Holly Blues (31 page)

He opened his carry-on bag, got out his plane ticket, and spent the next twenty minutes on the phone, rebooking his flight out of Kansas City and arranging for the return of the rental car there, rather than Omaha. He called Charlie Lipman’s office answering machine to let him know that he was coming home early because of a family emergency, then called Peter Kennard to tell him that they’d have to wrap up the interview another time.

The room was finally beginning to warm up, and he took off his coat, glancing at his watch. Eight forty-five. One more call. He punched in Sheila’s number. She picked up after five rings, sounding tired.

“McQuaid,” he said. “Sorry if I’ve caught you at a bad time.”

“You’ve caught me in the bathtub,” Sheila said. “We haven’t found her yet, if that’s what you’re asking. Sally, I mean.”

“I know,” he said. “I just talked to her. She wouldn’t tell me where she was or whether she’s with Myers.”

He heard the sound of water sloshing and pictured Sheila sitting up straight in the tub. He smiled a little. Beautiful woman. Naked woman. Blackie was a lucky guy.

“Is she in Pecan Springs?” she demanded.

“No idea,” he said. “She wouldn’t tell me where she was, and the call was broken off. I don’t know whether she was on the road and moved out of range, or—” He let that drop. He didn’t want to think of the alternatives. “You might try putting a trace on her cell.”

This would be easier in a few years, when cell phone carriers were finally required to have the capability of tracing the location of cell phone calls. But for now, it required expensive hardware and software and trained personnel. He wasn’t surprised when Sheila said, “That’s Lake City’s responsibility, not mine. If they want her bad enough, they’ll do it.”

“Right.” He paused. “Have the police up there told you how Leslie died?”

“Haven’t checked in with them,” Sheila said. Her voice was wry. “We’ve had a little situation here this afternoon. Domestic violence. Two dead, the shooter and his wife. Murder, suicide. Shooter had enough of an arsenal to take out the Dallas starting line and start on the coaching staff.”

McQuaid sighed regretfully. Pecan Springs was still a small town. But that didn’t mean that they were immune from big-city violence. They didn’t have the drive-by or gang stuff, but there were guns. Too many of them.

“Understand,” he said. “Well, maybe I can fill you in. It seems that my wife has taken it on herself—aided and abetted by Ruby Wilcox—to drive up to Lake City to find out what happened with Leslie Strahorn.”

“Really?” Sheila laughed without amusement. “If I’d known they were going, I would’ve called the Lake City police and told them to duck.”

McQuaid chuckled. “Here’s what they’ve come up with—so far, anyway.” He relayed what China had told him about Leslie’s death.

Sheila made the connection without being prompted. “Uh-oh,” she said softly. “
Two
vehicular homicides, huh?”

“Both women were found dead beside the road,” McQuaid corrected her. “There’s been no ruling on a cause of death for either. I learned about Leslie after I left Jamison, the investigating officer here in Sanders. He’s probably on the phone to Lake City right now, getting the news.”

“What’s his take on the case?”

“He’s leaning toward Bonnie and Clyde,” McQuaid replied ruefully. “But talking to Sally, I’m of the opinion that she knew nothing about Dillard’s death. She seemed shocked, disbelieving.”

“An emotion easily portrayed,” Sheila reminded him. “And from what China tells me, your ex has a split personality thing. She
is
your ex, remember? You might hate to admit it, Mike, but you aren’t exactly unbiased.”

He sighed. “Yeah, there’s that, too, damn it.”

He put the phone down with deep misgivings.

I finished talking to McQuaid and tucked my cell phone in my purse. It was time to find Ruby and hear what she had been able to learn, if anything. Then, as if I had conjured her up, I saw her coming toward me on the sidewalk, a six-foot-plus Big Bird, carrying her tote bag.

“Don’t you think you can take off that hat now?” I asked mildly. “You’ve probably already established your cover.”

She yanked off her yellow bird-billed hat and tucked it under her arm. “You’ll never guess what I’ve learned,” she whispered, in an excited I’ve-got-a-secret voice.

“That Leslie’s body was found out on Wildwood Road?”

“Oh, you heard it, too?” She made a disappointed face. “It happened two mornings ago. She was jogging, apparently, before school. The book-keeper for Jansen Plumbing found her. She hadn’t been dead very long. Hit-and-run.”

“Well, maybe. I don’t know if that’s official yet.” I looked around. “Listen, Ruby, I’m starving. Let’s find a place where we can eat.”

She nodded across the street, toward a sandwich shop with its window encircled in colored Christmas lights that blinked on and off. “There’s Sandy’s Wiches. Shannon and I ate there a couple of times. They have really good soups.” She hefted her tote. “Or we could sit in Big Red Mama and eat Cass’ sandwiches. I’ll bet they’re better than Sandy’s.”

A young woman walked past us with a miniature white poodle wearing a red and green crocheted sweater and a ruff of holly leaves. Ruby turned, looking at it. “Isn’t that a cute sweater? Maybe I should get myself a poodle for Christmas. Oh, and I have something to tell you,” she added. “About Sally and Leslie. I’m still waiting to get more of the details, but while we’re eating, I can fill you in on what I already know.”

At that moment, something occurred to me that I might not have considered under other circumstances. At heart, I am a law-abiding person who resists getting seriously crosswise of the authorities, except in exceptional circumstances. This qualified as an exceptional circumstance. We were here to dig up all the facts we could find for Justine. There was one more place we ought to check out—if it was accessible. And from what I knew, it just might be.

“I have another idea, Ruby,” I said quickly, before my better angel could order me to get into Big Red Mama and head for Pecan Springs. “Come on. Let’s check it out.” I started off, and Ruby fell into step beside me. “What is it that you have to tell me about Sally and Leslie?”

“Well, as I said, I’m still waiting for the details. I went into this really cute toy shop—you should see it, China! Lots of great educational toys.” She plunged into her tote bag and pulled out a shaggy blue doll. “I bought this cuddly Cookie Monster for Baby Grace. Which gave me a chance to start talking to the owner.”

“A Cookie Monster.” I grinned. “Sounds like Big Bird found the right place.”

“Oh, you bet.” Ruby skipped and flapped her wings. “Erin Staples—she owns the shop—and I hit it off right away. When I told her we were trying to find out what happened to Leslie, she started telling me all kinds of stuff.”

I wasn’t surprised. The Big Bird costume was no doubt an appropriate entrée into a toy store, but I was sure it went beyond that. Ruby has a way of getting strangers to tell her things they’d never reveal to their closest friends. I don’t know how she does it—empathy, I guess. Ruby is one of the most empathetic people I know.

“Anyway,” Ruby went on, “when I asked about Sally, I really got an earful. Erin and Leslie have been friends for a long time, so she knows all the down-and-dirty. Apparently, Sally and Leslie have been having some really serious arguments. When Leslie found out that Sally was coming to stay for a while, she told Erin that she dreaded the thought of it.” She sighed and shook her head. “That is totally too bad, isn’t it?”

“Family disputes can be hellacious,” I said. “Did Erin tell you what they fought over?”

“Money, mostly. Leslie was careful with hers, and Sally—well, ‘Sally is Sally,’ as Erin put it.” Ruby hung air quotes around the words. “No matter how much she had, it was never enough. She was always hitting Leslie up for more. Recently, too.” She frowned. “Erin said that Sally needed money ‘to get away.’ She was asking Leslie for five thousand dollars.” She gave me a meaningful look. “Which is the amount of the check Sally cashed at the bank.”

A pair of holiday shoppers went past us, the man loaded down with bags and wearing a long-suffering look on his face, the woman chattering gaily about what a wonderful shopping trip they were having together and wasn’t this fun?

“Get away?” I repeated. “Get away from what?” But I could hazard a guess. Sally was either trying to get away from Jess Myers or from what happened to Joyce Dillard—or both. And that five thousand dollars. Was it Sally’s getaway money or a payoff of some kind? If it was a payoff, who was the payee? I could hazard a guess on that one, too.

“Erin had the impression that Sally was involved with something ugly and dangerous,” Ruby said. “She thought it was probably drugs. She saw Sally a few days ago and said she seemed really strung out.”

Drugs. A good guess, except that in this case, the ugly, dangerous something was a lot worse. It was murder. “What did Erin know about Leslie’s death?” I asked.

“Nothing but what she read in the paper. That’s where she found out about it. She felt really awful about that—learning about it in the paper, I mean.” Ruby reached into her tote bag and held up a folded newspaper. “I got this from one of the other shops.”

She handed me the paper, and I stood still, reading. The headline read, “Teacher Killed While Jogging.” There was a photograph of Leslie, pretty, perky, smiling. It hurt. I scanned the story and handed the paper back quickly.

“Unfortunately,” Ruby said, “there aren’t any details in the paper. Nobody saw it happen.” She put the newspaper back into her tote bag. “But I did learn something else from Erin, China. As it turns out, her sister-in-law Christina drove Sally to the bus station on Tuesday morning. Sally was leaving her car with Leslie, because Leslie’s Prius needed some work. Christina was going to the station to catch a bus to Fort Worth and offered to take Sally.”

“What time?” I asked quickly. This was crucial, and the reason for asking was obvious. “Before Leslie was killed, or after?” The question couldn’t be answered, though, since the time of Leslie’s death had not yet been established, at least as far as we knew. At best, the coroner would only be able to give a two-hour range.

Ruby shook her head. “Dunno. I wanted to talk to Christina, but she’s with her daughter in Fort Worth right now, helping take care of her new grandson. He’s just two weeks old. Erin is going to call her—Christina, that is—and give her my phone number so we can talk directly.” We started walking again, and she turned to look at me, frowning slightly. “Is something wrong, China?”

“Yes. Very. Leslie Strahorn isn’t the only woman who’s been found dead by the side of the road.” It took only a moment to relate what McQuaid had told me on the phone about finding Joyce Dillard’s body. Ruby was stunned.

“
Two
women?” she asked, wide-eyed. “This can’t be a coincidence, China.”

“Not likely,” I said, and relayed the rest of McQuaid’s report: that Joyce Dillard either knew or guessed the identity of the Strahorns’ murderer, and that she had told Sally who it was.

By the time I finished, Ruby was shaking her head. “It’s so hard to believe,” she whispered. “Joyce Dillard was killed—maybe—because she was a threat to the Strahorns’ killer. But Leslie? Why Leslie? She didn’t know who shot her parents—did she?”

I was saved from trying to answer that because we had reached Leslie’s driveway. I turned toward the house, with its icicle lights and gaily lighted red and white candy poles—on an automatic timer, I guessed, since nobody was at home to turn them on and off.

“Act like we’re supposed to be here,” I said. “Act natural. We’re just a couple of friends looking for Leslie.”

The thing was, of course, that the police had not strung crime scene tape around the house. Which stood to reason, if they were investigating Leslie’s death as a more or less straightforward hit-and-run, an accident that befell a jogger, the crime being the driver’s failure to stop and render aid. Aside from the rather odd fact of her jogging so far out of town on a school morning, they had no reason to suspect otherwise—right?