The Evidence Room: A Mystery (2 page)

He took a few steps closer to investigate. The woman’s shiny chartreuse satin gown was hiked up around her knees. A German shepherd sprawled on the burned grass at her feet, its velvety tan-and-black head pressed against her alabaster shins.

Josh slid the backpack from his shoulder, and the folder filled with photographs of missing people shifted in its depths.

He had planned on getting here early enough to post the pictures, culled from a daylong dig through the county case files. It was a long shot, but these fairs brought all kinds of people out from different places; you never knew who might have a key to finding someone who was lost. He dug out the fair map, sure he’d written down the incorrect stall number.

Nope, he was in the right place.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I think you may be in the wrong—”

“Hush!” The woman brought an index finger to her lips. The motion woke the dog, who exhaled loudly and settled back down without glancing in Josh’s direction. “Keep your voice down.” She motioned Josh closer.

Josh slid his backpack from his shoulder and knelt at her feet. In a town like Cooper’s Bayou, nestled in the swampland south of Tampa, Florida, a tiny enclave of only two hundred residents, everybody knew everybody else, but this woman was a stranger. She had the tiny, fine-featured face of an old-fashioned doll, her eyebrows carefully penciled on, her lips outlined in a crimson bow shape. Above her tiara, her silver hair rose in a gravity-defiant funnel, to which several glittering butterfly clips clung for dear life.

She was sizing him up too; he could see that. Her rheumy eyes traveled the length of his T-shirt and alit on the badge clipped to his waist.

“You’re a policeman,” she breathed. It wasn’t relief in her voice, but something else, something halfway between surprise and mild amusement.

“Yes, ma’am. Here to set up our booth for the fair. I’m Detective Josh Hudson.” Josh flinched inwardly at the sound of it. Two years on the force, and the title still fit him like a bad pair of pants, clinging in all the wrong places. Detectives solved mysteries; they found lost people. Josh had spent the last two years chasing possums out of locals’ yards and letting people out of speeding tickets.

And he hadn’t yet found the one person he’d returned to Cooper’s Bayou to find.

The woman tipped back her head and laughed, a booming, unexpected guffaw that did not match her delicate frame. “Of all the hiding places—I chose the police fair booth. I wouldn’t make much of a criminal, would I? Lord mercy.” She adjusted the tiara. “And it seems I lost my manners along the way! I’m Iola.”

Josh grinned. There was something of his Tennessee grandmother in Miss Iola; genteel and headstrong. “And what, may I ask, are you hiding from, Miss Iola?”

“Oh, please don’t take me back there, Detective Hudson,” Miss Iola stammered. “I can’t go yet. I’m not ready yet.” The stark longing in her voice compelled Josh to take her hand in his own. Her skin was almost transparent, the blue patchwork of veins so close it seemed as though they might break the surface.

“You don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to.”

She squeezed his hand. “You don’t understand, Detective.”

“Tell me.”

“She’s a witch,” Miss Iola confided.

“Excuse me?”

“Trinity Patchett. She’s a witch.”

Josh suppressed a smile. Trinity Patchett was one of the fair’s administrators. Josh had worked with her on a police fund-raiser. A mean-looking brunette with a too-high ponytail, Trinity had a voice that could shatter glass and a leadership style that would make Stalin blush. He didn’t blame Iola for running away; he admired her for managing to escape.

“And what business did you have with Miss Trinity?”

“She’s in charge of the pageant this year. She’s bringing us all back, all the past winners. I thought it would be fun, but once I saw that she was going to be parading us around like a sideshow—I took off running. You should see these women, Detective. It isn’t right. And those unruly children in this year’s pageant! They raise them like wild animals. You never heard such a racket in your life.”

Josh fought to keep a straight face. “So you won the pageant when, last year? Year before?”

“Something like that,” she said with a wry smile. “I was born and raised in Cooper’s Bayou, but I haven’t been back here since. And what about you? I seem to recall some Hudsons living over by Bayou Triste. Is that your kin?”

“Yes, ma’am. My father’s family.” It was an important distinction in Josh’s mind. He searched Miss Iola’s face for signs that she knew something of his father, but she was spellbound by some other memory. “He followed my mama to Tennessee, where I was raised.”

“A man from Tennessee asked me to run away with him all those years ago.” Her fingers ghosted across Josh’s stubbled cheek. “He was a handsome fella, had those Windex-blue eyes like you.”

“And he let you out of his sight?”

Miss Iola turned her attention to the dog, patting his belly in concentric circles. It was a moment before she spoke again. “Not while he was alive. He passed on a few years back.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Iola.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “Time’s a funny thing. You think your world’s going to end when you lose somebody, but life just goes on. It’s cruel, in a way. I thought coming back here would be a way to move forward, but there’s nothing here for me. Nothing but memories.”

“I understand,” Josh said. And he did, in a way that she didn’t realize. He’d returned to Cooper’s Bayou for the same reason; trying to find a past he couldn’t fix.

“So, Detective Hudson, are you going to turn me in?”

There was no way he was going to, and she knew it. She was playing him like a fiddle.

“No, I’m not, Miss Iola. But if you’re going to stay for a bit, you can’t just sit there lounging in the sun with your dog. I’m going to have to put you to work.”

Miss Iola made a humphing noise. “My daddy was a shrimper. I’m not afraid of a little hard work. And this lovely creature isn’t my dog. He just took a liking to me, my little beau. Somebody’s probably looking for him too.”

Josh bent down and scratched the dog behind the ears. “Well, we’ll handle one mystery at a time. First, I need some help hanging these up.” He opened the manila folder and laid the photographs on the picnic table in front of them.

They were all shapes and sizes, the faces of the missing staring back at them from yellowed family snapshots, school photographs with blue-sky backgrounds, candid images of birthday parties and beaches. Some of them had been cut from group photos, so that an arm or shoulder reached out of frame. Some had been missing for longer than Josh had been alive.

“All these people are missing?” Miss Iola ran her fingers along the edges of the pictures, cloaked in plastic. “Lord Mercy. Veda Fontaine.” She tapped a black-and-white portrait of a brunette, eyes wide and lips pursed, a cluster of pearls resting in the hollow of her throat. “That’s Miss Veda. My mama knew her. She disappeared when I was just a kid.”

Miss Iola nudged another photo aside, revealing the picture of Liana. Josh’s sister. An ache split Josh’s insides, an old stitch giving way to a wound underneath. Nobody would ever notice a family resemblance; Liana had their father’s fair skin and hair, while Josh, like his brother, had the dark curls and olive skin that were their mother’s. She shouldn’t be in this array; Liana wasn’t really missing. Not in any official police sense of the word, anyway. Josh felt Miss Iola’s gaze and turned away from Liana’s image.

“I don’t know how we’re going to hang these pictures, Miss Iola.” Josh scanned the tent. Someone was supposed to drop off easels, but they hadn’t. The tent walls weren’t an option either. Around them, drops of moisture saturated the canvas enclosing the stall, the day’s humidity clinging to every surface.

“I’ve got an idea,” Miss Iola said, scooping a plastic bag out of the supply bin at the back of the enclosure. “Clothesline. We could hang the pictures that way.” She held up the bag of clothespins for Josh to see. Together they stretched the cord the length of their stall and pinned up the pictures, one by one along the line.
Forgotten Faces
, Josh scrawled in marker on a piece of shiny poster board, and below that
Help Solve My Mystery
. The two of them stood back and admired the display.

“Nothing tastes better than a hog on a log,” announced a voice behind them.

Josh turned to see Boone Lambert holding aloft a pork drumstick. Boone, Josh’s partner on the force, was the redheaded reincarnation of Paul Bunyan, with a little more padding. A third-generation cop, Boone had treated Josh like a kid brother since his arrival in Cooper’s Bayou. Josh was a regular at Boone’s Sunday barbecues, along with whatever local single woman Boone’s wife, Laura Jane, was hoping to set Josh up with.

“Have you seen some of the food they’ve got here, Josh?”

Josh chuckled and feigned surprise. “And here I was, thinking we were on the clock.”

“I was working,” Boone insisted. “The Good News Bible Camp people called in a complaint about the voodoo woman’s booth.” He tore a hunk of meat off the drumstick caveman-style and spoke as he chewed. “Also, we’ve got a missing person—a lady from the pageant.”

“Yeah, I might have a lead on that.”

Miss Iola, who had retreated to her lawn chair, appeared at Josh’s side. “I guess it’s time for me to turn myself in. I’ve taken enough of your time, Detective Hudson. You have been so gracious.”

Boone raised an eyebrow at Josh. “Miss Iola Suggs?”

“Guilty,” Miss Iola said.

Boone chuckled. “Well, ma’am, I can’t say I blame you for hightailing it out of there. That Trinity Patchett and her pageant cronies sure are crazy. All the same, it’s best to let them know you’re safe.” He glanced at the clothesline of missing faces. “Is this what y’all have been working on?”

“It’s just marvelous, isn’t it?” Miss Iola winked at Josh.

“You really think someone might give us a tip?”

“You never know,” Josh said to Liana’s picture. “Just takes one.”

“That’s what I like about you, Hudson,” Boone grinned. “You’re an optimist. Some might say a fool.”

“One of those,” Josh agreed.

On top of the folding table, Josh and Boone’s scanners began to crackle in unison.

“Here we go,” Boone said. “Ten bucks says we have to haul someone’s drunk rear end out of the creek again. Excuse me, ma’am.” He spoke into the receiver. “Go ahead for Boone and Hudson.”

“Niney Crumpler went missing this morning.” Captain Rush’s voice, veiled in static, sizzled and popped through the speaker.

Boone gave Josh the thumbs-up. “Told you. Damn, I’m good.”

“Lucky guess,” Josh returned. “I’ll go.” Niney was probably passed out after raising hell somewhere, but even so, he needed to be brought home safe. Josh took a step towards Miss Iola to say good-bye and almost tripped over the German shepherd.

“Boone, do you know anything about this dog?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you about him. He’s from Hambone PD.”

“Did they loan him to us or what?” The dog lifted his head and unfurled his enormous pink tongue in their direction, as though aware they were discussing him.

“They wanted to know if we had a use for him before they hauled him off to the pound. I guess he failed out of K-9 training.” Boone laughed. “Pretty dumb, huh? I thought shepherds were supposed to be smart.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. You failed out of what, sixth grade? And you didn’t turn out so bad.”

Miss Iola chuckled.

“Is that what passes for humor up there in Tennessee?” Boone scoffed. “Let me know when Niney is home safe and sound. Come on, Miss Iola. Let’s get you back to your kingdom.”

Josh pecked Miss Iola on the cheek. “Take care, now, Miss Iola. That Trinity gets out of line, you give me a call.”

Miss Iola pressed a kiss into Josh’s cheek and whispered into his ear. “I hope you find who you’re looking for,” she said.

The words flooded Josh’s insides, filling in the hollow places. He steadied himself, reaching down to pet the dog. Beneath his palm, he felt the animal’s heartbeat, even and steady. “Well, Miss Iola’s beau, I guess you’re coming with me,” he said. “C’mon, Beau. Let’s find old Niney.”

With the German shepherd matching his stride, he trotted in the direction of his car.

CHAPTER THREE

“We’ve got a list of cocktails that’ll make you feel single and see double,” Mama Brigitte boasted. “Or if you’re on call, I could fix you a Shirley Temple.”

Mama Brigitte, the bartender at Dalhart’s, winked at Aurora Atchison over the shoulder of her unsuspecting date, a new MRI tech named Mike. Everyone who worked at St. Agnes Hospital knew Mama, who had that preternatural ability shared by the best bartenders of knowing exactly what you needed. Aurora had seen her serve coffee floats to exhausted interns and had also seen her boot one of the most respected surgeons in New York out on his ass for being rude. She could see Mama sizing Mike up and was sure she’d be getting a full report later.

“I’ll just take a Blue Moon,” Mike replied, glancing back at Aurora. “And of course, whatever the lady wants.”

“Diet Coke, please, Mama,” Aurora said.

Mama shook her head and slid their drinks across the bar. “Someday this girl’s gonna let me fix her a real drink. Now, you let me know if you need anything else.”

Mike led the way to a booth in the back. “So you’re one of Mama’s favorites, huh? You must have done something special to earn a lifetime of free drinks!”

Aurora waved away the compliment. “I treated one of her relatives.” Aurora had treated Mama’s mother in the ER a month before. Pulmonary edema. She remembered putting a hand on the older woman’s back, feeling the patchwork of bones under her fingers. When Mama Brigitte had arrived, she could feel the older woman breathe easier, felt her lungs open up.
Make sure you love somebody and somebody loves you
, the older woman had told her later.
Then you can do anything
.

Mike pointed to her Diet Coke. “Sure I can’t tempt you? Those cocktails sounded pretty good.”

“No thanks. I’m on call,” Aurora said. “What time is it? I have to be at the softball field at eight-fifteen.” Aurora smiled at his pouting expression. “Coach’s orders.”