Mourning Gloria (26 page)

She broke in. “So that’s how your eyebrows got scorched.”

“Right.” I was beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t hang a sign around my neck, announcing the fact. “On Monday, Jessica paid a visit to the girl who used to live in the trailer—Lucy LaFarge. I talked to Lucy a little while ago, and she told me that you had an idea that Larry Wolff—he used to live in the trailer, too—might have loaned his key to somebody. I thought maybe Jessica dropped in to see if you could tell her who.”

“You’re right,” Zoe said. “Jessica told me about the trailer fire. She said she had talked to Lucy, and she asked about the key.”

“Did you tell her what she wanted to know?”

“Well, sure. I mean, it’s not like it was a huge secret.” She paused. “But I don’t think Larry loaned that key.”

“No? Well, then—”

“From what I could gather, he just . . . well, he gave it to her.”

Ah. Well, okay. “To—”

“To Gloria. Gloria Graham. He told her that his roommate had already turned in two sets of keys to the new landlord. His was extra and Gloria could have it.”

Gloria Graham. I pulled in my breath, catching the significance. G.G. The initials on the bracelet the victim was wearing.

“Why?” I frowned. “I mean, why was he doing this? And why would she want a key to an empty trailer?”

“Well, I didn’t tune into that part of the conversation. But I got the idea that Gloria wanted to use it for some extracurricular activity.” She arched her eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”

“Involving Larry Wolff, or somebody else?”

“Could’ve been Larry, I guess. I know that he’s still living with this other girl—Lucy, I mean. But I’m not sure it’s a closed relationship. In fact, I think it isn’t. You know how these things are. But maybe Gloria was hot for somebody else—or she had something else in mind altogether. Anyway, the place was going to be empty for a while. That’s what Larry said.”

Ah, the sexual adventures of youth. Twosomes, threesomes, even foursomes. If you ask me, monogamy definitely has its advantages. At least you know that you’re going to be in the same bed every night, and that he’s going to be there with you, instead of somewhere else, with someone else.

“And that was when?” I asked. “This business with the key, I mean.”

She shrugged. “A couple of weeks ago, maybe? The week before finals, I think.” She began fishing around among the litter of papers on her desk. “Jessica said she wanted to get in touch with Gloria, but at the time, I couldn’t remember her last name. That’s why I phoned her this morning—I remembered it. Graham. I found an address, too. Do you want it?”

I had heard it before, on the answering machine in Jessica’s kitchen, but I wrote it down anyway. I was still scribbling when Zoe added, “But if Jessica is still looking for Gloria, she’ d better hurry. She’ll only be here through the middle of next week. I meant to say that on the phone, but I forgot—didn’t remember it until I happened to look at the field trip list again. When you locate Jessica, will you tell her?”

“Sure,” I said. And then, “Where’s Gloria going?”

“On a field trip to Mexico.”

I frowned. “Lucy mentioned that Larry Wolff was going on a field trip to Mexico. I wonder if it’s the same one.”

“Could be,” Zoe said. “I don’t think there’s more than one trip planned for this summer.” She paused, crinkling her nose. “Why are you so interested in all of this, China?”

I hesitated, then decided it was time to tell her what I knew. “Because the girl who died was bound hand and foot and shot in the chest. And then the killer set the place on fire.”

“Oh, no!” Zoe exclaimed. “Jessica didn’t mention anything about . . .” She gulped. “About a
murder
. I thought it must have been an accident.”

“No accident. The girl wasn’t dead when the fire got to her. I was standing outside. I could hear her crying for help, but I couldn’t get to her. There was nothing I could do.”

“Dear God,” she whispered, horrified. Her hand went to her mouth.

“I’m pretty sure God didn’t have anything to do with this,” I said grimly. “I don’t think this was something He would have approved.”

She dropped her hand, beginning to put the pieces together. “And Gloria Graham may have had a key to the place . . .” She hesitated. “Do you think she was the person who died in the fire?”

“The victim hasn’t been identified yet.” We were getting into police business now. “I know Sheriff Blackwell. This is his case. I’m going to phone him as soon as I leave here, and give him the information about Gloria and the key. I’m sure he’ll want to talk with you.”

“Here’s my cell.” She picked up a piece of paper, wrote a number on it, and handed it to me. “Tell the sheriff I’m available any time. I’ll be glad to help.”

“Thanks. Oh, one more thing. Do you happen to know what kind of car Gloria drives?”

“As it happens, I do. I’ve seen her pulling in and out of the parking lot from time to time. She drives a really hot-looking Mustang. A red convertible.” She tilted her head. “Does that tell you anything?”

It told me that Gloria—or somebody driving her Mustang—had used that key at least once. Didn’t nail it, but it might come close. And it was another bit of information for Blackie. “Thanks,” I said.

She was frowning deeply now, still putting pieces together. “What about Jessica? You said that nobody’s talked to her since Monday. You don’t think she’s in any danger, do you?”

“I think it’s possible,” I said. “Jessica is intense. She’s passionate. And this particular story has a personal angle. She could be so deeply involved that she’s not thinking clearly. Which could put her in a vulnerable position.”

“A personal angle?”

“Yes. Her sister Ginger—her
twin
sister—died when their house burned. Her mom and dad, too. Jessica was on a school trip when it happened,” I said. “Otherwise, she told me, she’d be dead, too.”

“Uh-oh,” Zoe said, her face sober. “Are you suggesting that she’s making an emotional connection between the victim of this trailer fire and her twin?”

I nodded. “It could be her way of mourning the death of her sister and her parents.” And maybe a kind of repayment, I thought, for having survived. Irrational, but that’s what grief is like. You think you’re finished with it, and then something comes along to reopen the old wounds.

“Her twin sister,” Zoe repeated softly. “How awful for Jessica, how truly awful.” She took a deep breath. “Well, I can tell you that she was really calm and collected when she talked to me—you know, crisp, professional. I got the feeling that there was something going on inside her, though, something deep. I attributed it to her desire to get a good story. But now I can see that there was more to it than that.”

“She does want to get a good story,” I agreed. “She’s been covering the city council and the ladies’ club, stuff like that. She wants this arson-murder story for her portfolio, and she wants an exclusive, which means that she’s playing her cards close to the chest. Putting all that together with her phone call to me, I think it’s entirely possible that she’s somehow managed to connect with the killer.”

And if Jessica had gotten close to the killer, or if the killer had gotten close to her, there was no guarantee that she was still alive. He—or she—had killed once. It would be easy to kill again. I had traced her steps this far, but where did I go from here?

“Did she give you any idea where she might be heading after she left you?” I asked.

“Home, was what she said. She had a taped interview to transcribe and she wanted to get started on her article.” She frowned. “Hang on a minute. No, she said that she needed to do some more checking on Gloria. But that’s all I—”

Zoe’s telephone rang and she reached for it, spoke briefly, then covered the receiver with her hand. “Are we about done, do you think? This is a student. I’m afraid it’s going to take a while.”

“Just one more thing,” I said. “Was there anybody else around when you and Jessica talked on Monday?”

“In this room?” She frowned. “Maybe. I didn’t really notice. But the late afternoon class had just let out. There were probably a couple of TAs in their carrels, and maybe several students. I couldn’t tell you who, though. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Thanks.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a card. “If you think of anything else, could you call me? I’d really appreciate it.”

“Sure thing,” she said. She twiddled her fingers at me and turned back to the phone.

I glanced at my watch. Ten twenty. I needed to call Blackie and give him the information about Gloria Graham and the key to the trailer, as well as Zoe’s name and phone number. I’d suggest to him that he talk to Lucy and find out whether she had left a stash of camp stove fuel at the trailer, where it could have been used as an accelerant. I needed to go to the PSPD office and turn in a missing-person report on Jessica. And then I had to get to the shop. It was getting late and Ruby would wonder—

As if my cell phone were hard-wired to my brain, it rang. A few weeks before, Brian had decided I needed a new ringtone, and (since I’m a Willie Nelson fan) he’d downloaded “Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys” to my cell phone. It rang now, and I flipped it open. Ruby, calling from the shop. She sounded frazzled.

“China, Lisa just phoned. She can’t make it this morning.”

“Rats!” I exclaimed. “Have you tried calling Laurel?” Laurel Riley frequently helps out at the shop, and is almost always available on short notice.

“Yes, but there’s no answer at her place, and I remember something about visiting her mother. What time do you think you’ll be in?” She paused, adding in a pleading voice, “Grace—Grace, sweetheart, Gramma doesn’t want you to play with that. Put it down, please.”

“I’ve got one more stop,” I said, going out into the hall. “I should be there in twenty or thirty minutes.” That’s the nice thing about small towns. You’re never very far from where you need to be.

She gave a sigh of relief. “That would be wonderful, China. As soon as you can. Also, Bob Godwin is here. He’s looking for more cilantro. He wants to know if you can bring some in.”

I scowled. “Tell him I took all I had to the market on Saturday. I won’t have any more for a couple of weeks.” That wasn’t strictly true, but I wasn’t going to contribute my cilantro to Bob’s tortilla soup. If he wants his customers to OD on cilantro, he can find it somewhere else.

“Okay,” Ruby said. “Anything new on Jessica?”

“Not specifically, but I have the feeling that I might be getting a little closer.”

“Good luck,” Ruby said.

I had just clicked off on the call when McQuaid phoned. “I got out of Knoxville okay,” he said, sounding disgruntled, “but we’re stuck on the ground here in Dallas. Mechanical problems. Looks like I’ll be a couple of hours late.”

“Could you call Caitlin and let her know?” I paused. “By the way, I stopped in to see Blackie this morning. I mentioned that you wanted to talk to him. He seems down about leaving office, and I think he’s eager to take a look at his options. Maybe you could give him a call, too.”

“I’ll do it,” McQuaid said, and sighed. “Haven’t got anything else to do for the next hour or so. What’s happening there?”

“Not much,” I said evasively. “You know how it goes—same old, same old.” I hadn’t told him about Jessica, since I knew he’d only tell me not to get involved.

“Listen,” he said, “since I’ve got a little time, maybe I should ask you about that cat Caitie wants to keep. Are you sure it’s all right with you?”

“More or less,” I said hurriedly. “Hey, I’m sorry, but I really can’t talk right now. I’m kind of busy at the moment.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Well, okay. Sorry I bothered you.”

“No bother, really,” I said. “Love you.”

His voice was gentle. “Love you, too, babe.” We clicked off.

I closed my cell phone thoughtfully. Used to be, when I was away from the house or the office, I was really
away—
completely disconnected, out of reach, out of touch. And to tell the truth, it felt good, especially since privacy and personal space have always been one of my hot-button issues.

Don’t get me wrong: I very much appreciate having a gadget that saves me time, keeps me on task, allows me to check on the kids, and helps me deal with emergencies. And of course, there are those days when everything that happens, happens by phone. Without it, you’d come completely unglued.

But I sometimes wish I could go back to the time when it wasn’t so easy to reach out and touch someone.

Jessica’s hearing had grown acute in the stillness, and she heard him coming. First the sound of a heavy door opening (an outside door, she thought), then footsteps moving across the cement floor, then the clicking of a combination lock and the opening of another door—a wooden door, maybe, with a squeaky hinge. Then light, very dim, a flashlight with some sort of dark fabric fastened over it, just enough to see that the man who held it was wearing a ski mask and carrying a paper bag.