The black man handed the detective something, and he handed something back. Money? Was this a drug deal, or did Hornsby pump him for information? Janie had to find out. She eased closer to get a better look and, hopefully, pick up a bit of the conversation.
Hornsby glanced to the left, then the right, before shaking the hobo’s hand. He jammed his hands into his pockets and walked back toward Janie. She scrambled to find a hiding place, and settled on a small space behind three garbage cans. Flies buzzed around her and she whiffed the distinct order of fried foods oil. Marvelous. She must be next to a greasy spoon diner’s back stoop.
She closed her eyes as his footsteps drew closer. Please, Lord, don’t let him see me. His shoes stopped. She held her breath. Peeking around the can, she saw his face illuminated in his cell phone. His eyes scanned the screen. What did he lookup? A phone number? He clicked off and stuffed it into his pocket. An address or a text then?
He continued down the alley and turned back toward the police station. Janie crawled out and brushed off her slacks. She didn’t follow him as before. Assuming he headed for his own car, she trotted one block north to beat him back. Thank goodness for her morning power walks. Her legs swished back and forth, pulling her onward. She got to her car, clicked the keyless entry and slipped into the driver’s seat right when Hornsby came into view.
Confronting Jonathan would have to wait. Something told her tailing Hornsby might lead to more answers, especially in light of the article Betsy Ann discovered. As he backed out of his parking space, she turned over the engine and followed him, careful to hang back half a block or so.
~*~
Betsy Ann and Ethel stood on Janie’s front porch and rang the doorbell again. “She’s not back yet. I knew it.”
Ethel sighed. “I’ll go around back and see if her car’s in the usual spot. If not, I’ll grab the key and let myself in through the kitchen.”
“Gotcha.” She re-positioned the casserole tucked inside a towel. “Hurry. This thing is hot.”
A few minutes later, the front door opened. Ethel motioned her inside.
“Not home?” Betsy Ann headed to place her dish on the dining table where trivets already lay.
“Nope. Car’s gone. At least she pulled the tables and chairs out of the closet before she left.”
“Well, let’s set them up. People will be arriving in a few minutes.”
Ethel lifted her jelled mold from her satchel. “OK. Say, that casserole smells amazing. What is it?”
“Hot chicken salad.”
One by one, the other Bunco biddies arrived and soon the condo filled with lady chatter. Scrumptious homemade and store-bought items lined the table. Ethel brewed some coffee, and Betsy Ann retrieved the sun tea off Janie’s back porch. The clock struck seven times.
No Janie.
“She’ll be here. Give her a few minutes.”
Betsy Ann huffed as she set out the lemon slices, sugar bowl, and other sweeteners. “I sure hope so. I have a funny feeling. Think we should pray?”
“Never hurts.” Ethel gave a shrill whistle through her teeth. “Ladies, Janie seems to be a bit delayed. Has anyone heard from her?”
Heads replied in the negative as a few checked their phones for a text or e-mail.
Ethel waved away any concerns. “Well, I’m sure she’s fine. Still, let’s pray for her in case she’s had a flat tire or something. And bless this food. I, for one, can’t stand sniffing these delicious aromas a second longer without digging in. Did someone make a pot roast?”
Laughter flooded the room.
~*~
Hornsby turned onto I-35 and headed south. Janie did the same. They traveled through Austin. Twice she almost lost him in the traffic. Oh, how she hated the inner-city congestion, even after rush hour began to thin. But then, Austin jammed twenty-four seven, and she didn’t mean the Third Coast music scene on Sixth Street. She chuckled at her own pun and glanced at her dash. Six forty-five. Rats. She pondered what to do.
If she turned around, she’d lose him. A niggling at the back of her brain urged her to keep following him. No way in this heavy traffic could she dig her cell phone from her purse and call Ethel or Betsy Ann, even if they were on speed dial. Sure-fire recipe for a wreck waiting to happen. She’d have to wait until they exited and stopped at a traffic light.
As if to emphasize that point, a pick-up edged into her lane, making her press on her brakes to avoid a collision with his rear bumper. Sure enough, his head cocked to one side as his ear pressed against his shoulder. Taking a call. Not paying attention.
She wiggled in her seat with a sigh and spotted Hornsby two cars up on the left, entering the lower deck of the highway. That meant either he wanted to exit near the university or avoid downtown. The cars ahead crawled bumper to bumper, never going over ten miles an hour. Their breaking taillights stretched into the distance like ruby beads strung on a necklace. After another half hour of stop and barely go, she sighed and mumbled to herself as she patted her car’s dashboard. “This is another reason I moved to the country.” It had soothed Jack to snail home each day for an hour or so, but not her. She never exhibited his patience. Janie kept a close eye on her target as she turned on the radio to calm her nerves.
Hornsby kept going on the highway until they got south of the river, staying in the far left lane. The traffic began thinning as more cars exited for dinner spots or home in the suburbs. She eased back and stayed in the middle lane, memorizing the shape of his taillights. He finally pulled to the right and took an exit onto a farm to market road a few miles beyond the city limits sign. Janie followed suit with a clutch of dread in her stomach. Or had hunger set in? Her dashboard clock now read seven twenty-four.
Not too many other vehicles appeared on this road. The summer sun began to set, but dusk had not settled in yet. Surely, he’d spot her in his rearview mirror. Not familiar with these roads, if she turned off, she’d lose track of him. No time to key in the GPS app on her phone either.
The road wound through the foot of the Texas Hill Country. He slowed and turned to the left down another road, this time with only two lanes. They traveled around several curves. The landscape began to darken, yet she dared not switch on her headlights. “Please don’t let me hit a deer. Or a skunk,” she whispered to herself.
~*~
Betsy Ann couldn’t concentrate on Bab’s roll. She glanced at the clock again. Seven fifty. She noticed Ethel do the same. Finally, the bell went ding-ding-ding. Mildred had rolled three threes. She squealed, “Bunco!”
“OK, everyone. Dessert break.”
The ladies quickly tallied their scores so far and began to compare numbers as they loaded their plates with cobbler, peanut butter cookies, butterscotch brownies, and scrumptious peppermint creams courtesy of the candy factory’s outlet store in the mall. Roseanne peered around the room. “Where is Janie?”
Betsy Ann shrugged. “She left in a huff a little before six, said she had to speak to Chief Gates immediately, and she’d be back soon.”
Babs groaned and sat down in one of the folding chairs. “Not again. She’s got her nose someplace it doesn’t belong. I hope she has more sense this time than to be kidnapped and drugged like before.”
Ethel laid a hand on the woman’s arm. “Surely so. Janie is a smart cookie.” Nonetheless, she bit her lip.
THIRTY-THREE
Hornsby pulled onto a gravel road. Janie slowed down. She decided to drive straight ahead and do a flip a half mile down. Off to the right across the field she spotted his taillights as his wheels kicked up some of the road dust. She did a three-point turn, headed back and turned onto the gravel path, keeping an eye on the red pinpoints far ahead. The dash now displayed eight thirty-five. They’d be rolling sixes by now. She’d missed the whole evening.
She texted Ethel. Sorry I got delayed. I’m fine. Hope you bunco’d lots. Next, she copied the message to send to Betsy Ann, who’d texted her twice. But before she hit send again, she noticed something. H
is automobile pulled next to a building, actually no bigger than a shack. Janie’s curiosity got the best of her. She eased over to the side of the road and killed her engine. She stuffed her keys in her pocket and flicked off the vehicle’s overhead light so it wouldn’t turn on when she opened the door.
As quietly as possible, Janie eased out and closed the car door slowly with both hands pressed against the metal. Squatting, she edged around the front and let her eyes adjust to the enveloping darkness. The rising moonlight made it easier for her to discern the lay of the land. As she approached the cabin, she detected a man tapping on the door. Had to be Hornsby. But, why? No lights were on inside.
She crouched behind a cluster of prickly pear cactus at the edge of the drive and craned her head. The door opened a wedge and a silhouette of another man appeared, backlit by a soft glow. Hmm, he had lights on inside. So why didn’t any seep through the windows? Weird.
Janie waited until the two men went inside and closed the door. She stepped as flat-footed as possible up the rutted path, sticking to the grassy center to avoid any telltale crunch of gravel that might announce her arrival. As she neared the structure, it became clear the place had been boarded up. Most likely abandoned. Why on earth did Hornsby meet someone here out in the middle of nowhere, almost an hour away from Alamoville? She wasn’t privy to all the current cases, but still...
Men’s voices sounded from inside, but murmured to where she couldn’t detect any words. She crept up to the front window, hand on the sill. Ow. A splinter snagged her. She sucked the sliver from her fingertip and drew her ear closer to the wood to listen.
“Why are we meeting again? I thought we agreed not to.”
One of them scoffed. “You idiot. Do you think they’ll assume the bum you torched in the wreck in Austin is Joe?”
“I planted enough of his stuff on him. And left the note in that hotel room. Besides, I scraped Joe’s fingerprints clean before I dumped him in the river.”
The first man snickered, but not in an amused way. “Did you ever hear of dental records?”
“Sure, which is why I smashed out all of his teeth.”
“The bum’s dental records, detective.”
Detective? Neither voice resembled Hornsby’s. In fact, one of the men almost sounded like...
Suddenly a hand covered her mouth and yanked her away.
~*~
Ethel shifted her focus to Betsy Ann, whose eyelids had suddenly become red-rimmed.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve texted her twice and left a message. Not a peep.” Betsy Ann sniffled. “Ethel, I’m worried.”
Ethel took her phone out of her pocket. “I’ll see if she texted me. Oh, darn. Batteries are dead.”
Josephine’s voice boomed. “Oh, my. These peanut butter cookies are wonderful. Who made them? They melt in your mouth.”
“I did.” Babs wiggled her fingers in the air. “I add a touch of almond extract to the batter.”
“They take me back to my grandmother’s kitchen.”
As the ladies began to chat about their childhood memories, Ethel pulled Betsy Ann aside. “Do you think we should phone someone else?”
“I don’t know. Blake and Mel and the kids are at the coast, a good three hours away.”
“Hmmm. How about Detective Hornsby?”
Betsy Ann’s face lit. “Oh, great idea. Do you have his number?”
“Yes, in my purse. Blake gave it to me. But I’ll need to call on yours.”
“Here. Take it.”
She went to the bedroom to grab her clutch bag. As she walked back down the hallway to the living room with Betsy Ann’s phone to her ear, she frowned.
“What is it?”
“He’s not answering. It went to voice mail.”
“Maybe he’s busy.”
“He’s head detective in Blake’s absence. It’s protocol to answer every call.” Her eyes widened. “You don’t possibly think...?”
“No, surely not again. She said she went to see Jonathan Gates, not Mitch Hornsby.”
“True. So why are neither of them answering?”
“Call Gates.”
Ethel gazed at her notepad in one hand and keyed in the number with her other. After five rings, the voicemail kicked in.
Betsy Ann gulped. “Now I’m really worried.”
Ethel bobbed her short curls. “Me, too. I’m calling 9-1-1.”
THIRTY-FOUR
“Don’t scream. It’s me, Mitch.”
Janie wiggled from his grasp. “I thought you were in there.” She motioned with her head toward the shack.
“And I thought you’d be playing Bunco. Why did you follow me?”
She hung her head and dug her toe into the dirt. “Curiosity, I guess.”
He exhaled a long sigh and led her around the side of the dilapidated building. He pushed her shoulder blades against the wall and shoved his forefinger to her nose. “Look. Get back in your car and drive away. Now.”
She pressed her hands to her hips. “What’s going on, Mitch?”
He ran his hand through his scalp. “Not everything the Alamoville police do is your concern, Janie.” He gave her a slight shove and hissed through his teeth. “Now get out of here.”
She lost her balance, grabbed for him and toppled them both onto the ground. Their fall knocked a stack of wood. Several logs cascaded off.
“What was that?” A voice boomed from inside the house.
Janie winched in pain. Sharp, icy stabs jutted up her ankle, the one she’d injured several weeks earlier when she tripped over Mrs. Fluffy. Hornsby scrambled to his feet. He yanked her to him and yelled. “Run.”
“I can’t.” She clutched her sore foot. “I’ve re-injured my ankle. Last time I was off my feet for at least a week.”
“Super.” He threw her arm over his shoulder and wrapped his around her waist. They limped, stumbled, and hopped toward her car.
A shot rang out and echoed over the hills.
Hornsby’s weight left her. He crumbled to the dirt. Janie wobbled on her healthy foot like a drunk stork. “Mitch!”
The two men from the shack ran toward her, one becoming more and more familiar.
“Janie? What on earth?”
She gasped. “Jonathan. Fancy meeting you here.”
The other man grabbed her and pulled her to him, pinning her hands behind her back. “Come on, you nosey ol’ biddy.”
“Stop. I’m hurt.”
“Awww. Are you, now?” He laughed and dragged her toward the wedge of light streaming from the front door. She twisted to Jonathan, begging for help with her eyes. Instead of rushing to her aid, a vicious scowl slithered across his mouth.
And Hornsby lay face down in the road, still as the hot Texas night.
~*~
Blake nearly dropped his salad fork. His cell phone hummed inside his pants pocket. He leaned and retrieved it, ignoring Melody’s cocked eyebrow. Noticing Hemphill’s identification on the screen he furrowed his brow.
“Hemphill. What’s up. I’m still on vacation, so...” He shrugged to Melody who wiped her mouth with a dinner napkin. Ellie let out a huge teenage sigh. Jamie rolled his eyes and slid down into his chair.
“I know. I wouldn’t bother to call if it as anyone else, but...”
“Let me guess.” He rubbed his temple. “Janie.”
Melody sat up straight. “Mom?”
He raised a finger, signaling her to wait.
“Yeah. Here’s the thing. She never showed up at Bunco tonight.”
“Really? It’s not like her.”
Melody raised her hand to her mouth. The two teens edged up in their seats.
Hemphill sighed. “Exactly. Ethel says she called Hornsby and he didn’t answer. So, she called Chief Gates. Ditto.”
“You’re thinking she’s knee-deep in something again?”
Melody let off a small whimper.
Blake glared at her and mouthed the word “wait.”
“Look,
she’s been circling the case trying to make a connection between the man she and her friends witnessed leaving Annie Schmidt’s house and the one found face down in the San Gabriel. Their descriptions do match. And Blake?”
“Yeah?”
“So does the cop the Austin police found in a gully in a burned-up car. Joe something.”
Blake leaned forward. “Who?”
Several people in the restaurant turned in his direction. Both of his kids frowned. Ellie whined. “Keep it down, Dad. It’s embarrassing enough going to dinner with our parents without everyone glaring at us.”
He cupped his hand over the phone. “Your grandmother is missing in action. It’s the action part that’s worrying me.”
She pressed her lips together.
Melody groaned.
Jamie grabbed his mom’s hand.
Hemphill’s voice came through the receiver. “Some cop from Houston on an undercover assignment.” Paper rustled. He must be flipping through his trusted notepad. “Ah, here it is. Joe Balantini.”
Blake’s skin crawled. “Balantini? He, Mitch, and another guy, Arnold something, were thick as thieves in the academy. Mitch used to entertain me on stakeouts with stories of their antics. Some were boarding on illegal. He was amazed they actually got through unscathed and graduated.”
“Really. Interesting.”
“The three ended up together on the same squad in Houston. They were in precinct six so their peers dubbed them the three sixes. You know, like the devil. 6-6-6. Guess because they were always tempting fate.”
Hemphill fell silent.
So did Blake. He swallowed. “You say Mitch isn’t answering either?”
“Yeah.”
“Hang on.” Blake rose from the table, squeezed his wife’s shoulder, and walked away. He exited the restaurant and stood on the curb. “Connor, it just occurred to me. The house numbers in the burglaries...”
Hemphill interrupted. “All had threes and sixes in them. And one of the perps was Les Holden.”
“Who shot Mitch and got off on a technicality during that robbery gone bad. I recall. I worried about him taking over, but Gates insisted. Said the shrink-wrap thought it might be therapeutic.”
Threes, Sixes & Thieves Page 18
