by Roslyn Woods
“You’re too late,” said Margie. “They’ve arrested my brother and taken him downtown.”
“Can y’all give me some details?” he asked in a pronounced, Texas accent.
Shell relayed the information she had just given Margie and Donald. Richert listened intently and nodded soberly.
“Okay, folks,” he said. “I’m going downtown. They’ll be starting the booking process, and I’ll stay with him till it’s done. It’ll probably take a few hours. I’ll get some time to consult with him, but I have to say this doesn’t sound too good.”
“The gun and the sweatshirt were plants, Mr. Richert,” said Shell. “I saw a man here on the Friday after the murder. He was in Dean’s house, and we couldn’t figure out why. He took off, and when Dean learned about it he called the police. They basically ignored us, but I know that man was planting the gun and the sweatshirt.”
Richert looked at Shell with narrowed eyes for a few seconds. “You’ll need to testify if this goes to trial,” he said. “Try not to be too upset. Your name, miss?”
“Shell. I’m the tenant next door.”
“The tenant,” he said doubtfully.
“She’s my best friend,” Margie added, “and a good friend of Dean’s.”
“Okay, Shell. And, you?” he asked, looking at Donald.
“Oh, sorry. I’m the brother-in-law. Donald Carter,” he said shaking Richert’s outstretched hand.
“There’s other stuff you need to know, too,” said Margie. “Amanda was involved with some very shady people. There’s got to be a way to clear this up!”
“We just have to keep our heads and remember we all believe in Dean’s innocence,” he said. “Don’t give up just because things look bad right now,” he added as he noticed tears filling Margie’s eyes.
“Please hurry, Mr. Richert. I don’t want him to be alone down there,” she said.
“Okay, I’m off,” he said. Then, calling over his shoulder he added, “And y’all should call me Ken. Only judges call me Mr. Richert.”
“And let us know when we can see him,” added Shell, following him to his truck. “Please.”
“Yes,” added Margie on Shell’s heels. “And let me know what’s going on as soon as you can.”
“Will do,” said Ken Richert, as he started up the truck and pulled away.
Chapter 52
By the time Carmen arrived, Shell, Margie, and Donald were already in Dean’s house starting to put his books back on the shelves. Shell saw her car pulling up to the curb in front of her house and went out to call her in.
“What is wrong, Miss Shell? We are not painting?”
“Margie and Donald are helping me put Dean’s books back. They arrested him this morning.”
“Oh, Madre de Dios!” said Carmen, rushing over to Shell and putting her arms around her. “I knew this was going to happen!”
Having Carmen’s arms around her brought Shell’s emotions to the surface anew, and she found herself fighting them back again. She briefly recounted the story of the arrest and then said, “Maybe you can help us,” as she walked Carmen up the porch steps. “You might know how the books were arranged.”
Once in the door, Carmen embraced Margie and said, “Mr. Dean is good man. He did no do this thing! How can we help him?”
“We don’t know right now,” said Margie, “but we’re trying to put the facts together.”
“These people Mrs. Amanda was with are very bad. They kill her, no Mr. Dean.”
“That’s what we think too, but how can we prove it?” asked Donald.
“I don’t know yet, but I going to pray about this!” Then seeing the state of Dean’s living room she added, “Oh, Dios mio! Poor Mr. Dean! They have ruin his order. We must put it all back, but we can’t get it right,” she said, shaking her head.
Carmen was right that they could never organize the books the way they had been before. At least they would be back in their shelves. It took two hours to make the house look like itself again. All the while they were working, Shell was watching her phone and Margie was watching hers. Would Dean tell Richert to call them? How was he? What was going on?
Shell picked up the framed picture of Dean and Lana that sat on the bookshelf in the living room. Carmen saw her gazing at the photo. “We must ask Mrs. Lana to help her son. She needs us to ask for her help.”
Shell nodded. “Thank you for your help, Carmen. It’s late, and I know you have to go pick up your grandson,” she said, hugging her goodbye.
“Yes, Miss Shell, I have to go. But I cannot do too much for Mr. Dean. I love him like my own family. I call you later to see what happen,” she said sadly as she turned to Margie and Donald gave them hugs, too. In a few moments she was gone.
“What a sweet lady,” said Donald.
“Yes,” said Margie. “Shell and I were talking about the same thing when we painted together on Friday. She is like family for Dean, and I’m starting to understand why.”
“I just hope her prayers are effective,” said Donald.
Shell happened to know that Donald was a total agnostic, so she wondered if he was being sarcastic. Looking at him now, he didn’t seem to be anything other than sincere, and she was hoping Carmen’s prayers could help, too. Who knew?
“Hey,” said Donald to Margie, “I’ve got a client call in thirty minutes on the land line. I need to get home to my office.”
“Okay. Are you going to be okay, Shell?” Margie asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “Are you going to be okay?”
“It helped talking to Ken Richert, but I know I’m going to have a rough night,” Margie answered.
“Dean is strong,” said Donald. “He can handle jail for a few days. I just don’t want him to have to handle it any longer than that.”
“Well, we can talk in a little while,” said Shell. “I know you need to hurry home. I need to take care of the dogs, and Sadie will stay with me.”
“You sure? I can take her if you want me to,” said Margie.
“I’m sure. Bitsy likes her, and she’s used to me. I’ll just bring her bed over to my house. Call me as soon as you hear anything.”
“I will,” said Margie, embracing her friend. “I’ll call you anyway.”
Shell knew she would, and she watched them drive off.
What a day it had been! She locked Dean’s front door from inside and gathered up a few things. His keys, a can of food for Sadie, the doggie bed from his office. She carried them out the back door.
“Hi babies,” she said to the dogs as they greeted her at Dean’s back steps. Sadie whined as if she knew something was up, and Bitsy whined because Sadie was whining. “Come on, girls. Let’s go home.”
Her own back door was still unlocked, and she went in and situated Sadie’s bed in her bedroom beside Bitsy’s. She knew she would need them near her tonight. Her eyes fell on her own bed. Dean had slept here with her last night. He had held her in his arms and told her one sweet thing after another. She remembered how careful he had been not to hurt the injury on her face, how tender he had been. Now she could only long for what had been. When would he come home?
The dogs were tired from so much running in the backyard. They curled up in their beds as if sleeping beside each other in Shell’s room was the most natural thing in the world. Shell walked into the living room and caught sight of the paint cans. There would be no painting now. She wouldn’t have the heart to do anything like that till Dean came home.
She picked up two of the cans and carried them to the kitchen where she got the miniature flashlight Dean had given her and pushed it into her back pocket. Then she picked up the paint and carried it out the backdoor and down the steps to the side of the porch where Dean had showed her the storage area. She set the paint down and pulled on the handle, forcing it open just as Dean had done the other day. This time she wasn’t standing upright, so she could see more of the ladder, and she bent down to look for a likely place to put the paint. It was dark, so she pu
lled the flashlight out of her pocket and shined it around the area. What she saw surprised her.
At the base of the ladder and on the other end of the storage area, she could see what looked like three pieces of luggage. They were the wheeled, black, overnight bags you saw pilots and flight attendants pulling. All appeared to be about the same size. Hadn’t Dean said he had emptied the area of everything except the ladder? What was luggage doing here?
Shell picked up the paint cans and ducked enough to carry them under the porch. She held the little flashlight in her teeth, looking for an elevated area against the wall to store them. There was a short, wooden shelf, completely empty, and she figured the elevation would protect the paint from water damage should there be any light flooding. Then she crawled back out and stood up. The fence around the yard was six feet high. No one could see her from the street, and behind the house it was equally high. From the street, you would have to make an effort to see if anyone was using the crawl space under the porch. She climbed the back steps to go after the third can of paint. I was sure he said there was nothing under there, she thought. Her mind kept going back to his words. Hadn’t he said, “It’s completely empty except for this ladder”?
She brought the third can down and ducked under the porch again. She placed it on the shelf beside the other paint cans and turned to aim her flashlight at the luggage again. There they sat. Okay, that’s it. I’m looking in these, she decided. She crawled over to where they stood and took one case by the handle. This suitcase certainly wasn’t empty. It had some weight to it. She turned it around and pulled it on its wheels to the opening. Then she pulled it out into the afternoon sun, stood it up on its end, and shut the storage room door. Next she pulled the case to the steps, picked it up, and carried it into the house. She thought it probably weighed twenty pounds or more. What was in it? Once in the kitchen, she lay the case on the counter and unzipped it.
It occurred to her that this was the moment of truth. She lifted the lid and nearly fell over. It was filled with tidy, even stacks of paper money. Some of the stacks appeared to be hundred dollar bills, and some appeared to be twenties. She checked the side pockets. They were filled with more banded bundles, each about an inch thick, and carefully organized by denomination.
It would be easy to count how much was here, but Shell almost couldn’t imagine doing that right now. She zipped up the bag and took it back out the door and down the steps. It was almost dark now, and she wanted to put it where she had found it before she decided what to do.
Once she was back under the porch, she unzipped another bag and shined her light at its contents. Then she tried the next bag. All of them! All three of them are filled with cash.
A chill ran up her spine. If they knew I’d found it…If they knew where it was…She quickly crawled out of the space and closed the door. The bed by the honeysuckle had been scraped as she had pulled the door across it, and she gathered a few leaves and scattered them there to hide the place. What do I do now? she thought as she ran back up the porch stairs. Her heart was racing, and she locked the door behind her.
Chapter 53
All that evening Shell wondered what she should do. She was tortured about whether or not to tell Margie about the money. If the information slipped out and the police learned about it, things might be worse for Dean. They might think he had killed Amanda for the money. They might think he had hidden it in his other house just as they thought he had hidden the gun and the sweatshirt. They might think he was involved with Danny, Ray, and Kojak in whatever criminal enterprises they had going. She had no idea what to do.
Her phone rang just after seven p.m. It was Margie.
“I just heard from Ken Richert. He said the booking is over with and there will be an arraignment hearing tomorrow at one. Donald has to go to work in the morning, but he’ll try to meet us at the courthouse. Maybe Dean will get out on bail.”
“I can’t tell you how I hope he will,” said Shell.
“I know.”
“Did Richert say anything about how Dean’s doing?”
“Just that he’s okay, and he wants us to know he’s okay.”
“What does that mean exactly?” asked Shell.
“He’s in the county jail right now, so he’s not rooming with dangerous criminals or anything like that.”
Shell hoped that what she was saying was true, but she had her doubts. She had been looking online at conditions in Travis County Jail, and the likelihood that Dean was rooming with a group of friendly gentlemen was pretty slim. It would be just like Dean to play it down so she and Margie wouldn’t worry.
“Does it make you feel better?” Shell asked.
“Yes. I was worried about him having to deal with evil people,” said Margie.
“I know,” said Shell, but she was still worrying about it. “Can you come over early so we can talk before we go?”
“I was hoping you’d come over here tonight and we could go from here.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Let me think about that,” said Shell. She needed to think about everything, and she wanted to lie on the pillow where Dean had rested his head last night.
“And Shell?”
“Yes?”
“Dean sent a message through Ken that you and I are not to get in any trouble. Sadie is to stay with you at all times, and no sleuthing.”
“That was predictable,” said Shell, smiling to herself. “He’s certainly himself!”
“Yeah. He’s worried about us. He told Ken that I should try and talk you into staying at my house so you won’t be alone.”
“I could do that if it will make him feel better. He probably won’t know about it tonight anyway, though.”
“I really think it would be good if you came over.”
“I don’t want to be in your way.”
“Are you kidding? I think I need you close by right now.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour. Can I bring Bitsy and Sadie?”
“Of course!”
After they hung up, Shell gave Carmen a call to let her know the latest about Dean. Before they hung up, Carmen said, “Miss Shell, I know you care for him. Is good to care for a good man like Mr. Dean. When he tell me about you he say, ‘There is a beautiful lady next door. I want you to take care of her.’”
“Thanks for telling me, Carmen.”
“I light candle for Mr. Dean tonight.”
By the time Shell got to Margie’s house, she was already feeling exhausted. It had been a crazy day, and she almost couldn’t handle any more input. Her eyes felt as if they were swollen, and her head felt achy.
“Are you okay?” asked Margie when Shell had brought her things into the house.
“I think I’m just upset and tired. I feel like I’m coming down with something. I probably just need to sleep.” And I need to keep my mouth shut.
“We both do. It’s not fair. I can cry on Donald’s shoulder and he says lots of soothing things. He thinks Dean is so strong. It helps me.”
“I’ve brought an extra pillow,” Shell said. It was the pillow Dean had slept on the night before. “And I’ll put Sadie and Bitsy’s beds on the floor next to me.”
“Okay, sweetie,” said Margie as she gave her friend a hug. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Shell hated herself for not telling Margie about the money. In her heart she knew that the more people who knew about it, the more likely it was that its existence would slip out and Dean could be hurt. Even so, it seemed wrong to keep anything from her best friend, and she felt the guilt and worry of all of it. In the wee hours she finally decided she just didn’t have much choice. Dean’s life was hanging in the balance.
Then there was the whole issue of how Amanda had gotten the money. If there was money laundering going on at the bar, was the money being skimmed from what they were supposed to deposit for drug dealers? Or was this drug money yet to be deposited? Who knew about it, and was someone actually doing a double-cross?
Shell misse
d Dean more now than she imagined possible. Last night had sealed their relationship for her. She buried her face in the pillow he had slept on and breathed in its fragrance. A fitful sleep finally came, and she dreamed of Dean being taken away by Gonzalez and Wilson. In her dream, beige cars filled Barrow Avenue, and she ran from one to another in a vain search for him.
She woke early, and the memories of the previous day came flooding back. She jumped up, put on her robe, and let the dogs out to run in the backyard while she showered. Today she would see him, and she must look okay.
She dressed in a black pantsuit with a lavender silk blouse and black pumps. She worked on her appearance, adding a little extra foundation and blush. She didn’t want Dean to see her looking a wreck. He had enough to worry about without her appearing to be going to pieces.
Margie was dressed in a conservative looking navy skirt and pale blue blouse and was making coffee when Shell came into the kitchen. Donald had left for work a few minutes earlier. “You look nice, Shell.”
“Oh, thanks. You, too. I don’t want to look all puffy-eyed and miserable.”
“I know. I had the same thought. Dean doesn’t need to waste any energy worrying about us.”
She scrambled eggs while Shell made toast and got mugs down for their coffee.
“Margie, I have to run over to the Urgent Care and get these stitches out.”
“Okay, but do you have time for breakfast?”
“Sure. I hope I can make myself eat.”
“Shell? So what happened the other night?”
“What do you mean?”
“When Donald and I left Saxon Pub, you and Dean were looking pretty chummy.”
“We were?”
Shell looked at Margie steadily for a few moments. Then she eased into a chair and bit her lip, not knowing how to tell her best friend about her relationship with her brother. “Before we came in at Saxon, he told me why he evicted me.”
“Yes. And?” Margie spooned the scrambled eggs onto plates with the toast. “What reason did he give?”
