Mourning Gloria (17 page)

I looked down at the cat and thought wistfully of Alice’s cute little white kitty. “You’re sure you wouldn’t rather look for a kitten, Caitie? This one has used up five or six of his nine lives already.” I was being charitable. He looked like he might have spent seven or eight of them—recklessly—and was well into the ninth.

“But that’s why I want this one,” she said, and picked up her sandwich in both hands. She wasn’t looking at me. “He’s like me when I came to live here. He doesn’t have any family. He doesn’t have a home. He’s lonesome. He needs somebody to take care of him. He needs
me.
”

There was no disputing this observation. I sighed. “We need to ask Uncle Mike when he calls tonight.”

She nodded vigorously. “I’m going to name him Pumpkin. Because that’s what he looks like.” She gave me a sideways look. “And if he’s a girl, her name can be Pumpkin, too.”

“Good thinking,” I said. “But let’s see what Uncle Mike says. And the vet will have to take a look at him. Or her, as the case may be. If he’s sick, we’ll have to look for another kitty. I’m sure the vet could help us find a little baby who needs you, too. Okay?”

She nodded, unconvinced. Howard gave the cat another sniff. I could see how the voting was likely to turn out. It was already two in favor.

After we ate, Caitie took Pumpkin upstairs to practice her violin and I called Sandra Trevor to make arrangements for lessons and find out about the summer youth orchestra program at CTSU and the recital. As I dialed, I noticed that the light was blinking on the answering machine, and felt a stab of irritation at myself. When was the last time I checked the machine? Another thing: we’d had a power outage a few days ago—had I reset the clock to get a valid time-date stamp?

But Sandra was on the line. “Let’s keep the lessons at the same time, same place,” she said. “The orchestra meets on Thursday afternoons. And I’ll know more about the recital after I’ve worked with Caitie for a few weeks.” There was a deep warmth in her voice. “I’m delighted to have her, China. Brenda says she shows surprising promise for a first-year student.”

“She’s certainly dedicated,” I said, as the strains of the Canon wafted down the stairs. “Actually, Sandra, I’m feeling a little guilty. I keep thinking I should have paid more attention to her progress. Been more on top of the situation.” Aren’t mothers supposed to be advocates for their children?

“Nonsense,” Sandra replied briskly. “Caitlin’s opportunities will broaden out a bit now—it’ll be up to her to figure out how to handle them responsibly.” She paused. “You know, I often think that the real challenge for these talented youngsters isn’t the talent itself. It’s the discipline they need in order to develop the talent. You can’t give them that. They have to find it in themselves. And for parents, the challenge is finding the right level of involvement. There’s a difference between nurturing and pushing.” She chuckled. “To tell the truth, I’m glad you’re not one of the pushers.”

“Thanks, Sandra,” I said. “That makes me feel better—a little, anyway. We’ll see you on Monday.” I hung up and started to clear the table, thinking I’d call Leatha and let her know about the change in teachers, and why. She’d be interested—and delighted, especially since I had dashed her dreams when I showed no interest in the family violin. Then I remembered the blinking light on the answering machine, and hit the PLAY button. The voice indicator claimed that the message had come in at 12 a.m., which meant that I hadn’t reset the machine after the last power outage. Drat. Maybe it was time for a new machine—one that could tell the time all by itself.

Then I heard the message. “China?” The whisper was low, furtive, surreptitious. “China, it’s me. Jessica. Listen, I’m in trouble. Really, I mean it. I need help. I—”

There was the sound of a scuffle, a stifled cry. And then the connection was broken.

I stood staring at the receiver in my hand, trying to think. Jessica needed help. But where was she? Why was she whispering? Why had the call been broken off so abruptly? A scuffle, a cry—and then nothing.

I took a deep breath. I didn’t like this situation, not at all. Wherever she was, Jessica needed help. So what could I do? Of course, if Kinsey Millhone had gotten a call like this, she would have jumped into her car and raced off to do . . . well, something. I might have raced off to do something, too, at an earlier time in my life. In fact, I was sure I had.

But I had no idea when this call had come in. What’s more, I was a mom now, and my daughter was upstairs practicing her violin. Even if I had known where to look for Jessica tonight, I had responsibilities. I couldn’t leave Caitie and race off into the dark, especially when it might be dangerous.

But maybe I could do something else. I picked up the phone and punched in Blackie’s number. I caught him at a meeting of the county commissioners. He told me to hang on while he went out into the hallway to take my call. A moment later he was back.

“What’s up, China?” That deep, comforting voice of his—I relaxed immediately. Whatever was going on with Jessica, I could turn it over to Blackie. He’d take care of it.

“Did you happen to meet Jessica Nelson from the
Enterprise
yesterday afternoon?” I asked. “She said she was stopping by your office to see the photos of the trailer fire. She was going to interview you.”

“Yeah. I showed her the photos myself, and gave her a few things she could use in her story. An intern, she said, but she seemed to be really on top of it.” He chuckled. “Cute kid. Passionate. Involved.” You bet, I thought. Very involved. “The photos really got to her, though,” he added. “Afterward, I thought I probably shouldn’t have let her see the victim.”

I nodded. “I’m asking because she was supposed to turn in her story this afternoon. I saw Hark a little after five, and he hadn’t heard from her. Then I got this call—”

“Hang on a minute, China.” I could hear voices in the background. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go,” Blackie said hurriedly. “I’m up next, and the commissioners are ready for me.”

“But I need to tell you about Jessica, Blackie! She didn’t turn in her story, and Hark hasn’t heard anything from her. Nobody answers at her house. And I just picked up a phone call—”

“Sorry, China,” Blackie interrupted. “I’ve really got to go, but Sheila’s here with me. You can tell her whatever it is, and she can relay the message.”

I frowned. Sheila was at the county commissioners’ meeting? That was a little unusual, wasn’t it? She reported to the Pecan Springs city council.

But Sheila was already on the line, asking, “What’s this about, China?”

I went through my story again, ending with, “And I just picked up a phone call from her that came in sometime in the last day or so on my machine. She was whispering. And then it sounded like the phone was taken away from her, and the connection was broken.”

“Well,” Sheila said, “I can think of—”

I broke in. “I have a bad feeling about this, Smart Cookie. I had lunch with this girl yesterday. She was really excited about writing a feature story on the trailer fire on Limekiln Road, where the woman was killed. Shot and then burned to death. Turns out that Jessica’s family—her sister and her parents—also burned to death, so she has a strong personal connection to the story. To make things worse, she’s been reading
In Cold Blood
. She admires the way Truman Capote got close to his story—to the victims, and to the killers.”

“Damn,” Sheila muttered. “Lord deliver us from investigative reporters—especially the young ones. You’re not thinking that she’s tracked down the killer?”

I thought of the excitement on Jessica’s face when she talked about the story, and about Blackie’s remark that she was passionate and involved. “I think it’s possible. She’s bright and determined—and personally engaged. She might’ve been able to dig up some leads that the investigating officers missed.” I had seen this kind of thing before. The cops interviewed people, and they clammed up. They told the officer only as much as they felt they had to, and they didn’t volunteer anything that might develop into a lead. But Jessica was young and personable and nonthreatening. She might be able to tease out information that would never be given to an official investigator.

“Any idea where she might’ve been phoning from?” Sheila asked.

“No. That’s why I was calling Blackie. The trailer fire is his investigation. I was hoping that he could . . .” I hesitated. What was it I had wanted him to do? “Put a deputy on it, I guess,” I finished lamely.

Yes, that was part of it. But the truth was that I wanted to be able to turn the problem over to somebody else. To reliable, dependable Sheriff Blackwell. Tell him, and he’d take care of it. He’d fix it. He always fixed everything. That’s what he was good at.

Sheila sighed. “I don’t want to sound like a bureaucrat, China, but if this intern is really missing, the best thing to do is file a missing-person report. You could do this, or Hark, or her roommate. Or her parents or . . .” She stopped, remembering what I had told her. “Where’s her family?”

“I don’t think she has any. Her grandmother died a year ago. She has a roommate.” I paused. “But what about that phone call?”

“Did you pick up the number from Caller ID?”

“We don’t have Caller ID on our land line. We’re rural out here. We don’t get all the services available in Pecan Springs.”

Sheila was patient. “Well, I can think of a couple of legitimate reasons for that phone call, and none of them have anything to do with the story this girl is working on. Car trouble, for instance. Or a boyfriend problem. Is she seeing anybody?”

Car trouble. A boyfriend. Why hadn’t I thought of that? “I . . . I don’t know,” I muttered. “I guess I really don’t know her very well.” Actually, I didn’t know anything about Jessica, other than what she had told me about her family and a few other little bits she’d shared in our conversations. I was beginning to feel foolish. Talk about jumping to conclusions. Here I was, making a big scene, and there was probably nothing to it at all.

Sheila’s voice was sympathetic. “I understand that you’re anxious, China, but there’s nothing anybody can do tonight.”

Now I really felt foolish. I know very well that there are things the cops can do and things they can’t. I had reached out to the sheriff for help, but all I had really wanted to do was turn the problem over to him and be done with it.

Sheila was going on. “Tell you what. If she calls you back and you can pin down a location, let me know. If not, and if she still hasn’t been heard from by midday tomorrow, come in and—”

“I know, I know.” I sighed. “File the report.”

“You got it. File the report.” She paused for a moment, then lowered her voice. “Maybe you were wondering why I’m here? At the county commissioners’ meeting, that is.”

“Well, yes, I was wondering, sorta. But I thought maybe you and Blackie were going out somewhere afterward.” I chuckled wryly. “Like maybe dancing. Or a late dinner. Or whatever a pair of law enforcement officers do when they’re off duty.”

“I’m here for moral support,” Sheila said. “Blackie’s turning in his badge tonight. Well, not tonight, exactly,” she amended quickly. “Tonight, he’s telling the commissioners that he’s decided not to run again.”

“Not running . . .” I sucked in my breath. “You . . . you’re kidding, Sheila!”

“Uh-uh.” She was all business. “There’ll be a press release tomorrow. I thought you and Mike would like a little advance warning.”

“Not running? I can’t believe it. I really can’t. I mean . . .” I was nearly speechless. “What made him . . .”

And then I understood. “It’s the wedding, isn’t it?”

Blackie had always said that two cops in one family are one cop too many, so he was quitting. I was astonished at the thought. If anybody left the profession, I would have expected it to be Sheila, when she got pregnant—
if
she got pregnant. But Blackie? Law enforcement had been in his family for decades. It was in his blood.

“Yes, it’s the wedding.” Sheila’s laugh was deep and rich. “We decided that the only way we could get married was for one of us to quit.”

“But . . . but how did you . . .” I broke off. It wasn’t any of my business how they decided.