[Cutthroat Business 01.0 - 03.0] Boxed Set

by Jenna Bennett

  Mrs. Jenkins’s hearing must have been acute when it came to things that mattered to her, because she looked up at the name of the nursing home where she had spent a few miserable weeks. Brenda Puckett had arranged for her to live there, after she had swindled Mrs. Jenkins out of her house, and as soon as Brenda’s murder was solved, the first thing Rafe did was get his grandmother out of the Milton House and back into her old home.

  “You can’t do that!” I protested, turning away so Mrs. Jenkins couldn’t read my lips. “It’s a horrible place. They never combed her hair or washed her clothes or did anything nice for her.”

  “Well, what do you suggest?”

  “The best thing would be to find Marquita Johnson. Any idea where she is?”

  “None at all,” Tamara Grimaldi said. “From what I understand, she got a phone call on Saturday afternoon, and left. Mrs. Jenkins thought she went to Sweetwater to see her children.”

  I nodded. “That’s what she told me too, when I was there on Saturday. I was a little worried about leaving her by herself, but she assured me that Marquita would be home by evening. She said Marquita goes to Sweetwater to visit her children regularly.”

  “From what we can gather, she didn’t come back. I’ve contacted the sheriff down there…”

  “Bob Satterfield,” I said. She nodded.

  “He talked to her ex-husband, apparently he’s a deputy sheriff…”

  I nodded. “Cletus Johnson. They’ve been separated for a while.”

  “He claimed not to have spoken to her since last week sometime, and he certainly didn’t call her on Saturday to tell her to come down to Sweetwater. They’re fighting over custody and visitation rights, and he’s not about to give her any more time with those children than he has to.”

  “What a guy,” I said. Detective Grimaldi snorted.

  “Though he told us that if anything had happened to her, he knew who was to blame.”

  “Let me guess. Rafe Collier.”

  The detective nodded. “Some history there, I take it.”

  “Marquita had a crush on Rafe in high school. Cletus liked her, but she wouldn’t give him the time of day when Rafe was around. Then Rafe went to jail and Cletus and Marquita got married. I don’t think Rafe had anything to do with their splitting up, but I guess Cletus felt he needed someone to blame.”

  “I’m sure,” Detective Grimaldi agreed. “We’ll keep looking for her, of course, but aside from talking to her friends and acquaintances down there, there’s not a lot we can do. Sheriff Satterfield said he’d tell his officers to keep an extra eye out as they go about their business, just in case someone has seen her. In the meantime, I have to decide what to do about Mrs. Jenkins.”

  I nodded gloomily. She continued, “I don’t really have a desire to put her back into the Milton House—I was there with you, remember, and I know what it’s like—but Mrs. Puckett did pay for her care there, so they wouldn’t be able to turn her away, and sad as it is to admit, it’s a nicer place than some I’ve seen.”

  “That’s a scary thought.”

  “She can’t stay in her house alone. That’s a disaster waiting to happen, and I won’t allow it.”

  “So what do you suggest?” I asked, as if I didn’t already know.

  She grinned. “Didn’t you tell me that Mr. Collier asked you to keep an eye on her while he was away? Maybe you can move in with her until we either find Miss Johnson or until Mr. Collier comes back.”

  I had known what was coming, but that didn’t mean I liked hearing it. “What am I going to do with her when I have to go show a house? Or write a contract? I have a committee meeting for the Eye Ball tonight, although I suppose I can cancel that. But I also have a date with Todd tomorrow. And believe me, he’s not going to be happy about me bringing Rafe’s grandmother along. Anyone’s grandmother, really, but especially Rafe’s.”

  Tamara Grimaldi smirked. “I met Todd Satterfield once, did I tell you that?”

  “He told me. He said he gave you those pictures of Rafe and Ishmael Jackson and the others, that he got from his tame P.I. back in September. Isn’t there a law against civilians hiring private investigators to follow other civilians around?”

  “You’d think,” Detective Grimaldi said, “but you’d be wrong. Anyway, I formed the impression that Mr. Satterfield doesn’t care for Mr. Collier, or for anyone associated with him. I’d cancel that date, if I were you.”

  “On the other hand, it would almost be worth bringing her, just to see his face.” I grinned unbecomingly for a moment, and then got myself under control again. “I guess I don’t have much of a choice. I mean, I promised Rafe I’d look after her. She can move in with me. I’d rather do that, than spend days or weeks in that house on Potsdam Street. I’m sure it’s not haunted, but I still avoid looking into the library whenever I’m there, just in case. And it’s where Walker tried to kill me, too. I have bad memories of the place. I’d rather stay in my apartment. I’ve only got one bedroom, but she can have that, and I’ll sleep on the sofa. And if I have to go show houses, she can come with me. I’ll just have to cancel Todd and the Eye Ball.”

  The Eye Ball is a charitable event benefiting the optometry department at Vanderbilt Hospital. I was doing some volunteer work for them, preparing for the gala.

  “Sounds like you’ve got a lot to figure out,” Detective Grimaldi said pleasantly. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  Right. “I suppose you have work to do?”

  “Two dead in a house fire, both with bullets through their brains, and a fatality during a domestic brawl. A woman stabbed her husband four times with a carving knife. Thanks for asking.”

  I was sorry I had.

  “If you think of any way to get in touch with Mr. Collier, let me know. I’ll let the Memphis PD and the TBI know we’re looking for him, just in case he shows up on their radar. And I’ll let you know if I find out anything about Marquita Johnson.”

  “Please do. Believe me, the sooner you find either her or Rafe, the happier I’ll be.”

  Detective Grimaldi didn’t answer, but she smiled.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Mrs. Jenkins and I were on our way back across the river into East Nashville, and I was asking her again if she was sure, absolutely positive, she hadn’t heard from Rafe in the past five weeks. She shook her head.

  “How about a contact number? A forwarding address? The name of a friend to contact in case of emergencies? Did he at least tell you where he was going?”

  “He didn’t, baby. All he said was he had some business to take care of, and he’d be back.”

  “Figures,” I muttered. That was the way he treated me—there one minute, gone the next, and I never knew when or where he might turn up again, if at all—but I had hoped he’d be more communicative with his nearest and dearest. Apparently not.

  “He told us you’d be comin’ by now and again,” Mrs. Jenkins added blithely, “just to see how things were goin’.”

  “Marquita must have loved that.”

  Mrs. Jenkins giggled. “Very offended, she was. Said he made it sound like he didn’t trust her.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Course, she likes him.”

  “I’ve noticed,” I said. Mrs. Jenkins smirked.

  “You like him, too.”

  “I imagine most women like him.” I moved into the middle lane going across the Cumberland Bridge.

  “Maybe so,” Mrs. Jenkins conceded. “Another ladyfriend of his called last week.”

  “Really?” I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. A ladyfriend, huh? “Did she give her name?” Maybe this woman, whoever she was, knew where to find Rafe. If I could find him, I could get out of this mess.

  Mrs. Jenkins thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Don’t know, baby. Marquita talked to her. She didn’t mention no name.”

  “Figures. Well, if—when—Marquita comes back, we can ask her then.”

  I looked left and right before I cros
sed the intersection of Main Street and Interstate Drive. We were almost in sight of my apartment building when Mrs. Jenkins added, pensively, “Guy called, too. Few times. Every week or so.”

  “A man? Did he give a name?”

  “Can’t rightly say, baby. Marquita talked to him, too. She said he just wanted to know how everything was goin’.”

  “Interesting.” I calculated rapidly for a moment, then made an abrupt right turn on 5th, causing Mrs. Jenkins to fall against my shoulder. “I just thought of something. Do you mind if we go for a drive?”

  “Sure don’t, baby. Don’t get out much these days. It’ll be fun.” She settled herself back in the passenger seat and folded her hands in her lap. They were tiny and wrinkled and specked with age-spots. I hoped she’d enjoy this particular outing, although I rather doubted it.

  The trip didn’t take long. Only ten minutes later, we were where I wanted to be.

  On 8th Avenue South, right in the middle of the antiques district, there’s a small, brightly-painted bungalow with pretty flowers outside. The name on the door is Sally’s. From the street, it looks as if Sally ought to sell, if not seashells at the seashore, at least colorful lawn ornaments or vintage clothes or something else quaint and pretty. Sally doesn’t. Sally is a middle-aged, beefy woman with a tattoo and a rooster-red Mohawk haircut, and she peddles security. More specifically, weapons and self-defense type stuff. Detective Grimaldi had recommended her to me a month or two previously, for the purpose of arming myself. She didn’t say it, but I thought that Tamara Grimaldi may have wanted me to have some protection in case Rafe got out of hand—this was back when she suspected him of having cut Brenda Puckett’s throat.

  I pulled the Volvo into the parking lot and helped Mrs. Jenkins out of the passenger seat. She looked around curiously. “What kinda place is this?”

  “Police issue security gear,” I said, looking around. There were no other cars in the lot at the moment, which boded well for my visit. Sally was likely to talk more freely if no one was around to hear. The Harley-Davidson parked by the side of the house caused my pulse to quicken, but only for a moment. Rafe’s Harley is midnight-black, and if he had plans of replacing it, he wouldn’t choose something bright red. This Harley belonged to someone else; most likely Sally herself. The color matched her hair, and she looked like she’d feel perfectly at ease riding it. “Detective Grimaldi recommended it to me. She was worried about me and wanted me to have some protection.”

  “Nice lady, that detective.”

  I nodded. “She is. Sally is a friend of hers, I think. Are you ready to go in?”

  “Sure, baby.” She grabbed my arm and shuffled along beside me. Even in three-inch heels I walked faster than she did in her fuzzy slippers, so I moderated my steps to hers and gave her a boost up the steps to the front door.

  Inside, everything was as I remembered it. Displays of various lethal and non-lethal but nonetheless scary implements stood along the walls. Tasers, handcuffs, cans of mace and pepper spray. Under the counter, guns and Chinese stars rubbed elbows with trays of miniature knives masquerading as deceptively innocent-looking tubes of lipstick. Behind the counter, Sally herself stood, muscular forearms braced on the glass counter.

  “Morning, princess,” she boomed when she saw me.

  “Hello, Sally,” I answered, as Mrs. Jenkins and I made our slow way toward the counter. The trip wasn’t made any easier by the fact that Mrs. J was slowing down to gawk at everything we passed.

  “You use up all your pepper spray already?”

  I smiled. “Not really. In fact, I haven’t had occasion to use it at all. The one time I needed it, I couldn’t get my hands on it, so it did me no good.”

  “Sounds like maybe you could use some self-defense training, princess. How to break a man’s arm in three easy steps. Tamara told me what happened last month.”

  I nodded. “It was pretty scary. But I got out of it all right, so I guess I can’t complain.”

  “Never a good idea to complain when you walk away in one piece,” Sally agreed. “So what can I do for you today, missy? You need a bigger knife? Pistol? Handcuffs?”

  “Information,” I said, and watched as her face closed.

  “Can’t help you with that, I’m afraid.”

  “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask,” I said.

  “Know the look on your face, though, princess. But I guess I could hear you out. Least I can do.”

  “Thank you.” I indicated my companion. “This is Tondalia Jenkins. Mrs. Jenkins, this is Sally. I’m sorry, I don’t know your last name, Sally.”

  “Harmon,” Sally said. She extended a beefy hand across the counter and very gently shook Mrs. Jenkins’s much smaller one. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine, baby,” Mrs. Jenkins replied. She calls everyone baby: Rafe, me, Marquita, Detective Grimaldi, even Walker Lamont, up until the moment he tried to shoot her. “Nice place you got here.”

  Sally grinned. “Look around all you want. Maybe you’ll find something to buy. Like one of them lipsticks princess here bought last month.” She winked. I watched as Mrs. Jenkins shuffled off, peering around nearsightedly, before I turned back to Sally.

  “Her grandson left town five weeks ago. If Tamara Grimaldi talks to you about her cases, you’ve probably heard of him. His name is Rafe Collier.”

  “Happens I have heard of him,” Sally agreed. “Saved your life last month, didn’t he?”

  “He did. And then he left town the next day. He asked me to keep an eye on his grandmother while he was gone. She has a live-in nurse, but as he put it, she’s paid to care and it isn’t the same.”

  Sally nodded. “Can’t fault that.”

  “Especially as the nurse is now nowhere to be found. She left a few days ago, supposedly for a half day off, and never came back. No one seems to have seen her since. Nobody knows where she is. She isn’t where she’s supposed to be, which is with Mrs. Jenkins.”

  “Tricky,” Sally said.

  “Tamara Grimaldi has all her squad-cars keeping an eye out, and in the meantime, she wants me to try to track down Rafe.”

  “Wish I could help,” Sally said, “but I don’t know him. From what Tamara says, sounds like I’m missing out.” She winked.

  “You two would probably get on like a house on fire,” I agreed. Aside from the fact that Rafe seems to be able to wrap any female around his finger, regardless of age, marital status, and sexual orientation, he and Sally had a lot in common. “Is that your Harley outside? He rides one, too.”

  “My kinda guy.” Sally grinned. “If you find him, you bring him by to see me, princess.”

  “I’d love to,” I said, “if I could find him. And that’s why we’re here. I think you might know an associate of his.”

  “Yeah?” Her eyes turned watchful. “Who’s that?”

  “His name is Wendell. At least that’s what I was told. Older man, mid-fifties, maybe. Black. Military haircut. I’ve met him once or twice, and spoken to him on the phone a few times more. Not a big talker, at least not with me. The last time I saw him was here, last month. He came in while I was going out, and he held the door for me.”

  I paused, expectantly. Sally contemplated me, and I could see options ticking over in her brain. “Happens I might know who you’re talking about,” she admitted at last, reluctantly. I beamed. “Can’t give you his name or number, though, princess. Though if you’ve spoken to him on the phone, sounds like you’ve got it already.”

  “I did,” I said. “Then I gave it to Tamara Grimaldi last month, when she was trying to track down Rafe, and next thing I knew… poof! It was disconnected.”

  Sally hid a smile. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Some of these guys can be kinda secretive. The ones that are involved with the criminal element, especially. If you want, I can try to get a message to him. That work for you?”

  “That would be great,” I said, relieved. “If you could just tell him that Savannah is
trying to track down Rafe, I’d appreciate it. If he asks, you can tell him what I told you about Mrs. Jenkins and the nurse, although I doubt he will. He never asks me any questions.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, princess,” Sally promised, and looked up as the door opened. A young cop in full uniform came through the door, hat in his hand. Sally grinned at the stunned look on his face as he looked around, and I smiled.

  “Hi, Officer Truman.”

  He looked at me, somewhat wild-eyed, for a second before my face seemed to register. “Oh. Hi, Miz Martin. How are you?”

  “Just leaving. This is Sally. She’ll take care of you.”

  Officer Truman, peach-fuzzed and as bright and shiny as a new penny, looked at Sally and swallowed.

  Chapter Four

  We stopped at 101 Potsdam Street on the way home, in the hope that Marquita had returned, and to pack an overnight bag for Mrs. Jenkins if she hadn’t. The house looked just as it had when I was there a couple of days ago, only more dirty and messy, and there was no sign of Marquita. The nurse’s disappearance was worrying me. Between Detective Grimaldi and Sheriff Satterfield, they probably had things well in hand, though; or so I had to trust.

  Mrs. J didn’t own an overnight bag or suitcase, but she told me Rafe might, and dispatched me to his room to look for it. I had misgivings, but she was ancient and her feet were sore from wandering the neighborhood in fuzzy slippers, and I couldn’t in good conscience refuse.

  I’d never been in Rafe’s room before. That is, I had, but it hadn’t been Rafe’s room then. This was two months ago, when the house was on the market. He’d had me show him all around, before we discovered Brenda’s body in the library. Mrs. Jenkins’s bedroom, which was now a lovely lavender with gleaming white trim and a nice reproduction four-poster bed with lilac-printed sheets, had been home to an old mattress and a colony of mice. (Rafe said they were rats, but I prefer to hold on to my illusions.) And what had ended up being Rafe’s room, in the front of the house, overlooking the overgrown yard and circular driveway, had been sporting peeling wallpaper with a faded pattern of twining roses, along with several broken windows, a waterlogged ceiling and crumbling windowsills.