Deena turned to look back over her shoulder before pulling onto the highway. Russell reached into his pocket and slipped something into the glove compartment. He adjusted the air vents on the dash and pointed them right on his face. “When are we going to get some rain? It’s not even noon and it’s already boiling outside.”
The Texas heat was brutal. Stepping out in the midday sun was like standing too close to the fireplace, the heat cooking your skin in minutes, the beads of sweat drying up almost as soon as they sprang from your pores.
Russell crossed his arms and settled in for the drive. “What did this guy say he wants to tell you?”
“I’ve told you all I know. He says he has information about the medical supply company where Uncle Matthew worked. He also has dirt on people who worked there. Thinks it may be connected to the murder. You will know as much as I do as soon as we get there.”
Russell was like a kid on his way to Disneyland. Deena half expected him to ask, Are we there yet? Inside, she was just as excited as he was, but she was trying to play it cool. After their dinner with Leon Galt, she was anxious to find out as much as she could about her uncle’s history. Galt seemed so sure of his information and equally anxious for her to stop nosing around, which just added more kindling to the cook stove.
She decided not to say anything to Lucy and Richard about the accusations until her next visit. You don’t exactly call someone up and say, “Oh by the way, your brother may have been involved in one of the most notorious crimes of the twentieth century. Have a nice day.”
“Where is this place?” Russell asked, as they got closer to downtown.
“It’s in Oak Cliff. Not too much farther. By the way, let me do the talking. We don’t want to reveal too much in case this guy is just a screwball.”
“Hey. Screwballs are people, too.”
After several turns and a few turn-arounds, they parked in front of a barbeque joint that looked older than dirt and just about as clean. These were usually the best places to find great home cooking. The sweet, smoky smell permeated the air, even in the car.
They went in to find a few tables filled with men in jeans and t-shirts licking thick, red sauce off their fingers and guzzling large glasses of iced tea. One older man sat alone in the corner and motioned for them to join him.
“I’m Henry,” he said, wiping his hands on his napkin.
A handshake was out of the question. “I’m Deena and this is my brother, Russell.”
“Glad to meet you. Why don’t you order your lunch then come back and we’ll have a talk. I recommend the pork ribs. Best you’ll ever put in your mouth.”
Deena headed to the counter to order. “Seems normal enough,” she whispered to Russell. She ordered a barbeque beef sandwich with dill pickles. Russell chose the pork ribs and barbequed beans. They picked up their cups of tea and went over to join their host.
“It’s another scorcher out there.” Russell took several napkins out of the metal holder and wiped his forehead.
“You bet it is, but I don’t think any of us are here to talk about the weather.” Henry scooped out the last bite of potato salad from the paper cup. He wiped his mouth and hands and pushed his empty plate away from him. “What I have to say may not make you happy, but it’s the honest truth. I’ve waited fifty years to tell someone this story. I don’t care if you believe it or not, but it’s the truth.”
“Why haven’t you told anyone before now?” Deena asked.
“Let me just start at the beginning and then you’ll see.” A waitress brought over the order and set it on the table. Deena and her brother began eating as they listened to the old man’s story.
“I started working at Barnes Medical Supply in 1963. I was just twenty-two and worked in the accounts department. Meade was a manager. He had a friend by the name of Gene Collins who worked in the warehouse. I had only been there a couple of months, but I started noticing some discrepancies with the books. Seems like there was more merchandise going out than there was money coming in. Being new, I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I told my supervisor who told me to mind my own business, or I’d be out of a job.” He drank the end of his iced tea and set the cup on the table.
“I began to suspect there was some funny business going on, and it was happening in the warehouse. Collins was the head honcho back there, so I figured he was the ringleader. What I didn’t know was that he and Matthew Meade were army buddies and that Meade had gotten him that job. I was young and green and thought I was doing the right thing. Everyone thought highly of your uncle and said he was a good guy. I decided to tell him about my suspicions. He said he would check into it. That was about a week before he disappeared.”
Deena and Russell hung on every word. She set down her sandwich and wiped barbeque sauce from her mouth. “Then what happened?”
“I was at the Park Street Café the next Wednesday when Meade, Collins, and this woman named Donna Morrison came in. I was sitting with my wife on the opposite side of the cafe. When I saw them, I switched places with my wife so that they wouldn’t see me. I didn’t want to have to speak to them, you know. Donna was a secretary for the shipping department. Seeing them all buddied up like that, I figured she was in on it, too.”
“In on what?” Deena asked.
“Hold your horses. I’m getting there.”
Henry Wilcox had waited many years to tell his story. He’d probably rehearsed it in his head over and over. He was going to tell it his own way.
“The missus and I had to sit there awhile waiting for them to leave. They finished eating and Gene gets up and heads around the back by the kitchen. A minute later, Donna stands up and goes flying out of the place—that’s how my wife described it to me. I could see Gene over my shoulder. He goes to the pay phone and makes a call. Then he heads back to the table and they pay their checks and leave. Apparently, it wasn’t long after that when someone shot and killed Mr. Meade.”
Deena thought about what Gene had told her and wondered why their stories differed. “Are you sure Gene Collins went to the pay phone and not to the men’s room?”
“You bet I am. He made a phone call. If you ask me, he was calling one of his boys to tell him when and where to find Meade.”
Russell looked puzzled and asked, “You think the warehouse guys killed him because he was going to blow the whistle on their stolen merchandise racket?”
Henry nodded excitedly. “That’s exactly what I think.”
“Why didn’t you tell the sheriff’s office your suspicions when Matthew disappeared?” Deena asked.
“I saw what happened to your uncle. I knew just to keep my mouth shut and mind my own business. A week later, management got wise to the scam and fired the whole lot of them, including Donna Morrison and everyone in the warehouse.”
Deena wasn’t sure what to think about the story. “You say Donna was fired a week later? Did she stay in Maycroft?”
“I heard she moved up to Oklahoma.”
Deena eyed the stranger as if buying a used car, looking for holes in his story. “Did the company ever acknowledge a connection between the two events?”
“No, but they weren’t there that night at the diner. They didn’t see what I saw.”
“How much longer did you work there?” Russell asked.
“I quit about six months later when my wife wanted to move here to Dallas.”
“I’m not saying I don’t believe you,” Deena said, “but do you have any proof to back this up?”
“I got my gut, and my gut tells me that’s what happened.”
“What about Donna Morrison? Do you know anything else about her?”
“She seemed nice enough. Very pretty. I didn’t really know her. The guys in the warehouse stayed away from her because she said her boyfriend was the jealous type and would come after them if they tried anything. Just gossip.”
Reaching into her purse, Deena pulled out the photo of Matthew and his fiancé she had been carrying around. “Do you re
cognize this girl?”
Henry took the photo and pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. “Nope. Can’t say that I do.” He handed it back to Deena.
“Do you have the names of anyone else who worked at the company?” Deena was hoping to find someone to corroborate his story.
“Nope, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did. I only mentioned Collins and Morrison because their names were in the newspaper back when it first happened. It said they were the last two people to see Mr. Meade alive. I’m number three.”
Deena looked at Russell and back at Henry. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your talking to us today. I can promise you that I will follow up on this information.”
“I’d thank you kindly to leave my name out of it on account of what happened to your uncle.”
“Of course,” Deena said. She excused herself to the ladies room to wash up. When she returned, Henry was gone.
“We picked up his check,” Russell said. “I hope that was okay.”
“Sure. I’ll pay you back.”
“Forget it. It’s on me.”
“Literally, it’s on you,” she said, pointing to the sauce that had dripped onto his shirt.
“Ahh. It was worth it. Best barbeque I ever had. And what about that story? You’ve got to fill me in on the details about all this on the drive home.”
They filled their cups with more tea, and Deena wrapped up her half-eaten sandwich.
As they drove home, Deena started from the beginning, from when she first went to see Aunt Lucy and Uncle Richard. She told him how Gran was mostly confined to the bed and had dreamed she saw Matthew in her room. Trying to remember as many details as possible, she told him about her meeting with Deputy Simms, the church ladies, and Gene Collins.
“So, you’re saying that Collins gave the exact same story as Henry, except for the pay phone part? That seems like a pretty big difference if he were calling people to take out Matthew.”
“I agree,” Deena said. “But I find it hard to believe that Gene Collins would have his army buddy—the friend who gave him a job—murdered for something like that.”
“Maybe Collins was being pressured by others. Maybe he didn’t know they were going to kill him. They might have planned just to rough him up and scare him but something went wrong.” Russell leaned back in his seat. “Henry Wilcox may not have been right about the murder, but he was definitely right about those killer ribs.”
“Do you want to hear about our dinner with Leon Galt, alias Noel Future?”
“I totally forgot about that! I was so drugged on my medication that I completely forgot. Did you get his autograph, by the way?”
Deena looked over at her brother in the passenger seat and glared. “Just wait until you hear what he said.”
She described his arrogant attitude—especially toward Texans—wanting Russell to dislike him as much as she did. She obviously had a bone to pick and finally got down to the marrow. “He said he was about to publish a book about the JFK assassination and that Uncle Matthew was involved.” She glanced over at her brother’s face for a reaction.
His mouth gaped and his eyes widened. “Do you think that’s possible?”
Deena was not sure if her brother was excited or appalled. “That’s ridiculous, right?”
“Of course, but it’s intriguing. Noel Future has researched and published some compelling stuff on all kinds of topics. The fact that he would even make this claim is really something.”
“He did not offer even one shred of evidence, by the way. Said we could read all about it in his new book. I don’t trust him as far as I could pitch him.”
“If he didn’t back it up, what was his point in telling you about it?”
Deena exited the highway to take the road to Crossbow. “Gary and I wondered the same thing. We decided his main point was to tell me to stop my investigation. He acted like he was doing me a favor.”
“That actually makes sense. As soon as one of these conspiracy books is released, it starts a firestorm of blow back. Everybody and his dog wants to prove why parts of the theory, or even the whole thing, is wrong. The conspiracy community goes nuts with speculation.”
Deena rolled her eyes at the thought. “Sounds like good publicity for a new book.”
Russell shook his head. “Absolutely. And Noel Future is a master at it. He’ll be on television, in magazines, at book signings—you name it.”
“So, whether what he says is true or not, he will end up making a lot of money.”
“Yep, Noel ‘Fortune.’”
Turning down the road toward Russell’s house, Deena was outraged by the very idea of someone making blood money off their uncle’s death. “What about the publisher? Wouldn’t they worry about lawsuits if what he says is proven false?”
“I’m sure they’re careful. That’s probably why he wants you to stop your investigation. If you find out what really happened to Uncle Matthew, the publisher will probably back out of the deal.”
“Good point. Right now, our only theory is Henry’s. As much as I would hate for it to be true, we may need to make a case for it just to stop Galt from publishing.” She stopped the car in the driveway. “I really need to find out what Galt is specifically claiming about Matthew’s involvement in the assassination.”
“That was eight years after he left the military, right? Didn’t you say Collins called Matthew a sharpshooter?”
“Yes. So did Deputy Simms. Collins said he did ‘wet work.’”
“Wet work?” Russell seemed astonished. “You mean like sniper stuff?”
“I think that’s was he meant.” She turned in her seat to face her brother. “You don’t think he’s saying Matthew was part of the assassination itself, do you? Please, for Pete’s sake, say no.”
Russell sat silently. Despite the searing heat, Deena suddenly felt a cold chill.
MAGGIE SCRATCHED AND howled on the other side of the door ready for Russell to come in. He stepped in the doorway and squatted to scratch her neck. Catching a glimpse of someone standing in his kitchen, he fell backward on the floor. “Geez!”
Cliff stepped out from the kitchen and waved to Russell. He was talking on the telephone that hung from the kitchen wall. He shook his head and mumbled something Russell couldn’t hear and then hung up.
“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to scare you. My air-conditioner is on the fritz, and I didn’t think you’d mind me hanging out here until the repairman comes. I used the key under the garden gnome.”
“No problem. I just didn’t expect to see anyone in here.” Russell stood back up. “Hey, didn’t you install that air conditioner? We used to fix systems like that all the time.”
“It needed a part. Couldn’t find anything to rig it with.”
Russell walked over to the sliding glass door to let Maggie out. He picked up the key Cliff had set on the counter, taking it outside to return it to its hiding place. Cliff walked out behind him.
“They should be here any minute. I’m going to wait at my house.”
As he walked toward the connecting gate, Russell asked, “Who was on the phone?”
“Sales call.”
The large plastic bowl that Maggie drank from outside was empty, so Russell got the hose to refill it. He put the nozzle to his mouth for a drink then spat the water out on the ground. “Hot,” he grumbled. He went back into the house and walked down the hallway toward his room, not noticing something out of place as he passed the second bedroom. The door of the gun safe, always kept shut, was slightly ajar.
Chapter 22
The developer who built Butterfly Gardens, the subdivision where Deena and Gary lived, was an amateur entomologist who chose insect names for streets rather than the usual tree or bird names. Residents of Maycroft poked fun at the area at first but could not resist the open floor plans and large lots. However, when he tried to name a street “Boll Weevil,” the city council had to intervene.
Deena lived on Cricket Lane, just down from June
Bug Drive. As she turned the corner on the way home from dropping off Russell, she was surprised to see an unfamiliar car parked in front of her house. Someone was sitting inside. She was surprised the neighborhood watch wasn’t out in full force. Despite all their drama, people in the suburbs could be awfully protective when it came to the safety of their neighbors. She pressed the garage door opener and pulled into the driveway.
The driver waited and then got out of the car.
That’s when Deena recognized her cousin. “Mark! What on earth are you doing here? Is something wrong? Is it Gran?”
“No, nothing like that,” he said as he walked up to her. “I was just in the area and thought I would stop by.”
“Come on in.” They entered the house through the garage, and Deena set her purse and keys on the entry table. “This is a nice surprise. I wish you had called. I was at your parents’ house just the other day. Have you been waiting long?”
“No, not that long.”
Deena could tell by the sweat on his face and shirt that it had been longer than he was letting on. Mark took more after his father, Uncle Richard, than his mother’s side of the family. He had dark eyes and curly brown hair that he used to wear tied back in a ponytail in the seventies. Nowadays he kept it short despite the ever-enlarging bald spot.
“Oh dear,” Deena said when she spotted the piles of papers in the middle of the den floor. She walked over to close the double doors to hide the mess. “Let me just shut these. I’ve been going through all the papers and stuff I got from your folks.”
“Would you mind if I have a look?” Mark took several steps toward the door. “I’m curious to see what all was in those boxes.”
“Well, sure. But you must be burning up. Would you like some water or iced tea?”
“Iced tea would be great.” Mark stepped into the den and stood over the piles.
Deena got two glasses down from the cabinet and filled them with ice from her refrigerator door. She pulled out a pitcher of tea and filled the glasses. “Sweetened or unsweetened?” she called out from the kitchen.
Cozy Suburbs Mystery Box Set Page 9
