Dead Air: A Talk Radio Mystery (25 page)

Mom blinked twice and giggled. Her face was lit with excitement, but her laughter had a nervous edge to it. “I love an adventure. Count me in.”

Chapter 23

Dusk was settling in as we left Miami and tooled along the two-lane highway toward Brentwood Bay Village. Mom was unusually quiet, and I had the sneaking suspicion she was feeling some twinges of doubt about my plan. Or maybe she doubted my sanity.

I had no idea what I might come across in the trailer, and I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for. I just knew that Ray Hicks was hiding something and that I had a better chance of finding it if he wasn’t there.

Mom gave a nervous cough and took a deep breath. “A thought just occurred to me, dear. What if Ray Hicks is outside, grilling another platter of that foul-smelling fish? And he might have a gun, you know. He looks like the type who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot us. I think Florida has some fairly liberal laws about what a homeowner can do to protect his property.” She toyed with the clasp on her knockoff Fendi bag. “A lot could go wrong tonight. You know what the Greeks say: ‘There’s many a slip twixt the cup and the lip.’ ”

I didn’t think she really expected an answer to that little gem, so I nodded and kept driving, my mind churning.

Mom’s face was a sickly shade of white, and I knew she dreaded another encounter with the delightful Mr. Hicks. She—and the Greeks—were right. It’s one thing to talk about breaking into his trailer and another to be faced with actually doing it.

I tried not to think about the penalties the Florida justice system would levy for the crime of breaking and entering. In spite of what Ray Hicks had said about eminent domain, I had the feeling Floridians are pretty big on property rights. A man’s home is his castle, even if it’s a double-wide in the middle of nowhere.

Breaking and entering, or B and E, is considered a major crime in the Sunshine State. I could just see Big Jim Hicks running the story on WYME. “Radio Shrink Charged with B and E in Trailer Park Heist!” Not that there would be anything in Ray’s trailer worth stealing, but Big Jim would play the story to the hilt. He’d love to see me handcuffed again, doing the perp walk, for his amusement.

Handcuffs. My thoughts veered toward Rafe Martino, and I wondered whether he would let me plea-bargain the charge down to malicious mischief. I realized my thoughts were bordering on the hysterical and I ordered myself to calm down and concentrate. Mom was already having her doubts about our excellent adventure, and I knew it was time to rein in my own fears and reassure her.

“Look, Mom, I’m counting on the fact that he won’t be there. Remember when he said he always goes out for a few beers on Friday night? He’s probably at some hole-in-the-wall tavern right this minute. We’ll have the place all to ourselves.” I forced a fake chuckle, even though I was quaking inside.

We turned down the road that led to number forty-six, and I felt Mom stiffen in the seat next to me, her hands trembling in her lap. “I wish I shared your optimism,” she said, and then suddenly one hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, god, oh, no!” she cried.

“What? What is it?” My nerves were jumping, and I nearly slammed on the brakes.

“The dogs.” She lowered her voice as if they could hear us. “Even if Ray Hicks is out for the evening, won’t the hounds from hell be there? They’ll tear us limb from limb.” She shivered, and I felt a fine line of goose bumps sprout up along my upper arm.

The dogs! I had forgotten about the dogs. We’d heard their fierce barking earlier that day, but I’d never caught a glimpse of them. I remembered that their barking had a big-dog sound to it. I went through some big-dog images in my mind, and I didn’t like the visual my brain pulled up.

Rottweilers, German shepherds, maybe even a pair of pit bulls. I pictured Cujo. Or maybe the Hound of the Basker villes.

There was no way those barks came from cuddly little schnauzers or Pomeranians with cutesy pink bows in their fur. These dogs would be straight out of a Stephen King novel; I just knew it.

I took a deep breath and scanned the property. Where were they lurking? I pulled up in front of the trailer. I didn’t see any evidence of a fenced-in yard; did he keep the dogs tied up in the back? We’d soon find out. It looked like we were in luck. No sign of the truck, and the lights in the trailer either were out or were turned down very low. The cheap brown curtains were tightly shut, so it was hard to tell.

“What do you think?” Mom said, her voice an octave higher than usual. “Is he out?”

“It looks that way. His truck is gone, and the trailer is dark.”

“But the dogs. What about the dogs?”

“I think they would have come tearing around the trailer by now. Or at least there’d be some barking. They must have heard the car by now.” I turned off the engine, and we sat quietly for a moment, while I explored my options. One option (the sensible one) was to admit that I was on a fool’s errand and to make tracks back to Cypress Grove. A nice dinner at an oceanfront restaurant, and then back home in time for a glass of wine with Lark. Let the Cypress Grove PD sort out Sanjay’s death. That’s what they were paid to do, wasn’t it?

Since this was the sensible option, I immediately discarded it. In for a dime, in for a dollar. “Okay, listen up. Here’s the plan,” I said, sounding like an actress in a B spy film.

Mom leaned forward eagerly. “Yes?”

“I’m going inside the trailer.” I took a deep breath. “You’re going to stay out here.”

“Why do I have to stay out here?” I couldn’t tell whether she was annoyed or relieved.

I thought for moment. “Because I need you as a lookout. You can let me know if Ray suddenly comes barreling along in his pickup. You can talk to him and stall him while I sneak out of the trailer.” This was going to be a difficult feat. As far as I could tell, the trailer had only one door.

“But what will I say if he does show up?” she asked wildly. “How in the world will I explain that you’re inside his home? And how will you get in there, anyway? I’m sure he keeps it locked up tight. He seems like a suspicious sort.”

Good point. Actually, two good points. I licked my lips. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

I opened the car door as quietly as I could and listened carefully. So far, so good. No canine attack team was headed my way. I took a deep breath and was about to slide out of the car when Mom put her hand on my arm.

“Wait a minute. You mean you haven’t figured out what I’m supposed to say, or you haven’t figured out how you’re going to get inside?”

“Both. I haven’t figured anything out yet.”

She looked crestfallen, but then she brightened, easing back into the seat. “Oh. Well, I’m sure something will come to you, dear,” she said warmly. “You’ve always been quite creative. Here, take this; you might need it.” She passed me a tiny flashlight, the one she keeps on the key ring, and then she leaned over and silently closed the car door.

Then she pushed the button down to lock all four doors.

My mom. Always thinking ahead.

I approached the trailer. Dead silence. I tensed, waiting for Ray Hicks to come tearing out of his trailer or for the hounds from hell to come bounding over the dusty yard. No curtains fluttering at the grimy windows, no sound inside. It was as if a neutron bomb had struck, killing every living thing but leaving all the double-wides intact.

I swallowed hard and walked up the two concrete steps. I held my breath, tapped on the wooden frame around the screen door, and silently counted. When twenty seconds had passed and nothing had happened, I glanced back at Mom and gave her a cheery thumbs-up.

The battered screen door was closed, but it was warped and there was a good three-inch gap showing at the bottom. All I had to do was nudge it open quietly and then tackle the main door.

This was the tricky part. I gingerly tried the handle on the metal front door, and the skin on the back of my neck prickled. The door didn’t budge.

Surprise, surprise. The trailer door was locked, but a quick swipe of my Visa card and it creaked open. I was amazed. I’ve seen that trick on a million cop shows but never really believed it worked until now.

My heart was hammering as I stepped inside the darkened interior. It smelled even worse than earlier in the day, and I realized that all the windows were closed. No sign of Ray Hicks, but I noticed an open can of beans on the counter and an old-fashioned black frying pan on the burner.

Now that I was inside the trailer, I had no idea where to start looking. I flipped on the tiny flashlight, feeling like Nancy Drew in
The Mystery at the Moss-Covered Mansion
.

The place was a mess, and I wondered where Hicks kept his papers and bills. I spotted a shoe box filled to overflowing with documents on the top shelf of a built-in fiberboard bookcase over the stove. I pulled it down and riffled quickly through the contents: coupons and past-due electric bills, a notice from the Brentwood Bay Village Association reminding him to keep lids on his trash cans. Nothing interesting.

A quick look through the cabinets under the four-burner stove. Nothing again. Dirty glassware and cheap crockery piled on the shelves above the stove. A pan lid clattered down to the floor, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Where to look next? I hated to tackle the bedroom, but it was my only option. The door was wide-open, and I could see piles of clothes scattered on the unmade bed, like a suitcase had exploded. The louvered closet door was tilting half off its hinges, and I spotted a couple of windbreakers hanging inside.

I quickly went through the pockets. A couple of match-books and loose change. I stood on my tiptoes to run my hand over the closet shelf and came up empty. I looked around with a sense of despair. There had to be something tying Ray Hicks to Guru Sanjay, but what?

And then I spotted it.

A well-thumbed copy of
Heal the Cosmos
on the bedside table.

I remembered Sanjay saying it was his latest release. Why would Ray Hicks be reading it? More important, where had he gotten it? It had one of those little gold foil “Signed by Author” stickers on the cover, and I opened the book gingerly. There, on the very first page, was a florid inscription to Ray Hicks from Sanjay Gingii.

It was dated the day Sanjay died.

Bingo. I felt a happy little surge of triumph. This placed Ray Hicks at the conference after all, on the very day that Sanjay went to that big ashram in the sky. Motive, means, and opportunity. I’d nailed him!

I picked up the book, turned off the flashlight, and prepared to make my way out of the trailer. I could hardly wait to see what Rafe Martino and the entire Cypress Grove PD would make of this new evidence.

Guru Sanjay always said that good karma is instantly followed by bad karma. It is the “way of the universe.” Here is the CliffsNotes version of his philosophy: For every good thing that happens to you, you are immediately zapped with a disaster. Every smile is followed by tears. A burst of sunlight will inevitably give way to a torrential downpour. I’ve never really understood that philosophy.

Until now. Suddenly it all made sense.

I think having a gun jammed in my back really cleared my head.

Chapter 24

“Drop it, girlie.” I felt something cold and hard nudging my spine, and my breath caught in my throat.

Ray Hicks. I’d recognize that hayseed accent and fishy breath anywhere.

“Turn around real slow, and don’t try to pull a fast one.”

“I won’t,” I warbled. “I promise. No fast ones. Not even a slow one.” So much for my sleuthing technique. I hadn’t even heard him slip into the trailer. How had I missed this one? I never saw it coming. I slowly raised my hands in a surrender pose.

My thoughts flew to Mom. What had he done to her? Had he knocked her unconscious, or something much worse? My mind was scrambling with dark thoughts, and fear began to explode like fireworks in my chest.

Ray Hicks had killed her, and I was responsible. I felt an overwhelming wave of sadness sweep over me, and my eyes blurred with tears. It didn’t matter what happened to me now. Mom was gone forever.

And then I heard a familiar voice calling to me from the living room.

“You better do what he says, Maggie,” Mom piped up. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Mom standing in the living room shadows. She must have gotten out of the car and followed Ray inside. “He’s armed with a bottle of Rolling Rock.”

Rolling Rock? I spun around to see a sheepish grin on Ray Hicks’s face and a beer bottle in his hand.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he said, lowering the bottle. “Saw it on a crime show once. The killer poked someone in the back with a beer bottle, and they figured he had a snub-nosed revolver.” He chortled with glee, which set off a phlegmy coughing fit. “Guess I had you goin’ there for a minute or two,” he said. He looked inordinately pleased with himself.

“Yes, you did,” I said, nearly choking on the words. I swallowed hard. A lump the size of a walnut had appeared in my esophagus, and my knees had turned to Jell-O.

Ray Hicks reached over and flipped on a light switch. The trailer was filled with a yellowish glow.

“What’s going on here?” I took a step toward Ray Hicks, tilting my chin. “You have no business intimidating me like that. I nearly had a heart attack. You could be charged with making a terroristic threat.”

Ray laughed and motioned for me to follow him into the living room. “Girlie, listen to yourself. You broke into my trailer, I caught you going through my stuff, and now you’re accusing me of terroristic whatever? You got some gall; that’s all I can say.”

“I’m afraid he’s right, Maggie,” Mom said. “We should have waited for Mr. Hicks to return and invite us inside.” I stared at her. “You were terribly rude, I’m afraid, just barging in like this.” A touch of a Boston accent had crept into her voice, and she was sounding oh-so-upper-class, chomp ing down on her vowels as if they were raw oysters.