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.
– 39 –
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 kissed 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.
– 40 –
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 remembere
d 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.
– 41 –
“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.”
“What the hell, man! You got Ronan Trent’s DNA!”
“Let’s pretend the case isn’t closed,” Aaron said. “You were a suspect back then. You never told us where you were when Alice was killed. So I’m asking you now.”
“But the DNA—”
“I’m asking you now, Coby. You aren’t going anywhere until you tell me. Start off with whether or not you saw Jim Tuttle at Luton’s Landing that day.”
After a moment Coby said, “Jim always hated me.”
Aaron didn’t answer.
“You’re trying to blame me for killing Alice, and I never did.”
Silence.
“Let me out of here. I got somewhere to go.”
Aaron stifled a yawn and shuffled through some papers on the table in front of him.
At last Coby said, “God dang it.”
Aaron looked up. “Go ahead.”
Coby grimaced. “I did not kill Alice, all right? Are you hearing me?”
“I hear what you say.”
Coby sighed and began, “Like a lot of people around here, I was in the marijuana trade back in nineteen seventy-five. Alice and I had split up by that time, and I knew old Jim hated me, and he wanted me to stay away from Alice and the kids. But then I got in trouble with some of my partners, and I needed some money quick and I needed it bad.”
“I see,” Aaron said. “In trouble.”
“It wasn’t no fault of mine!” Coby said. He went on, “I was aware Jim had some money, and I came down here looking for him. I thought I could offer to go away again if he’d loan me what I needed. It was a Saturday, and Jim always went fishing on Saturday. He kept his boat at Luton’s Landing, so I went out there and waited until he showed up.”
He stopped for a moment, gazing into space. “He was not happy to see me,” he went on. “He acted mean right from the start, saying what the hell was I doing here and all. So I asked him right out could I borrow the money, and if I could I’d get right out of town. And he didn’t even think about it for a split second. He said hell, no, he wasn’t loaning me a dime and he wanted me out of his sight in two minutes. I mean, he didn’t even stop to consider! And I had been his son-in-law, the father of his grandbabies! It hurt, you know?”
Aaron nodded. “What then?”
Coby’s face took on a mournful look. “I got mad,” he said. “I admit it right here and now. I shouldn’t have said what I said, but he had hurt me bad, acting like he did. So I said that maybe Alice better look out, and those children too, if that was the way I was going to be treated.”
Aaron said, “You threatened to hurt Alice? And the children?”
“I didn’t mean nothing! I would never hurt a hair on any of them. If Jim had been a little bit nicer to me I wouldn’t have said something like that!” Coby leaned forward. “You can’t use something like that against me! I didn’t mean a thing by it!”
“What did Jim do?”
“Oh, he got real mad then. He told me to get out of his sight, and out of town, and don’t come back. He said if anything ever happened to Alice or Vickie Ann or Donnie he would know who was to blame. And he said he was getting himself a gun that very day, and he would shoot me himself if I ever showed my face around here.”
“So what did you do?”
“What the hell could I do? I took off!”
>
“You weren’t mad enough to stay around and murder Alice that evening?”
“No! I told you no! I took off, and I got right away! I had my partners after me, and if I didn’t get money from Jim I had to disappear.”
“Where did you disappear to?”
“Up the river and into the swamp. I went way up yonder, and I lay low. They were looking for me, I told you!”
Coby sat back. That seemed to be all he had to offer. “I’m going to need some corroboration,” Aaron said.
“What? It was years ago. Half the people I met were on the run, just like me. We used nicknames, not our real names. I can’t even remember the faces.”
“Well, you’re going to have to try,” Aaron said. “I guess I can see why Jim never gave up the idea that you killed Alice.”
“It was just words! That’s all! I didn’t do it. You found the other guy’s DNA, not mine.”
“You let me worry about that end of things,” Aaron said. “You’re going to have some time to cast your mind back forty years and see if you can come up with an alibi.”
He neatened his papers, stood up, and told the guard to take Coby away.
– 42 –
Clara spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what, if anything, she had learned from her stay in St. Elmo. Had she found proof that Ronan had not murdered Alice Rhodes? No, she hadn’t. She thought there was room for considerable doubt, but nothing definitive. The Book of Alice and the Warning from a Friend were the most compelling discoveries she’d made, but the fact was that they could point to Ronan’s guilt rather than his innocence.
Looking at The Book of Alice, at the images of a closeness and affection Clara herself had never experienced with Ronan, had led Clara to one conclusion. She now believed that whatever had happened the night Alice Rhodes was killed had changed Ronan irrevocably. Ronan had been a young airman who played poker, drank beer, and had a talent for drawing. He fell in love with a sexy older woman and had a consuming affair with her. Her murder— whether he himself committed it or not— forged him into the withdrawn, mercurial artist Clara met several years later. He had changed, and his art had changed too. The drawings of Alice that spoke of passionate love became abstracts that, it now seemed to Clara, were filled with the passion of anger and loss.
Heat Lightning Page 14