A Risky Undertaking for Loretta Singletary

by Terry Shames

  “And what are you going to be doing?” she asks.

  “Hogarth and I are going to check out her house and talk to her daughter again. Now that she has been missing for twenty-four hours, it’s more serious.”

  The cop I met at Elaine Farquart’s place, David Marks, is already at Lucy Nettleman’s. He fills us in, saying they haven’t found anything that might help.

  “Does she keep a computer?” Hogarth asks.

  “It’s back here.” Marks leads us through the house. I only saw the front room when I was here before. It’s a plain vanilla two-bedroom, one-bath place. I note that the short hallway walls are bare of art or family photos, as if Lucy just moved in or didn’t have the heart to decorate much.

  Lucy’s computer is an old one, perched on a scarred wooden desk in her bedroom. She apparently only uses it for email and Pinterest, which she is obsessed with. Her history is full of one Pinterest search after another: hair styles, clothing, fluffy white dog breeds, and recipes for Italian food, salads, vegetable dishes, and soups. She also follows a few romance authors and, surprisingly, violent thrillers.

  “There were no phone messages on the message machine,” Marks says. “We haven’t found any email messages out of the ordinary. No travel plans or emails about secret meetings. No threats, no suspicious exchanges.”

  I look over Hogarth’s shoulder as he scrolls through her recent emails. If she gets advertising or political emails, she discards them. The emails are mostly announcements for church meetings, chatty exchanges with a sister who lives in Virginia, and terse exchanges with her daughter about when and where they might meet or whether the daughter enjoyed a movie she saw. Everything is paralyzingly normal.

  Hogarth clicks on the history, scrolling through all the Pinterest files. He stops at one. “This is different.” He points to the screen where there’s a clump of websites for new kitchen appliances. “Marks, did you find anything indicating that she bought a new appliance?”

  “I might have. Hold on.” He picks up a file from the desk and leafs through the receipts in it. “Here you go.” He sets down a receipt for a new stove.

  Hogarth whistles. “Expensive.”

  I walk into the kitchen and find an old GE range. Returning to the bedroom, I say, “When was the new one bought?”

  “Couple of months ago.”

  “It wasn’t delivered. She has an old one.”

  “Oh. Here you go. It was delivered to an address in Bryan. That’s where her daughter lives. She must have bought it for her.”

  “Has anybody questioned the daughter in person?”

  “Not yet. I talked to her by phone yesterday.”

  “I assume Lucy’s car is gone,” I say.

  “Yep.”

  Hogarth takes his hat off and scratches his head. “This makes absolutely no sense. How are these women disappearing without us having any clue where they are?”

  “Well at least so far there’s only been one dead, and she died of a heart attack,” Marks says.

  That’s small comfort. “Any suitcases missing? Loretta packed a suitcase.”

  “I didn’t look,” Marks says.

  I go into the small hall bathroom. It has pink and green tile, the kind of tile they used back in the 1950s. Her toothbrush and toothpaste are out on the counter, robe on the peg behind the door, and makeup and hair products neatly arranged on the countertop.

  When I get back, Marks is peering into the closet. Clothes are crammed in tight, and I see no suitcases.

  “How long has she had this place?”

  After scrabbling through a couple of drawers, Marks comes up with a file folder marked, “House.”

  “Oh,” he says. “She bought it nine months ago.”

  “I figured she hadn’t been here long and that she had downsized.”

  “She got a divorce several months ago. My guess is they sold the house and she had to buy what she could from the proceeds.”

  Hogarth shakes his head. “Well, I don’t see anything more we can do here. Marks, find her phone bill, get a list of recent calls, and see if anything pops out. Meanwhile, Craddock and I are going over to Bryan to talk to the daughter.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Holly Nettleman works as a cashier at a pizza parlor. She gets permission from her boss to take off fifteen minutes to talk to us. “The lunch crowd is over,” he says. “But don’t take too long. I’ve got to get over across town by two o’clock.”

  There are plenty of empty tables, and we sit down with Holly at one where no one is nearby.

  “You haven’t heard from your mother?” Hogarth asks.

  She shakes her head and starts to chew on her thumb. From the looks of it, she chews on it a lot.

  “We want to get an idea of your mother’s habits,” Hogarth says, in a tentative way. Holly is solidly built, but her expression is so fragile, scared even, that I understand his reluctance to spook her. “Maybe it can help us figure out where she has gone.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she says.

  “Well, she’s missing, and unless you know where she is, I think we need to look for her. Do you know where she is?”

  She shakes her head. I’m glad we’re here talking to her in person because, seeing the confused expression on her face, I’m curious. Hogarth had said she didn’t seem particularly upset that her mother was missing, and now I wonder if the girl is suffering from developmental problems. She looks to be in her late twenties, but her job is not demanding. Maybe she hasn’t quite processed the seriousness of the situation.

  “Well, then,” Hogarth says in the same gentle manner, “if we know her habits, maybe we can find her. You know she might have had an accident and be in need of rescue.”

  “Oh, yeah I guess that’s true.” She looks over at her boss, who is watching us.

  “Can you think of why she would fail to show up at work?”

  “Hmmm.” She tucks her hands under her thighs and shrugs her shoulders. “Maybe she had to go somewhere.”

  Hogarth glances at me. I suspect he’s thinking, as I am, that this girl is not all that bright.

  “Is it possible she went shopping, like in Houston or San Antonio, and didn’t make it back in time for work?” I ask.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “How often do you see your mamma?”

  “I don’t know. Two or three times a week.”

  “You were at her house last week when I dropped by. You were baking.”

  “I remember that. She didn’t like that you didn’t call first.”

  “Exactly. Can you tell me when you last saw her?”

  “Umm, last weekend.”

  “What was the occasion?” I can tell Hogarth is getting impatient. “Church,” she says, her tone implying that anyone should know that.

  “And afterward?” he asks.

  “We went to her house for Sunday dinner. She makes roast chicken and dumplings every Sunday.”

  “Did anyone join you?” I ask. It’s an idle question, but her response is interesting.

  Her eyes widen and she sits up. “What do you mean did someone join us?”

  “I mean, did anyone else eat dinner with you?”

  “No,” she slumps back and studies her fingers.

  “Did you expect someone?” Hogarth asks, tuning in to her reaction.

  “No.”

  “Is your mamma dating anyone?”

  “Mamma? No. She never would! After what daddy did, she hates men.”

  “Are you dating anyone?”

  Her blush comes on faster than I’ve ever seen a blush. “No, Mamma would have a fit.”

  “She doesn’t want you to date?”

  “Not after what daddy did.”

  I feel like we’re getting nowhere with this young woman, and I can’t decide whether she’s being deliberately obtuse or she really is confused. “You’re sure you don’t have any idea where your mamma might have gone?” he asks.

  “No way. But she’ll be fine
.” She looks at her watch again. “I have to go now. My break is up.”

  Hogarth tells her to call if she hears from Lucy, but his words are desultory. We’re in the squad car, back on the road, when he says what I’m thinking: “She knows more than she’s saying.”

  “It seems that way. But what? Why would she keep it from us?”

  “She does seem a little shy of a deck of cards. Maybe talking to police makes her nervous.”

  My phone had been off while we were talking to Holly, and when I turn it back on, I see that I have a voice message from Maria. “Call when you can.”

  I call her right away. She tells me that one of the women on the list of Lucy’s clients said she has become good friends with Lucy. “Well, what she said was, she’s as good a friend as anybody is with Lucy. She said Lucy is standoffish. But they’ve gotten together a few times. I guess they’re both divorced and have that in common.”

  She gives me the name and number of the woman, and I tell Hogarth.

  He says he needs to get back to the station. “We had a traffic fatality yesterday, and it turned out to be a mess. If it’s all right with you, I’ll let you take the lead on talking to this woman.”

  Her name is Mary Robinson and, thank goodness, after our ordeal with Lucy’s reticent daughter, Mary is chatty. She’s a bustling kind of woman, sitting me down on a bright yellow chair in her surprisingly modern living room. She brings me coffee and cookies without asking, setting the tray down on the glass coffee table between us. She perches on her cream-colored sofa and says, “Now, the woman I talked to on the phone told me Lucy is missing. I have to tell you that is not one bit like her. She is absolutely reliable. When we go out, she is right where she says she’ll be at the appointed time.”

  “That’s what her employer, Darlene, said too.”

  “Oh, Darlene. She’s always in everybody’s business. If Lucy was one minute late, she’d want to know chapter and verse where she was and what kept her. Lucy knows if she missed a day of work, she’d never hear the end of it. There must be something going on for her not to show up.”

  “You don’t care for Darlene?”

  She has taken a bite out of a cookie and waves for me to wait until she has swallowed. “I like her fine. But I prefer Lucy. She’s friendly but not too friendly, and not snoopy.” She takes another cookie and pushes the plate in my direction. “Have one. I’m proud of my cookies. A lot of people would give anything for this recipe.”

  They’re lemon cookies, and they look good. “Don’t mind if I do.” I put one on my plate. “When was the last time you saw Lucy?”

  “After I talked to your officer, I looked it up. It was two weeks ago. We went to a movie. I called her again last week and asked if she wanted to go to the movies, but she said she didn’t have time. I don’t know what she was up to, but she . . .” She stops abruptly. “Come to think of it, I remember thinking she was downright curt with me. Like she was busy and didn’t want to take the time to talk to me.”

  “Do you have any idea where she might be?”

  She shakes her head. “Not the slightest. I mean we’re friends, but not the kind of friends where you share every little thing.”

  “Do you know if she ever considered joining an online dating service?”

  She laughs. “Oh, honey, if you knew her, you wouldn’t even ask. After what happened to her, she’s off men permanently. And even if she wasn’t, the last thing she’d do is look for a man on one of those dating services.”

  “What does she have against them?”

  Her eyes glitter with gossip. “That’s how her ex-husband met his new wife.”

  “A trophy wife?”

  “Goodness no. You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But that’s what drove Lucy crazy. He married a woman older than she is.”

  For a few seconds, I hardly know what to make of that, so I take a sip of her very good, strong coffee and eat my cookie. She’s right, the cookies are good. “Do you know her daughter?”

  “I’ve met her. Strange little thing. I think she’s a little shy on the uptake, if you know what I mean.”

  “She and her mamma get along?”

  “Like any mother and daughter, they have their spats.” I remember Lucy’s combination of annoyance and protectiveness with her daughter when I was at her house. And her daughter’s nervous manner with us. Did they have an argument? Maybe they did, and Holly doesn’t want to admit that Lucy may have gone off because she’s angry. Or is it possible that Holly hurt her mamma?

  “Anything in particular that they fight about? Anything recent?”

  “Well, one thing, but it’s silly . . .”

  “Tell me.”

  “The daughter is in food service, but she doesn’t know how to cook. She really wants to be a baker, and she was trying to get Lucy to teach her how to cook. Lucy said she didn’t want to teach her.”

  “Why not?”

  She sighs. “That would be the blind leading the blind! Lucy is a terrible cook. She makes a pretty good egg salad for the church lunches, but that’s about it. I told her I would teach the girl.” She indicates the cookies. “I’m a pretty good baker. But Lucy didn’t take me up on it. She said her daughter doesn’t want to look stupid in front of a stranger.”

  I get to my feet and thank her for the cookies. “Now if you think of anything you forgot to tell me, or hear from her, I’d appreciate a call. Or you can call Detective Hogarth at the Bobtail Police Department.”

  “Detective Hogarth? Every woman I know has a crush on him. He’s the cutest thing!” I hadn’t noticed, but I’ll take her word for it.

  Based on Mary Robinson’s report that Darlene is a snoop, I decide to go back and see Darlene again, and this time I will insist that she sit down and really talk with me. It’s possible she knows more than she’s letting on. Or maybe she knows something she isn’t aware is important. But before I have a chance to get over there, Maria calls.

  “You better get on back here. There’s trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?

  “Just . . . trouble. At the Catholic Church.” There’s an odd tilt to her voice, almost as if she’s suppressing a laugh.

  It takes me only fifteen minutes to get to the outskirts of town, where I am stopped cold. As far as I recall, the only time there has ever been a traffic jam in Jarrett Creek was when there was a four-car pileup on the north end of town that took a couple of hours to clear away. But here I am in a traffic jam two blocks from the Catholic Church. I rarely put on my flashers, but this seems like the right time.

  The vehicle in front of me, a pickup, takes its time easing aside, and there are ten more cars I have to flash and honk at to get them to move. It’s like trying to move a herd of ornery cows. But eventually I round the corner, and the sight that greets my eyes dumbfounds me. There are about twenty women and five men marching with signs in front of the Catholic Church. For a minute I think I see Loretta, but of course it isn’t her.

  The signs read everything from, “Free the Goat Rodeo” to “Catholic Church Unfair” to “Rodeo Belongs to All.” Seeing that all the marchers are Baptists, I’m not surprised that there are no curse words or expressions of hatred. Most of the marchers look serious, but a few are looking at the ground, as if they aren’t sure they want to be seen; one man, Gary Coates, is downright laughing. His companion pokes him, and he tries to get serious.

  Onlookers far outnumber the marchers, and there’s a cheerful air about the whole thing. Behind the marchers going back and forth in front of the church, I see Father Sanchez standing on the steps with Maria. Dusty is at her side. When I park the squad car, Dusty makes a break for it, barking and leaping his way over to me, as if to say, “Isn’t this fun?”

  We make our way back to the steps. Sanchez barely glances at me, but he sighs.

  “How long has this been going on?” I ask.

  Sanchez sighs again. “Thirty minutes. I called over to headquarters as soon as I heard what was happening, and Maria go
t right over here.”

  “Have you talked to them?”

  “Not much to say,” Sanchez says. “Their aims are pretty clear.”

  “What do you think we should do?” Maria asks. “We could ask them if they have a permit to march.”

  I’d laugh if I weren’t worried that it would be taken as a reason for the marchers to get really riled up. “Here’s what I think,” I say, putting on a serious face and inclining my head toward Maria. “I think we let them keep going, and eventually they’ll get tired and go home.”

  “Not bad, not bad.”

  “Who’s the leader?”

  “Who do you think? Jolene Ramsey. She gave a little speech just before you got here. You sure we shouldn’t call a meeting with them?”

  “No, they’ve got bigger problems than they know. It won’t be long before their interest will be elsewhere.”

  She shoots me a questioning glance.

  “I’ll tell you when we get back to the station.”

  Jolene Ramsey strides up to me. Her elfin face is suffused with the glow of righteousness. “We had to do this, you know.”

  “Hello, Ms. Ramsey,” I say. “You have a good day for it anyway, although it looks like it might rain in a bit.”

  She gathers herself taller. “The law wouldn’t intervene, so we had to take matters into our own hands.”

  “I can see that. I just hope you aren’t planning any kind of violence.”

  I hear Maria cough beside me, and I don’t dare look at her for fear we’ll start laughing.

  “Of course not. This is a church matter.”

  “In that case, I’ll leave you to it. We’ve had a few developments in the search for Loretta Singletary, and I’d best keep my mind on that.”

  “You have? What? Where is she?” The outrage is replaced by hope and fear.

  “It’s a police matter right now, so I can’t discuss it.”

  “But she’s alive?”

  “Jolene, I wish I knew, but I don’t.” I’m sorry now that I bluffed her. And I hope I haven’t given a false sense of possibility to her and to Maria. “Get on back to your march. I’ll let you know as soon as I know something.”