Gone in a Flash (19 page)

‘Hey, I
said
cute,’ Luna said.

‘You did,’ Alicia said, ‘and I thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Luna said.

‘Any word on the misters?’ Alicia asked.

‘Not a peep,’ Luna said. ‘But there was a possible sighting of the car on Interstate 10 headed for Houston.’

‘That man, James Unger, the one who was killed at the Driscoll, he was from Houston, right?’ I asked.

‘Yeah. And that’s where his company is.’ She was silent for a moment, then pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. She hit a number and said, ‘Donaldson, please, this is Luna.’ She waited a minute then said, ‘Chief ? Hey, it’s Luna. They’re definitely headed for Houston. That’s where James Unger lived, and where his company is. Maybe we need to be talking to his widow.’

She listened for a moment, then said, ‘Yeah. I’m on my way. You call ’em, ’k?’

With the phone still pressed to her ear, she got up and walked out my back door, no goodbye.

‘Goodbye!’ I yelled as she headed for her car in our shared driveway. ‘Rude!’ I said as I took another sip of coffee. Damn, that was good. I probably needed to make another pot. This was definitely going to be a two-pot morning.

‘Mom!’ Alicia said and laughed, stretching those three letters to two syllables. ‘She’s on the hunt! Leave her alone.’

‘Well, we’re out of it!’ I said, standing up and going to the fridge to start breakfast. But I still didn’t know what was going on. And that’s something that pisses me off. I really need to
know
, you know? ‘Put on some pants and go upstairs and knock on your door. Tell Dad he needs to get up. I’m not sure he has his al—’

‘I used my phone,’ Willis said. Funny, I hadn’t heard his heavy clomp on the stairs. ‘Gotta take a shower.’

‘Cereal or eggs?’ I asked him.

‘I’m starved. How about farmer’s breakfast?’

‘Ooo, yeah!’ Alicia said. ‘Do we have any tortillas?’

‘I think so,’ I said, checking out the shelves of the refrigerator.

‘Yeah, then I can take a breakfast taco on the road!’ Willis said.

I stood up. ‘OK, then do you want just breakfast tacos or—’

‘You have any of those canned biscuits?’ he asked.

We were still in breakfast negotiations when Bess wandered in. ‘We’re having breakfast tacos!’ Alicia told her.

Bess, who’d looked a little bedraggled, perked up. ‘Really? On a Friday?’

I smiled. ‘It’s a celebration,’ I said.

I got out bacon, cheese, eggs, a can of biscuits, the tortillas, a leftover baked potato, and the picante sauce. It was going to be a
fiesta
!

‘Somebody wake up Megan,’ I said.

‘I’ll do it!’ Alicia said, running for the stairs.

I grinned at her back. ‘Put on some pants first, then wake up Graham while you’re up there,’ I said.

‘Oh, OK,’ she said, as if that wasn’t exactly where she was headed.

Before Willis left for work, he pulled me into the bedroom and gave me a superior kiss. Then asked, ‘Did I hear you say to Alicia, and I quote, “we’re out of it”?’

‘Out of what?’ I asked, thinking about maybe getting some more smooches.

‘This Unger mess.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Yes, I said that. And we are.’

He looked at me, his head slightly tilted, like a dog eyeing something interesting. ‘You’re not dying inside to know what the hell’s going on?’

‘All I know is the girls are safe and we’re well out of it,’ I said, wishing I meant it, and headed to the bed to straighten the covers.

‘If you’re trying to ignore this for my sake—’ he started.

‘Not at all,’ I said, keeping my back to him as I fixed the bed, afraid he’d see the lie in my eyes.

I guess he didn’t need to see my eyes. ‘You’re full of crap,’ he said, a smile in his voice. ‘You wanna dive into this with both feet, don’t you?’

‘I have no idea what you mean,’ I tried again.

He came up behind me and kissed my neck. ‘You have my permission to get as involved in this as you’d like—’ he started.

I swirled around. ‘You’re
permission
? Did you just say you gave me your
permission
?’

He backed away. ‘Ah, maybe I misspoke,’ he said, heading for the door. With his hand on the knob, he said, ‘But you do have it!’ And then made a beeline out the bedroom door and through the kitchen to the back door, laughing his head off.

‘OK, so what are we gonna do in Houston?’ Mr Jones asked Mr Brown.

‘Gotta meet with the big boss. Give him the flash drive,’ Mr Brown said.

‘I thought you were the big boss,’ Mr Jones said.

Mr Brown snorted. ‘Hardly. This is some big, hairy deal going down. I’m just the hired help, like you and Smith, except the big boss hired me and I hired you – which makes me, technically, your boss.’

‘What’s on that flash drive thing anyway?’ Mr Jones asked.

Mr Brown shrugged. ‘That’s above our pay grade. Need to know basis only.’

‘Huh?’ Mr Jones asked.

Mr Brown sighed. ‘God, you’re stupid,’ he said, rather good-naturedly for him. ‘You ever serve?’

‘Serve what?’ Mr Jones asked, totally confused at this point.

‘Your country, man! Your goddamn country! You ever serve?’

‘Oh, you mean like the army or something?’ Mr Jones asked.

Again Mr Brown sighed. ‘Yeah, Jones, I mean like the army or something.’

‘No. I tried once but I couldn’t pass the test – you know, the written one?’

‘Yeah,’ Brown said, pretty sure he believed the truth in that statement. ‘Well, I did. USMC. Served in the first Iraq war. Got a purple heart.’ He pounded on his thigh. ‘Schrapnal,’ he said. ‘Looked like hamburger for a while there. Had to put the skin of a pig on my thigh.’ He laughed heartily. ‘But don’t try to throw me!’

Mr Jones said, ‘Huh?’

‘Pig skin?’ Mr Brown said. ‘Like a football? Don’t try to
throw
me, get it?’

‘Oh, yeah sure.’ Mr Jones laughed. ‘Funny,’ he said.

‘Not when you have to explain it.’

They drove in silence for a while, then Mr Brown said, ‘Look, when we get there, I think it would be best if you stayed in the car, you know? This guy, he doesn’t want that many people seeing his face and, fact of the matter, it’s a pretty ugly face. I think you’d be safer staying in the car.’

‘What about you?’ Mr Jones asked. ‘You’ve seen his face? Is that gonna be a problem for you?’

‘Naw, I should be OK,’ Mr Brown said, although there wasn’t a lot of confidence in his voice.

‘Well, just leave the keys, in case he kills you or something,’ Mr Jones said.

‘O
MG!’ D’Wanda whisper-screamed. ‘Is she OK?’

‘She’s fine,’ Megan said. ‘But guess what?’

‘What?’ Azalea asked breathlessly.

‘I called Graham and he came home immediately, and he and Alicia have declared their love!’

D’Wanda looked at her twin, who appeared crestfallen.

Megan covered her mouth with her hand, then removed it and touched Azalea on the arm. ‘OMG, Az, I’m so sorry! I’ve been so wrapped up in this whole drama—’

‘That’s OK,’ Azalea said. ‘It’s not like he even knew I was alive.’

‘Oh, that’s not true—’ Megan started, but D’Wanda interrupted. ‘Don’t, Megan. No way you’re gonna make it better.’ She punched her twin on the arm. ‘Get over it, Azalea. He don’t love you, never did, never will. But there’s more fish than him in the sea.’ She pointed with her head to the other side of the cafeteria. ‘See Logan over there? He be watching you like a hawk, girl.’

‘I don’t even know Logan, and how do you know he’s watching me and not you? We’re identical!’

‘’Cause he be looking at you right now!’ D’Wanda, who liked to pretend she came from the mean streets of Houston or Austin, or at the very least Codderville, rather than a forty-five-hundred-square-foot house on Storybook Lane in the affluent community of Black Cat Ridge, said.

Azalea looked over at Logan, who quickly looked away. Azalea’s eyes went back to the tabletop and what was left of her lunch. ‘He’s not Graham,’ she said in a small voice.

Megan patted her on the back and shared an eye-roll with D’Wanda over her twin’s lowered head.

The lobby was teaming with people: some of them with our Baptist meeting and some of them not. You could tell the Baptists by their choice of attire. No fancy Armani suits on our men or those red-soled tramp heels for our ladies. We looked like normal Americans in polyester pantsuits and button-down shirts. Gerald and I found what they call a ‘conversation nook’ (I found this out on HGTV – so cable is good for something), sat down on a really soft leather sofa, and put the two pieces of paper side by side on the coffee table – the note left on Rachael’s bed when her belongings were spirited away, and her signature on the bill at The Salon. And sure enough, they were not a match. Not even close.

Me and Gerald just looked at each other. Finally I said, ‘Oh, goodness. I think something really happened to her.’

‘I think you’re right,’ he said, staring at the two writing specimens. ‘Should we tell Brother Joe?’

I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said, ‘let me think on this some.’

He nodded and we headed off to choir practice. Our concert was to be tomorrow night and we still had a lot of rehearsing to do. Gerald had a duet with a woman from the Louisiana church, and they practiced that up to lunch. I tried calling E.J. again, and just when I started to hang up, she picked up the phone.

When she said ‘hello,’ I said, ‘Well, it’s about time you answered your phone!’

‘Hello to you too, Vera. Hope you’re having a lovely—’

‘Not so much, no,’ I said. ‘I think my roommate’s been murdered.’

Mr Jones sat outside in the stolen vehicle, waiting for Mr Brown. It was a great big house in River Oaks, where most of the Houston millionaires lived. Mr Jones, of course, was not aware that the house was an architectural mishmash of Greek revival, Georgian, and Federalist, with a touch of Beaux Arts. He only knew it was big and what he thought of as pretty.

Mr Brown had been inside for close to half an hour, and Mr Jones wasn’t sure at what point he should move to the driver’s side and take off. He thought it might take Mr Big (whoever he was) more than half an hour to kill Mr Brown, but he wasn’t sure. On the other hand, he didn’t want to be a sitting duck out here in the driveway if Mr Big’s henchmen came looking for him. And, on the third hand, if he had one, he
was
sitting in a stolen car. Stolen out of Hicksville. He wondered how long it would take for the Houston cops to find out a car was stolen from the sticks. Then the front door of the mansion opened and Mr Brown stuck his head out. He motioned for Mr Jones to come to him.

Mr Jones wondered if it was a trap. But if he didn’t go in, he wouldn’t get his twenty-five gees, and God knew he needed that money. His kids needed braces. His ex-wife was gonna sue if she didn’t get back child support, and he saw this sweet ride he could get for less than ten grand, and God also knew he needed a new ride.

So Mr Jones got out of the stolen vehicle parked in Mr Big’s driveway and headed to the front door of the house. Those front doors were the first of many affluent impressions Mr Jones received on his way to meet Mr Big. The doors were ornately carved and half a foot thick. The entry where Mr Brown received him was black-and-white-checked marble with an ornately carved archway leading into a two-story-high rotunda with a stained-glass ceiling.

‘Close your mouth, Mr Jones,’ Mr Brown said. ‘You’re gawking.’

‘Jeez,’ Mr Jones said, ‘this place is awesome!’

Mr Brown led Mr Jones to yet another ornately carved door to the right of the rotunda, and knocked. Not waiting for a reply, he opened the door and ushered Mr Jones in.

Mr Jones tried not to look at the room, but at the people in it. He thought that would be the polite thing to do, but his eyes seemed to go straight to the room itself – creamy marble floors with old but cool rugs, silky-looking fabric walls, brocade-covered sedans and love seats. He willed himself to look at the people. There were three in the room: a woman sitting on a love seat, hands in her lap clutching a wad of tissues, her eyes red and swollen; a big man, even bigger than Mr Jones himself, by the French doors leading outside, standing stiffly, legs parted, hands clasped in front of him, and a third man. He immediately identified Mr Big. He was the short guy by the fireplace, wearing blue jeans from the nineties with lots of strategic holes in them, a white Polo shirt and leather sandals. He was bald as an egg with dark brown eyes and bushy black eyebrows. Mr Jones knew he was Mr Big because he was the only one who spoke.

‘So, Mr Jones,’ he said in a heavy foreign accent, ‘we meet at last. Thank you for your part in completing this mission.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Mr Jones said, suppressing a giggle. The guy sounded just like the villain in the last James Bond movie he’d seen.

‘Now I suppose you expect me to pay you,’ Mr Big said.

‘Ah, well, yeah, I guess,’ Mr Jones said, hoping that was the right answer.

Mr Big laughed and moved away from the fireplace, coming up to Mr Jones and hugging him. Since his head only reached Mr Jones’s breastbone, it was a bit awkward.

‘Of course you are!’ Mr Big said, slapping him on the back.

Mr Jones smiled widely, glancing at Mr Brown, who smirked back at him.

‘But that will have to wait,’ Mr Big said, giving Mr Jones a sad look. ‘Your work is not yet completed, I am sorry to say.’

‘Do what?’ I said.

‘Murdered,’ Vera repeated. ‘At least, that’s what me and Gerald think.’

‘Gerald?’ I said.

‘Never mind that. Do you want me to tell you what’s been going on?’ Vera asked.

I wanted to say no. I really did. Wasn’t it enough that my daughter had been stalked, our house broken into, and said daughter kidnapped? And I was beginning to wonder if it really was over. I felt I had a vested interested in helping to catch these assholes who kidnapped my daughter and put the entire family at risk. And besides, Willis had given me his permission. Don’t tell him I said that. I didn’t need my mother-in-law making up fairy-tale murders because she was secretly bored with the Southern Baptists. But on the other hand, Vera has been there for me so many times in the past, I couldn’t blow her off.