Relative Chaos (7 page)

The last thing I wanted to do right now was draw attention, so I
forced myself to walk, not run, back to Featherstone's house.

They had it all wrong. Somebody saw Kevin in the neighborhood
this morning, but connecting him to the murder was a big leap. Maybe
the killer drove the same kind of truck Kevin drove. Every other vehicle on the road these days was a Ford pickup, right? I had to put an
end to this ridiculous misconception before the cops did something
stupid.

But first I had to talk to Kevin.

By the time I reached Featherstone's back door, I was close to hyperventilating. I stepped into the kitchen, flipped my cell phone open,
and nearly jumped out of my shoes when Featherstone entered the
room.

"Whoa," he said. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." My mouth felt as dry as chalk dust. "You surprised
me, that's all."

"Stopped in to check on progress," he said. "How's it going?"

"Steady." I slid my phone into my pocket. No way I could talk to
Kevin in front of my client. "Hard to see a difference this soon, but
I've been a busy bee."

"Good." He glanced through the family-room window. "Seems
you're not the only busy one. Nasty business out there."

"Sure is." I smoothed my windblown hair with a shaky hand.

"They know whodunit yet?" he said.

"I haven't heard." My mind raced for an excuse to leave the house.
I couldn't concentrate on work until I'd talked to my son.

As if Featherstone had read my mind, he said, "You have lunch
plans?"

"Lunch? No. I mean, yes." I checked my watch. Twelve-fifteen.
Where was Kevin now?

Featherstone eyed me curiously. "You sure you're okay?"

"Positive, but I have to run an errand. I mean, during my lunch
break."

"I hope this won't affect my deadline," he said.

"Don't worry." I snatched up my purse. "I'll make your deadline.
May have to bring in a subcontractor, another professional organizer, if that's okay."

"Whatever it takes." The concern on Featherstone's creased brow
didn't match his light tone, and I could feel his eyes on me as I headed
out. I was acting as edgy as a cat in a day-care center. No doubt I'd
aroused his curiosity.

As soon as I left the subdivision, I pulled into a strip mall parking
lot. I dialed Kevin's cell number and got his voice mail before remembering he'd lost the phone. I tried my home number, and it rang
until the answering machine kicked in. After the beep, I pleaded for
Kevin to pick up if he was there. No response.

Much as I wanted to avoid Kevin's girlfriend, I pulled out my organizer and found the number for the apartment they shared. I dialed, trying to come up with a plausible reason for calling when I
had never called them before. But I didn't need a reason because
that number, too, was out of service. I checked to see if information
had a listing for Grayson Sullivan or Kevin Cartwright. They didn't.

Good grief.

I sat there feeling like a miserable excuse for a mother because
I had no idea where Kevin spent his days. Or his nights for that
matter-up until last night. Maybe he'd gone back to my place and
crawled into bed after he dropped Millie off. Worth a shot.

I headed home, plotting what we should do after I found Kevin.
We'd go talk to Troxell-face the problem head-on. Explain why he'd
been in the neighborhood. She'd see he had nothing to hide. Simple.

My heart sank when I turned onto my street and saw that his truck
was nowhere in sight. I went inside anyway and erased the pleading
message I'd left for him on the machine because it was the type of
panicky message he would ignore. Instead, I'd leave him an innocuous note to call me. Throw in a bribe-free steak dinner at Outback
tonight if he called in time. I'd never known him to turn down a
meal.

I scribbled my note with a blue Sharpie on a large piece of paper. Jett was winding through my legs, rubbing against my pants,
and purring loudly.

"Where'd he go, Jett?" I asked. "Where the hell did he go?" The
cat answered with a yowl that told me nothing.

I turned to stick my note under a magnet on the refrigerator door
where Kevin couldn't miss it. That's when I saw the note he'd left
there for me.

Mom, I'll be out of town for a while. Don't worry. Kev.

I stared at the note. Out of town where? How do I find you?
Didn't I teach you better than this?

I ran down the hall to his room. His duffel was gone. Everything
he'd brought with him last night was gone. Even more scary, he'd
made the bed. Kevin never made the bed. I took deep, even breaths,
blew them out, told myself to stay calm. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything.

The ringing phone jolted me.

Kevin.

I raced back to the kitchen and grabbed the receiver. "Hello."

"Penny, what the devil is going on?" Doug, my ex, who insisted
on aggravating me every chance he got by using the nickname I detested.

"With what?" I said, trying to keep my voice level.

"Kevin just went flying through town like a bat out of hell. As if
he doesn't have enough speeding tickets. Tried to call him, but his
stupid phone's not working."

Cartwright Realty, Doug's real estate office, was located on the
main drag through Richmond, and his office window faced the street.

"Which way was he going?" I said.

"What difference does that make?" Doug said. "If the cops catch
him-"

"Were cops chasing him?" My heart thudded so hard, I had to
grab onto a bar stool to steady myself.

"Nobody was chasing him," Doug said, using his are-you-anidiot-or-what tone. "Not yet. But this is a thirty-mile-per-hour zone.
He's had enough tickets to paper the walls of the Galleria."

"I'm not worried about a traffic ticket, Doug."

"Why should you? I always end up paying the freight."

I bit my lip. He didn't want to go there with me-not after my
pitiful divorce settlement. I said, "Are you sure it was Kevin?"

"Of course I am. Who could mistake that dirty heap of-"

"Okay, let's say it was Kevin."

"I'm telling you, it was him, and I've spent enough on that kid-"

"Stop harping about money!" I yelled. "He's not a kid anymore,
and worse things are going on."

Doug lowered his voice. "What's wrong with you, Pen?"

"Are you at your office?" I said.

"Yeah."

"Stay put. I'm coming over. It's important."

Ten minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot behind the real estate
office. A gray BMW occupied the reserved spot that had belonged to
me during the twenty years I'd run the place. I parked, hurried around
the building, and barged through the front door.

Doug's thirty-something girlfriend-more specifically, the woman
he'd slept with while we were married-looked up from a cluttered
desk and gave me her best fake smile.

"If you aren't the last person I'd ever expect to see come through
those doors," she drawled, "I don't know who is."

"Hello, Brandi." I closed the door behind me. "Nice to see you
too. Doug's expecting me."

"He is?" She stood, knocking over a pile of file folders stacked on
the floor next to her desk.

Brandi's curly red hair normally hung halfway down her back, but
today she wore it up-twisted and fastened haphazardly in a clip. Her
lipstick had worn off, and her tanning-bed complexion had faded. No
doubt the price of becoming the woman in Doug Cartwright's selfcentered life.

I scanned the messy room. Her taking my place here, in what
used to be my immaculate office, bothered me a thousand times more
than her sleeping in Doug's bed. Not wanting to dwell on the disarray, I crossed to his office quickly and rapped on the door, then went
in without waiting for an invitation.

He was on the phone but hung up when he saw me. "Whatever's
so all-fired important, make it quick. I have a two o'clock."

I plopped into a blue-striped visitor chair. "Cancel it."

"No can do." He looked like he wanted to rail on, but my expression must have stopped him. "What is it?"

So I spilled the whole awful story, beginning with my discovery
of the body in Aunt Millie's garage and ending with the news that
the cops thought they had a likely suspect for the murder-namely,
our son, Kevin.

"My God." Doug pushed his chair back from the desk. "You think
he's running from the law?"

"No." I ran my hands through my hair. "I don't know. Why's he
running at all? Why did he have to leave town now, all of a sudden?"

"Have you talked to Grayson?"

"No, and since he spent the night with me, and their apartment
phone is disconnected, I figure that relationship is over" Thank God.

"Too bad," Doug said. "She sure was a nice gal."

I glared at him. "Wipe that smirk off your face. I came here for
help, not for you to fantasize about a girl young enough to be your
daughter"

He did his best to look offended. "What do you expect from me?"

"I can't believe you don't care what's happening, or what might
happen to Kevin if we don't do something."

Doug smacked his palm on the desk. "I care, but what in God's
name do you want me to do?"

"Help me think. Who can we call? Who would Kevin confide in?"

"The guys in his band," Doug suggested. "Why don't you call
them?"

"Duh," I said. "Because I don't know who they are. Do you?"

"No." He slumped in his chair, then perked up. "Wait a minute. I
might know somebody who can help." He picked up his phone, dialed
a number, and walked to the window.

After a couple of seconds, he said, "Hey, how're you doing?"

He turned away, but not before I caught the smarmy grin on his
face-the same grin he used to wear during his "secretive" talks with
Brandi. He'd lowered his voice, so I got up and edged closer.

`-when we saw the band the other night? Did you ever get with
them about the publicity?" He waited a beat. "Good girl. You have a
phone number?"

He turned around abruptly, came back to his desk for a pen and
paper, then scribbled a number on his pad.

"Thanks a bunch," he said into the phone. "Listen, I'll call you
later."

He hung up the phone and glanced at me, looking embarrassed. A
new expression for him.

"Who was that?" I asked.

He cleared his throat. "Friend of mine. She's in publicity. Mother
of one of the band members asked her to do some work for them on
her dime. This is mom's number." He dialed the phone again.

I decided to leave it alone. What goes around comes around, and
if Brandi didn't know enough to keep both eyes on her man at all
times, who was Ito clue her in?

Doug's next conversation was short, and he was smiling when he
hung up.

My heart pounded in my throat. "You found Kevin?"

"Not yet." He snatched his sports jacket off the back of his chair.
"But I'm on my way to Austin. Kid's mom says the band's been
talking about going to some festival up there. A slew of agents coming to town. She figures they got an early start."

I frowned. Last night, Kevin sounded like he planned to spend several nights with me. Why would he suddenly be in such a hurry to go
to Austin that he had to race through town? But he had left me the note.

Doug stopped halfway to the door and turned around to look at
me. "You wanna go along?"

I shook my head. "No. You go. Let me know the second you find
out anything. I'm heading back to my job. Kevin didn't kill that man,
but someone did, and I have a better chance of finding out what the
cops know if I stay here."

"Okay, I'll be in touch." Doug flung his door open, and I heard him
say, "Brandi, cancel my two o'clock. I'm going out of town on urgent
business." A pause. "Sorry, hon, not this time. I need you to stay here
and man the shop."

This time it was an innocent trip, I thought. Next time Brandi
might not be so lucky. I hurried through the front office while they
were talking, not wanting to look her in the eye.

I grabbed a quick lunch so I wouldn't pass out from hunger while
I worked and returned to Featherstone's before two. I planned to
stay into the night if that's what it took, unless my client objected. I
didn't think he'd care, as long as the job got done.

The golfers were back in full swing with no cops in sight, though
crime-scene tape surrounded the lake where they had recovered
the machete. Did that mean the police were out looking for Kevin
now? No, they hadn't identified him yet. At least I hoped they
hadn't, and sitting around worrying wasn't going to do anyone any
good. Doug may have been a schmuck as a husband, but he'd always
been a great dad. He would find Kevin, and we'd straighten everything out.

For now I needed to boot my organized and efficient self back
into action. I was relieved that Steve Featherstone's rental car wasn't
in the driveway. No need for explanations about my long lunch. I'd
get straight to work and impress him with how much I could accomplish in one afternoon.