by Judy Alter
“Oh yeah, you’re going to talk to the artist son.”
“Yes. I told you I have some questions for him.”
“I don’t like that. Don’t trust anyone in that family.” Earlier that evening, when I’d mentioned visiting James, David had no reaction. Now he was afraid…for me.
“He’s perfectly trustworthy. A lovely man, in fact.”
“Your instinct,” he growled. “Okay, I’ll be there midafternoon.”
We hung up, I checked doors and windows and alarm system one more time, and went to bed, where I slept soundly all night. David would tell me the next day he never went back to sleep, but I didn’t believe him.
Next morning I had just pulled the first batch of sticky buns from the oven when Chester came in, looking dejected.
“Your timing is perfect. Here, this will cheer you up.” I gave him a plate with a bun and a cup of fresh, black coffee. I couldn’t stand café coffee that wasn’t freshly made. I’d been known to throw out half a pot when it began to get that stale, slightly burned smell and taste.
“That car the guy was driving last night was a Lexus—no wonder I couldn’t keep up. Stolen in Canton, ditched in Tyler some time before six this morning. So that’s a dead end.”
“I didn’t expect it to tell us much, Chester. We’ll just have to keep digging.”
“You’re more cheerful than I am. You sleep well?”
“I did. Did you?”
“Nope. Carolyn smelled the whiskey on me and kept me up half the night haranguing about how I shouldn’t ever drink it. I told her this was an exception because your safety was involved, and now she’s all worried about you and won’t leave me alone. Wants me to glue myself to your side, but I explained I have other things to do.”
“And much as I love you, I don’t want you to be at my side all day long.”
He put his face in his hands. “Now, I am really crushed. Okay, if that’s how you feel.” He turned serious. “Kate, you be careful. And call me if you feel the least bit threatened. When will David be here?”
“Midafternoon. And, Chester, stop worrying. I’ll be okay.”
On a fine spring morning with the sun shining—it would be hot soon—and the birds singing, I felt optimistic. Of course I would be fine.
After the lunch rush I set off for Edom and James’ studio. I followed familiar back roads, enjoying the drive. James was waiting in the front part of his studio, critically studying his own work, adjusting one and then another as though they hung not quite straight. He didn’t hear me come to the open door.
“James?” I spoke softly, hesitant to disturb him, but he whirled around.
“Kate! I’ve been waiting for you. How about if we take a walk? There are some shaded benches on the old fairgrounds, and that might be a perfect place to talk.”
I agreed and we set off, though I lingered to window-shop at the potter’s place, the store where they sold handcrafted jewelry, and the leatherworks. James finally laughed at me.
“We won’t have time to talk if you keep dawdling.”
“Yes, sir. Coming right along.”
He had brought thermal cups of green tea, slightly sweetened with honey. I sipped and sighed and thought I could easily forget about the puzzle of Walter Aldridge and who killed him. But I knew better than that. I pulled out my ever-present steno pad and began.
“James, tell me what you remember about your father when you were little.”
He stared off in space. “When our mother was alive, he was a great father, a lot of fun. He played games with us—hide-and-seek, softball, all kinds of things. Taught Rodney and me to fish—doubt Rodney cares to try it, but I can still catch and clean a bass or catfish for dinner—and sometimes I do. Dad read to us, said prayers with us at night, saw that our clothes weren’t too awfully mismatched.”
“Where was your mother? A lot of those sound like things moms do.”
“Mom was sick ever since I can remember. And when she died, Dad changed. We had several nannies, and Dad didn’t spend much time with us. After he married Edith, he spent all his time…well, coaching her. We’d peek around doorways and watch and listen. He was trying to fix—his word, not mine—her East Texas speech. He taught her to stand and sit tall, how to walk, all that stuff.”
“How long did that last?”
“Oh, probably a couple of years. Remember, I was pretty young. Seemed like forever to me. I didn’t miss my mom so much because we all saw little of her, but I missed the laughing, loving friend my father had been. And then, they started to quarrel. I thought it was completely unlike him—he’d yell at her, literally yell, about the house staff or the grocery bill or something else. When that began, I always ran away and hid, but Rodney told me Dad had just realized what he’d married. Rodney didn’t mean that in a good way.”
I thought about Rose. She obviously hadn’t benefited from the walk and sit tall lessons and all, though her speech was more Dallas than East Texas. I didn’t ask about Rose because something much more important was on my mind. “Tell me what you remember about the night your father died.”
He poked at the dirt with a stick. “I was fifteen. Rodney was twenty, and he’d stayed in Dallas with a friend. I can’t remember why we were at the mansion, except that Dad was in a yank to be there. Rushed us all around, kept trying to hurry us. So there we were. Lucy had fixed us dinner, and Rose and I had gone to our rooms. She was barricaded, listening to music and mooning over pictures of movie stars; I was supposed to be asleep, but I was drawing. I closed the door and hoped Edith wouldn’t see the dim light from my worktable under my door. I heard her come upstairs and go to their bedroom, but what’s funny is I didn’t hear Dad. By that time of night he usually had too much to drink and was ranting and raving around downstairs. That night, he was quiet. He’d been sort of quiet at dinner too, but I was just thankful for that and didn’t think any more about it.”
I flexed my fingers, tired from writing too fast. And I thought to myself what an awful childhood these three had. What would have happened if Alicia Aldridge had lived?
“It got pretty late, and the house was still quiet. I may have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember I was at my desk, and there was a lot of commotion downstairs. I crept to the banister to look, and almost instantly Rose was beside me. She asked what was going on, and I didn’t know. But Edith was down there, dressed in a gorgeous robe like she always was, talking to some kind of law officer. And then suddenly she screamed.”
“Did she say anything or just scream?”
“Something like, ‘Dear God, no!’ Of course Rose and I went flying down the stairs, only to be told to go upstairs to our rooms, shut the doors, and go to bed. We did. Lucy told us next morning at breakfast that Dad was dead. But she didn’t answer any of our questions. No one ever did. Certainly not Edith. I think she was in denial.”
“Did you stay with Edith after that?”
“Not really. She shipped us off to various boarding schools. Rose liked Hockaday in Dallas so well that Edith arranged for her to live with a friend. Rodney and I got sent to a military school. I hated it—couldn’t draw for six or eight years. He loved it. It was his thing.”
I knew that eventually, with funds left by their father, Rodney went to Princeton, and James studied at the Art Institute of Chicago. Rose married, almost as soon as she was out of high school. Melissa was the only child, so bridge club and tea at the Adolphus and book clubs and golf were mostly what Rose did with her life.
“Have you heard from Rose and Rodney lately?”
He rose, stretched, and wandered off a way. Then he came back and sat again. “Yep. They’ve got their knickers all in a knot over Edith spending our inheritance in lavish ways. I told them I didn’t want to talk about it. I don’t need the money. Rose was snappish, said everyone needs the money. Far as I know, she doesn’t. Her husband’s beyond wealthy.”
“Rodney?”
He shook his head. “Rodney’s a risk-taker. He may
have taken one risk too many. I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.” He stood up again. “Want more tea before you head back?”
I looked at my watch. Three forty-five. A ten-minute drive back to Wheeler would put me in the café just in time for dinner prep. “Thanks, but I’d better not. Give Shelly a hug for me.”
“My pleasure,” he said and grinned.
He walked me to my car, hugged me casually, and watched while I drove off.
Chapter Fifteen
Driving on back roads again, I was musing on what James had told me…and what I hadn’t learned. I was more convinced that Edith didn’t kill her husband, but I had no clue as to who did. Surely Rodney wouldn’t have done the deed, and I couldn’t imagine Rose doing it. For that matter, where had Rose gone from the Tremont House? And why hadn’t Steven Connell tracked her?
With a sudden movement, my car jerked to the right edge of the road, almost throwing it in the ditch. I straightened but found the car hard to control, steering a straight line almost impossible. No novice to flat tires, I stopped and got out to look. Not one but two tires were flat. Since they were fine when I drove away from James, I could only assume that someone had loosened the valve or done something else to create slow leaks.
But two tires! I only had one spare—one of those bubble things that don’t go too far. I’d have to call Chester to send a tow truck. I rummaged around in the well between the front seats and came up with my cell phone. Turned it on—and nothing. A blank screen. I pushed buttons, did everything I could think of—and nothing.
Swell, I was stranded on a country road with little traffic and no communication. I scolded myself for thinking I was smart and taking the back road when I could have been on the state road where someone would have noticed me. I looked at my watch—almost four o’clock. Too soon for Marj to worry about me or wonder where I was. How long would it take her?
I sat in the car for a while, plugged in the phone but that did nothing. Then I got hot and restless, and I got out and paced up and down the road. Everything around me was quiet and still. Some cows stood watching me from a pasture on the other side of the road, but they would do no good. I was bored, frustrated, and mad as hell.
It was a long time before another vehicle came down the road. A dusty, rusty old pickup. The man driving it wore a baseball cap and a plaid, short-sleeved shirt, with one arm out the window on his side. He’d have a farmer’s tan on that arm at least. He pulled up next to me and said, “Howdy. Looks like you need some help.”
I desperately needed some help, but how did I know who he was? How did I know I could trust him? His face was wrinkled and his teeth yellowed—he looked like a man who didn’t take care of himself. But his smile was friendly enough, and his eyes seemed to light up. He jumped out of this truck. “What we got here?”
He bent down by first one tire and then the other. “You do something to make someone mad? They’ve punched small holes in both tires—leave you enough air to get out here but not to get wherever you’re goin’. Where are you goin’?”
“Wheeler. The Blue Plate. You ever eat there?”
His face lit up. “Best fried catfish anywhere. Me and my wife, we go every Saturday night.”
He was beginning to sound more and more okay, but what if this was a ruse and he was in cahoots with Rodney…or who knew who else? “I own it,” I said.
“Shut up! Really! I’m mighty impressed and glad to help you.”
“Do you have a cell phone?”
“Nope. Never did truck with them things. You got one?”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t work.”
“That’s why I don’t bother with them. I’ll give you a ride into town—either Wheeler or Edom, your choice.”
I debated. Was I safe getting in a truck with this man? Could I trust him? I’d trusted in the past where I shouldn’t, and no one knew where I was, who I was with. On the other hand, I could be out here all day if I didn’t go with him.
“I’d be grateful. My name’s Kate Chambers.”
“Go on. You Ms. Johnny’s daughter? I’m Jimmy Baldwin.”
“No, I’m her granddaughter.”
He took off his hat, slapped it against his pants, wiped his hand on his pants, and offered it to me. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you. Let’s go. Wheeler or Edom?”
“I think Wheeler, if that’s not too inconvenient.”
“Sure. I got a small auto garage there. Off Main Street. You just ask anybody about Jimmy Baldwin.”
Well, good, now I knew that. But why had I never heard of Jimmy Baldwin and his repair shop? I was still bothered that no one else knew where I was or with whom. If I vanished into thin air, nobody would know that I’d ridden with Jimmy Baldwin. I climbed into the passenger side of his truck and scooted as close to the door as I could. Then I laughed. I reminded myself of early shy dates, the kind boys used to call “Damn door huggers.”
Jimmy Baldwin proved to be a talkative sort who asked a lot of questions about the café, where I lived, where I grew up, that sort of stuff. I began to hedge on my answers because he was getting too much personal information.
“You know,” he said expansively, “I had a lady from Dallas in my shop the other day for engine trouble on her big Buick. Said she was staying at the Tremont Inn. Don’t your family own that?”
I nodded. “Sort of.” So Rose had been in his shop. I’d verify with her, if I ever found her again.
He told me he’d go back and fix those tires, but he “just don’t mess” with tires. Strictly worked on engines. Said my tires could be a problem unless a tow truck with a flatbed was available, because you couldn’t hoist up the front end of the car and tow it on a flat tire—ruin the tire, the rim, everything.
I had a vision of the entire car collapsing like the one-horse shay. But his patter reassured me—if he were a steely-eyed killer, he would have revealed himself by now. I’d been holding my body stiff with tension, but I gradually relaxed.
“Might could fix those tires with Fix-a-Flat, least long enough so you can get some new tires from Canton. Doubt anyone has the right tires in Wheeler.”
I was learning too much about tires and cars. “Fix-a-flat?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. It’s stuff you put in the tire and it seals those tiny holes. Someone wanted you to have a lot of trouble, ’cause they made several holes in each tire.”
With that scary bit of knowledge, Jimmy Baldwin deposited me safe and sound at the door to the Blue Plate Café. I thanked him profusely. He waved his hand as though to way it was nothing and said, “See you Saturday night for catfish.”
Marj greeted me almost stridently. “Where have you been? I was getting worried. Not like you to be so late for the supper hour.”
“I’ll explain later. Let me get in the swing of things.” I took over the cash register and was instantly busy making change, inquiring about how this one or that liked his or her meal, greeting friends, being the hostess with the mostest. Things finally calmed down about one thirty, and I sat at the counter.
“So tell all,” Marj demanded.
“I had a flat, two flats actually, on a back road. Someone poked holes in my tires in Edom and somehow sabotaged my cell phone. It wouldn’t work.”
“So how did you get here?”
“Fellow came by in a pickup, offered to bring me here or back to Edom, whichever I wanted. I wanted to be here.”
“You got in a truck with a strange man.” Her hands were on her hips and her pose was one of indignation.
“It’s okay. His name is Jimmy Baldwin. Says he has an auto repair shop here.”
“Never heard of him, Kate. I’ve lived here since before you were born, and I never heard of Jimmy Baldwin. Only one auto mechanic in town that I know of. His name’s Bill Cook.”
My mind’s eye flashed to talkative country boy Jimmy Baldwin. Was that an act? If so, he was a darn good actor, but he didn’t threaten me or try to harm me. What was the point? But I remembered how much he’d talk
ed about our Saturday night catfish, and I was pretty sure I’d never seen him in the café on a Saturday night. I’d watch this weekend. And he had seemed awfully curious about me and my life.
David came in just about then, bringing with him a man I’d never met. “Kate, meet Brian Gallagher. Brian’s the architect who’s designing our new house…and acting as contractor too. He wants to go out to the property, now that it’s cleared. You haven’t seen it either—want to go with us?”
I noted right away that he called it “our new house,” and just as quickly I saw that his feelings were hurt when I said “Not right now.” I hurried on. “David, I had a bit of trouble this afternoon, and I need to tell you about it.”
“You okay?”
“Now, yes.” I repeated the whole story that Marj had just heard.
First thing he said was, “Give me your cell phone.”
I got my purse from behind the cash register desk, fished out the phone, and took it to him.
He fiddled a minute and handed it back to me, working as perfectly as it ever had.
“What did you do?”
“Turned it on. Someone turned it off, and you never do that. So you didn’t think to turn it back on.”
My face flushed, mostly because David was laughing and even Brian Gallagher was smiling.
But David sobered quickly. “Call Halstead and tell him about Jimmy Baldwin. I don’t suppose you got a license number. Make of the truck? Model is too much to hope for. Color? Age? Extended cab?”
I finally came up with a description: it was an old truck, no extended cab, leather seats were ripped and patched with duct tape, paint had once been dark blue, now sort of a nothing color. Probably a Chevy or Ford—looked like any old pickup around Wheeler. Rear bumper was loose and complained when Jimmy drove over potholes and the like.
“Better,” David said.
“But we’ve got to get my car off that road!”
Marj came up behind me. “Call Bill Cook. He’s got a tow truck.”
“Does he have Fix-a-Flat?” They all stared at me, and David began to laugh.
