by Paula Matter
My shoulders were getting a real workout because I shrugged again. “Good points. Did you see the wallet in the truck? I mean, like on the seat or anywhere?”
“Nope.” He sipped his coffee. “What about Jack’s notebook? Just thought of that. It should’ve been in the truck. Did you ask Bobby Lee about it?”
“Wouldn’t you have seen it?”
He shook his head, his jowls shaking. “It, um, Jack was lying on his side, so …” He let his voice trail. Probably didn’t want to picture it again, or make me think of how Jack must’ve looked.
“Excuse me.” The beer guy ducked his head around the doorframe. “Hey, Sam, Maggie, I’m all done stocking. You’re good until next week. See y’all then.”
I heard the back door close and wondered if I’d ever see him again. Depressing thought, so I turned my attention back to Sam. The sooner I figured this out, the sooner I’d get back behind the bar where I belonged. And I had to do it before they had their meeting.
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll ask Bobby Lee about Jack’s notebook and wallet. But he made it sound like there was nothing else in the truck. Nothing but the scrunchie.” I swallowed the last of my coffee. I wanted to ask him about what Gussie had said. Why hadn’t she seen Sam? Or had she simply missed him? No way could she watch out her window and see everyone come and go.
“I should get going. I want to go to the cemetery, then pick up something for dinner before it gets dark.” I carried the mug around to the little kitchen and almost ran smack dab into Dick Reid as he was rounding the corner. As much as I wanted to question him, I felt like I’d made enough progress for one day. Getting to the cemetery was top priority.
Eleven
I didn’t make it to my car before getting waylaid.
“Yoo-hoo, Maggie!” Terrific. Diane Reid stood at the trunk of their car, a few plastic grocery bags at her feet. So nice of her husband to help her. Then I saw what she was up to. She’d probably told Dick to go on ahead so she could sneak a smoke. He was as bad as Pam when it came to putting the kibosh on smoking.
I waved hello and jumped into my Honda as fast as I could. I wanted to get to the cemetery before dark and I knew talking to Diane would be cutting it too close. When I had more time, I definitely wanted to talk to her.
For a sixty-something-year-old overweight woman, she was fast and suddenly appeared at my window. Her gray spiked hair was matted with perspiration and she used the cuff of her long sleeve to wipe her forehead.
“I’m glad I caught you! So many things to ask!” Diane leaned on my door catching her breath.“Anywho, I wanted to know what you’ll be bringing to the funeral reception.”
I started the ignition. She didn’t move. “Um, I don’t know, Diane. I hadn’t given it any thought. When is it?”
“Right after the funeral, silly! Here in our hall. What can I put you down for?”
“I don’t care. Cole slaw. Put me down for cole slaw. I have to go, Diane. Sorry to be rude,” I said, not feeling at all sorry. “See you later.”
“Wait, one more thing! Are you still going to clean my house this week?”
“Sure,” I said. Thirty-five dollars. Yeah, I’d clean her house. “I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, and remember—no telling Dick. He thinks I should do it all myself, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I don’t tell him everything, y’know.” Diane giggled. “Men! I wished he felt the same way. He’s always going on about how he spends his day when I could care less.”
I could’ve gouged her eyes out then and there. What I wouldn’t do to have the chance to hear Rob tell me about his day. I slammed the car in reverse, peeled out of the parking lot, and drove to the cemetery feeling guilty for not visiting Rob the day before.
The North DeSoto Cemetery was small, quiet, and expensive. Sidewalks so white they hurt my eyes in the summer meandered past well-kept gravesites. In the two years I’d been coming, I’d never seen litter or trash of any kind. The grass and shrubberies looked like they were trimmed on a daily basis. I had spared no expense on the grave marker either. The dates of Rob’s birth and death were etched in the beautiful black granite, so shiny I could see my reflection. My name was right next to his. Thank God the owners allowed layaway on plots and monthly payments on his funeral and burial. Their compassion led to my decision to bury Rob here in North DeSoto, with me right next to him when the time came.
It was just barely light out when I stopped at Winn-Dixie. I opted for the family-size frozen lasagna, which would feed me for five days—six if I didn’t pig out—and headed back to the house. Oh, man, what an exhausting day.
Carrying the grocery bag in one hand, my purse and keys in the other, I walked up to the front of my house. Oh, good Lord. No tarp blowing in the wind. No tarp period. My stomach bottomed out momentarily, but … the roof looked okay. As in patched. Fixed.
I ran up the porch steps and rang Michael’s doorbell. I hugged him as soon as he opened the door. I couldn’t help myself. Oh, hell, who was I kidding? I didn’t even try to restrain myself.
“I take it you saw the roof?” He pulled back and grinned.
“Yes, and thank you so much.”
“I can’t take all the credit. Scott Nelson stopped by and helped.”
Afraid of the answer, I asked, “What do I owe you?”
“Dinner. Chris is at her friend Heather’s house studying and will eat dinner there too.”
“Your timing couldn’t be better. Do you like lasagna and garlic bread?” I held up my grocery bag.
He groaned and said, “I love homemade lasagna.”
“Yeah? Me too. How do you feel about Stouffer’s?”
“I consider that homemade.”
“Good answer,” I said. “I have so much to tell you about my day. Come on up anytime. I’ll go pop dinner in the oven.”
“See you in about ten minutes, okay?”
“Great.” I unlocked my door and rushed up the stairs. I had less than ten minutes to spruce the place up. No way was I prepared for guests.
While the oven preheated, I shoved the boxes lined along the hallway into one of the rooms and closed the door. Michael knocked on the door as I was putting the lasagna in the oven.
I hollered down the stairs for him to come in.
“You don’t lock your door?” He was frowning when he reached the top of the stairs. “That surprises me, Maggie. Anyone could’ve come in.”
“Completely slipped my mind. I don’t usually leave it unlocked. Plus, I guess since I knew you were coming right over …” I let my voice trail off.
“But what if it hadn’t been me? You didn’t know that. What if—”
“Stop, just stop!” Terrific. Here came the crying jag for the day. I pointed toward the kitchen and said, “Go in there. I’ll be back.”
When I came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Michael was sitting at the kitchen table. I sat across from him, took a huge breath, and got ready to tell him the whole story. Because I’d wanted to be truthful to a prospective tenant, I hadn’t kept Rob’s murder from Michael. He knew Rob had been killed in the small mudroom downstairs and that I’d had it torn down, but I’d never told him everything. Now that he and Chris had been here a few months and we’d gotten to know each other a bit more, I felt I needed to explain.
“Okay, here’s the thing. You need to know what happened to my husband.”
“Only if you think it’s necessary.” His voice was soft, as if he were trying to put me at ease.
“You need to understand why I reacted the way I did earlier.” I took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m ready. I just have to get over my—”
My what? My fear? My not wanting to rehash it? A day didn’t go by that I didn’t think about it. Losing Rob was bad enough; the way he died was so much worse. Time to suck it up.
“Two years ago we—
Rob and I—were about done with the renovations downstairs. I was upstairs painting the bathroom. It’s the only room we were able to finish before Rob … before he was killed. He was working downstairs. I had my radio playing and I thought I heard him shout out to me.
“I turned down the volume, and it sounded like he was moving furniture around for some reason. I didn’t know what he was doing. I was up on a ladder and didn’t want to climb down to find out. I would’ve had to go downstairs, out the front door. The front door to downstairs was locked, so I would’ve had to walk all the way around to the side door just to see what he wanted. If only I had—”
I lowered my eyes, knowing if I looked at Michael I’d lose it for sure. I took another deep breath. I could get through this.
“Rob was making so much noise, I finally had to find out what he was doing. By the time I got to the side door, I heard the sound of squealing tires. I didn’t think anything about it. Not until later. I went inside and Rob didn’t answer me when I called out. I—I found him in the mudroom, the back door wide open.
“So much blood. He’d been beaten … he was sprawled on the floor, unconscious. Later, Bobby Lee said he’d been hit over and over with … something. They never did find out what or who did it. He died that night in the hospital. Never regained consciousness.”
“I am so sorry, Maggie.” Michael moved closer and put his arm around me.
“I had the mudroom demolished. I couldn’t stand the sight of it. I moved upstairs and haven’t been back since.” I gently pushed away from him and said, “And that’s why I have a hard time going inside your place. Even with the mudroom gone, the whole downstairs reminds me of Rob. Just hurts too much.”
“I’m glad you told me. Thank you.”
“Okay, then,” I said and stood. I needed to change the subject. “How about a glass of wine since you’re not driving?”
“Sounds great.”
I was pulling two wineglasses out of the cabinet when Michael’s cell phone rang. A normal ring, nothing fancy or musical. He even had an older phone, not one with all the bells and whistles. Go figure. I couldn’t help but eavesdrop.
“Oh, yes, Terri, thanks for returning my call. Pizza? I bet Chris loved that.” Silence while he listened, then a chuckle. A deep, throaty kind of chuckle that I’d never heard from him before.
Dropping all pretense of nonchalance, I looked at him. Damned if he wasn’t blushing. Who the hell was Terri and why was she calling him? Oh, the mother of Chris’s friend Heather, of course. Why did it sound like he was flirting? And, more importantly, why the hell should I care?
“Okay, see you in a couple of hours. I’ll be waiting out front. Thanks, Terri.” He finished his conversation and snapped his phone shut. “Okay, so where were we?”
Guess I wasn’t going to hear anything more about Terri. Fine.
I poured the wine and handed him a glass. We spent the next two hours eating and catching up on everything I’d done that day. Except for visiting Rob. And the part about going to Jack’s. I wasn’t sure how he’d react to that. Something nagged in the back of my brain, but I couldn’t figure out what, so I kept it to myself.
“That’s interesting about Gussie seeing cars and people,” he said. “And I hate to say it, but you will eventually need to talk to Sam about where he was. Suspect everyone. Casual conversation. You don’t need to interrogate people, just talk, ask questions. And wait for their answers. I learned long ago that my keeping quiet made them talk.”
“Sounds good. I learned Abby’s last name is Quon, but little else. I’d planned on checking her out on my computer.” I pointed to the ancient desktop on an even more ancient desk shoved into the corner.
“Let’s do that now,” he suggested. Several minutes later, during which he’d grumbled about my slow connection and small monitor, we were finally online. He hovered over my shoulder while I typed in Abby’s full name (properly spelled this time) and “Ft. Walton Beach, FL.” Nothing. I tried a few different directories he knew about with no luck.
I leaned back in my chair and my head smacked Michael square in the chin.
“Ouch!” I rubbed the back of my head. “Sorry about that. Are you okay?”
“Man, you have a hard head. Not that I didn’t already know that.” Michael laughed. “I think you got the worst of it. You okay?”
I jumped, startled when I felt his hand on mine. He quickly pulled it away. I sat there facing the computer wondering who was more embarrassed—him for touching me, or my reaction to it. I felt the heat of a blush on my cheeks.
“Sorry, Maggie, I—”
I waved his apology away. “Oh, no big deal. I’m just jumpy is all.”
“Yeah, okay. Um, I think I’m going to go wait outside for Chris. She should be here soon.”
“All right,” I said, even though we knew Chris wouldn’t be here for another fifteen, twenty minutes. I heard him leave the room and sprint down the stairs. I fanned my still hot face. Oh, sheesh. Now I was acting like a southern belle with a case of the vapors. “Why I do declare, Mr. Bradley!” I muttered under my breath.
Enough. Back to work. Work. Sam had said Abby was experienced, that she’d worked as a bartender before. I typed in her name along with “waitress” and “bartender.” Whoa. A site popped up linking to a gentleman’s club in Ft. Walton Beach. I clicked on it.
A photo came up. A smiling Abby stood between two men, her arms linked in theirs. The caption read, “Dancer Abby with club owner Nicky and bartender Tyler.” Nicky looked like the guy from the old “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing” Alka-Seltzer commercials. Tyler, on the other hand, belonged on the cover of a romance novel. Drop dead gorgeous with biceps the size of I don’t know what. No wonder Abby was smiling. Then I remembered her black eye.
Well, well, well. I leaned back in the chair and immediately thought of Michael. I ran downstairs to tell him what I’d found. He followed me back upstairs.
“Good job,” he said after looking at the photo. I noticed he stood a couple feet away. “Jot down the address and phone number. We should go out there this weekend and pay Abby a visit.”
I wrote down the information and turned to look at him. I grinned and said, “Oh, I see how it is. You’re pretty willing to help when it comes time to visit a strip club.”
Score. He blushed. Hell, better him than me. By then it really was time for Michael to go wait for Chris. I told him to come back up with her.
“This is so cool, Maggie! I love your house,” Chris said. She stood at the overflowing bookshelves, fingering the spines.
“I’ve never taken time to look through all those books,” I told her. “Anything interesting to you?”
“Nope. Just a lot of old cookbooks and medical stuff.” She moved away from the bookshelf, plopped back down in her chair. “So, what are we gonna do?”
“Um, are you hungry? I could make some popcorn.”
“Yeah, can I help?” Chris jumped up. “Whoa, the floor’s wobbly here.” She pointed her toes to the carpet under her.
“Be careful. You won’t fall through, but the plywood might be coming loose.”
“Plywood?” Michael held out his hand to her. “Come here, honey. Be careful.”
“It’s safe. Chris, I’ll bet you don’t know what’s under the plywood, or behind that wall there.” I pointed to where she’d been standing.
“What?” Her voice was a whisper, her eyes wide. “A secret tunnel?”
“Stairs that go down to your kitchen.”
“Cool! But why are they covered up?”
I placed a bag of popcorn in the microwave and explained the history of the house to her, everything Rob and I had been able to learn thanks to Pam.
“Are there ghosts?”
“Nope, but there’s supposed to be a hidden treasure somewhere.”
“Awesome! Can we hunt f
or it?”
The microwave beeped and I shook the popcorn into a big bowl, put it down on the kitchen table.
“What it is? Gold? Money? Jewelry?” Chris scooped a small handful of popcorn into her mouth.
“I don’t know too much. Just that there’s an old rumor that something very valuable is hidden. Something, somewhere. I don’t know.” I remembered Pam telling us about the old rumor, then pooh-poohing it. The treasure rumor had been around for decades.
“I bet I could find it. Have you ever looked?”
I thought back to every time Rob and I tore up a floor or insulated a wall. He’d looked out for hidden treasures. He had fallen for the rumor hook, line, and sinker.
After his murder, the rumor had resurfaced, and people said the killer had been looking for the treasure. Bobby Lee always thought it was a home invasion. Considering nothing had been stolen, he called it an attempted burglary gone wrong.
I called it a stupid, useless murder.
The tolling of my grandfather clock shook me out of my reverie. I smiled as Chris counted along with the chimes.
She cried, “Eleven? No way it’s eleven o’clock!”
“Subtract three, and you’ll get the right time,” I said, laughing at their expressions. “The clock came with the house. Never could figure out what’s wrong, and it’s easier to subtract than get it fixed.”
“Totally weird, Maggie,” Chris said. “And cool.”
Michael stood. “All right, young lady, that means time to get ready for bed. Thanks, Maggie, for the homemade lasagna.” He rubbed his belly.
I followed them downstairs, locking the door behind them. Exhausted by the long day and all the running around I’d done, I decided to take a long, hot bubble bath. I had certainly deserved it. While soaking, I planned the next day. Tuesday, my only day off from the club, was when I normally cleaned Pam’s house.
I was just getting into my jammies when the phone rang. Since it was after nine o’clock, I knew it wouldn’t be a bill collector, so I felt safe in answering. Pam Nelson’s southern drawl twittered in my ear.