by Terry Shames
A light dawns. “Two brothers? This wouldn’t be T.J. and Robert Caisson, would it?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“I just know.” I wonder if he knows that Robert shot T.J. “Are they Catholic?”
“Oh, no. In fact, I’m not sure they’re churchgoers at all. The school decides who gets to be the flag bearer. It has to do with grades and attendance. Both these boys are good students and have good attendance records.”
I’m surprised to hear it, but I’m glad. Sanchez tells me that because Robert’s son is the older one, he should theoretically be the flag bearer. “But he got held back a grade because he was sick a lot in kindergarten, and now he’s a grade behind T.J.’s son. T.J. thinks that because his son is in a higher grade, he ought to be the bearer.”
“Have you suggested any solutions to them?”
“I suggested they flip a coin, and I thought they were both going to attack me.” He laughs. “I’m afraid they’re going to come to blows.”
“I’m glad you have a sense of humor about it. You may not feel that way if I tell you that Robert shot T.J. last week.”
“Shot him! How did I not hear that news?”
“If they were normal people, I would think it’s because they were embarrassed to come to blows over something as silly as that, and they kept it quiet.”
He groans. “This puts a different light on it. I have to think of a way to calm the situation.”
We sit quietly for a minute, thinking. He’s a companionable man, and the silence is easy. Then I have a thought. “Have you ever had a girl as flag bearer?”
Sanchez sits up, a big grin splitting his face. “No, we have not. And it’s high time we did!”
“I agree. You think the school will go along with it?”
“I’m pretty sure I can persuade them.”
“How are you going to break it to the Caisson brothers?”
“That’s easy. I’ll tell them a woman’s committee came to me and demanded that a girl be allowed to do it. Men like them are cowards. They won’t dare go against women.”
I wonder whether Robert’s wife will take it the same way the men will. We’ll see.
After Sanchez leaves, I take care of paperwork that has been piling up. Dusty watches me, and every time I get up to pour another cup of coffee, he races to the door in hopes of an expedition.
By noon it’s still too early to go to the coffee shop in Bobtail, but I’m too restless to stay around, and I decide to go back to Loretta’s house. Maybe in the daytime I’ll pick up something that I didn’t notice last night.
First, I stop at the next-door neighbor’s place. When I pull up, they’re just arriving home from church. Sharon tells me to come inside and asks me to stay for Sunday dinner. “I put on a roast before I left this morning, and it should be ready to eat.”
I eye Dusty, deciding if I should let him stay on the porch or leave him in the truck with the windows down.
“You can bring the dog in. We had dogs for years. Our last one, Maxie, died last year, and I miss having a dog.”
I take her up on the dinner offer. While we eat, I tell them about last night’s break-in and ask whether they saw or heard anything.
“We weren’t home. We went over to a friend’s house for supper last night and didn’t get home until almost ten. Did they take anything?”
“No. I surprised the guy in the act, and although I didn’t catch him, he didn’t get away with anything.” I tell them I’d appreciate it if they keep an eye on the place. “If you see anybody going in there though, don’t try to stop them. Just call me.”
“I wouldn’t try to stop them,” Sharon says, “but I can’t speak for Ken.” She narrows her eyes at him.
“I promise not to be a hero,” he says.
When I leave, I walk around the perimeter of Loretta’s house, hoping for a clue. Any clue. A footprint. A dropped item, a piece of clothing snagged on a windowsill. But there’s nothing. Dusty busies himself with staring up into a tree where a squirrel holds forth with his opinion that a dog shouldn’t have appeared in his usually dog-free yard.
Before I leave, I turn the hose on Loretta’s garden for twenty minutes, not an activity I usually enjoy, but I’m doing it for Loretta.
I’m climbing into the car when I get call from a number I don’t recognize.
“Chief Craddock? This is Marlene Becker.” Reverend Becker’s wife has a timid voice.
“Your husband said you had an interest in art. Is that what you’re calling about?”
“Yes, it is. I don’t want to impose, but I’d love to see your collection if you don’t mind. At your convenience.”
I’m eager to get to Bobtail, and I didn’t plan to go until mid-afternoon, so I still have an hour to spare. It occurs to me that if I get in the good graces of Becker’s wife, she might persuade him to back off the goat rodeo. I tell her I’m free if she wants to come over now.
“Oh, could I?” She sounds almost desperate.
I tell her I’ll be at home.
She’s a tiny woman of fifty, wearing her Sunday church clothes, a prim blue suit with a white blouse, and tiny silver earrings. “You sure this is convenient?” she says, standing on the porch, her enormous brown eyes beseeching. “I don’t want to put you out.”
“No, I rarely meet anybody who has an appreciation for my art. I’m happy to show you around.”
It turns out that she does have a fair amount of knowledge of art and is especially taken with the Diebenkorn. “You’re right,” she says. “It’s not one of his finest pieces. But I have to say the worst Diebenkorn is better than the best of most other artists. This one has those beautiful blues and greens.” She has relaxed as we look at the art, becoming almost chatty.
We compare notes on the art museums we like best and agree that the one in Houston has improved a lot over the last few years.
“I keep meaning to take a trip to Houston to go to the museum, but there’s too much to do here in town, being the preacher’s wife.” Her anxious expression returns.
“Have you met Ellen Forester? She has the art gallery and workshop downtown?” I hesitate to call it downtown. Our downtown is one block long.
“I heard her mentioned. I haven’t had a chance to meet her yet, but I’d like to.”
“Maybe the two of you could plan a trip to Houston.”
“Oh, well, I don’t know. She’s . . .” She swallows. “My husband doesn’t think it’s a good idea for me to spend a lot of time with a woman who, well, who’s divorced.”
“I see. Well, maybe one of her art students . . .” I feel annoyed. Ellen is a friend, and judging her by her marital status seems foolish. But then I’m not a Baptist.
“I guess I shouldn’t let him tell me who I can be friends with.” Marlene’s face has flushed, and I feel sorry for her.
“I think you’d like Ellen,” I say.
Marlene Becker takes her leave quickly after that. I wonder what her husband would have to say if he knew I was having a fling with a woman “out of wedlock.”
CHAPTER 15
I’ve been at the Hot Spot Coffee Shop in Bobtail a few times because it’s near the courthouse. Seems like an odd place to meet a person someone plans to kidnap. But I remind myself that the man didn’t actually meet Elaine Farquart here. Instead, he lured her to his house. And the same thing could have happened to Loretta. Again, I flash on why she would have taken a suitcase with her. And why she left dishes undone.
I’m disappointed when the two young women working behind the counter say they only work weekends. If Loretta was here on Tuesday, then they wouldn’t have seen her. Still, I show them the four photos: Elaine Farquart and Loretta, the composed sketch of the man Elaine’s neighbor described, and the photo I found in Loretta’s desk. Both of the girls say they’ve never seen any of them. I leave them with my card and the request to call me if they see the man.
I’m walking out when one of the baristas calls out, “Wait. Come back
.” I go back to the counter. “She works here on Tuesday.” She points to a woman in a corner, huddled over a laptop and a cup of coffee. “I forgot she was here.”
This woman is older than the other two, around thirty, with tired eyes. I introduce myself and tell her that I’d like her to look at a few photos to see whether she has seen any of them. Still standing, I lay the pictures out on the table.
“Who are they?”
“These two women had arranged to meet this man.” I’m hoping that’s enough of an explanation.
She peers closer. “I’ve seen this woman.” She points to Elaine’s photo. “But I couldn’t tell you where. She live around here?”
“That’s right.”
“What about this one?” She points to Loretta.
“She lives in Jarrett Creek.”
“She doesn’t look familiar at all. Why am I looking at these?”
“Both of the women are missing.”
“Oh my God. And you think one of these men might have kidnapped them?” Her voice is suddenly loud, and conversation stops around us.
I lean closer. “We really don’t know.”
“Oh.” She sounds disappointed not to be looking at the photo of a kidnapper. She shrugs.
“And the men? Have you ever seen either of them?”
She picks up the composite and shakes her head, then picks up the photograph. “I think I’ve seen him, but I don’t know where.” She starts to put it down and then looks again. “Maybe in the newspaper?”
I hand her my card. “If you see any of these people again, I’d appreciate a call.”
It occurred to me when I was driving over to Bobtail that the man who hurt his ankle might be legitimate and someone else grabbed Elaine Farquart—someone who had nothing to do with the dating site. And if his ankle was hurt, he might have gone to the emergency room. It’s a longshot, but it’s important to cover all the bases. My next stop is the hospital in Bobtail.
The waiting room is busy, as it always is, and the frazzled duty nurse tells me it’s unlikely that anyone would remember seeing the man. She waves her hand to indicate the waiting room. “It’s like this all day every day. Pretty soon, all faces blend together.” She sighs. “Let me look at the photo.”
I hand her both the composite sketch and the photo. She rears back when she looks at the photo. “Of course I’ve seen him! I see him all the time. He’s on the hospital board.”
I have to wait to hear more while the nurse deals with a young guy who has come in bleeding. She hustles him back for emergency help, and by the time she gets back, she has two more people waiting. It seems to me that standing here at her window is a good place to get a hefty dose of germs. People all over the room are hacking and coughing, moaning, and looking stunned.
When the nurse finally has a break, I say, “Can you just tell me his name?”
“He’s Douglas Black. Owns several businesses in town. He’s a big hospital donor, which is why he’s on the board.”
She says a skeleton crew works in the administration office even on Sunday. I flee the germ zone and head over there to find out how I can track him down.
In the hospital administration office, I talk to the receptionist, and she says she’ll be glad to tell me anything I need to know. “I expect you can find Mr. Black in his office tomorrow morning. He owns three stores and two office buildings downtown.” The way she says it, she thinks of him as a titan of business in a thriving metropolis. She writes down the address of the building where his office is located.
“How long has he been on the hospital board?”
“Couple of years. He’s such a nice man. A widower, poor thing. We all love him to pieces.” She’s a middle-aged woman, neatly put together. I notice she is not wearing a wedding ring. I suspect she has designs on Mr. Black.
She also gives me his home address, and I drive out to the house, but there’s no one home. I’ll go to his office first thing in the morning.
On the way home, I get a call from Maria, who says she heard back from Kathy Weinman. Kathy’s out of town today, but they’re going to meet tomorrow to distribute the flyers. “I’ve been taking flyers around town here in Jarrett Creek—the grocery store, places like that.”
I doubt that will help because pretty much everyone probably already knows Loretta is missing, but at least it has given Maria something to do.
I spend a restless evening at home. The only bright spot is a call from Wendy. She’ll be home next week. “You know I love my daughter,” she says. “But young people have a different kind of energy. Kind of overwhelming sometimes.”
CHAPTER 16
A phone call early in the morning is not a good sign. My cell phone rings while I’m down in the pasture. It’s Hogarth. His voice is husky. “Thought you’d want to know. Elaine Farquart’s body was found early this morning.”
I reach out for a fencepost to steady myself. “Where?”
“She was found on the road between Jarrett Creek and Bryan just before dawn. Somebody ran her down.”
“You mean it was a hit and run?”
“No, it was deliberate. It’s a strange story. Whoever did it ran over her, then backed up and ran over her again.”
What if it had been Loretta? I bow my head. I’m too old for this. “You sure it was her?”
“We ID’d her from her photos, and we found her purse in a ditch. Family will make a positive ID later.”
“Her purse intact?”
“Nothing missing. She had money and credit cards. Looks like it wasn’t a robbery, unless she had something of value with her that we don’t know about that got taken.”
“What was she doing out there on the road?”
“Not a clue. We’ll know more once the medical examiner has a go at the body.”
I shudder, thinking that I’m glad it wasn’t Loretta. But then I am ashamed. What kind of thing is that to think? “Who called it in?”
“Truck driver on his way to do a soft drink delivery in Bryan. He called Bryan PD and when they saw she lived in Bobtail, they called us in. The driver was coming from the distribution center out near San Antonio. Shook him up pretty bad. He’s not a suspect.”
“What’s the next step?”
“The woman’s daughter and son have been notified. One of ’em out in Lubbock and the other one in Brady. They’ll be here later today. I’m hoping they can give us information that might help, but they didn’t even have any idea she was on that dating website, much less that she was going out with a man she met through it.”
“Have you told her neighbor?”
“I’m going over there now.”
When I hang up, I walk back to the house, feeling like I’ve aged twenty years. All sorts of scenarios are running through my head and none of them good. I dread telling Maria the news, but I don’t wait. I call her right away. She sounds groggy.
“I’m sorry if I woke you up, but I needed to tell you something.”
“No! Not Loretta.”
“Calm down. No, it’s not Loretta, but it’s bad.” I tell her what happened.
“I’m coming in. I’ll see you soon.”
“No. Wait until your shift this afternoon. We’ll know more by then. If you come right now, that will be two of us moping around.”
At headquarters I go over and over the sequence of events that got Elaine Farquart killed. If the same person took Loretta, how did he overpower them? Did he drug them? It could be that they walked into the man’s house and he had a gun on them, or maybe he sweet-talked them and then tied them up. My imagination can think of too many bad scenarios.
How did the man get Elaine out of the car and onto the road? Was she drugged and then driven out to the highway, told to get out and walk, or maybe she jumped out to try to get away? And then she was run down. It’s a sickening scenario.
I consider going to Bobtail to see whether I can get in on the interview with Farquart’s neighbor, but Hogarth will fill me in. I have a lead that I need to que
stion right away. I leave a note for anyone who needs me to call my cell.
Douglas Black’s office building is substantial, twelve stories of concrete and glass, the bottom floor of which is adorned with local beige and tan stone. Mr. Black’s office is on the top floor, floor twelve, a high rise in these parts. I arrive in the elevator and step into a spacious entry that leads to a long counter. Apparently, his office takes up the entire top floor.
I introduce myself to the serious-looking receptionist, one of those willowy young women who look like they don’t get enough to eat. “I wonder if I might have a word with Mr. Black.”
“Do you have an appointment?” She must know the answer is no since she’s the chief of this little domain, but she asked it pleasantly enough.
“No, but I need to see him right away regarding a police matter.”
She takes that in stride, as if police officers come in to see him all the time. Maybe they do. “I’ll see if he’s in.” Another thing she probably knows, but she feels the need to go through the motions.
She turns away from me and speaks quietly. When she clicks off the intercom and turns back around, she has the air of a woman who is preparing to tell me I’ve won the lottery. “He can see you. He doesn’t have much time, but he said I should bring you back, he can spare a few minutes.”
As I follow her down the interior hallway, I think what it would be like to have a position where I needed someone to run interference for me. I don’t think I’m cut out for it. Even when I was in business, I preferred to do my own meeting and greeting.
“Thank you, Liz.” Douglas Black is standing behind his desk when she shows me in.
Black is older than he looked in the photo that I found in Loretta’s desk. He used an old photo on the dating site. Still, he is a healthy-looking man, with a head of gray hair that’s thicker than mine, broad shoulders, and good proportion to his features.
He has the good grace to ask if I could use a cup of coffee, which I accept gladly. Then he takes his seat behind his substantial, but not ostentatious, dark wood desk, and I settle into a comfortable chair across from him.
