Pillow Stalk (A Mad for Mod Mystery) (19 page)

TWENTY-NINE

The article came out at the worst possible time.
Arrest Warrant Issued for the Pillow Stalker
read the title. Numbness shot through my arms and my legs, and my silk pajamas were suddenly not enough to keep the chill at bay. I sat in my kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee, flipping through the morning newspaper. I wanted to shut it, to crumple it up, or use it to line Rocky’s cage, but I had to face the reality of what Tex had been telling me all along. I had to force myself to read the article, to see in print what concrete evidence had led to this moment in time.

The journalist had done his research, digging up much of what had been written about Sheila Murphy’s murder two decades earlier. To be fair, he printed Hudson’s story of picking up the young woman, offering his shirt and a ride to her apartment. He also printed the statements of the neighbors who identified Hudson’s truck, the dry cleaning label that identified his shirt, and all of the other details that Hudson had explained to me personally. None of that was a surprise. But when I continued to read, it became clear that the journalist had camped out in front of Hudson’s house in order to get this story. Was he the one who had attacked me? It seemed unlikely.

He had watched the handyman’s comings and goings, watched him throw a packed bag into the back of his truck and set a cat carrier on the passenger seat. He knew Hudson was planning to leave town. He went through his trash, looked into his windows, and cooperated with the cops when it came time to tell what he’d seen.

It sickened me, this invasion of Hudson’s privacy, yet if he was a killer who had been living with his freedom for the past twenty years, then that privacy was undeserved. I thought about the people I watched on crime TV, people who have been living in the open for decades before DNA evidence caught up to them. People who thought they got away with murder. Is that what Hudson had done? It certainly was what the article implied, and it would be a hard detail for people to ignore a second time around.

Richard’s name had been kept out of the article, but I recognized his actions as that of the confidential source. He’d discovered a cell phone on the edge of the Mummy property and thought nothing of it at first. It sat in the lost and found until the battery wore low, beeping a caution, and alerting him to its presence. It was then he realized it might be a clue and turned it over to the cops.

I shut the paper. It would still be here when I returned from swimming. At last, they’d reopened Crestwood, letting me get in my much needed morning workout. I could clear my head in the water. I could let the rest of the world seep away, if only for an hour, and be at peace. It was the only place for me to take the edge off.

I stuffed my towel, cap, and goggles into a nylon shoulder bag, pulled on a bathing suit and zipped into a terrycloth dress. Rocky had been nervous all last night and this morning and I wasn’t about to leave him alone again. I held him close to me and walked into the kitchen to find a Milk Bone biscuit. I opened and shut three drawers before I found them. When I shut the last one, I heard a yelp.

I looked at Rocky. He looked at me. The sound I’d heard wasn’t a sound he normally made.

I opened the last drawer again and shut it. Another yelp.

I set Rocky on the floor and armed myself with a wooden mallet, the kind you use to pound chicken. I stood as far away as possible and maneuvered a black plastic two-pronged spaghetti fork around the pink ceramic knob of the cabinet, easing it open. I looked inside. An angry black cat sat at the very back corner of the cabinet, wedged between my silver colander and a large white serving dish that only came out for Thanksgiving.  

“Mortiboy!” I said, dropping my utensil weapons. I reached for him. He swiped at me and left four small punctures on my left hand. I put on oven mitts and tried again, this time pulling him out by the scruff of his neck. As soon as he saw sunlight he wriggled free, dropped to the floor, and shot like a cannon into the bedroom. Rocky took off after him, as though they were playing.

I followed them. Rocky stood outside of my closet. Mortiboy clung by his nails to a turquoise and white tennis outfit that I’d rescued from Thelma Johnson’s closet the day I went by myself to her house. There were a series of holes in the polyester, indicating that this wasn’t the first time the outfit had been climbed.

I pulled Mortiboy off the now ruined outfit. He wriggled around but this time I was prepared. I carried him into the bathroom, dropped him on the carpet and shut the door behind me. Yowls of protest followed me into the hallway.

I went back into the bedroom and looked around. How had I missed that? The fact that the clothes in piles on the floor were all by the closet. That they had small puncture marks through them, the size of cat’s claws. That the top shelf of my closet, normally filled with tidy stacks of round hat boxes, was in disarray, with my belongings pushed aside at odd angles, revealing the faded pink and white floral wallpaper I’d never replaced when I first moved in? I’d been right the first time. Mortiboy was the guilty party who had trashed my apartment, not Hudson, as Tex had implied. That’s what I got for leaving the two animals unattended.

I’d ignored the details, the rational explanation. I violated Hudson’s confidence. I gave Tex fuel for his fire of tracking down Hudson and left him with no doubt that my former contractor was a killer. I didn’t know which was worse—that I’d allowed myself to think Hudson was a killer or that after all of my declarations of his innocence, I’d helped the cops go after him.

It was too wild of a theory not to test. I opened the bathroom door and let Mortiboy out. He ventured into the hallway, hissed and swatted at Rocky who had trotted his direction, and took off into the bedroom. Up the polyester tennis outfit, onto the ledge where my hatboxes sat, squeezed behind a Styrofoam head that held an old Halloween wig. The top box tipped precariously, then spilled. A red felt beanie fell to the floor, landing on top of the pile of clothes that had been torn from the hangers. It looked like a cherry planted on top of an ice cream sundae. All this mess at the paws of an angry cat.

I slid the closet door shut. If Mortiboy was capable of this much damage, he needed to be contained. Besides, he’d already shown a preference for dark spaces.

“Come on, Rocky, leave the cat alone. Let’s go to the pool.”

Rocky led the way to the white Explorer and hopped up the step on the outside, onto the floorboards and then into the driver’s seat. He stepped over the center console to the passenger side and stood on his hind legs, front paws on the window. My neighbors stacked paint cans into the back of a pickup truck. They smiled at Rocky’s interest.

I drove to Crestwood, wondering if there would be signs of the yellow crime scene tape lingering by the parking lot. My car should be cleared any day now, and life could start getting back to normal, if there was such a thing. Only, it couldn’t. Because despite what Tex had told me, and what I’d told him, and what it seemed was the reality of the situation, my life would never be normal again.

Somewhere along the way my hard shell had broken, and I had become involved with two very different men. Hudson’s story, his alienation from many of the people who lived in Dallas and always thought of him as guilty, had followed him around for the past twenty years, and I saw what that had done to him. But Tex—Tex had a hard exterior like mine, and I felt his cracking, too. His flirtatious nature, his sarcasm, his jokes to the other officers showcased a one-dimensional man. But after spending time with him, I knew that was far from accurate.

Tex believed Hudson was guilty. But that was based on so many things that could have been misinterpreted. Twenty years ago Hudson avoided being convicted for the murder of Sheila Murphy. This time he might not be so lucky. And it was entirely possible, though I wasn’t willing to admit it to myself, that he was involved.

It was all too much. Too much danger, terror, and murder for me to deal with. I needed a release. Even the idea of work held no interest for me. It was as if my life was stuck on a moment in time, like I was a glob of fruit suspended in the middle of Jell-O.

I turned the white Explorer onto the winding gravel driveway that led to the pool. Trees, plus the occasional large rock, lined each side of the road, keeping it mostly secluded from the street. The yellow tape was gone. So was my car. But a few familiar vehicles were parked in their usual spots. I wasn’t the only slave to routine around here. It would be nice to see the whole gang again. Even old Mr. Popov.

Rocky seemed as happy to be back at Crestwood as I was. I knotted his leash around the metal handrail at the end of a small set of bleachers, where I could keep an eye on him between laps. He turned around twice, figuring out his boundaries. I ducked into the locker room and put my clothes in one of the top lockers, then carried my cap and goggles to the edge of the pool. Alice and Jessica sat on the deck, tucking their hair under thick rubber caps. Jessica’s buttoned under her chin. I waved to the two of them and dug a kickboard out of the metal bin that held the pool supplies.

“Madison! I wasn’t sure we were going to see you today,” called Alice.

“Why’s that?”

“After what happened at the swim club, nobody would blame you if you took a couple of days off. Sixty degree water! That’s crazy!”

I shrugged. “I’m fine now. It was probably the best thing for my knee,” I said and pointed to the swollen joint. “Like taking an ice bath.”

“You’re lucky you’re in such good shape. That kind of shock to your system could have been very bad. I don’t think I would have recovered so quickly at my age,” she said.

Jessica joined in. “None of us would have. In a way, it’s a blessing it was you.” She placed a frail hand on my upper arm. “Take it easy today, dear,” she said. “We’re all glad to be back, but it feels different now that Pamela is gone.”

I nodded but didn’t say a word. I was happy to be back at the pool, happy to have an outlet for my mind and my body, but she was right. I didn’t want to think about what had happened the last time we were all here. I still couldn’t accept how much my life had changed in a matter of days.

I leaned over and ran my fingertips through the water. It was the right temperature. After tucking my short hair under the swim cap and pulling on my goggles, I eased myself into the shallow end and pushed off. Lap after lap I swam. By the seventh lap I was back in my zone.

I used to think as long as I was in a pool, I was safe, but after the cold water at the swim club, that was no longer true. Yet it felt good to be in a secluded tank of chlorinated water, without Tex, without Hudson, without Doris Day movies and angry film students. My worries dissolved into the bubbles around me and I kept going. As long as I didn’t stop, I was fine.

My mind sifted through bits of information and I realized I’d never asked Tex about his personal involvement with Sheila Murphy. It would be a hard subject to bring up, and it wasn’t really my place to do so. But they’d been at that costume party together.

There must be something that he knew, something that he wasn’t sharing, that would shed light on what had happened to her later that night. I understood that there were details I’d never know, not from an investigation standpoint, but it was possible that, outside of his statement, he’d never had an opportunity to vent. And by keeping it all bottled up inside of him, he’d created an emotional prison he might never escape.

I stopped by the end of the pool and rested against the blue tiles. Other swimmers occupied the pool, regulars and a couple of new ones. Whether it was the curiosity of the murder or the incident at the swim club, I didn’t know, but it had created a cross-pollination of the lap swimming public. I liked it better when it was just the people I knew. Our little family.

“You make it look so easy, Madison,” said Alice. She sat on the pool deck dangling her ankles in the water. Even though she was into her eighties, as she kicked her heels against the tiles in a childlike manner, with her hair tucked away under a swim cap, I could see a glimpse of the younger woman she once had been.

“Alice, I hope when I’m your age I’m still swimming laps,” I replied. “You’re a smart lady to keep this up.”

“Ah, yes, but that’s just me clinging to a bit of my youth. I’m an old lady now but the pool does make me feel younger.”

“You’re not that old,” I interjected.

“Madison, please. I’m eighty-four. My best years are behind me. They were good years, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I just wish my memory was as good as it once was so I could cherish all of the experiences I had.”

I put a wet hand on top of hers. “You keep telling me you’re going to share those stories someday.” I patted her hand.

“That’s right, I will.” She leaned down close to me. “And I’ll start with the ones from the time Thelma Johnson and I worked together on a Doris Day movie right here in Dallas.”

“Alice! All these years we’ve been swimming together and you never once told me about that?” My mind started to race. “When was this? Which movie?” I hoisted myself out of the pool and landed on the deck with a splat.

“Are you gals swimming or gossiping?” asked Andy. “Cause if I’m taking you to the breakfast buffet I want to get there before the eggs get overcooked.” He zipped up the front of his jogging suit and walked up behind Alice.

“Andy, leave us alone. I was just about to tell Madison about the time I met Doris Day,” Alice said.

“There’s too much talk about her these days. You keep your mouth shut about that, Alice, or that crazy killer who’s obsessed with her might come after you. Now get dressed and let’s get some food.”

“What’s this about breakfast?” I asked.

Alice pulled her ankles out of the water and spun herself around. “He’s so nice, that Andy. Do you know he came over to my house yesterday and worked in the garden with me? Poor thing got all scratched up from the rose bushes. I offered to take him to breakfast to thank him but he insisted it would be his treat.”

“How long are you going to make him wait?” I joked.

“I can always swim tomorrow. Today, I’ll take the morning off and enjoy a breakfast buffet with a nice man who seems to enjoy my company.” She smiled and leaned back down toward me. “Madison, don’t spend all of your free time alone in the pool. Sure, the water can make you feel good about yourself, but sometimes a man can do that, too.” She winked at me and walked to the locker room.

Not half a minute later I heard her scream.