“Well, I got to the warehouse on time,” he replied. “But when I saw the Dairy Queen across the street, I realized I hadn’t had a bite to eat all day, so I swung in for a pork tenderloin sandwich, fries, and a chocolate malt.”
“Why you worthless piece of—” I began.
“Sorry, Lexie. I didn’t think a few minutes could matter all that much.”
“We were being held as collateral until you showed up and threatened with great bodily harm. If you hadn’t finally shown up when you did, there’s no telling what these guys might have done to us!”
“Well, I’m here now, so relax,” Teddy said. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a large stack of bills, held together with a rubber band. “Assuming Lexie already gave you the other two-fifty, it’s all here. Paid in full, just as I said it would be.”
“Lucky for you, and also for your girlfriend and the other broad,” Rocky replied.
I glanced over at Sheila and could tell instantly she was as insulted at being called “the other broad” as I was being called Teddy’s girlfriend. I swallowed hard when she demanded the return of her hundred and thirty seven dollars, and was surprised when Rocky counted out that amount and handed it back to her.
We followed Teddy toward the back of the building and outside to the alley, as Rocky and Spike headed in the opposite direction. Teddy apologized again for being late and the fact we’d been threatened and were terrified by the thought of what might happen to us had he not appeared right in the nick of time. “I don’t really think they’d have hurt you two. They were all bark and no bite with you, I’m sure. It’s me they were after. You were in no real danger whatsoever.”
I wasn’t so sure myself, and I could tell Sheila wasn’t either. Those two didn’t get and keep the jobs they had by being all bark. I pulled an index card out of my back pocket that I’d written my name and address on. I handed it to Teddy, and he promised to mail me a check for two-fifty when he got paid the following Friday. He thanked me one more time and got into an older model white Monte Carlo, with t-tops, and red stripes down the sides, and a spoiler across the back bumper that was held together with duct tape. I knew it to be a 1987 model, because I’d once owned one nearly identical to it. If Teddy drove a car built in the eighties, he truly couldn’t afford to lose ten grand gambling. He was lucky his dad’s insurance policy stood to pay off in a big way.
Pulling out onto the street in the sports car, I slowed down as I watched Rocky and Spike leave through a broken window in front of the building. When Rocky walked up to the driver’s side door of a faded green Chevy van, I handed my phone to Sheila. “Get a photo of them getting in that van if you can.”
Fortunately, Sheila’s phone was very similar to mine and she wasted no time snapping a photo. After she studied the picture she’d just taken, she assured me it was in clear focus. Both men were recognizable, and she could read the number on the license tag of the van. I didn’t know if this photo would prove to be useful, but I knew it couldn’t hurt to have it available.
* * *
It took very little discussion between Sheila and me to decide it’d be better not to mention the day’s activities to Stone and Randy. We chose self-preservation over full disclosure, as I’ve been known to do in the past. By the time we were closing in on Cedar Street, we’d begun to calm down. “Would you like to see where Thurman Steiner lived?” I asked Sheila.
“Sure.”
As I drove slowly down the residential street, I pointed out the blond brick ranch house the pastor had lived in. A man walking at a rapid pace down the sidewalk turned to look at us as we drove past. With a start, I recognized Harold Bloomingfield and wondered at the exasperated expression on his face. I stopped the car and backed up until we were alongside the gentleman. “Is everything all right, Mr. Bloomingfield?”
“Oh, hello, Lexie,” he said wearily. He didn’t sound pleased to see me. “I can’t find Bonnie. She must have wandered off again while I was taking a shower. I’ve been looking for her for almost an hour. I’ve spoken with most of the neighbors and none of them have seen her.”
“Can we help you look?” I asked. I liked Bonnie and felt sorry for both her and her husband. I knew how sad and scary Alzheimer’s could be. I was concerned about the elderly woman’s welfare. “We can drive around the neighborhood and speak with anyone we see out and about. Maybe one of them has seen her walk by. It wouldn’t hurt to have a couple more pairs of eyes out looking for her.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Well, thank you. I would appreciate the help. This is the longest I’ve ever spent looking for her. She’s only wandered off twice before, and she didn’t leave the immediate area either time.”
We spent the next forty-five minutes driving up and down the adjoining streets, broadening our search as we went along. We saw relatively few residents outside their homes, and none of those claimed to have seen an older woman walking alone, appearing lost and confused. Finally, we went back to the Bloomingfields’ house to see if Harold had located her or she’d returned to the house on her own. No such luck.
As we stepped outside the car, I’d heard what sounded like the whimpering of a kitten. “Do you have any pets Harold?”
“No. Why?”
“Did you just hear a whimpering sound, Sheila?” I knew she was more apt to have heard the sound than Harold, who wore a hearing aid in his right ear.
“Well, I thought I did hear something, but I can’t put a finger on where it came from.”
“Me either. Let’s split up and do another thorough search around the house and the next-door neighbor’s yards,” I suggested.
We each headed off in a different direction. I found myself heading toward the Steiner home. Calling out Bonnie’s name, I stopped every few feet to listen for a response. As I approached the back patio of Thurman’s house I heard the whimpering sound again. I felt sure it had come from his back yard.
The only thing in the back yard, aside from a couple of large oak trees, was a small garden shed. Sure enough when I headed in that direction and called out Bonnie’s name, I heard a muffled reply. As I opened the door I saw Bonnie, squatting in the corner of the shed behind an ancient lawn mower that appeared to be on its last legs and an old-fashioned metal gas can. Glancing around, I saw a nearly empty bag of grass seed, a rusty rake, a spade with a wooden handle that was split down the center, and a few cans of old paint. That was the extent of the shed’s contents. I could understand why it was left unlocked and Thurman had apparently not been worried someone might break in and steal his stuff. There wasn’t anything in there worth stealing.
“It’s okay, Bonnie,” I said, as I crouched down beside her. She had a wild-eyed expression and looked at me as if she’d never seen me before in her life. I got back up and went to the door to shout out to Sheila and Harold, and they soon joined me.
Bonnie was incoherent and very befuddled. All we were able to make out of what she said was that she was looking for Pastor Steiner to see if he wanted any radishes from her garden. I glanced over at the Bloomingfield’s back yard and shrugged my shoulders. The back yard was well manicured and very lush, but no garden could be seen from my viewpoint.
“We haven’t had a vegetable garden in about thirty years,” Harold said sadly. “It became too much for us to take care of, so we started buying our produce at the farmer’s market that’s held at the old drive-in theater every weekend.”
The speakers and concession stand had been removed from the outdoor movie theater east of town and the site used for local flea and farmer’s markets for many years, he went on to tell us. I was consumed with sadness for Bonnie and Harold, but pleased to know there was somewhere I could buy locally grown fresh produce for use at the Alexandria Inn. I always strove to prepare healthy meals for our guests. Even though my cooking wasn’t always up to snuff, it was hard to screw up a tossed salad full of colorful veggies.
We got Bonnie settled back into the recliner in the Bloomingfields’ liv
ing room. Harold thanked us for our help, and for the first time since we’d met he didn’t look at me with either mistrust or dislike, or a combination of the two. He was relieved and sincerely grateful for our assistance.
Harold told us it was the worst condition he’d ever seen Bonnie in since the onset of Alzheimer’s. He felt certain she was having a reaction to the emotional impact of discovering Steiner’s body. He likened it to PTSD, post-traumatic stress syndrome. “It’s like a light in her brain switched off when the situation occurred,” he said. “I’m taking her to see the doctor on Monday, and I hope he can help her. Her meds do not appear to be working. She may benefit from a higher dose.”
We agreed with his assessment and wished him luck. Before we left I pulled out my phone and showed Harold the photo Sheila had taken. “Do you recognize this vehicle?”
“No, sorry.”
I knew if Rocky and Spike had anything to do with Steiner’s murder, it would more likely be Bonnie who had seen the green van, but I also knew asking her about it would be a futile effort. Not only would she not remember seeing any particular car, she probably had no recollection of finding her neighbor dead in his house, since she still believed him to be alive and craving radishes she’d grown in her garden three decades ago.
Sheila and I said our goodbyes and went outside to the car. As we opened the car doors simultaneously, Sheila asked, “Do you think there’s any chance that the Larry Blake you told me about might recognize this van? If he heard Steiner calling out for someone to please help him, it stands to reason the van, or at least the killer’s vehicle, was parked in or around the area at the time of the murder. Which house does he live in?”
I pointed out the white two-story house adjacent to the Steiner home, and agreed that it couldn’t hurt to ask him if, by some slim chance, we could catch him at home on an early Friday afternoon. I backed the car out of the Bloomingfields’ driveway, and pulled in to Blake’s.
There was no doorbell, so I rapped loudly on the wooden door. After waiting awhile and knocking again several times, we headed back to the car. I hadn’t really expected to find him home. I knew he had a full-time job.
“I figured it was a long shot,” I said. “He works as a janitor at the community college here in town. You probably remember me telling you about him.”
Sheila nodded and stepped into the car. Just as I opened the driver’s side door, I heard a whistle and looked up to see Larry standing in the doorway in silk pajamas. He looked hideous wearing a pair of white furry flip-flops that matched the floral design on his purple pajamas. The hair on his toes resembled that of an orangutan. He had more hair there than on his head. I motioned for Sheila to get back out of the car and join me.
“Good morning,” Larry said as we walked back up his front walkway. He then sarcastically asked, “Are you here on a personal visit or in your official capacity as the Witness Statements Records Collector, Natalie?”
Sheila looked at me in confusion, as I’d not gone into a lot of detail about my previous visit with Larry Blake or the watering, swollen eyes that had resulted from my trip to the college to meet with him. I just shrugged noncommittally at her and turned to Larry.
“I’m sorry about that earlier misunderstanding, Larry. My real name is Alexandria Starr, but please just call me Lexie.”
“Oh, well, okay, Lexie. But before you tell me what you’ve come for, please introduce me to your lovely friend.” Larry licked his lips and then flashed a brilliant smile at Sheila, or at least as brilliant a smile as one can accomplish with only three teeth. His face held a comical expression, like that of a jack o’lantern, and my friend laughed in response as she took a step backward.
I introduced the two and noticed one of Larry’s eyes was fixated on Sheila’s breasts. The one I assumed was made of glass stared straight ahead. I was rather annoyed he hadn’t given my breasts a second look. Sure, Sheila always had been better endowed than me, but I still found his indifference a bit rude. I almost felt betrayed. Sheila pulled her windbreaker tighter around her waist and spoke to Mr. Blake.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Larry. We didn’t really expect to find you at home,” Sheila said. Her eyes darted back and forth. She obviously didn’t know which of his eyes to try to make contact with. She eventually gave up and concentrated on a disposal truck picking up a trashcan on the curb across the street. “Lexie told me you worked as a janitor.”
“Yeah, well, I should be at work right now. But I woke up with some kind of bug this morning,” Larry said. “So I called in sick, thinking I’d be fine by Monday, after a three day weekend at home. I reckon by then all the vomiting and diarrhea should be over with.”
Sheila took another step backward. I’m not sure if her reaction was an aversion to the man himself, or just to the germs he was harboring. I think Larry was pleased with this as it gave him a better angle in which to stare at her breasts. She folded her arms across her chest.
“Larry?” I said.
“Yes?” He replied without evening lifting his good eye up to meet mine. “What can I do for you ladies?”
“We’ve got a photo of an older green Chevy van on my phone we’d like you to take a look at and tell us if you recognize it.”
Larry forced himself to look away from Sheila long enough to glance at the photo. He shook his head, and said, “Can’t say that I do. Why do you ask?”
“We have reason to believe this vehicle could be connected to the death of Thurman Steiner. We had rather hoped you’d seen it in the neighborhood the morning of his death—or at any other time for that matter.” Disappointed in his response, I placed the phone back in my fanny pack.
“No, sorry. I told the authorities about the little red truck I saw in Steiner’s driveway the evening before and numerous times before that, but it was nowhere to be seen the next morning. I think the only vehicle I saw that morning was a dark colored muscle car flying up the street, quite a bit over the residential speed limit. I’d come outside to leave for work when I heard that strange sound coming from the direction of Steiner’s house, and noticed his flood light had been turned off, which, like I said, he normally didn’t do until he went outside to get his morning paper around seven or so. It was about five-thirty, which is the time I leave for work every morning. Then I remembered I’d left my sack lunch inside on the kitchen table. When I came back outside, I saw the vehicle gunning it down the street. It was picking up speed as it passed me. I probably should have mentioned it to the crime scene detectives.”
“Did you see the driver?” I asked. I couldn’t believe he’d thought this information was not worthy of sharing with the cops. “Could you tell if the car had just left Thurman’s house?”
“I don’t think so. It seemed to have come from farther up the road. It was going too fast to have just pulled out of Steiner’s driveway. And, no, I didn’t pay attention to the driver.”
It stood to reason someone wouldn’t park directly in front of the house, or in the driveway of someone they intended to kill. They’d park further up the street, a block or two from the pastor’s house, so as not to draw attention to his vehicle. Had the detectives given Buck Webster enough scrutiny? He drove a dark colored muscle car. I wondered if it was just a coincidence. “Was this car a black Ford Mustang by any chance?”
“Could’ve been. It was still dark outside, and I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to the traffic on the street,” Larry said. He still had not averted his eyes from Sheila as he conversed with me. “I reckon it could’ve been a Chevy Camaro or a Dodge Charger, or one of any number of models. I do sort of recall the car had a bright colored bumper sticker on the front left bumper. Maybe yellow with red writing, or the other way around, but I can’t say that for certain, so I never even mentioned the car or the bumper sticker to the cops. I didn’t reckon, at the time I was questioned, that it was related in any way to the killer.”
“I understand. I don’t reckon I would’ve thought so either,” I said. I was talkin
g like Larry Blake again, after only speaking with him for a minute or so. What did it say about me that I could pick up someone else’s mannerisms or speech impediments so quickly?
We thanked Larry for his time and told him we hoped he felt better soon. It was time to head back to Pete’s Pantry, so we could purchase the groceries and get them home in time to head to the floral shop around two. I’d considered traveling to a nearby town to pick up groceries at a store besides Pete’s Pantry. I didn’t particularly want to risk another disaster, or have any more run-ins with Edward, the manager. Then I decided I might as well bite the bullet, because I’d surely see him again some time. I wasn’t about to start driving an extra thirty miles every time I had to pick up a few items at the store. And did I really care what Edward thought of me? I had better things to do with my time than worry about things like other people’s impression of me.
Chapter 16
We managed to fill our basket, and pay for the groceries without causing another scene at the grocery store. After returning to the inn and stashing away all our purchases, we headed back out to the floral shop in town. There was only one, and it was small, but it did appear to have good quality flowers and decent prices. I’d ordered a half dozen pink and white lily and baby’s breath arrangements for the table centerpieces, and a bouquet in matching colors for my maid of honor, Wendy, to hold. Wendy and I would wear white orchid corsages, and Stone and Andy would wear matching boutonnières. An elaborate multi-colored spread for the table that held the cakes and the punch completed my order.
When we arrived at the shop, the florist was running a bit behind, so we had to wait about fifteen minutes for her to finish up with another customer and put the final touches on Wendy’s bouquet. While we were waiting, Wendy called me on my cell to verify everything was on tap to go off on Saturday as scheduled. She’d just spoken with Detective Johnston and wanted to relate what she’d learned.
Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 04 - With This Ring Page 19
