Sleuthing Women II

by Lois Winston

  “Is that where you went this morning?” he asked.

  I searched my head for Mrs. Taylor, but nothing recent surfaced. “Not sure.”

  At a motion in my peripheral vision, I faced the doorway. A man in a dark suit stood there. Average height, thick neck, thinning hair buzzed down to the scalp.

  Charlie jerked a thumb toward the stranger. “That’s Detective Martinez of the Loudoun County Sheriff’s Department. He has some questions.”

  “About identity theft?” I asked, my tongue feeling as thick and useless as my brain.

  “You can file charges now if you like, but he’s concerned about your missing memory.” Charlie waved the man into the room. “Come on in. She’s awake and responsive.”

  “I’m Detective Martinez,” said the man who now stood at the foot of my bed. “I have questions for you, Cleopatra Jones.”

  “I barely know my name,” I said.

  “You were found without identification. Your family said your Volvo sedan is also missing.”

  That rang a bell. “I drive a gray Volvo.”

  “Any idea where it is?”

  “No.”

  He scribbled down a quick note. “What can you tell me about Mrs. Taylor?”

  A wealth of information popped into my head. I hoped I could relay it to him. “She’s a long-time tax client. A widow. She has a daughter named Shea Leigh and two grandchildren, Raymond and Melanie.”

  “And Mrs. Taylor’s address?”

  I rattled off the Pharr Lane address so quickly that I surprised myself. My head throbbed. Being a show off was taking a toll. Charlie was right. I needed rest.

  He nodded. “That’s the location we have on file for her.”

  “I can’t remember this morning. Will you check on her?”

  “We’ll conduct a welfare check, but given that she’s a senior citizen and it’s nighttime, we’ll wait until the morning. It seems reasonable to me, especially after talking to Dr. Garwood, that you had a car accident, hit your head, and abandoned your vehicle to seek help. Someone must’ve come across your unlocked vehicle and swiped your identification. In any event, if you were in the car, you were unlikely with Mrs. Taylor at the same time.”

  I nodded, but that minimal effort cost me, too. I yelped in pain and grabbed my throbbing head.

  “Cleo answered your questions,” Charlie said. “She’s in pain. Enough for now.”

  Martinez narrowed his eyes, started to say something, stopped. “As you wish.”

  Once the cop departed, I rested easier. A yawn slipped out. “Sleepy.”

  “First, some food.” Charlie wheeled over a tray of industrial containers. I ate broth, gelatin, and crackers. It went down easy.

  “Great job on the dinner.” He leaned down to kiss me on the lips. At the last moment, I turned my head to the side so he kissed my cheek. I wasn’t sure why I did this, but Charlie’s bright smile dimmed.

  He chewed his lip. “You’re remembering?”

  “Some, but it hurts to think. I need sleep and rest.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing, hon. Charlie’s got your back.”

  I closed my eyes. My head still hammered along, but my belly was full, and I knew my name. Sleep came quickly. During the night, I tried to roll over, but there was no room. Charlie had crawled into the narrow bed behind me. His hand rested possessively on my hip. Just like old times.

  I let out a contented sigh. He really did have my back.

  TWO

  An industrial noise awakened me. A vacuum cleaner, maybe. No, not a vacuum, the whirring sounded different, more like a floor polisher. Oh, yeah. I was in the hospital. In the darkened room, I glanced at the clock on the wall. Nearly three. Must be the middle of the night.

  I should go back to sleep. Except I needed to use the bathroom. Okay. I could do that. I untangled myself from Charlie and pushed up to a sitting position. The room swam a bit, like it did when I was pregnant. I sat still until the spinning motion ceased. So far so good.

  I swung my legs around, touched the cold floor with my bare feet. A tether of tubing stretched from my arm to an IV bag. No problem. I grabbed the bag, held it high as I walked, and then hooked the loop on the bathroom wall. After I completed my business, I studied the wan redhead in the mirror.

  My reflection looked tired and lost, same as I felt. “Your name is Cleopatra Jones,” I told the stranger. “You have a knot on the back of your head and got lost in a field. You’re healing, and you can bluster your way out of here once daylight comes. Then you can figure out what the heck happened to you.”

  ~*~

  “Good God Almighty. Get up, Charlie, you ratfink. Get out of this bed right this minute or I’m calling security.”

  I cracked open an eye at the scathing voice. In the blinding light of morning I saw a brunette wearing a red pantsuit that accentuated every generous curve. After she set down two cups of delicious smelling coffee and a large tote bag, she reached over me to poke Charlie. The man didn’t stir. He always did sleep like the dead.

  “Hello,” I said, opening both eyes to the new day. Her name came to me. “Jonette.”

  Hands on her hips, the woman leaned down in my face, and a zesty citrus scent infused the air. “Hello, yourself. Are you better? Must not be since you’re sleeping with the enemy.”

  Jonette sounded mean, but her friendly smile put me at ease. I gave her the truest answer I could think of. “I feel better today, but I still hate hospitals.”

  “Well, this definitely qualifies as your hour of need, so I’ll give you a pass on your temporary insanity of spooning with Charlie. Sorry, I couldn’t get here sooner. I pulled a late shift at the tavern last night. By the way, today I’m your sister, or they’ll kick me out of here.”

  “Okay, Sis.” I relished the aroma of caffeine. “That coffee for me?”

  “It is. But you have to disengage from your ex-husband before I hand it to you.”

  I chewed my lower lip. “He watched over me last night.”

  “Now I know you have amnesia. What to do, what to do?”

  My head felt better. No pounding. No squinting at bright lights. My memory was returning. Past time to leave. “I want to go home.”

  “Join the club. Lexy and Charla are going nuts with Delilah and Bud’s newlywed ways.”

  Her words didn’t compute, but it sounded like my kids were stressed. At the risk of getting stuck here longer, I called her on it. “What are you talking about?”

  “A certain erectile dysfunction drug is king at your house.”

  I remembered TV commercials advertising male potency drugs. Something about twin bathtubs on a beach with smiling seniors. Delilah was my mom, Bud her new groom. My guess is no tubs were involved. Maternal anger brought heat to my face. “They’re doing it in front of my kids?”

  “I’m saying you need to send the newlyweds back to their place. Discretion is not their strong suit.”

  I’d put a stop to the lewd behavior. No one messed with my kids. “Noted. I’ll do it as soon as I get home. Promise. Just get me out of here, Sis.”

  “Stand up. We’ll walk out the door right now.”

  The heavy hand on my hip held fast as I tried to scoot out of bed. “Not so fast, Cleo,” Charlie muttered, his voice thick with sleep. “You’re not going anywhere. I’m your husband.”

  “You’re her ex,” Jonette said. “I’m taking her home to Hogan’s Glen.”

  “No can do, Sis,” Charlie said. “Cleo needs to be medically cleared.”

  Guilt flooded in like snowmelt. Charlie had found me and comforted me through the night. “He has a point, and I like him, Jonette,” I said, sinking back into the warmth of Charlie.

  Jonette huffed out an exasperated sigh. “You always liked him, even when he broke your heart.”

  Another memory threatened, but I wanted to indulge in the one where Charlie put me first. “He kept me company all night.”

  “I’ll bet he did. He’s been trying to worm his way back
into your good graces for two years. You don’t want anything to do with him in real life. Besides you have a boyfriend, even if he isn’t around much anymore.”

  A boyfriend? That sounded wondrous and terrible at the same time. I thought for a moment and his name surfaced. “Rafe. The golf pro.”

  “You got it, though, I’m not happy with him, either.”

  “What?”

  “He’s a crappy boyfriend. You can do better.”

  “We’re good together, hon,” Charlie said, nuzzling my neck.

  “Stop that,” Jonette said, clapping her hands loudly. “This is wrong on so many levels. You’re pushing your luck, Charlie Jones, and damned if I’ll let you take advantage of my best friend. Cleo has a concussion and amnesia.”

  “He makes me feel safe.” I glanced at him over my shoulder. His smile was genuine, his eyes so blue I could swim in them.

  “I’ll do anything, and I mean anything to make you happy,” Charlie said.

  I turned back to Jonette. “I believe him.”

  “He’s telling the truth. He wants you back, but he’s no prize, either.”

  Jonette’s words filled me with alarm. “Tell me the truth, Charlie,” I said.

  His face fell, but his gaze didn’t. “She’s right. I put both of us through hell and back, and I’m genuinely sorry.”

  “Jonette?”

  “He nearly broke you.”

  The warmth coming from him suddenly felt less wholesome. I sat up beside him, my happiness sputtering. “You did?”

  “I love you. Have always loved you. Marry me.”

  I favored marriage. Charlie cared for me. How crazy would it be to say yes?

  “Cleo, you can’t do this,” Jonette said when I hesitated.

  “Somebody tried to hurt me,” I said. “Charlie makes me feel safe. He loves me.”

  “I know you’re thinking out loud,” Jonette said, “but you are just waking up from amnesia and a concussion. This isn’t the time to make a life decision.”

  I glanced over at Charlie again. He mouthed the words marry me. He looked so earnest, so caring.

  “Tell me this, someone. Am I in the habit of doing impulsive things?”

  “No,” Jonette said, “and you better not give into the Charlie impulse. You’ve already scratched that itch.”

  “Here’s the thing, Jonette. Getting married feels like the right thing to do. As long as Charlie understands this is a conditional yes, that I’m not myself right now, and that I have the right to change my mind, my answer is yes, I’ll marry you.”

  “Yes to all that.” Charlie gave me a chaste kiss, pulled the onyx ring from his finger, and placed it on mine. “To make sure you remember,” he said. “I’ll have a diamond for you later.”

  “I’d like to wake up from this very bad dream right now,” Jonette said, groaning. “Cleo, you can’t be serious.”

  I was saved from answering by a nurse who bustled into the room. “I need to run tests on Mrs. Jones,” she said.

  The tests turned out to be questions about my memory. Good thing I now remembered my name and hometown. I passed those memory tests with flying colors. Even though one of the blood tests he’d ordered wasn’t finalized, Doctor Garwood signed off on my release. I was free to go.

  “Where are my clothes?” I asked.

  “The detective requested them for testing,” Charlie said. “I asked Jonette to bring you clothes from home.”

  “I brought comfy clothes,” Jonette said. “Hope that’s okay with you.”

  “Anything’s okay, as long as I can get out of here.”

  As I dressed to leave, Detective Martinez returned. Steely eyes glared out of his expressionless face. My earlier impression of him being all-cop and no-nonsense were confirmed. This guy would gnaw a bone to death before he turned it loose.

  “Mrs. Jones, come with me,” Martinez said. “Your client is missing.”

  THREE

  Even in its dusting of snow, the two-story Victorian style house with groomed foundation plantings and painted gingerbread trim seemed familiar. My gaze lifted to the dark second-story windows. Had I visited here yesterday? I had no idea.

  A ring of occupied cop cars blocked Pharr Lane. Whatever happened here wasn’t good. Dread filled my pores. I didn’t want to go inside this house, but the choice wasn’t mine to make. Jonette and Charlie parked on the street behind us. They weren’t allowed to join me.

  Detective Martinez opened the car door and escorted me up the wooden steps. The frigid wind blew through the thin jogging suit Jonette had thoughtfully provided. At the threshold, I gazed at the darkened bronze doorknocker, my fingers wanting to trace the flowing script of “Taylor” engraved on its smooth surface.

  “Tell me if anything looks out of place or unusual,” Martinez said. “We’ll walk through each room of the house.”

  “I’ll do my best, but I don’t remember being here yesterday. I hope she’s okay.”

  “Focus on the contents of these rooms. What looks out of place?”

  I clutched my arms to my belly to stem my growing anxiety. “This house feels empty.”

  “I get that, but we need specifics to figure out what happened to Mrs. Taylor.”

  I glanced over at the door. “How’d you get the key to her place?”

  “The house was unlocked when I arrived for the welfare check this morning.”

  “Oh.” That wasn’t good. I took three steps inside, far enough so that he could close the door, and glanced around. “This room always looked neat, if dated. Everything is in the same place, the floral furniture, the drapes, the lamps. Wait. The rug’s gone.”

  “Good.” Detective Martinez made a note on a pad he carried. “Definitely no rug in this room.”

  From the depths of my mind came an image. “It was Oriental in style, mostly reds and golds.”

  A dark expression flickered across his face. “Anything else?”

  “Nope. This room looks fine.” We trooped through all the rooms of the house, though I was certain I’d never been in anything but the living room and the dining room. The spacious dining table held an arrangement of plastic flowers and looked as I remembered it. We finished in the kitchen. Hardly any clutter on the counters. How did anyone live like that?

  Touring the house amped my low-level headache into a three-alarm fire. I rubbed my throbbing temples and leaned against the island counter. “I don’t get it. Her clothes and dishes are here, so she didn’t move. Is Ms. Kitty here?”

  He paused. “There was no sign of a cat.”

  “Ms. Kitty is her Cadillac. She loves that car because it was Harm’s.”

  He checked his notes. “Harm was her late husband.” He pocketed the notepad and gave me his full attention. “A vintage caddy is parked in the garage. Is your memory of yesterday returning?”

  “Nope. This is long-term information I’m retrieving.”

  “You know her family?”

  “Some family addresses are in Mrs. Taylor’s tax documents from unpaid loans she’s written off. I’ve never met them.”

  “Do you know anyone who wishes her harm?”

  “No, of course not.” I thought for a few moments. “Wait. Once she mentioned to my father she had a property dispute with a neighbor. He made a note of it in her files, but nothing came of it.”

  Martinez nodded, jotting down notes as fast as I spoke. “About her family. This morning, first thing, I called Mrs. Taylor’s number to begin the wellness check. A woman named Melanie Bean answered the phone. Said she lived here, and said her granny moved to Florida with someone named Eddie Taylor. I wrote it all down and drove to the premises immediately. When I arrived, the house was deserted, and the back door unlocked. Because of your memory loss and your connection with Mrs. Taylor, we feared for the woman’s safety. We performed a walk-through of her home and garage. Then I drove to the hospital to get you.”

  “That’s strange. Mrs. Taylor lives here alone. There’s no sign of a younger person living he
re—no cereal or soda or young adult clutter. The skirted suits and low-heeled pumps in Mrs. Taylor’s closet definitely belong to an older female.” The granddaughter’s remarks sparked my curiosity. “Dial the alleged granddaughter again. I’ll speak with her.”

  He paused again, as if he were evaluating my proposal. Then he gave a terse nod. “First, I’ll arrange for a trace and block my number on the outgoing call. Keep her on the line as long as possible.” Martinez set up the tracking through his office, punched the number on his cell, and the phone inside the house rang once. The house phone fell silent, but ringing continued on his speakerphone. After four rings, a woman answered in a curt tone, “Who is this?”

  “Hello, ma’am. My name is Cleo Jones. I’m a friend of Mrs. Taylor’s, and I’d like to see her today. May I drive over this morning to visit her?”

  “Don’t bother. I live here now,” the woman said.

  Martinez made a circular motion with his hand. Oh, yeah. I was supposed to keep this liar talking as long as I could.

  “Are you at her place on Pharr Lane?” I asked.

  “Yes. Granny moved to Florida with a relative.”

  “Oh? Which one?”

  “Eddie Taylor.”

  “How’s he related?” I asked, fishing for additional information.

  “He’s my oldest cousin. Look, Eddie and Granny are tight. That’s why she split with him.”

  “Where did you say they were going in Florida? It’s a big state.”

  “Don’t know. Eddie will call me once they get settled. He’s between phones, and my granny doesn’t carry one.”

  Mrs. Taylor hated cell phones. I remembered that truth. She said they tied her down, and she didn’t want anyone calling her when she was driving or out on the town. She said people let phones rule their lives.

  Regardless, I had to keep the conversation rolling. I fell back on good manners. “Thanks, you’ve been so helpful. I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Melanie Bean.”

  “Nice to meet you, Melanie. I’ll be in touch later to get that new address for Mrs. Taylor. Any chance you’re looking for an accountant to do your taxes?” I asked, digging for another topic to drag this out longer.