The Kindness of Strangers (Skip Langdon Mystery #6) (The Skip Langdon Series)

by Julie Smith

  Revolted, she fell back on her heels, then stood and staggered out to the courtyard. She touched the cat. Again, it made a feline moan.

  She went in and sat by the phone, not wanting to phone 911, wanting more personal attention.

  Why don’t I know any cops?

  Her brain made a leap and she reached for her Rolodex. Langdon!

  “Skip? I know it’s the middle of the night, but please pick up if you’re home. This is Boo Leydecker and my husband’s dead. Please pick up …”

  “Boo, what’s going on?”

  “Noel’s lying on the floor of the garage. The car was on.”

  “Did you call nine-one-one?”

  “He’s dead,” Boo said simply. “I’m calling you.”

  “Call nine-one-one now. I’ll be right there. Stay out of the garage. Don’t touch anything.”

  As she hung up, Boo felt taken care of, as if things were in someone else’s hands at last.

  For once.

  But what about when she leaves?

  She felt the beginnings of panic and fought it off, Okay, she’ll come; she’ll leave. I’m going to need someone. My mother lives in Alabama.

  Noel’s mother?

  Of course not.

  Who then?

  She couldn’t think of a soul. She realized with amazement: I have no friends.

  In a moment she heard sirens and went to get a robe. Looking out the window, she saw the pathetic furry lump on the red pillow.

  * * *

  Not knowing what Boo would do, Skip called 911 as she pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. The dispatcher would call Homicide, but Skip called as well, as a courtesy.

  Steve heard the whole thing, of course. “Can I do anything? Drive you over?”

  She considered. “I don’t think so. By the time we got the car, I could be there.”

  She appreciated the fact that he hadn’t asked her why she was going. He would have gone for the excitement alone, she was pretty sure.

  There was an element of that in her decision, as well— or at least, of curiosity; Noel was a major player in the Jacomine drama.

  But mostly, she wanted to help Boo out, partly because she’d helped with Skip’s own problem, but it was more than that. Boo was a neighbor.

  She ran the few blocks to Boo’s, hearing the sirens of emergency vehicles on their way as well.

  A police car was already parked in front of the house. It was muggy out, with a slight drizzle, perhaps the beginning of the hurricane. The air felt edgy.

  Boo was on the sidewalk, in a terry cloth robe that was much too hot for the morning. She was holding her baby—no, it was the cat, but she held it like a baby.

  Skip said, “You okay?” Inane question, she thought. How could she be?

  Yet Boo said she was, as if they were standing in line at a bank.

  She shook her head, her face tragic, but her eyes dry. “I never thought he’d do this. I don’t know why, it just didn’t occur to me.”

  “You think he committed suicide?”

  Boo nodded. “Oh, God, we had a horrible fight. Will I have to tell them?”

  “What was it about?” Skip felt let down, and she was ashamed—she simply saw no way this could connect with Jacomine.

  “I said I couldn’t trust him with the baby—not to molest her.”

  “Did you have evidence that he had molested her?”

  “No, but… he was having an affair with the babysitter.”

  “Torian?” It was out of Skip’s mouth before she could stop herself.

  “You know Torian?”

  Skip shrugged. “You know what the French Quarter’s like.”

  “Omigod. Does everyone know she and Noel…”

  “No. Someone would have said something.”

  “Did you know Torian’s run away? She called here— for Noel. Can you believe that? I picked up to make a call just as she was declaring her love.”

  “Do you think it was one-sided? Girls do get crushes.”

  “Oh, no, I listened to the whole conversation. They were having a thing.”

  “So you told him you heard it.”

  Boo nodded.

  “And what did he say?”

  “He said he loved her and wanted to be with her. Something like that.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a man about to commit suicide.”

  “Well, there’s Joy. And my unbelievably stupid remark.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Skip saw the other woman’s sniff of impatience and realized how lame she sounded. “Where is Joy, anyway? She can’t be sleeping through all this.”

  “She is. I was dying to pick her up. I’m making do with Melpomene.”

  “Pretty docile cat.”

  “Well, actually she’s not usually like this. She’s still recovering—she was in the garage, too.”

  “She was?”

  “Uh-huh. At least I got there in time for one of them.” She was quiet a moment, staring into space. “The car woke me up, I guess.”

  A couple of policemen walked toward them, and Skip knew what they were going to say—that Noel was officially dead, that the coroner had said so.

  Far from losing her cool, Boo simply thanked them, behaving as if she’d already accepted the fact. Skip wondered if she was too cool, or was simply in shock. Probably the latter, she thought—she’d seen it a lot.

  While they waited for the Homicide detectives, she managed to steer the conversation back to Torian. “Did she say where she was?”

  Boo shook her head, looking momentarily more miserable.

  It’s going to hit her soon, Skip thought.

  “Look,” she said, “let me call someone to come sit with you. I’ve got a feeling you’re going to need help with Joy.”

  “I’ll be okay.” She spoke like a robot.

  “I’ll go talk to the detectives then. Unless there’s something I can do.”

  Boo shook her head.

  “By the way, does Torian’s mother know about any of this?”

  “Not yet. I was going to call her in the morning.” She hesitated. “Did you really mean it—about anything you could do?”

  “Of course.”

  “You could let her mother know. Would you mind?”

  “Of course not. I’ll be glad to.”

  The night was turning from black to gray as Skip slipped back into bed beside Steve. He turned on his side and wrapped his arms around her. “You okay?”

  “Jacomine killed him.”

  “Yeah? They arrest him yet?”

  “Don’t be so sarcastic. There’s hope—I’m not kidding. Listen to this.” She broke away and faced him. “‘Two animals were locked in a garage full of carbon monoxide, one a full-sized man, the other a seven-pound cat. The cat survived, the man didn’t. What does that mean to you?”

  “The car wasn’t running long enough to kill the cat.”

  “Right. Therefore—”

  “It couldn’t have killed the man.”

  “It must have just been turned on. I’ll bet that’s what woke Boo up in the first place. Also, the body was on the floor at the street side of the garage.”

  “Instead of sitting up in the car?”

  “Uh-huh. Just as if it was dumped there.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  LISE WAS AWAKENED by a terrifying banging.

  The door. Maybe it’s Charles.

  But she knew it wasn’t. It was too insistent and loud— too angry. It must be Wilson.

  I’m damned if I’m opening the door in my underwear. She already had on a T-shirt. She found a pair of shorts and ran a comb through her hair.

  “Who is it?”

  “Skip Langdon.”

  Who the fuck is Skip Langdon?

  The cop! Sheila’s aunt or whoever she is.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “Could you open the door, please? I need to talk to you.”

  “It’s not a good time right now.”

  �
��I wanted to tell you some things. Torian called me last night.”

  Lise flung open the door. “Torian called you?”

  The cop seemed startled. She took a step back, but recovered her composure and even ventured a smile. “There’s a lot to talk about. May I come in?”

  Lise stepped aside, hoping she didn’t seem too sulky. She didn’t want to let the cop in at all. The place was a wreck and even if it hadn’t been, it wasn’t exactly a showplace. And then, whenever you had someone in your house you had to offer them coffee or something, and that meant work. It also meant they tended to settle in and stay.

  The cop came in and closed the door behind her. She had on shorts and a dark green T-shirt.

  “Sheila’s missing, too. Torian called to say they’re together.”

  “Well, where are they?”

  “‘Torian didn’t say. She left a message on my machine.” The cop held up a hand. “Don’t ask why she didn’t call Uncle Jimmy. I wouldn’t know.”

  It had never occurred to Lise to ask that. She barely knew Uncle Jimmy’s name.

  Langdon said, “Where do you think they are?”

  “Where do I think they are? If I knew, I’d be there right now, tanning their little butts. Listen, Officer, this has been my problem for a while—don’t you think I’ve pretty well been back and forth on it by now?”

  Once again the big woman, presumably a pistol- packin’ mama and a veteran of the mean streets, took a step backward. What’s with her? Lise thought.

  “I just thought you were in the best position to know what her interests are.”

  “Her interests.” The notion made Lise oddly uncomfortable.

  Who on God’s green Earth knows what Torian’s interests are? Other than smoking and giggling with Sheila.

  Ah. There’s one thing.

  She shrugged. “Only the mayor’s campaign. But I hardly think this is some kind of political protest.”

  “Whose campaign?”

  Lise thought. “That … uh … the priest or whoever he is.”

  “Errol Jacomine?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What kind of interest did she take in the campaign?”

  “She was volunteering. I don’t know—stuffing envelopes, I guess. Whatever they do.”

  “Did you know anyone she was working with?”

  “No. It was something she did after school. I was at work.”

  “Did you ever hear her mention anyone’s name— either from the campaign or the church?”

  “Church?”

  “Jacomine’s church.”

  “Oh. No, I never did.”

  “Not even Noel Treadaway?”

  “He’s the man she babysits for.”

  “He was also Jacomine’s campaign manager.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Mrs. Gernhard, can we sit down for a minute?”

  Lise shrugged. “Okay.” It meant she had to clear newspapers off the sofa. She was damned if she was going to offer coffee or lemonade.

  She motioned Langdon to the sofa and took a straight chair for herself.

  The cop said, “Did you know your daughter was involved with Noel Treadaway?”

  “Involved? What do you mean, ‘involved’?”

  “Romantically involved.”

  “Oh, come on, she’s just a kid.”

  The cop didn’t speak, just stared back at her until she burst out, “What the fuck are you talking about? How could you know a thing like that? I’ll tell you—you couldn’t. You’ve been listening to some lying little … Sheila! She’s probably jealous just because Torian …”

  The cop was standing up. “I guess you were right. This isn’t the best time to talk about it.”

  “Wait. Wait a minute. I’m sorry if I was rude.”

  The cop didn’t sit again, simply stood there, towering. “I’m telling you this because I promised Boo Leydecker I would—Noel Treadaway’s wife. She felt it was her responsibility, only she isn’t quite up to it. Her husband died last night.”

  “Noel Treadaway’s dead?” She waved her hands in front of her, crossing them in the air, like some demented referee to whom no one was paying the least attention. “What are you saying to me? First my daughter’s having an affair with a married man twice her age—my God, he could go to jail for this!—and then you tell me he’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Lise sucked air, trying to take this in, not having any idea how to do it.

  Could this be true?

  Little Torian? She’s just a baby.

  “‘Tell me, Mrs. Gernhard—did Sheila work on the Jacomine campaign as well?”

  “How would I know? What the fuck do I care about Sheila?”

  “Mrs. Gernhard, listen to me. Two girls are missing and a man is dead. This is serious, do you understand that?”

  “Of course I understand it.” Lise turned her voice to ice. “‘Torian is my daughter.”

  “Did Sheila work on the campaign?”

  “I really don’t know a thing about Sheila.”

  “Can you think of any reason why she’d run away from home?”

  “Perhaps …” Lise raised her head and looked down her nose “… perhaps she’s desperately unhappy.”

  “I’m sorry you don’t feel like cooperating. I’m doing my best to find Sheila, and I’ve just told you Torian’s with her. Don’t you want to find your daughter?”

  “Of course I want to find my daughter.” Lise heard the defiance in her own voice. She sounded like some yappy little dog—all defense, no offense. “You’re really being quite offensive.”

  The big woman shrugged and left a card on the table. “If you change your mind, give me a call.”

  In a pig’s eye, you condescending bitch.

  * * *

  Skip left running, heart pounding, feeling desperate to do something. Almost anything.

  If this were someone else’s kid you ‘d be cool, right? So be cool.

  Deliberately, she slowed her pace, but her heart still pounded. It had simply never occurred to her to connect the girls’ disappearance with Jacomine. The suspicion that this had something to do with Torian’s volunteer job, with Noel’s death, filled her with panic.

  God, he’s dangerous! I think he’s one of the most dangerous people I ever saw.

  Sheila, Sheila, what were you thinking of?

  And Torian. She could have killed Torian. What the hell was she doing involved with a married man twice her age, a man with many times her experience and no ability whatsoever to make her happy or even take her on a date? The years between thirty and forty-five were one thing, but the gap between a kid of fifteen and an adult was almost like the gulf between being five and being twenty.

  Jacomine’s church had a million group homes, and probably safehouses and just plain hidey-holes. Sheila could be anywhere.

  If she was with them. The Treadaway connection could be a coincidence.

  She sighed. Face it, it’s the best lead you have.

  Why the hell would she run away, dammit? Things were going fine. Weren’t they?

  Sheila had run away once before, but that was when she was thirteen and had just come to live with Jimmy Dee, still struggling with the death of her mother. They had found her sleeping near St. Louis Cathedral.

  In Skip’s heart of hearts, she thought the reason must be very different from the other time—that had been to demonstrate how unhappy she was. This time it must have to do with Torian.

  She must have known all along where Torian was. And then something set her off. Maybe a call for help. Maybe Torian needed her.

  Something, anyhow. Some incident.

  She knocked on Jimmy Dee’s back door and entered without waiting for an answer. “Is she back?”

  Kenny came running down the hall. His sweet freckled face was pinched and a little pale. “No. She hasn’t even called.”

  He was scared to death.

  Well, no wonder, poor baby. His daddy left and
his mother died, and then he had to leave everyone else he knew to come here. The thought of losing someone is probably a lot more real to him than it is to most kids.

  She smiled, keeping up a good front. “Torian did, though. Uncle Jimmy didn’t tell you?” Torian had called while Skip and Steve were babysitting Kenny, and they had phoned Jimmy Dee as soon as they picked up the message.

  “Yeah, he told me.” His face said he wasn’t reassured.

  “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart, she’s just a teenager. You know how they are.”

  “Hey. I’m one, too.”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  He opened the referigerator, which she took for a good sign.

  “Where’s Uncle Jimmy?”

  “He went out to get milk. He thinks I can’t go to school without it.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s trying to act cool, but he keeps dropping things and he put on one blue and one black sock—he’s so weirded out, I didn’t even say anything.”

  Skip’s heart went out to both of them—each pretending for the other. “‘Tell him to chill out, will you? And you chill yourself—she’ll probably be back by noon.”

  Steve was in the shower, but he’d made coffee. She poured herself some and found some bread for toast. Steve came out drying his hair. “News?”

  “The worst.” She filled him in.

  “So,” he said, “you think Jacomine killed Noel and probably kidnapped Torian. Then he got her to call Sheila and ask for help, whereupon he snatched her, too.”

  She stared at him, surprised he’d spoken so bluntly. “Yes. In my darker moments. Talk me out of it—go ahead.”

  “Let’s kick it around a little. What would be the motive for such a dastardly deed?”

  “Don’t joke about it.”

  “Sorry. I’m trying to cheer you up.”

  Skip barely heard. Her mind was on his question. “Maybe it’s something to do with Noel’s leaving the campaign. Did we talk about that?”

  “You said Jane Storey told you.”

  “Okay. That was yesterday. He died yesterday. Cause and effect?”

  “Listen, I know you think Jacomine’s the Prince of Darkness, but that’s a pretty extreme reaction to a person quitting a job.”

  She chewed a bite of toast and considered. “Honestly, I don’t know that he’s not capable of it. The man is not normal—extreme is his middle name. But that’s not what I was really suggesting. I was thinking maybe Noel quit because of a disagreement over policy. Maybe he simply refused to play Jacomine’s games—which were no doubt illegal. Do you see what I’m getting at?”