Relative Chaos (19 page)

Of all the low blows. I took a moment to gather myself, then said,
"Why aren't you visiting, then, instead of rifling through junk that
I'm certain doesn't mean a thing to you?"

"Because she went out," Janice said.

"Where did she go?"

"To see some old lady." Janice shrugged. "Friend whose daughter
got killed today."

My breath caught. "Dawn Hurley's mother?"

Janice bent over the boxes, pulled out an old scrapbook, and began
leafing through the pages. "I think that's the name she mentioned."

"Millie was upset, wasn't she?"

Janice glanced at me. "She cried some"

"And you stayed here while she went out alone to visit a grieving
mother"

She fixed me with the death stare again. "Look at you, Miss
Family Values. Why aren't you spending time with your kid?"

"What?"

"Your kid," she said. "Kevin."

I wouldn't have thought she remembered my son's name. "What
about Kevin?"

"He looks like hell," Janice said. "Something's eating at him.
Anybody can see that."

"What are you talking about?" I said, hearing panic rise in my
voice. "When did you see him?"

"This afternoon," Janice said. "He was out back, walking the golf
course."

Janice continued rifling through the cartons. Ordinarily, I would
have raised Cain about the mess she was making, but after the bombshell she'd dropped, clutter was the last thing I cared about. Janice
had seen Kevin. He was back in town.

The same day another dead body had turned up.

Of course, I knew Kevin had nothing to do with either one of the
murders. And the two incidents were totally unrelated. Dawn Hurley
couldn't be connected in any way to the unidentified man found in
Aunt Millie's garage-or could she?

Murder wasn't a common occurrence here in Richmond, and the
police might try to tie the two events together. What if they pinned
the blame for both deaths on my son?

I stood frozen in place as the horrible possibilities washed over
me. Janice didn't seem to notice my silence. If we had a normal relationship, I would bombard her with questions. Ask for her help to
track Kevin down here and now. But my cousin wasn't normal or
helpful. She was older, though, and her eyesight might have worsened
over the years. It had been a long time since she'd seen Kevin. Maybe
she was simply mistaken about spotting him.

I sidled closer. "Are you sure it was Kevin you saw?" I said, trying
to sound casual.

She pushed a box aside and ripped the next one open. "Couldn't
mistake him. He's like a clone of Doug."

She was right about that. "How long ago did you see him?"

"Three, four hours."

"I didn't realize he'd taken up golf."

"He wasn't playing," she said. "I didn't see any cart or clubs.
That's why I noticed him, meandering around out there looking like
a lost puppy dog."

Gooseflesh prickled my arms. "What did he have to say?"

She scowled. "We didn't talk. I saw the kid, that's all."

"Okay, okay."

I zipped my jacket to ward off the sudden chill in the creepy
garage. The dead man was gone but definitely not forgotten.

Janice knelt on the dirty concrete floor, oblivious to her undoubtedly
expensive slacks, and began pulling things from the box. I wouldn't
get any useful information from her, so I turned to leave. I had to
find Kevin, talk to him, before the police did.

Behind me, Janice said, "Where'd you put the rest of my stuff?"

I glanced at her, then at the school notebooks, scuffed cheerleader
shoes, and debris from another lifetime scattered around her feet.

"I didn't touch your things," I said.

"That's bull. Mother didn't suddenly turn neat and tidy. I know how
you are, taking things into your own hands. So where's my stuff?"

She stood and propped her fists on her hips. With the frizzed-out
hair and dirty clothes, she looked very unlike herself. Maybe she was
having some sort of bipolar episode.

"You heard about the murdered man, didn't you?" I said.

"What does he have to do with my missing boxes?"

"The cops were here searching for clues," I said. "They took a
couple of cartons with them."

Her eyebrows flew up. "Why would they take my stuff?"

"For Pete's sake, Janice. They didn't take them because they're
yours-they took them because they found blood on the cardboard.
They're running tests, then you'll get them back."

"When?" she said.

"I have no idea."

"You should have asked-"

"People are getting killed, Janice. Nobody cares about your old
high school junk."

I stomped out of the garage as best as I could while navigating
around piles of garbage. Outside, I stopped and looked around. Where
the heck was Kevin? Chances of my trolling the golf course and finding him were slim to none, but I had no better starting point. I retrieved the heavy-duty flashlight from my glove box and took off on
foot.

While walking the course, I called Doug and told him to get back home ASAP, that Kevin had been spotted here in town. We hung up
without voicing our fears about where this might be headed if we
didn't find some answers soon. I even called Doug's house and talked
to Brandi-the first time I'd willingly addressed the woman-and
asked her to let me know if Kevin showed up there. Not that he
would-he didn't care for her any more than I did-but I had to cover
all the bases.

For the next hour, I power walked around the golf course, shining
my flashlight into every backyard and inside every carport. My
voice was hoarse from calling out Kevin's name-not hollering,
since I didn't want to attract too much attention, but loud enough for
him to hear me if he was anywhere nearby.

I was exhausted and bathed in a cold sweat by the time I had
made it full circle and found myself on the section of the course behind Vicki Rhodes' house. Time to make some inquiries.

It was nearly nine, but the lights were still on at Vicki's place. I
approached the house from behind, shining my flashlight beam into
the bushes where I'd seen her father the night before. No skulkers
tonight.

Nearing the back door, I could hear her kids yelling even before
Vicki answered my knock. She was dressed in a hot pink sweatsuit
and Nike running shoes with pink laces. Behind her, four small boys
raced around the kitchen island. She probably needed the running
shoes to keep up with them.

"Poppy," she said, putting a hand on her chest. "Blanca told me to
call you, and I completely forgot. What did you need?"

It took me a second to remember I'd left a message with the
housekeeper for Vicki to contact me. Maybe I could get some information without giving out too much.

"I was just wondering if the police ever found that suspect," I
said. "I'm a little nervous working over at my aunt's house."

"I haven't heard any news," she said. "Come on in. Care for some
coffee? I have fresh decaf."

"No, thanks," I said, stepping into the kitchen.

"I'm sure my father would have said something if there were any
new developments," she said. "He's like a thorn in the cops' side.
Everybody's side, actually."

"Have you noticed anyone hanging around the golf course lately?
Besides golfers, that is."

"No, but I haven't been around much. I'm taking some night
classes to get a break from the little monsters." She turned to the kids
and said, "Boys. Go on up to your playroom. Skedaddle."

To their credit, she didn't have to repeat the request. They zoomed
out of the room, arms outstretched and making airplane noises.

"Your father hasn't reported seeing any strangers around here?" I
said.

She shrugged. "Here? Why would he have?"

I relayed the episode of finding Barton Fletcher with his camera
in her bushes the night before. "I may be totally out of line," I said
when I'd finished, "but his behavior seemed odd to me. Is he hanging around in hopes of catching a killer on film?"

Vicki laughed. "My father is a control freak. Thank goodness I'm
not the target of his insanity this time."

"What do you mean?"

"I was in class last night, but my stepsister was here watching the
kids. I'm sure she rues the day her mother married dear old Dad."

"He takes pictures of her?" I said. "That's disgusting."

Vicki shook her head. "It's not what you think. Dad's trying to protect her from the entire male population, and that's where the camera
comes in, I guess. Personally, I can't make sense of it. I mean, unless
he catches her with a married man, what good would pictures do?"

"Beats me," I said.

"Anyway, she's twenty-two, a grown woman, and capable of making her own decisions. Dad needs to let go."

"Sounds like it."

I thought of Kevin's depressed expression the other night when
he'd asked me to stop questioning him, and I knew he'd agree with
Vicki's assessment.

"The girl needs a life," Vicki went on, "but I might live to regret
letting her visit with her male friends here."

"Why's that?" I needed to make a graceful exit, but Vicki seemed to
be in a talking mood, and I didn't want to be impolite to any prospective witness.

"I'm concerned she and her boyfriend might behave inappropri ately in front of my boys. I love the kid, but she's not exactly the
ideal role model with her punked-out hair, tattoos-you know what
I mean"

I nodded.

"Grayson may be twenty-two," Vicki said, "but sometimes she
acts more like sixteen."

I perked up. "Your stepsister's name is Grayson?"

"Yeah. Grayson Sullivan. You know her?"

I debated how much to share with Vicki. As a mother, she would understand my concern for Kevin. While she didn't seem terribly fond
of Grayson, I had to remember that they were related. Better not voice
my opinion of the girl when I needed information. Grayson may have
broken up with Kevin, but she might know where I could find him.

"Matter of fact, I do know your stepsister," I said, smiling.

"Don't tell me," Vicki said. "You're a Starbucks fanatic."

"Starbucks?" I said.

"Where she works," Vicki went on. "I can't believe how many
people I know have run into Grayson there. But then, she does stand
out in a crowd."

"Yes, she does. Which Starbucks is she with these days?" It was
hard for me to envision Grayson working anywhere, and this was
the first I'd heard about a job.

"She's still at Sugar Land town square." Vicki walked over to a
heaping basket of laundry sitting on the breakfast table. She picked
up a miniature red T-shirt. "Do you have any idea how many shirts
four boys go through in a week?"

I laughed. "Couldn't even guess."

"Hundreds" She folded the shirt and picked up the next one.
"How long have you known Grayson?"

"Eight, nine months," I said. "She and my son are friends."

"Oh?" Vicki looked at me with raised eyebrows. "What's his
name?"

"Kevin."

"Don't know that one." She shook her head and turned her attention back to the laundry.

"That one? How many are there?"

"It's easier to keep count of the kids' shirts," Vicki said. "I don't
try staying current with Grayson's men."

Now I knew why I'd never liked that girl.

"As her boyfriend's mother, I don't like the sound of that"

Vicki frowned. "I thought Deke something-or-other was her latest. At least that's who was here with her last night."

"I don't know about him, but I do know she's been living with
Kevin."

Vicki dropped the shirt she was holding. "What?"

"They lived together in an apartment near West U "" She didn't
need to know about Kevin's unexpected appearance at my house
with his long face and the duffel bag.

"Grayson lived there with her friend Katelyn," Vicki said
slowly, "'Til she moved back in with the folks a couple of weeks
ago"

"It was Kevin, not Katelyn."

Vicki frowned. "That can't be right."