Rachel knew it was useless to argue with me when I got like this. She sat back in her seat and watched the road for Craig or Scott’s vehicles. When we arrived at the school, Scott’s van sat in the front parking lot. For a Saturday, the parking lots were busy, but with the reunion and graduation weekend, it was not a surprise. Driving through the lots, we didn’t see Craig’s blue Beemer anywhere.
I double-parked the SUV in front of the school offices and ran inside. An air of excitement rushed down the hallways as non-stop chatter filled the building. People walked down the hallways with boxes of decorations. Two young guys pushed a big rack stacked with folding chairs into the cafeteria. A well-tanned blonde with striking blue eyes walked past with a clipboard, stopped, and looked directly at me.
“Jamie, is that you? Jamie Waymire? Wow, you look good, girl. Breathing that fresh Montana air must keep you young.”
It took me a second to recognize the 1982 class president, Lisa Ivy. Giving her a quick hug, I said, “Lisa, so good to see you. It looks like you’re busy so I won’t keep you. I need to talk to the principal before tonight, but we’ll chat later.”
Lisa would not be deterred. “It’s Lisa Blevins now. I married James after college. Can you believe it? I’m a preacher’s wife too. I just can’t wait to tell you about it. My life and all the changes I made since high school. God is just tooo good.”
If I hadn’t been on a mission, I would have found this discussion more than interesting. Lisa was from one of the wealthy families in Anderson and had all the clothes, cars, and friends money could buy. She was not noted for a moral lifestyle in high school, and her path rarely crossed mine. “I really am sorry, Lisa, but I have to go. I’ll talk to you tonight.” I gave Lisa a quick hug and stepped into the office.
“Can you tell me where I can find Principal Haskell?” I directed the question toward the forty-something woman wearing a bright-green, button-down shirt. She looked to be in charge.
The secretary looked up from the computer. “Sorry, you missed him. He left some time ago. Maybe I can help you. What do you need?”
“Actually, I just need Craig.” I hoped the use of his first name would suggest to the secretary we were more than friends. “We were supposed to meet later, and I’m not going to make it. I really need to let him know what’s going on.” Lying, I realized, wasn’t hard at all once a person got started.
Green-shirt wasn’t fooled. “Mr. Haskell asked that he not be disturbed. He didn’t mention anything to me about meeting you this afternoon. Now if you don’t need anything I can help you with, you need to move along.” Authority rang in her voice, tinged with superiority.
I gave it one last effort. “This could be a matter of life-and-death. Please just tell me where he is. I need to talk to him.”
“From meeting with you to life and death. Wow. How do you ever keep it all straight? I’d be happy to call security if you’ve forgotten where the door is.” Her icy words bit into the air.
“Please, ma’am, I’m sorry to make you angry, but I’m worried about a friend of mine. Craig might have seen him.” Again I lied.
“For the last time, I am not to disturb him. He’s fishing with a friend, and he’ll be back in time for all the festivities tonight. You can reach him then if it’s important. Now I have lots of loose ends to tie up before I go home.” Green-shirt turned back to the computer, clearly ending the conversation.
Fear clutched my heart, and I walked outside. I would never forgive myself if I’d put Scott in harm’s way, being so insistent that the murderer was House. I trotted over to Rachel waiting in the SUV.
“I’m going to put a note on Scott’s van telling him to call us. Then we need to figure out what to do next.”
“I already know what to do next,” Rachel said. “Hurry up. We have places to go and people to see.”
I taped the note on the driver’s side window of the van, jumped in the shotgun seat, and asked, “So where to? What about Scott?”
“What about Scott? We don’t even know if he’s in trouble.”
“If something happens to him . . .”
“We need to do what we can do. Finding him now is not one of those things.”
“I guess you’re right,” I said.
“We need to find out if Craig had a sister, where she is, and if she knows Craig. Maybe she can explain what’s going on. We also need to find out more about Cynthia Gilmore, or Volvo lady as you call her. She has something to do with all this, or at least she knows something important. I need to get back to the computer and do some more research.”
“How much more can you do on the computer?”
“For starters, I’ll pull up Craig’s driver’s license with my access to DMV records and find out his birth date. Then I’ll use that info for a search to determine how many Craigs were born in Indiana. Then I’ll use their last names to see how many death certificates were issued four years later. I might find something.
“From there I’ll search local newspapers for articles about the accidents. I might be able to pin down which social-service agency took care of him, or even which adoption agency he went to. For Cynthia, I have to do more checking on her social security number. Something is running around in the back of my mind that I need to check out.”
“I’ll drop you off at the motel then,” I said. “I need to check out Tim’s house again, and then I’ll pop over to Craig’s. Maybe Scott is over there. I have to do something, and I don’t know the first place to look for them fishing.” I hesitated for a minute. “Will you be all right in the motel room by yourself?”
“You mean am I going to get drunk? You can say the words. It won’t hurt my feelings. I’ll be fine. Seeing my parents, seeing my dad like that, it was a shock, but freeing somehow. I can make it through the day, maybe the week. I don’t know. I’m not saying I’m quitting, but right now I’m okay. You do what you need to do. I need a little cyber time anyway.” Rachel reached over and laid her hand on my shoulder and gave it a little pat.
After dropping off Rachel at the motel, I drove to Tim’s place. I didn’t have a key, but I decided to walk around the house, looking in windows, checking to see if anything looked disturbed. The yellow, crime-scene tape was gone, and the place looked deserted.
Rounding the southeast corner of the house, my face exploded in pain. I fell to the ground, stars spinning in front of my watery eyes. I felt a vicious kick in my stomach, and a male voice snarled, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of Anderson today. If you’re still butting into other people’s private lives tomorrow, you won’t have any more tomorrows to worry about.”
My mind cleared just long enough to grab his nearest pant leg. Twisting my head into position, I sunk my teeth into the pants, sock, leg, and all. I heard a scream and bit harder. A hand reached down and grabbed a handful of hair and slammed my head on the ground. I felt my teeth loosen before the world blacked out.
I woke later to someone vigorously rubbing a wet cloth across my face. It wasn’t cool, gentle, or soft. Whoever it was, they were in a big hurry for me to wake up. I heard a faraway voice echo. “Roger, Roger. Stop that. Come over here.”
I opened my eyes to see a large, black lab eagerly licking my face. “Roger?”
A wave of dizziness swept over me when I tried to sit up. I fell back, which Roger took as an invitation to give me a big, wet, sloppy kiss. Yuck. I pushed Roger’s head away and tried again. This time I made it to an upright position. Fighting nausea, I pulled my shirt up and wiped dog slobber from my face.
“What happened?” I looked up at Martha.
“I don’t really know, dear. Roger started barking, and by the time I got myself turned around to see what was happening, I saw a man running away—kind of gimpy like. Roger got loose and ran over to you, and I’ve been trying to get him off you ever since.”
“Do you remember what the man looked like?”
“Like I said, I only saw him briefly, but I didn’t notice much.”
“Any distinctive features?” Please, please God, let her remember something.
“Well, like I said he ran kind of funny like. Almost dragging one leg, but as he picked up speed the leg was doing better. He puts me in mind of that guy who stands behind the President when he makes speeches. Of course, this guy was shorter and not as handsome, but he had the same color hair, same color eyes, and the same square jaw.”
Phillip House? Out loud I asked, “Did you see what he was driving?”
“Oh my, no. By that time, I was trying to get Roger off you. He’s so like my nephew—always trying to save the world. That’s my Roger. I sure named him right. They say you always live up to the name you’re given. It just goes to show you they’re right. Now my Momma gave me the name Martha. Now how do you live up to a name like Martha? There’s no way I can be like the first First Lady, so I wonder what am I supposed to be like? Course, if she would have named me Elizabeth, I would have had to be like the queen, and I think that’s rather snobbish, don’t you? Yes, I think all in all Martha is better. Solid, honest, dependable, not running around with silly hats on my head even if they do match all my clothes.”
My scrambled brain struggled to focus, and Martha’s talking was making it more difficult. “Martha?” I put the question out there hoping to deter further name conversation. It was a mistake.
“Martha Sue Baker. Well, that was my given name—Baker. I’m pretty good at baking. Brownies are my specialty . . . well, any kind of cakes really. Of course, when I married Stanley, I became a Moss, but I still bake really well. And how do you become a Moss? It’s not like you can grow on trees.” Martha laughed at her joke.
I tried to stand, and after the second attempt, I finally made it. I still felt nauseated, but I needed to get away so I could think. How long had I been out? Were Phillip House and Craig Haskell working together? I still needed to find out where Scott was. Maybe I should report the assault to the police and tell them my suspicions. Oh, David, where are you? I need you so much.
“Stanley, though, he did grow on a person. When I first met him I didn’t really like him, but the more time I spent around him the more I liked him. Of course, that was back in ’45 when guys were scarce with the war and all. One couldn’t be too choosy if they wanted to get married. And I did. Wanted to get married I mean. Anyway, Stanley Moss lived up to his name, and we got married.”
I butted in. “I’m sorry, Martha. I really need to go. I appreciate Roger coming to my rescue, but I need to report this to the police.”
“Goodness, you’re going to have one heck of a shiner. Want some ice?”
“No, thanks. I gotta go.”
“Oh sure, no problem. I want to get Roger some water anyway. It sure is a warm one.” Martha looked up at the sky in an accusatory glare. “Well, come on, Roger. Let’s go.”
If Roger was thirsty he clearly didn’t let on. He sniffed around the ground, ignoring Martha’s voice. Suddenly, he let out a sharp bark, his nose pushing at something.
I looked down to see him poking a man’s handkerchief around. “Hey thanks, Roger. That might help.”
Bending down, I patted Roger’s head, grabbed the wrinkled linen, and stuffed it in my pocket. I walked away to the sound of Martha telling Roger more about names and characteristics and who did or didn’t live up to what they said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
January 12, 2002
The idea of injecting the anthrax spores directly into the steak was genius, pure genius. It didn’t come without risk, of course, but on the whole it was the best plan to ensure innocent bystanders didn’t get hurt. That had happened before, and it was no good. No good at all. Not that the bystanders got hurt, but that the real culprits got away scot-free.
The difficulty came in designing a scheme to get the doctor to a cookout. After only two weeks of surveillance, the answer presented itself. As it turned out, Glenn Rice had one flaw—hopefully a fatal one. He liked women, a lot, and not just his wife. The good doctor was not a man to let the Seventh Commandment get in his way. Always sucking in his gut and pretending to be a stud around women half his age. So childish. So pathetic, but oh so convenient.
It only took two appointments filled with stories of overwhelming grief to be considered a legitimate client and an acquaintance. Accidentally bumping into Rice at a grocery store, followed by an apologetic invitation to a barbecue using the old I-must-bring-my-twenty-five-year-old-sisterbecause-she’s-lonely gambit—was perfect bait. The doctor swallowed hook, line, and sinker. Evidently, overactive libidos overrode professional ethics and the psychiatric code of conduct. Finding a good-looking young woman willing to play the part of a forlorn sister was a piece of cake. A quick call to an escort service and paying the two-thousand-dollar fee solved that problem. A bargain at twice the price. It was almost too easy.
Luckily, it had been the warmest January on record, and parks were filled with Frisbee enthusiasts, young children, and frazzled parents thankful for the seventy-five-degree weather. The Fort Harrison State Park was not especially pretty at this time of the year. The massive hardwoods stood naked and stark. But it was just the place for the two lovebirds to get acquainted while the steaks cooked. It didn’t take long before Rice was tripping all over himself to appear young, engaging, and sexy. Pseudo-sister turned on the charmed, giggly, and appreciative act. They strolled over to a short hiking path, promising to be back by the time the steaks were done. There was ample time to lace the beef with an abundance of the lethal anthrax.
A quick stop at County Market had supplied potato salad, baked beans, and fruit to complement the meal. The other half of the cooler contained chilled beer. The grilled steaks looked delicious. All was as it should be. It was pure joy watching Dr. Rice eat with such gusto. He complimented the meal several times between drinks and bites. The “kid sister” joined in the praise. How very refined. Not that the doctor would feel refined in a few days. By then he would be showing initial signs of nausea, loss of appetite, vomiting, and fever. Later other symptoms would develop—abdominal pain, vomiting of blood, and severe diarrhea. Given the time delay of symptoms, Dr. Rice would never connect the steak to his illness. It was hard not to smile.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Once I got in the SUV, I sat for a moment. The last thing I remembered before Roger’s slobbers was zipping around the corner of Tim’s house. I couldn’t remember any vehicle following me, but I hadn’t paid attention. If it was Phillip House, what did it mean? What was he doing at Tim’s place? Had he followed me? Was there a connection between House, Haskell, and Gilmore? I couldn’t wait to get back to the motel and have Rachel cross-reference the three names and see if there were any hits.
I realized I was jumping to conclusions by deciding that Martha’s description of the man she saw running was Phillip House just because he “sort of looked like the guy that stood behind the president during speeches.” Still, it was better than nothing. I pulled the wrinkled, stained hankie out of my pocket and stretched it out. In the bottom right-hand corner were the initials PHH. Now my conclusion-jumping didn’t seem so ludicrous.
I looked in the rearview mirror at my face and noticed my eye was already turning bluish-black. Whatever hit me had split the skin on my left eyebrow. Roger must have licked most of the blood off, but I was still bleeding a little. Before starting the engine, I grabbed a Kleenex from the glove box, spit on it, and wiped off the blood Roger missed. I applied a little pressure with the tissue against my eyebrow.
“You haven’t seen your class for thirty years, and now you’re gonna look like a puffy, lopsided raccoon. Jamie, Jamie, Jamie.”
Shaking my head at the image that looked back from the mirror, I put the car in gear. With a quick readjustment of the mirror, I started the drive back to the motel. Less than a week ago I was baking apple pies, and now my head was bleeding from a vicious attack. I had poked someone hard—possibly the Speaker of the House—and I was trying to solve a murder case.
&nb
sp; Unbelievable though it was, emotions surged through me I hadn’t felt in a long time. Excitement, energy, fear, and something else I couldn’t quite label. What I didn’t feel was boredom. I don’t remember when boredom had slithered into my life, snaking its way into every waking moment, but it had.
My life had become a jumble of David’s dreams, the children’s needs, and church people’s troubles. My dreams, needs, and emotions had long been forgotten in the consuming need to take care of those I loved. The consuming need that I assumed was God’s will for my life. Was I mistaken? Could God want me to have those things and something else too? Could it be okay to have a passion for something besides husband, home, children, and church family? The questions flooded my mind so fast it surprised me. I needed to put them aside until later. I had a murder to solve and a friend to save. I couldn’t help Tim, but maybe I could help Scott.
Everything led back to Craig. Every death could be related to him in some way. It reminded me of the theory of six degrees of separation. I wondered why I didn’t have some sense when I met him that he was not all he seemed to be. Normally, I accurately sized up a person in the first ten minutes of meeting them. David called it the gift of discernment. On rare occasions I did change my mind after a first meeting, but it was not the norm. I knew that more often than not my perceptions of people proved right. Now when it really counted, I was wrong, dead wrong, and I prayed Scott would not pay for my mistake.
I thought again of calling the police. I think Scott is in grave danger. He went fishing with the principal of Highland High School. Yeah, that would work. I imagined the skeptical looks as I tried to explain about the deaths surrounding Craig: his adopted parents died in a car crash on the way to his graduation, his fiancée died here in Anderson by blunt force trauma to the head, his wife died of Hantavirus, his best friend was shot in the back of the head, his psychiatrist was poisoned with anthrax, and now Scott is with him.
Dry Bones Page 16
