Killer Moves: The 4th Jolene Jackson Mystery (Jolene Jackson Mysteries)

by Paula Boyd

  “That was my Tahoe I heard blowing up?”

  Jerry nodded. “Misses Stovall was in the back preparing the bedrooms and didn’t see anything and no one else was around at the time, so that’s all we know.”

  “I’m really sorry, Miss Jolene,” Emmajean said, sincerely and even worriedly. “I wish I’d seen what happened, I do, and I would have surely stopped it if I could.”

  “Even if you’d seen it, Emmajean, what could you have done? What could anyone do?” I shook my head. “I just know what could have caused it.”

  “Well, I do,” Clove said. “You were a mess when you got here, all wound up and weepy. Had your head somewhere else and just forgot to set the parking brake, that’s all.”

  I resented his description of my emotional state when I arrived at the house, mainly because it was fairly accurate. “I live in the mountains—on a mountain, for godsake—and I’ve never had a car mysteriously roll away.” I shook my head at the unreality of it all. “Is there anything left of it?”

  “The fire department put the fire out fairly quickly,” Jerry said. “They were coincidentally onsite with Doctor Waverman for emergency response training purposes, but there’s very little left of the car.”

  That explained how the fire trucks materialized, but it still seemed like there were other details that needed filling in.

  “Bob’s probably laughing about it,” Clove said from behind me. “Would have put a match to it himself if he could’ve. Never liked you having to drive a piece of junk.”

  “My Tahoe is not...was not…a piece of junk!” And how dare he say that anyway? The need to defend the honor of my trusted mechanical friend bubbled up. “It was a good car, only five years old…or maybe it was seven…whatever. It wasn’t a piece of junk!”

  “Clovis Stovall,” Emmajean said, her gentle tone now scolding. “I know you’re upset over this, but this girl doesn’t know you or your ways and you’re making a horse’s behind of yourself. Now, you go on outside and see how things are coming along out there.”

  Clove stomped to the door, but stopped. “No need in that. Looks like they’re coming to tell us.”

  I glanced around to see a man in firefighter gear. He looked familiar. “I know him. He’s the volunteer firefighter who stayed behind with me at the cabin after they took Gilbert Moore away in the ambulance. He was with me in the car when the last shooting spree was going on, but I don’t know his name.”

  “Mark Patterson,” Jerry said. “He’s actually the Fire Chief. And a good guy.” He squeezed my hand and stood. “I’ll be right back.”

  While Jerry went to chat with the chief, I figured a trip to the restroom was in order. The second I started to stand, Emmajean was at my side.

  “Now, Miss Jolene, you take it easy. You’ve had a quite a time this morning. You were out for almost an hour.”

  An hour? Really? “So what time is it now?”

  “It’s after ten,” she said, moving close like a mother hen, but resisting the urge to hold my arm like an invalid. “I bet you haven’t had a thing to eat and that’s half the problem. I stocked the kitchen with healthy things, local fresh produce and eggs and whatnot. What would you like?”

  “You’re right. I haven’t eaten and I am hungry. I’d planned to fix something when I went back to get my things, but, well, we know what happened after that.”

  “I can make you a green smoothie if you’d like.”

  I tipped my head and frowned. “Really?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Kale, frozen bananas, protein powder, chia, flax, coconut milk.”

  A little warm fuzzy burst in my chest. “That sounds great! Just like I make!”

  As Emmajean started preparing the drink, it occurred to me that she’d just recited my own personal recipe, item for item. Granted, it wasn’t particularly unique, but it still felt weird. My food preferences were about the only things the attorney’s hadn’t grilled me about, so that , unless you considered the possibility of private detectives, which I did not. Still, it was unsettling. “I’ll be right back,” I said, heading across the living room to the master suite.

  Walking in the bedroom door, there were more decisions to be made. I could go right and explore the luxurious bedroom area or take a left and go down the hallway formed by matching walk-in closets into the bathroom. As mesmerized as my mind was by the décor, my bladder chose Option B.

  After the matching closets, came two matching doors. I opened the one on the right first and was dazzled by a very fancy toilet in a very fancy space. I tried the door opposite it, figure it was a closet. Oh, how wrong I was. It was another water closet exactly like the other one—his and hers toilets. Yes, two of them. I claimed the one on the right and opened the door.

  It took a few seconds for me to figure out what I was seeing. It was a toilet, yes, but not your average porcelain perch. It was one of those high-tech varieties that performed all kinds of special services, or so promised the panel of buttons on the wall beside it. It was something I’d never imagined seeing, much less having the opportunity to use. Oh, this was going to be fun!

  Then, like a big mouth bass who’d just latched on to a shiny spinner, it occurred to me that I was being dragged to the dark side of almost being happy about my predicament. All because of a toilet.

  After a bit of trial and error—and much left untried—I accomplished my general goal. I adjusted the temperature of the heated seat and pushed a button that played the sound of water running—a clever way to mask any other sounds. When I opened the door and stepped out, I noticed someone standing in the bedroom.

  “Pretty awesome place you have here, Miz Jackson,” Jerry said, leaning against the corner of the closet.

  No freakin’ kidding. “Yeah, it’s really nice.”

  He laughed. “It’s okay to admit you like it, Jolene. It’s yours.”

  Yes, well, maybe and maybe not. There were many things that had to happen before I proclaimed myself queen of the castle. “You’ve probably seen more of it than I have.”

  “I’ve been through it, but the investigation was focused on the upper level, primarily documents and files.” He paused for a moment. “None of the incidents happened here.”

  Incidents. Gentle word for what had happened. The man who’d built this place had been murdered. I wouldn’t be here otherwise. But then he’d started this long before any of that happened. No making sense of any that right now, so. I walked to the first sink and washed my hands. “This whole thing is just so bizarre, Jerry. I’m drying my hands on a towel that probably cost more than my shirt and I couldn’t even guess the price tag on the toilet—and there are two of them. There is nothing about this that seems real to me on any personal level. It just feels like I’ve rented a fancy vacation home without the exotic locale.”

  He walked over and hugged me to him. “The house is very real, and you may as well enjoy what you can about the situation. It’s much better than being stuck in a hotel somewhere.”

  “You’re right,” I said, letting myself sink into his embrace. “Just enjoy it for as long as it lasts.”

  He put a finger under my chin and tipped my face up to look at him. “It’s real and it’s all yours, and it can last as long as you want it to.”

  I knew what he was telling me—and he wasn’t really talking about the house. We were officially engaged even though I didn’t have a ring, which was my doing not his. Everything had happened so fast that I didn’t want to rush things. That was my story anyway. The real truth went much deeper and it had nothing to do with Jerry. I couldn’t explain that to him, particularly since I couldn’t yet fully explain it to myself. And yet, I was sure he understood anyway. I stared up into his kind eyes. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

  A knock at the door interrupted. “Miss Doris and Miss Melody are here,” Emmajean called from the short hallway. “I’ve already shown them to their room and I’m setting your breakfast on the cabinet just outside the door for you.”


  Jerry gave me a quick kiss then led me into the bedroom. I opened the door and grabbed the glass of greenness.

  He eyed my treasure. “That is your breakfast?”

  “Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.” I picked up the glass and took a sip. It was fabulous, even better than I make at home because I didn’t have to make it or clean up after it. “Want a taste?”

  He took a quick sip. “Not bad.” He took another then handed me the glass. “Not bad at all.” Then, his face became serious. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m always okay, right?”

  “Jo…”

  “Guess they told you about my little episode.” I knew they had so I continued on. “It was just stress, lack of sleep, not eating, stress and probably stress. No big deal.”

  “It’s a big deal,” Jerry said. “I’ll meet with Travis this afternoon and then go collect your mother.” He tipped his head to stop my obvious comment that it wasn’t his job, it was mine. “And I will collect your mother whether she likes it or not. Expect her no later than six.”

  “I’m okay, Jerry. I can meet you.”

  He wrapped his arms around me again. “You don’t have to be tough and handle everything by yourself all the time. Not anymore.” He squeezed me tighter. “Besides, it will do you good to rest, learn your way around, let reality settle in and…”

  “Get prepared for my mother.” I sighed heavily. “This is not at all how it was supposed to be.”

  “But it’s how it is, honey.” He kissed the top of my head. “And it’s going to be okay.”

  No it wasn’t, and he didn’t believe it any more than I did. Still, it felt good to hear him say so.

  Chapter 16

  Melody and Doris were both resting in the bedroom and Emmajean was in the kitchen, so I had a few moments to myself, which I really needed. I settled myself on the side of the sectional where I had a view of the windows so I could look out and watch the sunlight reflect off the water in the pool—and keep an eye on the fire truck that was still sitting on the edge of the hill.

  Had I really not put the car in park? Maybe I really had just left it between gears or in neutral. With everything else that was running through my head, it was a possibility. Still, I’d never done anything like that before. But if I hadn’t been at fault then who or what was? Whatever the case, the Tahoe was no more and it made me a little wistful. That truck had been through a lot with me. I’d come to terms with replacing its tires and wheels due to Kickapoo catastrophes and crime-related damage, but I’d never imagined it getting blown up. I wondered what was left of it—and what I needed to do about it. “For starters,” I said, speaking my thoughts aloud, “calling the damn insurance company might be prudent.”

  And it certainly was, but it also turned into an unpleasant conversation about the need for a police report. I figured the sheriff had already handled that for me so it seemed to be a fairly straightforward process. I send them the police report and they send someone to view and collect the remains. There wasn’t a loan to deal with so it was pretty simple—at least for me. Maybe not for them when they started fishing what was left of the Tahoe off the side of the cliff.

  I chugged down the rest of my smoothie then gazed out the window. With the big swimming pool and its rock wall waterfall on the other side, I had only vaguely noticed that there was a tall artistic water feature on the other side of the patio. Seeing it framed by the big glass window, I realized it really was a work of art. A rectangular base of polished granite formed a pond area and provided support for the center vertical column, which was about eight feet tall and three feet wide. Horizontal ribs had been sculpted into the face to cascade the water downward in a gentle sparkling waves. It was a simple and sleek statement piece that gave a subtle nod to the house’s mid-century modern history. The more I looked at it, the more I liked it.

  “Sounds like you’ve had a pretty busy morning.”

  I jumped. “What?”

  “I’m a little early,” Edmond Grant Vanderhorn, IV, Esquire said, seating himself on the far end of the sectional sofa across from me.

  “When did you get here?” I said, wondering how I could have missed him walking in the door.

  “Long enough to chat with Emmajean and score a cup of tea,” he said, setting a mug on coaster on the table. “Are you okay?”

  Apparently not since I’d been off in my own little world again, oblivious to everything else. Nevertheless, I said, “The car crashed and burned, not me.” I smiled and held up my empty glass with green residue. “I have rebooted the hard drive and am recharging as we speak.”

  “Good,” he said. “Because we have a lot to cover.”

  Typical man. He knows I’m lying through my teeth, but wants to pretend otherwise rather than attempt to deal with it, not that he actually could. “Wait a minute,” I said, another brilliant thought zooming in. “If there happens to be a mental health clause that would make this deal null and void, I can give a different answer.”

  Grant didn’t bother responding, just opened his briefcase, pulled out some papers and spread them out on the coffee table. “First, was there anything left in your car that we need to replace?”

  I thought a minute. “Lots of really good CDs. We hadn’t made into the new digital world yet.” I saw his look and knew that wasn’t what he was concerned about. A stack of papers and binder flashed into view. “Yes. All the project paperwork, contracts and such, including Waverman’s site safety plan that he expects me to memorize. They’re gone.”

  “Easily replaceable,” Grant said. “What about the paperwork and items we gave you at the office yesterday? Were they in the car?”

  My heart sank as I remembered the cash and credit cards and other items that I had basically ignored. I sucked in my breath then let it out in a big rush of relief as I remembered what I’d done. “No, I’d left all that at my mother’s house, so it’s all in a bag with my other stuff somewhere.”

  “You might want to find it and put it in the safe.” He held up a hand to stop my comment. “You have a big one,” he said, then proceeded to line me out on the location and operation of it. As he asked other questions, he quickly realized the futility of the effort. “So, just how much of the property have you had a chance to look at?”

  “The sofa’s nice,” I said. “And I did sit in that chair over there. I peeked in each of the bedrooms and, of course, you can’t miss the pool.” I saw the exasperation begin to build on his face. “Seriously, Grant, with all that’s happened, back to back and nonstop, just how much time do you think I’ve had to go exploring?”

  “I’m not being difficult,” he said. “We just have a lot to cover and I want to bring you up to speed without being redundant.”

  “Well, Emmajean gave me a quick tour of this level before Clove and I went to get my things at Mother’s, which is also where he left me when he heard the explosion, which kind of wiped out everything that happened before that. But yes, I generally remember what’s where.”

  Grant didn’t seem convinced. “You have about thirty-six hundred square feet on this level with three bedrooms, four bathrooms, an office and a media room.”

  “Big freakin’ media room,” I added helpfully.

  “Big one,” Grant agreed. “The square footage on the upper level is about the same, although that space hasn’t been renovated to any degree. Since there are essentially two separate houses, the upper level could be a blank canvass to create your own space if you prefer.”

  I did not prefer. In fact, every time I thought about the upper level where Bob had lived—and where I was supposed to have grown up—I got a weird feeling. There were a million reasons that would explain it, but the ones that seemed to fit best added an otherworldly creepiness I didn’t want to consider. “The last thing I need is another project,” I said, diverting my own thoughts to something less anxiety inducing. “Besides, I’m feeling pretty cozy here on this couch. I can’t connect any dots about it being mine, but the sty
le and décor are totally me.”

  Grant smiled. “Yes, well, it is and that’s part of what we need to talk about today.”

  “Emmajean said Bob didn’t live in this part.”

  “No. No one has.”

  “Why not? Why create something like this if no one was going to live in it?”

  Grant leaned back on the sofa. “After your father…after Bertram died, Bob started coming to terms with his own mortality. He realized that his plans for you to inherit his estate weren’t going to be very appealing without a suitable place for you to live.” He saw my questioning look and answered the obvious. “After his wife’s death and your adoption, he shut down in many ways, including making any changes to the house. The majority of the upstairs is exactly the way it was when you were born.”

  Oh, now that brought us right back to the creepy place—only it had upped the ante and added very specific images to the creepiness. A shiver shook through me and I rubbed my arms again. “That is so not good,” I said.

  “This level had a partially finished game room, bedroom and bath,” Grant said, trying to shift the unhappy wheels turning in my head. “It was never used as far as we know.”

  “So they built the house just before I was born—maybe even because I was being born.” I rubbed my hands across my face. “And then Glenda died and everything fell apart.”

  “It was devastating for Bob,” Grant said. “He never really got over it. But once he got the idea to create a house for you as a gift, he had a new excitement that he hadn’t had in years. Ed seemed to think he was hoping you might even have lived here with him at some point.”

  “I didn’t even know him,” I said, frowning. “That’s just crazy. It all is.”

  “It wasn’t to him. It was very important. You were very important.”

  And he showed how much I meant by handing me over to Lucille? And now, somehow a fancy house was going to fix it? That made no sense. Well, I guess it could have in his mind. “He felt guilty.”

  “Of course,” Grant said simply. “But by the time he came out of his depression, you already had a new life with new parents.”