It seemed as if my cookie delivery had created more questions than it’d answered. I was growing more intrigued with each passing moment, and more determined than ever to get to the truth behind the missing neighbor’s disappearance. Perhaps I needed to concoct another reason to visit Suzanna Pandero.
Hmm…I wonder if she’s heard her belief that Barlow’s death was a homicide has been declared by the medical examiner to be a distinct possibility? I know I promised Rip I wouldn’t mention it to anyone, but since Suzanna already believes murder to be the case, what difference would it make if I let her know her suspicions had been verified? The gruesome discovery of Barlow Barnaby hanging, sans clothing, from a cross beam in his own living room is just the kind of gossip most women want to chitchat about.
“Hello again, Suzanna!” I said cheerfully as she opened her front door just enough to peer out through the gap. I got the sense she was already trying to conjure up an excuse why she couldn’t visit with me: a doctor’s appointment in Corpus; bacon frying on the stove; food poisoning from a bad mussel that had her on the john every couple of minutes; or even not wanting to miss Final Jeopardy, which was about to air any second. Before she could spit her chosen excuse out, I said, “Did you hear they’ve determined your neighbor’s death might actually have been a homicide?”
“Oh, my God!” It’s probably a good thing Suzanna didn’t have food poisoning or she’d likely have soiled her panties right then. The look on her face was one of pure shock. She grabbed my arm and nearly yanked me into her home before slamming the door shut. “Are you fricking serious?”
“Yes. Very.”
“You’re telling me the body’s been found?”
I was surprised by how alarmed the woman appeared that her last question didn’t register with me. Instead of replying to it, I began to ramble. “I was present when the medical examiner, Dr. Beatty, did the preliminary examination of the body. Actually, my husband told me what he said because I was being examined by one of the EMT’s who’d just arrived on the scene. As you know, I was the one who discovered the body and ended up passing out, and you can just imagine―”
“What did he say?” Suzanna asked impatiently.
“Who?”
“The medical examiner!” She spat out, almost angrily.
“Oh, well,” I began, now a little perturbed myself, “he said he found several indications that the death was a homicide and not suicide, as first suspected.”
“Huh?” Suzanna appeared stunned. “Suicide? What are you talking about?”
“Well, naturally, that was the most obvious cause of death at first sight. Why on earth would they suspect anything else when the body was hanging from a rope?”
“Hanging from a rope?” Suzanna plunked herself down in a recliner as if her legs would no longer support her. I followed suit, setting down in the matching recliner across from her. I watched as she took a deep sigh of relief; the kind you take when you realize the furry blob your cat walked into the kitchen with was a cat toy rather than a real rat. I listened as Suzanna repeated herself. “Hanging from a rope? You’re talking about Barlow, right?”
“Oh, dear!” I exclaimed. “I can see why you were confused. You thought I was talking about Reilly.”
Suzanna nodded and then flashed me the most inappropriate smile I’d ever seen. I’d have thought my distressing news deserved a look of sadness, or an expression of alarm, not a delighted grin as though she’d just won a thousand bucks on a scratch-off ticket she'd purchased at the local gas station. When she was finally able to stop smiling and feign concern for her late neighbor, she asked, “I spent most of yesterday in Corpus. I hadn’t heard what the coroner determined. Sorry, I was alarmed when I thought you meant they’d found Reilly’s body.”
No shit? I wanted to reply. I think that pretty much goes without saying. I’m surprised your eyeballs didn’t pop out of their sockets and land in the potpourri basket on your coffee table. Instead I stayed silent and waited for Suzanna to speak again, which she did after an extremely long and awkward silence.
“Do they have any idea who might have killed him?”
“No. But I heard they’re pretty certain it’s the same individual who abducted Reilly.” I’d heard no such thing, except in my own mind, but wanted to see what Suzanna’s reaction would be to my remark. “Which is exactly what you thought was most likely the case.”
“Yes, it was.” Her expression at that point was more contemplative than apprehensive. “However, now I’m not so certain.”
“Who do you think would want to harm both Barlow and Reilly?” I hoped my question would prompt her to explain her sudden skepticism. “Any ideas?”
“I have my suspicions, but I’d rather keep them to myself,” she replied. “But I’d bet you anything Barlow was a victim of his own stupidity.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“He shouldn’t have called the tip hotline. In this day and age, people would just as soon shoot you as look at you if you upset them in any way. You don’t dare get involved in road-rage incidents anymore, for example. Nowadays, when someone cuts you off, you just wave friendly-like and shout, ‘have a good day’, and get the hell out of Dodge. Whoever abducted Reilly was probably afraid Barlow would suddenly remember part of the license tag number or the year, color, and model of the car he saw picking Reilly up. You know, an eyewitness report that could provide a clue that turns the entire case around. Or, on the other hand, the killer might have just been ticked off that the guy would stick his nose in where it didn’t belong.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean, although I think it’s everyone’s civic duty as human beings to look out for each other and report crime, or the possibility of wrong-doing, when we witness it.” I was dying to know who Suzanna suspected was behind both deaths, as you can well imagine. I tried a tactic that turned out to be very effective. “Do you really believe that two-timing, no-good scoundrel of a husband of yours could do something so atrocious to another human being?”
Without taking a moment to think about her response, she exclaimed, “You’re damned right I think he could! He never laid a hand on me, but emotional and verbal abuse is just as hurtful, if not more so. I believe if provoked, he could get angry enough to beat up a person, maybe even kill 'em. Especially a woman. He almost killed a man in a bar one night. He told me he actually was trying to kill the guy but failed to get the job done.”
When it occurred to her what she’d revealed about her estranged husband, she stopped talking abruptly. I shook my head slowly as I waved my hand back and forth. Before I could speak, Suzanna spoke again. “No, forget I said that. Please don’t repeat that to anyone.”
“Don’t worry, dear. I would never say anything to anyone. I’m on your side, and I think you may be right. Any man who’d try to kill another person is a horse’s behind, in my opinion. But it’s not my place to accuse anyone of anything or to repeat anything you’ve said out of anger.” I couldn’t really tell if Suzanna was afraid of causing the police to pay attention to her husband because she still cared for him, or because she was afraid of the repercussions to herself if she pointed an accusatory finger at Percival. She was hurt, obviously, and with hurt came resentment, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid of retribution from the man who’d broken her heart. Suzanna had no real evidence that Percival would try to kill someone, such as Barlow, so her say-so would hardly serve as proof of wrongdoing on his part.
I wanted to keep her in my confidence for now. “Speaking of not repeating anything, please keep what I just told you about Barlow’s murder to yourself. The news hasn’t been made public yet, and I swore to my husband I wouldn’t tell anyone. I just thought you should know.”
“Thank you. I promise not to say anything to anyone. To be clear, though, I really don’t think Percival would physically harm anyone, male or female,” Suzanna said, her head hanging in remorse for having even voiced something so damning about her husband. This statement completely contr
adicted the story she’d just told me about his bar fight. “If Percival's involved in Reilly’s disappearance, I hope he gets what he has coming to him.”
I noticed Suzanna had just spoken of Reilly in the past tense but didn’t think it was a sign she knew the woman to be deceased. Reilly being dead seemed to be the opinion of everyone who knew her. If she were still alive, she would have returned home or contacted someone by now.
I noticed a tear escape from Suzanna's right eye and reached over and clasped my hands in hers as a sign of solidarity. The lone tear left a black streak of watery mascara down her cheek. I felt bad I’d upset her, but glad I’d been able to drag her suspicions out of her. Percival Pandero was now my number-one suspect, and I wanted to dig into his past and his whereabouts as much as I could.
“Where do you think the dirtbag is now?” I asked.
“I have no idea, and I don’t care,” she replied. “As long as he stays at least a hundred feet away from me, as written in the restraining order I filed.”
“You do know those aren’t always iron-clad, don’t you?” I didn’t want Suzanna to feel as if she were totally safe based solely on a restraining order. A false sense of security was often worse than no sense of security at all. “When my husband served as the sheriff here, I read a report that said restraining orders are violated forty percent of the time and lead to something worse occurring over twenty percent of the time. A restraining order often makes the individual you filed the order against even angrier. A lot of people, particularly abusive ones with anger issues, don’t give a rat’s behind about restraining orders. Some treat them as a dare.”
“Yeah. I know. And Percival is exactly the kind of man to disregard a court order. It’s not that I’m afraid he’ll hurt me. I just don’t want to deal with him right now. That’s why I leave all the doors locked and chained, even when I’m in the house. I had a state-of-the-art security system installed right before the hurricane and was really nervous during the several weeks it took to get the electricity and wifi back up and operating.”
“I can imagine. Don’t take any chances. If you ever feel uncomfortable, or your ex shows up in your driveway, call this number, and Rip and Milo will come right over.” As I spoke, I wrote our phone number on the back of a Dollar General receipt.
“Milo? As in Milo next door?”
“Um, yes.” I’d forgotten I’d intentionally not told her my daughter was her next-door neighbor. To Suzanna, I was just a volunteer helping distribute emergency supplies. “I’m sorry. Did I fail to mention I was Regina Moore’s mother? That’s why I began my door-to-door canvassing in this cul-de-sac. We will be staying here with them for a few weeks, or even months, if necessary.”
“So does that exotic-looking travel trailer in their driveway belong to you?” I’d always thought of “exotic” as being a complimentary description, but the expression on the woman’s face as she spoke said otherwise. Before I recalled the promise I’d made to Regina, I said, “Yes. The Chartreuse Caboose is our full-time home now.”
“You call your travel trailer the Chartreuse Caboose? How funny.” Suzanna’s eyebrows arched as she replied to my remark. “Well, thank you, Rapella. It makes me feel so much better to know that you and the former sheriff are right next door.”
“Tack that number up by your telephone so it’s handy if or when you need it.”
“My iPhone is always in my pocket, so I’ll put your number in my contacts under Sheriff Ripple, so I can auto-dial it quickly if necessary.”
“Perfect. Sometimes my age shows when I forget people don’t all have black telephones with rotary dials on their kitchen counters like everyone used to. In fact, very few folks have landlines these days, I reckon.” I laughed when she nodded with a comical look on her face. Our age difference left me feeling like a tittering tyrannosaurus rex. “You take care, dear. If you get lonely, dial that number and I’ll come over for a cup of coffee or glass of wine, and we’ll have a tête-à-tête about the weather, the town’s progress on the hurricane recovery, or even the couple up the street who stand in their front yard and hurl insults at each other.”
“Can you believe those two?” Suzanna asked with a chuckle. I hadn’t actually witnessed the couple arguing, but Regina had told me about some of their public disagreements. “Last week I saw Mrs. Willming yank a small lantana bush out of their flower bed and throw it at her husband. As soon as he roared off in his muscle car, she was out there replanting it.”
“I guess she showed him a thing or two!”
We both laughed at my remark and then she asked if I had the time to join her in a glass of Cranberry Curlew. I felt sorry for her when she said, “I could actually use the company today, as I’m a little down now, having just heard about Barlow. The Cranberry Curlew and Calypso Bianco are my two favorites from Winery on the Bay. I’m glad I’d bought several cases of each a week before the hurricane hit. Now it could be a while before the winery reopens. I heard they’ll be moving to East North Street, about a block from their old location, because their former building was heavily damaged by the storm.”
“That’s too bad,” I replied. “We noticed the entire downtown area took a major hit. Thank goodness most Texans are resilient.”
“That’s true.”
As we sipped on our long-stemmed glasses of red wine, we talked about everything from the fact there weren’t nearly as many shore and wading birds, or even the smaller songbirds, around as there had been before the hurricane to the best way to get a wine stain out of a white blouse. The latter subject came up after Suzanna accidentally sloshed some wine on her shirt as she laughed at one of my stories about Dolly licking ice cream off Rip’s chin as he napped in his recliner. I suggested hydrogen peroxide to remove the stain.
By the time I left, I’d formed a friendly bond with Suzanna. We even made plans to go shopping in Portland together the following day. Portland was one of the closest places to buy groceries now that so many businesses were closed due to hurricane damage. I hoped to get more details about Percival’s personality, his relationship with Reilly, and why Suzanna suspected he was involved in the woman’s disappearance. I was interested in learning where the man might be living at the present, and if he had viable motives to harm two of his former neighbors.
It was possible Reilly had willingly gotten into the car the eyewitness saw picking her up during the lull in the storm. It was even plausible she was currently hiding out with the vehicle’s owner somewhere. Suzanna had not seen her ex in three weeks. Percival and Reilly could have established a new life together, under assumed identities, in Satan’s Kingdom, Massachusetts, for all anyone knew. Satan’s Kingdom is not only an actual town, albeit an unincorporated community, it’s the most fitting name for a place for two such unscrupulous individuals to live if they’d truly run off together. Reilly might not be a victim, I realized. She might actually be a co-conspirator. Perhaps she was hoping to disappear without a trace in anticipation of being presumed dead, a victim of Hurricane Harvey. If that was her scheme, so far it had gone off without a hitch, and, if so, I hoped to be the “hitch” that threw a monkey wrench in her plans.
The general presumption was that Reilly had died after being swept away during Hurricane Harvey, but my gut was telling me otherwise. I couldn’t help but think there was more to the situation than everyone knew. Her fate had been based entirely on the assumption she’d been killed in the storm, but there’d been no proof to verify that assumption. It troubled me there were no signs of anyone actively looking for her: no posters with her image on them posted around town, no candlelight vigils, no organized search parties. Without a body to confirm her death, I felt Reilly’s fate was still up in the air. It was a mystery of sorts, and it appeared that no one other than me desperately wanted to see it solved.
Everyone, from the victim’s spouse to the county sheriff, seemed content to set aside the matter of the missing woman so they could concentrate on rebuilding their homes, their businesses, and th
eir lives. It was true that everyone in Rockport had a lot on their plates after the destructive hurricane, but not one person appeared to be overly concerned about finding Reilly. Life marched on as though she’d never existed.
Personally, if she’d been someone I’d known and loved, I wouldn’t have rested until I had proof of her death. I’d barely met the woman yet felt as though I was more distressed about her disappearance than her own husband. Rather than rebuilding their house, Walker’s number one priority should’ve been to bring his wife home one way or another―dead or alive!
I chewed over the situation that evening as Rip and I sat staring at the boob tube like we were in hypnotic trances. I was looking forward to talking with Suzanna the next day. I don’t think I’d ever been so excited about buying milk and bread in my entire life.
Sixteen
“What in the Sam Hill?” I gasped in the middle of the Portland H-E-B’s produce department. Suzanna had grabbed my arm and yanked me so hard, I nearly lost my balance. Unfortunately for the mound of oranges I was pawing through, they tumbled from the bin and rolled across the floor in all directions. One nearly made it to the meat counter before coming to a halt. My shopping companion swiftly dragged me around a display of Christmas decorations and into the cereal aisle. I don’t know what surprised me the most: getting man-handled in the grocery store by Suzanna, or seeing holiday merchandise on display in September.
“He’s here!”
I knew who “he” was without even asking.
Ripped Apart (A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery, Book 5) Page 14
