“Yes, I had an affair forty some years ago, and she’s my daughter.” He shakily pointed to the dead woman. “My wife will leave me if she finds out.”
I found myself patting Roy on the back and said, “One of the reasons you two kept it quiet, eh, Roy?”
He rubbed his eyes with his meaty hands. “She moved here ten years ago. She had left her husband, and claimed he had tried to have her killed. I never knew if it was true or not.”
“Jennifer Martin is Stella's daughter,” I added.
Trooper Sales looked down at the victim. “I knew her, but she didn’t go by the name of Stella. I knew her as Hannah O'Hara.”
I saw by the look in his eyes that he knew her well. I exhaled sharply, and it made my chest throb. I couldn’t think straight. I felt the hot, stale air that smelled of death. I wondered if her killer could still be lurking in the woods, watching and waiting.
Roy, choking back tears, stuttered, “S-She took t-to hiding out here w-when the goons came to town looking for her.”
“Did she tell you who they could be?” Trooper Sales asked.
“She had no idea. After her daughter went missing, she kind of went loco.”
“Understandable,” I assured Roy.
“S-She started calling people, the ones from her past who all thought her long dead till recent ... and now ... now she's been killed!”
“Take it easy, Roy.” I held firm to his arm. He looked as if he might keel over with a heart attack, but leaning now against the stoop, he went on. “I wish she hadn’t done that – called people about Jen. It’s the worst thing she could've done.”
“I'm sure she just wanted to find her daughter,” I added for him.
He looked deep into my eyes and tightening his grip on me, said, “Stella, she was a good mom. She didn’t have a choice but to leave Jennifer behind. Her husband is a powerful man with plenty of connections, and she didn’t stand a chance.”
“I don’t see William doing anything like this,” Andrew quickly put in. “He only wanted to find his daughter. That’s the only reason he's come here, and it's consumed him since she went missing.”
“Really? I didn’t see that,” I countered. “I mean the man became enraged just because I asked him about his marriage, about Stella here, and now she's dead!”
Andrew fixed me with a glare. “I tell you, this has been hard on him. His nerves, his judgment ... it's all off; he's not himself.”
“Or he's showing his true colors!” My emotions got the better of me. “Look, when my granddaughter went missing last year just like Jen now, I would have done anything to find her, anything, and you know what I got? Nothing. They could have asked me anything!”
Andrew tore his gaze from me. I knew he was angry that I still blamed William for any part of this, but who else did we have to suspect?
“I think you all need to go home now, and let us do our job,” Trooper Sales sternly suggested.
Roy staggered back to the car as Eleanor, Andrew, and I followed. I glanced back at the knotty pine cabin, a mere shadow amongst the crime scene that would now put this sleepy community on edge, and change it forever.
I knew one thing: the Robinson’s cold case had to be reopened because this felt too similar. Mrs. Robinson was raped and murdered, as was her family, killed in the end by a madman wielding a claw hammer.
I had no idea who the goons were or who they worked for. I did not know if they had done this, or if they hadn't killed Stella. I did not know if the crime scene was staged in copycat fashion or not, staged to throw police off the trail of the missing person's case, but common sense and what my eyes had witnessed at the scene, told me one thing was for certain: Whoever had killed Stella, he, she, or they, knew about the Robinson murders in detail.
We traveled back to Eleanor’s house in silence. I knew after our heated debate of earlier that I might never see Andrew again, and that saddened me, but in a way, I knew maybe that’s the way it should be.
Andrew pulled into Eleanor’s drive, and we all exited the vehicle, Andrew too. We walked through the darkened house and onto the deck. We watched the sun sink lower in the sky painted in blood orange streaks that seemed to reach to infinity.
Eleanor brought beers out for everyone, and we all drank.
“I’m sorry that you think me wrong for defending my friend,” Andrew said, breaking an awkward silence between us, “but it could be the lawyer in me that says he’s innocent until proven guilty, and in my experience, appearance is often not reality.”
“I’m not sure if William or the goons did this,” I said, raising my beer to his and tapping out a truce. “But I do know this – Stella was killed just like Mrs. Robinson's in 1968.”
“They never found their killer?”
“Nope.”
“Did they have a suspect list?”
“I’m not sure, but we need to find out. I plan on getting those files and looking them over. I think they could have missed something. I had always felt the person responsible is still in the Tadium area, possibly closer than we know, and with all the missing women in the area – I’m certain of it. I hate to think this person killed my granddaughter, but I must be open-minded.”
“I’m sorry about that, Agnes, and I hope somehow or some way you are able to find her.”
I nodded. “Me too, but as time goes by, I realize it's highly unlikely.”
Eleanor gasped. “Don’t you dare think that.”
“Eleanor, I need to be realistic. I can’t keep holding out hope for something that’ll never happen. Besides, now we have another young woman in danger; I just feel it, so I need to focus on the case at hand.”
“You always held out hope for me. Most people would have let me rot in a nursing home, but not you. I don’t want to hear any more talk about you giving up, you hear?” Eleanor tried to reassure me.
I drank my beer, but I didn’t enjoy it, because I hated beer. I always did, and why I was drinking it was beyond me. I wanted to dull my senses enough to get the image of my granddaughter, dead somewhere out there, out of my head.
We kept drinking until the sun disappeared behind the blue lake, which under the cover of darkness turned the color of purple below a sky that finished off with softer shades of orange, pink and gray.
After this, we began mixing drinks as Eleanor trotted out wine, vodka, gin. I so wanted to forget the images this day had left in my head that I failed to heed my better judgment on this and instead followed Eleanor.
Chapter Eighteen
I slept like the dead. I felt the bed beneath me, and knew it as mine. Still, I opened my eyes with a shock.
How did I get home, and what is that hard mass behind me, well part of it anyway? It felt warm and naked! I jerked around and found Andrew’s amused face. His lips curved into a smile, and I felt my nakedness in that instant.
“What in the hell happened?”
“I think we made love,” he calmly stated. “Don't tell me you don't remember?”
I wasn't about to respond.
That can’t be. The last thing I recall is... oh my, it can’t be, but I think he’s right.
I felt enraged, how dare he!
After all, I'd been intoxicated and didn't know what I was doing and oh, God, at last? I hated the thought and yet, I felt a tremor ripple through my body. Why I certainly never thought Andrew and I would ever really do – that.
I sat up, pulling most of the blankets with me, exposing more of him than I cared to remember, but I did recall... every detail. God help me. I hated to think that I enjoyed it, but it wasn’t my fault. I was drunk. I think that gives a person a pass. You can’t be responsible if you’re drunk. At least that’s what I’ve always told myself.
I stood and instead of a dignified retreat – I fell face forward. The only thing that saved me from harm was the blanket. I landed with my legs splayed apart. I slid my body to a sitting position, and I couldn’t face him, not yet. He roared in laughter, causing me to feel flushed and hot a
ll at the same time.
“Agnes, are you okay?” Andrew asked. He sounded concerned but was he really?
I felt angry and turned my head, staring into his bemused face. “I’ll be fine when you leave.”
“Leave? So you’re going to have your way with me and just throw me out like used goods.” He laughed more.
I continued to hold the blanket against my skin as I stood, but it slid to the floor. I felt the cold air blast my bare skin, and I felt ashamed for feeling so turned on, like some kind of schoolgirl. I’m seventy-two. Women my age shouldn’t be feeling like this, but looking at his amused face, I saw that he felt it too.
I spun only to turn the other cheek, so to speak, and then I walked with as much grace as I could muster away and into the bathroom. I barely made it there before my bladder exploded. Have they invented Depends for lovers? I don’t wear them usually, but I felt as if I could use a pair, because I was wet in places that I had not been in years.
Perhaps tomorrow I will find the humor in the situation, but not today. I relieved myself in a way I hadn’t ever before, and I’m not just talking about peeing.
I stood and ran the shower until it was hot, but what I really needed was a cold shower. Jumping in, I enjoyed the feeling of the hot spray, but I felt cold suddenly, and noticed Andrew had crawled into the shower with me.
“Get out of this shower now!” I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander down, and that brought a smile to Andrew’s lips.
“Not happening? Let me wash your back.”
He motioned for me to turn around, which I did only because I couldn’t think straight. My mind jumbled and for once words failed me.
He loaded soap on the loofa sponge and rubbed my back.
I hated to admit it, but it felt terrific. It had been years since a man had put his hands on me, and I hated to admit how much I missed that. Not the sexual stuff, but the simple gestures like someone holding my hand or giving me a hug – or this.
After Tom had died, I shut myself off from men except for a few brief encounters. One of them was Dr. Maxwell Nobel. He was a bit older than I was, but I was taken aback by his voice. He sounded just like Jimmy Stewart, cute, quivering stutter and all.
I turned and rinsed, moving out of the shower as the water felt lukewarm now.
Andrew immediately complained in complimentary fashion with, “Hey, it’s all cold in here without you.”
“It's even colder out here... without you,” I countered and waited a few minutes for his reaction, thinking: Agnes, this should be good.
He yanked his soapy head from behind the shower curtain. “Yikes, it’s freezing.”
“You better just suck it up! It’s only going to get colder.” I wasn't sure if I meant the water or me.
I dried off and wiggled into my clothes before he stepped out. I decided to wear tan pants and a white button up shirt because I planned to go to the state police post among other places.
I brushed my hair when I saw him step out of the shower. I felt safer now that he was shriveled down to size. It’s not the best look for any man.
A hissing Duchess ran forward and pawed Andrew, scratching his ankle.
“Jesus.” Andrew jumped back. “What in the hell is that, a cougar?”
I laughed. “She thinks she is. I think she’s an assassin. She’s Russian.”
“I sure wish I had clean clothes to wear,” he whined.
“I can wash your clothes. I think I have something that you can put on.”
“That'd be great.” He wrapped a towel around his waist and followed me into the bedroom.
I smiled and pulled out my frilliest pink bathrobe. “It's chenille and has plenty of ruffles too, and it's perfect for you!”
“You got to be kidding?” He cocked his head to the side. “You have to have something else.”
“Sorry, that’s all I have.”
I scooped his clothes up and walked to the door. I swung around for one glance in his direction as he stood contemplating himself wrapped in my robe there at the mirror. Seeing how amused I was, he quickly turned from the mirror and instead moved to where I stood instead.
“You better hurry, Andrew. House rule: my guest makes breakfast.”
His eyes narrowed, but he walked into the kitchen while I detoured into the laundry room and started the washer. When I glided into the kitchen, I made coffee and saw him making himself at home by rummaging through the refrigerator.
He wiggled his butt, and I grinned. I was enjoying this too much. He stood and had an armful of bacon, eggs, and butter. He set them down on the counter, and he looked through my knotty pine cupboards. He seemed to find what he needed without any prompting from me.
“Coffee?” I asked.
“Yes, please.”
I pulled two cups out and poured, asking, “Cream or sugar?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I think you know the way I like it.”
“I should, I sure had enough cups ready and waiting for you when you came to the office all those years ago.”
“Why did you do that?”
I froze, he really didn’t know. I felt my heart drop a little that I had gone that unnoticed. I retrieved the creamer and nestled it in my hands, thinking about pouring it on his head.
I shrugged, fiddled with the creamer a bit more, poured some additional in my cup, and handed his cup to him. I felt the tears burning in the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them escape. My brain screamed: If he's clueless, then he doesn’t deserve to know.
I opened the curtains, and Duchess nearly broke a leg dashing into the window. Her head low, she softly meowed, followed by a series of noises that only she understood. But it didn't sound like an apology to Andrew.
“Oh my God,” Andrew said.
I turned and saw a mouse scurrying across the living room floor.
“Some cat.”
“She brought that one in the last time you were here.”
He turned to Duchess. “Hey, you, cat! Get the mouse, cat.” He pointed to the mouse, but Duchess only turned her lazy head and looked at it with a stone face. Not interested. She snapped her head back to the window, nearly diving through the screen. Perched outside was one of the fattest, juiciest mourning doves yet. The dove turned its head as if to say, “You know you can’t get me, you stupid cat.”
I had to pull Duchess from the screen, which was hard because she'd dug her claws deep. Andrew helped me remove her one claw at a time, and she hissed at him again. I shut the window and Duchess dove for it, smacking her face into the glass.
Andrew clucked his tongue. “Not very bright, is she?”
“You better watch out or she’s going to get her revenge on you.”
I looked over at the frying pan, “Make my eggs over hard, but don’t let them get crispy,” I ordered as if in a restaurant.
He rolled his eyes, but I walked off to place his clothes in the dryer. When I returned, I relaxed, sitting at the table.
A few minutes later, he brought two plates to the table.
“You need to start eating healthy,” he said.
“I do, it’s a perfect mix of protein with more protein, and no carbs.”
“Eating like that will land you in the hospital. That’s what Dr. Atkins, died from, a heart attack.”
“I’ll have you know that my blood pressure and cholesterol levels are fine.”
“That’s what a friend of mine thought when she had her heart attack last year.” He shoved a mouthful of bacon in his mouth.
“I have heard of that happening.”
“Have ya, now?”
“I wasn't being flip, Andrew. I had a friend who ended up making several trips to the ER before they found she had a heart problem. She ended up with a quadruple bypass.”
“Oh, I am sorry to hear it,” he said after swallowing a mouthful of coffee.
“Thank you. Anita, she acted as if the world had ended, and maybe it does feel that way when you have major surgery. I hope that doesn’t happe
n to me. I have been lucky, and have had no major health problems.”
I forked my breakfast into my mouth. I wondered what Andrew had done to make the eggs taste so good. I rolled my eyes toward the clock and saw it was almost ten. I needed to get moving and soon, but I first must tend to my plants.
“There’s another rule around here. If you cook, you don’t have to do the dishes.”
He smiled like a kid that loved the sound of getting out of distasteful chores. “Sounds good to me, but don’t you have a dishwasher?”
“Oh that thing, I don’t use it much.” I yawned, “I never have that many dishes.”
I took the plates from the table and washed the dishes. I wiped my hands and turned and saw Andrew was now dressed.
I stood there, uncertain what to say.
“I have to get going pretty soon,” he said.
“Great, I mean, me too. First I need to water my plants though.”
I busied myself watering my plants indoors, and ran outside to water the garden.
I turned to see Andrew standing behind me. “What are your plans today?” he asked.
“I’m going to ask about the Robinson’s files, and after that I plan to question William. I’m counting on you to have him ready to answer some questions.”
He scratched his head with a disgruntled expression. “You are?”
“Sure, I’m sure you knew eventually that I’d ask him more questions.”
His face looked tense as if he was angry. “I suppose you have to do what you think best, Aggie.”
“Yes, and it’s nothing personal. I don’t even hold a grudge against him considering our last encounter.”
“I don’t know why he did that.” He rubbed his neck. “It’s the sort of thing that will land you in trouble. Treat the man with the same respect you would any man that has a daughter missing. That’s all I ask.”
“I’ll try my best. I did try to be civil to the man, but he went all gaga when I asked him a simple question.”
He placed a hand on my arm, gently turned me from my hosing down the garden, and looked me in the eye. “Remember, you are not the law.”
I blew out a breath. “I know.”
Armed and Outrageous (An Agnes Barton Mystery) Page 12
