“Well, Skye certainly has more padding than he does,” Libby said nastily.
Bits and pieces of the murders rattled in my thoughts like loose change. I needed to get out, to stretch my legs and my lungs, to settle the clamor in my brain. Max came bounding when I grabbed his leash, and after checking on Faye and Anna, we headed out in the direction of the park.
The sky was a heavy, flat gray, much like my mood. The plastic skeleton worried me more than I cared to admit.
Perhaps it shouldn’t have. How many times had I found toys, hair ribbons, socks where they didn’t belong? Objects got dropped or misplaced. It happened daily.
The skeleton might have slipped from a child’s pocket on his way to school and a neighbor, thinking it belonged to us, had returned it via the mailbox. Or maybe it was a present to Anna or Libby. After all, this wasn’t like finding a bloody switchblade or a severed human hand on your doorstep. So it stood to reason that there might be nothing significant about finding a small plastic skeleton, especially with the approach of Halloween. But none of those arguments did anything to quell the tight knot of nervousness in my belly.
Max stopped to sniff the ivy at the corner. I ran my hands over my arms to warm them, realizing I should have slipped on a jacket before leaving. Although we would probably have another warm spell before chilly weather settled in for the season, the evening air had an icy quality to it I hadn’t expected.
When we started on our way again, I put my mind to sorting and assembling what I knew. Julie had gone into Berkeley the night she was murdered. Since she’d been seen standing on the street corner alone, I had to assume she’d gone willingly.
Was she meeting someone there? And did the book of poems tie in to this? If Julie had been as involved in a relationship as the inscription suggested, surely there would be someone who knew about it. Unless, of course, there’d been a reason for them to keep the relationship secret.
I backtracked. Whatever her reasons for going to Berkeley, it was clear that eventually Julie did meet someone there. Someone who drove her into the hills and killed her. And then removed her shoes, cut her hair, tucked a plastic skeleton under her body, and covered her with leaves. In that regard, she and Cindy Purcell had much in common.
The other thing the two women shared was on-line communication. But that was almost like pointing to the fact that they both had telephones or electric lights. These days everyone and his brother seemed to be online. Still, Michael thought it possible that Cindy Purcell’s killer had found her through the Internet. Had he found Julie the same way?
My pace slowed as I mentally worked through the possibilities. All were tenuous, held together with gossamer strands of conjecture and coincidence. And more importantly, none seemed to jibe with the soft-spoken, reserved teenager who had been my star art student.
Max had grown impatient with my dawdling and was beginning to pull at his leash. I picked up my pace and turned toward home, my thoughts more scattered than when I’d started out. A block from the house, a red Mustang pulled slowly around the corner and then shot off at high speed, tires squealing. I didn’t catch so much as a glimpse of the driver, but the name that came immediately to mind was Dennis Shepherd. He’d been driving the same color and make of car when I’d met him at his parents’ house last week.
In my absence, Faye and Anna had worked out a compromise on the costume. Faye would make both a princess dress and a black satin cape suitable for vampire-wear. Anna could then decide. I had strong suspicions my daughter was using Faye’s kindness as a ploy to get the black cape she’d been after me to make for the last month. Nonetheless, they both appeared happy with the arrangement so I kept quiet.
After dinner the three of us drove to Payless to garner the necessary supplies. I left Faye and Anna to handle the details of the cape while I went off to pick up a few household items we needed. As I passed the aisle of Halloween goods, I stopped to examine the selection of novelty items. They were numerous and varied. And, as I’d expected, there was a bin of skeletons just like the one that had been slipped into our mailbox.
A harmless holiday favor, I told myself. Nothing sinister. As easily lost from a child’s pocket or backpack as a gum wrapper. But the voice in the back of my head wouldn’t let go. What makes you think killers don’t shop at the same places as everyone else?
I closed my eyes against a terrible image. Had Julie’s killer stood here in this very aisle and painstakingly selected the memento he would leave with her corpse? Had he also picked up one for us? And how many others had he procured? How many girls did he plan on killing?
“Oh, here you are,” said Faye, edging in beside me. “We’re all set with the fabric and such, but Anna wants to show me the talking parrot.”
The shop next door sold tropical fish and birds, and was a favorite of Anna’s. “I don’t know that they’re open this late,” I told her. “But go ahead and see. I’ll pay for these and meet you out front.”
I grabbed the remaining items I needed and joined the throng of shoppers at the registers. None of the lines appeared to be moving with any speed, so I chose the best of the lot, pulling in behind a woman whose basket was practically empty. It was only after she turned that I recognized Patricia Shepherd.
She looked drained and tired, older somehow than she had only a week earlier. She smiled fleetingly, the polite, mouth-only smile one uses with strangers. Her eyes registered puzzlement, however. No doubt I looked familiar, but she couldn’t pinpoint the context.
I helped by introducing myself and reminding her how we’d met. “I was terribly sorry to learn of Julie’s death,” I said, feeling, as I often did in such situations, the inadequacy of words. “I can only imagine how difficult this has been for you.”
Mrs. Shepherd pressed her lips tight and nodded. “It’s been very”—she paused for a breath—“very trying. On all of us.”
“If there’s anything I can do—”
“We did our best,” she persisted, her tone strained.
“I’m sure you did. It can’t be easy having a stranger move into your home.” I’d learned that much with Libby. But I’d also found unexpected rewards in her company, which was something I doubted was true where the Shepherds were concerned.
“Not easy at all, but we tried to do what was right.” Patricia Shepherd scowled. “Julie may have been family, but she’d been raised different. She didn’t take to our ways, not willingly at any rate. It was especially hard on Walt. The two of them were like oil and water, about as different as can be.”
“I bet you ran interference fairly often.”
She smiled, but the gesture was stiff and fleeting. “I tried. Not that either one of them seemed to appreciate it.” As we inched our carts forward, Mrs. Shepherd sighed. “Of course, Walt always thought I was too soft with Dennis as well.”
I gave a knowing, mother-to-mother nod. “How is Dennis taking the news of Julie’s death?”
“It’s been hard on him. Despite what he said the other day, Dennis was quite fond of his cousin. And he was hurt that she didn’t return the affection.”
“I should think he might have resented Julie a bit.”
“Resented? Why?”
“She moved into his home, after all. Appropriated his parents’ energy and attention.”
She shook her head. “Dennis had already moved out on his own, and he always wanted a sister.” She paused. “Unfortunately, God chose not to favor us in that way.”
It was one of those comments I never know how to respond to. “I’m sorry,” I said after a minute.
She nodded.
The line moved forward again.
“It’s nice that Dennis is close enough to come home fairly often.”
Mrs. Shepherd nodded again. “Dennis is a sweet boy. It’s too bad that he’s never really fit in with his peers, never been very good at personal relationships. I sometimes think his being an only child contributed to the problem.”
I bit back a smile. She ob
viously didn’t know about her son’s numerous female companions. “I ran into him at Macy’s the other day. A friend and I were shopping for shoes and he waited on us. He’s quite the salesman.”
This time the smile was softer and reached beyond the confines of her lips. “Goodness, yes. He does enjoy that job. Of course, we hope that eventually he’ll go on to something . . . well, something with more potential. But he’s done very well there.”
Based on what I’d seen, Dennis was certainly handling his job admirably. Perhaps too admirably. “Does Dennis have a computer with a modem, Mrs. Shepherd?”
She blinked in surprise. “He does have a computer, but I don’t know what kind. Why do you ask?”
I gave a shrug and did my best to look nonchalant. “Just curious. Seems like more and more people do. I’m thinking of getting one myself.”
“Well, you’d have to talk to Dennis. I’m afraid I know nothing about them.” She pulled at the sleeve of her sweater. “He was asking about you just the other day, in fact.”
“Asking? What about?”
“Just that he’d remembered you coming to the house when Julie first disappeared. I guess maybe seeing you again in Macy’s reminded him.”
The cashier pulled Mrs. Shepherd’s cart into position and began ringing up her items, putting an end to our conversation. Not that she’d have been able to shed any new light on her son’s idiosyncrasies, or tell me about Julie’s interest in the poetry of D. H. Lawrence, even if I’d had the courage to ask. But it struck me that both were avenues which could use further probing.
And as I joined Anna and Faye outside, I had a sudden inspiration about who might be able to help round out the picture.
Chapter 18
As soon as class was over the next morning, I called Marlene and set up an appointment to have my hair done. Lacquered curls weren’t really my style, but I considered them a small price to pay for information— as long as they were only a temporary phenomenon.
“You off to a big party tonight, honey?” Marlene asked, wrapping a towel around my dripping, freshly shampooed hair.
“Don’t I wish.”
The salon was small, only two chairs without much space in between. The walls were gray, the floor a marbled turquoise linoleum. It smelled like the beauty parlor my mother had gone to every Thursday afternoon when I was growing up.
“Most gals your age don’t get themselves done regular. Takes something kind of fancy to bring them in.”
I gave her a smile by way of the mirror. “I’m just feeling down, I guess. Thought I’d do something to cheer myself up.”
“That’s smart thinking. Pamper yourself a little. Does a world of good.” She wiped a rivulet of water from the side of my face. “You want to go for something completely different? I could cut off a couple inches easy, and put a little more wave near the front.”
With a shudder, I flashed on Julie’s dead body and the chunk of lopped-off hair. “Nothing quite so . . . drastic.”
“How about something upswept then? Pulled back on the sides, curls up top?”
“Okay, just so long as it’s not irreversible.”
Marlene gave a knowing smile. “A pickup, not a makeover. I understand.” She poured a dollop of purple gel on her palm and worked it through my hair. I wound up smelling like grape bubble gum. “What’s got you down, if my asking isn’t too personal.”
It was a perfect lead-in to the reason for my visit. “The high school girl who was murdered in Berkeley last week—she was a student of mine. And a friend of my . . . niece’s.” Explaining Libby’s relationship wasn’t worth the trouble. “It’s shaken me, I guess.”
Marlene nodded in sympathy. “You’re talking about Julie Harmon, right?”
I nodded in return and gave her a quizzical look. “The couple she was staying with,” Marlene announced. “Her aunt and uncle, they’re neighbors of mine.”
I’d been wondering about the best strategy for garnering information. But Marlene seemed ready enough to talk, so I decided to stick to the truth. “I know. My mother-in-law was in earlier this week,” I explained. “She mentioned that Julie sometimes took care of your granddaughter.”
Marlene grinned. “You must be the gal married to Andy, am I right?”
I opened my mouth to clarify her use of the term “married” but she cut me off.
“No wonder you’re feeling down, honey. When things aren’t right in a marriage, seems like the whole world’s against you. I know, I’ve been there. So has my daughter. The key is to work on fixing the problem instead of letting it take over.”
“Well, actually Andy and I are—”
“Relationships are like everything else, they sometimes need a little tuning up.”
“Yes, but—”
“If you have a leaky sink, you don’t walk away and sell the house. You call a plumber, right? Same with a marriage. You got maintenance and upkeep, and sometimes some major repairs. But that doesn’t mean the whole thing is about to crumble.” She squeezed my shoulder gentlyy. “With a little effort you and Andy ought to be able to make a go of it yet.”
I nodded numbly and weighed the advantages of setting her straight. None that I was able to discern. Certainly not in terms of getting the information I wanted.
“About Julie,” I said, easing back on the subject. “I got the impression from Faye that she spent a fair amount of time at your place.”
“Over the summer, yes. Once school started, she wasn’t there as often. Karen’s none too happy about that.”
“Karen?”
“My granddaughter. She’s with me a couple of afternoons a week, plus Sundays. My daughter works part- time at the pasta shop.”
“Sounds like you have your hands full.”
Marlene’s laugh was gentle and colored with affection. “She keeps me on my toes, all right. Karen idolized Julie. And to tell the truth, I think the feeling was mutual in many ways. Julie would drop over to see her even when she wasn’t babysitting. An excuse to get out of the house, probably, as much as anything.”
“Did Julie talk much about herself?”
“Not in an obnoxious way. But I could tell she was unhappy with the Shepherds, poor thing. They didn’t show an ounce of sympathy for what the girl had been through. Silenced her every time she started to talk about her mother. I tried to let her know she was welcome to talk to her heart’s content at my place.”
“Did she?”
Marlene sectioned my hair and began winding it on rollers. “You want full curls on the sides or just on top?” she asked.
I didn’t want full curls anywhere, which is why I usually left my hair to dry with only a little finger fluffing. “Whatever you think best,” I told her, wondering if I would be able to make it home without running into anyone I knew.
Marlene dabbed on more purple goo. “I wish now I’d been a little less inclined to offer her refuge. Walt and Patricia are as narrow-minded and insensitive as they come, but maybe if Julie had been stuck by their rules, she’d still be alive.”
“Faye said you saw her sneaking out to meet boys.”
Marlene nodded. “Well, there was only one time I actually saw her. But I knew she was going places and doing things the Shepherds wouldn’t approve of. Nothing out-and-out bad, mind you, just the kind of stuff most kids do.”
“Was there one special boy she was involved with?”
“She never mentioned anyone special.”
“How about the boy you saw her sneak off with?”
“The one with the blue truck? He’d give her a ride home from school sometimes, too. Used to hang around, gaze at her with those dark puppy-dog eyes of his.”
I didn’t know whether Mario’s truck was blue or not, but the rest of the description fit. “Did you ever see her with anyone else?”
Marlene took her time winding a strand of hair around the curler, tucking the ends in with the tail of her comb. “How come you’re so interested in all this?”
I told her
about the book of poems and the fact that Julie had been seen in Berkeley the night she was killed. “There was a side to Julie that no one seems to know much about. So if you saw her with someone in particular ...”
“I never did, no.” Marlene paused to secure the curler with a clip. She seemed to weigh something in her mind, then reach a decision. “But my daughter thought she did. An older man.”
“Older?”
“Not old, but clearly of a different generation. When I asked Julie about it later, she said he was a family friend. But she was mighty quick to change the subject. It was clear she didn’t want to elaborate.”
“When was this?”
“About a week before she died. Nan, that’s my daughter, saw them sitting at a picnic table out by the reservoir, talking. She probably wouldn’t have thought anything about it except that it was during the school day.” Marlene paused. “That’s what I meant about Julie bending the rules. Nothing so terrible in itself. Not that I approve of cutting class, but it didn’t seem right to go tattling on her to the Shepherds either.”
“I can understand your reluctance.”
Marlene sighed heavily. “I’ve been kicking myself ever since.” She picked up another roller and partitioned a second strand of hair. “You think maybe this man had something to do with her death?”
“I honestly don’t know, but he might have.”
“I thought she was killed by this so-called Parkside Killer.”
“That’s one theory. And maybe he’s the same man your daughter saw her with at the reservoir. Do you know what he looked like?”
“You’d have to ask Nan. She never mentioned anything about him looking sinister though.”
“Unfortunately most killers don’t look any different from the rest of us.”
I had her write down Nan’s address and phone number, explaining that I was going to pass it on to a friend who was a policeman. I was hoping Michael would talk to Nan himself rather than leave it to Gates.
Murder Among Us (A Kate Austen Mystery) Page 14
