Relative Chaos (4 page)

He grinned. "Don't worry about it."

"Why don't I come by in the morning to give you an estimate?
Then we'll discuss timing."

"Works for me," Steve said. "But I have to warn you, I'm on a
short fuse"

"How short?" I said.

"I need to get the place shipshape by Sunday"

"That's short, all right."

"Can't be helped," he said. "A potential buyer is coming to
town-a cash buyer."

"I don't know...."

"I'm willing to pay extra," Featherstone said. "Matter of fact, I'll
throw in a bonus. How does two grand sound?"

The bonus sounded great, and though I didn't commit to taking
the job, I agreed to meet with Featherstone at eight the next morning. He had just left when the cops decided they'd cleared a big
enough path to wheel a gurney into the garage. I didn't think Millie
would want to see them rolling the body out, and I turned to distract
her from the morbid scene.

But she was running toward an officer carrying two of the boxes
marked with Janice's name toward a police van.

"Stop," she yelled. "You can't take those."

I caught up with Millie and grabbed her arm. "Calm down."

"But those are Janice's," Millie whined.

The officer turned his back to place the boxes in the van, but Millie had already attracted Detective Troxell's attention.

"Who's Janice?" she said, approaching us.

I filled her in while Millie paced, throwing imaginary daggers toward the guy standing guard at the van.

"What's so important in these boxes?" she asked Millie.

"My daughter's school memories," Millie said defiantly. "Those
can never be replaced."

Behind her back, I rolled my eyes. Like Janice gave a hoot about
her childhood memorabilia.

"We'll keep them intact, and you'll get everything back at the end
of the case," Troxell said.

"Why are you taking them?" I asked.

Troxell looked at me over the top of her glasses and lowered her
voice. "Biologicals on the cardboard. Blood."

Millie had excellent hearing. "Oh, dear Lord. Blood on Janice's
things."

"On the boxes," Troxell specified. "We need to collect samples at
the lab."

I tipped my head toward the garage. "Sure you don't need to take
everything in there to the lab?"

Troxell grinned. "No, thanks."

"Have you found anything else?"

Troxell knew I was asking about the dead man's hands. "Not yet,
but I'm expanding the crime scene to include the house. Mrs. Shelton, you'll have to make arrangements for a place to stay."

Aunt Millie gasped. "You can't kick me out of my house. My
daughter's coming to visit."

"I understand, but I can't release the scene until we search the
house."

I recognized our golden opportunity to delay Janice's visit. Afraid
there's been a tragedy, Cuz. I'll be in touch as soon as the crime-scene
tape comes down. How does April grab you?

"You can come home with me." I put an arm around Millie's
shoulders. "I'm sure Janice won't mind postponing her visit."

"She can't." Millie shook her head. "She said this weekend was
the only possibility. She called it her window of opportunity."

How kind of Janice to find a "window of opportunity" for her
mother.

"Detective," I said, "could you call us the second we're allowed
back here to clean things up?"

Troxell hadn't seen the inside of Millie's house yet. The search
could take days, and God only knew what shape the place would be
in when they finished.

Troxell agreed, and I gave her my business card. She allowed us
to enter the house under an officer's supervision to gather Millie's
overnight necessities and round up her cat. I wasn't thrilled at the
prospect of Jett coming to my house-he shed like crazy-but he
and Millie were a team.

It was dark by the time I convinced Millie to get into my car, using
my motherly, this-isn't-open-for-discussion tone. Jett had started complaining the second I put him into his carrier and probably wouldn't
quit until we released him. I tuned out his howling and placed the carrier on the backseat next to the cat food and a bag of litter.

We took Highway 90 from Sugar Land into Richmond, where I'd
bought my one-story bungalow located in town near the Jackson Street courthouse shortly after my divorce was finalized. The house
was on the small side, just right for one person, but I could put Aunt
Millie up for a few days.

Millie sat in the passenger seat twisting the handles of her overnight bag so hard, I thought she might rip them off. I wasn't sure if she
was more upset about the man who'd lost his life or the fact that we
might not get the house ready for Janice's visit.

"As soon as Detective Troxell gives us the go-ahead," I said,
"we'll haul everything to the storage units the way you wanted to."

"What if Janice gets here first?"

I didn't want to think about that. Janice was coming to see Millie,
and Millie was on her way to my house. Good grief.

"We'll work this out. I promise." I'd solve the murder case myself
if it meant Millie got back home in time for Janice to visit her there.

Millie worried the strap some more. "I wonder how long that poor
man was out there."

The thought of my aunt sitting home alone while a killer stashed
a body in her garage made me feel ill. "Try not to think about him.
Everything will be fine."

"It will not. That man is dead, and they don't even know who he
is." Millie unzipped her overnight bag and took out a prescription
bottle.

"Someone will report him missing," I said. "He'll be identified."

"I hope it's soon." She opened the bottle and popped a pill, then
dropped the bottle back into her bag and shuffled more things around.

My growling stomach reminded me I hadn't eaten since breakfast.
I sped up, thinking about the leftover slices of turkey breast in my refrigerator. A turkey sandwich along with a nice hot cup of raspberry
tea, then a steamy shower to wash away some of the stress-that's
what I needed more than anything. I'd worry about Aunt Millie's
house and the prospective Featherstone job, not to mention the murder, tomorrow. Tonight I needed peace and quiet.

Millie produced a roll of mints and offered me one. "It's not right,
me getting kicked out of my house and the hussy across the street
isn't. She's the one who probably caused this disaster."

"She who?" I stopped for a red light and looked at her.

"That Lori Gilmore. She has men coming and going like her place is Grand Central Station. Thinks I don't notice, but I'm old,
not blind. Goes on every day while her husband's at work."

I had noticed a redhead who'd come outside in a skimpy robe
when the police arrived. "And how does that connect to the man in
your garage? You think she killed him?"

"Not necessarily," Millie said. "But I wouldn't put it past that big
bruiser husband of hers. Or one of the boyfriends. Men have that
jealous streak, you know. Or ..." She put a hand on her chin, thinking. "Maybe Barton Fletcher is involved."

She was too much. "Is he one of Lori Gilmore's boyfriends?"

Millie waved a hand. "No, no. He's a bigwig, or at least he thinks
he is, with the homeowners association."

"And why do you think he could be involved?"

"He's a nasty, mean-tempered, foul-mouthed man," she said. "No
telling what he'd do if somebody crossed him. Men like him oughta
be banned from the golf course."

I was beginning to wonder what kind of fast-acting pill she'd
taken.

"What makes you say that?"

"Golfers are crazy to begin with," she said, "and he's worse than
most. I wouldn't be surprised if that man got killed on the course.
Game's supposed to be fun, but there's plenty of cussing and throwing clubs. You'd be surprised what I hear."

"What did Detective Troxell think about these people?"

"Oh, I didn't mention them to her," she said, "but I will."

Troxell would be thrilled to hear Millie's crazy suspect list. I remembered the detective's questions about Wayne McCall and turned
to ask Millie more about him, but like a baby in a moving car, she was
sound asleep. I wished the howling cat would follow her example.

The rest of the way home, I wondered about McCall and whether
Troxell had good reason to be suspicious of him. As I pulled into my
drive, the headlights caught movement on the front porch. I squinted
to get a better look.

My son, Kevin, sat on the stoop, one arm propped on a huge duffel bag. I felt happy and relieved to see him but irritated at the same
time. It had been over a month with no contact. He'd refused to pick
up the phone whenever I tried calling him. Darn caller ID. Maybe I was ready to accept some of the blame for our awful fight, but if he
wouldn't even answer-

I homed in on the duffel bag. Dare I hope?

Scanning the shadows around the house, I half expected the
girlfriend-from-hell to materialize. Grayson Sullivan, a career groupie,
had somehow convinced Kevin to ditch his college education to start a
rock 'n' roll band.

I checked on Millie. She was sleeping soundly, so I climbed out to
say hi to Kevin without turning off the ignition. He stood as I approached, and I took in his wrinkled clothes, the misbuttoned shirt,
his too-long sandy blond hair. He'd been a mess ever since he was a
toddler, but I had sworn to stop nagging him.

"You're out late," he said.

"Hey, that's the mom's line." I laughed uneasily and caught him
up in a hug. He felt thinner. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He hugged me back, all too briefly.

"Been waiting long?"

"An hour or so."

"You should have called me."

"Lost my cell phone."

The poor boy didn't have an organized bone in his body, but this
wasn't the time to remind him how many phones he'd lost in his short
lifetime. He scuffed a rubber-soled shoe on the concrete, looking as
fidgety as the time he'd broken my Waterford flower vase when he
was seven. Fourteen years ago seemed like yesterday.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing."

Right. That's why you're here with your duffel bag. I waited.

"Mom, I need a place to crash for a while. Okay?"

"Of course." I unlocked my front door, suppressing a smile. I
didn't know if Grayson had dumped Kevin or he'd dumped her. Either way, he'd be better off.

When I turned around, Kevin was staring at my car.

"Who's that with you?"

"Oh, I almost forgot Aunt Millie. She's spending the night. Jett
too. Don't worry. I'll make room for all of you" I noticed his dusty,
time-worn pickup, its dirty green finish camouflaged next to the neighbor's hedge. It bugged me that he didn't take better care of his
belongings, but some things never change.

"Truck holding up okay?" I asked.

"I guess."

"You get those new tires?"

"Not yet."

"You know it's dangerous driving around on bald-"

"I know, Mom, you've told me a hundred times." He picked up his
duffel, and his tired eyes met mine. "Could we please skip the twenty
questions?"

"I'm making conversation. That's what people do when they
haven't seen each other."

He released an aggravated breath. "All right. I know you won't
quit, so here it is. I'm overdue for an oil change, haven't seen the
dentist in years, I dropped my classes, and Grayson is still the love
of my life."

I wanted to know more, especially about Grayson, but I didn't
want Kevin to leave. He looked exhausted and obviously needed some
space. At least he was here with me, and that would have to do.

"Okay," I said quietly. "Why don't you go on in and make yourself at home in the guest room? Aunt Millie can bunk with me."

"Thanks, Mom." He lugged his duffel bag over the threshold.

For now, taking care of Aunt Millie would have to satisfy my
mothering instinct. I went to wake her, remembering how excited I'd
felt when I left home this morning. Eager to help Millie turn her life
around so things could be calm, organized, and in order-like my
life.

Wait a second. My life wasn't peaceful and controlled anymore.
All of a sudden I had two houseguests, a cat, the Featherstone meeting, a potential big bonus, and Janice coming to town. Not to mention
the handless corpse, cops, and crime-scene tape.

A chill ran up my spine, and I looked around nervously.

Better get Aunt Millie inside-you never knew where a murderer
might be lurking.