? I felt around in the bed. No Nash. A vague memory of pushing him out of the bed sometime before dawn came to me. I guessed it was before dawn. Heavy black-out drapes made the room dark as a pit so I couldn’t really tell. I looked over at the nightstand for the digital. It wasn’t there. Must have been the crash I heard in the wee hours of the morning. I felt something scrunched up under the cover at my feet and dug around between the foot of the bed and the sheets. My dress. Further exploration rendered one shoe and, finally, my watch. I held up the glow-in-the-dark Mickey with big numbers and saw that it was nearly seven o’ clock.

  Dang, I was burning daylight. Gladys would land in Raleigh and be waiting for me by noon, besides which I knew Nash expected me to have a leisurely Saturday morning breakfast with him. I planned to be long gone by then.

  I got up and went to McDonald’s feeling just fine about leaving Nash without so much as a good-bye. The morning after first-time sex, so awkward. Truth be told, he’d probably appreciate my giving him some space. Besides, I had a big project going and while it might be a workless weekend for him, it definitely wasn’t for me. Halfway through my McDonald’s iced coffee, I concluded I was going to survive last night’s debauchery. Without taking my eyes from the road, I dug my cell from my purse—a maneuver I was becoming remarkably brilliant at—and said, “William,” the voice command to dial my son.

  He answered immediately. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey, Will,” I said, “how’s my firstborn?”

  I could hear the smile in his voice. “Fine. What’re you doing?”

  “Actually, besides wondering how you are and wishing I could be in Miami with you right now, I was hoping you could do me a huge favor.”

  “You know you can visit me anytime you like, and I’m always more than happy to help you if I can.”

  What a good boy I raised. “Great,” I said. “What I need is one of your excellent computer searches on a company.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “I.T.N.F. TestCo Group. The C in TestCo is capitalized. I believe they may be a Charlotte-based company. I know if anyone can find out who they are, it’s you.”

  “Okay. Give me the rest of the day. By the way, I’ve got everything set up for the computer presentation for your banker. All we need now is data.”

  “I’m on it,” I said, amused at the implication, however politely packaged, that I should get on the stick and start feeding data to him as soon as possible and not leave everything to the last minute.

  “I’ve got a lot going on here with my stuff too. But I’ll call you soon as I have something.”

  “Thanks, honey. You’re still coming up to Raleigh Thursday, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely, but I’ll talk to you before then.”

  It was almost eleven when I pulled into the driveway of my house in Raleigh. Tulip was so excited to see me I was afraid she’d explode.

  Henri was behind her. “She’s really missed you,” she said. “And I have too. What’s on your schedule? Are you going to have time for me today?”

  “I’ve got a friend coming in at the airport around twelve. If you could pick her up, I’d be eternally grateful.”

  “Grateful enough to loan me your Bakers with the stacked wooden heels?”

  I grabbed my overnight and my garment bag from the seat and headed inside. “Seriously, what I really need is the time to go over the core logs from that consulting job I finished last month out in Wyoming, and write up my report. I was supposed to have sent it in last week … And yes, you can borrow my Bakers … once.” I might be a practical dresser on the job, but for all other occasions, I love clothes.

  “Okay then. I’ll do airport duty. I must say, though,” my daughter said primly as she followed me through the door, “I really expected you home yesterday afternoon to take care of your paperwork. What were you doing all day?”

  “I had some, uh, catchup work I needed to attend to. I took care of it.” Well, how else would you describe it?

  “What kind of … ”

  “Better scoot, sweetie, if you’re gonna make it to the airport in time,” I said as I ushered her back out the front door. “I’ll phone my friend and let her know how to find you.”

  As soon as she left, I called my lawyer.

  “Sharon, I believe I’ve got a problem.”

  “Shoot.”

  “First of all, Gladys isn’t missing anymore. She’s been in Florida with her sister this whole time, hiding from her kids. Turns out they’re trying to have her declared incompetent. They claim they’ve got a Power of Attorney. Say they’re going to take over the test site with a new option they’ve gotten with some company I never heard of.”

  “Oh. Is that all?” Sharon said nonchalantly.

  “Should I be worried?”

  “Is there a P.O.A. filed anywhere?”

  “Gladys says no.”

  “Then you’re okay. My advice would be to keep Gladys away from her kids until we get this thing wrapped up legally. That way she’s protected and so are you. I take it from what you’ve told me that she may need protecting from her kids.”

  “That looks to be the situation to me.”

  “Okay, then. Carry on. But just to be on the safe side, might be best if you have Gladys inform that sheriff guy of her whereabouts. You said he had a Silver Alert out on her. He’ll probably want to talk to her in person too. You can arrange that easily enough. Also, her children should be informed that she is safe. Maybe she knows a good time to call when they aren’t likely to be home so she can just leave a message. Something to the effect that she’s visiting a friend … that would be sufficient.”

  Shortly before one o’ clock Henri delivered a distraught Gladys to my door. I ushered her into my kitchen, poured her a cup of coffee and did my best to tell her all I knew about what had happened to Irene. I wanted to spare her the grisly details, but she kept asking questions, and isn’t knowing the truth the quickest path to recovery from losing a loved one? I think it is, so I did my best to tell her everything.

  “I just don’t understand,” Gladys sniffed, dabbing her eyes. “Irene wouldn’t hurt a fly. Everyone loved her. She was a pillar of the church.”

  “What about her gentleman frien
d? You implied you don’t like him very much,” I said.

  “Oh, I only complained about him because I thought Irene was too old to marry again. But he’s a nice man, a good man. And I believe he loves Irene … or loved her.”

  “When was the last time you actually saw her?”

  “Right before I left for Sister’s. It was a Monday and she’d come over to my house to help me put up strawberry preserves. She and I went to the store. I needed some more lids.” Gladys got a faraway look in her eye. “Oh, I almost forgot, we dropped my car at Buster’s garage, up on the main road. You know, to check it out for my trip. While Buster worked on it, we went back to ladle and seal. Then she drove me back to Buster’s to pick up the car, and I said good-bye and reminded her to go back the next day while the kids were out to dinner to put the jars on my pantry shelf. She said she would.”

  “Why the next day and why when the kids were out?”

  “I can tell you don’t know anything about canning. I guess I’ll have to teach you.” She patted me on the hand. “Preserves can’t be moved for twenty-four hours after they go into the jars. Has to do with the seals. And why when the kids were out? Well, Irene liked to avoid them because they always ask her to do extra stuff for them.”

  “So how long were you at home before you left?”

  “All morning. We dropped the car off early and worked through lunch. Then, after she left me at Buster’s, I got on the road. When I go to Sister’s, I always stop just over the Georgia line in Brunswick, which is about a six-hour drive. The next day, I do the last six. I’m too old to make all twelve hours in one day anymore.”

  I thought about what Sheriff Evans had said—that according to the medical examiner, Irene had been dead about two weeks before I found her. Gladys must have been one of the last people to have seen her alive.

  “Well, let me give you some good news, Gladys. You need it.” I told her about the testing and how the results seemed to be on target with what I’d predicted.