Beautiful Girls (8 page)

Read Beautiful Girls Online

Authors: Gary S. Griffin

Tags: #mystery, #detective, #murder, #LA, #models, #investigator, #private, #sex, #drama, #case, #crime, #strippers

BOOK: Beautiful Girls
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We loved the food so much that we almost ate in silence. Most comments were on the food.

Edie did say to me, “I have my laptop. Call me and I'll be your home base. If you need anything; reservations, information, directions; I'll look it up and tell you.”

“All right dear.”

“Stevie, thank you for everything. I know I don't need to say this, but I will anyway; be careful when you're gone.”

Afterwards, we strolled around the grounds to work off some of the calories. We saw the pool, the adjoining hotel and the tennis courts. Then, the ladies drove me to the Palm Springs airport and we picked up my rental. My car was a royal blue Mustang with a white interior. It was a stick shift and had great power. I enjoyed the night ride back from Palm Springs, even though I drove fairly slowly so Edie could follow in her own car.

When we got home to the Lake Tamarisk ranch house, Tawny went right to bed. Edie and I sat in the living room and talked.

Guessing what I was thinking about, she said, “What are you going to do when you find him?”

I didn't answer immediately. I looked at the stone fireplace across from us.

She said, “I'd like to talk to him. Ask him why.”

I paused. She looked at me silently. “I don't think that will happen, Edie.”

“Why not?”

“Well, he won't want to see me, let alone talk to you.”

“You never know. What do you think will happen?”

“I'm not sure. I have two conflicting thoughts.”

“What are they?”

“Oh, Edie, this is hard to say.”

“I can take in, Stevie. Tell me.”

“OK, well, at first I thought he's desperate, out of control…”

“He is, Stevie, he is!”

I thought this would happen. She was upset. I reached over and grabbed her left hand with my right.

“Let me finish, Edie.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. This is hard to think about. That's why I didn't share my thoughts earlier.”

“Don't stop. I'll listen.”

“OK. Like I said, at first I thought he was crazy, out of control; that he snapped and killed Bambi and Troy and Lisa because, well, because they were there. Maybe he was jealous. Maybe he wanted to sleep with Bambi…”

“Stevie!”

“Well, Bambi was a very hot fifty year old woman.”

“I don't believe that. I mean Bambi was gorgeous, but I don't think that's the reason.”

I said, “Well, I don't either. Or, the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was not happenstance or an incident that made Rob blow up.”

“No. What was it then?”

“It was too organized, too big. He had a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Sure. He didn't want to kill only the three he did. He was going to kill you and Tawny, too.”

Edie's reply surprised me. “Yes, you're right.”

“So, you and Tawny messed up this plan. Your filming delayed your return, and Tawny wasn't home. That's where he made his first mistakes.”

“Mistakes, what do you mean?”

“He didn't check. He thought everyone would be home. He killed Troy and Lisa, for sure, and maybe Bambi, too, before he realized you two weren't home. We know he searched the pool house. Plus, Tawny was at the Mannings. Then, when Tawny got home she surprised him in the driveway. My guess is that happened just before he planned to leave. He'd already cleaned his gun and put it in Bambi's hand, trying to make it look like a murder-suicide. He got desperate and reacted to reality; he had to deal with Tawny in a different way. He couldn't shoot her when he found her.”

“Right, that's true.”

I said, “Then, later, when he took off with Tawny in the car. He calmed down and came up with a new plan on the fly. He was going to kill her and leave her body in the desert. Her body may never have been found.”

“But, things didn't work out, again.”

“That's right, but he recovered again and developed a third plan. Or, at least he's escaped to try again, another day. You know Tawny told us that Rob tried to find her, for hours, when only he was around looking for her. He took off when it became clear that she got away.”

“So, where is he?”

I said, “I don't know. Out here somewhere.”

“Oh God, Stevie!”

She thought for a second and said, “I don't understand something.”

“What's that?”

“What was his plan?”

I answered, “There's something we don't know, something bigger.”

“Bigger?”

“Yes. I don't know what that is. Something happened, sometime, that caused him to snap. And, it was so bad that he wanted to wipe out the House of Gabriel.”

“But why kill me?”

“Hmmm…I don't know.”

“And, what did Troy or Bambi or Tawny do?”

I said, “It might be nothing. Nothing other than they were named Gabriel.”

“Well, what did happen?”

“Maybe it had to do with Sid. It could go back that far, maybe farther.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Rob was involved with Sid's death and Andi's kidnapping.”

Edie said defensively, “But, that was Kathy Reese's work.”

“Yes, Reese may have done the shooting. But, Rob was a part of it, too. I think he drove the car after Sid was shot. And, as Andi told us, he was with Reese all during the attack in the apartment's garage and when they did the stuff to her on the roof. And, he drove her all the way to Tucson in his trunk.”

“Right.”

“My point is this. The killing of Sid and the framing of Andi, and later the plan to brutalize and kill Andi all took planning. Rob helped create and execute that plan. Now, like then, his plan didn't completely work. No crime is perfect. Remember, when it looked to Reese and Rob that Andi might get off the hook, they changed their plan. That's when they decided to kill her.”

“OK, of course, I remember.”

“I know. Look, I'm not trying to relive that nightmare. My point is that Rob, even in his demented and alcoholic way, had a plan and then he modified it when things went wrong. He's already done that when you and Tawny weren't home, and when Tawny showed up later. So, I think he's out there, with a new, weird plan, ready to strike. And he knows I'm coming after him.”

“Oh, Stevie. I know you're right.”

 

Cactus City Kitchen

Thursday, October 21, 2004

I packed my bag again. I made sure I had my cell phone's battery charger as I needed my lifeline to Edie, and she would need one to me, too.

I also made sure Edie had Lieutenant Lomita and Sheriff Tower's phone numbers. We would always speak to each other twice a day at 9 AM and 9 PM. And, we would talk as needed at other times.

I left after breakfast. God, it was hard to leave Edie. She looked gorgeous with her bedroom eyes, dressed in a tight, stretchy pink camisole top and hip-hugging pink pajama bottoms. He growing belly bump pushed out between her top and bottom.

It was a clear, warm morning when I started the Mustang at 9:30. My goals that day were to drive to Tucson, talk to Sister Carrie at the Cactus City Soup Kitchen, and then end the day at Edie's cabin in the mountains.

I had a printed map at my side laying out the route. I really didn't need it because the I-10 freeway took me straight there. The map web site on Edie's computer estimated that the trip would take five hours and eleven minutes. With a quick pit stop along the way, I should've arrived at the soup kitchen around 3 PM.

The road headed nearly due east for three hours, passing through Blythe early on, and continued on to Phoenix. I stopped at a McDonald's in Arizona's capital city and used the facilities. I ate a big burger lunch inside. I refilled my large iced tea for the ride to Tucson.

The ride south southeast passed uneventfully through desert and mountains on this weekday afternoon.

***

“That didn't take long.”

“What didn't take long?”

“Your arrival.”

That was Sister Carrie, and that was her response to my introduction. She sat at a table in the dining room of the soup kitchen. The square sized room was one hundred feet on a side. It was filled with long, rectangular-shaped metal tables, each surrounded by eight plastic one-piece armless chairs. The chairs were old and identical to those in my high school cafeteria.

“Were you expecting me?”

“Well, yes, you could say that. I emailed Edie this morning that I would like to talk to you and show you something.”

“Show me what?”

She then pulled an envelope from the manila folder in front of her on the table. A letter opener had been used to remove the contents. The envelope was addressed to her.

I asked, “What's in it?”

“A letter.”

“Who mailed that?”

“It wasn't mailed. See, there's no stamp.”

“How did you get it?”

“It was placed under my office door sometime overnight,” Sister Carrie answered.

“Who is it from?”

“I think you know.”

“Rob Nealy?”

“Yes.”

“What did he write?”

“There was a personal note to me. It's a private correspondence.”

“Where is he?'

“It doesn't indicate where, just that he's off to look for others.”

“Was there any information that might be helpful?”

She answered my question with a question. “Helpful how?”

She was playing a game. She was in no hurry. I sat down across from her.

I said, “It seems likely that Mr. Nealy committed a triple murder. He also kidnapped a minor who miraculously escaped from him. There is a manhunt going on for him in two states. I would leave this tragedy alone if I was not engaged to Mr. Nealy's daughter, Edie McCall. I understand Edie is also your cousin. We were scheduled to get married in three days. His actions have caused us to postpone our wedding. Your relative, my fiancée, is devastated. Yet, she wants me to find Nealy. I'm a private investigator. She wants me to find him and ask him why he did all this. She doesn't want me to hurt him. She does want me to turn him into the police.”

I paused and let her digest my words. I looked at the envelope. I continued, “So, I want any information you have, in the letter or not, that would help find Rob.”

“I was very sad to hear about all this. Edie left me a message notifying me about your wedding postponement. However, this letter has no helpful information.”

“Where is Rob?”

“I don't know.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Friday at dinner. Then, he went home for the weekend.”

“Where was his home?”

“In a cabin up on Mount Lemmon.”

“Do you mean the cabin his daughter owns?”

“Yes, Mr. Garrett, the one Edie inherited from my uncle.”

Boy, this conversation seemed like a cross-examination of a hostile witness. Still, I had Sister Carrie talking and she gave me no sign she wanted to end it.

“How did Rob seem on Friday?”

“Quiet, quieter than usual, focused on his work.”

I asked, “Did he look forward to Edie's — our wedding?”

“I suppose, I mean, well, I'm not sure. He knew it was very important to Edie.”

“Can you think of anything that might help me find him?”

She paused and thought. Sister Carrie was in her fifties with an intelligent yet mysterious look in her green eyes. Her hair was long and a colorful mix of youthful red and aging white. She wore a white peasant's blouse, a loose blue cotton vest, khaki slacks and walking shoes. She looked around the dining room. She saw someone setting up a side table with drinks.

She called out to an elderly African-American man, “William!”

He looked our way.

She then said, “May I speak to you?”

He said, “Sure, Sister.”

The man walked towards us. He had a limp in his right leg.

William said, “Yes, ma'am.”

Carrie looked at me and said, “Mr. Garrett, would you care for a beverage?”

I said, “Water would be fine.”

William said, “Certainly,” then turned and walked back to his station.

She returned her focus on me.

She said, “Help find him, hmmm…”

Carrie looked around the room again. The sounds of the overhead fans in the high ceiling mixing the air, and silverware being sorted somewhere in the kitchen, filled the time while she thought.

Then, she spoke, “No, I can't think of anything. Rob is an emotionally troubled man. He keeps to himself. He read his Bible. He worked hard.”

William returned. He placed a glass of iced water on the table. I thanked him. I took a long swallow.

I asked, “Emotionally troubled; how so?”

She paused again. “Life didn't go as he expected. He felt responsible for most of his issues.”

I said, “Yes, that's what Edie says, too. But, you said ‘responsible for
most
of his issues'. What wasn't he responsible for?”

“He never told me.”

“Did he ever mention who was responsible for some of his problems?”

“Oh, he blamed many people.”

I said, “I think whatever it was happened long ago. Do you get that impression, too?”

“Yes, yes, I do. Mr. Garrett, I must get dinner moving. Our doors open in thirty-five minutes.”

“Thank you for your time, Sister.”

She closed her manila folder. She stood. I did too and shook her hand.

Then, she remembered something. “Oh, I almost forgot. This is why I wanted you to come here.”

She pulled an unopened envelope out of the folder.

“This is for you. It was inside my envelope. He wrote in my letter that you would be coming, and that I should expect you and to give it to you.”

This white envelope was smaller than hers; both in its length and width. On the outside, in large shaky printing was my name written in blue ink.

Whatever was inside was light. Perhaps there was one folded sheet of paper. There were no other markings; nor a stamp on the outside. I looked up and Sister Carrie was gone. At that moment, the sun, in its downward, afternoon arc, had moved into a skylight, sending a beam unto me and the envelope in my hands. My name glowed in blue ink on the white paper background.

I stepped out of the light and walked out of the soup kitchen. I didn't look back.

 

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