“Thank you. Guess that’s why they named this building The View.” She spooned sugar into her cup, stirred it, watched the honey-colored liquid swirl round and round.
Aurora recognized that Dixie Lee was upset. Maybe instead of side-stepping around Hessie’s disappearance, they should just talk about it. Right or wrong, Aurora forged ahead.
“Dixie Lee, Uncle Charlie told me about Hessie. Do you have any idea what happened? Do you want to talk about it?”
“All I know is that I arrived for work 15 minutes earlier than necessary. I almost always get to Hessie’s house early. And I usually leave late. And contrary to what her guardian says, I was not told to be there at 7:00.” Dixie Lee set her cup on the coffee table, stood, and shuffled through some papers on her desk. “Look here.” She pointed to the paper in her hand. “My schedule for this week says I’m to work five hours per day, Monday through Friday, from 8:00 to 1:00. This came from Hessie’s nephew last Friday. Look, he even signed and dated it.” She handed the schedule to Aurora.
“You’re right. This clearly gives your hours and days. I don’t see how Mr., uh,” she read the man’s name on the paper, “Mr. Smoot can say otherwise.”
“That Mr. Smoot infuriates me. Would you believe he threatened to fire me? I’ve never liked him. I would have quit working for him a month ago when he started yelling at me over the phone, but I’m fond of Hessie. And I honestly think she needs me.” Dixie Lee reached for a tissue, blew her nose. “I haven’t mentioned this to anyone else, but I think Mr. Smoot’s stealing from Hessie. And I don’t believe she’s safe under his care. But please don’t repeat this.”
“I won’t.” Aurora watched a bass boat zip across the water. “Do you know if Mr. Smoot called either the night person or the police?”
“I don’t know. Probably.”
King barked, ran to the door seconds before the doorbell rang. Aurora let Uncle Charlie in. He gave her a quick hug and rushed to Dixie Lee, folded his arms around her. His gentleness with the distraught lady told Aurora that these old friends would not lose touch with each other again. She smiled. Time to go. Uncle Charlie could handle things from now on.
Aurora retrieved her jacket, said her goodbyes, told Uncle Charlie and Dixie Lee to call if they needed her, whistled for King, and slipped out of the condo. In the hallway, she paused for a moment and smiled. At least something was going right. And now she was going to the grocery store.
King whined, ran to the condo next to Dixie Lee’s and scratched on the door. When Carole poked her head out the door and saw Aurora, she stepped into the hallway.
“Aurora, hey. What are you doing here?”
“I was visiting a friend next door. She’s the lady I told you about, the one who helps look after the elderly woman who nearly got run over the other day. What are you up to?”
Carole explained that she’d finally convinced Win to look at a condo, hoped he’d like it and buy it. She told Aurora that Win was beginning to get on her nerves, that she missed Luke a lot.
“Carole, what are you …?” Win walked into the hall, saw Aurora and stopped. “Aurora, it’s you. Why are you here?” Win stared at her. King growled, moved in front of Aurora.
“I’m just leaving, Win.” Aurora’s green eyes looked into his grays. Only sheer willpower kept her from screaming. She said goodbye to Carole, called King, and walked away. Around the corner, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Her hands shook.
Win had been wearing sunglasses when she saw him the day he lost his temper with Kurt. He wasn’t wearing them today. And that’s what scared her. She’d seen those eyes at the intersection in Lynchburg. Her sixth sense told her what he was capable of. And she was terrified for Carole.
She must warn her friend. She reached for her cell phone and stopped. What could she tell her? That Win had scary eyes, eyes that screamed to Aurora that he was dangerous, maybe a killer? She had no proof that he’d ever done anything against the law. Carole knew Aurora didn’t like Win, but she’d never believe such a story based only on what Aurora thought of his eyes. She dropped the phone back in her purse.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Back home, Aurora didn’t notice the blinking light on the answering machine until she’d unloaded the groceries and put away the cold and frozen foods. She pushed the “Play” button. After listening to the first message, she wished she had never discarded the old beep-when-there’s-a-message machine for this silent one that lights up. She replayed the message.
Ms. Harris, this is Kurt. You know that black van I saw at Mr. Southerland’s house? Well, I saw it last night parked across the street where an old lady lives. It was in her driveway up by the garage. I started to call you then, but figured I shouldn’t disturb you ‘cause it was so late, around 2:30 in the morning. Probably not important, anyhow, but I thought you’d like to know. It’s like 7:45 now, I’ll leave for school in five minutes. Hope you get this before I go. Anyhow, I’ll be home around 4:30. Oh, a couple cars are parked in her driveway now. My phone number’s ….
Aurora’s watch read 2:00. She figured she’d been outside listening to the sirens when Kurt called that morning. What should she do? Should she call the school and get Kurt out of class, call the police, what?
If only I’d checked for messages earlier, she thought. If I’d answered Jill’s call on this phone instead of the portable, I’d have seen the blinking light. Still would have been too late, though. She wondered who the old lady was. Her intuition nagged at her. She had a horrible thought. Was the lady who lived in the house across from Kurt Hessie Davis? She dialed the number Kurt had left.
“Karver residence,” the voice said. “Can I help you?”
“Hello, I’m Aurora Harris. I’m trying to reach Mr. or Mrs. Karver.”
“They’re both at work. I’m the maid. I clean for the Karvers two days a week, usually every Monday and Friday. Do you want to leave a message?”
Aurora almost shouted that the maid was inviting a burglar when she announced what days she worked. Instead, she asked when the Karvers would be home, then requested their work numbers.
“Ma’am, I’m real sorry, but unless this is an emergency or Kurt’s school calling, I’m not allowed to give out that information. Is this an emergency?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Aurora explained about Kurt’s phone call and why she was hoping one of his parents could help her. “What I’d really like to know is the name of the elderly woman who owns the house across the street.”
“I can tell you that. I’m friends with one of the lady’s caregivers, Dixie Lee Cunningham. The old woman is Ms. Davis.”
Aurora thanked her, hung up and dropped in a chair. Picking up the phone again, she dialed the sheriff’s office and left a message for either Field Lieutenant Conner or Sergeant Johnson to call her as soon as possible.
And what the heck was Kurt doing up at 2:30 in the morning on a school night?
Squench. The crowbar tore at the freezer door. Squench. The three men looked at each other, pulled again. The door popped loose. They stared at the body inside. Bob, the EMT, leaned over the body, held his ear close to the man’s mouth, looked for a rise and fall in his chest.
“You gotta be kidding,” said one man.
“Hey, we don’t know how long he’s been here. Cold weather and water will slow body functions. Even though I don’t expect to, I may be able to revive him,” he answered. Bob held two fingers against the victim’s carotid artery. “Holy cow! You guys ain’t gonna believe this. He’s alive! Barely, but he’s alive.” He pulled out his radio.
“Mike, freezer guy’s got a faint pulse. I’ll call dispatch, ask them to have a medical unit meet us at the nearest boat ramp. Which ramp do you suggest?”
“Let dispatch decide. They have all the lake maps and data there. Good job, Bob.”
Bob called dispatch and requested Advanced Life Support personnel to meet them with the medical unit. “This guy’s in bad shape,” Bob said. “If Lifeguard 1
0 is available, it would be good to fly the patient to the hospital.”
“We’ll see what we can do,” said the dispatcher. He instructed the three men to transport the patient to Parkway Marina. They backboarded the patient, covered him with blankets, loaded him on the boat, and sped off to meet the medical unit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
At Sweetwater Cove Country Club, Estelle spread her cards on the table in suits and looked at her partner. “How’s that?”
“Here, look at my hand, see what you think.” Lillian passed her cards to Estelle, watched her partner silently count the points.
“Has possibilities,” Estelle said as she handed the cards back to Lillian.
“You shouldn’t have stopped at three,” said Blanche. “Lillian re-bid her suit, so you know she has at least five diamonds.” She counted Estelle’s points. “And you have eight points and three diamonds. Whatever were you thinking, Estelle?”
“It’s my hand, Blanche. Not yours. I’ll have you know I’ll bid it the way I wish.” She pushed herself away from the card table. “I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?” Blanche asked. Estelle didn’t answer.
“I asked you where you’re going!” Blanche stomped her foot.
“I’m the dummy. And where I’m going is none of your business. I could be going to the bathroom, or to the bar, or home. Or I could be going to get my gun to shoot you.” Estelle smiled at Blanche, pointed a finger at her and said, “Pow, you’re dead!”
“Ew! Did I make you mad? Look, girls, Estelle doesn’t like me any more.” Blanche laughed, pretended to pout. “And by the way, Estelle, don’t forget that your husband works for Tom.”
In the ladies room, Estelle fumed. Blanche’s big mouth and superior attitude always infuriated her. Until today, she’d kept her feelings under control, played the necessary dishrag role when around Tom and Blanche. Her husband was a better man, a better builder than Tom Southerland could ever be. Dave had helped start Sweetwater Cove, had worked as foreman for the contractor for six years. When that contractor had a heart attack on the job and died three years ago, Dave had expected to take his place. Instead, the dimwit owner of Sweetwater had offered the position to Tom Southerland, an old college roommate. Tom had majored in accounting in college, couldn’t keep a job, changed to insurance. Failing at that, he’d accepted the contractor job when it was offered even though he knew zilch about building houses. Estelle never could understand how Dave could put up with Tom, could let Tom take the credit for the good construction and pass the blame to Dave when bad things happened. No, Tom Southerland was not qualified for the job he now held. But, she admitted to herself, Tom was a lot nicer than Blanche.
Estelle had attended Lynchburg College, gotten pregnant, and dropped out at the end of her sophomore year to marry the father of her unborn son. A year later, she gave birth to a second son. When the boys were two and three years old, their father graduated, thanked Estelle for financing his college education, and walked out of her life. She had worked two jobs to put him through college, had dreamed of how life would change when he got his degree and found a high-paying job. In her mind, she saw herself as a stay-at-home mom looking after the kids, making the house they’d buy a true home. A delicious dinner would be ready every evening when he opened the door and called, “Honey, I’m home!”
Instead, for six years after he left she struggled to pay rent and put food on the table, clothes on her kids and herself. When she met Dave on a blind date and he proposed three months later, she accepted, even though she didn’t love him. She liked him a lot, however, and hoped that eventually she’d learn to love him. Dave worshiped the boys, adored Estelle, was kind and fair in his dealings with his family and with others. One morning when Estelle awakened, she realized that not only did she like Dave, she also loved him. And wanted only the best for him.
Estelle looked in the mirror, applied lipstick, ran a comb through her hair, and headed back to the bridge game.
“Speaking of Tom, have you found him yet, Blanche?” asked Mary Ann. Blanche shook her head, played a jack of clubs. Lillian took the trick with the queen, led with the ten.
“If my husband were missing, I’d be knocking on doors, making phone calls,” Mary Ann said. “I wouldn’t be sitting at the club playing bridge. When did you last see Tom?”
“When we played bridge Friday night. He left to check on the new house, never came home.”
“Have you gone to the bank and made sure that you still have some money?” Mary Ann asked. She stifled a giggle. Blanche glared at her.
“I’m guessing you’ve called his office and made sure his secretary hasn’t disappeared, too,” said Mary Ann.
“Mary Ann, that’s not a nice thing to say,” said Lillian.
“I’m not worried about Tom leaving town with anyone but me, if that’s what you’re implying, Mary Ann,” Blanche said. She would never admit that she had indeed called Tom’s office and checked on the whereabouts of his young secretary. She really didn’t care if Tom left her as long as he didn’t clean out their bank accounts. She’d called the banks, too, verified that she was still a wealthy woman. She also had her own secret mad-money account just in case, had invested a large portion of it in CDs in her own name, was getting a good return on her money. And if by chance Tom met with a terrible accident and died, there was the five million dollar life insurance policy on him she’d collect. No, Blanche wasn’t worried about money, although more would be nice.
Lillian looked at the bridge girls and wondered how they ever became a foursome. Individually they were nice. Except for Blanche. Together they were a disaster. Did they even have anything in common except for the love of bridge? She wished they could just play bridge, have fun and chat like normal bridge clubs some of her friends were in, not get into all the squabbles and adverse personality stuff like members of a dysfunctional family. What was wrong with them?
Mary Ann was catty, vicious, but she’d stick by you if you needed her. Blanche’s every word carried an unseen dagger ready to thrust into anyone’s back. Estelle was normally quiet, a yes-girl to anything Blanche said or suggested. But then, Estelle’s husband Dave worked for Tom Southerland. Lillian had never known Estelle to react the way she just did.
Mary Ann and Lillian had attended the University of Virginia, were in the same sorority there, dated UVA guys who’d gone to high school with Tom. Blanche had graduated from Sweet Briar College in Amherst, Virginia, thought she was something special. She’d never worked a day in her life, never even made a bed. Her parents were stinking rich and flaunted their wealth. Lillian remembered the short vacation the bridge girls took to Blanche’s parents’ summer home in Newport, Rhode Island, two years ago. That fiasco had been a vacation from hell. Maybe Estelle felt like she didn’t fit in with the three college grads.
Mary Ann interrupted her thoughts. “Lillian, for heaven’s sake, play a card. Please.”
Lillian looked at the three cards already played, trumped with a low diamond and scooped up the last trick. “Good bidding, partner. We made three exactly,” she said as Estelle returned from the ladies’ room and sat down. Estelle nodded.
“What, no gun to shoot me with, Estelle?” Blanche laughed. “Or were you out of bullets?” She looked at Lillian and Mary Ann and grinned.
“Blanche, you know I love you too much to shoot you.” Estelle smiled sweetly at Blanche.
“I know you do, sugar. And I love you, too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Monday
Jasper Smoot checked caller ID when his office phone rang. “I told you not to call me here,” he said into the mouthpiece.
“Yeah, well, I called you anyhow. You gonna fire me?” Butch pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket, lit it.
Jasper ignored Butch’s comment. “This had better be important.”
“We took the old lady last night.”
“You what?” Jasper looked around his office, saw the secretary using
the copy machine in the next room. “Why the hell did you do that?”
“My girlfriend Etta’s a substitute night babysitter for the old woman, fills in when the regular one wants off. She called me ‘round midnight, said she was lonesome, and that the old woman was asleep. Since I was kinda lonesome, too, I just took myself over to the house for a little visit. I’ve done that lots of times.” He took a drag on the cigarette.
“You’re an idiot. You know that, Butch? A damn idiot.” Jasper glanced at the still busy secretary, lowered his voice. “So what happened?”
“Well, Etta and me was visitin’ when the old retard walked in the room. She knowed me, told me so, called me Butch, called Etta trash, told us to git outta her house. She got Etta all riled up and cryin’ and all. Then the old woman started screamin’. Etta was screamin’ and cryin’, too, and I just couldn’t take no more.”
“What’d you do?” Jasper stood up, sat back down.
“I slapped Etta to git her to calm down. The old woman picked up a vase and threw it at me. She shouldn’t a done that. Made me mad. So I punched her hard in the face. Knocked her out. Wuz gonna slit her throat with my huntin’ knife, but Etta grabbed holt of my arm, begged me not to. Said blood would be all over the room, that she’d get blamed.”
“So what did you do with Hessie?”
“Etta helped me load her into the van. After that, Etta cleaned up the broken vase and lit outta there like a bat outta hell. Said she warn’t gonna be here when somebody came ‘round askin’ questions. I got the retard with me in the farm building right now.”
“Well, she can’t stay there, stupid.”
“Don’t you think I know that? And don’t call me stupid no more.” He ground out his cigarette. “So can I kill her or what? And what do I do with her body?”
“Is she conscious?”
“Yeah.”
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