Bitch Factor (35 page)

“Whoa! You don’t have to explain anything.” Dixie had no desire to hear the intimate details. She carried her dishes to the dishwasher.

“Heather was a secretary to one of my clients,” Dann persisted. “One day the client dissolved the company. No warning, bam! Big CLOSED sign on the door. Heather’s out of a job, I lost a big contract. Guess misery loves company. We went out a couple times. Nearly three years later I get these papers in the mail. She knew the baby wasn’t mine. Her relationship with her boss had been more than she let on, but he disappeared and I looked like an easy mark. Guess she figured I wouldn’t do the tests.” Parker paused. “Tell you the truth, I kind of wished the kid
was
mine.”

“You send her money every month.”

He took his plate to the sink and scraped his uneaten breakfast into the garbage disposal.

“He’s a great kid. Working, raising him alone, be easy for a woman to feel desperate, jump the first guy who shows an interest. Maybe the few bucks I send give Heather a chance to make choices.”

A sudden image invaded Dixie’s thoughts—a tawdry princess, too young to be a mother, with too many men knocking at her door but no handsome prince to help her turn them away. Life sure got complicated at times.

Dixie grabbed her jacket from the closet. She felt a huge need to be alone for a while, and the overcast sky outside suggested she finish her errands fast. On her way out the door, she tossed Parker the talking bear.

“Hug me,” it said. “I hug back.”

Parker plunked the bear on top of the refrigerator and opened the door. Dixie had left before he could find out if she was okay about last night. He’d enjoyed visiting her family, hamming it up. And he’d seen another side of her, a softer side—tough bitch turned mild-mannered, insecure little sister. But Dixie had gone real quiet after he accepted Carl’s invitation to dinner tomorrow. Parker hoped she didn’t feel he was mooching in where he didn’t belong.

Now why the friggin hell was he standing here looking in the refrigerator? Oh, yeah,
tonight’s
dinner. He took out a ham and the orange juice, then a package of frozen black-eyed peas from the freezer. After splashing some juice in Mud’s dish, he filled a glass and drank half of it.

He’d miss Mud when he left. Wasn’t right leaving a dog alone all the time. He’d miss Flannigan, too. Last night, lying there in the dark, he couldn’t get her face out of his mind, the way she’d looked after a couple glasses of wine. Relaxed. Happy. Enticingly female. And there she was, maybe twenty steps beyond his own bed. He’d been halfway to the door before realizing only a total jerk would show up in her room
uninvited. If she was interested in sharing some time between the sheets, she’d have put out signals.

“‘Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired,’” he told Mud, who’d lapped up his juice and sat watching Parker juggle the ham. “Robert Frost wrote a lot of shit about love. Maybe he even got some of it right.”

Parker put the ham in the oven and the black-eyed peas on a rear burner to cook. Until he came to Texas, he’d never thought about eating black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day for good luck. Now he wouldn’t dare miss them. Who knew what bad luck he’d suffered in years past simply from not eating black-eyed peas?

Mud watched him adjust the flame under the pot, then padded to the ultility room and came back with his Frisbee.

“Aw, I don’t think so. Looks cold out there. Cloudy. Like it “might rain.”

Mud looked at the door. Looked back at Parker. Padded to the door and waited, the red toy clamped in his mouth.

“Okay. Half an hour, that’s all.”

Parker opened the coat closet and shrugged into his parka. Before pulling on his gloves, he went to the den and took out the volume of
How Things Work
that described automobile ignitions.

Mud had been all teeth and determination every time Parker threw the Frisbee toward the gate. But when he tossed it into the garage, no problem. And when he jimmied the lock on Dixie’s taxicab, and the Frisbee landed inside, the dog had lumbered in to retrieve it. Later, Parker whistled Mud up onto the seat to ride shotgun. Providing he learned how to hot-wire the ignition, Parker figured he’d have no trouble at all
driving
out the gate, so long as the dog went with him.

Finishing the juice, Parker set the glass in the sink and scooped up the book. When he shut the refrigerator door, the bear fell off and bounced.

“I love you,” it said. “Do you love me?”

He thumped the bear down on the table and went outside with Mud.”

The rain turned mushy as Dixie drove the twenty miles from Richmond to Houston and parked across the street from Payne Hardware and the Garden Cafe. When she stepped from the car, sleet stung her face, reminding her of the trip with Parker through South Dakota. Had it been only a week ago?

Ice-slickened sidewalks triggered her phobia about falling, but she planted her boot heels and ignored the queasiness. If she could weather a South Dakota blizzard, she could handle Houston ice. Surprisingly, the anxiety lifted.

A note on the door said Payne Hardware was closed until Monday, but the cafe was open until two o’clock, according to the sign. She was determined to check on Ellie, even if it meant another argument with Rebecca. Gillis greeted her at the counter.

“Cheers!” Dixie said, sliding her last handful of Hershey’s Hugs toward the waitress. “Why’s the hardware store closed? Did the Paynes go somewhere for the holiday?”

“Mr. Payne went to visit his folks in Denton, but Ellie’s still down with the flu, so Rebecca stayed in town. We fixed up a little bed in the storeroom near the kitchen. Ellie’s sleeping.”

“My nephew caught it, too” Dixie said. “But he’s feeling better already.”

Gillis poured Dixie a cup of coffee, her fourth that morning. “Some kids are strong like that. Poor Ellie seems to feel worse every day. Can’t kick the fever.”

“She’s been to the doctor, hasn’t she?”

“Oh, sure. He gave her these little white pills, and I guess they’re helping. Mrs. Payne says Ellie just needs plenty of rest and liquids. Mr. Payne was really angry, though, that they couldn’t all drive up together to see his folks. I’ve never seen him so upset.”

The bell over the door tinkled delicately. As Gillis left to wait on the new customers, Travis Payne’s bank records filled Dixie’s mental computer screen. White numbers popped in and out of a blue spreadsheet as money moved from one account to another. Fifty thousand dollars after each death. When Payne installed the new computer section at the hardware store, his balance plummeted to an all-time low. Yet, he had mentioned adding software and accessories. Where did he plan to get the money?

First rule of detection, Flannigan: look at who profits
. A mom-and-daughter “accident” would mean two million and change to Payne’s bottom line.

Today was only New Year’s Eve, not the actual holiday, and it was also a Thursday. Smart retailers didn’t close in the middle of the week—unless, of course, there was reason to believe one might be coming into some money… maybe taking advantage of the bad weather? Slick streets, low visibility, car suddenly out of control, Payne conveniently thrown free while his wife and stepdaughter smash into a concrete embankment. Quick cash.

Dixie swallowed the last of her coffee. Gillis had told her that Rebecca and Ellie stayed at home. So maybe Travis-Santa Claus-Payne was just a lamebrained businessman with strong feelings about keeping families together at Christmas and no sinister motives.

Outside, the weather had turned miserable—freezing, sleeting, with a wind nearly as cruel as the one in South
Dakota. A braking motorist slid through the intersection, missing the Mustang by a hair. Not the ideal time to be running errands, Dixie realized, but things needed to be done.

At the supermarket, she picked up everything on Parkers list, then stood pondering a display of champagne. Usually, she wasn’t much of a party person on holidays. Last year she’d fallen asleep watching a movie on her VCR, missing the big Twelve-O-O entirely. But tonight she’d have company. Parker would likely cook something special. She picked up a bottle of champagne to ring in the New Year, hesitated, then added five more bottles to her cart.

Traffic on the freeway was all but stopped. Houstonians were uncomfortable driving under icy conditions. As a veteran now, she zipped ahead, taking the Mykawa exit to Homicide Division. At Rashly’s office, she dropped off the first bottle of champagne. He held it at arm’s length to read the label.

“You get five thousand dollars for an hour’s work, and this is the best you can afford?”

“Surely you don’t expect me to buy you the good stuff. Your palate’s so deadened from smoking that pipe, you couldn’t taste the difference between Chateau du Pape and turpentine.”

“I get satisfaction from reading the label.”

“You’re saying a hundred-dollar bottle reads better than the twenty-dollar variety?”

“How the hell do I know? The good stuff’s always in French.”

Dixie tipped him a wave. “Cheers, Ben.”

“Hey.” He tossed her a gold foil bag, embossed with holly leaves and sealed at the top with a gold medallion. “You did damn good on that Sikes thing.”

She peeled the medallion off carefully, already certain what was inside. Every year Rashly ordered dark sweet chocolates with liqueur centers, straight from Switzerland. So good they should be illegal. Better than drugs or sex, Dixie had once told him. On her way out the door, she aped a swoon.

The second bottle of champagne she took to Amy and
Carl, with a split of nonalcoholic bubbly for Ryan and a large container of orange juice. Carl liked to make mimosas on New Year’s morning.

“Why don’t you join us tonight?” Amy said. “Bring Parker. Carl picked up a stack of videos. We can make popcorn.”

Dixie managed to beg off by reminding Amy they’d be over for dinner the next day.

The last three bottles of champagne were intended for the Gypsy Filchers. They wouldn’t be in, of course, but they had methods for keeping track of visitors to their headquarters, even in the daytime. She tapped in the code on the nine-digit keypad. When the elevator doors opened, she placed the three bottles of champagne precisely in the center of the car, and tucked an envelope down between them. Inside the envelope she had placed five one-hundred-dollar bills, five percent of the fee she’d collect later from Belle Richards, wrapped in notepaper with the single word THANKS. They’d never miss her at the party.

When the twenty-minute drive home looked like turning into an hour, the roads getting slicker every minute, Dixie picked up the cell phone to call Parker. A coating of ice glistened on rooftops. Long icicles hung from eaves. Power lines drooped under the extra weight. Trees lacy with frozen droplets sparkled red and green in the streetlights, turning the city to a winter wonderland that quickened Dixie’s holiday spirit. The phone fuzzed out a couple of times before she finally got a connection.

“I hate to tell you this,” Parker said, “because it probably means you’ll be late for dinner again, but Jon Keyes has been calling every ten minutes for the past hour.”

Keyes?
“Did he say what he wanted?”

“Only that it’s urgent.”

Dixie wasn’t eager to have her good mood spoiled, but if Keyes was still pissed about her checking up on him, maybe he’d let slip something she could use. She rang the number he’d left with Parker. The area code sounded like Austin. “Mr. Keyes?”

“Oh, Jesus, thanks for calling. After yesterday, I wasn’t sure
you would, but I didn’t know who else to ask. The cops won’t help, and I’ve got this awful feeling—”

“Slow down.” He was talking so fast she could barely understand him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s Ellie.” She heard him take a breath. “I phoned to check the messages on my machine. I taught the girls to call anytime, for any reason, or just to talk, only this time Ellie sounds… strange, like she’s hurt or lost… I’ve never heard anything like it. The cafe closed early and Rebecca won’t answer the goddamn phone—”

“Where are you?”

“In Austin. Flew in for a meeting—”

“Maybe Ellie’s medication—”

“Medication? Has she been sick? Why the hell didn’t Rebecca tell me?”

“It’s only the flu. You didn’t know?”

“I haven’t talked to Ellie since Sunday. This goddamn job is running me ragged—”

“I was at the cafe this morning. Gillis said Elbe’s still pretty sick. Maybe Rebecca took her to the doctor.”
Ellie seems to feel worse every day
, Gillis had said. Ryan was almost fully recovered.

“I think I have the pediatrician’s number here.” Keyes’ voice grew muffled, as if he had tucked the receiver under his chin. “Here it is. I’ll call him, but… you’re a private investigator, right?”

“Well…” Not exactly a
licensed
investigator.

“If Ellie isn’t at the doctor’s office, if they haven’t seen her, I want you to find out what’s going on.”

“Mr. Keyes—”

“I don’t care what it costs, whatever your rate, I’ll pay.”

“That’s not the—”

“You can’t imagine how awful Ellie sounded, like she was… I don’t know… scared.”

Perhaps Rebecca changed her mind and decided to join Travis in Denton. But Gillis had said Ellie was still ill.

“Jon, does Rebecca have family or close friends she might have left Ellie with?”

“You obviously don’t know my ex-wife. She’s—well, Rebecca doesn’t make friends, and except for a card or gift at holidays, and to arrange visits for the girls, she’s scarcely spoken to either of her parents in years—”

“Her parents are divorced?”

“Since Rebecca was a kid. Christ, maybe that’s why Rebecca’s so desperate for attention, why her world revolves around the man in her life. I don’t know how Travis takes it. It nearly drove me crazy—”

“Some men would find that flattering.”

“I suppose it was, at first. But the woman clings like briar nettles. She won’t let you breathe. She was even jealous of the time I spent with the girls—”