by Roslyn Woods
“You’re saying your husband was here alone when you left for your tennis lesson at six-thirty?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Well thank you, Mrs. Dickson. You’ve been very helpful,” said Gonzalez.
“Good,” she said, looking rather surprised by the abrupt ending to the interview.
“We’ll just go then,” said the sergeant. “And thank you very much.”
Back at the station, Gonzalez was updating his notes when he got a phone call on the office landline. “Yes?”
“Sergeant Gonzalez?” asked Lara from the front desk. “I’ve got a Marlon Hall returning your call on line two.”
“Okay.” So the mysterious Marlon’s last name was Hall. Gonzalez pressed the button on the antiquated phone. “Hello?” he asked.
“Hello? Sergeant Gonzalez? Yes, this is Marlon Hall. I got your voicemail.”
“That’s right, Mr. Hall. I found your phone number in Garrett Hall’s phone contacts. May I ask what your relation is to him?”
“His brother was my father.”
So this was the nephew Parisi had mentioned. “I see, and did you have contact with Garrett Hall?”
“Yes, sure, once in a while. We didn’t exactly think alike.”
“Oh really?”
“No, but he was my uncle, and of course I loved him. I have always prayed for him. This news has been very sad for me and my mother.”
“I can imagine. How did you hear?”
“My mother heard from a friend of Uncle Garrett’s.”
“May I ask who that was?”
“Sure. It was Leonardo Parisi.”
“But she never contacted the Austin Police Department after she heard.”
“No. She assumed we would be contacted when the police department was ready.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t contact us.”
“Well, my uncle and I weren’t all that close. We have very different values. Anyway, I decided to wait.”
“And you say someone called you from Dallas?”
“Yes, the lawyer. Uncle Garrett’s lawyer.”
“I see. Are you in Austin?”
“No. I’m in Dallas, but I intend to come down for the memorial this Saturday.”
“When will you get here?”
“I’m bringing my mother tomorrow. We should get there at about noon. It will give her the afternoon to rest. We have an appointment with Uncle Garrett’s lawyer in the evening, and then we’ll go to the memorial on Saturday.”
“Is there any chance you could come by the station for a few minutes tomorrow afternoon so I could ask you a few questions about your uncle?”
“I’d be glad to do that, Sergeant. What time would you need me to come in?”
Gonzalez looked at the calendar in front of him. “Two?”
“I’ll be there, and God bless you, sir. I always appreciate the work the police department does, and I’m praying that God will help you find my uncle’s killer.”
“Well,” said Gonzalez, “we could probably use God’s help,” as he ended the call.
Chapter 26
On Thursday night, Shell sat up late with Billie, the two of them comforting each other by complaining about the inability of each of their boyfriends to see their points of view while half-heartedly trying to follow an old movie. For his part, Billie was troubled by Leonardo’s frequent and mysterious trips into the unknown. Where he went Billie had no idea. Who called him on his cell, and who he was calling from the privacy of the garage or the other room were a constant puzzle and source of consternation to Billie. He said he was about ready to give up on the relationship.
As for Shell, even with all of Billie’s sympathy for her own situation, she wasn’t feeling a lot better about Dean. She was still suffering, still unable to eat much of anything, still struggling to calm herself each time she tried to nap in hopes of a little rest after the two previous sleepless nights. Billie had given her a Xanax to take at bedtime with the expectancy that she would finally get a little sleep.
When the sound of the garage door opening startled them, Shell smiled at Billie and said, “I think I’ll just turn in,” and she had snapped off the TV with the remote and gone to the guest room and shut the door.
She could hear them anyway. First it was Billie, half berating Leonardo for leaving the way he had done the previous morning. Then she could hear the tones of an emotional apology from Leonardo, and she was glad that at least someone had come to his senses. They seemed to be making up, but Shell wondered how long the reunion would last. Billie had real and troublesome questions that were unanswered, and for her own part, she wondered if Leonardo knew something about Garrett that could shed light on his murder.
Yet it did seem as if a reunion was in progress, and she wasn’t sorry. She fell to wondering if there would ever be any hope of making up with Dean. She had considered sending a long email of explanation, but the way he had treated her, pushing her out without even a chance to speak, had hurt her too much. She was sure he wouldn’t have read her email anyway. It would have been deleted unopened. Then, the way he had glared at her yesterday when she had seen Melinda leaving his house had simply added insult to injury. It seemed clear that he had invited the other woman into his home so soon after their breakup to establish a new relationship, and that behavior had insured Shell’s continued silence. She would not explain. Not now.
She was glad Billie had given her a key to the house. When it was apparent that he and Leonardo had gone upstairs, she got Bitsy’s leash and attached it to her collar. A walk in the dark might refresh her senses, clear her head. She tucked her cell phone into her pocket before leading the little dog out onto the front porch. Then she locked the door and headed down the driveway.
It was cool tonight. Maybe one of the last cool nights before summer would set in and the Austin nights would be nearly as warm, and certainly as humid, as the days. There were no sidewalks in this neighborhood, and Shell had to move along carefully, walking on dirt paths and the front edges of lawns, stepping off curbs and onto the street, even making her way around the various cars parked along Travis Heights while Bitsy happily explored the shrubbery from the furthest reach of her leash. Shell could only see by the lights from homes and an occasional streetlamp. Where it was too dark, she pulled out her new cell phone and used the flashlight feature Dean had shown her. Dean. She didn’t want to think of him, but every step she took reminded her how much she missed him, and there were moments when she felt he was near her, watching her.
It was a hilly neighborhood, and Shell was headed down along Fairmount toward a creek. There were many, ancient trees, many cedars and pecans. The long arms of a huge oak tree seemed to reach down from someone’s yard and grab at her hair in the darkness. Was that a tapping sound just behind her? She had a moment of trepidation and stopped to listen. There it was again, a sound like footsteps. She looked back, peering into the gloom, then trying to identify the different cars parked along Fairmount. Nothing looked like a Jeep tonight. Up ahead she noticed an old Ford van, and she felt an odd desire to turn back toward Billie’s. There it was, that sound again.
“Dean! Are you there?” she called into the shadows, not knowing exactly why she thought he might respond. But there was only Bitsy tugging at her leash and growling, wanting to go back in the direction of the sound. Probably a cat. Dean was far away, maybe visiting with, or worse, sleeping with, Melinda Gardner.
Then, suddenly, after a dry-eyed day when she had thought she had completely spent her tears, Shell was surprised by a fresh torrent of emotion. It was the image of Dean speaking softly with Melinda in his doorway. Not Melinda. Mindy. She found herself sinking onto the grass in front of someone’s lilac bush and resting her head and arms on her drawn up knees while she quietly wept. Bitsy came back to her and licked her hands and whined, trying to offer comfort, but Shell was lost in hopelessness.
Minutes passed before she mopped her face on her shirt-sleeves. “Do I seem lost, little
girl?” she asked the dog, gathering her close and standing up. “I’m sorry, Bitsy. I’ll try to do better,” she whispered, carrying the little dog as she headed back toward Billie’s house.
Chapter 27
Margie called the next morning. She said she couldn’t stop thinking about Shell and Dean. She said she was dying of unhappiness.
“I’m sorry, Margie. I’d fix it if I could.”
“I know. He’s in a world of his own right now.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s sad, Shell.”
“Really? He didn’t seem sad when I saw him with Melinda Gardner on Wednesday.”
“What?”
“I went by to get some stuff. She was leaving his house.” Shell was already regretting the outburst. She wouldn’t mention the overnight bag.
“He told me a client came by with pictures to scan.”
“Hmm.”
“You think there was more to it than that? Look, Shell, he’s so unhappy about you he says he’s ruined for another relationship with anyone ever.”
“He does?” she asked, but disbelief was in her voice.
“Yep. He’s a mess. Can’t eat. I took him some soup and wouldn’t leave till he’d eaten some of it, but he says he can’t keep anything down.”
“Really.” Shell remained unconvinced.
“He’s still Dean. He’s just acting like you did something awful.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“Defend yourself, damn it!”
“No. I tried and got shut down. I’m through now.”
“Shell, don’t be so stubborn. We’re talking about your happiness and Dean’s. Talking is the only way to work this out.”
“Yeah, well it takes two to have a conversation.”
“If Donald thought something wrong about me, I’d force the truth on him. He’d hear about what happened from every person I knew. I’d hound him till he believed me.”
“No, Margie. Donald would have listened to you without doing all that. He’d have given you a chance to explain. He’d have remembered how you had believed in him, and he’d decide you deserved a fair hearing.”
“Or maybe not. We just don’t know, Shell. Everybody handles things differently.”
“Yeah, they sure do.”
“Donald and I are going over to talk to him later.”
“Please don’t plead a case for me. Take care of him because he’s your brother. Don’t try to talk him into getting back with me.”
“Right. Okay.” But Margie had her own ideas.
Billie and Leonardo had an appointment with Garrett’s lawyer on Friday evening at five. Shell knew this had to be the meeting where the will was to be read, but she wondered why Leonardo and Billie might be interested parties. Maybe Garrett had left some provision for the gallery. During the past two days she had tried to distract herself from her broken relationship with Dean by thinking about the murder, and she had found herself worrying about Carmen. She knew Dean had tried to fix things so Carmen wouldn’t have problems if she talked with Sergeant Gonzalez about Garrett’s house, but she didn’t know how that had worked out.
There was definitely a bond between Shell and Carmen, and since the breakup Shell had been apprehensive about talking to the older lady. She didn’t want to damage Carmen’s relationship with Dean, but she didn’t want to lose her herself. Everything was so complicated. Today, she decided to call her.
“Miss Shell?” Carmen said as she answered her phone. “Is it you?”
“Yes, Carmen. I needed to talk to you.”
“Yes, I need to talk with you, too! I have been so worry!”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, just very sad about you and Mr. Dean.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Carmen. I don’t want this to hurt our friends.”
“But it does hurt, Miss Shell. Is very sad for me.”
“I know,” she said again. “Did you talk to the detectives?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Shell. Mr. Dean fix it with them so I can talk to them. I go through the house with Mr. Gonzalez and Mr. Dean.”
“Were you able to help them?”
“I think so, yes. I notice a box is missing. And I tell them about the key Mr. Garrett hide outside.”
“Well, I imagine that was very helpful! What was the box?”
“Oh, Miss Shell, there was very pretty carve wood box on Mr. Garrett’s desk. The one with the star on it. It is gone.”
“Well, that sounds like a clue that could help the detectives.”
“Yes, but Mr. Dean is not doing so good, Miss Shell.”
“He’s not?”
“He miss you, Miss Shell. His heart break.”
“My heart is breaking too, Carmen. I can’t fix the problem. He won’t listen to me.”
“I know you never do something wrong, Miss Shell. I remember how you save him before. This very sad for me. I miss you very much.”
“I miss you too, Carmen. I was worried that you would think I didn’t care about you because I didn’t call. I’m just…just kind of a mess right now. But no matter what happens, we’ll still be friends, won’t we?”
“Yes, Miss Shell. We always be friends. I pray for you and Mr. Dean.”
“Thanks, Carmen. I’ll call you soon. Maybe we can meet somewhere for coffee or something.”
“Yes, Miss Shell. Don’t wait too long. Call me anytime.”
“I will call you. And you should call me anytime, too.”
“Yes, Miss Shell.”
Chapter 28
Gonzalez had done the discovery that was needed for the three people in Garrett’s phone contacts that weren’t listed with last names. He had seen Carmen, of course, and he had set up an interview with Marlon Hall. Last night he had called “Frank” and made an appointment to see him. This morning he drove up to Waco, a coffee in his cup holder as he thought over the phone call from yesterday.
The buildings of Baylor University were surprisingly nice. It was a Christian College, a big school that had been around for a while. Gonzalez had read that the student body was close to seventeen thousand, and Gonzalez drove straight onto campus and asked directions to the art department before he found parking and walked. It was a big building, reminiscent of the Starship Enterprise.
“I’m here to see Frank Turner,” he said to the woman behind the desk.
“Dr. Turner? He’s our department chair. Do you have an appointment?” she asked, her small eyes narrowing to pinpoints as she looked over the top of her glasses.
“I do. Please tell him Gilbert Gonzalez is here.”
The woman nodded, her mouth puckering slightly as she pressed a couple of buttons on her phone. “Dr. Turner? There’s a man here to see you calling himself Gilbert Gonzalez…Oh, I see. Certainly, Dr. Turner. I’ll walk him down,” she said, clearly willing to follow orders, but as she gestured for the sergeant to follow her, he caught her curious expression. He could almost read the word busybody printed across her forehead.
Frank Turner was standing when Gonzalez was ushered into the office. Though relatively small, it was a pleasant enough room. The walls were covered in book-filled shelves, and a few photographs on the large desk seemed to say family man.
“Mr. Gonzalez,” said Frank Turner, holding out his hand, and Gonzalez shook it. He was a lean fellow with a thinning brown hair and piercing eyes. He looked to be in his early fifties, and his expression was friendly. “Please sit down,” he said, gesturing toward a chair opposite his desk.
“Thank you for seeing me,” said the sergeant, seating himself and waiting until Turner had shut the door before he was willing to say more.
“Can I get you anything?” asked Turner. “There’s coffee just across the hall. I imagine it’s as good as the coffee you get at the police station, but maybe not. It’s actually pretty bad.”
Gonzalez smiled. “Thank you, but I’ve just finished a travel mug of the awful stuff, and I’m pretty sure I don’t need any more.”
“Well,
then, what can I do for you?” asked Turner, seating himself behind the big desk. “I was surprised when you called for an appointment. I haven’t seen Garrett in a while.” He took a sip from his own coffee cup, and Gonzalez noted the words printed there: The Phantom of the Opera. It was a twin of the mug he had seen on Garrett Hall’s kitchen counter.
“You said you had expected to hear from me when I called to make the appointment. Why was that?”
“I’d heard about Garrett’s death, and we were quite good friends. It just stood to reason you might call people up. But I didn’t expect a visit.”
“You heard from a news report?”
“Well, yes, but first I heard from Leonardo Parisi.”
“And he called you because?”
“He knew I was a friend. It was kind of him to let me know. You said you found me through his phone contacts?”
“Yes. You must have been pretty good friends. There was no last name attached to the name. Just ‘Frank’ and your number.”
“Really? Well, I imagine I have some of those in my phone, too. Just too lazy to fill in the details I guess.”
“I see. Could you give me your full name, sir?”
“Francis Andrew Turner.”
“And how is it you knew Garrett Hall, Dr. Turner?”
“He was a guest lecturer here at the university a few years ago. We met and talked, had dinner after the lecture, as is pretty much the way it’s done here. The chair of the department has hosting duties. But...we became friends.”
“I see. Good friends?”
“Yes, as I said before, we were pretty good friends. We continued to meet and have lunch and things like that after we met. We just hit it off, I guess. We had so many interests to talk about. I’d see him when I was in Dallas, and he’d come down this way now and then.”
“What interests?”
“Modern and contemporary art history, Italian Renaissance, Baroque history…”
“Nothing more personal than art?”
