Relative Chaos (18 page)

"No problem," he said. "I'll handle it."

"We're keeping the quilts for the appraiser to have a look," I told
him. "Trash the pillows. Everything else goes to Goodwill."

"Okay," he said, still studying me.

It had been a while since I'd been kissed, but I recognized the
body language as McCall leaned slightly toward me.

I stepped back. "Then I'll see you in the morning."

"I'll be here," he said.

I hurried down the stairs, wishing I could just once let go and give
in to my emotions without my logical brain getting in the way.

Back home, I stuffed my face with banana nut bread Aunt Millie
had left behind. She'd left Jett, too, and he rubbed against my legs,
purring, as I pigged out. I was glad for the comfort the cat provided,
even though he left a trail of black hair clinging to my beige slacks.

McCall had succeeded in taking my mind off Kevin for a little
while, but now I was back in worry mode. I considered taking a nap,
but too little sleep would probably make me feel worse instead of better. I opted for a long, steamy shower, then dressed in a navy pants suit
that I rarely got a chance to wear and headed out.

The Fort Bend County Sheriff's office building sat in what not so
long ago had been rural Richmond. Fields where horses and longhorn cattle once grazed peacefully had given way to buildings that
housed JP, precinct, and tax offices, as well as the Gus George
Academy and a larger jail.

I was plenty early, but a thin black woman immediately showed
me to an interrogation room like the kind I'd seen on court TV. A
tape recorder sat on the table. I waited for Troxell, doing my best to
stay calm, but I was soon covered in a cold sweat. I wrapped my arms
around myself and fidgeted in the chair.

Troxell arrived a few minutes later, her eyes droopy, her ponytail
limp. She'd been working hard too. We exchanged hellos, and she
gave me a brief update. They didn't have any suspects in custody yet,
but she was aggressively working the case and wouldn't rest until
they had the killer behind bars.

She paused to put a tape into the recorder and pushed a button. I
could see the tape rolling. She stated the date and time and gave our
names, then she leaned forward and propped her elbows on the table.

I braced myself.

"Ms. Cartwright, are you working with Wayne McCall?" she
asked.

What? I hesitated for a split second, then said, "Yes, I am."

"Please tell me what kind of work the two of you are doing."

I described our project and gave her Featherstone's name. "McCall is a big help," I added. "Don't know what I'd do without him."

Troxell raised her eyebrows. "Do you and Mr. McCall have a
relationship outside of work?"

"Okay. How did you meet?"

"We've been over this before. My aunt introduced us." I had forgotten Troxell's quizzing me about McCall the other day. Her questions were coming back to me now, but I was still clueless about why
she was asking them.

"And where did your aunt meet Mr. McCall?"

I repeated the story Aunt Millie had told me about running into
McCall at Kroger's.

"So that led up to his working for her," Troxell said, "and now
you've asked him to come and work for you?"

"Not exactly. A friend recommended him."

Troxell wanted to know all about Bailey Devine and my conversation with her about McCall. The more questions the detective asked,
the more aggravated I felt. When she hesitated for a moment, I interrupted.

"I barely know Wayne McCall. If you need to know more about
the man, you should talk to him."

"I may do that," Troxell said. "He tell you why he's here in Richmond?"

"Or where he's from?"

"I have no idea where he's from," I said.

Troxell stared at me for a split second before saying, "Okay, let's
move on. I need to get in touch with your son."

I gulped. "Kevin?"

"You have another son?" Troxell said.

I shook my head. "No."

"Can you put me in contact with Kevin?"

"Uh, I'm not sure."

"What does that mean?" she said.

"He's out of town."

"Where does Kevin live?"

I hesitated. This might sound bad, but it was the truth. "I don't
have a current address. He lived with a girlfriend. From what I understand, they recently broke up."

"I see," said Troxell.

"Why do you need to talk to him?"

"I'm talking to everyone who might help-"

She stopped short at the ringing of her phone and punched the
tape recorder off before answering.

"This is Troxell."

I watched as she listened intently to the person on the other end.
My heart was racing. She was suspicious of Kevin, just as I'd
feared.

"Who made the ID?" she said into the phone. Then, after a beat,
"Yeah, I knew her. Be there in ten."

She hung up. "I gotta run. Find your son, and have him contact
me ASAP."

"But can't you tell me-"

"No, I can't. I have an emergency to deal with." She left the room
without another word.

The thin woman came back to get me and show me out. I made a pit
stop at the ladies' room and spent some time holding my icy hands
under the warm-air dryer to thaw them out. The meeting was behind
me now, but I felt more nervous than ever. Troxell was looking for
Kevin, and she was suspicious of McCall. What was that all about?

I got out my keys and looped my purse over a shoulder before
pulling the restroom door open to leave. I heard Troxell's voice nearby,
though I couldn't see her. The words "another murder" reached me,
and I stopped to listen.

"Least we got an ID on this vic," Troxell said, "but damn, who'd
want to kill her?"

"Maybe they wanted to off a lawyer," a man said, chuckling, "and
got her by mistake."

"Can it, Roger," Troxell said. "You're not funny. Dawn Hurley
was a nice lady. She didn't deserve this."

I slumped against the doorjamb and felt the blood drain from my
face. Dawn Hurley, dead?

A young woman with a Speedy Couriers logo on her shirt charged
around the corner, almost running into me.

"Oops. You okay? You're chalk white."

I nodded. "Just heard some bad news."

"'Bout that murder over in the Munroe building? I just came
from there."

I straightened. "What happened exactly? Do you know?"

"Didn't see the body or nothin'. Talked to this lady who was leavin'
work-one of my regulars. She's the one found the dead woman on
the back stairs. Shook her up bad."

"Maybe it was an accident," I said. "Maybe she fell down the
stairs."

The courier shook her head. "Not with that wire wrapped around
her neck"

I left the sheriff's office in a daze, got into the Durango, and sat
there watching people leaving for the day to go home. Something that
Dawn Hurley would never do again.

Learning what had happened to her had set my imagination to
racing. Why would someone kill Dawn? Was she in the wrong place
at the wrong time? Was it a disgruntled client? Someone so angry
about not inheriting that they'd commit murder? Stranger things had
happened, but getting rid of the lawyer's secretary wouldn't change
anything. More likely this was a burglary gone bad or, God forbid, a
sex crime.

I was already a bundle of nerves worrying about Kevin, and now
this. Too shaky to drive, I got out my cell phone and called Doug to
report on what had happened in my meeting with Troxell. He told
me he'd been calling every one of Kevin's friends he could think of
to see if anyone could give him a lead on Kevin's whereabouts.

I hung up, somewhat heartened that at least I wasn't in this alone.
But then my thoughts drifted back to Dawn-her happy and talkative
demeanor that morning. Now she was gone. I wanted to know more
about what had happened to the poor woman. The cops wouldn't tell
me anything, but Allen Tate might. I dug out his business card and
punched his cell number into my phone.

"Mr. Tate, Poppy Cartwright," I said when he answered. "I just
heard about Dawn, and I'm so sorry."

"Thank you," Tate said weakly. "Such a tragedy."

"Do they know what happened?"

"All they have so far is an estimated time of death. Ten this
morning."

I shuddered. Dawn must have been killed shortly after I left
Tate's office.

"I bad-mouthed her all day," he said, "for not showing up for
work. And all the while-" He stopped talking, and I could picture
him trying to rein in his emotions.

"Is there anything I can do?"

He cleared his throat. "Not right now. I may contact you later,
though."

"Please do," I said. "Does Dawn have family nearby?"

"Only her mother. Brother lives up north. You know, she considered my clients family. And all I did was complain about her talking
instead of working."

"Dawn wouldn't want you to beat yourself up over this."

"No, she wouldn't," he agreed.

I told him to take care, and I disconnected the call, feeling ready
to cry. I barely knew Dawn, but she'd been a friendly, caring person,
and you didn't run into enough of those types anymore.

It seemed like days since Aunt Millie had asked me to return her
papers to the law office. If Dawn had treated Millie like family, then
Millie undoubtedly felt the same way. She'd be very upset at this
news, but I could try to soften the blow. I flipped on my headlights,
shifted into drive, and headed for her place.

It was just after seven when I pulled up in front of Aunt Millie's
house. The porch light was on, and some windows were lit. Millie's car sat in the driveway. Janice's rental car, thankfully, was
gone.

I walked to the front door, feeling a hundred pounds heavier under the weight of bad news, and rang the bell. I waited a while, then
rang again. No one answered. I went up the driveway to try the back
door and noticed a sliver of light shining across the patio. The side
garage door was ajar, the light on inside.

My pulse raced. I approached the door, clutching at my waist for
my cell phone. Jeez. I'd left it in the Durango. I took a deep breath
and told myself not to jump to conclusions. There was no reason
Aunt Millie couldn't be in her own garage. I wondered if she would
come out here, though, knowing that a dead man had been found inside mere days ago. And at night, of all times.

I tiptoed to the door and heard a voice inside. But that tone wasn't Aunt Millie-it was Janice, and she didn't sound happy. I hoped she
wasn't delivering this tongue-lashing to her poor mother. I edged
closer and waited, listening.

"Yes, I know you're in a hurry," she snapped. "Patience never was
in your vocabulary." She paused. "I know what I told you."

Another pause. She must be on the phone. I inched into the garage.
With all of Aunt Millie's junk inside, I couldn't see Janice, and I was
in no danger of being seen.

"I remember what we discussed, but my obligations to work come
first."

I bumped into a rickety hall tree and grabbed it to prevent a
domino reaction.

"As soon as the job's finished," Janice went on. "Quit harping on
me, Conner. I'll sign when I'm back in town."

Trouble in paradise? Things weren't all wine and roses with Janice's husband the way she always made them sound.

"I have work to do," she said. "Don't call me, I'll call you."

A snap that sounded like her cell phone shutting echoed in the
silent garage. I went on in, not bothering to be quiet about it.

"Who's there?" Janice called.

"It's Poppy." I came around a heap of rusty lawn furniture to see
Janice standing over a bunch of opened cartons. "What are you doing out here?"

She propped her hands on her hips. "What's it to you?"

I swallowed a sarcastic response and said, "I came to see your
mother. Is she home?"

"No," Janice said.

"Her car's here"

"She took mine."

No way. Janice letting Millie drive the rented Mercedes? That, without any other weird moves on Janice's part, was suspicious enough.
She must have read my thoughts.

"What?" she said. "I was parked behind her. It was easier. You
come to check on her morning, noon, and night now?"

"Somebody needs to," I said. "Somebody who cares."

"What are you insinuating?" she said.

"Nothing. I'm stating a fact. You don't care. You never did. You
never pretended to care. So what are you doing here now?" I motioned to the boxes. "You helping some more?"

"These are my things," Janice said. "I have a right to look at them
if I want to"

I noticed then that some of the boxes in front of her were those
marked with her name.

"Something in particular bring on this sudden nostalgic urge to
play with your high school pom-poms?" I said.

"Mind your own business."

"I will, after you explain why you're here."

Janice glared at me, giving new meaning to the expression i f-lookscould-kill. "I am visiting my mother," she said. "Maybe you don't get
that, since you don't have one of your own to visit."