by Helen Gray
Toni cringed at the harsh details, unable to prevent a flash of worry about Zoe and Melody. She didn’t bother to tell him they had been to the crime scene that evening, and therefore knew the exact location. “What about the girls’ computers? Have you checked them yet?”
“Our tech guy says he traced the Facebook page supposedly belonging to Zoe and Melody back to the Brownville School’s computer lab, which means someone did their homework on school equipment. It’ll be hard to prove who did it, but the detectives are going to talk to the principal and the teacher whose lab was used. Hopefully the technician can determine when the page was created, and the teacher can check her logs to see who was in the lab at that time. Of course, no matter how many facts are nailed down, it’s hard to prove that a particular person did it.”
“What about the victims? Did Brant and Shelby have social media sites?”
“Yes. They both had Facebook pages and postings on the teen hangout site. Most of the messages were the kind of discussions we expected. We’re still trying to identify the names of everyone both victims ever dated.”
“Just a minute,” Toni said when she sensed he was about to disconnect. “This probably doesn’t mean much, but the Brownville principal called me this morning.” She outlined her his report about Dione and Britney.
“It’s good to check all the bases,” he said. “I’ll look into those two.”
“I appreciate you including me in the loop like this.”
“I don’t want to see your students hurt. We’ll do everything we can to keep them safe.”
When she tucked her phone back in her purse, another clutch of worry gripped Toni. What if those two hoodlums tried again to hurt the girls?
Chapter 7
Saturday morning Toni decided to take advantage of the time alone. After Kyle took the boys to the airport with him, she cleaned up from their breakfast, put on her coat, climbed in the van, and headed for Brownville.
The sky was overcast and the wind whipping. She hadn’t checked the weather station, so hoped there wasn’t a snow storm—or worse—brewing. She exited the highway, drove past the courthouse, and looped around into the parking lot of the police station.
When she entered the jail, she saw that most of the chairs in the lobby were occupied. She approached the front desk. “I’d like to visit Mr. Roddy Gorman, please,” she said to the middle-aged receptionist.
Without expression the woman said, “I’ll need to see your ID.”
When Toni provided her driver’s license, the woman examined it, glanced up at her, and then back at the license. Then she returned it and pushed a clipboard across the desk. Attached to it was a sign-up list.
“Sign on the first empty line, be seated, and wait for your number to be called.”
Toni did as instructed and found a seat next to a pair of older ladies. To fill time, she pulled her phone from her purse and checked her email messages. As she read, the chatter of the ladies beside her indicated they were there to visit a nephew who kept getting in trouble—and not very happy about having to wait so long. The room became much quieter after a deputy came and escorted them away.
After a wait of nearly an hour, Toni’s number was called. The deputy escorted her to the door of the jail where they were joined by a jailer. As the deputy left, the jailer removed the magnetic cover from a little window and called Roddy’s name. When one of the five men lolling on cots or playing cards in the cell stood from the card game and came toward them, the others looked over at the window.
“Hey, Gorgeous, don’t you want to talk to me?” one of them yelled.
The others made similar wisecracks. Toni ignored them.
“You have fifteen minutes,” the jailer said. He stepped away, but remained within hearing distance.
From another little window about a foot beyond hers, dark, questioning eyes of the stringy haired guy Toni had seen in the newspaper picture peered at her. “Who are you? And what the deuce do you want?” he demanded loudly.
“I’m Toni Donovan from Clearmount, and I want to know if you’re related to Brant Gorman.” She had to speak loud to be heard over the racket still coming from inside the cell.
His pit bull glare pierced her. “What’s it to you?”
She hadn’t expected to be greeted with open arms, but had hoped for a little warmer reception than this. She decided that being direct was the best approach. “I’d like to find out who killed those two local teenagers, and I hoped you might be familiar enough with your relative—if he is one—to have some idea what happened.”
“He did it,” one of the inmates yelled.
“Shut up, Scooter,” Roddy yelled back without turning around or taking his gaze from Toni. “Brant’s my …was my cousin,” he admitted in a growl. “But I don’t know who killed him.”
Toni hauled a deep breath before the next question, but then stated it bluntly. “Was he working with you? Maybe selling your product?”
The man’s expression turned murderous. “Lady, I don’t know what you mean. Nobody’s proved I’m making anything.”
“I’m not trying to prove you are. I’d just like to help find your cousin’s killer. And the girl’s. She was a close friend of a couple of my students.”
At mention of her students, his eyes narrowed, and he peered through the glass at her more intently. “Okay, I know who you are now. You’re that nosy teacher I hear has a habit of sticking her nose into this kind of thing. Would them students be the Haynes and Cahill girls?”
She nodded. “They would, and their friend’s tragic death has hit them hard.”
He took his time studying her. Then he seemed to reach a conclusion. He moved his face so close to the little window that his nose flattened against it. “Brant is …was my cousin. But he never sold anything for me.”
Toni tried to read his inflections and body language for sincerity, but couldn’t.
His voice lowered until she could hardly hear him. “I heard it was a murder for hire.”
Her stomach lurched. “Do you have any idea who would do that kind of thing? Can you give me a name?” she asked in a hard-to-hear volume that matched his.
His gaze darted to the jailer behind her, and signaled with a rolled eye motion that he didn’t want to say anything aloud. He hesitated some more, and then his mouth slowly formed a silent word.
Toni tried to read his lips, and thought he had said the name Clarence, but she wanted to be sure. “One more time,” she mouthed silently.
He repeated the silent word, and she nodded. “A last name?”
He glanced up at the ceiling, then behind her, and to one side again. Then he slowly formed another word.
Toni frowned and yanked a pen from her purse. She quickly scribbled Anderson? on her palm and raised it toward him, being careful to keep the hand in front of her neck so the jailer behind them couldn’t see.
He nodded.
“Where should I start looking for him?” she asked, whispering and enunciating carefully.
“Poplar Bluff,” he mouthed back.
“Thank you.” She refrained from uttering some trite phrase like ‘have a nice day’ or ‘it’s been nice talking to you’ as he turned and plodded back to his cellmates.
The jailer escorted her back to the lobby. As she exited the building, she heard the next name being called.
Toni checked her watch. It was only eleven o’clock. She got in the van, started the motor, and took her phone from her purse. Before leaving the parking lot, she sent a quick text to Kyle letting him know she was going to Poplar Bluff. Then she sent one to Jeremy asking him to see what he could find out about Clarence Anderson and meet her at Taco Bell.
Stories and speculations were always rampant when a tragedy occurred. Toni figured Brant Gorman had surely been guilty of some of the things she had heard—but probably not all. It wasn’t hard to accept that he had made the rounds with the girls, even taken advantage of them. But this latest development was not as clear. She would h
ave to dig further and form a theory based on whatever facts she uncovered, and her own gut instincts.
When she pulled into the parking lot at Taco Bell, Toni spotted Jeremy’s lanky form standing on the sidewalk in front of the building. She parked and joined him. “Let me buy you lunch?”
He grinned. “No college student in his right mind will ever turn down a free meal.” Then his grin faded. “But I don’t want you paying for help on the Brownville murder case. That is what you’re getting ready to offer, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Your money’s no good on this one. It’ll be done for my own satisfaction.”
She shrugged. “Okay, have it your way. I’ll accept whatever help you can give me. But let’s eat while we discuss it.”
When they were about half done with their meal, Jeremy paused while unwrapping another taco. “Okay, here are the two facts I found about Clarence Anderson.”
She eyed him across the small table, waiting.
He put the taco down. “First, he’s a tough guy who’s been arrested several times for assault. Second, the last address I was able to locate is an apartment south of town.”
“Do you want to help me find that address?” she asked as he bit into the taco.
He nodded, chewed, and swallowed—and then grinned. “You bet.”
*
Rather than take both their vehicles, they left Jeremy’s pickup in the parking lot of the large church just up the street and continued in Toni’s van.
Jeremy sat in the passenger seat and gave directions as she drove through a neighborhood of small homes, untidy yards, and a sad air of poverty.
He pointed up ahead. “That looks like the right apartments. Now we need to find number one-eighteen.”
Toni clicked her signal, turned into the parking lot, and rolled slowly along in front of the building until Jeremy said, “There it is.”
She parked and gazed at the complex. Dilapidated and rundown, it matched the shabby neighborhood. Unkempt property. Graffiti on some of the doors. Rickety steps. Older cars, battered, dinged, and rusty, parked before the building.
“Why don’t you stay here and be my lookout?” she suggested.
Jeremy eased his tall frame back in the seat. “It’s your show.” His eyes gleamed beneath a fringe of dark hair that peeked from beneath a knit woolen cap.
As Toni walked to the apartment door, she noticed a pair of teenage boys loitering in the stairwell at the end of the complex. She didn’t recognize them, but when they looked up and saw her, they turned and walked away, their heads down.
She knocked on the door, and heard the clang of metal against metal from inside. Moments later the door opened to reveal a big, rawboned guy who looked to be somewhere in his forties. It had been several days since he had shaved. His eyes held a guarded look, and struck her as someone who didn’t get enough sleep.
“Who are you?” he growled. “And what do you want?”
“My name is Toni Donovan, and I heard you can give me information about who shot a couple of teens in Brownville.”
His face contorted into a malicious scowl that sent shivers through her. Then he stepped back and opened the door wider. “Come in here and we can talk about it.”
She couldn’t believe the sight in his living room floor. A motorcycle was parked there, with dangerous looking tools and clutter strewn around it. She stepped back. No way was she going in there alone with this goon. “I’m fine out here.”
He crossed his arms and stared at her for a long time, saying nothing. His lips flattened as the seconds ticked by. Finally he spoke. “You heard wrong, lady.”
Toni regarded his cold expression. “Are you saying you don’t do murder for hire?”
His gaze swept over the parking lot, lingering for a moment on her van where Jeremy sat, and returning to glare at her. “You wearing a wire or something? Trying to set me up? Well, you can forget it. Can’t trust nobody these days.”
With that he backed up and slammed the door.
For several moments Toni stood there, not sure what to think. Then she whirled and returned to the van.
“That was brief and probably a waste of time,” she said to Jeremy as she slid behind the wheel.
“You never know how it might prove useful,” he said philosophically. “If nothing else, you now know what the guy looks like. I’m glad you didn’t go inside with him. If you had, I was going in there with you. He’s a real tough guy, and you wouldn’t be safe with him. Please promise me you won’t come back here.”
Toni glanced at the passenger door window that had been lowered enough for Jeremy to listen to her conversation with Anderson. It seemed strange to have this young man she had once felt a need to protect now wanting to protect her.
“I won’t,” she promised. “But I plan to tell our police chief about him.”
Jeremy nodded approval. “You do that.”
Toni started the van and delivered Jeremy back to his own car. After leaving him, she headed home. As she drove, she mentally reviewed the day. The visit with Brant’s cousin had gained her nothing but the name of the jerk she had just left—a visit that hadn’t been the least bit helpful. Overall, she seemed to have wasted time that could have been spent more productively.
Yet, despite not learning anything concrete, she had met a couple of hard-nosed thugs who could be responsible, or involved. She could at least identify them. And she still had hope of uncovering a connection between them and those deaths.
*
Sunday morning, Toni woke to the sound of whispers. She opened one eye and peered out from beneath the covers to see Gabe and Garrett standing about halfway between the door and her bed. Kyle stood against the wall, a look of droll amusement on his face. A large package rested on the floor by his feet.
The boys moved forward, each bearing an envelope. They placed them on the lamp table beside her.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Gabe said brightly.
“We have a present for you, too,” Garrett added. “We made it.”
Toni scooted upright in the bed, smothering a yawn. She smiled and reached for the envelopes. They contained hand drawn valentines. Gabe had drawn an owl and written I GIVE A HOOT ABOUT YOU. Garrett had drawn an odd looking bee and written BEE MINE.
She looked up and opened her arms. “You guys always manage to cheer me up.” She hugged and released them. “Thank you.”
Kyle picked up the package and brought it to her, still grinning. “We teamed up on this one.” He set it at the foot of the bed, away from her feet.
Curious, Toni scooted down next to it and removed the layers of red tissue paper. She found a large piece of plywood cut in the shape of a heart and painted with the words REASONS WE LOVE YOU printed on it in black.
Toni laughed when she lifted it from the box for which it served as a lid. Inside were cans of Coke with sticky notes stuck to each one. She looked up. “Do I need to count them?”
“Probably not,” her husband said with a chuckle.
Two days before Christmas she had arrived home from an all-day shopping trip with her mother to find a huge tissue wrapped mound in their living room floor next to the Christmas tree. With their dad’s help, the boys had purchased fifty-two cases of Coke, stacked them in the shape of a tree, and covered it with green paper. When she unwrapped it Christmas Day, they had informed her it was a case a week for a year.
“It must be fifty-two,” she said, beginning to examine the notes. They each named something they loved about her—her smile, her food, her shoes—and the name of the writer. The one from Kyle said EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU.
She crawled off the bed, put on her robe, and kissed her husband. “Thank you, guys, for starting this day right.”
*
During church, John Zachary sat with Toni, Kyle and the boys. Jenny sang in the choir. Toni was disappointed that Zoe and Melody had called that morning and said they couldn’t come. After the song service, Jenny joined them in the
ir pew.
The message that morning was about sorrow.
"Attacks on us by others, suffering and failures can leave us with a sense of loss and hopelessness," the pastor said. "In our seasons of disappointment and heartache, we can find comfort in God."
How timely, Toni couldn't help but think.
After church they all went to the Zinger to eat. They had just taken off their coats and gotten seated at the big round table in the corner of the restaurant when Toni's parents, Russell and Faye Nash, entered with Buck Freeman. When they spotted Toni's group, they joined them.
For years the Nash and Freeman couples had eaten out together regularly. Since his wife's death, Buck still joined them for dinner most Sundays, which had to be why he showed such personal interest in Toni's involvement with another murder case.
A young waitress came to take their orders.
"We want hamburgers," Gabe announced for both him and Garrett. He crinkled his nose. "Garrett wants onions on his. I don't."
"I'm sorry," the waitress said. "We're out of onions. The person who picked up our groceries last night didn't get enough."
"I know," Garrett said matter-of-factly. "I want some chicken strips with barbecue sauce and fries."
The adults all ordered the buffet.
When the waitress left, Toni gave her youngest son a penetrating look. "You knew they were out of onions?"
He nodded and shrugged. "I dreamed that they were."
Gabe made a quick shake of his head. "He's spooky."
"He's not so spooky," Jenny Zachary spoke up. "The Bible has stories about people who dreamed of things that happened. Joseph is the one I always remember best. But there was also Jacob."
"And Solomon," John added. "Back then God spoke to people through dreams. I don't see why He can't now."
"Onions seem pretty insignificant," Toni muttered.
"He dreamed about the park before those missing kids were found," Gabe reminded her.
John reached over and gave Garrett a pat on the shoulder. "He's a sensitive little boy. He picks up on things most of us don't hear or notice."
Kyle's gaze had sharpened on his family at mention of the murdered teenagers. Now it focused on Toni. "I have to be gone all next week, and I hate to leave you alone. I'm concerned about your safety."