1 In For A Penny

by Maggie Toussaint

  The Financial Report for the three-hundred-member association showed that this group had a good start on their Capital Reserve Fund. Bank statements, a copy of the association checkbook register, invoices, assorted receipts, and the General Ledger were included in the expandable folder. Everything looked relatively straightforward.

  All right. I had myself a legitimate client. Now for the digging part. “Is there anything I should know about your Association?”

  Geraldine handed her baby boy something that looked like a pretzel but smelled like a graham cracker. “What do you mean?”

  I sipped my coffee and remembered I was being subtle here. “Are there any outstanding issues that don’t appear in past years’ records?”

  “You mean stuff like did the developer mismanage the Association fund before we took it over?”

  “Something like that.”

  “There was a problem with timely snow removal the first winter, but Chad Browning, our judge in residence, got that problem straightened out right away.”

  Delinquent snow removal wasn’t particularly heinous. If I wanted real dirt on the man, I needed to ask more pointed questions. “One of the reasons I called you is that your developer is building up in my area now and I had some questions about Robert Joy’s integrity. Did you know him?”

  Geraldine caught the baby’s cookie on the fly. She looked like she might bust out laughing. “He hit on you, too?”

  I nodded. Satisfaction zoomed through me. This was what I’d navigated through death-defying traffic to learn.

  Geraldine’s brown eyes twinkled. “Robert Joy thinks he’s God’s gift to women, but don’t hold that against him. He’s all talk in that department. Fortunately, he builds a great house.”

  I chewed my bottom lip. I’d wanted the man to be guilty of something that might indicate deviant tendencies. If she didn’t want to talk about the personal stuff, maybe she’d talk about his professional abilities. “You haven’t had any trouble with inferior products being substituted in your home or things not being as specified in your contract?”

  “No. I wouldn’t be here if I had. What’s the bottom line here?”

  Through the doorway I could see the adjacent room cluttered with toys. Geraldine splurged on her kid but she didn’t own one piece of dining room furniture. She didn’t look like a person who would be easily swayed from her path in life.

  My best bet was to lay my cards on the table. “His current development is dead in the water. He doesn’t have the approval he needs from the town council to annex White Rock into the city. Without that approval, the number of dwellings he can build on that parcel of land is limited. Since his arrival, we’ve had two murders in our small town. I thought if I asked around, I might find out more about the man behind the development.”

  Alarmed, Geraldine picked up her son and hugged him close. “You think Robert Joy is a murderer?”

  I hadn’t meant to upset her. The baby cried and Geraldine looked as if she might join him. Okay. Maybe there was such a thing as too much honesty. I scurried to do some damage control. “I don’t think anything. He’s a stranger to our town, someone I don’t know much about. It’s easy to point fingers at people you don’t know.”

  “Who died?”

  “The banker who brokered the deal for the development and a bank security guard. Do you think that if Robert Joy got mad he might act aggressively towards a man who thwarted his plans?”

  Geraldine pulled her son’s hands from her mouth. “My husband and I came out here a lot while our house was being built. Robert Joy was very hands-on and kept close tabs on his work crews. I never once saw him do anything violent.”

  I could just imagine the phone calls Geraldine would make when I left her house. There would be a slander suit on my desk before I returned to my office. “I never said he did anything violent. All I said was that I didn’t know him very well. If you say he’s nonviolent, I believe you.”

  “Do you have kids?” Geraldine asked.

  “Two daughters.”

  “No wonder you’re worried. If anything happened to my little guy, I’d be devastated.”

  Worry united mothers around the world. I thanked Geraldine for her coffee, her information, and her business, then headed home. If the sleazy developer wasn’t the killer, who was? The field narrowed back down to folks I knew well. Bummer.

  * * * * *

  A handwritten note addressed to me was in the Gray Beast that afternoon when I went to pick the girls up from school. I don’t normally get notes in my car, but I didn’t have time to read more than the envelope because I was running late. Whatever was in the note could wait. I shoved the unopened envelope in my purse and sped off.

  With all the police activity in my yard two days ago, I was uncomfortable with my daughters walking the four blocks to and from school. Our neighborhood was probably the safest it had ever been, but I had reached emotional overload. No amount of my kids telling me how uncool it was for them to be picked up by their mother reached me.

  I needed to know that my girls were safe. The world was not a nice place and I couldn’t just sit back and trust in the goodness of my fellow human beings. Not when my babies were at risk.

  As I waited in the queue of minivans and SUVs, Lexy walked with her friends over to the car, bubbling all the while about the middle-school yearbooks that had just been distributed. Charla strolled by alone, looking for all the world like she didn’t know us. In my rearview mirror I saw her stop to fool with her purse, check out the parking lot in her compact mirror, and then duck in the backseat. She hunched down low and said, “Drive.”

  I drove, but only because they were both in the car. “This isn’t a bank heist, Charla. And hello to you too.”

  “Mom.” Charla drew my name out into two irate syllables. “Don’t do this to me. It’s so embarrassing to be seen in this ugly car. Why are you still driving the same car you drove in high school? Why can’t you be a normal mom and drive a minivan?”

  When I was her age, I’d thought the Gray Beast wasn’t cool either. However, this perpetual motion machine never broke down, and best of all, it was paid for. I couldn’t in good conscience trade it in just because it wasn’t what the cool moms were driving.

  And I couldn’t idly stand by while she badmouthed our reliable car. Someone had to speak up for the Gray Beast. “Hey, this car is practically a vintage automobile.”

  Charla shoved on her sunglasses and scrunched down below window level. “Practically vintage doesn’t count. It means this car is old as dirt.” She gestured towards the line of cars exiting the parking lot. “Look. Even the nerdy kids drive newer cars than this old dinosaur.”

  “This car is one of the safest on the road if there’s an accident,” I said. “Besides, it’s transportation. A ride is a ride.”

  Charla turned sixteen next year. Maybe I would get another car for me and teach her to drive the Gray Beast. I didn’t want her to be driving around in a car that would collapse like an accordion at the slightest nudge. The Gray Beast was solid. “You’ll feel differently in a year or so.”

  “No way. I will never like this car. You’re ruining my life by forcing me to be seen in this rust bucket.”

  There wasn’t an ounce of rust on this car. Even though we’d bought it secondhand, Daddy had religiously insisted the car be washed and waxed with regularity. He would be shocked at how I’d let the car’s appearance decline. It no longer gleamed from frequent hand waxing, but the dull patina suited its personality much better.

  With a flash, I realized I had just repeated a conversation I’d had with my father when I was about Charla’s age. He’d bought the Gray Beast through the newspaper when I was fifteen.

  “Cars like this don’t come along every day,” he’d said.

  I’d been just as horrified as Charla, but then I’d realized that driving gave me freedom from parental oversight, and I’d changed my tune. Driving this sturdy car hadn’t hurt me one bit. Charla would just have
to adjust that attitude of hers.

  Lexy piped in about the yearbooks again, and then we were home and doing the homework and supper and watching TV thing. It wasn’t until my bedtime that I remembered that note I’d found in my car. What was that all about?

  I padded down to the kitchen and retrieved the plain white envelope from my purse. Everyone else had gone to bed and it seemed as if I was all alone in the dark house. Was the note from Jonette? She hadn’t called today. Maybe she’d written a quick thank you for her rainbow dinner and tucked it in the car.

  Or maybe it was a card from Rafe. A man with such luscious bedroom eyes surely had poetry lurking in his soul. It wouldn’t be beyond him to slip over here on his way to work and leave a romantic poem in my car.

  With those warm and fuzzy thoughts in mind, I ripped open the envelope. Warm and fuzzy flew right out the window. My blood chilled as I unfolded the single sheet of white copy paper inside.

  This was no love note. The page was dotted with glued on letters cut from glossy magazines, the kind of thing a serial killer might send to a victim.

  Dear God. What had I gotten myself into? Had the other two murder victims gotten similar notes prior to their death? Had my fact-finding trip to Far Hills this morning rubbed someone the wrong way?

  I couldn’t quite catch my breath.

  Britt Radcliff’s words came back to haunt me. He’d warned me to stay out of this because I wasn’t expendable. I couldn’t imagine what my daughters would do if something happened to me. Worse, I wouldn’t get to see them grow up, to see them dress up for prom, graduate from high school and college, get married and have my grandbabies.

  My hand shook so bad I had to put the sheet of paper down on the counter before I could read it. The very first word was misspelled and that made me wonder about the intelligence of the person sending the note.

  Cum to the maintenance shed at the golf course tomorrow morning at dawn to find out who killed Dudley. Don’t tell anyone or the meet’s off.

  I read the note twice to be sure I understood. I was to go to the golf course, alone, at a time when no one else would be there. My first reaction was—hell no. Not in a million years.

  Letters like this one weren’t written with the recipient’s best interests at heart.

  Who sent it? I had no idea.

  Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke? I looked at the words again, studying them separately and individually, as if they were pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Surely, if I could just calm down, I could figure this out. The instructions were direct, but some words were misspelled.

  How could a person misspell “come” but get “maintenance” right? That didn’t make any sense. Was this someone with legitimate information? Or was this a trap to lure me into an unsafe place and kill me?

  So much for thinking the note might be from Jonette, even though her spelling had always been problematic. She would have called or come over if she had something important to tell me. And, she hadn’t sent me notes since high school geometry class.

  Charlie would have spelled every word correctly and added a few extra sentences to make himself sound more important. I couldn’t imagine him leaving me a note unless he thought my phone line was tapped or there were electronic bugs in my house. Not that I had any experience with either of those things, but I’d watched my fair share of detective shows and read plenty of thrillers.

  Shit. Was my house bugged? There had been plenty of cops here two days ago. They might have bugged my house trying to find out if I knew anything about Ed Monday.

  I looked around my familiar kitchen, and every shadowy nook and cranny seemed like a great hiding place for a listening device. I pawed through stacks of junk mail before I realized I had no idea what I was looking for.

  I shoved the hair back from my face and took a deep breath. I needed a reality break here. The likelihood of my house being bugged by the authorities or Dudley’s killer wasn’t very high. I was jumping to conclusions because of that note.

  That note. I picked it up again by its corners and reread it. The words hadn’t changed any in the last five minutes. Hell. If I called Britt or anyone else, the person wouldn’t show up. Questions shot through my head like bullets.

  Why me?

  Why a private meeting?

  What the hell time was dawn anyway?

  I sat down hard in a kitchen chair. Was I really going to do what the note said? The killer had already struck twice, and I could be facing certain death. If the killer had sent this, he’d been standing in my yard. He’d sat in my car. He’d been close to my family.

  My fists clenched reflexively. I was never letting my daughters out of my sight again. Hogan’s Glen was a dangerous place. Bad things happened here.

  The chances of me being able to keep my daughters locked in the house for the rest of their lives were slim to none. There had to be a better way, because if I restricted our freedom of motion due to someone else’s activity, hadn’t they won? I didn’t want to spend the next forty or so years being afraid of my shadow.

  I wasn’t completely defenseless. I had Daddy’s guns under my bed. If I decided to do as the note said, I could take Daddy’s pistol with me, for protection. I knew which end of a gun was which, even though I wasn’t a great marksman.

  Maybe I should call Rafe to go with me. Only, the meet was set for the golf course, Rafe’s home turf. Was Rafe the one who sent me the note? Athletes weren’t usually star students. He might be a lousy speller.

  What if I called him and he was the killer? Would he kill me and my entire family?

  Shit.

  I couldn’t trust anyone.

  I shouldn’t go.

  It was crazy to go, but I needed to go because I had absolutely no idea who killed Dudley. It could have been Robert Joy the sleazy developer. I thought I’d ruled him out, but the note had appeared right after I visited his last development.

  Darnell had plenty of reason to kill Dudley, and he was mean enough to do it. Jasper’s mother, the blind sharpshooter couldn’t have done it. Jasper and Rafe worked at the golf course so they had plenty of opportunity. Jasper had guns in his house. Did Rafe?

  Britt believed the killer might be Charlie or Jonette or Bitsy. All of them had reason to hate Dudley. Charlie thought my neighbor, Ed Monday the fugitive bomber, had done it. I wanted Denise to burn in hell for breaking up my marriage, but she had a solid alibi for Dudley’s murder. I knew Mama, the girls and I didn’t kill anyone, but I didn’t know much else for certain.

  If I didn’t go and this was a “Deep Throat” source that for some reason couldn’t go to the authorities and who trusted only me, this case might never get solved. And I really wanted to end this reign of terror. I’d like to show the world that in spite of being set aside by my husband, I still had some value. That what I did mattered.

  Madonna must have gotten lonely up in my bed because she came down to see what was keeping me. I patted her big head and a plan began to form. While Madonna wasn’t a pit bull or a rottweiler, she had the advantage of being huge. Her size was intimidating if you didn’t know her or know much about the friendliness of Saint Bernards in general. I could take her with me. With Madonna and a gun I should be safe.

  I could also take my cell phone, punch in the emergency number, and hold my thumb poised on the send button while I waited at the maintenance shed. That might work.

  I reached over and picked up today’s paper from the hutch where Mama had left it after she’d done the crossword puzzle. Sunrise was at six a.m. If I got to the course early, I would have the advantage of knowing the lay of the land ahead of time.

  This was starting to sound like a very viable, very safe plan. I’d take my cell phone, Daddy’s pistol, the dog, and a flashlight. That sounded good. And dark clothing to blend into the shadows.

  I exhaled slowly.

  I must be nuts.

  I was going to do this.

  Meet with an unknown person in a secluded area.

  Alone. />
  Not exactly smart when you looked at it that way. But I could leave a note for Mama and the girls telling them where I was.

  Yeah. That was good. I tucked a small flashlight in my shoulder bag and went upstairs to set my alarm clock for five a.m. I didn’t want to oversleep and miss the meeting. I wanted to solve these murders. And I wanted the killer to pay for what he’d done.

  I found a pair of dark slacks, an old black turtleneck, dark socks, and black slip-on loafers. Too bad I didn’t have black sneakers.

  That done, the only thing left to find was Daddy’s pistol. I’d kept his guns hidden under my bed in hopes that would keep Mama and the girls from finding them. I’d seen the guns under there from time to time when I declared war on dust bunnies, but for the most part, the taupe dust ruffle on my bed covered up a multitude of sins.

  Getting down on my knees and leaning over was all the invitation Madonna needed. She lay down next to me and thumped her tail happily, expecting me to wrestle with her. I lifted the ruffle and made a chilling discovery. There were only two guns under my bed.

  Daddy’s pistol was missing.

  Where was it?

  Had Mama come in and retrieved the gun as soon as people in town started being murdered? Or, even more worrisome, did one of the girls have it?

  I would find out just as soon as I got back from my early-morning meeting. Neither the twenty two rifle nor the shotgun was small enough to fit in my purse, so I couldn’t take either of them.

  But now I had no weapon. There went half of my security plan.

  It was probably better that way. I might have hurt myself or someone else if I had a gun. A “loaded” cell phone and a giant dog should be enough for an early morning meeting, right?

  I could be careful. What were the chances the note was left by a homicidal maniac? Few things in life were certain. If I had to believe something, I was going to believe that the person who left the note had information, nothing more.

  No problem.

  As I got ready for bed I repeated those words over and over again so that I would believe them. I stared at the ceiling of my room, sure that I would never fall asleep.