Ripped Apart

by Jeanne Glidewell

  I would be busy helping Regina and Milo bring their home back to order, but I’d still have some spare time to donate to the cause―that of discovering where Reilly Reynolds was and what had happened to her to put her there.

  Six

  “As much as I’d love to take you out for supper tonight, it’s not going to happen.” Rip looked at me as if I’d just requested he fly me to the moon and serve me escargot, pheasant under glass, and a glass of fine wine to wash it down while we were there.

  “Why ever not?” I asked. I felt both hurt and defensive at his rejection. I served him a nice warm meal every night while rarely asking him to take me out for supper. “I’m a bit worn out from the trip, too, you know.”

  “I’ve no doubt you are, my dear. But short of driving to another town, and stand in an incredibly long line, no doubt, we’re going to have to make do with filets and grilled veggies, which I’d be more than happy to prepare. We have a bell pepper and a couple of squash in the fridge, and I pulled the filets out of the freezer earlier.”

  “Oh, crap! That’s right.” I’d forgotten hardly any businesses in the area had reopened yet, and some probably never would. Eating anywhere but JJ’s Cafe would serve no purpose. “I’ve actually been looking forward to those filets. I hope JJ’s wasn’t damaged too badly.”

  “According to Milo, the café was demolished. It will have to be torn down to its foundation.”

  “That saddens me. I feel bad for the family. Sorry I asked you to take me out tonight. I just haven’t quite wrapped my head around the total devastation the storm left behind.” I’d also forgotten that we’d stopped in Oklahoma to stock up on as many groceries as we could cram into the storage compartments of the travel trailer. As Regina had recommended, we’d even filled the back of the truck up with cases of water, beer, booze, toilet paper, and other necessities we didn’t know if or when we’d be able to procure easily once we reached Rockport. A locking tonneau cover over the truck bed had protected the supplies on our trip down.

  “It hasn’t totally sunk in with me either, honey,” Rip said as he grasped my hand in his. “Everywhere I look, I see a grim reminder of just how destructive Harvey was to our beloved hometown. Hopefully, we can help others begin to heal and recover, besides just Reggie and Milo. I’m up for sticking around for as long as we can be of use to anyone in need of a helping hand. How ’bout you?”

  “Absolutely!” And I truly was. We had many friends and acquaintances in the area. All of them had been affected to some degree, and no doubt some of them had been irreparably impacted by the hurricane. Regina had been reaching out to anyone she could think of who might need assistance, and I was willing and able to do the same. “Tonight we rest. Tomorrow we roll our sleeves up and get to work. I’ll slice up the pepper, zucchini, and yellow squash, and season the steaks so they’ll be ready when you light the grill later. That actually sounds even better than eating out.”

  “I agree.” Rip flashed a rueful smile. “We’ll have to make the best of a bad situation for a while. But as soon as a local restaurant reopens, I will be more than happy to take you out on the town.”

  I flashed him a smile, trying not to look disappointed. I’d have to give the message on the post-it note more thought. If we were unable to go to JJ’s for supper, so were Walker and his mysterious date.

  While I quartered the zucchini and yellow squash, I mused about what the "JJ’s" on the post-it note might stand for if not the local restaurant. Most likely, I reasoned, it was someone’s initials, which probably narrowed it down substantially in a small town like Rockport. My original plan had been to show up at JJ’s Cafe at around 6:10, scan the room for a well-built blonde and Walker, whose appearance I could only vaguely recall, and ask to be seated at the closest available table to them. I’d hope to be near enough to the pair to eavesdrop on their conversation. If no table close to them was available, their mannerisms alone would have spoken volumes.

  I’d have been acting as nonchalant as possible, of course, even though I was at the cafe on a mission. Rip would have been none the wiser, and I’d keep it that way until I decided there was something more substantial, and hopefully more incriminating, to base my suspicions on. Only then would I consult with Rip about where to proceed with my suspicions. After all, a cheating spouse was always a suspect when their spouse went "missing". The motive was built right in when there's a romantic tryst such as that in the mix.

  As the former sheriff of the county, Rip would know better than about anyone what to do with whatever evidence I’d managed to collect. But until I had some kind of proof that the neighbor’s disappearance was due to foul play, I didn’t want to speak up and look foolish. We’d been involved in a number of murder cases in the last eighteen months or so, and I knew Rip would think I was letting my imagination get the best of me. Frankly, it had crossed my mind, too, that I might actually be doing exactly that. Was I getting addicted to the excitement of solving murder mysteries? Maybe so. It did break up the monotony of our normal routine, which was a habitual pattern that rarely veered off course. I decided not to dwell on that thought and concentrate on a plan to delve deeper into Reilly's disappearance.

  Now that plan A was out of the question, I’d have to think of a clever way to worm more information out of the construction crew next door. An idea was already percolating in my head. I nearly cut the tip of my index finger off due to being distracted by my scheming.

  After I’d washed the blood off the zucchini spears, and cleaned and bandaged my finger, I tossed the vegetables in a plastic bag to be grilled later on for supper. I then prepared our evening cocktails, which had become a tradition following retirement. While we sipped on our drinks, we’d sit in our sling chairs under the awning, chatting about our day and reminiscing about times past. We’d discuss our dreams, thoughts, and opinions, and recall incidents that had made us laugh until we cried. I’d learned more about my husband during those seven years of evening exchanges than in all the years that proceeded them combined, which had only strengthened my devotion to him.

  If the neighborhood hadn’t resembled a war zone, and an atrocious mid-September heatwave wasn’t warming my insides up like a microwave oven, it might have been an idyllic state of affairs. Instead, it was hot, muggy, sad, and strangely smelly. After about three minutes, I stood up and apologized to Rip. “Sorry, honey. It’s too hot, and this is just too depressing for me right now. I think I’ll go back inside.”

  “Can’t say I blame you.”

  “Oh, yeah. Before I forget, do you remember a man named Anthony Torres?” I asked.

  “Tony?”

  “Yes. That’s what he goes by. He owns TNT Demolition.”

  “I know. I saw his truck next door earlier. I don’t know him well, but I do remember having to arrest him on a drunk and disorderly charge, and later on an assault and battery charge. Apparently, Tony doesn’t hold his liquor well. Both incidents occurred at local taverns. That was years ago, however. Hopefully, he’s grown up since then. You know what? I’m getting awfully hot now, too.” Rip stood up and began to fold up his chair to store in one of the undercarriage compartments. A strong wind could easily pop up and blow the light canvas chairs into the bay.

  I folded my own chair and handed it to him. “You are welcome to join me in my pity party inside.”

  “Not sure how I feel about that invitation,” Rip replied, before placing both chairs in the storage compartment and enveloping me in a warm hug. He spoke softly. “Don’t fret, honey. Everything’s going to work out. It’s going to take some time, but eventually Rockport will rebound and be the jewel of the Texas coast once more. Don’t let this distressing situation get you down. We need to maintain a positive outlook for the kids' sake.”

  “I guess you’re right. Pity party canceled.”

  “Good. I wasn’t planning to attend it anyway.” Rip laughed and added, “You go ahead. I’ll be right in.”

  “Milo won’t be home until late,” Regina sai
d. She had opened the trailer door and stuck her head inside. “He said not to wait on him for supper. He’s helping his demo team gut the Strykers’ home. Kathy Stryker’s a good friend of mine. She and her husband, Bill, moved down here from Minnesota last year.”

  “Where do the Strykers live?”

  “Holiday Beach. That area was especially hard hit. I spent two days helping her clean up and pack salvageable items, while Milo helped Bill tarp the roof and haul stuff to storage.”

  “That’s too bad Kathy and Bill were hit so hard right after relocating down here but nice of you and Milo to help them out.”

  “That’s what friends are for.”

  “Speaking of that, my friend, Adelaide, from my old Bunko club, lives out there too. I’ll have to ring her up and see if there’s anything I can do to lend a hand.”

  “That’d be nice of you, Mom. Just about everyone in the path of Harvey could use a helping hand right now. I’d be happy to tag along to supply some extra manpower—or womanpower in this case.” Regina smiled warmly before switching topics. “What’s for dinner? You said you and Daddy had something special you wanted to cook for all of us tonight.”

  “Yes, we do,” I agreed. “We picked up four nice filets in Fredericksburg on the way down. Your dad’s going to grill them along with some fresh veggies I sliced up earlier. Milo can just zap his already-cooked steak and vegetables in the microwave when he gets home. I’ll throw together a salad to top off our meal.”

  “Sounds awesome,” Regina said. “I’ll bring the wine. I have some news about the neighbors I want to share with you.”

  “Oh?” My ears perked up like a bird dog who’d just heard a covey of quail flush. “Walker and Reilly Reynolds?”

  “Yeah. Something’s come up about Reilly’s disappearance. Apparently, the assumption she was swept away by the storm is now in question.”

  “No kidding?” I tried to sound as if I was only being conversational, even though I was dying to grill my daughter in an entirely different way than her father was going to grill the filets. “What came up?”

  “I’ll tell you about it over supper. I need to run to Portland to pick up a few items for the Massons. I don’t think they should be out driving right now.”

  I considered suggesting that rather than "running" to Portland, she should take her car, as Milo had jokingly suggested to Rip, but changed my mind. Instead, I asked, “Are the Massons the ancient couple up the street?”

  “Okay, maybe elderly couple was not the best way to describe them earlier. But they definitely seem older than you and daddy do. Age is just a number, you know. You two make seventy look like the new fifty.” Regina leaned over and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Am I forgiven?”

  “Of course you are. I like that you think I act young for my age. Besides, my love for you is unconditional, and always will be. I’d advise you not to push your luck, however.”

  “Deal! Is there anything I can pick up for you 'kids' while I’m at the store?” Regina laughed at her own quip.

  “Do you mind picking me up a few apples? I’ll reimburse you when you get home.”

  “No problem. What kind?”

  “Either Gala or Fuji.” I cut one of the sweet apples up to share with Rip for breakfast daily, along with whole-wheat toast. I’d used our last one that morning. “And if you don’t like low-carb, fat-free, gluten-free balsamic vinaigrette, you might pick up a salad dressing you like.”

  “Okie-dokie,” Regina said. “Apples and ranch dressing it is then. Anything else?”

  “Perhaps a two-liter bottle of Coke, as your dad’s getting low.”

  “All right. Not that I haven’t seen Daddy drink Crown Royal on the rocks.”

  “True. But without the cola to dilute his daily highball, he’ll be short on Crown Royal in a couple of days. In fact, please pick up a fifth of Crown while you’re out, too. If you don’t mind, we could also use a bag of fresh kale. I’m almost out of that too.”

  “Daddy eats kale?” Regina’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

  “Yes, but he doesn’t know he does. I sneak some into dishes whenever I can because of its health benefits. Let’s keep that between us. Okay?”

  “Of course,” Regina agreed with a grin. “Is that all you need? Maybe I should make a list.”

  I nodded my head. “That’s all we need. Thanks for helping me out. I was kind of in a crack. In fact, you can use the word ‘crack’ as an acronym to remember my list: Coke, ranch dressing, apples, Crown Royal, and kale.”

  “Crack. Got it.” Regina laughed at my suggestion, and then added, “Good idea, Mom. That truly might help me remember the five things you’ve requested. I’ll be back in time for supper, even if Milo isn’t.”

  “Sounds good.” I felt impatient but knew Regina had a lot on her plate. I’d just have to wait until she had the time to share her news about the neighbor. I looked at my watch to see it was three o’clock. We had planned to eat at six, but I didn’t know if I could stand the curiosity that would eat away at me like a cancer for an entire three hours. “You know, honey. I’m famished for some reason. Since we won’t be waiting around for Milo, anyway, why don’t we plan on eating at five instead?”

  “That’s a little early for supper, but whatever,” Regina replied. “I’m kind of hungry myself. I should be home from the store and ready by then.”

  I found Rip piling up some hurricane debris on the curb. Huge trucks were driving through neighborhoods picking up the piles in front of nearly every home in town and adding them to the mountain of rubbish in the median strip on the Highway 35 Bypass. The debris field was growing taller and longer with each passing day. The incinerators just couldn’t keep up with the massive amount of trash the trucks were hauling in.

  “Dinner’s at five, dear. I don’t know about you, but I could eat the south end of a northbound cow.”

  “Lucky for you, that’s exactly the cut of beef I’m grilling up for you.” Rip laughed and added, “I’ll season the filets shortly and fire up the grill in about an hour and a half.”

  “Thanks, babe.” I knew a five o’clock supper would pose no problem with Rip. It was never too early for him to eat. An early supper only meant his customary evening snack-fest would commence at seven rather than eight and last an extra hour.

  I went inside to throw together a salad, complete with what little kale I had left in the fridge. I chopped it so finely, Rip wouldn’t have a clue what he was eating. I then waited eagerly for the clock to do almost two full rotations. It was like watching cheese mold.

  We had barely sat down at the table when I asked, “So, Regina, you were going to tell us about the news you heard today concerning the neighbors.”

  “Oh, yeah. Mind if I fill my plate first?”

  “Of course not, dear. No rush,” I replied nonchalantly.

  “Pass the veggies, please.”

  I handed the dish to Regina and waited on pins and needles for her to dip out a spoonful of the bell peppers and squash and transfer it to her plate. Has she always been this tediously slow? I wondered. I could have filled my plate, polished off all the food, licked the plate clean, and gone back for seconds in the time it’s taking her to arrange the food on her plate.

  Finally, when I thought she was never going to speak, Regina said, “I spoke to a friend who works as a secretary at city hall, which is now operating out of the old Ace Hardware since their former building was destroyed in the storm. Her husband is a Rockport police officer. It seems as though an anonymous eyewitness has come forward who insists he saw Reilly get into a car during the lull.”

  “The lull?” I asked, trying not to sound overly anxious.

  “Yes, there was a pause in the terrifically high winds when the eye of the hurricane was directly over Rockport. We actually thought the storm was over until it came back with unbelievable brute force. The whistling of the wind sounded like hundreds of alley cats screeching at the same time. It was so eerie-sounding. We quickly realized we
were in for another round of hell on earth when the eye had passed over us and the back side of the hurricane unleashed its fury.”

  “Wow.” I wondered again what had possessed two reasonably intelligent adults to stay in their home throughout a hurricane rather than follow a mandatory evacuation order when they had the opportunity. “So did the eyewitness say Reilly was forced into the vehicle or did she get into it of her own accord?”

  “The tipster assumed she got in the car willingly, but he couldn’t be certain. Apparently, the car pulled up alongside her, spoke to her out the driver side window and then waited as she walked around and climbed in on the passenger side."

  “That doesn’t mean the driver of the car wasn’t up to no good.”

  Before my mouth even quit flapping, I knew I’d spoken too rashly. With a look of disbelief, Rip said, “Come on, Rapella. Don’t let your imagination get ahead of you. Who abducts someone in the middle of a hurricane? Use some sense.”

  “You’re probably right.” I concurred with my husband to keep the peace. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t still have my doubts. Women willingly got into Ted Bundy’s tan Volkswagen Bug, too. Lots of them, in fact. Finally, my compulsion to make a point overrode my desire to not stir up an argument. “So if the driver of the car didn’t give her a lift for nefarious reasons, where is Reilly now?”

  “That’s a good point.” Rip had to agree it was odd she hadn’t been seen since. “I don’t know. Hopefully the eyewitness gave the police a good enough description of the vehicle that they’ll be able to track down the driver and question him.”

  “That’s just it, Daddy,” Regina cut in. “All he remembered was that it was a light-colored car, maybe an SUV. Obviously, the tip line caller was under extreme duress with a destructive hurricane in progress.”

  “That doesn’t narrow it down very much, does it?” Rip asked.