by Lisa Regan
Gretchen cleared her throat. “How far along was she?”
Dr. Feist said, “I believe she was five months pregnant when she was killed.”
Josie said, “My God.”
Ten
2004
A bead of sweat rolled down Josie’s face. She shifted uncomfortably in her desk chair, not hearing a word her teacher was saying about chemistry. The air around her smelled of body odor, and the haze of perfume some of the other girls had used to mask said body odor. The air conditioning in Denton East High had broken on the hottest day of the year so far. Even the open windows offered no breeze. Glancing at the clock, Josie was relieved to see there were only five minutes until the final bell of the day. She needed a shower. Something hit her shoulder from behind. A square of paper landed beside her desk. Giggles erupted from behind her.
“Is there a problem?” asked Mr. Rand.
Behind her, Josie thought she heard a girl hiss, “You guys, stop!” It sounded like Lana.
One of the other girls said, “No, no problem. Josie dropped something.”
He stared at her until she reached down and picked up the folded piece of loose-leaf paper. Squeezing it in her palm, she smiled stiffly at Mr. Rand.
“Ms. Matson,” he said. “Is that something I should be concerned about?”
The other students in her grade had been taunting her all day, but she would be damned if she ratted them out. Attention was what they wanted, her grandmother always said, so don’t dare give it to them. Besides, she’d look like a wuss and a tattle if she dimed them out. No one did that. Josie liked to handle things on her own. “No,” she told him as she tucked the paper into the back of her chemistry textbook.
He took a step toward her, his eyes lingering on her chest. Josie suddenly wished she hadn’t stripped down to her tank top. Before he could speak again, the bell rang. Bodies sprang from their seats and rushed toward the door. Ignoring the ongoing commentary behind her, Josie let herself get caught in the surge of students trying to get out of the door and into the hallway where it was only marginally cooler. The crowd carried her down the hall to her locker.
“Better start looking for a new prom date,” a voice said behind her back. Josie didn’t turn around. She focused on making her fingers open her locker.
Another voice answered the last, “Yeah right. Good luck with that. No one is gonna want to date that.”
Rage bubbled in her stomach as she flung open her locker door. It clanged against the locker beside it. Taking a deep breath, Josie started methodically switching out her textbooks, trying to keep her mind on which ones she would need to take home with her that night. Placing her chemistry book into the locker, her hand froze.
Don’t look at it, said a voice in her head. It’s all lies anyway. Rumors.
“None of it is true,” she muttered to herself. But it was the third time this year that this particular rumor had circulated through Denton East.
Her fingers extricated the square of paper. As she unfolded it, a hand-drawn heart came into view. Black ink. An arrow punched through it. Inside were the names Ray and Beverly. The page made a crinkling sound as she squeezed it in her hand. She slammed her locker closed, hoisted her bookbag onto her back and found the nearest trash can, happy that most of the students were gone for the day.
Bracing herself for the sweltering stairwell, Josie pushed through the door only to run directly into Beverly Urban.
“Watch it,” Beverly said, her voice high-pitched.
Josie felt a flutter in her chest. “You watch it,” she snapped back.
“Don’t tell me what to do, you loser,” Beverly responded.
Josie pushed past her, toward the steps. Over her shoulder she said, “Oh, I’m the loser? I’m not the one who has to make up rumors about other people’s boyfriends just so it looks like someone wants to be with me. Get your own damn boyfriend.”
Beverly let out a loud breath and then Josie felt something push hard against the bookbag on her back. The steps rushed at her. She threw her hands up, searching for something to grab onto, but it was too late. She toppled down the steps, only her packed bag slowing the fall, coming to rest face-down on the landing. Pushing herself to standing, she glared up the steps toward Beverly even as her mind did a mental inventory of her body. Her left knee hurt, and so did both her hands and wrists. Her right shoulder also felt funny. But she didn’t think anything was broken. Her hands searched her face and head but there was no blood. Above her, Beverly watched, chest heaving, a strange look on her face. Triumph? Pleasure?
“What is your problem?” Josie shouted. “You could have killed me!”
Beverly descended the stairs slowly, almost regally, like a queen looking down on a royal subject. When she reached the landing, she brushed against Josie and gave her a withering look. “Too bad I didn’t. Ray deserves better.”
Josie’s fist shot out, making contact with Beverly’s left eye socket. Beverly let out a shriek, hands flying to her face. That was going to leave a mark, Josie thought. Instantly, she regretted it. She was already in hot water with the principal and with her gram. “You need to learn to control these impulses,” they both said to her every time she was forced into a meeting with the two of them. The only thing that kept the principal from suspending her was Lisette’s constant reminders to him of the abuse Josie had suffered at her mother’s hands before Lisette took custody of her. Josie hated that Lisette had to bring that up all the time, but it did keep her in school. Besides, Josie didn’t normally have behavioral problems. The meetings were almost always as a result of altercations involving Beverly. Although before today, Beverly had never been so overtly violent toward Josie, and while Josie had wanted to on many occasions, she hadn’t ever punched Beverly before now.
Beverly’s hands came away from her face. To Josie’s shock, tears streamed down her cheeks. “How could you?” she gasped. “You—you hit me. You could have—I—”
The sentence was swallowed up by a sob. The reaction was so out of character for Beverly, Josie was rendered speechless. Beverly was the queen of taunts, known school-wide for her cruelty. She had never once cried, not in front of anyone. While she wept, Josie stared at her, dumbfounded. Pain from her fall down the steps began to course through various body parts. She was suddenly aware of the sweat pouring down her face.
The door at the top of the steps swung open, and Mr. Rand appeared above them. “You girls,” he said, shaking his head. “To the principal’s office. Now.”
An hour later, Josie sat on a bench outside the main office. Her clothes stuck to her, glued to her skin from hours of sweat. Her left knee throbbed. Inside, her grandmother was still trying to convince the principal not to suspend her.
“Jo, there you are.” Ray appeared before her. She smiled weakly.
He knelt in front of her and touched her face. “Don’t,” she said. “I’m so sweaty. I know I smell.”
He smiled. “The whole school smells. I heard what happened. Are you okay?”
Josie looked away from him. “You’re not worried whether or not your girlfriend is okay?”
“I just asked you if you were.”
She met his eyes, glaring. “You know what I mean. The whole school thinks you’re sleeping with Beverly behind my back. That you’re taking her to the prom. The first couple of times these rumors started, it was funny. But now I’m starting to wonder, Ray. You know that saying? Where there’s smoke, there’s fire?”
He rolled his eyes. Sitting beside her, he put an arm around her and pulled her close to him. The shirt of his baseball uniform was scratchy against her cheek. In spite of herself, she leaned into him, feeling a rush of relief.
“There’s no fire. You don’t believe those rumors, Jo. Tell me you don’t,” he said.
“I don’t know what to believe.”
Using a finger, he tipped her chin up toward his face. “Believe me,” he told her. “Believe us. I’ve never even had a conversation with Beverly Urban in
my life. I don’t care about her. I don’t care about anyone but you. I love you, Jo. You know that.”
Josie stared into his eyes. He brushed a droplet of sweat from her forehead. “It’s you and me, Jo. No one else matters. You know what’s between us. I know you feel it too. What you and I went through with your mom and my dad… no one else could ever fill your shoes, Jo. Those are just rumors. This is real.”
She thought about Ray and Beverly, tried to picture them meeting, kissing, embracing. She couldn’t. Besides that, she and Ray spent so much of their free time together. When would he even have time to carry on with Beverly? He wouldn’t, especially not with baseball. Beverly’s goal in life since the seventh grade seemed to have been to make Josie miserable. What better way to make her miserable than to cast doubt in Josie’s mind about her relationship with Ray?
“You’re right,” Josie said. “I’m sorry for doubting you. It was just… a bad day.”
The door to the office swung open and Beverly emerged, alone, still sobbing uncontrollably. Josie wasn’t sure she had stopped since the stairwell. Beverly pressed a tissue to her face. Turning her head, she took one look at them and ran off down the hall.
“She’s acting weird,” Josie told Ray.
He laughed. “Who cares how Beverly Urban is acting? She pushed you down the damn steps.”
Josie looked at her watch. “Ray, you’re late for practice. Coach is going to kill you.”
He squeezed her. “You’re more important than some baseball practice.”
Josie extricated herself and stood. “We’re talking about the state championship, Ray. You have to get out there. Let’s go. I’ll run in and let my grandmother know we’re headed to the field.”
Ray waited as she went back inside the office, interrupting an awkward meeting among the principal, Beverly’s mom, and her grandmother. Once she told her grandmother where she was headed, she went back out to the hallway. Ray jumped up and took her hand, leading her away. Josie looked over her shoulder but there was no sign of Beverly.
Eleven
“We need to talk to Plummer again,” Josie said as they made their way from the morgue back to the car.
“Yes,” Gretchen agreed. “That’s a good place to start.”
Gretchen used their Mobile Data Terminal to look up his home address in Quail Hollow Estates. Josie drove, her mind reeling with what had happened to Beverly. The girl had been a thorn in Josie’s side for years. She had been cruel at times, dangerous at others. It had been a relief when she didn’t return to Denton East in senior year, but now Josie saw her in a completely different light. Her mother had been experiencing financial difficulty. She knew this from the rumors at school and now from Plummer’s file. Beverly had been seventeen years old and pregnant. Who was the father? Had Vera known? Had anyone known? Josie tried to bring more memories of Beverly into focus, but most of them were scattered and indistinct. High school seemed like a hundred years ago—like someone else’s life.
“Would you look at this,” Gretchen mused as they pulled up to the entrance of Quail Hollow Estates. “Protestors.”
On either side of the sign announcing the development’s name stood a handful of people in rain ponchos and beneath umbrellas holding crude signs that read: Quail Hollow = Thieves and Criminals!, Charleston is a Mayor, not a dictator!, Dutton is a crook!, and Return Emergency Supplies! One person had a sign that said both Dutton for Mayor and Charleston for Mayor with both candidates’ names crossed out in angry red marker. The crowd surged forward when Josie turned in. She waved to the closest protestor and the woman stopped. She turned back to the people behind her and waved them off. “It’s Detective Quinn,” she told them. The rest of the protestors greeted her eagerly before letting her and Gretchen pass by.
“No wonder the Chief is having a conniption,” Gretchen said. “The flooding is bad enough, but this is turning into a full-scale scandal.”
They wound through the streets of the Estates. Twice they had to detour where roads had been blocked off due to the moat overflowing its banks and encroaching on the newer construction. Finally, they came to one of the original lanes where the homes were older, more stately, and set further back from the street. Calvin Plummer lived in a large, Tudor-style house surrounded by pink azalea bushes. Josie eased into the driveway behind a small Subaru with a dent in the back driver-side door.
Gretchen remarked, “I would have expected a lawyer living in Quail Hollow to be driving something a little fancier.”
“That’s not his,” Josie said. “It’s the secretary’s. I saw it parked on the street when we left his office. She’s lucky it didn’t wash away.”
Gretchen fake gagged. “I have a feeling this visit is going to make me feel even ickier than when we went to his office.”
The large wooden door boasted a huge iron knocker with a lion’s face on it. Josie lifted the ring and brought it down against the door several times. After a long moment, the door swung open and Tammy stood before them, now dressed in tight jeans and a form-fitting T-shirt. She looked even younger in casual clothes.
“We need to speak with Mr. Plummer,” Gretchen told her.
Wordlessly, Tammy led them through an ornately decorated foyer to a large kitchen. White marble tile complemented the eggshell-colored cabinets, each one accented with elaborate molding and gleaming silver handles. The countertops were all granite, the color of white sand. Even the appliances were white. At the island table, Calvin Plummer sat in khaki pants and a polo shirt, a magazine in one hand and a fork in the other. He swirled pasta onto his fork and shoveled it into his mouth, leaning over the plate so the sauce dripping down his chin didn’t get on his shirt. A half-eaten plateful lay across the table from him. Tammy took up her position there, digging back into her meal as if Josie and Gretchen weren’t there.
Plummer looked up. “Didn’t think I’d see you two again. What’s going on?”
Josie said, “We’ve positively identified the murder victim found beneath the foundation of your property on Hempstead.”
He put his fork and magazine down, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and sat back in his chair. His face was impassive. “Murder victim?”
“Yes,” Josie said.
“How did it happen?”
“She was shot in the head,” Gretchen told him. “Her name was Beverly Urban. She was seventeen. We believe she was a tenant of yours.”
Tammy watched with wide eyes, her fork poised over her own plate.
Plummer scratched his chin. “Urban. She was the daughter, right? I rented to her mom. What was her name?”
“Vera,” Josie filled in.
He nodded. “Yep, that’s it. I rented to her for a while. Single mom. Nice lady but the last year she was there, she was late with the rent. I started eviction proceedings and then one night she up and left. Took all her stuff with her.”
Josie and Gretchen exchanged a quizzical look. Gretchen took out her notebook and started jotting down notes. “She took all her personal things?”
“Most of them. She left behind a few knick-knacks. All the furniture. I figured she was taking off because she owed rent. I sold the furniture and used the security deposit to make repairs. Never heard from her again.”
Gretchen asked, “What kind of repairs?”
He shrugged. “I don’t really remember. I always had to have someone come in and paint the place between tenants.”
Josie asked, “Was there any work being done to the basement?”
“I really couldn’t tell you. Listen, I’ve got six rental properties, my office, and this big old place. We’re talking about sixteen years ago. I’m sure there were repairs on Hempstead over the years, but I don’t remember them all. I can tell you this though: I needed permits for anything I did to those rental properties. You should check with the City Codes office.”
“We will,” Gretchen said. “You didn’t keep your own records of repairs made to your rental properties?”
“For taxes maybe
,” he said. “But not that far back.”
Josie asked, “What about Beverly? Do you remember her?”
“I’m sorry to say, no. Not really. I don’t think I ever met the kid. I just know Vera had one. She was required to list other residents on her lease. Plus, she always made a big deal out of being a single mother. Couldn’t have a conversation with her where she didn’t mention it.”
“Are you aware of Vera ever having any men living or staying with her?” Gretchen asked.
“No,” Plummer sighed. “Listen, I don’t get to know my tenants, okay? They mail in their checks and call me if a pipe breaks. Then I call a contractor and pay them to make repairs. That’s it. I don’t see these people. I don’t socialize with them.”
“Got it,” Josie said. “Do you have a list of contractors you use regularly?”
“Sure. Tammy can email a list of them to you. You have an email address?”
Gretchen jotted it down and handed it to Tammy.
“One last thing,” Josie asked. “Do you own any firearms?”
He lowered his head, a smile on his face. “Of course,” he said. “You think I might have killed this kid.” He stood up and started walking out of the room, beckoning them along. “Come on,” he called.
They followed him down a series of hallways to a study filled with shiny wooden bookcases and a behemoth of a desk. Along one wall was a gun cabinet and behind its glass, Josie counted three rifles and one shotgun. None were nine-millimeter. Gretchen studied them and wrote down their models. Plummer said, “I used to hunt. A long, long time ago. Never actually got anything, but I’ve had these guns ever since.”
“No pistols or revolvers?” Josie asked. “For home or self-defense?”
