There was a dingy-looking coffee pot in the office, full of what looked like week-old coffee. The carafe was so stained you could barely see the thick, black coffee inside it. As bad as it looked, I poured myself a cup of it to sip on while I waited. The small Styrofoam cup on top of the stack had a greasy fingerprint on the outside, so I tossed it in the trash, and used the next one down. The coffee was as strong and bitter as I expected it to be, but not bad enough to discard and go without.
I was sitting there, sipping coffee and gazing at the falling snow, when my cell phone rang inside my purse. The caller ID indicated it was Stone. My first thought was that they’d run into trouble on the road.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Lexie,” Stone said, cheerfully. “I called you on the house phone and you didn’t answer.”
“I guess I didn’t hear it,” I said. That wasn’t a lie. It’s hard to hear a telephone ring when you are many blocks away from it.
“Well, I just wanted to let you know we got to the airport all right, and Wendy and I are just waiting here with Andy until his flight is called. I didn’t want you to worry about us.”
“Thanks, Stone. I was kind of concerned. I know Wendy is a good driver, but you never know what the other guy is going to do.”
“That’s true. How is everything at the inn? I probably should have stayed there and not left you home alone. I guess I wasn’t thinking. Are you sure you’re okay, and the doors are all locked?” he asked.
“I’m fine and the doors are all locked. Everything at the inn is fine. I’m thankful you thought to accompany Wendy and Andy. The Dudleys aren’t expected to arrive home until five or five-thirty, so I’m just sitting here, watching it snow and enjoying a cup of coffee.” Again, I wasn’t lying. And I was quite sure there was nothing amiss at the inn. Everything had been just fine when I’d left there a mere fifteen minutes prior to Stone’s call. And I’d most definitely locked all the doors before leaving.
“Well, good. I’m glad to know you’re relaxing. You’ve had a rough week. After the Dudleys leave tomorrow, you will have some time to get some rest, and hopefully your soreness and bruising will go away.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” I said. “The soreness is already starting to diminish, but the bruising will probably hang around a bit longer.”
“I’m ready for you to pull your Jeep in, Ms. Starr,” I heard Joey say. I hurriedly put my hand over the bottom of my phone and nodded my head. After Joey exited the office, I went back to the phone, afraid Stone had heard Joey speaking to me. Apparently he hadn’t; he was talking about Andy’s plans once he returned home. I listened for another thirty or forty seconds.
“Listen, Stone,” I said. “Why don’t you visit with Andy while you still have a chance, and you can tell me all about it when you get home.”
Stone agreed and hung up. I went outside to drive my car into the open bay where Joey could lift the car up over his head, on the racks, to drain the oil.
“How are you today, Ms. Starr?” he asked.
“I’m fine, and you?”
“Not bad, even though they’ve got me working on a Saturday. I had another gal named Starr in here yesterday for some repairs, and also a couple days ago getting an oil change,” Joey said.
“That was my daughter, Wendy. She’s the one who told me about you.” She and Audrey McCoy, that is. I didn’t want to let on I was only getting my oil changed so I could grill the young mechanic about any knowledge he might have about who would want to murder his dear friend.
“Oh, that’s nice. Didn’t I see you at Walter Sneed’s funeral?” he asked. “I can’t get over how much you look like my Aunt Yvonne.”
So, maybe that explained why he was staring at me in the photo taken at the gravesite. I was happy he mentioned Walter. Now I didn’t have to find some clever way to segue into that topic of conversation.
“Yes, I was there. I thought you looked familiar too, Joey. Were you a friend of Walter’s?” I asked.
“Yeah, Walter was my best friend. Had been since we were in junior high. I still can’t get over the shock of his death. I almost called in sick today, because I truly do feel ill over the whole thing. But working helps me keep my mind off it.”
“I’m sure it will take a great deal of time to accept it and deal with it. No one ever expects to lose someone so young and healthy. I can’t imagine anyone would want to kill him. Can you?” I asked.
“No, he was a great guy.”
“Did he have any enemies?”
“No. None that I can think of, anyway,” Joey said.
“Was there anyone jealous of his athletic accomplishments?”
“Sure, there were a few guys I suppose. He beat out quite a number of guys for the starting point guard position on the basketball team at the community college. But I can’t see how any of them could be jealous enough to kill him,” Joey said. “Basketball is just a game, after all.”
I watched him work for a few minutes before he said, “You know what? There is this one guy, named Caleb, who got in a fistfight with Walter a couple weeks ago. Caleb had the hots for Sidney, you see.”
“Really? Where does this Caleb guy live? Here in Rockdale?” I asked.
“I have no idea. I don’t really know him,” Joey replied. “I can hardly believe the guy would go to such an extent though. Killing Walter over some girl would be insane.”
“He has a motive, albeit a weak one, I suppose,” I said. “I wonder if he has an alibi.”
“I don’t know. A couple of detectives from St. Joseph talked to me a few days ago, but I didn’t think to tell them about Caleb. I wonder if I should contact them. What do you think?” Joey asked.
“Detective Wyatt Johnston with the Rockdale Police Department is a good friend of mine. I’ll talk to him and suggest he question this Caleb fellow. Do you know his last name?”
“Davis, I think. Or maybe David, or maybe even Davies.”
“That’s probably close enough to track him down. Is he a student at the community college?” I asked.
“Yes. I think Walter told me he is in the Army Reserves, too,” Joey said. Hmm, I wondered, is Caleb a friend of Roxie Kane’s, by chance? Is there any kind of connection there?
Joey had drained the oil and put in a new oil filter. He was now lowering the car to add the new oil. As he wiped his hands off with a greasy blue rag he looked at me with an odd expression.
“You know, your oil was very, very clean. Whatever kind of oil you used last time, I would use the same kind again. Do you remember what kind it was?” Joey asked.
I looked up at Joey’s ball cap. “Valvoline,” I said. My mind was already on something else. How would I tell Wyatt, without telling Stone, about this guy, Caleb, who had fought physically with Walter, not all that long ago? How would I indicate where I’d heard about Caleb? Oh, what a web of lies I could weave without even trying.
“Hmmm. It’s a good oil, but still…” Joey looked puzzled before changing tack and getting back on line with our previous conversation. “Sidney sure is devastated by Walter’s death. I feel so sorry for her. She was a mess at the wake, and her dad wouldn’t even let her attend his funeral.”
“Yeah, I know. I can’t believe he wouldn’t let her attend her boyfriend’s funeral. I think he is being much too protective of her,” I said, to make conversation more than anything else. I had taken out my notebook and written “Caleb Davis, David, or Davies” in it.
“Well, when her dad was in here the other day to get a new headlight put in his Ford Explorer, he said Sidney was too distraught to attend the funeral. Mr. Hobbs told me he was worried about how attending it would affect her health,” Joey said, as he poured the third quart of Valvoline into the oil reservoir.
“What? What did you say?” I asked. My attention was now riveted on Joey. “Sidney’s dad had a new headlight put in an SUV recently? In his Explorer? What happened to the broken headlight?”
“Yeah, I think it was late Tuesday. He was
lucky we had the right one in stock so I didn’t have to special order one. He said he clipped his mailbox and needed it fixed right away.”
Of course he did! More likely he clipped me—in the hospital parking lot a couple of days ago. And he definitely needed it fixed right away, before the authorities spotted it. Was he acting on behalf of his daughter? Was he now stalking me to protect her? Or was he the killer and my stalker? Was there some reason he wanted Walter dead?
“What color is Mr. Hobbs’ car, Joey?”
“Well, it’s like a dark forest green. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
Oh, my God, I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. I couldn’t wait to pay for my oil change and get back into my Jeep so I could call Wyatt. Suddenly I saw no reason to even mention Caleb to Wyatt. I had narrowed down my list of suspects to just two—Sidney and her father.
I thanked Joey and handed him twenty-five bucks. Then I nearly backed over him in my haste to exit the service bay. The road was really slick now. The temperature had dropped, and the melting snow on the pavement had turned to ice. As dangerous as it was, I drove the Jeep with my left knee while I dialed Wyatt on my cell phone. I was sure he’d tell Stone about the phone call, but at this point I felt I had no choice but to report to him what I’d just discovered. I would deal with the ramifications of this phone call later.
Wyatt answered on the third ring. He was directing traffic at an intersection on the western edge of Rockdale, he said. A conversion van had rear-ended a FedEx truck.
I told him all about my conversation with Joey at Boney’s Garage, even mentioning Walter’s fight with Caleb in passing. He thanked me for the information and promised to drive over to the Hobbs house as soon as the wreck was cleared up.
As I pulled away from the red light on Main Street, I looked up into my rearview mirror and noticed a big white car approaching me from behind. As it got closer I could see it was a Lincoln Continental, and a man was driving the vehicle. I didn’t think much about it at the time.
I turned on to Maple from Main Street to take the shortcut back to the inn. The Continental turned behind me. When I turned onto Fifth Street, the Continental turned behind me again. I looked at the driver in my rearview mirror. I noticed he had a jacket on, with the hood over his head, but I was almost certain it was Mr. Hobbs. It stood to reason he and his wife had two vehicles, so maybe he was driving her car. He probably wanted to keep his car out of sight as much as possible so no one would connect the dark SUV to the murder case and hit-and-run accident in the hospital parking lot. Was he really following me? I wondered.
Just to check, I turned right at the next crossroads at the last second, instead of pulling straight through the intersection. The Lincoln turned right behind me. I nearly froze in place, terrified now. I was convinced I was being tailed. Mr. Hobbs must have seen me pull out of Boney’s Garage, or maybe he’d been lying in wait for me to come back out on the road.
I turned left down the next street. He turned left. I drove two blocks and turned right. He turned right. We were now driving through a residential area of town. Not one person was in sight.
Everybody was staying inside because of the weather conditions. How could I lose him? I couldn’t drive fast enough on the icy roads to put any distance between us.
I made my way back to the highway, hoping the more heavily traveled roads were in better condition. They were, but just barely. I was able to gain a little speed as I drove, but the Lincoln behind me kept right on my rear bumper. There was no one at the inn. Driving there might be the worst thing I could do in this situation. It was a little isolated and sat back from the road quite a distance.
I made a sudden U-turn in the middle of the highway. The Lincoln did the same thing right behind me. There was absolutely no doubt now my stalker was following me, and he had evil intentions where I was concerned. I looked down at my dash and was instantly relieved to discover Stone had filled up my gas tank. I wouldn’t run out of gas any time soon, at least. Maybe I could keep driving until I was certain Stone would be home, and then return to the inn.
It suddenly occurred to me to call Wyatt back. All I had to do was hit “Send, Send,” on my phone, and it would ring through to him. I could tell him my location and have him send patrol cars out to rescue me. I reached into my purse and pulled my cell phone out just as the Lincoln behind me tapped the rear bumper of my Jeep. It jarred me just enough for me to drop the phone on the floor of the passenger side. Now I couldn’t reach the phone, and I couldn’t safely pull the Jeep over to pick the phone up off the floorboard either. There were no shoulders on this hilly, winding stretch of road.
I pushed down on the accelerator, picking up as much speed as I safely could without losing control of the Jeep. Still, I couldn’t lose the Lincoln Continental. I decided then, if I couldn’t call Wyatt, I would drive back to him. If I pulled up to him at the scene of the accident in downtown Rockdale, there wasn’t much Mr. Hobbs could do to me. If Wyatt had already left the scene, I would drive straight to the police station. I would pull into their parking lot and run into the building as fast as I could.
I felt a little bit of relief, now that I had a workable plan. I had to turn around and head back toward Rockdale. I couldn’t drive through the median because the Transportation Department had recently installed a cable down the center of it to help prevent head-on collisions.
So, instead, I pulled off onto the next exit ramp. This turned out to be a bad decision. As I reached the road at the end of the ramp, the rear end of my Jeep was tapped again. This time the hit was harder and more violent than the time before. I was unfamiliar with the area, and I didn’t know where the road I was on led, but there was no place to turn around to get back up on the highway. Surely, if I turned at the next intersection, I would end up back in town eventually. At least the road I currently traveled on was paved. I sped up a little, as did the Lincoln. He was now tapping the rear bumper of my car repeatedly.
Between the incessant tapping and the icy pavement, my Jeep was swerving from one side of the road to the other. The road had not been treated with salt or sand, and there was no one else on the road. I was driving on black ice now, barely able to keep the Jeep on the pavement even without being pounded from behind. The car was top heavy and the four-wheel drive was worthless on the ice.
I drove past a closed gas station, and a couple of vacant buildings. I saw no other human being, except for the angry face in my rearview mirror. He no longer tried to hide his face under the hood of his coat, as if he didn’t care if I recognized him at this point. Mr. Hobbs was getting impatient with me. He was now trying to spin me out by ramming one side of my rear bumper and then the other. Before I realized it, the pavement ended, and I found myself driving down an icy gravel road. We were out in the middle of nowhere now.
My heart was pounding in my chest, and I was breathing harder and harder, gasping in pure terror. I didn’t know how I was going to get back to town from my current location. I didn’t know where this road went, or even if it was leading to a dead end. If it was, it might very well be a dead end for me too. Now that Mr. Hobbs probably knew for sure I recognized him, he had almost no choice but to kill me. He had killed before and would not hesitate to do so again, I was certain.
What could I possibly do? It was hard to think while trying to maintain control of the vehicle. I looked up into my rearview mirror again and was surprised not to see the white Lincoln. Then I heard it pull up beside me on the driver’s side. Hobbs veered his car to the right and steadily pushed my lighter car over to the edge of the road. There was a deep ditch running along beside the gravel road.
I heard a sickening crunch on my left front quarter panel, and felt the Jeep turning over on its side into the ditch. I felt blood trickling down the side of my face where I’d hit the driver’s side window, which had shattered in the rollover. Before I could unbuckle my seatbelt, crawl out of the window, and make a run for it, Mr. Hobbs had me by the arms
and was pulling me out of the Jeep.
“Couldn’t leave things well enough alone, could you, Ms. Reed?” he asked, thinking I was Rhonda Reed, investigative reporter. He was a big man, even more menacing now than he had looked in my mirror. He pulled my arms behind my back, as I screamed in vain. He pulled a roll of duct tape out of his coat pocket, and began wrapping it tightly around my wrists. I was surprised he didn’t just kill me and get it over with. My Jeep and body probably wouldn’t be located for hours. Apparently, he had other plans for me.
I was kicking at him with my legs now, hitting him in the shins over and over again. He let out several yelps and was getting angrier and angrier. He called me a few obscene names and shoved me down to the ground. I inhaled fresh snow as I gasped for air. I found I couldn’t stand back up with my arms tied behind my back. I continued to kick at him as he tried to tie my ankles together. Eventually he succeeded, being larger and much stronger than I was.
He unlocked his trunk now, and picked me up to drop me into it. I was relieved he hadn’t killed me yet. I wasn’t sure what he had in mind for me, but I was certain things were going to get worse before they got better. I was still screaming when he started to close the trunk of the Lincoln, even though there was no one nearby to hear me. He opened it back up and put a piece of duct tape across my mouth to silence me.
I heard the driver’s door open and close, and felt him turn the car around and head back in the direction from which we had come. I could tell when we left the crunchy gravel road and were back up on the pavement. I was writhing around, trying to see if there was a release in the trunk of the car, but I couldn’t quite get turned just right. Knowing it was probably a futile attempt, I wrestled my arms around as much as I could. If I could somehow get my arms loose, I might be able to pull up the carpet and look for the trunk release cable. I knew they were usually located on the driver’s side of the trunk.
I fought and fought to loosen the tape around my wrists but was having no luck. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness. I could see a toolbox off to the left of my head. If only I could regain use of my hands, maybe I could find something in the toolbox to pry the door latch open. I rubbed and twisted my arms to create friction, hoping to cause the tape to wear and begin to rip. I knew my time might be running out, and I had never been this scared before in my entire life.
Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 03 - Haunted Page 20
