Relative Chaos (6 page)

Steve had already emptied the antique barrister's bookcases that
stood against one wall, and his grandmother's books were strewn
across the Persian wool carpet. Glad for a chance to give my legs a
rest, I sat down cross-legged next to the pile.

I was no book expert, but in my opinion these were all in excellent condition and would be welcome donations for the library's usedbook sale. I opened each one anyway and, after finding a couple of
first editions from the fifties, started a separate pile for them. Within
half an hour, my eyes were getting heavy, and I decided to go in
search of coffee. Groaning, I stretched my legs and grabbed the sofa
arm to pull myself up.

But I didn't make it as far as the coffeepot. On my way to the
kitchen, I passed a bay window. Out on the golf course, police officers scurried around like ants in a field of bread crumbs. What now?

I grabbed my jacket and hurried across Steve's backyard toward
the course. Detective Troxell was front and center, standing near a
small lake, talking with a man in thigh-high wading boots.

The rain had stopped, and a slight breeze ruffled my hair. The
temperature had risen enough to bring out golfers, who were being
directed away from the vicinity by the cops. Once again, neighbors
congregated in a nearby yard to watch the action. I glanced over,
then did a double take when I realized Aunt Millie was among them.

"Poppy!" she called out to me, waving wildly, so I headed in her
direction.

"How did you get here?" I asked when I got closer.

"Kevin brought me."

"I'm surprised he was up before noon." I checked the street for
his truck. "Where is he?"

Millie shrugged. "Dropped me off and left. Do you know that nasty
detective still won't let me into my house? Has an officer guarding the
place."

"She said she'd call us when you were allowed back in. You need
to be patient."

"I didn't sleep a wink last night for worrying about this," Millie
said.

I raised my eyebrows, but she went on before I could comment.

"Then I get here, and things are worse instead of better."

"What's going on?"

"They found something," said the woman next to Millie. "While
they were dragging the lake for golf balls this morning. Some kind
of weapon is what I heard."

The gun, I thought, tossed into the water after the killer left the
body in Aunt Millie's garage.

Detective Troxell turned around, holding something carefully between gloved fingertips. Something long. Not a gun.

Aunt Millie sucked in air and grabbed my arm.

I looked at her. "What is it?"

"My machete," she whispered.

"Your what?" I could see the neighbor straining to listen. I backed
away from the woman, pulling Millie with me, my eyes glued on the
cops as Troxell handed the weapon to another officer and marched
in our direction.

"How can you tell it's yours?" I asked quickly.

"Mine had a red handle like that"

"What do you mean had?"

"Well, I bought it to get rid of that pampas grass taking over my
yard, but then the thing went missing."

"When was this?"

"I just thought I couldn't find it," Millie whined.

"When's the last time you saw it?"

"Two days ago or, I don't know, maybe longer. Whatever day
Wayne started painting the living room."

"Did he see the machete at your house?"

"Sure did. He used it to hack down those plants for me. Man's got
one heckuva swing."

I prepared for Troxell to quiz us about the machete, but a barrelchested man in a black windbreaker waylaid her. The man's buddies
waited on the path, where golf carts were stacked up like cars at the
Sam Houston Tollway booths during rush hour. I couldn't hear their
conversation, but the red-faced man waved his arms as if the wrath
of God was about to come down on the cops for delaying his game.

"Who is that guy?" I said.

"Barton Fletcher, the mean-tempered jerk I mentioned last night,"
Millie said. "Looks like the kind who'd commit murder, doesn't he?"

I rolled my eyes. "More like the type who'd sue if he heard you
say that"

Fletcher rattled on, but from what I'd seen of Troxell in action,
she wouldn't put up with his behavior very long.

"Get ready to answer questions about the machete," I told Aunt
Millie.

"I have nothing to hide," she said.

"I know you don't, but what about your friend McCall?"

Millie couldn't have looked more shocked if I'd told her I worked
nights at a strip club. "What are you insinuating?"

"Nothing." I didn't want her to realize that Troxell and I had discussed McCall.

"Wayne didn't hurt that man," Millie said.

"I'm not saying he did, but if that is your machete, you might
want to start thinking about what you'll tell the police. Who else had
access to your house and garage besides you and McCall?"

Millie chewed her lower lip in silence.

"How long ago did you hire him?" I asked.

She answered immediately. "A month. Six weeks maybe"

Fletcher still had the detective's ear. He pointed, first toward the
street, then to several areas on the course, as if he was giving di rections while Troxell scribbled in her notebook. I turned back to
Millie.

"Does McCall live near here?"

She grinned. "I knew you'd like him. I thought of you that day in
the store, even before the purse incident. Noticed Wayne in the frozenfood section picking out TV dinners and thought, now there's a man
who needs someone nice like Poppy to come home to."

"Aunt Millie, quit that. Yesterday Featherstone, now McCall. You
know the last thing I need is a man to complicate my life."

She gazed at me like someone expressing condolences at a funeral. "You don't know what you need. Wayne could-"

"Aunt Millie, please!" I lowered my voice. "I think it'd be better
if you don't act as if you two are close."

"Why? He's a nice man."

"Just keep an open mind, and when Detective Troxell questions
you, tell the truth."

"You think I would lie?"

I shook my head, frustrated. "Just tell her whatever she wants to
know. If she asks where Wayne lives, tell her."

"I don't know where he lives."

"Where's he from?"

She frowned. "We never talked about that."

"What do you know about him?" I asked.

"If you're trying to get me to say something bad about Wayne, I
don't want any part of it."

"Avoiding questions seems suspicious, Aunt Millie. Don't act this
way in front of the detective."

"I'm not acting any way. I'm leaving." Millie turned on her heel
and took off across the course.

"Wait. I didn't mean to upset you" I ran after her. "You need me
to take you back home?"

"So you can grill me some more?" she said, keeping her pace.
"Accuse my friends? Forget it."

"But you don't have a ride."

"That's what you think, missy. My car's right there in my driveway, and I'm taking it. I don't care what anybody says"

Troxell and Fletcher had been joined by a group of neighbors. Didn't look as if I'd get a chance to ask the detective about getting
back into Millie's house anytime soon-which meant I'd be dealing
with my aunt's cold shoulder and her snoring tonight.

Millie power walked toward her house. Either the officer Troxell
had stationed there would let her take the car or not. I decided I'd
better stay out of it. If she didn't get her way, she might come looking for me. If she got the car, I'd see her later. Maybe she'd settle
down if I left her alone.

Most of the neighbors had tired of the golf-course scene, like
bored moviegoers at a third-rate show, and were headed home. I had
a job to get back to.

When I turned toward Featherstone's house, I noticed that a blond
toddler in blue overalls had escaped his mother, laughing with delight as he ran toward the street. The mother, balancing a smaller child
on one hip, was doing her best to catch up with him. Her fashionable
tan mules weren't made for running, and she lost one of the shoes in
the grass.

"I'll get him." I took off and, since I was much closer than she
was, easily caught up with the child. He wasn't fazed by my practically sitting on him to keep him in one place and was still laughing
when his mother reached us.

After giving him the evil eye and clamping a hand around his wrist,
she turned to me. "Thank you so much. I swear this one's gonna be an
Olympic sprinter."

"Glad I could help." I introduced myself as Millie's niece and explained that I was doing some work for Steve Featherstone. Better to
know who's who when there's a murderer on the loose, I figured.

"We live next door to Steve." She indicated the house with a
swing set in the backyard. "I'm Vicki Rhodes. My little escape artist
here is Dylan, the baby is Tyler. I knew Ida Featherstone better than
I know Steve, since he's only been here a week or so. What kind of
work are you doing?"

I told her about Klutter Killer as we headed across the lawn.

"Organization?" Vicki glanced down at her kids. "With these
guys? Impossible."

I grinned. "I remember how hard it was when my son was little,
and he's an only child."

"Actually, I have two more boys," Vicki said. "Cooper's eight, Harris six. They're in school right now." She stopped walking and looked
at me. "You know, I could use your help too."

She had to keep ducking her head to stop Tyler from grabbing a
dangling earring. Dylan was squirming, trying his best to make another escape. I hoped she wasn't talking babysitting.

I must have looked scared because she laughed. "I mean, I need to
hire you. We'll suffocate under clothes and toys if I don't do something soon-like have the Super Bowl of yard sales. No way I can
handle that by myself with the kids running around. My husband
travels two, three days a week"

"Just the kind of job I love to sink my teeth into," I said, "and I
have some great tips for teaching kids to be organized. Never too
early to start. Unfortunately, I can't get to you right now."

"No rush. In fact, I wouldn't consider doing this until-" She
looked at Dylan, then lowered her voice. "After they catch the bad
person."

I nodded my understanding.

"I hope they find him soon," she said. "Should be easier now that
they have a suspect."

"They do?" I said, surprised.

"You didn't hear?"

"Guess I'm out of the loop, since I don't live in the neighborhood.
Who is it?"

"They don't have a name yet, but several people have seen the
perp hanging around, or so I'm told."

"Where did you get this information?" I said.

"From my dad," Vicki said. "He's taken a personal interest in the
case since his grandsons live so close. He lives on the richer end of
the subdivision, but he's always over here keeping an eye on things."

"That's what fathers are for."

"That and antagonizing their kids. Believe me, he's an expert."
She motioned toward the golf course. "That's him in the dark Windbreaker, talking to the detective."

Barton Fletcher. Sounded like Vicki might agree with Aunt Millie's take on the man's personality.

"Dad's one of the witnesses," Vicki went on. "Gave a detailed description, and two other people reported the exact same man lurking around"

"That's great news," I said. "I'll feel a lot better once they have
him in custody."

"Me too," said Vicki. "In the meantime, watch yourself. They say
the kid's twentyish."

Not McCall, then.

"He has blond, shaggy hair," she continued.

McCall had dark hair.

"Drives an old Ford pickup."

My heart rate quickened. There had to be a million of those
around, didn't there?

"Green, so dirty you can hardly read the plates."

No way. She couldn't be talking about my Kevin.

"Dad got half of it."

"Half of what?" I said.

"The plate number. It ends in YNS"

I felt like somebody had clamped my windpipe shut. Kevin's truck
plate ended in YNS-ya numbskull-Kevin's acronym.

"They had another sighting this morning," Vicki said, "so the
perp couldn't have gone too far."

Kevin had dropped Millie off-what, thirty minutes ago? Where
was he now?

"Anyway." Vicki shifted Tyler on her hip and struggled to keep a
hold on Dylan. "It's lunchtime. I'd better get these little monsters inside where it's safe."

"Right," I said, not sure if my voice was audible. "Be careful."

"You too." Vicki headed for her house, Dylan in tow.

Before they were out of earshot, I heard him shout, "Perp. Perp"

Just what Vicki needed. A toddler using police lingo.