I sprang out of my chair. “Thanks, Captain. I’m good, you’ll see.”
He straightened up, dismissing me. “I hope so, for your sake. Don’t make a fool out of me. Now get out of here.” He turned away, to go back around his desk, and loosened his tie as he did so. Last I saw, he was shaking his head and unbuttoning his collar button.
I closed the door behind me, smiling to myself, and headed to the first floor where Margaret should be waiting. I was eager to literally get out of town.
As I started to get on the elevator, I spotted a woman I knew from when I used to work at what is now known as the Texas Department of Family Protective Services, I think, unless the legislature has met recently and changed the name again. Child Welfare or Child Protective Services. CPS for short. She started working there about a year before I left. We had been pretty good friends. A thick file under one arm, a shoulder bag hung over the other, she traipsed down the corridor and called out to me.
“Hi, Angela.” I let that elevator go and walked to where she’d stopped.
“How are you?” She shifted the file to the other arm. “Long time no see.”
“I know.” I hugged her. “I’ve been meaning to call you for lunch. You look so good, what have you been doing?” She had lost a lot of weight and looked great in a tan pants suit with a small ribbon tied at the throat. Most of the field workers wore jeans and shirts unless they were going to court to testify.
She tossed her light brown head at me. “I got married and had a baby.”
“Damn, it has been a long time. You could have called me, you know.”
“I know, Mav, but I’ve been so busy. Between the kid and work, I don’t have any time for myself.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said. I didn’t, but what else could I say? “What are you all dressed up for?”
“I’m on office duty now. I’m a supervisor,” she said with a flash of her eyes.
“Congratulations, when did that happen?”
“About eighteen months ago.”
I frowned. “It has been a long time. What are you doing over here? Getting ready for court?”
“Naw. Just delivering an old file. The last caseworker on it retired and moved away a long time ago, and the old supervisor is gone. I’m the custodian of the records, you know how it goes.”
A little bell rang in my head. “That wouldn’t be the Lawson case, would it?”
“Why, you working on something? I’ve heard about you.” She laughed.
“It’s a living.” I sighed dramatically. “Is it the Lawson thing?”
“No, sorry. It’s really an oldie, Woodridge kids. This file’s so old that it’s probably even before your time,” she said.
I grabbed her arm and pulled her around the corner. “That’s the same case I’m working on, Angela. The kids are named Lawson now.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
“Why are you bringing the file over here? Shouldn’t it be sealed and in a warehouse someplace?”
She shrugged. “It was, but Mandy ordered it out.”
I frowned. “Mandy’s still there? I can’t believe it. She must be a hundred by now.”
Smiling, she said, “More like a hundred-and-fifty, but still as fierce as ever.”
My mind raced ninety-to-nothing. “You going to turn it over to Captain Milton?”
“None other—except you know we never turn over anything. I’m to give it to him to copy and return.” She looked hastily around. “But don’t tell anyone.”
“Right, confidentiality and all that.”
Her dark eyes rested on mine. “So you’re on the same case?”
“Yeah, and I could sure use a look at that file.”
She shook her head. “Can’t do it, Mavis. Not right now, anyway. What are you doing for lunch? I might get it back by then and happen to stop for lunch before I go back to the office.”
“Can’t. The generous Captain agreed not to lean on me too hard if I’d be cooperative and do some busy work for him. I’ve got to get right on it. Where are you going to be tonight?”
“I won’t be able to get it out of the office. Sorry,” she said, as she shifted the file to her hip. “Wish I could help you.”
“I know. Well, it was worth a shot.”
“Listen, I’ve got to get in there. I called him to tell him that we’d located it and I’d be right over.”
“Sure,” I muttered. “Just my luck.”
“Let’s really have lunch sometime, okay?”
“Call me next week.”
She started down the hall, looking back at me. “If I don’t, you can call me, you know?”
I flashed her a smile. “Right,” I said. Then she disappeared through the doorway.
Chapter Fourteen
“Hey, Margaret.” I found her sitting on a bench and thumbing through a well-worn magazine like you’d find in a doctor’s office. She wore navy slacks and a flowered blouse with rolled-up sleeves. Her freshly washed hair fell into long, soft waves. She was pretty when she didn’t try too hard to be something she wasn’t.
Jumping up, she said, “What took you so long? I was starting to think I’d misunderstood you.”
“Let’s get out of here.” I hooked my arm through hers. “Your car outside?”
“As near as I could get it.” She shrugged. “What’s going on?”
It was already well into the eighty-degree range by that time of day. The minute I stepped outside, I broke into a sweat. As we walked to her car, I explained what had happened and what the captain had said. Margaret listened attentively, shaking her head, and groaning as I described the situation.
“You’re not going to let him boss you around like that, are you?” Gasping for breath, she took long steps in an effort to keep up with me as I hurried down the sidewalk.
I chuckled. “Hell, no. What do you think I am, a pushover?”
“Well, I didn’t think so,” she said with a huff. “Who does he think he is anyway?”
“Oh, he knows who he is. That’s the problem.”
“Oh . . . so what are you going to do, Mavis?” Fear had entered her voice.
I’m afraid I laughed outright. We had reached her car. As she unlocked the door, I couldn’t hold it any longer. “Exactly what I said I was going to do,” I said after I quit laughing.
Margaret didn’t say anything else until after she’d started the car. “I don’t get it.”
“Take 1-45 north, Margaret, and I’ll explain on the way.” We sat in silence until Margaret maneuvered the car through the congested downtown traffic and onto the freeway. Margaret is not the type of driver that instills confidence. It’s better to keep quiet when traffic is bad and let her focus on what she’s doing. The good thing is, she knows it and, though she won’t tolerate comments, thinks she understands what I’m doing when I sit silently while she drives. She thinks I’m letting her concentrate. I’m really praying and thanking God that she can’t afford a large car with a V8 that could get away from her.
“Okay,” she said, expelling the gust of air she’d been holding. We were now in the center lane, headed north.
I breathed a sigh of relief, too, and turned sideways in the seat so I could talk to her. “The deal is, we’re going to do exactly what we planned to do all along. We’re going to go from county seat to county seat, searching for that property, and hope we find them before the cops do.”
“Two things,” Margaret said. “One, you promised to call him. And two, if I’d known all this I could have spent Saturday or Sunday doing the research on the computer. I’ll bet all those counties have their deed records on computer now.”
“I keep forgetting about computers. You’re right. I would have felt a lot better last weekend if we’d found where Arthur is probably holding the kids instead of going to the beach with Ben.” I grinned.
“Be serious, Mavis.”
“I am. I really do forget about the darn things. As to your second concern, as soon as we find Arthu
r’s place and go out and see if the kids are there, we’ll call the captain.”
“What if it’s as dangerous as the captain says?” Her normally high-pitched voice sounded squeaky.
“We’ll be careful, that’s all. If it seems dangerous, we won’t go in.”
“Are you sure?” Fear had inscribed itself all over her face. “Watch where you’re going, Margaret. You want me to take the wheel?”
“No—not the way you drive.” Her eyes darted back to the road.
“Thanks a lot.”
“You’re changing the subject, Mavis. I can always tell when something funny is going on, because you change the subject. I wish you wouldn’t do that.” She hunched over the steering wheel and frowned.
“Don’t be scared, Margaret. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise. If it looks dangerous, you can leave before I do anything.”
“But I don’t want you to get hurt, either.”
“Now you sound like Captain Milton.”
“But sometimes you do go off and do stupid things, Mavis. Things I would never even dream of doing.”
“Not this time. I made a promise and I’m going to do my best to keep it.”
“Well, just in case that’s not entirely true, I brought you something.” While staring straight ahead at the traffic in front of us, Margaret’s hand snaked down beneath the front seat. She pulled out a smallish flannel bag that looked remarkably familiar and handed it to me.
“My .38. Margaret, I’m so proud of you.” I squeezed her arm, careful not to distract her from driving.
“I didn’t want us going out of town without any protection,” Margaret said. “I know how you are.”
I ignored that comment as I checked to make sure it was loaded and snapped the cylinder back into place. “You’re showing a lot of initiative, kiddo. I appreciate it.” I grinned at the thought of the soul-searching Margaret must have gone through in deciding to bring my gun. It must have been a difficult decision for her. “By the way, did you bring more than the five bullets it’s loaded with?”
Margaret reached under the seat again and brought out a Ziploc sandwich bag. There must have been at least another two dozen rounds. Where did she think we were going, the Middle East?
“Just one thing, Mavis. Don’t tell Ben. If he finds out, he’ll kill us.”
“Not if Arthur Woodridge gets us first.”
“That’s not funny and you know it.” Margaret burst out laughing in spite of herself and I joined her.
We spent the remainder of the morning and part of lunchtime in Conroe. It’s an almost quaint little place, compared to Houston, with friendly and helpful deputy county clerks. Unfortunately, we didn’t find any record of anyone named Woodridge ever owning anything.
After that, we wolfed down a couple of burgers and headed east for Liberty County. The weather hadn’t gotten so hot yet that everything had dried out. Some tall yellow flowers, red and yellow firewheels, and a few bluebonnets still poked their heads up on the sides of 105, which isn’t super-highway, but isn’t exactly a back road, either. I guess it could be called the scenic route since a couple of miles of it ran through the Sam Houston National Forest.
When we cut off to go south to Liberty, it was after two. The sun hid behind the clouds. A light sprinkling of rain fell. Margaret and I had long ago learned how to be together without chatter all the time. We both thought our separate thoughts and enjoyed the countryside.
I hoped we’d find something; hoped we weren’t on a wild-goose chase or that we’d have to spend many more days searching records; hoped the police hadn’t already gotten there; and hoped I’d be able to prove myself with this case.
In Liberty, we found the Woodridge property. It was almost five by the time we had studied the county clerk’s plats and maps and purchased a map of our own. An A. Woodridge owned some kind of improved property on the Trinity River up near Moss Hill. We headed out highway ninety, north again on 146, then cut over to where we figured it was on the river. We got help reading the map from a young guy in a general store-type place.
When we found the turnoff, we drove through the brush on what wasn’t much more than a path, parked the car in a curve behind a clump of trees, and, being careful to keep behind shelter, crept through the brush until we sighted the cabin.
It appeared absolutely vacant, but then it would if he wanted to make it seem that way. No vehicle was in sight. No sign of anyone. I wasn’t quite sure at that point what to do. What if we had the wrong place? There weren’t any signs or anything that said, THIS PROPERTY IS WHERE ARTHUR WOODRIDGE IS HIDING WITH HIS CHILDREN. There were no identifying numbers like in the suburbs, painted on the curbs. There were no curbs. No metal mailbox with the name embossed on it in black paint stood on a post at the end of the path. There weren’t even any BEWARE OF DOG signs or POSTED KEEP OUT stretched over a razor-wire fence. I wondered how pissed off Captain Milton would be if he came to the wrong place?
Nevertheless, in keeping with my promise, Margaret and I drove back toward civilization until we could get a signal and called HPD. Captain Milton wasn’t there. I left a very long, convoluted description of how to find the property and promptly went back.
Coward that Margaret is, I have to give her credit. When I told her to leave and park on the main street, she refused. We left the car behind the clump of trees again and slithered back toward the cabin like a couple of snakes.
As the sun began to set, the air grew cooler. A fresh aroma of green trees, rich earth, and no air pollution filled my lungs. The cabin, which on closer inspection looked fairly new, perched only a hundred feet or so from the riverbank in a small clearing. I wondered whether the original cabin had been seriously damaged or destroyed by the hurricane that had moved inland the year before. Could Arthur have rebuilt it so quickly after he got released
Its rectangular windows faced the path leading to the front door. Unless we waited for nightfall, anyone watching would be able to see our approach.
“Margaret, why don’t you go back to the car? That way, you’re not implicated in anything and if the captain comes, you can direct him back here.”
“You’re out of your freaking mind, Mavis. I’m not leaving you alone out here. But how late are we going to stay? I did have a date tonight.
“Hopefully not too long, but you could go back near the highway and call him and tell him you might be late.”
“I’m not leaving you,” she said again.
I smiled my appreciation. We circled around, staying in the cover of the trees and brush as much as possible. Unfortunately, there were windows on every side. When we reached the edge of the clearing nearest the back door, we saw a short clothesline with laundry hanging on it. Farther back, closer to the river, grew a vegetable patch. Rows of plants, all about two inches high, were clearly set out and obviously carefully cultivated. I could see from the debris still clinging to many of the trees that the hurricane had brought high water well past the clearing where the cabin sat.
“I don’t see how someone who has a vegetable garden could be a murderer,” Margaret whispered, looking at me. “Do you?”
I clasped her forearm to steady my footing between the large tree roots and brush in which we stood. “Nevertheless, Margaret, it appears that it’s at least a possibility.” I, too, whispered. The environment seemed to call for it.
“Sure seems quiet around here,” she said. “Spooky, almost.”
“Yeah, I noticed that. The birds don’t even seem to sing.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “No crickets, no birds, not even a breeze, though I’m getting cold, Mavis.”
“I wonder if they know we’re here,” I said. We had been down on our haunches. I shifted back on the ground until I was sitting cross-legged under a tree with low-hanging branches. I could see the cabin through the tall weeds, but hoped the occupants, if any, couldn’t see us.
Margaret crawled over beside me and sat on some brush and pine needles. “You know what
this reminds me of?” She was talking softly, her eyes glued to the cabin as were mine.
“What?”
“In the movies where the Indians would hide from the settlers and catch them when they were off-guard.”
“Right.”
“Or when other settlers would go searching for survivors of Indian raids. You know how sometimes the Indians would hide in the cabins after they attacked the settlers and then attack the next group that came along?”
“No, tell me. Did they do that?”
“I don’t know, but it seems like I saw it in a movie.” She glanced at me, subdued, innocent, and then back at the cabin. “I remember an old Gary Cooper movie where he and this lady he loved—that he’d saved from the Indians—found this cabin with no one in it. There was food still there and all—like the people had left in a hurry. It was creepy. The dog was still there, I think, and eventually he led Gary Cooper and the lady to the bodies of the settlers. Yuck.”
“Don’t get carried away, Margaret.”
“I was just thinking about it, that’s all.”
“You sound like Candy. She got you watching that old stuff?”
“Yeah,” she said and smiled, “most of it’s pretty good, too. You ought to watch some of them, Mavis.”
The Sweet Scent of Murder Page 12
