Relative Chaos (10 page)

After designating every stitch of clothing for either the theater,
Goodwill, or the trash, I moved straight to jewelry sorting. Ida had
a unique collection, and I might have enjoyed the task if I'd been in a
decent mood. But between the clothing overload and Doug's call a
few hours earlier, I was physically and mentally exhausted. Worry
gnawed at my gut.

In Austin, Doug had learned that the music festival activities
wouldn't kick off for two more days. He had talked to the other
mother again, but she couldn't reach her son either. I couldn't imagine where he would begin to look for Kevin in a city overflowing
with UT college students.

Work hadn't taken my mind off the problem, but at least I'd made
progress. The costume jewelry was packed up in boxes, and Ida's
nicer pieces rested on the dresser top for the appraiser to view.

I sat on the edge of the bed and inspected the open closet from a
distance. Mangled wire hangers lay on the floor along with dust bunnies, lint, and broken buttons. The closet's upper shelf held a mountain of handbags-every color, size, and material imaginable. I pulled
them out and dumped them onto the bed. Had the woman kept every
purse she ever owned or what? I'd have to go through them all before disposing of them-you never knew what might be hidden inside-but I could hardly move and wasn't sure I should tackle the
project tonight. If Featherstone remarked about the mess I'd made of
this room, I could explain that in the professional organizing business,
things always got worse before they got better. He'd see more results
tomorrow.

McCall had been banging up a storm in the kitchen, and I headed
downstairs to check his progress. Voices drifted out to me as I got
closer. Steve Featherstone was home.

I entered the kitchen and blinked hard to make sure I wasn't dreaming. The gray-speckled Formica countertops were cleared. Most of
the white cabinet doors stood open to reveal empty shelves. Empty
and clean shelves. I might have let out a subconscious gasp, because
the men turned toward me.

"Your colleague does good work," Featherstone said. "I'm impressed."

Me too. "Where is everything?" I glanced around the room and
noticed that several items sat on the kitchen table.

McCall read from Featherstone's priority list. "Says right here,
dispose of kitchen paraphernalia unless antique." He pointed at the
table. "Those things might fit the bill. The rest is outside, either in
the Goodwill pile-by the way, I've scheduled a pickup with them
for tomorrow at ten-or in the Dumpster."

"What Dumpster?" I said.

"You didn't hear it arrive?" McCall said. "I contacted Republic
Waste. Two hours later, we had our very own Dumpster. Figured we'd
need one."

"Good thinking," said Featherstone.

I went to the kitchen window and, in the glow from the floodlight
illuminating the driveway, saw the Dumpster. I moved away from the
window and scanned the empty pantry shelves. Rings from canned
goods marred the shelf liner. Jeez. Why hadn't McCall bleached out
the stains while he was at it?

He opened a cabinet door next to the refrigerator and addressed
the client. "Here are the essentials you might need during your stay.
A few dishes, glasses, pots. Should tide you over."

"Great." Featherstone turned to me. "I understand you concentrated on Grandmother's bedroom. If it looks this good-"

I held up a hand. "Not quite ready for an inspection. Tomorrow. I'm
calling it a night." Now that I knew what McCall was capable of, we
didn't need to work overtime.

"Sure, sure," Featherstone said. "I understand. How's your aunt
holding up? I noticed cops are still running around her place. Doesn't
seem right to push her out of her house."

"She's doing fine staying with me," I said, "and she'll be back
home soon."

"What're the cops doing over there?" Featherstone said.

"Looking for evidence, I suppose."

"They find anything?"

I shrugged. "I'm not in the loop."

McCall said, "Standard operating procedure, I'd guess. Doesn't
mean they suspect her of anything."

"I hope not," Featherstone said. "Couldn't find a sweeter lady.
Reminds me of a gal runs errands for us on the set."

McCall started asking questions then about Featherstone's career
in the movie business. I interrupted long enough to tell them I was
going to head out and that I'd be back around eight in the morning.
McCall said he'd meet me then.

On the way home, I checked my cell phone, but there were no new
messages. No progress on finding Kevin, or Doug would have called.

I was glad to see Aunt Millie's Taurus in my driveway but puzzled
by the white Crown Victoria parked out front. I was in no mood for
company. I parked beside the Taurus and climbed out. If Aunt Millie
had invited a friend over, I'd say hi and go on to bed. I hoped Millie
had gotten over our little tiff.

I entered through the back door into the kitchen. The place smelled
like a bakery, a warm, sweet aroma hovering in the air. I stopped short
at the sight of Detective Troxell sitting at my kitchen table eating a
piece of chocolate cake. She wore a long-sleeved white shirt, and a
black tweed jacket hung on the chair behind her.

Aunt Millie stood at the kitchen counter. "There you are, Poppy.
Glad you made it home before Rae had to leave."

Rae?

I waved hello to Troxell, but I couldn't take my eyes off Aunt
Millie, who had flour on her cheek and down the front of her blue paisley blouse. Baking supplies lined the countertop. Baking powder,
soda, salt, cupcake papers, measuring cups, and spoons sat in a mess
of flour and chopped nuts.

As I scanned the room, I noticed Jett sitting on top of my refrigerator wearing a smug, feline, I'll-sit-wherever-I-want-whenever-I-want
expression.

A loaf of something-banana nut bread, if I had to guess-sat on
a cooling rack next to a mound of freshly baked peanut butter cookies. Millie picked up a mixing bowl and stirred vigorously as she
turned to me. "You always work this late?"

"No. Aunt Millie, what's going on here? You holding a bake sale
you forgot to mention?"

"No, silly. I always bake when I'm nervous."

I knew that, but what was she nervous about? I looked at Troxell.
Had she already discovered something about Kevin?

"Your aunt bakes a mean chocolate cake," Troxell said.

"Yes, she does." I slid my gaze over to the kitchen desk where
framed pictures of Kevin sat next to today's mail. I placed my purse
in front of the photos. "Did you need to see me, Detective?"

"Not really." Troxell picked up a napkin to wipe a dab of chocolate frosting from the corner of her mouth. "I've said what I came to
say, but I wasn't about to pass up the cake."

So what had she said? I was afraid to ask.

"You want another piece, Rae?" Millie put down the mixing bowl.
"I have another cake in the oven."

Troxell grinned. "I could probably force another slice."

I went to the oven, my shoes sliding over gritty spilled sugar, and
peeked inside at a pineapple upside-down cake. This aunt of mine was
plumb crazy.

I faced Troxell. "What was so important that you came over here
in person?" I held my breath, waiting for her answer.

"Wanted to let Millie know she can get back into her house now,"
Troxell said. "Thought she'd want to know ASAP."

Not about Kevin, but my heart kept tripping over itself anyway.
"Thank you, Detective. That's great news."

I looked around the messy room. Would have been nice to know
before Aunt Millie destroyed my kitchen.

"I'll go home tomorrow." Millie brought Troxell another slice of
cake. "After what happened, I'd rather not go back in the dark"

"Don't blame you." Troxell picked up her fork and took a bite.

I reached for a long plastic bag to Troxell's left, sitting next to the
day's newspaper. "Aunt Millie, what's in here?"

Millie glanced over her shoulder but kept mixing the batter for
God-knows-what-else she was planning to bake. "Oh, that's the case
for my machete."

I yanked my hand back as if I'd been burned.

"Found this in her garage," Troxell said, watching me. "We believe
it's the sheath that came with the weapon we retrieved out on the golf
course earlier today. Probably the same weapon used to sever the victim's hands."

"How awful." I put a hand on my chest and felt my heart beating
ninety to nothing.

Millie stood with her back to us. "We went over everything I can
remember since the day I bought the machete at Wal-Mart," she
said. "Rae's gonna have it checked, so I told her everybody I knew
who had touched the thing. You know, so she can rule out prints."

"You're going to fingerprint the sheath?" I said.

Troxell swallowed a bite of cake and chased it with a gulp of
milk. "That's right."

Millie began pouring yellow batter into two round pans. "Besides
my prints and the Wal-Mart checker, whoever she is, they'll find
Wayne's and Kevin's fingerprints. Any others might belong to the
killer-can you believe that?"

I opened my mouth and hesitated, then blurted out the first thing
that popped into my head. "Has Kevin been helping you with your
yard work again?"

Millie looked confused. "No, Wayne helped with the yard work."

"Oh." From the corner of my eye, I could see Troxell chowing
down on the cake. Didn't mean she was missing a lick of our conversation.

Millie scraped out the last of the batter and set the bowl aside.
"But I remember clear as a bell that day Kevin stopped by to visit.
I'd just brought the machete home, and it was outside on the picnic
table. He was all upset, and he picked the thing up and kept turning it over and over while he told me all about his problems with
Grayson"

I nodded, my mind racing. Neither Millie nor Kevin had mentioned this visit to me. What had led to his discussing his girl problems with Aunt Millie? He never discussed them with me. I turned
to Troxell and forced a smile.

"Kids," I said, shaking my head. "Date somebody a few times and
they think it's the real thing."

The doorbell rang before I could come up with something more
to say that might draw Troxell's attention away from Kevin. Could
things get any worse? I excused myself, hurried to the door, and flung
it open.

My cousin Janice stood on the front stoop.

Holy God-things could get worse.

I watched in disbelief as Janice marched into my living room.
She'd aged ten years in the three since I'd last seen her despite her
multitude of cosmetic surgeries. She wore her hair very short, dyed
a harsh black. In her fine wool business suit, my cousin looked like
she'd come straight from the office. Except Janice's office was over
twelve hundred miles away.

She glanced around the room like royalty who couldn't believe
she'd lowered herself to entering my hovel.

I closed the door behind her and found my voice. "Janice. What a
surprise."

"Where in hell is my mother?" she said. Her diamond tennis
bracelet glinted in the lamplight as she raked her hair with blood-red
fake nails.

"Nice to see you too," I said.

"Cut the crap. That annoying blabbermouth from the attorney's
office told me Mother is staying with you."

Talk about "annoying."

"I'm holding her hostage in the kitchen," I said.

"Mother?" Janice's voice rose and changed to baby talk as she
crossed the room. "Where are you? I smell cookies."

Gag me.

I entered the kitchen behind her, in time to catch Millie's shocked
reaction.

"Janice!" She ran to hug her daughter, throwing a look of sheer
panic at me over Janice's shoulder. "I didn't expect you yet. It's only
Tuesday."

Janice patted Millie's back. "Don't you worry about a thing,
Mother. I'll take care of you now."

"But why are you here so-so early?" Millie sputtered.

Janice pulled back to look her in the eye. "I came as soon as I
heard the news."

Millie looked confused.

"About the murder," Janice continued. "You know I wouldn't
leave you to handle this all by yourself."

What am I? Hanging meat?

Between my worry about Kevin and having a cop questioning
my loopy aunt, I was in no mood to put up with my snotty, two-faced
cousin.

"Right," I said, "just like you helped her through the last family
crisis."

Janice glared at me.

"Who wants coffee?" Millie said.

Off to their left, Rae Troxell pushed back her chair and stood. She
picked up the evidence bag containing the machete sheath. "I need
to get going. Don't want to horn in on y'all's reunion."

Millie said, "Don't be silly, Rae. You stay as long as you want.
Have some more cake."

"Now, Mother." Janice glanced at her Rolex. "I think it's time I
get you home. You look like you need a good night's rest"

"I can't go home," Millie said. "I-I have a cake about to come
out of the oven and more to bake."