The Perfect Coed (Oak Grove Mysteries Book 1)

by Judy Alter

  “I can do without them,” Brandy said. Somehow she was losing her resolve. Kenny looked a little fuzzy, and the room had begun to swim before her eyes.

  He reached across the table and took her hand. “Now, sweetheart, you know I only have your best interests in mind. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. Any of those airline pilots I fix you up with get out of line, I’ll have their hides.”

  The last thing Brandy Perkins remembered was Kenny Thomas leaning across the table and kissing her, hard, on the mouth.

  Chapter Fourteen

  By Sunday morning, Brandy still hadn’t called, and Ellen called Susan to say Vicky was worried. Vicky, desperate when she was about to be dismissed from the hospital, called the only person she could think of—Dr. Peck, whose class she’d liked so much. Only then did she find out that Dr. Peck was just out of the hospital too and recovering at home. Ellen, knowing she needed help at home, suggested Vicki stay with her a couple of nights. So Vicki was staying with Ellen, partly to help the injured teacher and partly because she was embarrassed to go back to the dorm, though she knew she’d have to some time.

  “Is it unusual for Brandy to disappear for this long?” Susan asked.

  “Apparently so. Vicky’s called everyone, asking who last saw here. Nobody remembers seeing Brandy lately, but nobody has missed her either—she had no roommate to keep track of her comings and goings. Since we didn’t hold class Friday, we don’t know if she was there or not.”

  “Bring Vicki over here,” Susan said, “and I’ll call Jake.”

  “Susan,” Ellen was being her most patient self, “I have no car. I can’t bring her anyplace. And her car is on campus.”

  “I’ll have Jake come get you,” Susan said, sure that he would agree no matter their personal differences.

  Susan decided she would tell Aunt Jenny as little as possible, just that this girl was scared and that Missy Jackson’s roommate was missing.

  “Eric doesn’t know anything about that,” Aunt Jenny said.

  Startled, Susan said, “How do you know?” And then she knew the answer would be just what it was.

  “I just know.”

  Jake was less distant than the night before when Susan told him why she was calling. “Is Vicky willing to talk? She might know enough to help us.”

  “I think she’s willing. From what Ellen says she’s still fragile emotionally but she’s really worried about Brandy. She seems to think Brandy is her one true friend and that she tried to help her.”

  As usual, Aunt Jenny enveloped Vicky in a hug when she, Ellen, and Jake arrived. “Child, are you hungry?”

  “No, ma’am, thank you. Dr. Peck, she’s been feeding me.”

  “Yeah,” Ellen said, “a piece of toast and a Coke for breakfast.”

  “Oh, my,” Aunt Jenny said. “Let me scramble you an egg quick before I have to go to church. I have a chicken roasting—well, actually I did two chickens, so there will be plenty, and I’ll make John… er, the Judge… come back here for Sunday dinner. No Luby’s today.”

  “Judge?” Vicky repeated in alarm.

  “He’s a good friend,” Susan said, putting her arm around the girl. “He’s defending me every time they ask about Missy’s murder.”

  Vicky stared at her in alarm. “Missy! And you’re the one everyone thinks killed her.” She drew back a little.

  “Not everyone,” Aunt Jenny clucked. “We know better.”

  “Kenny did it,” Vicky said. “He threatened me, and he scared me so bad.”

  Jake listened intently to everything the girl said.

  As Aunt Jenny gathered herself together to leave for church, she said, “Jake, I left dirty dishes in the sink and chickens in the oven. Will you take over the kitchen? The judge and I will be back right after church. And, young man, don’t you stay away from us so long again.”

  Jake could do nothing but laugh and say, “Yes, ma’am.”

  He was gentle with Vicky, pulling out details about the evening at The City Restaurant that they hadn’t heard before, about airline pilots and a steak-and-lobster dinner. With a flush and a hasty look at the two teachers, Vicky confessed her failure to satisfy her date and said he was pretty cool, paid her, and told her not to try that again. “Kenny will beat me if I ever see him again,” she said.

  Ellen gave the girl a gentle hug, all the while protecting her own sore chest. “You won’t ever have to see him again, will she, Jake?”

  Jake wished she wouldn’t make promises he wasn’t sure he could keep, but he’d do his darndest to protect this child. “Now what about Brandy? Are you sure she’s missing?”

  Vicky began to cry, her sobs punctuated by hiccups. “No one’s seen her since Thursday. I’m pretty sure Kenny did something to her… and… and I keep thinking about Missy.”

  “I’ll get right on it,” Jake said. “If she’s really been gone that long, Jordan needs to know.”

  He strode out to the deck, pulling out his phone, and was gone for maybe five minutes. When he came back, he said, “Jordan will put out a missing persons report and get the school to notify her family after they verify she hasn’t been seen.” He turned quickly to Vicky, “Not that I don’t think you’re right, but they have to deal with official sources. I’ve also called my office and asked them to look into it.” Without another word, he turned toward the kitchen.

  When Aunt Jenny and the judge arrived, the table was set for six, salad was made, dishes were in the dishwasher, and roast chicken and potatoes were coming out of the oven.

  While the judge asked, “Are we having a party?” Jake said, “You want to make the gravy, Aunt Jenny? It’s not one of my skills.”

  She threw off the shawl she’d worn to church, flinging it onto the living room couch as she passed by, and donned an apron. Then she mixed cold water and flour in a small Mason jar and began to shake vigorously.

  Judge Jackson came forward. “Can I do that for you?”

  “Oh, my, no thanks. I’m used to it, and I know just when I’ve got the consistency I want.” Then she turned to Jake, “If you’d move these chickens to the carving board…”

  He did so quickly, and then they all watched as she skimmed grease off the pan drippings, slowly poured in the flour-and-water mixture, stirring over low heat all the while, added salt, pepper and a bit of something called Kitchen Bouquet.

  “What’s that?” Jake asked, peering over her shoulder.

  “Gives it a bit of color and maybe a tad more flavor,” she explained.

  Judge Jackson smelled the bottle and said, “Anchovies?”

  “Go on with you. There will be no anchovies in my gravy.”

  Vicky watched all this as though they had taken leave of their senses and totally forgotten about Brandy, which she couldn’t do for one minute.

  At last Sunday dinner was on the table—chicken, gravy, potatoes, and salad. As they ate, the others filled Aunt Jenny and the Judge in on the story of Brandy Perkins.

  “Eric Lindler has nothing to do with this,” Aunt Jenny said, “but that poor girl is in terrible danger.”

  With a scream of “Oooh,” Vicky bolted from the table and ran for the bathroom, closely followed by Ellen.

  There was a lot of leftover food and a lot of plates left half full that noon.

  Gloom descended over the group. When Vicky and Ellen returned, they all avoided talking about Brandy and made small talk instead. Was Vicky going to go back to school the next day? She didn’t know. Was Ellen? Yes, she was going to try. All right then, Vicky would try too. Susan, of course, could not go back, and she was frustrated. She wanted to confront John Scott and Ernie Westin.

  Dirk Jordan called Jake about two o’clock, and Jake again went out on the deck. When he came back, he announced solemnly, “No one can find a trace of her since someone saw her get in her car early Thursday afternoon, wearing a sweatshirt and jeans.”

  “I suppose Dirk Jordan will call me, since he thinks I’m involved with every suspicious event that happens
,” Susan said.

  “Yeah,” Jake said, “he probably will. Be straight with him, Susan.”

  “I’m never not, but I don’t have any idea where she could be,” she said. “I care what happens to that girl.”

  Dirk Jordan didn’t call—to Susan’s surprise, as they sat by the phone all day, waiting for word on Brandy. The judge went home, and eventually Jake took Vicky to get her car on campus and then took Ellen home, where Vicky met them. When he came back to Susan’s, Aunt Jenny had cooked a pot of chicken soup that smelled heavenly. Jake ate heartily, but Susan found it tasteless, her mouth dry and sour, as though she’d been on a binge.

  “Susan Hogan, you’ve got to eat!” Aunt Jenny’s voice took her back in time twenty-five years or more to the days when Susan had been a reluctant eater.

  “Do I have to go straight to bed if I don’t?” she asked, but there was little humor in her voice.

  Jordan called about eight, and Jake took the call. Susan listened to him say, “Yes,” and “Where?” and “What do you think?” and nearly screamed because she could make no sense out of his questions. When he hung up, he turned to her. “Jordan found Brandy’s car—and her purse—parked near the railroad yards in Fort Worth.”

  “Near The City Restaurant?”

  “Near enough that Jordan went by there to talk to Thomas, but the place is closed on Sundays. He traced the phone number on Thomas’ so-called business card, but it goes to a service. His phone bill goes to a box number. Gotta give that kid credit—he’s clever. Jordan put out an APB, but the guy could be in California by now.”

  “It’s not a good sign, is it, Jake? I mean, finding the car.”

  “Nope, it’s not.”

  “Jordan needs to ask Vicky Lawson where to find Kenny Thomas.”

  “He did. Called her at Ellen’s. She knows nothing except The City Restaurant.”

  He grabbed his car keys. “Jordan’s got to talk to that Sallie Cornell, the third girl who was with Brandy and Vicky Wednesday night. You know her?”

  Susan shook her head. “Not at all.”

  “I feel I ought to go. You be all right?”

  “Yeah, go,” Susan said. “But call me.”

  “I will.”

  He called within an hour. “We didn’t learn anything. Boy, that girl’s a hard case. I think she’s mad ’cause she’s out of work.” He tried to laugh a little.

  Susan missed his feeble attempt at a joke. “I’ll call Ellen,” she said.

  “No need. She already knows. Remember, Jordan had to talk to Vicky.”

  At ten, Aunt Jenny went to bed, with a hug for Susan and a reassuring, “None of this is your fault, dear. You mustn’t think that.”

  “Brandy warned me I’d only make things worse,” Susan said.

  “You have to protect yourself, clear your name. And you can’t turn away when you know something’s wrong.”

  “I guess so.” Susan turned out the lights and prepared to follow Aunt Jenny’s example and go to bed. But she knew she was in for a night of tossing and turning. She pulled off her wide-legged pants, put on her sleeping shirt, and then wrapped her old terry-cloth bathrobe around herself and hopped on one foot back to the couch.

  Sitting in the darkness, she tried to figure out how all that had happened was connected, what Eric Lindler’s relation was to Kenny Thomas, why she had been drawn into it—and then had drawn poor Ellen into it. Vicky Lawson had unwittingly drawn herself into it. And Brandy Perkins—what could one think about her? Poor Missy Jackson, Susan thought, you’ve been all but forgotten in all this. Indeed, she could barely summon the details of Missy Jackson’s photo in her mind’s eye.

  At one o’clock, Susan was still sitting on the couch, still lost in thought, when Aunt Jenny padded into the room in her chenille slippers. “Susan, was that you?”

  “Was what me, Aunt Jenny?”

  “I thought a heard a noise, almost like a noise under the house. But maybe you moved something in here.”

  “I haven’t even moved myself, Aunt Jenny, but I didn’t hear anything. Guess I was lost in thought.”

  “Well,” the older woman said, “I was asleep, so I guess I’m not clear about what I heard. Maybe the wind blew a branch across the roof.”

  Under the house doesn’t sound like on the roof, Susan thought. She didn’t remind her aunt that there was no wind that night to blow a branch. Maybe a possum or something had crawled under the house, but Susan didn’t think so. Once again she had the eerie feeling that they were not alone, that someone was watching. She put a hand on the phone to call Jake and tell him she thought she knew where Kenny Thomas was—right under her house—but then she decided she was letting her imagination run away with her. Struggling with her crutches, she checked to be sure the bar was in the sliding glass door and then went from window to window making sure all were bolted. “Should have gotten that alarm system Jake recommended,” she muttered.

  After Aunt Jenny’s scare, Susan had secured the house as best she could, but she still didn’t feel safe. She lay in bed, listening for noises, the phone at her pillow for ready access. When it rang, she was startled out of sleep, though she’d have sworn she had not slept at all.

  “Hello?”

  That same high-pitched voice said, “Die, Susan Hogan. You must die.”

  This time Susan really did not go back to sleep, and morning found her exhausted.

  The phone rang again about six in the morning. Tensely, Susan answered it, steeled against that falsetto voice and its chilling threat. She didn’t speak for a minute, as though by listening, she could tell who it was. Finally, she said “Hello?”

  “Susan, it’s Jake. They’ve got a Jane Doe at the Wise County hospital up north. Sounds like she could be Brandy. I’m going up to Decatur to try to ID her.”

  “I’ll be dressed in five minutes,” Susan said, suddenly alert. “Bring me coffee on your way. Black.”

  “Susan, I don’t want you to go. I know Brandy or at least what she looks like well enough, and… well, it’ll be pretty unpleasant. This girl’s been beaten within an inch of her life. Some hunter’s dog found her in a ditch on a way back road, covered with leaves. Whoever left her there didn’t mean for her to be found.”

  “She’s alive, isn’t she?”

  “Barely.”

  “Come get me, Jake. It’s my responsibility.”

  Hanging up the phone, Jake muttered, “You and your damn responsibility to everyone but me!” But he stopped for black coffee at McDonald’s and was at her house in twenty minutes. He’d have been there sooner, but he’d called Ellen Peck too.

  Wearing her sweat suit with the leg split to go over her cast, no makeup, her hair still tousled from sleep, Susan stood on the porch. “I left Aunt Jenny a note,” she said. “Should we go see if Vicky Lawson wants to go?”

  “I called there,” Jake said, “after I called you. When Ellen told Vicky what we think happened, Vicky went hysterical. It was a repeat of the scene in the dorm the other night—crying, sobbing, screaming.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Ellen says she can take care of her, and I think she can. Your friend Ellen is pretty tough.”

  Susan wondered if he said that to other people about her.

  * * *

  The “Jane Doe” lay in a cubicle in the Wise County hospital’s intensive care unit. An officer was posted at the door to the cubicle.

  Susan approached the bed and stared at the limp body. The girl’s face was puffy, her eyes swollen shut, her color more purple than anything else. “Bruises just beginning to heal,” the nurse said. “She has a slight concussion, and a broken arm and a fractured elbow, both of which have been set. She was badly dehydrated, but we’re fixing that with IVs. We don’t think she has internal injuries, but we’re watching.”

  “She’s unconscious,” Susan said, stating the obvious. She stared at the girl and was glad she’d had no more than the one cup of black coffee that morning. Even that rose in her throa
t.

  “Yes,” the nurse said, “but her vital signs are fairly strong.”

  “Why is she unconscious?”

  “Probably,” the nurse said, “there’s something too painful for her to wake up and face. Happens in more cases than you think. If we can find out who she is, we can begin to talk to her, call her by name, bring in her family. All of that can draw a person back to reality.” She fixed them with a long look. “Do you know her?”

  Susan shook her head. “I don’t know. What color’s her hair?”

  “Dark, almost black. Longish… or it was, before we cut it.”

  Jake shook his head in despair. “She’s so disfigured, I can’t tell. I really can’t. I think it’s her, but…”

  Susan turned to the nurse. “Was she wearing earrings?”

  Jake said, “Susan! Earrings?” and the nurse looked startled, but she said, “I don’t know… but we can check the few belongings that were found on her.” She went to a locker in the corner of the cubicle and pulled out a brown paper bag that looked like a small grocery sack.

  Susan wanted to laugh hysterically. You nearly die, and they put your belongings in a grocery bag!

  The nurse pulled out jeans and a sweatshirt, both bloody and soiled beyond repair and musty smelling. Then she held up a small white envelope and emptied its contents into her own palm. Two silver earrings, dangle style with a bit of turquoise, tumbled out, followed by a silver ring, also with a bit of turquoise.

  “Those are Brandy’s earrings,” Susan said with conviction. Suddenly she felt she’d done something, some small thing to give Brandy her life back, to make amends for meddling in it.

  “You sure, Susan?” Jake was incredulous.

  “Yes,” she snapped, “I’m sure. Call that blasted Dirk Jordan and tell him you’ve found her.” Then she moved closer to the bed and grasped the hand that wasn’t in a cast. “Brandy,” she spoke softly, “it’s all right. Everything will be all right. You’re safe now.” What kind of a person can this Kenny Thomas be to have done this, she wondered. And what will he do to me if he gets the chance? She shuddered.