No reason why he would have, of course; plus, I hadn’t seen his car down below. And seeing as he’s driving an eye-catching convertible Jaguar in baby blue with matching leather interior, I think I would have noticed.
When the meeting was over, I headed into my office, a converted coat closet just off the reception area. There’s not much room there; just enough for a desk, a chair and a standing lamp in the corner. While I waited for my computer to boot up, I looked through the mail that Brittany, the receptionist, had put in my box. A circular from Hewlett-Packard offered special discounts on office equipment to NAR-members; NAR being the National Association of Realtors. A circular from Dell did the same thing. There was a reminder that I hadn’t paid my office fees yet this month, which Brittany had snuck in among the real mail. A couple of postcards from other agents showcased their new listings or sales. Following that was this month’s edition of Realtor Magazine, with a cover story about mortgage scams.
The Memphis Daily News had nothing new about the unrolling of the cargo gang, but a whole slew of other crimes had taken place over the weekend. Shootings, robberies, rapes, burglaries; you name it. I was scowling at a sidebar of statistics—Memphis and Nashville both have twice the crime of New York City, proportionally—when I felt someone looking over my shoulder. When I turned around, I got a heady whiff of Tim’s aftershave, and felt my head spin. After a moment, I managed to croak out a question. “What’s that you’re wearing?”
“This old thing?” Tim flicked a manicured finger at his emerald green satin shirt.
“I was thinking of your aftershave. Or cologne.”
“Shower-gel, darling.” He told me the name and added, coyly, “Remind you of someone?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.” I turned back to the computer.
Tim glanced from me to the screen and back. “Any word from the scrumptious Mr. Collier?”
Tim has a crush on Rafe, and since Rafe is happy to flirt with anyone, man or woman, they get along famously. The fact that Rafe doesn’t bat for Tim’s team doesn’t seem to bother either of them, nor does my presence slow them down at all.
I said no, I hadn’t heard from Rafe.
Tim added, “You know, Savannah, you could go buy yourself a bottle of gel and take a shower.” He waggled his perfectly plucked eyebrows. I’d gotten so used to his suggestive remarks by now that I didn’t even blush.
“No thanks. And I didn’t say that’s who it reminded me of.”
“You forget,” Tim said, “I’ve had the pleasure of smelling your boyfriend, too.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. And for all you know, I may have lots of friends who use that same shower-gel.”
Tim giggled. “Your other boyfriend doesn’t. Not that he smells bad, of course. Or looks bad, either. He’s more your type anyway, isn’t he?”
“Todd? I suppose he is.” Loyal, devoted, flatteringly attentive, not to mention gainfully employed in a legitimate profession. And if he can’t quite claim to have Rafe’s knock’em-dead sex-appeal, he’s certainly handsome enough in his well-dressed, well-coiffed, professional way.
“Although he doesn’t have much of a sense of humor,” Tim added.
Tim and Todd had met for the first time last week, at Fidelio’s. Tim had stopped by our table to say hello, as was his wont when we crossed paths outside the office. He’d done it before too, when I’d been there with Rafe. Except this time, my date wasn’t into playing games with Tim. When Tim batted his eyelashes, Todd just stared blankly at him, and Tim’s sly reference to Rafe had been remarkably ill-received by Todd. It had taken the rest of the night for me to calm him down, and he still wasn’t entirely settled in his mind, as evidenced by him bringing it up again on our next date.
“He wants to marry me,” I said. “It’s understandable that he wouldn’t think it’s funny when you ask me suggestive questions about other men.”
“There was nothing suggestive about it,” Tim retorted. “I just wanted to know when that megalicious hunk of manhood is coming back to town.”
“And you didn’t think the words megalicious hunk of manhood—if megalicious is even a word—might be offensive?”
“I thought it might offend you,” Tim said innocently, “since it isn’t every woman who can handle it when we confirmed bachelors look at her man, but I had no idea it would offend your date.”
“Yes, well, Todd is touchy when it comes to Rafe.”
“And you’re not?”
“Of course I’m not,” I said, and then excused myself when the phone rang. “This is Savannah.”
“Miss Martin.”
“Detective.” No problems recognizing this voice.
“Are you busy? Something’s come up that I’d like your help with.”
Uh-oh. The last time I heard that statement, she had wanted me to come to the morgue to identify Lila Vaughn. “Is… um… nobody’s dead, I hope?”
Tim gasped theatrically.
“Not this time,” Detective Grimaldi said. I thought for a second.
“Does this have anything to do with... um... Rafe?”
This may seem like a major leap of deduction, or maybe it seems like everything in my life revolves around Rafael Collier, but in actuality, nothing could be further from the truth. Most of the time, I go through life without thinking much about him at all. In fact, during the twelve years between the end of my freshman year of high school and when I saw him again two months ago, I don’t think he crossed my mind once. In this case, however, it seemed like a logical question. Tamara Grimaldi was a cop. Rafe was a criminal. It made sense that she’d be calling to talk about him.
“In a way,” Detective Grimaldi said.
“Has something happened to him?”
Tim squeaked again, clasping his hands in front of his chest, his baby-blue eyes round. I turned away, not needing that kind of distraction at the moment. My own heart was thudding hard and loud enough.
“Not as far as I know,” Tamara Grimaldi said. “Look, Miss Martin, could we cut this short? I have a situation I have to take care of. When can you be here?”
“Where’s here?”
She made an impatient noise. “My office. Downtown.”
“No offense,” I said, “but the last time you called me like this, you wanted me to come to the medical examiner’s office to look at crime scene photos. Fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll see you then.” She hung up before I had the chance to say anything else.
I arched my brows, but didn’t waste time standing on ceremony. Instead I got up from the desk, grabbed my purse from the floor, and brushed past Tim. “Duty calls.”
“But what’s wrong?” Tim called after me. I glanced at him over my shoulder. He looked worried.
“I don’t know. All she said was that she had a situation. I guess I’ll find out when I get there.”
I swung through the door out onto the sidewalk and headed for the parking lot across the street.
Chapter 3
“Spicer and Truman found her walking down the street in her housecoat and slippers,” Detective Grimaldi said twenty minutes later.
I had driven hell for leather into downtown, found a parking space a block and a half from Police Plaza, and hoofed it up to her office with five seconds to spare, only to find her entertaining Tondalia Jenkins, who was drinking Diet Pepsi and eating peanut butter crackers from a vending machine, in front of a TV in the lounge. Her fuzzy slippers were dirty and worn through on the bottom—clearly not meant for walking long distances outside—and her hair stood out at weird angles to her head, the way it had back when she was living in an old folks’ home where nobody cared for her.
“They drove her back to the house, but no one was there. Since they didn’t feel good about leaving her by herself, to wander off again, they brought her to me.”
“And you called me,” I said. She shrugged unapologetically.
“I figured you’d be the most likely person to know how to get in touch with her grandso
n.”
We were standing in the doorway to the lounge, keeping an eye on Mrs. Jenkins, but far enough away that she couldn’t hear our conversation. Or so I thought.
“You figured wrong. I have no idea how to get in touch with Rafe. I haven’t heard from him since he left. For all I know, he’s been dead for the past five weeks.”
Mrs. Jenkins glanced up at that, her beady eyes concerned. I mustered a smile. “Sorry, Mrs. Jenkins. I’m sure he’s not. I just haven’t heard from him, is all.”
I lowered my voice again, and added, for Detective Grimaldi’s benefit, “And I have absolutely no idea how to get in touch with him.”
“He didn’t tell you where he was going? Give you a phone number to use in case of emergencies? Call or write?” Tamara Grimaldi’s voice was disbelieving. I shook my head.
“He mentioned Memphis, in a throwaway sort of way, but he didn’t actually say he was going there. And the only phone number I’ve ever had for him, is the one I gave you back in August, after Perry Fortunato’s… um… death. You said it had been disconnected.”
“And you have no other way of getting in touch with him?”
“None at all,” I said firmly. “Have you tried asking Julio Melendez? You’ve still got him locked up, right? Or what about Ishmael Jackson? Doesn’t one of them know how to find him? What would Julio do if he had another job for Rafe?”
“According to Julio,” Detective Grimaldi said, with a wolfish snap of strong, white teeth, “Mr. Collier was the one who approached him, not vice versa.”
I opened my eyes wide. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe. It doesn’t matter what he says, either, because he can’t prove it. We can’t even prove that Mr. Collier was involved. He left town before I had the chance to ask him about it, but all he’d have to do, would be to say that he knew Julio and Ishmael and the others socially, but that he wasn’t involved in anything criminal. There’s no law against playing pool, even with known felons.”
I hid a smile. “Sorry to hear that.”
“No, you’re not. But that’s neither here nor there. Right at the moment, I need to get in touch with him because his grandmother is all alone and wandering around. If we can’t find him and get him to make alternative arrangements, we’ll have to put her back into the Milton House for the time being.”
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 kn
ife. 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.
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