Candy Apple Red (5 page)

The hairs on my arms lifted. Had she come to the Nook in search of
me
?

She pretended this was our first meeting, her smile of welcome brittle and tight.

She still possessed the hardness I’d first seen on TV, and she had a tense, nervous quality about her that rattled my equilibrium. I inhaled and exhaled slowly. Tess fit right into Marta’s decor: all taste and money. If she was anything like Marta in determination she was a force to be reckoned with. In Marta’s opinion: rain forest be damned. Marta would cut down every tree herself if it meant the good life. It was only a first impression, but I would bet my bottom dollar Cotton Reynolds’ ex-wife felt the same.

The question was: what did she really want?

“Tess Bradbury, Jane Kelly,” Marta introduced. “Jane, Tess…” I reached out a hand. Tess held hers as if I should kiss it, but I clasped it and gave it a quick shake instead. A small line dug between her brows, but then it smoothed away a moment later. She withdrew her hand, folded both of them demurely in her lap, and said, “I’m so glad you decided to help me.”

She had a faint southern twang. Texan, I believed, though I’m no expert. I really didn’t know what to say to her. Her son had been accused of multiple homicide. He’d killed his own family and bolted to escape prosecution. From what I’d read in the newspaper accounts, there was no doubt that he’d committed the act. Though no crime scene investigator had revealed any of the little forensic tidbits that so interest the scandal-hungry public, clearly the authorities had Bobby dead to rights.

Still, I knew his mother wouldn’t want to believe it. I cleared my throat, my curiosity growing in spite of myself.

“What exactly would you like me to do, Ms. Bradbury?”

I
t felt like I waited an inordinately long time for Tess to answer. She shot me a look, glanced away, then gave me another cool, blue-eyed stare. In the end she turned to Marta who assumed command like the general she was.

“Bobby’s been missing for nearly four years,” Marta started in. “The Tillamook County Sheriff’s Department and F.B.I. and God knows who else haven’t been able to turn him up. They’re beginning to think he headed out to sea. A small boat was stolen during those same two days. Capsized, apparently. Pieces floated back along the coast about ten days later.”

“But no body,” I put in, remembering.

“But no body.” Marta nodded.

“One theory is that he set it up to look as if he drowned,” I pointed out, “but that he’s living large and free.”

“If he’s dead, I need to know.” Tess’s voice was flat, nearly emotionless. I gave her a careful look while trying to appear as if I were merely waiting for direction. Her hair was obviously bleached but done so expertly that it could almost be natural. It was cut in a short bob that curved in at the edge of her chin. She was probably in her late forties, but she could have passed for ten years younger. Her nails were lacquered a pastel pink shade, and she wore a pair of cream-colored slacks and matching jacket. I admired the suit’s lack of wrinkles. If I’d been wearing it, it would have looked like I’d pulled it from the bottom of the laundry basket. The pink scarf added the right touch, making her look like a confection. Hard candy, I thought, if the set of her mouth were anything to go by.

Marta continued, “The authorities believe he killed his family, each with a shot to the back of the head, then left them on state forestry land outside Tillamook. There’s been precedent for this. Two other alleged family annihilators: Edward Morris and Christian Longo have been arrested for committing similar crimes in this state. Morris left his family in the Tillamook State Forest like Bobby, Longo dropped the bodies in coastal inlets off Newport and Waldport. Maybe they gave him the idea.” At this point Tess tried to interrupt, but Marta, once engaged, hates losing the floor, so she threw Tess a quelling look and added in an aside, “I’m just filling in background. Bobby may have been a victim as well, but this is what the authorities are thinking, I guarantee it.”

Tess settled back in her chair but her body remained tense. I felt tense, too. Fighting off Woofers seemed like child’s play compared to this. I was already out of my league.

“Familicide is fairly rare. Nationally, maybe 50 cases a year. For some reason, Oregon’s got more than its share. Usually these guys are white, in their 30’s or 40’s, and they feel intense responsibility for their families. Meanwhile, their lives are falling apart, usually financially. Oh, and they generally have a strong faith. Most often, once they’ve killed their families, they take their own lives. That happened with our third local family annihilator, Robert Bryant, who shot his family in his home then turned the shotgun on himself.”

I threw another glance at Tess to see how she was taking this. The pink nails were digging into the arms of her chair. With an effort, she folded her hands back in her lap. Hands are betrayers, I thought. Tess Bradbury looked as if she wanted to claw herself out of this life.

Marta pulled a slim folder from a drawer and laid it out in front of her, consulting her notes. “The perpetrators are usually depressed, often paranoid, men. They can’t face failure, so they see killing their families as their only option.” She put a finger to the page and looked up, studying Tess. “There’s a lot more, but you’ve heard all this before.”

“Over and over again,” Tess gritted.

“Do you mind if I give Jane this file? She can read up on it later.”

Tess didn’t immediately respond. Finally realizing Marta was waiting for an answer, she flapped a hand at the file which meant “yes.” Marta slid the blue folder my way. I flipped open the edge and saw several reports off the Internet and copies of newspaper articles from the
Oregonian
.

Switching gears, Marta said, “I handled Tess and Cotton’s divorce five years ago. Bobby was married to his wife, Laura, and they’d just had Kit. Their other two children were Aaron and Jenny. Tess, would you like to fill Jane in on what your thoughts are, what you’d like her to do?”

Tess drew a long breath, then exhaled delicately. “My husband was seeing another woman. Dolly Smathers.”

It was curious she went to her divorce first. I was having trouble keeping my mind off anything but Bobby and the deaths of his children. With an effort I pulled my thoughts to Tess herself, and her ex, Cotton. Let’s face it. Any man involved with both a Dolly and a Tess has got to have a country western fetish, big time. But then with a nickname like Cotton, you had to figure Reynolds was a man full of boots and bonhomie. I thought about voicing this opinion, but now didn’t seem the time.

“I sued him for every dime I could get,” Tess went on. “I put the money in an art gallery in the Pearl District, the Black Swan.”

My ears perked up. Cynthia had shown some of her art at the Black Swan. It was a trendy, spacious gallery in an area where the floor space went for mucho-grando-buckos per square foot. “I’ve been there,” I said.

She smiled faintly. “I hardly made a dent in his fortune, but it was enough to get me going. He got the house, the boat, three of the cars. I went back to my maiden name.”

Owen Bradbury
…the name of Tess’s other son, Bobby’s older half-brother, crossed my mind. From the way we were talking, Bobby could have been Tess’s one and only. But Owen wasn’t Cotton’s son and since he went by Bradbury, Tess’s maiden name, it didn’t appear as if his real father counted for much. Maybe in Tess’s mind Owen didn’t count for much, either. Again, I kept my mouth shut and just listened.

“Tess, we did well by you in the divorce,” Marta reminded her dryly.

Tess raised a hand in agreement. “But Cotton still has a lot of assets, and the bastard told Bobby that he wasn’t worth one thin dime. His
only
child. That’s why Bobby was in financial trouble. And Cotton wouldn’t help him. At the time I was all tied up in legalities. I gave Bobby as much as I could, of course, but he’d made these investments…”

I nodded, remembering. Bobby Reynolds had been floundering in a sea of debt. And some of his “investors” were purported to be out-and-out crooks looking for a way to tap into Cotton’s mega-assets. But Cotton had cut that off quick. He’d let Bobby deal with his own problems and apparently those problems had fast become insurmountable, at least in Bobby’s mind, hence the exit from reality. I wondered if Bobby were still alive if he was now horrified at his own actions. With an act so heinous, could anyone really accept his own responsibility, culpability?

“I’ve had the F.B.I. all over me,” Tess went on bitterly. “Every cent I make, or lose, is examined by the goddamn government! They want to know if I’m helping Bobby. Because it’s a murder investigation, they seem to have the right to harass me forever!”

Marta said, “The I.R.S. has been particularly diligent about fine-tooth-combing Tess’s income and assets.”

I nodded again. The government was marshaling their resources, determined to find Bobby and anyone who might be helping him out. They wanted to know if Tess was sloughing off money to her fugitive son.

“Are you under active surveillance?” I asked.

Tess straightened her spine, clearly jolted by the idea. “After all this time? I don’t think so. Not anymore, anyway. I think they’re finally realizing that I’ve got nothing to do with Bobby. I don’t even know if he’s alive.”

“Why do you want me to talk to Cotton?” I finally got back to the only part of the issue I was really involved with at this point.

“If Bobby is alive…” She stopped, swallowed, drew another breath. “If Bobby’s alive, Cotton knows it. And I think he could be helping him.”

That caught my attention. “Back up. If Cotton wouldn’t help him before…why would he now that Bobby’s on the run? That’s aiding and abetting a wanted felon.”

“His guilt. Finally.” She practically spit the words. Her fury at her ex-husband was deep and real, maybe even more so with the passing of time. “Cotton never treated Bobby right. And I think it’s rotted his soul.”

“Have you thought about talking to the police about any of this?” I asked cautiously.

“It’s all supposition,” Marta interjected smoothly. The last thing she wanted was to lose a client’s money.

“I don’t know anything for sure. It’s just a feeling I have, and frankly, if Bobby’s alive, and Cotton’s been helping him…I don’t want the police to know.”

A knot of discomfort tightened in my lower back. Like someone twisting a screw into my spine. “You know, if by some long shot, I found out where Bobby was, I would have to go to the police myself. He is wanted for murder.”

“I understand,” Tess said quickly. “All I’m asking is for you to go to the benefit on Saturday, have fun, get some kind of impression. Do you see?”

For the first time I read the desperation in her eyes. True, naked desperation. A mother’s need to know. “So, what is this benefit?” I asked, already knowing.

Tess relaxed. “It’s part of the Lake Chinook Historical Society’s annual showing of homes. Cotton had to lobby like crazy because he’s a pariah now. He’s been quietly shunned by some of the more prominent Lake Chinook and Portland snobs.” She sniffed. “They come into the gallery sometimes, but it’s mostly to get a look at me.”

I saw how much she hated being the monkey in the zoo. Famous was one thing; infamous something else.

“Tickets for the event are in the file, too,” Marta said.

“I’ll go,” I said to Tess. “But I honestly don’t see what I can do.”

“Cotton loves Tim Murphy. Just mention Murphy’s name and he’ll love you, too.”

I never mention Murphy’s name,
I thought. I try not to think about him too much. With a stab of honesty, I said, “This may be a waste of your money.”

“It’s mine to waste,” she said.

“Just meet with Cotton,” Marta inserted quickly. “See what you think. See if you can get to meet him again.”

“If he’s really helping Bobby, he’s hardly likely to talk to anyone,” I pointed out.

“I need to know if my son’s alive,” Tess insisted, her curiously flat voice taking on an edge of determination…or hysteria. “I’m at my wit’s end. Cotton won’t speak to me. And his wife’s even worse.”

I’d forgotten that he’d remarried. “Dolly?” I guessed.

She shook her head. “Heavens, no. She was trash. This one’s more sophisticated. A real snake in the grass. Heather.” Her mouth recoiled around the word. “Younger than my son. Cotton seems to be having a second midlife crisis. Sixty-two, going on seventeen.”

There was something about the way she was looking at me. She thought Cotton would like me. Maybe that’s why she’d come to check me out this morning, incognito. “Is there some reason this has all cropped up right now?” I asked. “Bobby’s been missing a while.”

Marta cleared her throat. “There’s a rumor,” she said slowly, her eyes on Tess. “One we can’t substantiate.”

I waited.

“Cotton’s ill,” she said. Rumor or no, she’d made up her mind. “I think he’s got a pre-nup with Heather, and if so, his estate will go to…” She shrugged her small shoulders lightly. “Bobby, I’d imagine.”

“But if he’s cut out of the will…”

“I think he’s back in. I just have the feeling that if Cotton’s dying, he’s making amends.”

I looked from her to Marta and back again. So, this was where the big money supposedly was. Cotton’s fortune might be earmarked for Bobby. If Bobby was still alive, that is. And if Bobby were found and arrested, and Cotton was gone, Bobby might put his mother in charge of his finances.

A lot of “ifs” to bank on, but then we were talking about a lot of money.

I wondered what the terms of Cotton’s will were. Was Bobby back in? And was he Cotton’s designated heir? What about Heather, his wife? Or Owen, who might not be his own flesh and blood but was someone Cotton had taken care of for the greater part of Owen’s life? Who else would Cotton Reynolds want to leave his fortune to?

Murphy…

The thought came unbidden and once in my head, couldn’t be dislodged. Murphy had been
very
close to Bobby. They’d gone through school together: little league, Pop Warner football, high school athletics…From all accounts Murphy could “whup Bobby’s ass” in sports, but they’d remained friends. When I’d followed Murphy back to Oregon, he’d taken me around to the usual haunts. The Pisces Pub was the hangout for all the legal (and under-aged kids with good fake IDs) graduates from both Lakeshore and Lake Chinook High Schools. Murphy had barely begun to reacquaint himself with old friends when Bobby disappeared. Tess called Murphy, looking for Bobby. I’d never hung out with either Bobby or Laura all that much. If I’d had any inkling about what was to come, I would have paid closer attention, believe me. As it was, my impression of Bobby hadn’t been all that flattering, but neither was it criminal. He’d seemed like a typical red-blooded American boy who’d outgrown high school and therefore the height of his popularity. He’d married Laura, a high school sweetheart, who probably had been a beauty in her day but whose figure after three kids was well on the way to matronly. She was also quite religious. It was clear she didn’t feel comfortable having a beer with Bobby, his good buddy Murphy, and Murphy’s sometime girlfriend, me. She carried a small worn book in one hand, a prayer book I later learned, and I came out of the Pisces feeling like I didn’t quite fit in.