“He’s a relative too,” I said. “Why isn’t he a suspect?”
“No motive,” Dad said.
“Where was he at the time the murders took place? Did you ask?”
“Of course I asked.”
“Well?”
Dad sighed impatiently and said, “Frank Baker was home watching television. He even told me the plots of the shows he watched.”
“Big deal. Anybody could get the plots from reading TV Guide.”
“Holly,” Dad said, “we’re getting off the track. Let’s get back to what I was trying to say. Until an arrest is made …”
I gasped, and Dad amended what he’d said. “If and when an arrest is made—until then you’ll probably be seeing Cody at school, but I don’t want you to go out with him.”
“How can you be so unfair? You’ve made up your mind that he’s guilty! And other people will too! Think of how people at school might treat him! Cody needs a friend, and I’m his friend.”
“Listen to me, Holly,” Dad said. “Whether he’s guilty or not, I’m making this rule for your protection and my peace of mind.”
“But …”
“No buts. Bill and I are counting on wrapping up this case within a few days.”
I couldn’t believe that Dad would do this to me. I was shocked and hurt and angry. My mind kept whirling with thoughts that went nowhere, tripping and splatting over each other, so it wasn’t until later, when I was in bed, staring into the darkness, that I remembered I hadn’t given Dad my share of the information. It probably didn’t mean a thing, but I had the uncomfortable feeling that I should have told him about Glenda Jordan.
Chapter Eight
Sunday. 11:20 A.M. Mom, Dad, and I had been to church. Mom and Dad were smiling and nodding and chatting with people the way a happily married couple is supposed to, I guess. Like the Garnetts’ house—proper and lovely on the outside, yet hiding a tragedy no one could see.
I could see.
The thought had jolted me, and I’d pushed it out of my mind. I was letting that weird Glenda Jordan get to me. Both Sunday newspapers had stories about the Garnetts’ murders, along with Cody’s picture, on the front page. Where he’d been. What he’d said. Sometimes Dad gets mad about information that’s leaked from the Homicide Division to the press. It’s not supposed to happen, but it does. I ached for Cody. He didn’t deserve being tried and convicted by the press.
When the phone rang, I got it. “Uncle Frank said I could borrow his car,” Cody said over the phone. “I thought maybe you’d go for a ride with me.”
I took a deep breath. Better to spell it out. “Dad made a rule,” I said. “I’m sorry, Cody. I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t go out with you.”
Cody didn’t answer, so I quickly added something of my own to try to make it a little easier for him. “Dad’s assigned to the case,” I said, “and this is the way it has to be. You know, official rules and all that stuff.”
“He’s not afraid I’d …”
“Of course not! And Dad knows I’m going to help you prove that you’re innocent.”
Cody sounded incredulous. “You told him you were going to help me, and he doesn’t care?”
“He didn’t say I couldn’t.”
“But he won’t let you go out with me.”
“He just doesn’t want us to be alone, but he didn’t say you couldn’t come over when Mom is here. Why don’t you come over and stay for dinner?”
There was a long pause, then Cody asked, “Is your Dad going to be there?”
I heard the back door shut and hopped off my bed to look out the back window. “No. He’s leaving now. He probably won’t be back until late.”
“Okay,” Cody said. “I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.”
I didn’t tell Mom my plan, but I trusted her.
Mom’s eyelids flipped wide with surprise when she answered the door, but she greeted Cody politely and invited him in. I was proud of Mom. She said all the right things about his parents to comfort him, and she stood aside as I led him to the porch and the glider, which had been set to catch the breeze. At the back of our house is a screened porch. We don’t use it much from May through October, when it’s hot, but a strong breeze was blowing in from the Gulf; and the porch, decorated with Mom’s green-thumb plants, was pleasant.
As Cody sat down, the glider gently rocking on its stand, he glanced at the notepad and pen on the low table nearby and asked, “What’s that for?”
“We need to write down everything we can think of to help us solve this case.”
Cody sighed. The color had returned to his face, and he had lost the tired-old-man slouch, but his eyes showed his sorrow. “I don’t want to talk about it or think about it. It’s all a nightmare, Holly. I close my eyes, and all I can see is blood.”
Shocked, I blurted out, “They let you see the murder scene?”
“No!” Cody answered. His eyes widened with fear. “Look … what I said didn’t come out right. I wasn’t there when it happened. And I wasn’t there later. I know that my parents were stabbed, so it doesn’t take much imagination to figure out there must have been a lot of blood. You understand what I meant, don’t you, Holly?”
I shivered, not sure I really did understand, but I answered, “Yes. I’m sorry, Cody.”
He leaned against the back of the glider and closed his eyes. Finally he opened them and asked, “Do you know what I’d like to be doing right now? I’d like to say, ‘Grab your bathing suit, and let’s drive down to Galveston.’ I’d like to tell you crazy jokes and laugh with you. I’d like to hold you and kiss you. But I’ve got this terrible monster on my back and it won’t go away.” He sighed. “Will it ever?”
“When the investigation is over and the murderer is caught, the monster will go away.”
“I don’t know that it will. I’m the only suspect.”
“Not really. There’s Mr. Arlington.”
Cody shook his head. “He didn’t do it, Holly. He’s having trouble with reality. Uncle Frank was over at the house this morning to pick up some of my clothes and other stuff I needed. One of the neighbors told him that Mr. Arlington’s wife and his therapist signed him into a clinic for treatment.”
“I’m not about to give up on Mr. Arlington as a suspect. He has real problems. What if he turned violent because the music in your house was too loud?” A thought struck me. “Cody,” I asked, “why was the music too loud?”
He stared at me. “What do you mean?”
“Your neighbors said you kept the volume up when you played your tapes and CDs or the radio, but on Friday night you weren’t there. Your parents wouldn’t play music that loud, would they?”
“No,” Cody said, an expression of wonder in his face. “Of course they wouldn’t.”
“Did you leave the radio on when you left your house around seven-thirty?”
“No. I hadn’t turned it on.”
“Was music playing when you came back to get the key or when you left?”
“No.”
“Then who turned it on?”
“Whoever murdered my parents? But why?” He looked down at his hands in anguish. “Oh, Holly, what if someone was trying to make it look like I did it?”
“It’s possible.” I could think of another reason—to drown out any shouts or cries for help—but I wasn’t about to tell Cody that and add to his nightmares.
“When you left the house the last time, did you lock the door behind you?”
“I didn’t have to. Both front and back doors lock automatically. Why’d you ask?”
“Because the police found no sign of forced entry. Either someone had a key, or your parents knew them and let them in.”
Cody groaned. “That’s what your father and his partner told me over and over again. They kept saying that I had a key. The only key.”
“No one else had a key? A cleaning woman? Your uncle?”
“I don’t think so. Dad was uptight about security.”
Cody looked up. “I don’t know. If my dad had enemies, they could only have been people involved in some of his business deals. Dad had a short fuse. Sometimes I’d hear him on the phone yelling at someone. He wasn’t nice about it.”
Although I’d read about drivers so stupid that they’d shoot at another driver who’d cut in front of them, I couldn’t imagine that people in business would murder someone just because he was rude and yelled at them.
“What kind of business was your father in?” I asked.
“All sorts of stuff,” Cody said. “He invested in different kinds of businesses. Sometimes he made a lot of money. Sometimes he didn’t.”
“Did he talk about these business deals?”
“Not to me, he didn’t, but Mom knew about them and wasn’t too happy about some of them. A couple of times lately I walked in while they were arguing, but they always shut up tight when I was around.”
“Tell me what they said.”
“I don’t know. I only caught a few words. Risky, that was one of them. Mom used that a couple of times lately. She was upset about something Dad was doing, but I don’t know what. I honestly didn’t pay much attention.”
“Did your uncle Frank get into any business deals with your father?”
“Uncle Frank?” Cody looked at me in amazement. “Uncle Frank didn’t want any part of Dad’s business operations. In fact, he had a lot to say against a couple of them. Mom said Frank shouldn’t butt in, and Dad yelled at Mom for having told Frank about them. Dad hated it when Frank tried to tell him anything about business. I remember he yelled that Frank shouldn’t have the nerve to tell anyone anything about how to run a business, seeing that Frank could barely keep his head above water.”
“If he knew he’d get yelled at, then Frank must have thought what he had to say about your father’s business was too important to ignore. What did Frank say about the deals? Can you remember?”
“Stuff like, ‘That’s not too bright,’ ” Cody said. “ ‘Shady. Much too risky.’ ” His eyes widened. “Maybe that’s the same deal Mom was complaining about. She used the word risky.”
I began to get excited. “Cody, Dad said there was a computer in your father’s office at home. Did he keep any business records on this computer?”
Cody sat up a little straighter. “He could have. When he was home, he spent a lot of time in his office.”
“Could we check it out?”
Cody winced. “I—I don’t want to ever go back inside the house again.”
“I’ll go if you’ll give me your key.”
“I don’t have it. I think the police do.” He thought a moment. “There is an extra key, come to think of it. After Mom locked herself out of the house a couple of times, she hid one inside a Coke can on a shelf in the garage.” He frowned. “I forgot about it. I didn’t tell your dad.”
“Listen,” I said. “Have I got your permission?”
“I don’t know,” Cody replied. “I don’t think you should be in the house, Holly.”
I sank back against the cushions, suddenly visualizing the living room the way Cody had and wishing I hadn’t made the offer, but I’d discovered something that should be investigated. I had to follow the lead to prove to Dad that Cody was innocent. I needed to do it for Cody’s sake and for mine. “Is there a way to your father’s office without having to go through the living room?”
“Yes, but wait a few days,” Cody said, “and I’ll … I’ll try to go with you—if it’s okay with your Dad, that is. The police are through with the crime scene, so they gave permission to have the house cleaned. Uncle Frank made arrangements with somebody to show up there on Thursday to scrub the walls and take away the carpeting in the living room. Frank’s going to put the house on the market for me.”
“Is Frank your guardian?”
“He is now. And he’s the executor of my parents’ wills. Mr. Ormond is doing all the legal stuff for us. I asked Frank to help me out by taking care of all the business matters. He said he would. He’s been real good about everything.”
“Thursday is four days from now.” I thought about Dad saying he and Bill hoped to wrap up the case soon, and I began to get frantic. “I want to look at those records as soon as possible, and I’d rather go by myself.”
Cody looked at me oddly. “In spite of what … what happened in the house?”
“I’m not going to feel very comfortable about it, but it has to be done,” I said. “Maybe I won’t go alone. I’ll ask Sara if she’ll come with me.”
As Cody hesitated, I lightly touched his arm. A muscle twitched, and he jumped.
“You can’t go in there, Cody. You shouldn’t go. But listen to me. I have to find out, as fast as I can, as much as I can about who might have murdered your parents.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” he murmured so softly I could scarcely hear him.
Startled, I repeated, “Shouldn’t find out?”
“No. I meant go inside the house.”
“You can give me permission.” When Cody didn’t answer, I persisted. “It’s your house. You’ll inherit everything from your parents, won’t you?”
“Yes,” Cody said. “I’m the only beneficiary.” He jumped to his feet and paced around the small porch like a lion trapped inside a small cage. “It makes everything worse, doesn’t it? The police will think that …”
“Cody!” I stepped in front of him and grabbed his shoulders. “I told you I believe in you, and I’m going to do everything I can to help you. But I have to do it soon. Trust me. We both know you’re innocent. Right?”
His voice was firm as he looked into my eyes. “Right, Holly. Absolutely.”
“Okay then?”
“The key’s on the third shelf, just behind the side door into the garage,” he told me. “It will open the dead bolts on both the front and back door.” His glance shifted toward the kitchen. “What’s your dad going to say about this?”
“You told me the police were through with the crime scene. If I want to go inside the house, I can, without answering to anyone except the owner—and that’s you.”
A brief smile flicked across Cody’s lips. “You’re stubborn, Holly. I didn’t know how stubborn. Does it go with the red hair?”
I took both of his hands in mine and tried to match his smile. “I’m not stubborn. I’m … intent. That’s it … intent. I’m intent on discovering who committed the crime.”
I leaned forward and lightly kissed Cody’s lips.
For an instant he trembled. Then he wrapped his arms around me, and his mouth pressed hard against mine.
Just as suddenly he pulled away, burying his head against my shoulder. “Not now,” he mumbled.
I held him tightly, giving him time to get himself in hand. Time, I thought. We haven’t much time. But I willed myself to be still, to stay calm.
In a few minutes Cody stood back and brushed some tendrils of my hair away from my cheek. His voice broke as he said, “The medical examiner released my parents’ bodies to a funeral home. The funeral will be Tuesday afternoon at four o’clock. Will you come?”
“Of course,” I said.
By the time Mom called us to dinner, my thoughts had jumped to a movie I’d seen. A police detective went to the murder victim’s funeral because he was sure the murderer would be there. I was thinking like Sara now. Or maybe like a detective. Some of those TV cops were pretty clever.
It stood to reason that many of Mr. Garnett’s business associates would show up for the funeral. If I could access his computer records, I might be able to match names to faces and point out possible suspects to Dad.
It might work. It was the only thing I could think of to do.
Mom had a lot to say to me after Cody left that evening. When she finally stopped, I told her, “Dad just said I couldn’t go out with Cody. He didn’t say Cody couldn�
��t come here.”
“You know good and well what your father meant.”
“Mom!” I wailed. “You think Cody’s guilty! Dad thinks he’s guilty! Everybody at school’s going to think so too! No one’s giving Cody a chance! How would you feel if a terrible crime was committed and everyone took it for granted that you did it? Cody lost both of his parents, and now he’s under this awful suspicion.”
Mom gave a miserable sigh, then walked over and put her arms around me. “The world’s full of hurts,” she murmured against my hair. “I’m sorry that Cody is having to experience so many of them while he’s so young.”
“We have to help Cody, Mom,” I said.
I could feel Mom’s muscles tense. Then she shivered as she stepped back and faced me. “You’re our prime concern, Holly. I wouldn’t know how I’d exist without you. Regardless of how you feel about helping Cody, I go along with your father. Please don’t invite Cody back to the house. We can’t allow you to see him.”
* * *
Monday. 8:30 A.M. Cody didn’t show up at school.
It was just as well, because Monday was one of the worst days I ever had to live through. It would have been a lot tougher for him.
Bellaire High has a large student body, and I’m sure that every last person, even if they had never heard about Cody and me before Friday, knew about us now. As I walked to first-period English lit., kids in the hall would stop talking and stare at me. Some of those I knew would pat my shoulder or touch my arm and murmur things like, “Oh, Holly, weren’t you scared?”
“He didn’t do it,” I told them.
“Holly, how awful! You were dating him!”
“Cody always seemed so nice. None of us knew what he was really like.”
“He didn’t do it,” I answered.
I saw two of Cody’s friends standing by their lockers, and I hoped they’d come to his defense, but they quickly looked away as we made eye contact and hurried down the hall.
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