Killer Moves: The 4th Jolene Jackson Mystery (Jolene Jackson Mysteries) (2 page)

Lucille gritted her teeth as if biting back pain, which she was because having to keep her mouth shut made her so mad she could spit nails. On her way out the door of this awful place, she’d give them all a what-for. “I don’t need a pill,” she said, taking long deep breaths like Melody had taught her. It calmed her enough that she could release her grip on the wheelchair—and the overwhelming desire to hurl it across the room at the ridiculousness of it all. “Pain pill my hind foot,” she hissed. “Kill-me-dead pill is more like it.”

“What was that, Miz Jackson?”

Another deep breath and stifled snarl. “I said I’ll do whatever I have to, Christine. Now, let’s get this over with.”

Chapter 2

I pulled into the driveway at Mother’s house around midnight. It felt like I’d been driving for days, although, technically, it had only been about fourteen hours. Considering that I’d made at least thirty-two procrastination stops along the way—a pathetic attempt to delay the inevitable—I’d actually made the 700-mile trek from Colorado in good time. Also amazingly, I’d gotten relatively good gas mileage for having the Tahoe’s every nook and cranny packed tight with things I couldn’t live without during my extended stay here. (No, I am not
moving
, only
staying
for a bit
—
that’s my coping strategy, so, like Texas, don’t mess with it!)

With only a few days to handle the arrangements, I was pretty impressed with myself for getting caretakers in and getting my stuff out. I’d packed all my personal essentials, including most of my clothing and some special things I didn’t want to leave behind with the caretakers. I’d also loaded up all my office equipment and supplies since I had a job to do and needed the means to do it.

Now, staring in the rearview mirror at the mass of stuff behind me that had to be dealt with, I wasn’t feeling quite so smug. There was no reason for me to have hauled all this crap down here just so I could haul it back. Particularly since I—or at least the estate—had the means to buy whatever I needed, including a whole computer store apparently. Well, maybe…possibly. “Oh, hell, I really have no idea how much money there is and if or when I will have access to it. And that is exactly why I have avoided thinking about any of it.”

Before I continued talking to myself, I grabbed my purse and a duffel bag that I’d efficiently packed with everything I would need for the night, locked the car and headed toward the house.

Light flashed and flooded the area.

I screamed and jumped, then remembered. “Damn, motion detectors!”

The lights were not a new addition. I’d bought them and installed them myself not long ago. So why was my heart racing like a scared rabbit? “Oh, I know,” I said, opening the back porch door. “It’s because there’s usually good reason to be scared around here.”

But it wasn’t really that—well, it wasn’t
just
that. I was on edge for a lot of different reasons, none of which I could really do anything about at the moment. However, what I could do was get myself inside the house, try to semi-relax and possibly even sleep at some point.

After making my way through the back porch, I unlocked the interior door and pushed it open. A thick wall of hot stale air rolled over me. I hit the lights, made a beeline for the thermostat on the wall in the kitchen and turned on the air conditioner. The unit clicked on and the fan whirred to life. After an initial blast of heat, cool air began to pour down from the overhead vent. So did an eerie feeling that I couldn’t define.

I’ve been in my mother’s house alone many times, of course, including a few days ago when I’d locked it up to head home. There had been so much going on then that I had been on autopilot. But coming in here tonight without her here, the house closed up and unlived in, was just plain giving me the creeps. Of course, it didn’t help that the last time I’d been here alone at night—because Mother Dearest had dumped me to go on a date—I’d wound up having a very bad time. Bad as in a kidnapping, a high-speed chase on back roads in the dark and terrifying gunfire—in this case, the gunfire happened to be mine, but I want it duly noted that I was badgered into it. Things didn’t get much better at the police station either, but that’s another story.

All the unpleasant and near-fatal memories I’d collected here in the last year were more than enough to make me jittery, but this was different, sad, almost like a flash-forward into the future when I would have to deal with all of this alone—when she was really gone. I scolded myself for even having such a thought, because, as I’ve said repeatedly, I am certain the woman will outlive me by a decade at the very least.

Still feeling unsettled, I locked the doors and checked the windows. I also checked inside the closets and under the beds, but it didn’t help me shake off the odd feeling that had started building when I’d turned off the main highway toward Kickapoo. Foreboding was the only name I could put to it, which didn’t fit exactly, but it was disconcerting enough that I stopped searching for a better one. It also took me from falling down exhausted to wide-eyed and nervous. I wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon.

The air conditioner had cooled the house enough that the prospect of a hot bath seemed potentially relaxing, so I grabbed the appropriate bag and headed that direction. The hot water did help, but the uneasy feeling was still there. Deciding a snack was always a good and comforting option, I headed to the kitchen.

I made a cursory look in the refrigerator just in case some decent food had miraculously appeared there in the time I’d been gone—it hadn’t. Lucille rarely cooked, but she was darned certain to have munchies stashed somewhere. After a little rustling around, I found a box of cheese crackers I would regret eating and closed the cabinet. Then, I jerked it back open.

Had I just seen what I thought I had? Yes, indeed. Sitting beside a box of vanilla wafers were binoculars. Lucille had been conducting intense surveillance on the drilling activities behind her fence for quite some time, so it wasn’t a great shock to find her viewing tools, but it did make me curious.

Since I had nothing better to do, including sleeping apparently, I took the binoculars out on the back porch and gazed at the eastern sky. The thick Texas air and wispy clouds made a fuzzy haze over the landscape and only a few stars twinkled through. I was just about to give up on spotting a satellite, the space station or galactic cruiser when I caught a flash of light over to the southeast, near the horizon.

I kept panning the narrow field of vision until I found the light again. From what I could tell, it was probably a vehicle, going up an incline. Since there was only one such non-flat place anywhere around, it had to be at Bob Little’s house. Well, technically, it was now my house, the one on the hill at my newly gifted ranch—the one I hadn’t seen yet. I vaguely remembered something about there being a caretaker at the place, so it was probably just that guy making a security check.

In reality, I was vague about a lot of things. I’d been so in shock over the whole estate thing that I really hadn’t paid that much attention to the minor details, the major ones having nearly exploded my brain. Now, however, it was right in front of me, and becoming more real by the second—I had to deal with it. A call to the attorney in the morning would be the first order of business. If they had a security service or foreman, or both, I needed to know about it. “And so it begins,” I muttered.

As I stepped back inside the kitchen, the front door bell rang.

I jumped, pure fear shooting through me. I slammed the back door shut and snapped the deadbolt in place then crept into the living room. Leaning over the back of the couch, I peeked out the front window onto the porch—and screamed. Like a three-year-old. Or maybe like a thirteen-year-old. Whatever the case, the forty-something fool leaped away from the window and ran to the door, flung it open and grabbed the tall dark-haired man in the sheriff’s uniform and dragged him into the house.

“You’re here!” I said, stating the obvious, gleefully, perhaps with the abandonment of a child seeing Santa Claus. “I thought you weren’t going to be back in town tonight. I’m glad you are, of course”

Sheriff Jerry Don Parker did not respond verbally to shut me up. He did, however, respond. Oh, God, did he respond! And you are just going to have to use your imagination about what all happened in that moment and in the delicious ones that followed. Use
a lot
of imagination!

Chapter 3

I don’t know what time Jerry left that morning, but I do know that he left with a smile on his face. He also left one very happy girl curled up in her old bed with the blue velveteen headboard and worn out mattress. Maybe this Texas thing wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

A bleary glance at the clock on the dresser said it was only nine, so I hadn’t slept the day away even though I really wanted to.

Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

Dammit. Now what? I hurled myself out of bed, grabbed my jeans and shirt and scuttled into them as fast as I could. The bell still rang two more times before I managed to get myself to the door.

Agnes Riddles stood in the doorway with a big brown sack. “I saw you were here this morning when I went by on my way to the post office, so I thought you’d probably need some food,” she said, stepping inside and heading to the kitchen.

Agnes was about Lucille’s age, with chin-length light-brown hair, gold-rim glasses, tasteful matching knit separates and a genuinely good heart. She was also one of Mother’s two best friends in the whole world—the down-to-earth sane one. The other was Merline Campbell, and I was never sure how the term “friend” fit into that relationship—competing but loyal cobras would be a more apt description. I followed Agnes into the kitchen, feeling uncomfortable with the gift. “That’s very thoughtful…”

“No, buts,” she said, setting the bag on the counter. “Your mother insisted I come over and clean out the refrigerator. I did, but it was hardly worth the trouble since she never keeps a speck of decent food in the house anyway.”

She had a point, but it still wasn’t her problem. I started to tell her that, and that I’m a big girl and quite capable of finding my way to the grocery store and perhaps even cooking something, but I didn’t. That’s just how people were around here sometimes—how Agnes was anyway—and to refuse her gesture would have hurt her feelings. “Well, thank you very much for thinking of me, Agnes. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re quite welcome. I certainly feel better knowing you have some good things to eat. You need to take care of yourself. You’ve got a lot to deal with.”

That was the understatement of the year. “Speaking of which, have you talked to my mother this morning?”

“Oh, yes, she called about seven.” Agnes pushed her glasses up on her nose and smiled. “I didn’t tell her you were here, but I expect she’ll be calling you shortly to see when you will be.”

I expected it too. “Thanks. I thought I’d surprise her later today.”

“That’s good. She’s carrying on something fierce about that rehab place. It seems awful nice to me, more like a hotel and spa, but she’s having a fit about everything.”

“As I understand it, she’s next in line to be murdered.”

Agnes nodded and sighed. “I suppose collecting evidence keeps her occupied, but it sure makes her determined to find an accomplice for a jailbreak. I’m just glad you’re here now to talk some sense into her.”

Optimistic thought, that, but hardly realistic. I’d never been able to talk my mother into or out of anything and Agnes very well knew it. But, hope springs eternal I suppose. “We’ll see,” I muttered.

Agnes put the last of the containers in the refrigerator and closed the door. “It was just a blessing that she got her broken hip the way she did. If she’d fallen here at home by herself, well, I just don’t know if she could have stood the indignity of it—those were her words, of course.”

Of course. But I had to agree. Falling at home was an “old people” thing. Being injured in the course of a homicide investigation—or, technically, interfering with one—was the stuff celebrities were made of, not that she didn’t have enough notoriety already.

“Me, I have two artificial hips and am quite glad of it,” Agnes continued. “Never bothered me for a second, but you know how your mother is.”

Yes indeed, we all know how my mother is.

Agnes folded the sack and tucked it under the sink then walked to the front door. She pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket and handed it to me. “These are all the phone numbers of the people around here in case you need them. Call me any time, of course.”

“Thank you, again, Agnes,” I said sincerely, “for everything.”

She pushed open the glass storm door and stepped outside. “If you want me to go up the hill with you to the house, just let me know.” Looking me in the eye, she added, “It’s probably best not to go up there alone.”

I opened my mouth to ask her what she meant by that, but she’d already turned and scurried to the car. I had plenty of reasons why going alone sounded like a bad idea, but I had a feeling she had better ones. “Well, shit,” I said, closing the door and continuing to talk to myself. “That just can’t be good.”