Lavender Lies

by Susan Wittig Albert

  “Sorry, Miz Bayles. The chief i’n’t here. Him and the Ranger are in the jail questionin’ somebody they just hauled in.”

  “Jorge Garza?” I asked uneasily.

  “Yeah. That‘ud be him,” Viney said. She made little clucks with her tongue against her teeth, and I could picture her shaking her braids. “Bad customer, ya ast me. Dang’-rous. They had theyselves quite a time wit ‘im. Kickin’ an’ bitin’ an’ stuff.”

  I could imagine. Jorge saw himself in a tight spot, and he probably had no idea how to get out of it. I’d better get in touch with Phyllis and see if she needed any help locating a lawyer.

  “I’d appreciate it if you could get a message to the chief,” I said. “Tell him I need to know the name of the person who purchased the Coleman murder weapon. Tell him I suspect that the purchaser is living here in Pecan Springs, under a different name. Ask him to call my cell phone number when he’s got the information.”

  “Where you gonna be, case he wants t’ talk t’ya in the flesh, so to speak?”

  “Iris Powell gave me a key to Edgar Coleman’s office and the combination to Coleman’s safe. Tell the chief I’m about to dig up a little dirt.”

  “Hunh,” Viney grunted. “Thought you got enough down and dirty durin’ daylight hours, ’thout diggin’ in the dark too.” She paused. “Say, you bin keepin’ a eye on that ol’ hurricane out there? Hope it don’t interfere none with your weddin’ plans, you gettin’ married outdoors an’ all.”

  “So do I,” I said fervently.

  “Well, if ya’ll need to get dry, my cousin runs PeeJay’s Dance Hall out on the old Austin highway. People get married out there a lot, so’s they kin dance after. Tell PeeJay I sent you an’ he’ll give you a break.”

  “Thanks, Viney,” I said. “We might have to take you up on it. Don’t forget about that message. Okay?”

  “On my way,” Viney said cheerfully, and hung up.

  The last of the twilight was fading when I got to Sheila‘s, just in time to catch her locking her bicycle in the private courtyard outside her apartment. Biking is Smart Cookie’s way of keeping in shape, although her shape is already so shapely that she could skip a couple of weeks in the saddle and it wouldn’t matter more than a quarter-inch or so. She was wearing black spandex shorts, a sweaty orange Hook ’Em Horns T-shirt, and orange knee socks. Her usually sleek blond hair was damp and stringy. It was the first time I had ever seen her looking less than absolutely perfect.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, wiping her face with the towel she had slung around her neck. “I thought you and Ruby would be working on wedding stuff. Although—” She paused, frowning. “I think we need to have a game plan in case we get rained out. I saw a radar picture of Josephine, and she’s looking pretty mean. The winds are up to fifty-five already, although she doesn’t seem to have much of a sense of direction. Nobody knows whether she’ll make landfall in Louisiana or Texas.”

  “I need to put the wedding stuff on hold for tonight,” I said. “There’s a different game to plan for. I think maybe you and I ought to go to Coleman’s office and have a look at the stuff in that safe.”

  “Tonight?” Sheila looked at her watch, one of those fancy sport models about the size of a hub cap. “I’ve got a couple of loads of laundry to do. Can it wait?”

  “See what you think,” I said. Rachel’s story was complicated and it took three or four minutes to sketch it out. When I got to the part about Miami and the gun that Jack Carlson—Dr. Carl Jackson—might or might not have purchased, Sheila’s jaw dropped.

  “Dr. Jackson? My dentist?”

  “The very one,” I said. “My dentist too.”

  She shot me an incredulous look. “You’re saying that he’s a child abductor and possible killer? Unbelievable!”

  “Who is a child abductor and possible killer?” Ruby asked. Sheila and I had been so intent on our conversation that neither of us had heard her come into the courtyard.

  “You’re not going to believe me either,” I said with a sigh, and launched into the story for the second time.

  “Jack Carlson. Carl Jackson?” Ruby gulped, her eyes big.

  “Everybody’s favorite dentist,” I said dryly. “Hard to believe, huh? But I have to tell you that Rachel Lang’s story checks out with the Center for Missing Children, and she’s shown me enough documentation to persuade me that she’s Melissa’s real mother.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” Ruby asked.

  “It depends,” I said, “on McQuaid’s information about the gun.”

  Ruby frowned. “The gun?”

  “McQuaid has the name of the gun’s original buyer. If it was purchased by Jack Carlson or his son, we have a strong supposition of guilt, and McQuaid will try for a print match.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Sheila flung the towel over the handlebars of her bike and began fishing her car keys out of her fanny pack. “Let’s take the Explorer.”

  “There’s time, if you want to dump your laundry in the machine or change your clothes,” I said. “I don’t suppose that stuff will walk off.”

  “Laundry, hell,” Sheila said. “I want to see what’s in that safe. Come on.” She opened the gate and headed toward the parking lot.

  “What safe?” Ruby asked. “What stuff?” Looking confused, she hiked her purse over her shoulder. She was wearing a garnet broomstick skirt and matching push-sleeved tunic, with a garnet crushed velvet hat pinned sideways on her head. “I’m supposed to have dinner with Hark,” she said indecisively. “Where are you two going?”

  I started after Sheila. “Coleman’s office,” I said over my shoulder. “Iris gave us the combination to his safe, where he kept his funny papers. If you want to come, come.”

  Ruby ran to catch up. “Funny papers?”

  “Blackmail backup,” I said.

  “Oh, wow,” Ruby said, holding on to her hat with one hand and her shoulder bag with the other. “Wait for me, China. I’m coming too.”

  In the parking lot, I stopped at my car and took out the flashlight I keep under the seat in case the Datsun decides to give up the ghost on a dark and stormy night. I also picked up my cell phone and checked to see if I had a call waiting. Nothing—which meant that McQuaid hadn’t yet tried to get back to me about the gun.

  “May I use the phone?” Ruby asked breathlessly. “I need to call Hark and tell him I can’t have dinner with him.”

  Sheila was already in the Explorer, revving the engine. Ruby climbed in the back and started to punch in Hank’s number. I got in front beside Sheila.

  “Git along, little dogies,” I said, and Sheila put the Explorer in gear.

  “Hark?” Ruby said, as we pulled out into the street. She raised her voice over the noise of the engine. “Listen, Hark, I’m afraid I can’t make it tonight, after all.” There was a silence. “Yes, I know you’re hungry, and I’m sorry. But I ran into China. She’s breaking into—”

  “Ruby!” Exasperated, I turned around in the seat.

  Ruby covered the mouthpiece. “But Hark and I made a promise never to lie to one another. Relationships are built on trust, and every lie destroys—”

  “There are lies,” I said fiercely, “and there are lies. Hark is a shark when he’s after a story. Do you want the Enterprise breathing down our necks while we dig through that safe? Do you want Melissa’s predicament plastered all over the paper?”

  Ruby frowned. “Sorry, Hark. Did I say breaking into? I meant breaking down. China is having some sort of emotional crisis. I need to stay with her. I think I can help.”

  “Ruby!” I cried, flinging my arms into the air. “Think what you’re saying!”

  “Did you hear that, Hark?” Ruby asked. She looked up at me, nodding, and mouthed He heard that. She spoke into the phone again. “I know,” she said sadly. “Right. Crazy, as in violent. A fit of madness. Her eyes are rolling back in her head and she’s throwing herself around.” She sighed. “And so close to the wedding, too
. Do you think it might be the weather? Josephine, I mean. Sometimes storms interfere with the electrical system in the brain.” There was a brief pause. “Yes, well, I’m sorry about standing you up, but China needs me.” Another pause. “I’ll tell her. Thanks.”

  She flicked the Off button and handed me the phone. “Hark says weddings affect him that way, too. But he’s ready for Hawaii anytime you are.” She frowned. “What’s with Hawaii?”

  “Hula hula,” I growled. The phone rang in my hand. “Yeah?” I snapped into it. “What do you want?”

  “You okay, hon?” McQuaid asked, surprised.

  Hon. Ever since I was a child and heard Ozzie call Harriet “Hon,” I have vowed that I would never be one. I gritted my teeth. “I’m having a breakdown,” I said, “and Ruby is telling the newspaper about it. Don’t be surprised to read that I’ve been hospitalized for emotional instability.”

  “Lavender,” Ruby said. “Lavender’s supposed to be good if your mind’s going.”

  Sheila turned a comer fast, and a woman jogger wearing a pastel blue running suit hopped back up on the curb. “Are you talking to McQuaid?” she asked. “Did he get the name of that guy?”

  “Hark would never print that,” McQuaid said reassuringly. “He’s a friend.”

  “You wait. Did you get the name of the guy who bought the gun?”

  “Carlson,” McQuaid said. “Does that ring a bell?”

  I looked from Sheila to Ruby. “He wants to know if the name Carlson rings a bell.”

  “Ding dong!” Ruby cried.

  “Excuse me?” McQuaid said. “Is that Ruby making that noise?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said. “The bottom line is that Jack Carlson is the real name of our dentist, Carl Jackson.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence. “Melissa’s father?”

  “Melissa’s grandfather.” I sighed. “It’s a very long story.”

  “Good Lord,” McQuaid said. “You’re saying that Dr. Jackson owns the gun that shot Coleman? But if he did it, why?”

  “Because Coleman found out that Jack had abducted Melissa and threatened to let her biological mother know their whereabouts. Something like that. Or maybe nothing like that. While you’re printing Jackson, maybe you can get him to tell about it.” I snapped my fingers. “Wait. Remember what Lila said at lunch today about Dr. Jackson having breakfast with Letty at seven this morning? What if he followed her home? What if he—”

  “I’ll get right on it,” McQuaid said crisply. “Thanks for the tip, China. Thanks a lot.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You’re welcome.” The words tasted bitter.

  The parking lot in front of Coleman’s office building was empty. Sheila parked in the farthest, darkest corner. A mercury vapor light high on a pole cast a watery blue glow over the asphalt. We all got out and stood beside the vehicle.

  The insurance office that occupied the right half of the building sported an orange neon sign that spelled out the words WE TAKE ALL THE RISK. It flickered erratically, as if it had a bad case of the hiccups. The live oak at Coleman’s end of the building was a brooding black shadow against the early night sky, and the porch light beside the entrance door didn’t do much to dispel its darkness. There was no sign of a rent-a-cop hanging around. A drive-by security guard might show up, however, in which case I would be glad to have Sheila along. As CTSU’s chief of security, she lent a certain legitimacy to our clandestine visit. And of course, we weren’t breaking and entering. Having a key in your hand makes a big difference when you’re faced by a security guard with a gun on his hip and a chip on his shoulder.

  “So,” Sheila said, “what’s the plan, Sherlock?”

  I held up the key. “Very simple,” I said. “We walk across the lot and go up to the front door. We put the key in the lock, and turn it. Once inside, we go into Coleman’s office, open the safe, and see what’s in it. This is a piece of cake.”

  “Right,” Sheila said. “Piece of cake.”

  “Yeah,” Ruby said. “Who’d suspect three women of being burglars?”

  I grinned at Ruby. “Especially not us.” I was dressed in a bright white shirt, Sheila a flamboyant orange T-shirt, and Ruby in eye-catching dinner-date finery. “We’re not dressed for burgling somebody’s building. We don’t exactly blend into the background.”

  A large truck rumbled past. Sheila jerked her head. “Come on, gang, let’s go. I can hear my laundry calling.” She started toward the building.

  “Wait,” Ruby cried softly, putting out a hand. “Somebody’s pulling in!”

  We had just moved out of the shadow of the tree. We danced back behind Sheila’s Explorer and watched as the lights of a car swung in a wide arc across the lot and out of sight around Coleman’s half of the building. In the quiet dark, we heard the engine stop. A car door slammed softly.

  “Damn,” Sheila muttered.

  “Probably Security,” I said. “He’ll check the door and be on his way.”

  “Yeah, Security,” Ruby said. “We’ll just wait. No sweat.” She began to hum under her breath.

  A flashlight made intermittent stabs into the dark as the security man—a slender, silhouetted figure—walked around the left end of the building, up the steps, and onto the porch. He paused in the weak spill of porch light and put his hand to the door. But instead of trying the lock, it looked as if he was inserting a key. He paused and looked over his shoulder, making sure that nobody was watching. Then he pushed the door open and went in.

  “Hell,” I said disgustedly.

  “Why?” Ruby asked, puzzled. “I mean, why should a security guy go inside an office?”

  “How should I know?” I said. “Maybe he wants to pick up a Blessing Ranch brochure.” I stepped forward. “You guys wait here. I’ll go see who it is.”

  “Stop,” Sheila hissed. “You can’t go up there alone.”

  “Why not? I have a key, don’t I? Anyway, maybe this isn’t a security guy after all. Maybe it’s Iris.” As I spoke, I realized that this made good sense. The figure was slender, and moved more like a woman than a man. Maybe Iris had decided that there was something in that safe she really wanted to have a look at, or have for her very own, before we had a chance to inventory and evaluate the lot. If so, it would be smart to let her know that this wasn’t an option.

  “I don’t like this,” Sheila said, shaking her head. “You don’t know it’s Iris. Hell, it might even be Jackson—and he could be armed. Stay where you are.” She dove back into the Explorer and came up with a holster. She began to strap it on her hip.

  “What are you doing?” Ruby asked nervously.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” Sheila reached under the seat and took out a .357 Magnum, checked the cylinder, and bolstered it. “I’m putting on my gun.”

  Ruby tilted her head critically. “It looks a little ... well, weird,” she said. “With your biker shorts, I mean.”

  “Who cares how it looks,” Sheila said adjusting the holster so that it rode low across her hips. “It’s how it shoots that counts.”

  I cleared my throat. “I really don’t think a gun is necessary, Smart Cookie. It’s probably just Iris. If we go in with a gun, she’ll have a heart attack.”

  “Don’t tell me when to wear my gun,” Sheila snapped. “Who’s the cop here, anyway?”

  I blew out a breath. “All right, all right. Ruby, Sheila and her gun are going with me. You stay and guard the car.”

  “I’m not standing here in the dark by myself,” Ruby declared flatly. “I’m coming with you guys.”

  When Ruby makes up her mind, there’s no reasoning with her. So the three of us made our way across the dark parking lot to the porch, tiptoed up the steps, and stopped at the door. I pushed gently but it didn’t open. I took the key out of my pocket, put it into the lock, and turned. It stuck. I gave it a little jiggle and turned again. This time, the lock clicked. I pocketed the key and pushed the door open. With Sheila just behind me, right hand on her gun,
and Ruby bringing up the rear, I crossed the threshold into the reception area.

  The room was dark, but there was enough light coming through the window onto the porch to see that it was empty. I turned to my left. A splinter of light was showing under the door—the only door to Coleman’s windowless office. The intruder was trapped.

  “Stay back.” Sheila stepped around me, pulling her gun, and went to stand beside the closed door, back against the wall. “I’ll kick the door open,” she whispered. “If this is a thief, he’s probably armed. The opening door will startle him, and he’ll fire. Then I’ll step through and get the drop on him.”

  Ruby opened her purse. “I’ve got some handcuffs in here somewhere,” she said, rummaging around.

  “Handcuffs?” Sheila asked, startled.

  “I found them when I was cleaning out some Halloween stuff at the store,” Ruby said. “They’re just toys, but they’d probably work. I was taking them home, so I’d have them in case somebody tried to burgle me.” Triumphantly, she pulled them out and dangled them in front of us. “Here they are!”

  Sheila rolled her eyes. “Here we go with the door. Stand back. One, two—”

  “Wait,” I said. “Let’s do it my way first, huh? I’ll open the door a crack and try to get a peek at who’s in there—without getting shot at.”

  Sheila hesitated. “Okay,” she said finally. “Be careful, though. I don’t want to see you get shot just before your wedding.”

  “I don’t want me to get shot period,” I said. “It is not part of my life plan.”

  I went to the door, put my hand on the knob, and turned it, trying not to make any noise. The door opened a fraction of an inch, but all I could see was one end of the sofa that stood against the opposite wall, and the back of the chair facing it. The room was lit only by the light in the burbling aquarium and a light at the far end, probably Coleman’s desk lamp. I opened the door another fraction, then another, hoping that the intruder was too engrossed to notice. So far, not a sign of anybody. Then, suddenly, I realized where the intruder was: crouched on the floor behind Coleman’s massive desk, at the far end of the room. I pulled the door shut and stepped back.