Mind Bender

by Linsey Lanier

  She watched the wheels in Parker’s head turn as he processed the information. Slowly he nodded. “We have some funds for pro bono cases.”

  But that was for clients who needed it. She didn’t like the idea of shelling it out for Holloway’s crazy ex.

  The phone rang and Parker answered it. He listened a minute, then held up a finger. “One moment, Hosea. I’ll put you on speaker.” He pressed a button and Miranda leaned forward.

  The lieutenant’s gruff voice came over the phone. “As I was saying, we just received a shot of our suspects from a surveillance camera at Hartsfield-Jackson.”

  The airport?

  “Do you think they took a plane somewhere?” Parker said.

  “We’re going over the manifests to try to determine that. The film was taken at six-fifteen this morning. We’re also coordinating with TSA, but we’re assuming the female suspect would have used a false identity.”

  Or she would have been flagged. “Where do you think they went?” Miranda asked.

  “Anywhere. We’re focusing on international flights. However, there’s a chance she might have returned to Austin and gone into hiding somewhere there. Perhaps with a relative or friend.”

  Miranda caught Parker’s look of surprise. Good reason to make up with your folks. So Erskine’s hunch matched Holloway’s. What do you know.

  “We don’t have the manpower or the jurisdiction to follow up, Parker. Can the Parker Agency do that? We have reserve funds to cover the fee.”

  “Of course, Hosea. We’ll get a team together and get the first flight out.”

  “Appreciate it.” He hung up.

  Miranda stared at Parker as he returned her gaze for a long moment. This case was getting stranger by the minute.

  At last, she got to her feet. “Guess we have the money now. So we’re off to Austin.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  They stopped at home to throw a few things into the bags they’d just unpacked yesterday. Then they hurried to the airport in the late morning rush, and met Holloway at the terminal. They caught the next flight to Austin, which happened to be the same one he’d booked.

  During the flight, Holloway gave them all the details he knew about anyone and everyone who used to know Audrey.

  Audrey Wilson had been the only offspring of well-to-do lawyers who were now retired and lived in Sun City, a massive age-restricted community for wealthy residents in Georgetown. Audrey’s parents had tried to push her into a law career while she was growing up, but Audrey had her heart set on acting—or singing—she left home after high school and went out on her own.

  She never had the nerve to go to Hollywood, but while supporting herself as a waitress, she took acting lessons at the University of Texas and got a band together. They managed to snag some local bar gigs. Meanwhile Audrey was always trying out for productions in the theaters in Austin. Holloway met her when she was working at a bar where he and his marine buddies liked to hang out. He fell for her right away, and they were married a few months later. Audrey cut back on her career plans then, but she was never happy with a stay-at-home lifestyle. Her best friend had gotten her MFA and lived in a condo in Austin. Audrey stayed with her after the breakup. That was the friend Holloway had called last night. The one who said Audrey was about to make up with her folks.

  While they were married Holloway had been closer to Audrey’s parents than she was. They had liked him and he still kept in touch from time to time.

  Holloway gave Miranda the friend’s and the parent’s addresses, and she made notes on all the details he’d given her. Hard to believe Audrey had come from money. The boy had married up.

  With the time change, the plane touched down at Austin-Bergstrom International Airport in the early afternoon.

  At the airport car rental facility, Miranda tried to tempt Parker into getting the Camaro convertible, but he wasn’t in the mood.

  “I’d like to make Detective Holloway more comfortable than we did yesterday,” Parker told her.

  A self-conscious finger against his nose Holloway cleared his throat. “About that, sir.”

  “Yes, Detective?”

  “I’d like to rent my own vehicle. I’ll spring for it.”

  Parker raised a brow. “Oh?”

  “I have some personal visits I’d like to make while I’m here.”

  “Such as?” Miranda asked.

  “My folks and some friends.”

  She folded her arms. “Does this have to do with the investigation?”

  “Maybe. Just a hunch or two I have.”

  Miranda glanced over at Parker. He seemed as annoyed as she felt. But Holloway’s relationship with his ex-wife was personal. Maybe he wanted to check out some of their old haunts and didn’t want his bosses trailing along.

  Plus, she’d do better without him second-guessing her every move. “Okay,” she said. “But keep us posted. Every hour.”

  He nodded. “Will do.”

  And with that he stepped up to the counter to order a car.

  ###

  Taking Erskine’s budget into consideration, Parker chose a Corolla.

  They drove down 71 to 130 north, with nothing on either side of them but a few other cars and a flat dry expanse punctuated by telephone wires and cell towers. From time to time, she thought she caught sight of the dark bronze Jetta Holloway had rented, but he was driving pretty fast. Parker, on the other hand, kept a steady, more moderate speed. No need to rush. Especially after yesterday’s ordeal.

  They drove for another twenty minutes and a few small farms came into view. Then a bit more greenery appeared, along with some signs of civilization. Like fenced in subdivisions.

  After another ten minutes they passed a corner gas station. Beyond it quaint old homes and churches lined the streets. Now the place was starting to look more like a suburb in Atlanta, except the roads were flat and straight.

  Miranda tried to imagine Holloway growing up in one of those houses.

  “In the nineteenth century, this town was known for cattle and cotton,” Parker commented offhandedly as he turned this way and that down several side streets.

  “There was flood damage in the nineteen-twenties, but a dam was built to the north to prevent such a catastrophe in the future. In the seventies, community leaders restored the architectural heritage of the downtown area.”

  He made another turn and they rolled into said downtown district. Miranda gazed at the restored Victorian shops and the impressive three-story high courthouse with porticos, terra cotta and limestone adornments, and a triple-arched entrance.

  “They did a good job,” she said, drinking in the view and wondering how Parker knew all that.

  It was a quaint little town. Would have been a nice place for a romantic getaway—if they weren’t chasing down a crazy bank robber.

  Parker pulled into a diagonal parking spot, and Miranda recognized the store front before them.

  “The office for The Reporter,” she said.

  “The first stop on your list.”

  A rustic bench sat before an old-fashioned paned window, and a glass wood-framed door was centered under a blue awning.

  Parker nodded out the window. “Looks like we arrived just in time.”

  At the office door stood a fiftyish-looking man with long dark graying hair dressed in an olive tweed jacket and an old pair of jeans. He balanced a cup of coffee in one hand while he bent over the latch to unlock it.

  Miranda jumped out of the car and hurried over to him. “Excuse me, sir. Are you the owner of this newspaper?”

  He looked up and squinted at her through a pair of dark rimmed glasses. Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss. The reporter position was filled last week. You can come in and fill out an application, though. I’ll keep it on file.”

  “I’m not looking for a job.”

  “That’s what they all say. ‘I’ll work for free,’ they say. Everyone wants to get a leg up in the news business to get on TV. Then they leave me hig
h and dry.”

  “I’m a private investigator, sir. My name is Miranda Steele.” She dug in her pocket for a card and handed it to him.

  The man took the card at studied it with a confused expression while Parker walked up to join them.

  “This is my partner, Wade Parker,” Miranda told the man.

  Parker extended a hand. “Good to meet you, Mr.—”

  “Flint. Roy Flint.”

  Sneaky way to get the man’s name.

  Flint eyed the card again. “You’re from Atlanta? Long way to come for small town newspaper story. There’s nothing that important going on right now. But you’re welcome to come in.”

  He opened the door and switched on a light as he stepped inside.

  The newspaper office was a one-room mess, cluttered with desks and books, papers and computers everywhere. The walls were lined with sticky notes and notices. Miranda couldn’t tell whether they were past articles or notes for new ones.

  Ergonomic chairs were at each desk, but all were empty.

  “The staff works a half-day on Saturdays if there’s nothing big going on,” Roy Flint explained as he put his coffee down on the first desk. He spread his arms out indicating the vacant chairs. “See? I told you we weren’t busy. They’ve all gone home.”

  Miranda cleared her throat. “Mr. Flint—”

  “Call me Roy.”

  “Roy. We’re looking into an obituary your paper printed recently.”

  “Obituary? We usually get those online.” His face grew solemn. “Have you lost someone?”

  “You could put it that way.” Miranda pulled out her phone and scrolled to the link Becker had given her. “It’s this one.”

  Roy studied the screen a moment. “Hmm. We usually print the funeral parlor’s name.”

  “Can you tell us who placed this announcement?”

  Roy rubbed his chin. “There’s probably a record of it in our database. Let me see.” He sat down at his desk and turned on his computer, which looked to be an old desktop. He sat sipping his coffee while the system came to life. When it finally did, he typed in a password. “Let’s see. I think it would be over here.” He clicked an icon. “No, that’s not right. It’s here.” He chuckled and clicked on another icon. “My nephew usually does the computer stuff.”

  Miranda gave Parker a frustrated look. His face was grim. If this visit turned out to be a end-dead, they were really wasting time.

  “Oh, wait. Here it is.” He pulled up the text on the screen.

  Miranda peered over his shoulder. It matched the online obituary.

  Audrey Agnes Wilson passed away October 16 in Georgetown, Texas. Funeral services are pending.

  Flint held up a finger. “Now I remember. It was this past Monday. Linda handled the notice. She’s one of our editors. She didn’t know what to do because he didn’t have the details.”

  “Who didn’t have the details?”

  “The man who came in. He said he was from King Funeral Home. He said the family had requested only minimal information be printed in the paper.”

  “Did he say why?” Parker asked.

  “No. He wasn’t very forthcoming with any information. I wanted to call the home and confirm what he said, but he begged me not to. He said he’d just been hired and was afraid he’d get into trouble.”

  “And so?”

  He raised his shoulders. “I felt sorry for him, so we took his money and printed the story.”

  Didn’t seem like good business practice. Miranda glanced at Parker. He looked like he was wondering about that, too.

  Reading their faces, Flint waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Oh, I’ve known Vernon King for years. He sometimes sends people over for death notices. Sometimes the family wants to keep things discreet. For personal reasons. We don’t pry into all that.”

  Miranda was busy bringing up an image on her phone. The snapshot of the guy in black behind the bank yesterday. She held it out to Roy. “Was this the person who came in on Monday?”

  Roy took one look and nodded right away. “Yes. That’s him. He had on that black leather jacket. I wondered whether Vernon was getting lax in his dress code.”

  “King Funeral Home, you said?” Miranda asked.

  “That’s the place. It’s right on Williams.”

  “We’ll find it.”

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Flint.” Parker said as they headed out again. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  “No problem. Ms. Steele?”

  Miranda turned back to him. “Yes?”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to fill out an application? You’d make a heck of a reporter.”

  She had to grin at that one. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  As they got back in the Corolla and headed for Williams, questions raced through Miranda’s mind.

  Did the guy in the black leather jacket work for this Vernon King? Had King sent him with the death notice for Audrey? Had the two of them planned the bank robbery in Atlanta together? Or did King get some kind of cut for planning fake funerals? Or was it a completely different scenario?

  Their destination was only two miles away. She might have those answers in a few minutes.

  King Funeral Home was a sprawling beige brick building set off from a road running through a quiet part of town. It hosted a large parking lot that could accommodate maybe a hundred vehicles. Currently the lot was nearly empty. Apparently no memorials—fake or real—were taking place that afternoon.

  Parker found a spot near the door and they went inside.

  They stepped into a large waiting area with muted wallpaper and serene landscapes on the wall. Chandeliers and elegant chairs added to the hushed atmosphere. The air was cool and scented with the smell of carnations. Soft music drifted in from somewhere.

  Through an open door Miranda caught a glimpse of someone in a large room, placing flower arrangements and leaning over a coffin. Preparing someone for a viewing. Apparently they did that well before visitors arrived.

  A shiver ran through her and she rubbed her arms.

  “Are you all right?” Parker asked, touching her back gently.

  “Yeah. I’m okay.”

  She’d seen plenty of dead bodies since she’d started at the Agency, but a funeral parlor had its own kind of creepiness. It reminded her of seeing her mother in her coffin when she was twenty. And of the half-brother she’d never known in Maui.

  A door down the hall opened, and a man appeared. He smiled as he spotted the pair and started toward them.

  “Hello,” he said in a sedated voice when he’d reached Miranda’s side. “I’m Vernon King, the director.” He held out a hand to Miranda.

  As she shook it, she looked him over.

  He was dressed in a stark black suit and crisp white shirt, accented by a black western string tie with a turquoise-and-silver clasp. Thin and pale, he looked like a Texas undertaker.

  “Are you here for Mr. Douglas?” King nodded toward the open door.

  “Ah, no. We’re here about—”

  King held up a skinny hand. “We at King Funeral Home are here to help you in any way we can. First let me express my condolences.”

  Miranda opened her mouth, but the man continued.

  “If you would step into my office, we can discuss details. I don’t like to carry on such conversations out here.” He gestured toward a door around the corner.

  Miranda gave Parker a shrug and followed the man. Might as well go with the flow.

  The director’s office echoed the décor of the entrance hall. Gold embossed wallpaper, a landscape of an idyllic farm. Another of a river where a barefoot boy was fishing. Serene.

  While Miranda settled into a gold upholstered chair, she noticed the air was even chillier in here.

  Parker took the seat beside her while Vernon King stepped behind his desk and opened a thick book with a white satiny cover. “We have a number of plans and services we can offer. May I ask how you’re relat
ed to the deceased?”

  For some reason, he addressed the question to Miranda.

  “I’m not related,” she told him flatly.

  He looked over at Parker. “Was it your relative who passed?”

  Parker leaned back in his chair as if he visited a funeral parlor every day. “No, it wasn’t.”

  King adjusted the strings on his tie. “Well then, who is the dearly departed?”

  Miranda gave him a pert smile. “Apparently, no one.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Time to quit playing with the guy. “Mr. King, my name is Miranda Steele and this is my partner Wade Parker. We’re private investigators from Atlanta.”

  King sat back as if she’d slapped him. “Private investigators? Has there been a complaint of some sort? I assure you my business is completely above board. We’ve been here in Georgetown for three generations.”

  Maybe. Or maybe the funeral business wasn’t as serene as it looked on the surface.

  “We just came from Roy Flint’s office at The Reporter,” she told him.

  He nodded several times. “Yes. Roy and I have known each other for years. He usually puts our death notices in the paper.”

  “So we understand. This past Monday, Mr. Flint tells us a young man employed by you stopped by with a death notice. This one.” Once more Miranda scrolled to the obituary on her phone.

  King took the phone in his bony hand and read it aloud. “Audrey Agnes Wilson passed away October 16 in Georgetown, Texas. Funeral services are pending.” Aghast, he stared at Miranda. “We—I don’t remember placing any such notice. I usually check them over before we send them out.”

  Parker leaned forward, taking in every nuance of the man’s expression. “Are you sure, Mr. King? Flint said the young man was a new hire.”

  “Flint said the man insisted the details weren’t published because the family wanted to be discreet,” Miranda added.