“Thanks for your concern and for coming by,” Ben said flatly. “I have to go sit down now. I’m not feeling too well.”
“That’s why you shouldn’t be alone.” Irma, all five foot eight, 190 pounds of her, pushed past Ben and planted herself in the middle of the living room. He couldn’t have gotten rid of her without dragging her to the door, shoving her onto the porch and down the stairs. “You need someone to talk to about poor Deirdre,” she pronounced.
“I do not need someone to talk to about poor Deirdre,” Ben said with an edge to his voice. “I’ve been talking to people about poor Deirdre since midnight. I searched for her everywhere I could think of for sixteen hours and I finally had to come home and rest.”
“Of course you did!” Irma cried. “You’re worn-out and you needed to get in from the cold. I mean, it’s not too cold right now, but it was cold during the night when you were out searching for her, going around town and tramping through fields where you thought you might come across her body, all lifeless and staring up at the sky, maybe raped, naked, and mutilated, even decapitated—”
“Irma!” Ben shouted. “For God’s sake! I don’t want to think about Deirdre maybe being dead and mutilated and all that other stuff. That’s part of why I had to get away to myself. People like you keep harping on the horrors that might have happened to my daughter. Can’t you understand that I needed a little peace right now?”
“And apparently more than a little gin!” Irma returned, insulted and hurt that he didn’t appreciate her concern.
“Yes, I had a couple of gin and tonics. I might have another one.”
“You don’t need alcohol; you need hot food and coffee.” Irma was already shedding her bulky pink, down-filled jacket. “I’ll fix you a nice meal—”
“I don’t want anything to eat!”
Irma recoiled, looking as if she were going to cry, and some of the tautness left Ben’s wide face, puffy from exhaustion and what were obviously tears of fear and frustration and, no doubt, self-flagellation for letting Deirdre go to the party.
“I’m sorry,” Ben said weakly. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. But I’m tired, I’m worried sick, and I can’t even
think rationally right now. Besides, you look a little tired yourself. Or… not well. Your cheeks are almost glowing.”
“I’m fine,” Irma protested quickly, feeling her cheeks growing even pinker as she remembered the fracas at the Greer house, picking up the rock and slamming it through the window, the things she’d screamed to Chyna. Irma’s cheeks were hot pink because of the excitement of the near riot, but she wasn’t ashamed of herself. Still, she didn’t want Ben to know what had happened earlier. He might not understand what she’d done, and he definitely didn’t like scenes. “I’m just worried about Deirdre,” she sniffled.
“Yeah, well, me, too.” Ben took a deep breath. “I need to lie down for a while, Irma. Maybe have a nap….”
“Yes, yes, that’s what you need,” Irma announced promptly. “A nap. Put down that glass of gin; get in bed. I’ll tuck you in and stay right by your side—”
“Right by my side?” Ben sounded horrified.
“I meant in a chair.” Irma was insulted again, but she recovered quickly. “I’ll be in a chair beside your bed watching over you, getting you anything you need, answering the phone and the door. You can just close your eyes and dream of Deirdre safe and sound back here with you in your little apartment, not lying out somewhere—”
“Irma, stop. I’ll take a nap; I promise. But I don’t need someone to watch over me.”
“I insist!” Irma began nudging him toward his bedroom like a sturdy little tugboat guiding an ocean liner into port. “Get right in bed. Get under the comforter. Put your aching head on a soft pillow. I’ll pull the curtains against the sun, not that we’ve had much today, and what we did have is failing, which will make looking for Deirdre even harder….”
Ben groaned in misery and allowed the implacable Irma to jostle him into his bedroom, nearly push him onto the bed, and pull a comforter all the way up to his unshaven chin.
Twenty minutes later, Ben Mayhew lay in a muttering, restless half sleep. Irma, who had lugged a heavy armchair from
a corner to the side of the bed, leaned over Ben and looked at him fondly. She hated to see him suffering so much, but she couldn’t help her pleasure at being near him under such intimate circumstances.
This would never have been possible if Deirdre were around, Irma thought. Deirdre would have taken care of her father, just as she did when Ben’s wife finally died after a two-year bout with cancer that kept her an invalid. Ben had gotten sick then, too. Irma remembered Deirdre saying he’d lain feverish yet racked by chills for nearly a week after the funeral. She’d been so frightened of losing her father, too, that she’d barely left his side and refused to let anyone come in to “help out,” as Irma had tried to do. “I can take care of Dad,” Deirdre had firmly told Irma. “I’ll make him drink some broth to keep him hydrated. Thank you, but I don’t need your help,” Deirdre had insisted when Irma continually offered her services. ”I can change Daddy’s sheets. I can take his temperature. I’ll get him to the hospital if he seems to be getting worse.” Refusal after refusal after refusal. That’s all Irma had gotten from Deirdre when she’d offered, nearly pleaded, to be near Ben in his time of need.
Irma looked at Ben’s pale, perspiring face. She bent over him, gently touching his forehead with a cool, wet washcloth, wiping it down his cheeks, and finally reaching into her purse for her lip balm. She scooped out a bit with her index finger, then slowly and sensuously smoothed the scented ointment onto his dry lips with pudgy, loving fingers. If Deirdre had been here, Irma couldn’t have done that for Ben.
But Deirdre wasn’t here anymore.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
1
Gage Ridgeway pulled into the Greer driveway, stopped the truck, and looked balefully at the smashed living room window. Rex Greer had called Gage’s father several hours ago, asking that someone come and board up the broken window. Peter Ridgeway had immediately called his son, Gage, who said he was busy and someone else would have to handle the job. But two hours later Peter called again, said no one else was available on a Sunday afternoon, and insisted that Gage take care of the matter immediately. After all, Peter had said tartly, they got too many good referrals from the Greers to make enemies of them.
Normally, Gage would have come to board up the Greer window as soon as he’d heard about the rock-throwing incident, but he hadn’t been able to forget the way Chyna had looked at him the other day when he’d been standing on the ladder. Everything had been fine and then suddenly she’d seemed jumpy. Or was it something else he’d seen in her eyes? Fright? Horror?
Gage shivered slightly as he climbed out of the truck. Now Deirdre Mayhew was missing. A friend of his had called him early this morning to warn him of the hue and cry raised over the girl and told him to expect a visit from the police. The police hadn’t come because even if the girl hadn’t been found
yet, which Gage had a feeling she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have been missing for twenty-four hours. If she wasn’t found by tonight, though, Gage would be expecting to see flashing lights coming up the road leading to his house. Dammit.
Gage was relieved to see Rex Greer come out of the house and walk toward him, smiling. Gage managed a tentative smile of his own and Rex shook his hand. “Glad to see you, Gage. It’s been a while.”
“At least three years.” Gage’s mouth felt dry. He wished he had the nerve to ask for a soft drink or even a glass of water, but he didn’t want to appear flustered. “You haven’t been around when I was here doing work for Mrs. Greer, and they stopped having the Fourth of July parties after…”
Gage trailed off, wishing he’d stopped talking at least a minute sooner. But Rex was as usual smooth and unflappable. “After Zoey disappeared.” He smiled again and Gage noticed how much younger Rex looked than his own father, Peter, who was n
ervous and peevish and always in a dither about either Gage’s behavior or something having to do with the business.
“I was afraid we were going to have to sleep with that window wide open tonight,” Rex went on easily. “Either that or pile boxes in front of it, and they wouldn’t have done much to keep out the cold.”
“Sorry it took me so long to get here,” Gage said quickly. “It’s my day off and I thought one of the other guys was going to handle it.”
“No problem. We survived.” Rex smiled. “So how are things going at Ridgeway Construction these days?”
“Just fine. Better than ever, really.” Gage caught himself. “Not that Grandpa didn’t do a fine job of managing the place. And of course Dad is a good manager, too.”
Rex laughed. “Your grandfather had a big heart that overruled his business sense. He was always doing jobs for free. That doesn’t improve the bottom line, but he kept the business going anyway. Your father?” Rex lifted his shoulders. “Everyone knows you’re the power behind Ridgeway Construction, Gage, and doing a fine job of it.”
Gage said without conviction, “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“I do. I don’t live around here, but I keep up. I have old friends, and of course there was always Vivian, who knew everything about the town.”
“I’m sorry about Vivian—Mrs. Greer, sir. I thought a lot of her.”
“It’s ’Rex,’ and I thought a lot of her, too. She’ll be missed, that’s for sure. Chyna is broken-hearted. And Ned— well, Ned’s always been harder to read. I’m not saying he didn’t love his mother, but I’m not proud that he’s pushing off everything on poor Chyna—funeral arrangements, that kind of thing.” He paused. “But I didn’t arrive in time to help her myself, so I shouldn’t criticize. And if Vivian’s death weren’t enough, now we have new trouble.”
Gage nodded and glanced over at the window. “Damn,” he burst out in surprise. “I knew you had a broken window, but I didn’t think someone had broken out the whole front window. It was a bay window, too. Expensive to replace.”
“Yes. The rock that broke the window also hit the marble mantle over the living room fireplace. That’s not going to be easy or cheap to replace, either.”
Gage didn’t know whether to ask what had happened. His father had given him a breathless, garbled tale of a crowd descending on the Greer house, making it sound like the rabble that had stormed the castle of Victor Frankenstein. It couldn’t have been that bad, Gage thought. Still, the lawn was badly trampled and a few signs bearing crude pictures of what he guessed represented the devil still lay on the lawn. And the strong glass in that big bay window had taken quite a blow.
Rex seemed to sense that Gage didn’t know how much to ask, and began talking casually. “I missed all the action, but I hear Chyna came home from a little picnic with her niece and nephew to find a bunch of people out here. One of the sanctimonious gang had blocked the road and she had to walk up the hill. Some of the uninvited guests were shouting that Deirdre Mayhew had disappeared just like the other
girls over the years and the girls only vanished when Chyna was home. They’d decided that two and two makes four, so obviously Chyna abducted and probably murdered all of the victims. I hear she’s ’death incarnate.’”
“Good God,” Gage murmured, clearly shocked. “They didn’t come in the house and hurt Chyna, did they?”
“It seems Scott Kendrick had come with the crowd, pretending to be one of them but really just trying to get here to protect Chyna. He’s without a car right now. Anyway, I’m glad he was here when I wasn’t. No one came in even though it seems the cops took their good old time getting here.”
“Was anyone arrested?”
“No. Nor was the rock thrower identified. I don’t think the local law enforcement even tried to do much of anything except break up the crowd. The sheriff is going to hear about that from both Kendrick and me. God knows what would have happened if that bunch of kooks had been around for much longer.”
“It’s Sunday and not many cops are on duty,” Gage said, wondering why he was defending the very people who’d harassed him in the past and were bound to harass him again if the Mayhew girl didn’t show up soon. Maybe he was thinking they’d go easier on him later if he supported them now, he mused. “The few cops who were working might have been handling something else—a domestic violence case or… hell, I don’t know.”
Rex shrugged. “I seem to forget we’re not the only game in town. But considering the circumstances, I still think they could have given Chyna a little more help. If there weren’t enough city cops on duty, they could have called in the state police for help.”
Suddenly Rex and Gage heard a car speeding up the road to the house. With a squeal of tires, Ned stopped his white Mercury right behind Gage’s truck and jumped out. He wore jeans, and his blond hair looked as if he hadn’t combed it since morning. “What the hell is going on here?” he shouted. “Did someone try to hurt my sister?”
“Settle down, Ned,” Rex said calmly as Ned sprinted across
the front lawn to the broken bay window. “Apparently, while Chyna was out with Beverly and the children, a crowd gathered down on the main road. When she got back, they’d blocked the driveway. Scott Kendrick was kind enough to walk her up the hill and make sure she got in safely.”
“Who broke the window?” Ned demanded.
“We don’t know. Several courageous souls climbed the hill, yelled a few nasty things at Chyna, and threw a sizable rock through the window. It hit that marble mantle your mother loved so much and broke off a corner. Gage is here to board up the window until we can get a glazier to replace it.”
Ned glared at Gage. “Thanks for tearing down my clubhouse earlier this week without my permission.”
Gage gave him a deadpan look. “Sorry, Greer, I didn’t know you and your gang were still using the place.”
“During her last call to me, Vivian told me the building was nearly destroyed by the storm and she’d asked Gage to finish it off and haul away the wreckage,” Rex said casually, then turned to a scowling Ned. “Quit acting like a seven-year-old, Ned.”
Ned threw his uncle a scathing glance, then demanded, “Why were people here yelling at Chyna?”
Rex sighed. “Use your brain, Ned. They came because Deirdre Mayhew is missing.” Rex sounded patient, but Gage thought the patience wasn’t coming easily. Earlier Rex had sounded annoyed that Ned had left all of the funeral arrangements for Vivian to Chyna. Maybe Rex was still annoyed with his nephew. “They’ve come up with the theory that it’s no coincidence every time your sister comes home, a girl goes missing.”
Ned looked at his uncle incredulously. “And they think Chyna is responsible?”
Rex nodded. “Irma Vogel seems to be the ringleader.”
“I remember when that bitch worked here. She’s always been jealous of Chyna.” Ned glared at Rex. “Where were you when all of this was going on?”
“Visiting a friend,” Rex returned calmly, then with an
edge to his voice, “Where were you and what took you so long to get here?”
“I was at the car dealership. That accountant messed up the books again. I’m going to fire him tomorrow.” Ned turned on Gage. “Were you here earlier with the crowd?”
“Of course not!” Gage’s face reddened. He looked both angry and offended. “Do you think I’m a kook like those others? I like your sister.”
Ned closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Oh damn, I know you do. Sorry, but this has been one hell of a week. Beverly just called me and told me someone else had called her and told her something bad had happened up here. I just lost my mother. I panicked over Chyna. I didn’t mean to fly off the handle at you, Gage.”
Gage shrugged. “Well, I do have the reputation of being a town bad boy, although I’m getting a little old to be called a boy anymore. Mr. Greer says your sister is okay, though.”
“She’s in the house with Scott Kendrick,” Rex said. “W
hy don’t you go in and see for yourself that she’s fine?”
“Yeah, all right,” Ned said distractedly. “I just can’t believe people would act this way.”
Rex raised his eyebrows, glancing first at Ned, then at Gage, and said in a half-amused, half-intimidating voice, “You’d be amazed at how crazy some people can be under perfectly normal facades.”
2
“Wow, Rex, that was a comforting,” Ned muttered bitingly as he stalked toward the front door. Things were bad enough. Did his uncle have to make statements that seemed to have a dangerously underlying meaning? He probably believed it was funny, Ned thought. He certainly hoped Rex hadn’t tried out his wit on Chyna.
As soon as Ned stepped into the house, he called, “Chyna? It’s just me—Ned.”
“We’re in the kitchen,” Chyna called back.
Ned strode in to find Chyna and Scott sitting at the big, gleaming oak kitchen table. Michelle lay by Chyna’s side and raised her head to give Ned a wary look until Chyna rubbed her behind the ears for a moment Ned supposed Michelle took this as a sign that he was not a danger, because she laid her chin on her paws again and let out a sigh.
“Good lord, Chyna, I just heard what happened up here.” He walked straight toward her and gave her a hug. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help you.”
“Why would you be?” Chyna asked lightly. “You don’t live here.”
“No, but I took plenty of time getting here. I was at the dealership. Bev didn’t call until about fifteen minutes ago, so I wasn’t even here to help you.”
“Help with what?” Chyna smiled at him, but he saw the false bravado behind the smile. “Scott was with me, thank goodness. He’s the one who called the police. No one was hurt.” She paused. “Our mother would be a wreck, however, if she saw her window and her mantle.”
“Well, yes, but they can be fixed. If they’d hurt you, though…”
Chyna peered closely at Ned. He looked tired and flushed. Sweat beaded his forehead and upper lip, and his blue eyes were fever bright.
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