Killerfind (11 page)

fter
successfully finding a
restroom, but being unsuccessful in locating Ricky, Rhetta wandered out to the
patio and sidled up to James. His fluffy white chef’s hat bobbed as he grilled.
“Have you seen Ricky Lane?”

“Not in the last fifteen minutes or so,” James
answered. “She stopped with him to check on the food, then went out to the pool
area.” When he said
him
, he rolled his eyes with much exaggeration.

“I guess you mean Jeremy?” Rhetta laughed when he
nodded. “Thanks a bunch, James.” Rhetta finger-waggled a backward wave at him,
and headed to the pool. Rhetta was still unable to locate Ricky even after
threading her way once again through the assembled poolsiders. She decided not
to go back to the house in search of her friend. She wanted to leave and go
home to her sane and normal husband. She had known dysfunctional people before,
but these folks ranked right up there amongst the worst. She was amazed that
Ricky couldn’t see through them. In fact, Ricky was probably having a big time
somewhere inside the house. Rhetta couldn’t stand any more time there of any
kind, so she trotted to the back of the yard.

The air hung muggy and close, without a breeze to
moderate the humidity. The late afternoon sun bronzed the glistening bodies.
Many guests already wore bright red patches of sunburned skin on shoulders,
cheeks, backs and noses. They’d be paying tomorrow for their fun today. As she
walked, she riffled through her purse, pulled out her cell phone and dialed
Ricky’s number. The call went straight to voice mail. She left a message as she
walked down the flagstone path, going back to the alley the way she’d come in.
“Ricky, I had to leave, and couldn’t find you. Call me when you get a chance.”
Rhetta hit END and dropped the phone into her purse.

She passed Jeremy’s garage/house, and couldn’t tell
if anyone was there. The garage doors were tightly closed. Arriving at the gate
leading into the alley, she leaned a shoulder against it. After a great effort,
she managed to shove it open. She wondered why it was so hard to push until she
noticed the spring-loaded hinges. And a tiny red flashing light. It was
designed to be opened electronically. With her luck, she probably set off a
burglar alarm. She didn’t care. Ignoring the sun beating down on her, she
walked briskly toward Henderson, and her car. She nodded to the watchman on her
way out. And swatted away the drops of perspiration that ran down her nose.

*
* *

Rhetta
turned on the radio and the air conditioner. Sweat had plastered her hair
against her scalp then dripped down her forehead and her nose after the uphill
hike to her car. Inside the car, she located a box of tissues, and wiped down
her face. Makeup smeared onto the tissue. She glanced at her watch. It was
still early, barely five o’clock. Her stomach grumbled. The steaks had smelled
so great when she first inhaled the mouth-watering scent of James’ grilling.
She’d head home and throw a couple of steaks on their gas grill and cook for
Randolph.

Maybe she should call Randolph and tell him she was
on her way home early. She pulled up to a red light, and groped in her purse
for her cell. Sometimes when her phone was buried in her bag, she couldn’t hear
it ring. She found it and glanced at the screen. No messages. She called
Randolph and when he didn’t answer, she left him a message. “Hi, Sweets, I’m on
my way home. If you’ll take a couple of steaks out of the freezer, I’ll grill
them.”

Her mind returned to Ricky. How should she approach
telling her about Jeremy? Rhetta badly wanted to know more about Jeremy and
Anjanette Spears. She tapped her favorites list for the one guy who kept up
with everybody and anything Cape Girardeau—her personal information resource
that she’d nicknamed Woody-the-Answer-Man-dot-com.

He answered on the second ring.

“Is this Woody-the-Answer-Man?” She reached over to
crank the air conditioning on high and turn the radio off.

Woody chuckled. “So what do you need to know about
the Family Spears?”

“How did you know that’s why I called?” The light changed
and she edged over to the right lane.

“I know you.”

“I know you know me, but how do you know I wanted to
ask you about the great American dysfunctional family?”

“It’s Saturday afternoon, and you were going there
for a pool party, to which I wasn’t invited, by the way, and now you call me.
It’s a given.”

“Hey, I wasn’t in charge of the invites.” Rhetta
stopped for another red light at the corner of Broadway and Kingshighway. “I
wish I hadn’t gone.”

“That bad?”

“Yep. Worse. I’ll tell you about it Monday. I don’t
want to talk about my experience over a cell phone.”

Woody whistled. “Since when?”

“Look, things were pretty weird, and I promise I’ll
fill you in, but first some info. How was Mrs. Spears able to buy that house?”

“What happened to not wanting to talk about stuff on
a cell phone?”

“This is different.”

Woody sighed. “Uh-huh. If you say so. Anyhow, the
details are public record by now. Agnes Dalton-Evers with Tri-County
Realty told me that Mrs. Spears paid cash for the house. Agnes handled the sale
as both the buyer’s and sellers’ agent. It closed real quick for a short sale.
You know how long it usually takes for a bank short sale. In fact they should
call them long sales.” Woody chuckled at his own joke. When banks sold homes
through short sales, they could sometimes take up to a year or longer to close.

“Must’ve been a local bank that owned it, and not
one of the big national bad boys,” Rhetta said.

“Yep, our competitor, Cape First Bank.”

“How short was it?”

“I’m not sure about that, but Agnes said Mrs. Spears
paid right at a million for the place.”

Rhetta nearly swerved into a Honda. “Did you say one
million? Dollars? Where in God’s name did she get that kind of money?”

“I don’t think the name on the policy was God’s.”
Woody chuckled. “I heard she collected two point five million bucks from her
husband’s death.”

“Did you say million? With all the zeros? How come
you never told me about this before now?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Woody, you know Jeremy is dating Ricky. You
should’ve told me.”

“You should’ve asked.”

He’s right. I should have asked.
Woody always knows this stuff
.
“That explains how she got the big bucks.”

The light changed to green and Rhetta accelerated.
“Woody, exactly how did Willard Spears die?”

“He had a stroke or a seizure or something like it.
Went pretty quickly.”

She resolved to check the newspaper obits to find
out more.

s she
zoomed westward
out
of Cape toward home, Rhetta tapped her phone, pulled up her recent calls, and
hit redial on Ricky’s number. Again it went straight into voice mail. Ricky
must’ve turned her phone off. Rhetta dropped her phone into her purse.

As she made a left turn, she heard her phone
ringing. Certain that Ricky was calling her back, Rhetta plunged her arm into
her purse and managed to locate the phone in time to answer it.

“Ricky, I’ve been trying to call you. I need to
talk—”

Before she could finish, an unfamiliar voice asked,
“Is this Rhetta McCarter?”

Rhetta pulled the phone away from her ear and
glanced at the number displayed for the caller. It was the Illinois number.

“This is Rhetta McCarter.” Rhetta said as she
slowed, then turned into a convenience store parking lot. If this gravel-voiced
woman wanted a loan, the conversation might get lengthy. Rhetta didn’t think
she could focus on driving and talking to a customer at the same time.

“My name is Mylene Allard,” the woman said, then
paused.

Rhetta did a rapid scan of her memory and was sure
she didn’t know her caller. “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to meet me at Jeremy Spears’ barn at
nine o’clock tonight. Come alone, and do NOT mention this to anyone, do you
understand?”

Rhetta’s stomach flipped.
Who the heck is this
Mylene Allard?
And why on earth did she want me to meet her at the barn?
In spite of having been uncomfortably warm in the late afternoon heat,
especially after her recent trek to her car, goose bumps erupted on her arms.

She blurted, “I don’t think so. I’m not going out
there alone at nine o’clock tonight. You just need to tell me what you want, or
I can call the police and have them meet you out there instead.”

Before she could ask Mylene Allard how she got her
phone number, and why she wanted her to meet her at the barn, Mylene
disconnected.
Crap. I’m not a very good detective. Good thing I’m a banker.
Rhetta pounded her hand on the steering wheel.
Now I’ll never know what she
wanted. She’ll probably never call back.
Rhetta was mad at herself for not
playing a little cozier with Mylene. Then again, who knows who this person is?
She may be a serial killer.

Rhetta quickly dialed Randolph. His call went to
voice mail. She called Ricky, and again the call went to voice mail.
Doesn’t
anybody answer the phone?
She thought about the call for a few minutes, and
even started to call back. Good sense prevailed for once, so she didn’t call.

Rhetta glanced at her watch. It was only 5:30. She
pulled back on to Kingshighway, passed a truck loaded with logs, and punched
the accelerator for home.

*
* *

Fifteen
minutes later, she pulled into her driveway, after waving to Mrs. Koblyk. When
she opened the garage door, she found the spot that was normally occupied by
Randolph’s truck empty.

If he’d left, she wondered again why he hadn’t
answered her call. She spotted his cell phone on the kitchen counter, plugged
into his charger. If he went off without his phone, as he sometimes did, that
would explain why he didn’t answer. She picked it up and glanced at it, seeing
the missed call from her number.

Rhetta set her purse on the countertop and peered
out the sliding door, and didn’t spot any of the cats. They’d show up magically
as soon as they started to fire up the grill. Peering around, she glimpsed the
Artmobile alongside the Garage Mahal. Randolph’s art trailer was hooked to it.
He must’ve gone down there to load up some paintings to take to the gallery,
and forgotten to take his cell phone.
That’s probably where the cats are,
too.
She hadn’t bothered to call their house phone. She didn’t think about
calling it, since they seldom used the land line. In fact, she’d decided to
have it disconnected, since the only reason she kept the house phone was
because she’d occasionally call the house and leave herself a message about
something she might need to remember at home. She used her cell phone for
everything else.

She jogged down the circular path to the garage. Not
finding him around the truck or trailer, she stuck her head inside the garage
and called to him, but got no reply. After a quick scan inside, she returned
outside and began circling the garage, calling out again. Still no answer.
Where
could he be?
Then she heard the distinctive meowing of the cats. She
followed the sound to the back of the barn. The cats were lined up staring at
something on the ground, their tails swishing. A couple of them were meowing.
She jogged over to the cats, and spotted a jeans-clad leg and a foot wearing
one of Randolph’s boots on the ground behind the dumpster.

Her heart sunk to her stomach in fear as she bent
over his still form. “Oh, God, Randolph. What happened? Are you all right?” He
moaned then, and began to move. The side of his head bore an ugly, blood-soaked
welt. “Are you all right?” Rhetta asked again, caressing his face. He groaned,
then tried to sit up.

She put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t move, Sweets.
I’m calling an ambulance.”

His eyes fluttered open, and although he appeared to
be dazed, he recognized her. “Rhetta,” he said, and closed his eyes again.

“What happened?” she asked.

He mumbled something she couldn’t understand. She
patted his arm, desperately trying to remain calm. “Sweets, can you understand
me?”

He mumbled, “Yes.”

“Do not move.” She spoke slowly, and with as much authority
as she could muster. She realized her phone was in the house, in her purse,
which was on the counter alongside his cell phone. “I’m going into your studio
to call 9-1-1. I’ll be right back.” She stood and made sure he remained quiet.
He did. She raced to the barn, which sat behind the garage. Randolph’s new,
larger studio was a finished area inside the barn. She snatched the phone
extension.

Once she’d given the Emergency Operator the
necessary information, Rhetta ran back to her husband, thankful for the phone
in the studio. She resolved to keep the land line service.