“Are you sure?” Galt asked. “You were willing to use the story to land a job. That’s not much different. And your Uncle Mark, he seemed more than willing to take advantage of my generosity and help me out.”
“Mark took money?” She figured he was involved but would never have believed he was working for Galt.
“How do you think I got your number and always seemed to know where you were? He has been very helpful.” Looking at Gary as though they were pals, he said, “Perhaps you two should think this over. Talk to your family and see what they say. I’m flying out on Wednesday. My cell number is on that document. Call me as soon as you have a decision.”
Gary stood up, towering over Galt. “What if we tell you we intend to sue you and your publisher if this book is released? What do you say to that?”
“Unless you have contradictory evidence, I say that’s just more publicity—more sales—more money. I know it sounds crass, but in my line of work, that’s just how it is.”
Deena got up and stood by her husband. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You will definitely be hearing from us again.”
They walked out of the room and got on the elevator. Gary did not even bother to crouch under the umbrella as they hurried through the rain to the car. When they settled inside, he turned to Deena. “Look, I know this is important to you, but it has to end. Go meet with that woman tomorrow night, but that’s it. You know I support you, but I’m worried about you. This thing is bigger than just us now.” He turned on the ignition. “I think we need to talk to Lucy and Frank and Cora and tell them everything we know.”
“And Mark,” she said.
“I think you should ask them what they want to do and then put an end to this.”
“You aren’t thinking about taking the money, are you?”
“Absolutely not,” Gary said more calmly. “Who knows, maybe the book will come out and be seen as just another failed attempt to complicate what was really a simple case—one lone nut pulling off the crime of the century.”
“You’re right. Maybe I should just call Donna and cancel the meeting.”
He shook his head. “I know you. You will always wonder what she might have said. Besides,” he added, “you wouldn’t want Mrs. Fitzhugh to have ruined her best dress for nothing, now would you?”
*
Full of nervous energy, Deena decided to clean out the refrigerator and pantry. Maybe she would take up cooking since she obviously was not cut out for investigative reporting. She was picking Russell up at seven o’clock. He insisted on getting the hotel room, telling Deena it would be a surprise. She already packed an overnight bag and put it in the car. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, and she hoped it would stay that way.
Her refrigerator looked like a science project. Fruits, vegetables, and leftovers in various stages of decay seemed more like abstract art than consumable food. She pulled the trash can over and repeated the ritual she had performed on her car. Some of it was too disgusting to bother removing from the plastic containers. She threw them away, lid and all. A bag of lettuce had turned to liquid. Tomatoes looked like prunes. If it was wrapped in foil, out it went. This was just the fresh start she needed.
The pantry was not much better. She found four nearly empty bags of chips. Hidden behind the soup and jars of spaghetti sauce was a moldy bag of bread. Three half-empty boxes of cereal were pushed to the back. She checked the expiration dates. Two were almost a year old. These must have been from when Gary went on that diet, she thought. The musty odor was not just from the bread. She pulled out a bag of potatoes that had roots the length of her hand. I can’t grow roses, but potatoes I’m good at. By the time she was finished, she had filled two large plastic bags. Good thing Gary isn’t coming home for dinner. I’ve totally lost my appetite.
Opening the blinds in the den filled the room with a wave of dust, little sparkles catching the few rays trying to peak from behind the clouds. Maybe I need a maid like Mrs. Fitzhugh, she laughed to herself. Preferably someone who will also cook. She sat at her desk and decided to continue reading through the stack of Cora’s correspondence. The first was a letter from a cousin in Missouri, dated 1939. The letter told about her husband’s new job and the baby’s illness (croup, of course) and the visit from another cousin—typical life for that era. She read several postcards from places around the country, all wishing the Meade’s well and hoping to see them soon.
One stack of letters was bound with a brittle rubber band that broke apart when Deena tried to remove it. These were letters to Cora and Frank from Matthew when he was overseas. An hour flew by as she read letter after letter, each with the same greeting: Dear Mama and Papa, I am fine. He would go on to tell them some little story about what he had eaten or what he and some of his buddies did for fun. If she hadn’t known these were wartime letters, she’d have thought he was away at summer camp. No details of the harsh conditions or brutal missions. All the letters were white washed as clean as Tom Sawyer’s picket fence.
As she got up to add these to the box of pictures, another letter on the desk caught her eye. It was sealed shut, nothing written on the outside. She sat back down to read it.
Dear Mom and Dad,
If you are reading this, then you know that I am dead. I am sorry for the pain I have caused you by my actions. I took money to assassinate the president. I was blackmailed. I thought they would leave me alone, but they must have killed me.
Your loving son,
Matthew
At first, she was stunned. Then she remembered the joke Gary had made about looking for this kind of letter. Could he just be playing a trick on her? Purple roses, she noted, examining the border on the paper. It was the very same stationery Cora used for the thank-you note she sent. Deena read it again, and then the truth hit her. Finally, she thought, something in this case makes sense.
*
“Remember when we used to fix just about anything by hitting it with a hammer?” Sweat poured off Cliff’s face as he gave a slight kick to the side of the air conditioning unit in his garage. “Nowadays you need to be a computer programmer to change a light bulb.”
“When is the new unit supposed to be here?” Russell asked as he handed his buddy a beer.
“Yesterday. So who knows at this point.” He dropped the hammer into his tool box and wiped his forehead. “This humidity is a killer. I’d hit the pool if it weren’t for the lightening.”
“Why don’t you shower up and come on over. I need to get ready to go with Deena to Ft. Worth. We’re meeting one of Matthew’s old friends.”
“Will Noel Future be there? The guys at the VFW were pretty impressed when I showed them his autograph.”
“I don’t think he’ll be there. He was heading back to New York today.” Russell kicked a pile of dirty rags further into the garage so they wouldn’t get wet. “You can stay at my place tonight, that way you can also take care of Maggie. I’ll write down where we are going and the motel we are staying at in Arlington. Call if anything comes up.”
“Sure thing. But Russ, promise me you’ll let Deena drive this time.”
Russell crumpled his beer can and tossed it at his friend, both unaware of the critical events about to unfold over the next few hours.
*
The Stockyards were hopping with live music despite the dark clouds and occasional brilliant flash across the night sky. Donna introduced her husband, and Deena introduced Russell. At first Donna seemed suspicious, expecting Deena to be alone, but she decided Russell could stay. She told her husband to wait at the bar for her so they could talk outside on the patio in private. He handed her his jacket, saying she might need it if the skies open up.
They sat at a metal table covered by a large Corona umbrella. Donna drank Bud Light and took long drags on a cigarette.
Knowing the clock was ticking because of the weather and Donna’s time limit, Deena skipped the small talk and got right down to it. “First, let me ask you about the warehouse. Was there anyth
ing fishy going on?”
“You mean people stealing? Apparently so.” She blew smoke out of the side of her mouth that seemed to get stuck in the air around her face. “I didn’t know anything about it until they were all fired. I think it was just a few of the guys, but I was clueless.”
“How long was it after Matthew disappeared?”
“About a week. It was about the same time I quit.” She slapped at a mosquito on her baked leathery shoulder where spaghetti straps revealed a lifetime of sunburns. Although her hair was over-bleached and frizzy, she still had a girlish look about her.
“Did they fire you, too?”
“No. They knew I hadn’t done anything.”
Deena looked at Russell. That would seem to confirm Gene’s version of the story. “What about Matthew? How did people feel about him?”
“He was really well liked. Very polite. A little shy, but very nice.” A waiter came by and Russell ordered a couple of beers.
“How did management find out about the problems in the warehouse? Did Matthew tell them?”
“Not that I know of. Honestly, I didn’t pay much attention to what was going on at work. I did my job and that was it.” She twirled a finger in the side of her hair. She might have been a dumb blond back in the day, Deena thought.
“What happened that last night?”
“My car was in the shop, so Gene—Gene Collins— do you know him?”
“We did,” Russell said solemnly.
“Anyway, Gene said he’d give me a ride home. Then he invited me to go to the diner for supper with him and Matthew, so I did. After we ate, I watched for my ride. He pulled up, I ran outside, and that was the last time I saw Matthew.”
“What about Gene? Was he at the table when your ride showed up?”
“No. He had gone around the corner to the men’s room, I guess. I remember saying bye to Matthew.”
“Did you pay your check?”
“No,” she said and chuckled. “I was in such a hurry I left my coat and forgot to pay my check.”
It all matches up with what Gene had told them. “When was the last time you saw Gene Collins?”
“Let’s see, it was the day they all got fired. Friday—I quit on Monday. Some people thought I got fired, but I didn’t. I…decided to move back home with my folks. Never saw him after that. Is he in trouble for that robbery business? Is that what this is all about?”
“No,” Deena assured her. “It’s about Matthew. Do you remember a man named Glenn?”
“Glenn!” She looked like she’d just seen Elvis. “What do you know about him?”
“Just that you were seeing him at that time…and that he was married. Did he know Matthew?”
Donna looked back over her shoulder toward the bar just as the waiter brought the beers. “No. R.G.—that’s what everyone called him—lived south of Bingham. He said he didn’t know many people in Maycroft.”
“Is that who picked you up from the café?”
“No, my brother picked me up. R.G. and I had gotten into a big fight. It was actually his fault that I was even at the café that night.”
“What do you mean?” Deena took a sip of the beer Russell had given. She hated beer, but the humidity was dreadful.
“You see, he came over on Monday night to see me. He had been drinking and wasn’t treating me very lady-like, if you know what I mean. I told him he had better start being nice to me or I’d leave him for my ‘other boyfriend.’ That’s when he started laughing, saying I couldn’t get another boyfriend if I tried.” Thunder crackled, but the sky held its water.
“Then I said, ‘Not only do I have another boyfriend, but he knows all about you and me.’ Well, that’s when he lost his ever-lovin’ mind. He started cussin’ and fussin’. I should have known that would set him off since he had these big political plans, and our…um, relationship had to be kept a secret until he left his wife. I know now he was probably never going to do that. He wasn’t jealous—he was worried about his reputation if word got out that he was cheating on his wife.” She took a chug of beer. Deena could tell she was getting worked up. Before she could change the subject, Donna picked up where she’d left off.
“When he left, he went outside to the parking lot behind my apartment, pulled a tire iron out of his pickup, and went to pounding on my front fender. Luckily, a neighbor came out and scared him off. I had to get my car towed to the shop. “
“Man, what a creep,” Russell said.
“It gets worse than that,” she said, empowered by the booze and the nicotine and a sympathetic audience. “The next couple of days go by and he doesn’t call me. Then on Wednesday night after my brother dropped me off, he comes over after I was already in bed, smelling like a barrel of Jack Daniels, tracking mud all over my apartment. But this time he is being sweet and saying he’s sorry.” She took several more drags off her cigarette, and then dropped it on the ground, crushing it with her red stiletto.
“What did you do?” Russell loved a good melodrama. The humidity had turned to a mist, and he wanted to hear the rest of the story before the rain came.
“Dumb me, I decide to forgive him. That’s when I tell him that I had lied to him before. I told I didn’t really have another boyfriend. I just wanted to make him jealous, so I made it up. I thought he’d be jumping for joy. But you know what he did? He threw up all over my living room floor. I couldn’t believe it! He starts yelling, ‘What have I done? What have I done?’ over and over, stomping back and forth across the floor.”
“What do you think he meant by that?” Deena asked.
“I don’t know. All I know is that it went downhill from there. Of course we were all worried about Matthew, but the following Saturday I came out of my apartment, and there was my car all fixed up. Inside was an envelope with $400 in it and a letter from R.G. saying that I was too good for him and that I should move back home. After seeing him act like a crazy man, that’s exactly what I did. Goodbye R.G.”
Deena’s brain began crunching this new information. She felt queasy. “So on Wednesday night after you had dinner with Matthew, R.G. came to your apartment with muddy boots and smelling of alcohol?” She looked at Russell, wondering if he was on her same wave length.
“What were these ‘big plans’ he had?” Russell asked.
“I s’pose it doesn’t matter all these years later. You see, he worked for the sheriff’s department as a deputy. Hoped to be sheriff himself one day. Then governor. Only problem was that in small towns, they don’t vote for men who cheat on their wives, at least not back then.”
A clap of thunder unleashed the rain that started pouring down in sheets. Everyone sitting outside jumped up and began running wildly, grabbing umbrellas, jackets, tablecloths—anything they could put over their heads as they ran for cover. Deena and Donna ran through the muddy slop and ducked under the patio awning. “My shoe!” Donna yelled.
Deena looked over and saw a red shoe stuck in the mud by their table. They watched people trying to pay their tabs, running to their cars, slushing in the mud. “I hope I answered all your questions because I’m getting out of here,” Donna said as lightning and thunder cracked open the night sky.
The flash lit up a picture in Deena’s head. It was Matthew. He was running through the rain with a coat over his head. “Donna wait!” she yelled, trying to be heard over the racket. “The raincoat you left that night at the café—what color was it?”
“Green,” she yelled back and then disappeared inside the crowded bar.
“Deena, this way.” Russell was standing in the parking lot holding the red and white umbrella, motioning for Deena to run to the car. She slushed her way over to the table and pulled out the muddy shoe. She wanted to take it back in to Donna. A loud boom of thunder changed her mind, and she ran to the car. They were both soaking wet and out of breath. She threw the shoe on the floorboard by Russell’s feet.
“The raincoat,” Deena said, gasping for air. “Matthew wasn’t wearing it when he was s
hot. He was holding it over his head to keep the rain off. R.G. probably threw it on the ground to cover the body.”
Russell shivered. “So you think R.G. was the killer?” He stared at his sister.
Deena turned on the car heater, not sure if the chill she felt came from the rain or the realization that the mystery was finally solved.
“Definitely, don’t you?”
Russell shook his head. “It seems so obvious—except to Donna, that is. Why didn’t you tell? Why didn’t you tell her she got an innocent man killed?”
“I couldn’t, not after all these years. She didn’t know that coward would assume Matthew was her boyfriend and kill him. It wasn’t her fault. Like you said, sometimes the truth hurts more than it helps. “
“I suppose you’re right. After all, R.G. cared more about his career than he did her. Why make her suffer?” He wiped his wet hands on his pants. “What are you doing with Cinderella’s slipper?”
“I don’t know.” She looked out the back window. Cars were backed up, all trying to pull out of the parking lot at once.
“So, do you know R.G.’s full name?” Russell asked.
“No, but he’s Carolyn Fitzhugh’s brother. She called him Glenn.” She looked in the mirror to see if the cars behind her were moving.
“R.G. Fitzhugh,” he said. “No, that’s wrong. It would be her maiden name, right?”
“Right.” Deena repeated the name several times in her head. Without warning, she gasped and flung open the door. She jumped out and ran to back hatch to get something out of her satchel.
“What on earth?”
“R.G.! The deputy who worked the Jane Doe case was named R.G.” She looked through her notes and found where she had written it down during her meeting with Trey Simms. “Here it is. R.G. Brice. It all adds up now. Donna said he lived near Bingham and was a county deputy. When the remains were found five months later, he worked the case and made sure Matthew’s body was tagged as a female to keep it from being identified. And, it would have stayed that way if Trey Simms hadn’t found him forty years later.”
“R.G. must have followed Matthew from the diner and gotten him to pull over somehow,” Russell said.
Sharpe Shooter (Cozy Suburbs Mystery Series Book 1) Page 14
