“No, ’cause I had Bernard living with me. They wouldn’t give us any money or food stamps. I usually get child support, but my ex-husband’s in jail and can’t pay none this month. My mother’s supposed to be sending me a check, but it hasn’t come yet.” She wiped a loose strand of hair away from her eyes and I could see the resignation and weariness eating away at her.
Murray nodded. “I suggest you kick Bernard out so you can apply for food stamps and AFDC. If you go to the Bread and Butter House tonight before eight-thirty, you’ll be able to get a good meal for you and the children. If you don’t have a car, I can call them and they’ll bring food and a voucher to your house. Now, when was the last time you saw Rusty?”
Tears in her eyes—looking grateful and relieved, Jolene bit her lip. She squinted. “I’d say end of March. That’s the last time Bernard took me over to where he was staying.”
“And do you remember where that was?” Murray asked.
“Oh, that one’s easy,” Jolene said. “He was staying in a van out at Cadillac Bob’s.”
BEFORE WE LEFT, I asked if I could get a drink of water. While I was in the kitchen, I slipped a twenty out of my purse and folded it, sliding it into a clean mug that was sitting on the counter.
Back in the car, Murray let out a huge sigh. “God, sometimes I hate my job. I see this time and again. It’s no different in Chiqetaw than in any other city or town. People too poor to eat, women with a handful of children who never managed to get their high school diploma, let alone a college education. Guys skipping out when they don’t want to deal with the children they fathered. It’s enough to make me cry.”
I nodded, adjusting my mirrors and fastening my seat-belt. “Yeah. To be honest, I left a twenty in her kitchen. I can’t stand to see kids go hungry.”
Mur gave me a wide grin. “I left one on the coffee table when you were in the kitchen. Well, at least they’ll eat for a few days. I didn’t see any sign of booze or neglect—the Johnsons are just a poor family struggling to make ends meet. I’ll call the Bread and Butter House when we’re through and make certain Jolene got in touch with them. If not, I’ll ask them to go out and check on her and the kids. They’ve got counselors there who can help her apply for the assistance she needs.”
“Where to next? Cadillac Bob’s?” I asked, starting the ignition.
“Ugh . . . yeah, that’s the next logical stop. Let’s go.”
I eased the Mountaineer away from the curb. Cadillac Bob’s had to be the eighth wonder of the world, though definitely a man-made wonder. Bob Cappinalo was a fixture in Chiqetaw. He’d purchased a ten-acre plot just outside the town limits so the town didn’t have jurisdiction over him. He rented out space on the land to bus people, trailers, anybody with a tent who wanted to camp out for a bit. The county had slapped him with violation after violation, mostly health concerns. Each time, he cleaned up the mess just enough to squeak by a follow-up investigation. Until the next time.
Cadillac Bob’s was on Ridge Rock Drive, a winding road that led out into the country past several old farms. Developers hadn’t discovered the Ridge Rock area yet, so the houses still retained an individual flavor, with wide old oaks towering in the front yards and natural ponds that still provided a haven for the geese who flew in every spring.
Five miles down the road, a few yards past the borders of Chiqetaw, a driveway to the left led into Cadillac Bob’s. I turned onto the dirt drive, skirting the numerous potholes that dented the path leading up to the main house—a sprawling jungle of add-ons. Jimbo’s house had been a mansion compared to this place. The surrounding acreage was devoid of grass, probably from oil spills and the numerous vehicles passing through. Buses of every size and shape were scattered around the land, along with campers, a couple VW vans that looked directly out of some ’70s movie, and one RV that had seen better days. A dozen Cadillacs in varying stages of disrepair filled in the empty spots.
“Jeez, this reminds me of some hippie compound,” I said, pulling into a spot near the house.
Murray laughed. “Well, it’s certainly more ragged than the biker’s enclave, but somehow I doubt if any old hippies would hang out with Cadillac Bob, the way he pollutes the land. Last time they got him, he’d dumped hazardous chemicals on the property. He paid the fine and that was that.”
We slipped out of the SUV and headed up the stairs, taking care to skirt the broken boards that looked like they might splinter beneath our feet. Murray knocked on the door and after a few minutes a man yanked it open. Somewhere in his fifties, he was sporting a muscle shirt that barely covered his beer belly and pair of low-riding jeans filled with holes and splattered with old paint. He squinted behind his pair of pink wraparound sunglasses.
“Yeah?”
He was succinct, that I’d give him.
Murray held up her badge. “Are you Bob Cappinalo?”
“What’s it to you?” he asked.
“I’m Detective Murray,” she said. “Are you familiar with a man named Rusty Jones?”
Good ol’ Bob shrugged. “Maybe. What’s he look like?”
Murray held up a picture of Rusty. She must have had it in her car, which told me she’d suspected the little perv for longer than she wanted to admit.
Cadillac Bob leaned in closer and peered at the picture, then straightened up and nodded. “Yeah, he was here earlier this year. I kicked him out around the beginning of April.”
“Can you tell me what kind of vehicle he was driving? And did he live in it?” Murray pulled out her notebook.
Bob leaned against the door arch. The sounds of a ball game in the background told me that he was probably anxious to get back to his beer and chips. “He had a green van—wasn’t a Volkswagen. Think it was an old Ford or something like that. I don’t pay much attention. All I care about is getting my rent money.”
“Is that why you evicted him?” Mur asked.
“Yeah. The S.O.B. stiffed me for a month’s rent. Two hundred bucks. Told him to clear out or I’d take a baseball bat to his van.”
I glanced at Murray. Two hundred dollars for parking a van on somebody’s property for a month? No wonder Bob could afford to pay all of those fines.
Murray kept her eyes on him. “Have you seen Rusty since that time?”
He shook his head. “Nah, or he’d be in the hospital . . . unless he coughed up the money plus interest. Now, you got any more questions? My game’s on and, frankly, you’re a good looking woman, Detective, but I’d rather be watching b-ball.”
Murray cleared her throat. “One more question. Do you keep records of the license plate numbers of people who stay here? I can’t believe you don’t take out some form of insurance on somebody who might pull out in the middle of the night. You have their license number, you can trace them.”
Bob winked at her. “Sure, have to have some guarantee. But I cut a deal with folks who ask. Up-front fee to remain nameless, no questions asked.”
“And I suppose that Rusty wanted to cut a deal?” Murray sighed, flipping her notebook shut and sliding it back into her pocket.
“You got it, sister.” The door slammed shut in our faces.
“Well,” I said, “that was abrupt.” We turned and eased our way down the stairs. As we headed back to the SUV, I glanced around the area. The energy here was muddled, confused. Shivering, suddenly wanting to get the hell out of here, I crawled into the driver’s seat and fastened my seat belt. Murray followed suit and neither of us spoke until we were back on Ridge Rock Drive.
“Well, you have a vehicle description. Can’t you run his name through the DMV’s records and find out exactly what he’s driving?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do that after you drop me off. Well, at least we know he’s been in the area within the past few months. Tad will want to hear this. Can you let me out at the station? I’ll have one of the guys drive me home.”
“Do you really feel up to Harlow’s dinner party tomorrow night?” I asked. “If not, you don’t have to come
.”
“Are you kidding? Em, you’re getting married. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She paused. “I know this whole mess has interfered with your focus on your wedding, and I’m sorry. I can tell you’re stressed.”
“Yeah, well, Grandma M. didn’t have a heart attack because of you, and Roy didn’t show up because of you, and it wasn’t your fault that Janette ruined Nanna’s dress. Apparently I have Rose’s crystal necklace to thank for that. Or maybe just the wedding disaster faerie. How come this always happens, Mur? Am I just a magnet for trouble?”
A long future suddenly unfolded before me, one filled with chaos and trouble and broken limbs and tripping over dead bodies. “I try not to whine or complain, but once in a while I’d like to take a break from all this crap. I hoped my wedding would be that break, but apparently life has other ideas.”
“I know Harlow’s already said this, but, Em, you’re getting married to a wonderful man who adores you and the children. I know all of that other stuff would be nice, but doesn’t having Joe make up for not having your grandmother’s dress or the Barry Boys playing at the reception?”
I pulled up in front of the station and she jumped out. Before she shut the door, I said, “Yeah, I know you’re right. But sometimes the props matter, you know? It’s okay. I’ll find a dress, and we can use canned music . . . but . . . you know.”
“I know, Em. I know.” She slammed the door and waved.
As I pulled into traffic, I wished I could be more nonchalant. Murray had her priorities, but ceremony and pomp weren’t among them. Harlow, however, would understand. Maybe I’d give her a call and cry on her shoulder again.
WHEN I WALKED through the door, I could smell the aroma of KFC floating out from the kitchen. I grinned. Apparently Joe hadn’t been up to making dinner.
“I’m home!” I headed into the kitchen, ready to tear into a drumstick. Instead, I found Kip with his mouth full, and Randa weeping hysterically as Joe tried to calm her down. He looked up at me, helplessly.
“What on earth happened? What’s wrong?” I rushed to the table. Joe stepped into the pantry, motioning to me to follow him. Nothing appeared to be wrong with Randa, so I followed him. We sidestepped Samantha and her brood, who were happily stuffing their faces. I frowned as I watched the four swelling bellies. They’d grown a little plump on their indoor-only lifestyle. It was about time we found a way to give them more exercise.
“What’s going on? Why is she crying?”
He lowered his voice. “Apparently, Randa got into a fight today.”
“Randa? A fight?” Incredulous, I peeked around the corner. She did look a little rough for the wear, now that I thought about it. “With who?”
Joe rolled his eyes. “Lori. I don’t have the whole story but I got a call ten minutes ago. Lori’s parents are on their way over. They don’t sound happy.”
Oh God. The Thomases were a rich-bitch couple displaced from Bellevue, the richest city in Washington State. Both lawyers. Natalie—Lori’s mother—had succumbed to a nervous breakdown and not even the promise of a new fur coat could bring her out of it. When an old friend of the family offered Luke a job at his firm in Chiqetaw, the Thomases made the move, with Natalie kicking and screaming.
“Wonderful, Natalie already considers our family hoi polloi, and she torments that poor girl of hers all over a few extra pounds.” My dislike of the woman was hard to hide.
Joe pulled me into his arms. “Before we go any further, give me a kiss.” He placed warm lips against mine and I melted into the embrace, realizing that I wanted nothing more than to forget all our worries and lose myself in a hot frenzied sexcapade. I moaned gently, pushing my breasts against his chest, sensing his arousal as my own flared.
“Shit,” he whispered. “I want you. Now.”
“That’s what it’s like, having kids. Their schedule, not ours.” I pulled away, but pressed one finger to his lips. “Later, tonight. When the world is quiet and we have only ourselves to think about.”
He nodded. “Our time. It’s a promise.”
“Now, let me go talk to Randa before Natalie and Luke get here.” We rejoined the kids and I sat down next to my daughter, who was still sniffling. She’d rarely ever cried before hitting her teens, but puberty had struck hard on the hormones.
“What happened, honey?”
She wiped her eyes and sullenly stared at the table. “I got in a fight with Lori.”
I tipped her head back, checking her for bruises. She looked relatively unscathed. “Tell me what happened—and remember, I know when you’re lying.” It was an ability I’d had since they were small and they knew it wasn’t a bluff.
With a swallow, she rubbed her nose and said, “I was in the park across from the library when I saw Lori. She came over to talk to me and I told her to leave me alone. She kept saying that she and Gunner weren’t dating, but I know they are—I saw them together! Lori wouldn’t shut up and I got mad. I told her again to go away and when she wouldn’t, I pushed her. She started to cry and . . . and . . .”
She was blushing. Whatever she’d done next was bad. I could see it in her eyes. “And what?”
Randa gulped. “I called her a fat hippo and told her that everybody laughed at her. I told her that—that—”
Speechless, I stared at my daughter. “You told her what?”
In a very small voice, she said, “I told her that everybody at school laughed at her and called her names behind her back, and that Gunner thought she was a pig. And then she hit me and I hit her back and the next thing I knew, Officer Wilson was holding us apart.”
Joe spoke up. “Deacon brought her home. He took Lori home, too.”
Unable to comprehend how nasty my daughter had been, I leaned back in my chair, my gaze fastened on her. She blinked, trying to look away but couldn’t. I knew she was upset about Gunner and Lori, but the fact was she had no proof that the two were actually dating, and even if she did, her behavior had gone so far beyond acceptable that it took all my control not to slap her face.
“Kip, you listen to this, too. I want you to both remember what I’m about to tell you, because I’m going to say it once—and that’s all it better take. Understand?”
Kip’s eyes were wide. Randa seldom ever got into trouble like this, and I couldn’t decide whether he was more impressed by her level of infraction or by my tone of voice. He nodded, his mouth full of jojos and chicken.
Randa’s eyes fluttered and she bobbed her head. Barely.
“Randa? I said, do you understand me? I want an answer.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said quietly.
“Okay, here it is. This sort of behavior, whether it be toward a friend, a fellow student, or an adult—especially Joe, your father, or myself—is off limits. If it happens again, I won’t hesitate to drag you to the bathroom and wash your mouth out with soap. And you’d better believe that I can—and will—do it. I didn’t raise you to be trash-talking, snot-nose delinquents. I don’t care how upset you are, there’s no excuse for you to attack somebody else. Especially when you don’t even know the truth of a situation.”
Randa blew her bangs away from her face, rolling her eyes, and I lost it. I grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet. “You have everything—a good home, pretty clothes, a mother who lets you follow your passion. You know what you want to do, and your teachers back you one-hundred percent. Have I ever once complained about outfitting you with six-hundred-dollar telescopes and that trip to space camp? Have I?” I leaned into her face, forcing her to look at me.
She swallowed hard and shook her head. “No, ma’am.”
“Then why the hell have you turned into such a little drama queen? Lori’s parents make her life hell. The poor kid has to work twice as hard for her grades as you do. She’s not popular, she doesn’t fit in at school, and you go and call her a hippo and make fun of her? I’m ashamed to be your mother right now.”
“Em! Em—” Joe’s voice was neutral, but I glanced in his
eyes and realized that I’d broken my own boundaries. I meant everything I’d said, but I could have found a better way to approach the situation.
Randa sank into her chair. She began to shake and threw herself on the table, her head in her arms. Kip slowly put down his chicken and wiped his hands. He nervously glanced up at me, then patted her shoulder.
I slumped in the chair next to her. Why did I have to apologize when she’d been in the wrong? “Randa, listen to me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. But you have to acknowledge your behavior and take responsibility for it.”
She grunted something I couldn’t catch. I reached out, probing her energy. Yes, she was upset at me, but I had the feeling that she more upset at herself. That cheered me a little. Maybe it wasn’t too late to bring her to her senses.
“Randa, Lori’s been your best friend for quite a while. You’ll have a lot of boyfriends through the years, but a best buddy . . . you just can’t replace them that easily. You haven’t even listened to her side of the story, have you?” I gently but firmly rubbed her back. She stiffened at first, but then I felt her take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
I frowned. What was it going to take to bring her around? “Randa, you know what you did was wrong. The Thomases are coming over and they want to talk about the fight. I think they’re bringing Lori.”
Slowly, Randa raised her head. “They’re coming here?”
“You’d better believe it. Can you imagine what happened when Deacon took Lori home? You know the way Mrs. Thomas acts toward her.” Guilt. I didn’t like using it, but if it jogged her conscience, I’d willingly play that game.
Her mouth twisted in a little o and she reached for a paper towel, blowing her nose. “I guess it was pretty bad.”
I took the opportunity to put my arm around her shoulders. “Randa, listen to me. Lori and you have your differences, but do you really, truly believe that she’d do something like date Gunner when she knows how much it would hurt you?”
Randa contemplated her nails. After a few minutes, she shook her head. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she was telling the truth.”
One Hex of a Wedding Page 21