by Greg Lilly
“Could be.” I rubbed my chin, embarrassed by almost being killed by a hanging planter. “Did you see anything else out there?”
“Nothing. I checked the front and back yards,” Hartford said. “Could your aunt have gone to a neighbor’s house?” He had his notepad out, writing.
“I don’t know.” I looked to the woman; hopefully, she would understand my concern. “Ruby wouldn’t just leave the house open, her car here, the TV on, dirty dishes out.”
Officer Blevins nodded. “Did you check the answering machine for messages?”
“Yes. Nothing there.” Should I call Valerie and let her know? I didn’t want to upset her, if there was no need.
“Do you know of family or friends who might know where she is?”
Most of the family had been at the party, and she hadn’t spoken of many friends. “No,” I sighed.
The doorbell rang, and Officer Hartford turned and opened the door. Mark walked in and took control.
“I’m Mark Harris. My cousin,” he motioned to me, “called to tell me our aunt was missing. What’s being done to find her?”
Hartford looked him straight in the eye, projecting his authority. “We’re gathering information. Usually, a missing person will show up at a friend or relative’s house. Since it’s so late, it’s probably best to wait until in the morning to start calling them.” He looked at me. “You don’t want to upset people in the middle of the night only to find her camped out on a neighbor’s couch, do you?” The way he said this made it more a statement than a question.
Looking to Mark, then to Officer Blevins, finally back to Hartford, I said, “No, but this isn’t like her. She’s been gone for hours, apparently before sundown. If she were at a neighbor’s, she’d be back by now. Mark?” I needed confirmation that I wasn’t going crazy, that my concern was justified, that everyone should be doing more than they were doing.
Moving into the room and guiding me to sit on the couch, Mark addressed Hartford. “What more can we do? Derek is right; Aunt Ruby is in her sixties, and this isn’t like her.”
“Is she on any medication?” asked Officer Blevins.
Mark glanced at me for the answer.
“I don’t think so.” I searched my memory for images of her taking anything before meals or at bedtime. “No, no, she isn’t on medication.”
Hartford kept writing in his little notebook. “Any signs of Alzheimer’s in the past?” he asked. When neither Mark nor I answered, he looked up from his scribbling. “Well? Forgetfulness, losses of concentration, paranoia, mood changes, any of this ring a bell?”
“No,” I defended. “I was attacked a few nights ago at the Observer Building. Tonight, a noose or something hung from that tree outside. Ruby is missing because of that, not because of Alzheimer’s!”
Officer Blevins asked, still calm, “Why do you feel someone is after you?”
I glanced at Mark, but he kept his eyes on the police officers. “I don’t know.” I tried to gather it all into a sentence that didn’t sound crazy. “There was an article in the paper this past week about me being the gay nephew of Vernon Harris.”
Hartford and Blevins exchanged a glance.
“And I received a threatening phone call.” Should I tell them my suspicions about Mr. Sams’ death? No, I’m not sure about that yet. “The same man assaulted me at the Observer, and now this. Ruby is in danger-I know it.”
Blevins asked, “Do you know who this man is?”
Taking control again, Mark spoke for me. “If we did, he would be in jail right now.”
The officers stood still in front of us. Hartford snapped his notebook shut. “If you hear from her, or from anyone claiming they know where she is, contact me right away.” He held out a card, and Mark got up from the couch to take it.
He followed them out to their patrol car while I sat in a haze of disbelief. Why is everyone so cool about this? Do they think I’m lying? I heard the thud of the police car’s doors slam and then Mark came back in.
Closing and locking the door, he crossed the room to sit next to me. His eyes looked tired; the clock on the mantel said a quarter after two.
“Did the police say anything more?” I asked.
He leaned back and sighed. “Only that they don’t think it was a kidnapping-even with Dad running for the Senate. They think she’s staying overnight with a friend or-”
“But,” I interrupted, “she wouldn’t.” The touch of a rope around my throat tightened in my mind. “How do they explain the noose hanging from the tree?”
With a gentle hand on the back of my neck, he said, “Derek, there’s no noose; it was just a hanging plant. Your imagination made it into a noose.”
My real concern clicked back to me. “I’m worried about Ruby.”
“Me, too,” he conceded. “There’s not much we can do tonight.” He got up, took my hand, and dragged me to my feet. “Come home with me.”
I pulled loose from his grip. “No. Ruby might be back, or the kidnapper might call. I have to stay here.”
“Okay, then I’m staying with you. I don’t want you here alone.” He picked up the phone and called Kathleen.
In the living room, I checked the door that had been left open; maybe he had forced his way in. I examined the front porch for any signs of a struggle, but the potted geraniums still lined the steps, not even the doormat had been disturbed. I stood on the bottom step looking out into the black night, wondering where Ruby was, and what was happening to her at that very moment.
MARK AND I locked up the house. He began turning off the lamps and kitchen lights; I insisted we leave the front and side porch lights on. “Just in case,” I explained.
“We both need to get some rest.” Mark pulled his shirt off and headed for the guest room, my room.
“Wait, that’s where I sleep,” I called after him.
“I won’t bite,” he teased. “There are only two beds. I wouldn’t feel right sleeping in Ruby and Walt’s bed. Would you?”
“No,” I admitted. The thought of him in my bed didn’t produce any sexual excitement, not after everything that had happened, but it did give me the security of having another human close to me. “Okay, you can stay.” I kept my boxers on, and climbed into bed next to him.
Mark patted me on the shoulder, “Good night,” and turned off the bedside lamp.
‘“Night,” I replied. I stared at the dark ceiling for a while. “Mark?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think she’s all right?”
Mark rolled over on his side to look at me. “She’s okay. We’ll find her in the morning.”
“But, I feel like we need to do something now.”
He put his hand on my chest as if to pet a dog. “There’s not a thing we can do tonight except get some sleep. The whole family will search for her tomorrow. She could be anywhere. You know, I hadn’t thought about it until the cop mentioned Alzheimer’s, but that could be valid.”
“Mark!” I sat up. “Doesn’t anyone listen to me? It’s the guy who threatened me. The man in the basement of the Observer, the scratchy-voiced man. He has Ruby!”
“If that’s so, where do we find him?” He clicked the lamp back on, his stare intense. I wasn’t sure if he believed me or not.
Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, I said, “I don’t know.” Fatigue grabbed me and started to pull me down. “I can’t think any more.”
He clicked off the lamp again. “Get some rest.”
I drifted into a reluctant sleep, with vivid dreams of strangers roaming the house, doors and windows open, Ruby yelling for help. I woke with a jolt. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. Mark slept peacefully beside me. His presence did help calm my nerves; he had been right, I couldn’t have stayed in the house alone. He rolled over and his hand rested against my arm. I closed my eyes again feeling secure that he was there.
ABOUT TWO HOURS later, I woke again, but not from a nightmare, instead from the hardness of Mark’s erection
poking my leg and his arm draped across my chest. His steady breathing led me to believe he still slept, but knowing this ploy-Hell, having used this ploy before-I knew he had to be awake.
“No, Mark. Go back to sleep.”
No answer from him in the form of movement or sound.
I wiggled a few inches away from him, but the weight of his arm kept me from moving too far. I closed my eyes again and let sleep pull me into its comforting haze.
Another few minutes and I woke to find him snuggled back up to me. This time his hand was resting on my stomach. I didn’t care if he really was asleep; I pushed his shoulder to roll him over. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
Groggy, he raised his head. “What?”
“Keep your hands and dick on your side of the bed.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled and fell back to sleep.
Damn, I can’t sleep with him. I was glad he stayed, I certainly felt safer, but the same bed had been too much. Slipping from under the covers, I went into Ruby’s room. Her bed sank as I climbed in; the sheets and quilts smelled of sweet roses, like her. I pulled them tight around me. Somewhere between sleep and consciousness, I decided I wanted a little more security. Over the side of the bed, I felt under it. Shoeboxes, picture frames, books-finally, I rolled out of the bed and got down on my hands and knees to look.
“Where the hell is it?” I muttered. Shoving boxes aside, I searched for the baseball bat. Shock and realization turned my skin icy. “It’s gone! Ruby’s Peter Beater is gone!”
Chapter Sixteen
WITH RUBY AND her Peter Beater missing I knew, I absolutely knew, she hadn’t gone without a fight. Searching through the house again looking for any signs of a struggle, I found nothing. I stood at the kitchen sink, looking through the window, wondering what she had seen to make her leave her dirty dinner plates out and disappear so quickly and quietly. The clock on the coffee maker said 4:28. Nothing moved outside in the darkness; no cars drove by; no people jogged along the sidewalks. The world seemed suspended, waiting for Ruby to bring it back to life.
I glanced toward the driveway. From the kitchen window, Ruby would have been able to see if anyone was there. I decided to reenact the scene, try to make sense of it. If Ruby had finished her dinner and had just started to put everything away, dishes in the sink, leftovers in the refrigerator, she would have stood right where I stood. The side porch light lit up the driveway; of course, Ruby had been standing here in the daylight. If she saw the scratchy-voiced man-and I knew it had to be him-she would go for the Peter Beater.
But why was the side door locked when I got home, with the front door open? She always kept all her doors locked, unlocking them only when she needed to. Did she lock it after he came in? Did she know him? The questions swarmed my mind as I stared into the early morning darkness through the window.
“Okay,” I steadied myself, “I’ll try it.” She saw something that made her go for the baseball bat. I walked back to the bedroom to see how long it would take Ruby; step by step, attempting to match her pace, I returned to the kitchen.
What if he’d seen her, too?
When she returned, he would have had time to come after her. The side door was locked when I got home; hopefully, it was locked while Ruby was here.
She had the bat in her hands. Someone lurked outside. I turned to look for an escape route. “Of course, through the front door.”
I walked through the dining room to the living room front door, the one left open. “Yes, this is it.” Had she made it out before he caught her? Probably. I retrieved a flashlight and a pair of dirty jeans from the laundry room. I pulled on the jeans and searched around the front porch. Just as I suspected, I discovered the baseball bat under an azalea, partially hidden by ivy crushed from the impact. I held the Peter Beater in my hands, wishing I had been there to use it for her. My mind turned back to the reenactment. They must have struggled on the front porch, and then he took the bat away from her. A smug smile of satisfaction flushed over me. “That’s it. That’s what happened.”
Then the loss of Ruby returned. I searched the dark yard again, wondering what had happened next. Where was Ruby now?
I COULDN’T SLEEP. Pacing the house didn’t help make the sun rise any quicker. Mark slept on, snoring quietly. How can he? Ruby’s in danger, and he sleeps. I decided to wake him up, then reconsidered. I needed time to think, to figure out how to rescue her from the dark clutches of the scratchy-voiced man. I’ll kill the bastard when I find him.
Lighting a cigarette, I sat on the front porch steps. “Why Ruby? What did he hope to accomplish by taking her?”
I could see only two possibilities: someone was trying to keep me from learning whatever Ruby knew, or she was a hostage to my good behavior, to make me toe the line. In either case, it seemed connected to Vernon ‘s campaign, his Senate race. He would be safer with me obedient, and silent. Is that why Mark sleeps so soundly?
Then a thought hit me. “The diaries. Maybe Ruby wasn’t the only thing taken from here.” I snuffed the cigarette into the geranium pot and rushed back to the hallway.
Grabbing the chain and jerking the pull-down stairs to the attic caused a loud creak, and Mark called in a raspy voice from the bedroom, “What’s wrong?”
I ignored him and bounded up the rattling stairs.
When I clicked on the bare light bulb at the top of the stairs, harsh white light illuminated Ruby’s motionless body tied to an overturned wooden chair.
I struggled to breathe, my lungs heavy with horror. Pushing overturned boxes of clothes and books out of my path to get to her, I reached out to touch her face, afraid of what I might find; my trembling hand felt the soft warm flesh of her neck.
Her pulse, where’s her pulse? I finally found it.
“Mark,” I yelled, “call an ambulance. Ruby’s up here.”
He rushed up the steps to join me, not bothering to get dressed.
“Ruby? She’s up here?” Then he saw her. “Oh God, is she…?”
“She has a pulse, and she’s breathing, but unconscious.” I turned to see him hunched under the rafters, trembling. “Go back down and call 911.” Relief settled over me like a soothing, warm quilt; I knew she was safe and alive. I eased the duct tape off her mouth and untied the ropes that bound her hands and feet to the wooden chair. No sign of blood, but I found a bruise the size of a half-dollar, and a knot had swollen on the side of her forehead.
I pulled the chair away from Ruby. “Mark, did you get the ambulance?” I yelled toward the stairs.
He stuck his head up through the opening. “Yeah, they’re on their way.” He climbed back up to join me. This time, he had thought to pull on his khakis and running shoes. “Let’s get her down to her bed.”
Ruby wasn’t an extremely heavy woman, just bulky. Mark and I struggled to get her down the stairs without dropping her. Delivering her to her bed, I heard the doorbell ring and Mark rushed to let the paramedics in.
As they assessed her condition and loaded her into the ambulance, I paced. Who did this? Is Vernon ‘s campaign that important, important enough to chance murder? The police came back, different officers this time; two men asking all the same questions. I let Mark deal with them.
I called Valerie. “Val, meet me at Carolinas Medical Center. Ruby has a concussion.”
“What?” she choked out. “She has a concussion? What happened? Will she be okay?” The questions fired out of the phone.
“Meet me at Carolinas Med. The ambulance is leaving now. I’ll tell you everything I know when we get there.” Then I added, “Don’t tell Gladys, just meet me.” I didn’t want Gladys the Bitch there. She never cared for anyone but herself, and if she had something to do with this, I might just kill her as soon as she walked into the hospital.
The ambulance pulled out of the front yard; the driveway packed with Walterene’s Taurus, Ruby’s Oldsmobile, my rental Camry, and Mark’s Mercedes hadn’t allowed them access. Ruby would be pissed that they’d driven through the
yard. Mark and I followed the ambulance in his car.
VALERIE WAITED AT the Emergency Room desk as we hurried in. Ruby had been taken in for examination, and Valerie filled out paperwork.
“Derek, what happened?” She shoved the clipboard of forms at Mark, then asked, “Why are you here?”
“She’s my Aunt Ruby, too.” He grabbed the clipboard and walked away.
She watched him plop down on a couch, then looked back at me. “Well?”
I steered her to another area of the waiting room and guided her to a chair. I told her what had happened from the time I drove into the driveway after dropping her off until the time we drove out a few minutes ago. Leaving off the more personal details between me and Mark, I told her I had called him first because he might be able to get something done faster with the police.
“You think this is the same man who’s been calling?” she asked. She didn’t know about the Observer building incident.
“Who else would have a reason to do something like this?” I asked, although my list of people and reasons kept growing. “But, why Ruby? Why not go after me?”
“No one has a reason, other than being mentally unbalanced, to tie up an old woman and put her in the attic.” Valerie thought for a moment. “You know, he had to be a big man to get Ruby up those stairs.”
The struggle we had getting her down from the attic came to mind.
“Do you think there could have been more than one man?” she asked.
Shit. I hadn’t considered I might be battling more than one foe. That complicated my theories.
“Val,” I felt I needed to tell her, “I found some of Walterene’s diaries in the attic a few days ago.”
Her face blanched.
“In those diaries, she wrote about a gardener Papa Ernest had and how he had been accused of something that made him run. From reading Walterene’s account-and Ruby pointed out that they were young and didn’t understand everything that happened-but from what Walterene wrote, it sounds like he was lynched because Gladys accused him of fondling her or something like that. Walterene never wrote exactly what Gladys said, but the family fired him after years of working for them.”