Ripped Apart (A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery, Book 5)

by Jeanne Glidewell

  “Did you notice the muscle-bound dude in the white tank top who was putting russet potatoes in a plastic bag?”

  “Who could miss him? He looks as if he could power lift that large crate of watermelons next to him. I assume that’s Percival. What do you reckon he’s doing here?”

  Suzanna splayed her hands out in a manner that clearly meant “duh”. “Buying food. What did you think he’d be doing in a grocery store?”

  “I realize that.” I rolled my eyes at her. “What I meant is, this means he’s still living in the area.”

  Suzanna repeated her “duh” gesture. Suddenly I didn’t like her as much as I had when we’d initially entered the store. I went on to explain why the thought of him living nearby should greatly concern her. “Well, that’s good to know because it means you better stay on your toes. Remember to keep that phone number I gave you handy. He’s alone, so that may also indicate he’s not shacking up with Reilly.”

  Suzanna’s head turned sideways like a startled great horned owl. “Shush. I don’t want him to hear us. And why would that indicate he’s not shacking up with Reilly? If he is, she’s probably hiding out, wanting people to believe she’s dead. Besides, it doesn’t take two people to buy food to cook for supper. He never came to the store with me when I went grocery shopping.”

  “All right,” I whispered in return. “Why did you seem so shocked when I mentioned your ex shacking up with Reilly?”

  “Because I don’t really think there’s any fricking way that’s happening.” Suzanna appeared to be trying to convince herself more than me. She tended to waffle back and forth on the subject. Her next remark took me by surprise. “I’d rather believe he killed her before the eye of the storm even cleared the island.”

  “You’d rather believe he killed her? For your sake, I presume? It can’t be for his or Reilly’s. Where’d you get such an idea?” I asked softly. This was exactly the kind of information I’d hoped to get out of Suzanna. I just hadn’t expected to be cowered down next to a box of Cocoa Puffs when I got it. “Yesterday you told me you didn’t think he’d ever harm anyone, male or female. But then, that was right after you told me he tried to kill a guy in a bar, but failed.”

  “I lied. I don’t want it to get back to him that I was spreading rumors he was probably the reason she was missing. You see, I found a text on his phone the day before Harvey. Percival was upset with her because she’d told him she had plans to break it off with her new husband, but no plans to dive right back into another serious relationship with Percival or any other man. Not sure if you knew this, but Reilly and Walker were still newlyweds.” Suzanna continued after I nodded my head. “She was just looking for a good time, apparently, not a committed relationship.”

  “She’s clearly not a big fan of monogamy. It sounds like Walker is better off without her.”

  “Yeah. I agree. Percival was better off without her too, the way I see it. As far as Reilly is concerned, good riddance is all I can say.”

  That came across as a little harsh, but I could understand her hateful regard for the home wrecker across the street. Not that I didn’t think Suzanna wasn’t equally better off without her slime-ball husband. Seemed to me as if Reilly and Percival deserved each other. Naturally, I kept that thought to myself.

  “Can I help you?” Just then a booming voice behind us startled me. I lurched forward and knocked at least a dozen boxes of cereal off the shelf. Sprawled out in the aisle with a box of Lucky Charms between my legs, I knew I was a sight to behold. So much for lucky or charming. The boxes lay scattered all around me as I stared up at a rotund employee wearing an H-E-B badge and an apron. “Hey! Aren’t you the lady who scattered the oranges all over the produce department?”

  “Well, yes,” I mumbled. In my defense, I added, “But not intentionally.”

  “Yet you just rushed off rather than notifying someone to clean up your mess. You seem to be leaving quite a wave of destruction in your wake. Your name’s not Harvey by any chance, is it?”

  I knew the man was trying to be funny, but I didn’t see any humor in his comment. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll put these cereal boxes back on the shelf just the way they were before you startled me and made me lose my balance.”

  With his hands on his hips, the employee, a man hired to stock shelves, was putting on airs as if he was Howard Edward Butt himself, of which all the H-E-B stores in Texas were named for. It’s easy to see why Howard’s mother, Florence, chose her son’s initials rather than his surname when she founded the grocery chain. “Butt Foods” just doesn’t have the same ring to it. The snotty shelf-stocker glared at me, as he asked, “Did you drop something else? Why were you crouched down like that, anyway?”

  “I have a medical condition.” The man instantly looked contrite for putting such an emphasis on the word “else” in his last question. I felt vindicated even though, other than a mild case of osteoporosis, the only real medical condition I suffered from was an underactive thyroid. And, according to Rip, an overactive imagination. I wasn’t lying by saying I had a medical condition, even though it hadn’t exactly earned me a handicapped plaque to hang from my rearview mirror. The rude store clerk didn’t need to know my Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis had nothing to do with the “wave of destruction” I was leaving behind me.

  “Oh. I apologize, ma’am. Do you need assistance in getting up? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” He looked as if he’d just been made aware he’d accidentally run over a ninety-year-old with a forklift while restocking the shelves. I’d have felt guilty if he hadn’t been so discourteous earlier.

  “I’ll be fine. Just give me a second.” The man turned away and spoke into his two-way radio. I turned to see what Suzanna was doing, only to realize she was nowhere to be found. I’d soon discover she’d fled the store and was waiting in her car for me when a text came over my phone from her.

  Whether she needed to pick up groceries or not, we were desperately low on a number of staples, and I wasn’t about to waste this opportunity. I hurried up and down the aisles and then loitered around a rack of magazines within eyesight of the check-out counters.

  “Clean up on aisle seven!” A voice called out over the store’s intercom system. I continued to feign interest in a Farm and Ranch periodical until I saw Percival approach with a couple of steaks and two baking potatoes in one hand, and a bottle of white wine in the other. I quickly fell into line behind him.

  As I’ve mentioned before, I often exchange polite small talk with people in front of or behind me in check-out lines. Today I actually had a reason to start up a conversation with a perfect stranger. Maybe “complete stranger” would be a more appropriate term. There didn’t seem to be anything “perfect” about Percival other than perhaps his eyesight. Well into his forties, the man didn’t seem to need eyeglasses to read the text that had just come over his phone. Looking over his shoulder I read his return text, which was DINNER AT 7:00.

  “Oh, sorry. Can you believe how long these lines are?” I casually asked Percival after he turned around and caught me eyeing his phone. I had accidentally tapped his behind with the front of my grocery cart when I leaned forward to sneak a peek at what he’d typed into his phone.

  “You should see the lines at Home Depot in Corpus,” he replied good-naturedly. I hadn’t expected him to be so friendly. “But, then, we shouldn’t complain. We’re lucky these stores weren’t destroyed by Harvey.”

  “You’re absolutely right! How did your home fare?”

  “Not bad, considering. And yours?”

  “Although Rockport is our home base, my husband and I are full-time RVers now. We came back to help my daughter and her husband get their lives back on track. Like you, their home was damaged, but not to the point it’ll need to be razed. One house a few doors down lost its entire top floor, so I guess Regina and Milo were very fortu―”

  “Regina and Milo?” He cut in, staring at me as if I’d just morphed into a rainbow-colored unicorn, like
the one on the front of the cereal boxes I’d knocked off the shelf. I instinctively reached up to run my hand across my forehead to make sure I wasn’t sporting a new horn. “As in the Moores who live on Flamingo Road?”

  “Yes. Those are the ones.” I’d forgotten he was their former next-door neighbor and would instantly recognize their names. At that juncture, I wasn’t sure if my slip of the tongue would turn out to be a beneficial thing or a silly screw-up. “You know them, I take it?”

  “Yes. I live next door to them. Or at least I used to. They’re good folks.”

  “I agree. But then, I might be a bit biased.” I smiled because I wanted to keep the conversation casual. On the other hand, I didn’t want to miss an opportunity to learn anything I could about my current number-one suspect. Even as we chatted, I found it hard to believe the man in front of me could abduct Reilly or kill two people in cold blood. “Oh, so you’ve moved?”

  “Only temporarily, I hope. My wife and I are currently separated. My bad. I was a total jerk. I’d do anything to win her back, even attend anger-management classes if I have to.” I noticed Percival referred to Suzanna as his wife, even though she referred to him as her ex when she wasn’t referring to him as something much less complimentary. He looked forlorn as he spoke of her, while she’d appeared mad as a rabid fox when she’d mentioned his name. I actually felt a tiny bit sorry for the guy, despite the fact I’d been told he was prone to inflicting verbal and emotional abuse, as well as being a two-timing scumbag. To his credit, he’d admitted the separation was all his fault and attributed it to his anger issues. He looked down at his feet, as he added, “I had a short fling with another woman, but it didn’t mean anything. I feel terrible about it, too.”

  “As you should. If I were your wife, it’d be a cold day in you-know-where before I’d take you back. But that’s just me.” My remark was blunt but truthful. The look on Percival’s face indicated he didn’t appreciate brutal honesty. Either that or the idea of being married to a seventy-year-old woman made him sick to his stomach. It was probably a good thing I didn’t ask him if he killed the woman he’d had the short fling with while making it look like she was a victim of the recent hurricane.

  “I said I felt terrible about it. I swore I’d never do it again after seeing how badly I hurt Suzanna. I’m not above getting down on my hands and knees and begging her to take me back.”

  “First you need to give her a reason to want you back, as well as proof she can trust you this time around.” I was wishing I’d turned my phone’s voice recorder on before I’d approached Percival. I’d have loved to be able to play my conversation with him back for Suzanna on our ride home so she could hear the earnest quality of his tone. Reiterating to her what he’d said, explaining he’d appeared genuinely remorseful and held himself totally responsible for their issues just wouldn’t have the powerful effect as hearing the words out of his own mouth. I’d just have to do the best I could to get the sincerity of his remarks across to her. Perhaps there’s still hope for the couple, I thought.

  “If your wife fears you’ll abuse her again in the future or cheat on her, she’ll leave you sitting out on the curb like a bag of garbage, which is a perfect description for anyone who’d intentionally hurt his spouse, even if it’s not physically. She needs to feel loved, as if you appreciate her. She needs confirmation of your commitment to change your ways. She needs to feel as though your loyalty to her is unquestionable. She needs to feel protected. Above all, she needs to feel safe in her own home. Maybe you should sign up for those anger-management classes right away so she can see you’re serious about winning her back and willing to do whatever it takes to make things right.” Suddenly I was acting as if I’d spent my entire life working as a marriage counselor rather than earning a living as a secretary, shoe salesman, ice cream store clerk, bartender, and a dozen other short-lived occupations. But, to my profound surprise, Percival was taking in every word I said. “You need to enroll in those classes today, or tomorrow at the latest, to have any hope of ever winning the love of your life back.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” he said. “Thanks.”

  I should have stopped while I was ahead, but I was feeling full of myself at the moment, so I added, “She’s not going to wait around forever, you know. She may already be looking for your replacement.”

  The glare he leveled on me after my rash comment could have made my head explode like a cherry bomb had I not felt my skull heating up and glanced away. Looking down at my hands, I said, “I’m sorry if I upset―”

  “All I can say is, she’d better not be looking for another man.”

  “You just told me you cheated on her.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Not really.” Just then the line moved up and I realized Percival would be the next customer to check out. He turned around as if officially ending our exchange. I felt as though I’d learned nothing of any real value in my personal investigation into his neighbor’s disappearance. I tapped him on the shoulder. “Say, Percival, have you―”

  His headed twist around so abruptly I feared he’d need to get a chiropractic adjustment before he returned to his “temporary” home with his groceries. In an accusatory tone, he asked, “How’d you know my name?”

  “Silly goose. You just told me you lived next door to my daughter. Don’t you think Regina and I have discussed the folks who live in the same cul-de-sac as she and her husband? She had nothing bad to say about anyone in the neighborhood, by the way.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Percival had the decency to look embarrassed. I was just glad I hadn’t used his name before he’d given me an excuse to already know it. “Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten about that.”

  “No problem. I’ve already forgotten what store I’m shopping in. Happens to the best of us.” I chuckled amicably before getting down to brass tacks. “So, have you heard any new updates about the lady on the other side of Regina and Milo? You know, Reilly Reynolds, the one who disappeared during the storm?”

  “No. Have you?” He appeared extremely interested in my answer, leaning toward me as if to ensure he didn’t miss a single word of my response.

  “I heard an anonymous tipster called in to report he’d witnessed her getting into a car in front of her home during the more tranquil period when the eye of the storm was directly over Rockport.”

  “Really?” It was clear this was the first he’d heard of the anonymous tip. He appeared neither alarmed nor surprised. He merely looked intrigued. “I hope that bit of information leads the authorities to her whereabouts.”

  He hadn’t said “lead the authorities to her body”, but rather used a phrase that might indicate he thought she might still be among the living. This told me he might be as perplexed as the rest of us about what had happened to Reilly. It could also indicate he knew she was still alive, but not admitting it. A Freudian slip like that could be very telling. I just wish I knew what it was telling me.

  “I’m guessing Barlow was the anonymous tipster,” he said with a rueful smile. “He called the police on me one evening when I walked up the street to put a piece of misdelivered mail inside the rightful recipient’s screen door. To the 9-1-1 dispatcher he referred to me as a ‘peeping Tom’. Irritating at the time, but kind of amusing thinking back about it.”

  “He must have been a real character. What a shame.”

  “‘Must have been’? A ‘shame’? What are you talking about?”

  “You haven’t heard about Barlow’s death?” I watched Percival’s deeply tanned complexion pale as my news set in. It was painfully obvious this was the first he was learning of his neighbor’s passing. Even Tom Hanks is not that good an actor.

  Before he could respond, the lady at the cash register motioned him forward so she could tally up his purchases. He glanced around frantically before asking me, “Is it all right with you if I let the customer behind you go ahead of us?”

  “Absolutely! I’m in no big rush,” I replied. I probably came
across as too anxious. I would have been delighted to have the next four customers behind him cut in line in front of us, as well. The longer we talked, the more information I was apt to garner. Percival and I both stepped aside to let the elderly man pass.

  “What happened to Barlow?” Percival asked the second the man had cleared him. He sounded more curious than upset about the news of Mr. Barnaby’s demise. But then, Barlow didn’t appear to have too many fans on Flamingo Road.

  “I was actually the person who discovered his body. When I peered through the glass, I saw him hanging by a rope from the big cross beam in his living room.”

  “Oh, no! That’s awful! Have they identified the killer yet?”

  “No. Not yet. I’m certain they’re closing in on the perp though.” I noticed Percival’s eyes widen in response to my remark, as though genuinely stunned at the news of Barlow’s death. “I got the impression they’re convinced the killer is the same individual who abducted Reilly Reynolds. You see, my husband is the former sheriff of Aransas County, and is still friends with many of the officers on the local police force.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Percival’s head bobbed up and down like a bobble-head doll. “Milo told me his father-in-law was Sheriff Ripple. Mister Ripster, he calls him.”

  Mister Ripster? I wonder what Milo calls me behind my back? Oh, well, Mister Ripster’s better than what I occasionally call Rip. In fact, my husband might actually like the fact his son-in-law had concocted a unique nickname for him, so I’ll let that remark slide for now.

  The customer we’d let cut in front of us had only ten or twelve items in his basket. With Percival on deck to check out next, I knew I didn’t have much time. He didn’t seem prepared to wave another customer ahead of us. While I could, I asked, “You must be having a guest for supper, huh?”

  “What makes you think I wasn’t planning to eat both steaks and baked potatoes myself? I most definitely would have no problem polishing off this wine on my own. Add a case of Modelo, and it’d be the perfect last supper.” His response had been made in a joking manner, so I laughed politely before he continued. “Just kidding. You know the lady who owned the house you were just referring to that had the entire top floor ripped apart? Well, I thought it’d be neighborly of me to invite her over for dinner. I’m renting a fully-furnished condo here in Portland, and I’m anxious to try out the grill on the back deck. She’s had a bad go of it, and I feel sorry for her. Thought it might be therapeutic for her to have someone to talk to and a treat to have a home-cooked meal, as well. She’s living in a Motel 6 room right now. To be honest, I thought my eyes could use a treat, as well. And JJ is definitely easy on the eyes.”