“Butt out of the Reynolds thing or you’ll be sorry,” the voice breathed.
A shiver ran up my spine. “Who is this?” I demanded with much more courage than I felt.
The phone clicked in my ear. Then there was a dial tone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Being the devout coward that I am, when I hung up the phone I was shaking in my shoes. I immediately dialed Carl’s number. I needed to hear the reassuring tones of someone from home. I should have called the police, but since I was messing in police business, the little voice inside my head told me that they wouldn’t be too awfully sympathetic.
With a falsely cheerful lilt in my voice, I inquired as to Carl’s well-being.
“What’s the matter, Mavis? You sound strange,” Carl said.
“I think I’m making progress, Carl. Don’t be alarmed, but I just got off the phone with some creep that urged me to go home.” I tried to keep my voice from shaking. In fact, I tried to resist the urge to break down. I couldn’t let it get to me if I was going to be a successful detective, could I?
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know. Unfortunately, whoever it was didn’t see fit to identify himself.”
“Was it a man or a woman? What did they say? Did they threaten you? Are you okay?”
“Whoever it was undoubtedly was full of hot air. The voice was strange, like he or she was talking through a hand or covered the phone or something. Anyway, not to worry.” What’s not to worry? But I had to put on a brave front. “So like I said, Carl, I must be making progress. Right?”
“Mavis, who knows where you’re staying? Who would know to call you there?” Carl, I must say, was sounding rather worried. It was comforting. If only he wasn’t a couple of hundred miles away.
“I left my name and the motel name with Mr. Reynolds and with a secretary at the courthouse where Vernon Spencer, Elizabeth’s former law partner, was trying a case. It won’t do any good to speculate, Carl, because Spencer or the secretary could have let anyone see that note. I have no way of knowing who knows me or what I’m doing here.”
“Mavis, you’ve got to be careful. Don’t make light of this. Is your door locked? You gotta gun?”
“Yes, the door’s locked. And no, I don’t believe in guns. They’re just for killing people and I don’t intend to kill anyone. I’ll be okay. Is there any more news there? Has lumbering Lon been hassling you? Have the police turned up anything else that might tell who did it?”
“I think he misses you, Mavis.” Carl laughed. “He came in today wanting to know why you haven’t been around.”
“Who did? Lon?”
“Yeah. He wanted to know if I bought that story line you’d given him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I’d hired you, and that I thought you were good, and if he had any sense he’d have listened to you.”
“You didn’t!”
“Yeah, I did. He didn’t like it too much, and huffed and puffed a lot, but he finally left. They’re probably having a pow wow about you right now downtown.”
“Oh, great. Next they’ll be coming up here after me.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”
“Anyone but Lon, and it wouldn’t be.”
“Well, I could tell your boyfriend where you are.”
“Don’t you dare. That’s not even funny. He’s pretty angry as it is.”
“Worried’s more like it. He was here today, too.”
It may be mushy, but when he said that, my heart leapt. Ben hadn’t given up on me after all. “What did he say, Carl?”
“Wanted to know where you were and when you were coming back. I told him that when I heard from you I’d ask you to call him. Hey, Mavis, I think he’s serious about you. Why don’t you give him a chance? Seems like a nice enough guy.”
I had to smile at Carl’s words. My love life was getting to be more of a topic of conversation than his case. “I appreciate your thoughts on the matter, and I’ll keep them in mind. Just continue stalling him for me, will you? And Lon, too.” I gave him the name of the motel and my room number before hanging up, and extracted a promise that he’d keep the information to himself.
Just touching base with someone from home made me feel better. I undressed, turned on the TV, and got under the covers. Even if anyone called, I didn’t hear the phone. It wasn’t long after my head hit the pillow that I fell asleep.
The following day I received a phone call before I’d even gotten out of bed. It was Mr. Reynolds. He apologized for his behavior of the night before and asked me to come over that afternoon. I agreed.
I didn’t know what to do with myself until that evening, so I went back downtown to the courthouse. When I peeked into the courtroom, Vernon Spencer and Doyle Proctor were sitting in the same places as when I’d left the day before. If they hadn’t changed their clothes, I’d have sworn they’d been there all night. I went in to say hello to Georgia, and she informed me that the case was getting ready to go to the jury. If I was interested, she said, I could go inside and sit in on the final arguments.
I entered the courtroom and slipped onto one of the back benches beside some of the other spectators. The judge was droning on and on to the jury about the charge. I hadn’t quite settled myself when, glancing at Vernon Spencer, he nodded at me. I nodded back and stared at him for a minute. I wondered if he was my late-night caller. He couldn’t possibly know that I’d talked to the Newbolds.
The judge finally finished up and then announced that Doyle Proctor would argue first, and also, if he so chose, last. Doyle Proctor rose from his chair and approached the jury box. Just before he began, his eyes swept the courtroom and stopped on mine. His look was intense. Then it was over and he was doing his dog-and-pony-show for the jurors. I felt uneasy. What was that all about?
After the arguments were over and the jurors had filed from their box into the conference room, I turned to leave, to wait for Spencer in the hall. I was going to approach him from the angle of taking him to lunch. I felt a tug on my arm and turned back. It was Vernon Spencer.
“Miss Davis?”
“Mr. Spencer?” I held out my hand.
His grip was firm, his skin warm. “Did you want to see me about Elizabeth? I received a message from you yesterday.”
“Yes. Could we go somewhere and talk?”
“How about lunch?”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.”
He grinned, his even white teeth flashing at me. “Let me put my bag in the judge’s office, and I’ll be right with you.”
I watched while he packed up his over-sized briefcase and headed toward where Georgia was. Doyle Proctor was in my line of vision. He, too, was packing up a briefcase. His eyes flickered toward me, but didn’t stop to take a rest. Spencer came out and motioned at me to go out in the hall. He went through the far door and met me.
Taking me by the elbow, he guided me into the elevator and then out onto the street. I walked along with him, passing the time of day. It wasn’t until we ended up underground at The Kabob House, a Greek place, with our food in front of us, that either of us broached the subject of Elizabeth Reynolds.
I liked him. Besides being warm and friendly and having a good handshake, he had a sense of humor.
“So what are you, an investigative reporter or something?”
I laughed. I’d never considered that type of job, though it was a thought. “No. I have my own business in Houston. I used to be a probation officer. I used to be a lot of things. Anyway, I quit the county payroll and opened up shop. Believe it or not, I’m a licensed private investigator. We’re also private process servers and do other things, such as social studies, legal research, and typing—whatever the market will bear.”
“That’s a novel thought. Except for TV, I’ve never known of a woman detective.”
I smiled. “I know, and it’s about time, don’t you think?”
“Sure. So why are you up here asking abou
t Elizabeth?”
I watched him carefully, to gauge his reaction to my next words. “She was murdered in Houston.”
His eyes grew wide, and he expelled a gust of air, as if someone had unexpectedly punched him in the stomach.
I wasn’t meaning to be callous and insensitive, but I was hungry, so while he was gathering his wits about him, I took an enormous bite of my pita sandwich. It tasted scrumptious. The filling was steamed broccoli and cauliflower, and fresh avocado, among other things.
“Oh, shit,” he murmured, finally, more to himself than to me.
I continued eating and watching him, waiting for an appropriate time to say something. His eyes had a slightly overcast look, as if his sense had taken a short vacation. He seemed to have a lot on his mind; he’d temporarily forgotten I was there.
Eventually he focused on me again and asked, “Who hired you, Robert?”
“No. A man in Houston that she worked for.”
“She wasn’t practicing law down there.”
I slurped my milk through a straw and swallowed. “Nope. Waiting tables.”
“Jesus!” His brow wrinkled.
I nodded. “Quite a comedown.”
“How’d it happen?”
“Strangled.”
“Jesus!” he said again.
He looked somewhat upset, but not exactly as broken up about it as I thought he should be.
“We looked for her. You know about her disappearance?”
“Yeah. At least, I’ve been able to pretty much piece it together. What happened?”
“She just left. She was there one day and gone the next. No explanation to anyone. Robert was pretty devastated.”
“And you?”
A thin veil seemed to drop over his face. If I hadn’t been studying him, I wouldn’t have seen it.
“I was in shock.”
“You seem to have recovered nicely.”
He reared back in his chair now—suspicious. “You mean my office?”
“Yes.”
“I moved there because I didn’t fit in with her people. I didn’t belong. I’d been trying to tell Liz that for a long time. She just didn’t want to hear it.”
“How long were you two together?”
“Three years.”
“That’s a long time for someone to do something they don’t want to do.”
“Look, lady, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but Liz and I were close. Real close. I was going to split from her eventually, but it wasn’t the easiest thing to do. She wanted to do a lot of charity work. I wanted to make money. Everytime I’d broach the subject of taking on a different kind of clientele, we’d have an argument. She was one of those people that could talk anyone into anything, you know what I mean? She should have been in sales; she’d have made a mint.”
“How close is close?”
“Her kids were like my own. When Anne was smaller, she’d jump into my arms every time she saw me. She’s too big, now. Catherine and I were buddies. I’d shoot straight with her. If she got any weird ideas, she’d bounce them off me. That’s how close.”
A likely story, I thought as I chewed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After lunch, I wandered around downtown for awhile until it was time to drive out to the Reynolds place. When I drove up I spotted a brown-haired woman get into a car and drive away, wheels whirling on the gravel.
Mr. Reynolds invited me in, and this time the whole family deluged me. I was introduced to Anne, a tall, thin, athletic girl of fourteen, and Catherine, who I found out had just turned eighteen. She was indeed graduating from high school soon.
“The girls and I stayed home today,” he said. “I told them about Elizabeth last night, and we’ve been trying to sort things out in our heads.”
I smiled and nodded at them. They had seated me in the recliner and were gathered around me like they were going to perform an operation.
“How did my mother die, Miss Davis?” Catherine asked.
I glanced from her to the others. Talk about putting me on the spot. I didn’t know whether I should give them the blow-by-blow or not; breaking bad news was never one of my duties in child welfare or the probation department. I decided to give them the police version. “She was found in her apartment one morning by her employer. She was late for work, and he went up to check on her. It’s believed by the Houston Police Department that she was the victim of a serial killer.”
“When was that?” Mr. Reynolds asked.
“How come the police didn’t call us or something?” Anne asked. She was standing in front of me, sort of jumping around from one foot to the other. I got the impression that she was the real energetic sort. I was growing tired just watching her.
Catherine remained silent. I guess she caught on that I didn’t really answer her question.
“It was Tuesday, a week ago, and they didn’t call because she was calling herself Doris Jones. Remember I mentioned that to you yesterday, Mr. Reynolds?”
He nodded, his mouth turned down in a frown. “Isn’t it a little unusual for someone like yourself to get involved in something like this?”
“Well, yes and no. The police are convinced that it was a serial killing, and when Carl, that’s the man that owns the cafe she worked at—”
“What was she doing working at a cafe?” Anne asked. “She wasn’t a lawyer anymore?”
“Anne,” Mr. Reynolds said, “remember I told you after she disappeared that we checked out all the lawyers in the state and she wasn’t practicing law? There were no listings anywhere for her.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Let Miss Davis finish,” Catherine said in a big-sisterish tone of voice.
I smiled at Catherine. She seemed the most aloof of the three. She was holding back. I knew about the letters, only she didn’t know I knew. If I could just get her alone and see what she knew. The other two didn’t seem to know or else they weren’t letting me know yet that they knew.
“Go ahead, Miss Davis,” Mr. Reynolds said.
“Well, it’s only that Carl tried to tell them that he didn’t think she was who she held herself out to be, but they didn’t believe him, so he hired me to look into it. You see, Carl doesn’t believe it was a serial killer. He thinks that she knew whoever it was.” I was watching Mr. Reynolds, waiting for a reaction. There was none other than his eyebrows knitting together.
“So the police don’t know you’re up here?” he asked.
“They would’ve except when I tried to tell them, they wouldn’t listen.
“Who would have done that to Mom?” Anne asked, her eyes welling up with tears.
I reached for her hand. It was soft and damp and warm except for a few places on her palm where there were calluses. I gave it a squeeze. “That’s what I’m hoping to find out, Anne,” I said.
The tears spilled out over her tanned cheeks. She swiped at them with her fingers.
“Come on, Anne,” Catherine said. “Let’s go into the kitchen and get a snack and let Miss Davis and Dad talk.” She put her arm around her little sister’s shoulders and led her out of the room.
Mr. Reynolds sat down adjacent to me on the sofa and shook his head. “You know, this whole thing has been so puzzling.”
“I can imagine,” I said. “Tell me, Mr. Reynolds, do you have any idea why she disappeared?”
He shook his head again. “None. I came home one day, and she was gone. She left a note saying that she didn’t have any choice but to leave town, and not to worry, and that she’d come back as soon as she could. That was it.”
“Do you know if she was in any kind of trouble?”
“No. She would have told me; I’m sure of it. I can’t imagine anything that could be so bad that we couldn’t have solved it. I thought for a while that she’d run off with someone else, but I couldn’t really believe that. She loved the kids too much. I thought she loved me too much. We’d been through a lot together.”
“Did you look for her? I mean, did y
ou really look? Hire a private detective or anything.”
“Yes. For a few months I went crazy with worry. I had this man, Barney Cline, and he helped me out, but he couldn’t find her. He was expensive, and I couldn’t afford him after a while.”
“Things have been pretty tough both financially and emotionally, I guess.”
He nodded and shifted his eyes away. He wiped them with the sleeve of his sports shirt. “Look, Miss Davis—”
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