Yew to a Kill

by Kim Smith

  I hurried into the living room. No Dwayne.

  Scurrying toward the back, to his bedroom, I called his name, hoping he would be there asleep. Maybe he’d taken pain-killers and was doped up. I flipped on the light. The bed was rumpled but not occupied. He wasn’t in the bathroom either.

  The entire trailer was vacant and alarms were ringing in my head.

  Now, I was frantic. They’d taken him hostage. He’d been kidnapped.

  Now the flood of tears became very loud sobs.

  What should I do?

  I unlocked the front door and hurried to my car, grabbed my purse, and ran back taking the front steps two at a time. Visions of being attacked from behind by a dangerous enemy made me slam the door and lock it immediately, my fear overwhelming my tears.

  While I dialed Sal, I stood looking at the gaping hole in Dwayne’s window. I wished for a magical genie who could just blink her eyes and fix the damage.

  “Sal!” I bawled, when he answered his phone.

  “Whoa, hold it. What’s wrong, Chica?” he asked, trying to get me to calm down. I heard movement and remembered it was very late, or early, depending on how you looked at it. Like one o’clock in the morning on a Saturday.

  “D-Dwayne’s,” I managed. “G-gone. G-gone.”

  “What? He’s gone?”

  I bit my index finger to keep from screaming. “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay, calm down. Where are you?”

  “I broke into the trailer. He’s gone! Gone—taken!”

  “I’ll be right over. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t touch anything.”

  The phone went dark. I sat in the middle of the living room on the ratty carpet halfway between the broken glass back deck and the front door, hoping I wouldn’t have to use the gun I slid out of my purse.

  Damn it.

  I’d let my partner and best friend down tonight. Of all the things that could happen to me, this had to be the worst. Why didn’t I take him with me? Why did I leave him alone?

  The worries and fears of the entire week hit me full force, and I keeled over sobbing, praying Sal would hurry.

  When I heard the neighborhood dogs barking, I unlocked the door, gun in one hand, business end pointed at the floor. Sal arrived in a flurry of flashing lights. He bounded up the stairs two at a time, concern on his face.

  Hysteria over, a strange numbness struck me.

  He took the gun out of my hand, slung an arm over my shoulder, and sat me on the couch.

  “What’s happened?” he asked. “Tell me again, all of it.”

  “Dwayne’s missing.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Do you see him?” I asked, waving my arm around. “He’s missing, poof, gone.”

  “Maybe he’s at Kringle’s grocery?”

  “At one in the morning?”

  “Maybe someone drove him? He does have a hurt arm. Did you call his cell?”

  “Yes, that’s why I broke in. He isn’t answering.”

  “You broke in?” Now his face creased with amusement. He ventured a glance at the kitchen window.

  “Do not look at me like that, Salvador Ramirez. I couldn’t get him to respond and he wasn’t answering his phone. I could picture him lying on the floor with a needle sticking out of his—”

  “Okay, let’s take this slow,” he interrupted. “Why do you think foul play is involved?”

  “Because he’s hurt. Not able to protect himself. And…and he’s missing.”

  “So? You still don’t know that it’s foul play, right?”

  “I know he’d open the door for Rafe. I think Rafe is involved in something dangerous, either willingly or not. What if he—”

  “Did you see anyone when you got here?” Sal asked abruptly, walking to the pile of shattered glass. “Did you see anyone or anything that looked suspicious? Did you see Rafe?”

  “No. Well, I mean, I didn’t look. I was trying to get him to the door. I was afraid—”

  “What makes you think it was Rafe? Or anybody sinister for that matter?”

  Now he sounded angry. I stood, ready to do battle.

  “He. Is. Not. Answering. His. Cell. Phone,” I said, pointing my finger at him to emphasize the words. “Why are you so defensive over Rafe?”

  He took a deep breath, strode over and handed my gun back. “He’s family. My cousin wouldn’t be involved in anything like kidnapping. He’s not a bad person, just misguided. I think he’s gotten tangled up in something he didn’t know he was getting tangled in.”

  “Well, ignorant of the facts or not, he’s tangled. And whether you want to acknowledge it or not, your cousin has men friends. That was men, m-e-n, plural. He and Bubba had been in arguments that led to Rafe being arrested. I don’t know what the deal was between them, but it was bad enough for Bubba to have him hauled in.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Dwayne. Duh.”

  He looked down at his feet.

  I went on. “Let’s play twenty questions.”

  He nodded.

  “Say Rafe and Bubba were lovers, and they had a spat and Rafe went over to the flower shop to try and make up. What if he got there and saw something he shouldn’t have, say someone stuffing Bubba’s body in that cooler?”

  “No evidence to substantiate your theory.”

  “Yeah? Well, I have no other reason to believe your cousin is honorable, okay? If my theory is wrong, then he is involved with the bad guys, seeing as how I saw him in the cemetery with them. I’d much rather believe he is acting out of being forced, just like you would.”

  He shrugged and let me continue.

  “So let’s say he witnessed something. Maybe he’s being forced to participate. They’ve drugged him. Maybe to make him behave?”

  He paced for a few moments. “I’m listening.”

  “Okay, so he’s an unwilling participant. Now, the question is, what does Theo Makamushi have to do with it all? I mean, he has a black Mercedes. There have been things going on that fit with his involvement.”

  “What sort of things?”

  I thrust a hand on my hip. “I can’t put my finger on it. It’s like, well, a sense about it. He’s involved up to his ears and that car is only part of it.” I let that sink in while I returned my gun to its place in my purse. Finally, I screwed up the courage to ask, “Do you think Rafe and Theo are dating?”

  “Dating? Geez, I can’t believe you asked that—and no I do not.” His body language reminded me of a rooster shaking his feathers in indignation of being challenged.

  “Well, Rafe was seen getting into Theo’s car, which has the earmarks of being the same one as was seen parked at the cemetery where a body was located. And somebody affiliated with a black Mercedes, or that group of people, shot Dwayne. If they aren’t dating, then how is Rafe involved with Theo? This is looking pretty damn dark and dangerous to me.”

  He crossed his arms. “Theo’s Mercedes might be the one and same, but that doesn’t mean Theo’s involved with caskets being stolen, bodies being buried. He’s an employee of the funeral home, supposed to be Jason’s employee. Can’t he be in the cemetery at various and odd times? And maybe Rafe’s relationship to him is something else entirely. Not dating, either.” He lowered his gaze to his feet, lifted it to the ceiling, and then shook his head, frowning.

  My blood pressure rose. “The last time you acted this way, you had all the answers to who killed my boyfriend. This isn’t finding Dwayne.”

  He shuffled his feet, refusing to look at me.

  I exhaled and pointed a finger at him. “Oh, now I see. It’s getting clear now. You’re trying to throw me off. You’re cutting me out of this whole thing, just like the last time. Right? Well thanks, but it won’t work. I know too much. But I do so hope you solve this crap soon.”

  “Shannon, it’s not open for discussion. I’m working on it. Rafe’s life is in the balance. He was attacked, remember? It isn’t like this is some video game here where everybody who dies will be in
a new one tomorrow. This is an active case. People—Rafe, too—are in danger.”

  “Well, guess what? He ain’t the only one! Newsflash, Dwayne is now missing. He’s not answering his freaking phone!”

  “Which brings us back to the beginning. An unanswered phone could mean a variety of things. Could it be he’s ignoring you?” He sounded like he wished he had done the same thing. “It’s very late. Don’t you think you should wait until daylight to begin a missing person’s report? They won’t do anything with it for like twenty-four hours anyway.”

  Now I was flat out of patience.

  “Are you trying to put me off because you think you know my history, and I don’t have one that breeds intelligence? Dwayne is missing, Sal. Missing, damn it!” I tugged my own phone out of my pocket. I swiped it open, went into my contacts, and dialed Dwayne’s number.

  Sal strode to my side. “Go home, Shannon. He’ll turn up. If he doesn’t, we’ll report him as missing. Right now, I think he is probably out with some friends, at a club, or maybe at their house. You’re going to be mad at yourself if he turns up beet-red from being at someone’s hot tub all night.”

  “Black men can’t show up beet-red, genius. You’re out of your freaking mind.” I listened as the ringer buzzed in my ear, once, twice. Then I heard the unmistakable ring tone of Christina Aguilera’s latest hot song tinkling somewhere in the back of the trailer. I followed the sound until I found Dwayne’s phone, buried beneath a towel in the bathroom.

  Sal followed me, and we stood staring at it.

  “Maybe he dropped it out of his pants,” he suggested.

  “No way. He’s attached to this damn thing all the time,” I told him shaking it in his face. “He’d never leave it. We just had a conversation about this not long ago. He loves that damn phone.” Tears edged my lashes. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Will you please call this in now?”

  He nodded, and I followed him back to the front of the trailer. He called the office from his phone, opened the door, and went out to his car.

  I flopped into one of the kitchen chairs and tried to focus on anything but the ache in my chest. My God. I’d let the bad guys get Dwayne.

  This was the worst day of my life. I just prayed I found him before it became the worst day of his life, too.

  Sal found a piece of plywood under the trailer and placed it across the broken window before he passed out in the spare bedroom. He wanted to grab a nap before he had to be at his desk, and I couldn’t blame him. While he slept, I swept up the mess and tried to right Dwayne’s trailer.

  By dawn, I had fallen asleep on Dwayne’s couch, exhausted with worry and mental strain. I had come up empty on every possible lead.

  I tossed and turned on the rough orange velour sofa, hugging Dwayne’s cell phone, lost in dreams of running, looking for some elusive person hidden in a mist. When I jerked awake it was around seven, Sal was already gone. I stumbled to the kitchen to sit at the small table and try to figure out what to do.

  Sal had been pretty upset with Rafe when he finally accepted he could be involved in Dwayne’s disappearance. He had stomped around outside for a while. I wished I had something positive to tell him about his cousin, but as it was, I had drawn a bulls-eye on his back myself.

  When Sal called me from his office, he told me that the watch commander promised to apprise everyone on his shift and the one after that, but little could be done until Dwayne had been missing for at least a day. An officer had been sent around to Rafe’s trailer, but found no one in residence.

  Sal didn’t say so, but I was pretty sure Rafe had moved out. If I was being chased by casket-thieves, or maybe even drug creeps, I would move, too. I just wanted to know if he took Dwayne with him.

  Rafe had been friends with Dwayne at one time and involved with Bubba, who was now dead. That thought didn’t do anything for my nerves either. What if he had killed Bubba? What if his intentions were the same for Dwayne?

  At any rate, either Rafe or Theo had visited Jason Scott while we were present and had turned the man into a complete melted mess of fear. I wanted answers, but unfortunately none were coming. I needed a common denominator.

  Grabbing a pencil off the sofa table, I wrote down names on the back of an envelope Dwayne had left lying around. Under Bubba’s name I put Rafe’s name because they were lovers. Then I put down Dwayne and drew an arrow pointing to both Rafe and Bubba. They were all friends. I wrote the word flowers and paused.

  It was a strange way to connect them.

  Next, I drew a line separating Bubba and his crew from a new grouping. Here I wrote Shelly. She was the other murdered victim and she was sort of connected. She knew Bubba from the funeral home probably. She knew Dwayne too, from his meetings with Jason. I wrote their names and put an arrow pointing to them.

  Sitting back, I chewed on the pencil eraser. Dwayne was by both names. But really Rafe could be by both also. He knew Bubba, but he was seen in the cemetery where the caskets were found, and Shelly was the casket inventory and office person.

  I paced around, grouchiness setting in as I realized something was missing. Some clue was here and it was the connector, but I wasn’t seeing it.

  I made a pot of coffee out of Dwayne’s stash of gourmet blends and while I waited for it to drip, leaned over the back of the chair to stare at the list.

  Suddenly, as the gurgling of the last bit of water issued out of the coffee maker, it hit me.

  The missing connection!

  I wrote Jason’s name by both Bubba and Shelly’s entries.

  Jason Scott knew Bubba as a client and he knew Shelly as an employee. He also knew Dwayne, thanks to the video business.

  Jason was the connection. And I needed to get some answers pronto.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Enlightened thus far, I decided to go to the office to watch the video from the funeral again. Someone on that tape was involved. Scores of people who had intentions less than honorable were present at Bubba’s funeral, including Theo and Jason, and his participation especially interested me now.

  I sped through town, keeping a watchful eye out for the cops, and sent thanks out to the heavens for the light traffic. In record time, I turned into the parking lot at Video Angels, where a lone car sat parked in the far back.

  Who had a sedan like that? It was way early for the businesses open on Saturday to have their proprietors moving around in them yet. My antennae went up. What if someone was lying in wait at the office?

  I got out of the car, tugged my purse onto my shoulder, made sure Dwayne’s phone was tucked safely within reach, and moved my .38 into the pocket of my jacket. Even if I didn’t need it, I still wanted it there, weighing down one side, reassuring me with its weighty presence.

  After trudging up the short flight of stairs, I glanced through the front windows. They were covered in mini-blinds, but you could see through them if the light was right and you were close enough. There was movement inside. My heart began to throb until I felt faint.

  I moved to the opposite side of the door and peered in again, trying to keep as much of my body away from the firing line as I could. Someone dressed in khakis and a white shirt moved across the floor.

  With finesse, I inserted my key and opened the door with one hand, gun in the other at the ready. Yoshi swung around and dropped the dust mop he was pushing around. He put his hands in the air.

  “Yoshi!”

  “Missus Wallace!” In his excitement, it sounded like Merisus Rallus.

  I lowered the gun and disarmed it, dropped it into my jacket pocket. “Damn, Yoshi. You scared the poop out of me.”

  “You scare Yoshi poop out, too,” he answered.

  Dropping my purse on the futon in the reception area, I let out a loud breath. “Well, I have some work to do today. How about since I scared you, I give you the rest of the day off?”

  “No pay cut?” he asked, gray brows lifted.

  “No, your pay is fine.”

  He
nodded and took the dust mop over to a corner behind a screen where he kept his cleaning supplies. When he returned he was carrying a squatty little hat, which he stuck on his head.

  “Yoshi, do you know anyone who can fix Mr. Brown’s glass? I sort of broke it out last night.”

  “Yoshi work good with glass.”

  I felt my spirits lift. “You can do it?”

  He nodded. “My family long line glassmakers.”

  “Far out! Do you know where Mr. Brown lives.”

  He didn’t know where Dee lived or anything about his neighborhood so I gave him thorough directions and a map. Then I pulled out the only cash I had, a five and three ones, and gave it to him. He gave me a strange look before nodding goodbye and strolling out.

  Resuming my usual busy air, I hurried over to the front door to lock it behind him. I wanted the office to look unattended so no one would interrupt me today. I needed quiet and space to think.

  With my tote tossed over my shoulder, I strode into my office, turned on the lights, and hung my jacket on the hook on the back of the door. Then I went to my desk and moved my mouse to get the computer to wake up. For some reason when you really wanted it to respond fast, it took forever. I dumped my tote on the floor and waited.

  The good thing about modern videography these days is the quality of the equipment even an amateur can buy. And all of it is easily obtained at any of the photo-video places online, which means if you have the cash, they can get you the goods in a few days.

  Once the computer was fully awake, I clicked a few things and began capturing footage. This would take a little while, so I wandered over and made a fresh pot of coffee. We were almost out of filters, and I made a mental note to buy more.

  When I heard the quiet ding on the computer, I snuck a cupful before the coffee finished dripping and headed back to my chair. The finished copy needed to be saved and called something. Easy enough. I called it “Bubba’s Funeral”.

  After that, I started wading through all the frames. In so many of them, there was nothing to be seen of interest—heads of people as they talked about the dearly departed or other members of the Thames clan as they exchanged sympathies.