“In time.”
“In time, what?” I demanded an answer.
“Just that,” Mother said. “Come Raymond, I’ll explain it to you in the Jeep.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The police had set a trap for Mac. I didn’t think it would work, because I didn’t think he was guilty. What I did think was that he’d come forward with the truth about his alibi. He’d clearly not been with his mother. She’d told the cops that she had been out the night Tammy Lynn was killed. So, where did that leave Mac? His daughter had been cleared of suspicion. His mother, well, she wasn’t a viable suspect. So, that left him. I had certainly fallen down on the job I’d set for myself.
When we got home, we found a package tucked behind the screen door of Mother’s bedroom. Who knew how long it had been there? Maybe several days. She didn’t always sit outside on her tiny front patio. When was the last time? Once, at least, since I got home.
She brought it out from her room, excitement in her voice. “Raymond,” she called. I came out from the kitchen, where I’d been cleaning up the tea things we had left in the living room.
“What is it?” I dried my hands on a bright orange dishcloth.
“I’m not sure, but I know it’s important. You may need to tell me what you’ve learned about these murders again.”
We sat at the black game table and she poured the contents onto the table. A picture and a sheet of paper, held together by a small binder clip. I picked up the picture. It was old, but in color. It had shifted to orange and brown.
She took it from me. “Do you recognize anyone?”
I shook my head. I hadn’t known them at that age. I thought maybe Earl was in it, tucked behind a couple other kids, but I wasn’t about to say that. Not to her. Even if we grew up apart, there’s one simple rule of siblinghood. You don’t ever, ever, tell Mother.
But, I knew who I was going to go ask. I pocketed the photo. “I’ll bring it back,” I promised.
The second item was a series of annotations on lined paper. They looked like accounting entries to me. But, then, what do I know about that. I looked at Mother. “Somebody’s books?”
“Yes,” she said. “And they’ve been cooked.” She pointed to the problems on the different pages. “In the first series,” Mother said, “You can see what is claimed to be original entries. See here.” She pointed to a scrawling script along the side of the sheet, which, on close inspection clearly said ‘original entries.’
Then, she showed me the next page. The same script up the side said ‘false entries.’ Many of the numbers were the same, yet some had been changed to lower figures. I didn’t get it, so I handed the papers back to Mother, and shrugged. “What do they mean?”
“I would say that whoever copied these out wanted proof, or protection, from someone else.”
“Or blackmail money,” I added.
“Perhaps,” she said.
“These are from the high school?” A third sheet had school letterhead, and then a continuation of the changed entries.
“Yes,” Mother said. “And it appears to be quite a sum of money.”
“But, what are the entries for?”
Mother squinted at the scribbled words. Finally, she sat back, triumphant. “Bandages.” Right here, she pointed.
“You mean, these were Tammy Lynn’s?”
“I would think so. Either these, or the originals, were hers. And, we won’t know until we get our hands on them.”
“But, if there are two sets of books, how can we know what’s going on?”
“You will have to find them,” she said.
“Sure.” I caught an image of me, dressed in cat burglar black, climbing in a window at night. Don’t think so.
❃ ❃ ❃
I debated going to Lonnie with the evidence we’d found. On second thought, who found it? Not us. And clearly, not one of Mother’s Solitaire Gang. If they had, they’d have simply brought it in the door. No, they’d have called a meeting of the ladies, and laid it out across the table triumphantly. I asked Mother about it.
“How should I know who left it,” she said. “Most likely the vicar. Or his handyman.”
“The vicar?” I nearly shouted it, and lowered my voice when she glared with an expression more like her own. “Who is the vicar?”
She pointed toward the Catholic church behind the house—as if that said it all. I shook my head with exasperation. Did the priest enable her delusions, too? Playing vicar to her Marple? And who was the handyman? Was he the one who’d fixed the Jeep? And weeded around the back shed? Now he was giving us gifts in the form of evidence? “Who…”
“Now hush, dear,” she said. “And let’s think about our next steps.”
Mother convinced me to at least scope out the High School. I recalled the chained front doors from our earlier visit to the Vice Principal’s office, so I knew I wouldn’t be getting in that way. Other than Patsy and the security guard, I didn’t know who I might meet there. Or who might meet me. Job titles, sure, but I didn’t have faces to go with them. Teachers. Principal. Secretary. Coach. Any one of them might catch me breaking into the school.
“Tell me about the lay of the school,” I asked Mother. She looked at me blankly. “The floor plan.”
“Oh.” She grabbed a sheet of paper on the table, flipped it over, and lifted a pen.
“Hey, not that!” I took charge of the blackmail books, as I’d begun to think of them. I slid them back into the manila envelope they’d arrived in. I grabbed a magazine from the shelf under the coffee table, and tore out a subscription order card. The address side was mostly blank. “Here, write on this.”
She carefully sketched out an approximation of the school. It was horseshoe shaped. Most of the stuff to the left were classrooms, with the gymnasium clear to the back. I shouldn’t need to worry about those. The front right, however, included the main office where we’d been earlier, and a short hall which included the music and band rooms, the teachers’ lounge, and the nurse’s office. Next she added squiggly lines beyond the school proper indicating where parking lay. With the Jeep I could go farther afield, and park in the ravine just off the property… and a short distance from the road.
“Fine, I’ll look,” I said. “But I’m not promising anything. And, I’m not going in.”
Mother smiled in Marple benevolence. “Miss Greenshaw, I recall, appeared to have no fear of burglars.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mother called the Solitaire group together before I headed out. She asked Donna to bring her dog along, because we would need it. “Collar and lead, please.” So, I put the cat away in my room. I don’t know why Mother insisted it go in there, instead of her room, but I suspected it had something to do with my making friends with it. Or maybe she forgot it was hers, and thought it was mine. She still hadn’t called it by anything, so the name ‘Football’ stuck.
Donna arrived, decked out in secret agent black, with her little ‘Pinky’—a cream colored miniature poodle in a batman collar and leash. I wore desert tan. I figured if someone saw me kicking around out there, they would think I was a geologist. But, not with Donna and her pooch tagging along.
“Strength in numbers,” she giggled conspiratorially as she arrived.
“Sure,” I said, taking in her outfit. She looked like an ancient Persian spy princess, with voluminous, billowing pants and flowing blouse.
“I have another all picked out for tomorrow night,” she said as she ran her hand down her side.
I rolled my eyeballs. Puh-leeez. Save me from style mavens.
The other ladies gathered around the table, and Mother brought out the documents we had looked at earlier. “Yes,” Paisley said. “These are definitely accounts for the nurse’s office at the school. And they were definitely fixed.”
“Does anyone recognize the writing?” I flipped over the envelope where Mother’s name had been scrawled and pointed to the inscription. It looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place
it. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was my dad’s. But he was in Baltimore and had written off my mother years ago. Or, she’d written him off. I always figured there was a woman involved.
The ladies fidgeted, hemmed and hawed, and basically acted like they knew who it was but weren’t telling. So be that way, I thought. Must be the priest. Or the handyman. Now, to figure out who that was. Sigh, another mystery upon my pile of mysteries.
Donna, and our mission, took on a new significance within the group, since we were working to clear one of our own. Our own? Since when did I start thinking that way? But, it was seeming more and more personal with each passing day. And, with Dee languishing in jail, it had become as close as our shared driveway.
I led Donna out to the Jeep and helped her in. I ran a bungee through Pinky’s collar, and attached him to Donna’s belt. She looked at me quizzically.
“Don’t want to lose him, do we? It’s too hot to drive with the top on and no air conditioning.” She agreed, though the dog was none too happy. I couldn’t see why, since I’d seen the dog on her lap as she’d driven by. Apparently, it isn’t as fun when it’s enforced.
We drove out to the school. Donna clung tightly to both Jeep and dog, clearly afraid we’d tip over, or she’d fall out. No such luck, we arrived at the school in one piece. The late afternoon sun angled over the schoolyard, casting long shadows. I drove past the school, checking for the trail leading into the arroyo. It was relatively indistinct, but I felt certain I could find it later, even in the dark, since it was immediately opposite a mile marker. “Remember that number” I said. The markers counted up in this direction, and would be counting down from the other. It read 228. Donna nodded her head, but who knew what went on in that brain? So I tried repeating it several times. “2–2–8… 2–2–8.”
I geared down, and, gravel flying, spun about in the first wide spot and headed slowly back to the school. I gazed over at the terrain between the arroyo and the parking lot. Not Serengeti tough. I glanced at Donna. She looked completely oblivious, especially to the fact that we’d be coming back after dark and had to find our way to the arroyo from the opposite direction of town, and then drive INTO it. The school parking lot was empty when we turned in. We stopped close to the door in a spot, marked: visitor. We were that, even if we were scoping it out for breaking and entering.
Casing the joint.
Recon.
Mother!
I hurried around and helped Donna disconnect Pinky from her bungee snare. They slid out together, and Donna hugged the little poodle to her face and neck. “Mama’s little babykins,” she said. “You were so afraid. I know it, baby.” After much kissing, and drooling, Donna put the dog on the ground where it proceeded to turn in miniature circles at the end of its leash.
“Come along,” she said. I followed at a safe distance. After all, she was just cover.
The door was locked, I observed. The chain securely connected. The windows along the front of the school didn’t look like they’d ever been open. I walked around to the right and headed down the side of the building. Gleaming windows covered the entire wall. I peered in one, and saw rows of chairs rising as if they were on stairs—one behind the other. A music room, I decided. At the farthest point, I turned and passed the door at the end and continued up the inner walkway of the U shaped building. These were offices, I quickly realized. The most inner office looked like the Principal’s, followed by the Vice Principal’s, then several guidance counselors. The last was the nurse’s office. If I was really going to get in, I would have to think on it. I didn’t know how to break into a window—aside from throwing a rock at it.
I came back out to the front, and we climbed into the Jeep. Not good, I thought. I was here to keep Mother out of trouble, and instead, she was getting me into it. I knew what Lonnie would think.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I dropped Donna off at her front door after the sun had set. She’d chattered excitedly the entire trip back from the school. Thankfully, it was a short trip. She’d had some good ideas about cutting the window, and said she’d bring her biggest ring, since diamonds always cut glass. I wasn’t too sure if that would really work, but it was worth a try. So was the rock. Or a brick. But, we were both concerned that my heavy handed approach would be the most likely way to alert the authorities to our presence. I didn’t think we could get in, anyway, so I agreed to go. That way I could tell Mother I’d at least tried. Donna screamed ecstatically, and hugged me. “You’re so,” she gave it some thought. “So Raymondish.”
Great.
The house was dark when I pulled into our driveway. So was the Garfield’s. A note lay on the kitchen table. Meet Lonnie Zonnie at Bee’s Burger Barn.
No time? When had Mother written it? I opened her door a crack and peeked in. Her bedside lamp was turned to low on the three-way bulb. She lay on her back on top of the bedspread, head on the pillow, and her chest lightly rising and falling. I didn’t want to bother her, so I clicked the door shut again. I leaned back against the door for a second as my pulse began to quicken with excitement and a grin hit my lips. I pushed away and started for the front door, then looked down at my t-shirt. I made a beeline for my bedroom.
I quickly slipped out of my dirty clothes and into something clean. Starting with panties. Hey, you never know. Clean jeans and a plunging v-neck t-shirt. Lonnie’s arrowhead hung low on my chest, nestled at my cleavage. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror, sprayed on fresh deodorant, and brushed my hair. No makeup, though. And no perfume. That’s not me. I snorted a laugh. Yeah, maybe I am kind of Raymondish.
Leaving the Jeep in the drive I walked the couple blocks to Bee’s. It was just down on Colorado Street from our place. That’s the main drag through town—a long street paralleling the highway—where parades are held. Like the plaza, local businesses line the street. Mostly restaurants and tire places, and the like. Long ago it had been the highway, until the Interstate bypassed the town. Locals liked to pretend that it had been a slice of Route 66, but we’re too far south for that. Alterna-66 maybe.
I worried I was too early as I came up behind the building. But then, seeing Lonnie’s truck in the lot, I worried that I was late. I pushed open the door and entered. Bee’s had been in business since 1948, and was a fixture in town. Outside it looks like all the rest of the adobes, but inside it looks like an old time burger joint. Like stepping back into an old rerun of Happy Days. Yellow and white booths lined the walls, and yellow cushioned chairs with white metal frames tucked in under glossy white tables. The black and white checkered floor gleamed. Had they just painted? A whiff of enamel mixed in with the larger odors of bacon and eggs, and pancakes, and burgers.
Bob Burke, Jr greeted me at the door. Another of my old classmates. “Hey, Raymond! I heard you were back. To stay this time?” He shook my hand like I was one of the guys.When would it ever end?
“That’s what they say.” I glanced around the dining room.
“Sheriff’s over by the window,” Bob said, scratching his round belly, then tilted an ink pen and pad in that direction with his other hand.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, and headed over.
Lonnie faced the door, his back to the wall, the front window on his right. He leaped up as I came in and swiped the cowboy hat from his head. “Ray.” He grinned at me, and I rethought my concern that everyone in town called me Raymond as if I was, indeed, my mother's nephew. The single syllable sounded so… me… coming from this man. I smiled back, suddenly shy. And, I’m never shy.
He leaned in for a hug. I felt disappointed. Not a kiss? No, not in public. He was the county’s number one lawman. Maybe I was just a fling for him. I shook off the notion, and smiled again as I slid into the booth across from him. He sat and rested his hat, upside down, on the seat next to him. He reached across and picked up the pendant dangling below my throat. His fingers lightly brushed my skin sending electric sparks through me.
“Remember when you made it?” I gazed acros
s the table at him.
He raised his eyes to look at me, then dropped the arrowhead. It settled between my breasts. “Yep. I got the stone out on the Rez. By my dad’s place. He taught me how. This is the first successful arrowhead I ever made.”
“The first?” I could feel heat from the stone above my heart as if he still held it.
“I’ve made plenty since. Dad showed me how to make a bow and arrows. We spent about a year off grid.” He tipped his head toward the window, and slowly spun his water glass with his hands. “He taught me to live out there like his father taught him.”
“Living off the land?” I was impressed.
He nodded. “You look beautiful,” he said, changing the subject. He looked into my eyes, dropped his hands to his thighs to wipe them dry from the sweat on the glass.
“Thanks.” My voice sounded low and husky to my ears. I thought he was going to reach across the table and take my hands in his when the waitress came up. He dropped them to the tabletop.
“Hey, Sheriff,” the young woman said as she bounced to a stop at the table.
“Hello Miranda.”
“Hi Raymond.” She giggled, but obviously tried to maintain a straight face.
“Hi.” I leaned back in the seat, then faced her fully. Wear it like a rockstar, I thought. “It’s okay Miranda. You can call me Raymond.”
“Really? Okay, cool. I didn’t know if you liked it.”
I shrugged and Lonnie kicked me lightly under the table. I swung back. To his credit he didn’t yelp when my toe connected on his shin above his boot. Just flinched a little. It was kind of fun reliving our tween years.
“So, what’ll you have?” She poised a pen over her tablet.
I glanced up at the board above the bar. Still no alcohol served here. But then, I didn’t need anything. I was high on Lonnie. “I’ll have a big B. with all the fixings, fries, and a Coke.”
“Same here,” Lonnie said. Miranda wrote it all down and spun about on her heel to place the order. Lonnie kicked back in his seat, and I mirrored him. One booted foot reached out and he rested it snugly next to mine. I sucked in my breath. Heat emanated from where he touched my shoe, shooting through my body. It was a little thing, touching feet, but it made me want to climb over the table and give him a lap dance right there in Bee’s. He looked at me funny and I remembered to breathe.
It's Marple, Dear Page 13
