Holly Blues (15 page)

“Sanders?” His voice rose.

“Right. Do you know the place?”

He grunted. “You bet I know it. Sally’s parents were living there when we got married. She went to high school in Sanders. She and her sister grew up there.”

“Really?” I was surprised. “She didn’t tell me that he was a hometown guy.”

“Why would she? She’s playing Little Miss Innocent, China. She wants to get your sympathy. She’s probably been stringing this smitten schmuck along for months, then got tired of him mooning around after her and dumped him. So this poor joe is not only besotted but pissed. He wants to find her, talk to her, try to get her back.”

“Being besotted does not justify stalking,” I retorted.

“No, but it
explains
it,” he replied, irritatingly patient.

“Maybe. But pissed-off people can be dangerous. She is genuinely afraid of him, McQuaid. She says he’s creepy.” I thought of his voice, of the ominous edge that had sent chills up my spine. “He sounded plenty creepy to me, too. And he has her car. Her yellow convertible. Hazel Cowan saw him driving it.”

“I am calling Blackie.” McQuaid’s tone was firm.

I know when I’m defeated. “Okay, you win,” I conceded. “Don’t call Blackie. Sally and I will spend the night with Ruby.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good,” he said, gamely trying not to sound triumphant. “My flight is scheduled for tomorrow evening. I’ll see you then.” He paused and added, gruffly. “Sorry to be the bad guy, China. Tell Sally to suck it up. And when I get home, the three of us are sitting down for a serious talk. I don’t want to have to spend the holiday worrying that some love-struck stalker is out there, casing our house.”

I hung up, feeling that I hadn’t accomplished very much. But there wasn’t time to think about it, because the lunch crowd was beginning to trickle in. Ruby parked Grace’s baby bouncer in a corner where I could keep an eye on her until her mother came to pick her up, and went to help Laurel in the tearoom. Cass was serving one of her famous quiches today (Garden Quiche, with tomatoes, basil, and garlic), which always draws a crowd, mostly tourists or women from neighboring businesses on their lunch hour.

From that moment on, we were so busy that I didn’t stop to look at my watch. At some point, Amy (who still wears the silver nose studs, multiple earrings, and intriguing tattoos that have earned her a reputation as Ruby’s wild child) stopped in to pick up Baby Grace, who loves her mother just as she is, undomesticated hair and all. I confirmed that Amy would meet Caitlin after school and got a text message from Caitlin saying that she’d love to stay all night at Amy’s, and maybe she could give Baby Grace her bath. With so much going on, it was nearly one thirty when I realized that Sally was a half hour late for lunch. And I was hungry. In fact, I was ravenous.

I hunted through my purse until I found the scrap of paper on which Sally had written her cell number. I picked up the phone and was about to punch it in when Ruby came in from the tearoom, pushing her hair out of her eyes and looking frazzled.

“I just got a call from the nurses’ station at Castle Oaks,” she said. “Mom’s MIA again. Looks like she’s gone on another walkabout.”

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, putting the phone down. “Oh, Ruby, I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” She sighed. “I really, really,
really
need this not to be happening right now.”

Ruby’s mother, like many dementia patients, is prone to wandering. The nurses at Castle Oaks try to keep a close eye on her, but she’s a wily old lady and occasionally gives them the slip. The last time she escaped by filching a coat from her roommate’s daughter and slipping out the front door in the company of several other visitors. She got as far as the neighborhood supermarket, where she liberated three Hershey’s chocolate bars and a bottle of apple juice. She was just finishing her snack when a clerk asked for money. When she said she had twenty-three million dollars in the bank but had forgotten to bring any of it with her, he called the cops. Doris was thrilled when she got an armed escort back to the nursing home.

“What can I do?” I asked with genuine sympathy. Ruby took on a big job when she moved Doris to Pecan Springs. I try to pitch in.

“Can you watch the shop? I have to go over to Castle Oaks and help them find her. I hope she had the sense to snatch a coat before she left. And a hat and gloves. It’s cold outside.” She started for the door to her shop. “Oh, and Laurel had to go home early. She and her husband are going out of town for the holiday. And Cass has already left, too. She had to go to the doctor.”

“Sure, I’m not planning to go anywhere.” I frowned. “Laurel won’t be here to help out tomorrow?” So who was our backup, in case things got out of hand?

“Nope,” Ruby tossed over her shoulder as she left. “Laurel is gone until after the first of the year.”

Rats. No Laurel, and Cass was on the wounded list, and this was the holiday. We were definitely short-handed.

Ruby put her head through the door again. “Oh, and tell Sally I’m sorry I missed her. I’ll catch her later.”

“You didn’t miss Sally. She missed us.” Which reminded me that Sally was late, and that I really needed to talk to her about my conversation with McQuaid. And that I was really, really hungry. I reached for the phone again. No answer. I got voice mail.

“Where the heck are you, Sally?” I demanded. “I thought we were having lunch together.”

By this time, I was seriously irritated, as well as hungry. Ruby’s shop and mine were temporarily empty, so I made a quick expedition to the kitchen in search of leftover quiche. I put a slice on a plate, alongside a helping of chicken salad and a handful of blue corn chips, and took the food back to the shop, where I sat on the tall stool behind the counter and snatched quick bites in between phone calls and customers. The shop had emptied out and I was just finishing the last chip when the bell jingled and the door opened.

I looked up quickly, thinking it was Sally at last, and opened my mouth to give her a piece of my mind. But it wasn’t. It was Sheila Dawson, our police chief—Smart Cookie to her friends.

“Hey, Sheila!” I said with a grin. “Nice to see you. It’s been a while.”

“It’s our busy season,” she said. “The mall is full of shoplifters, and every Christmas party seems to uncork a slew of drunk drivers.” She took off her cap and returned my grin. “How are you, China?”

Sheila was uniformed in her usual natty blue and gray jacket, shirt, pants, and cap, her blond hair scooped into a bun at the back of her head. Even so, and with a radio on one hip and a holstered weapon on the other, she’s beautiful. Somehow, it doesn’t seem fair that there’s so much firepower—intelligence, competence, confidence, and damned good looks—loaded into one woman. But while Smart Cookie might look like Miss Dallas costumed for the cover of
Law Enforcement Magazine
, I wouldn’t mess with her, if I were you. She’s an experienced cop with over a decade of law enforcement experience, not to mention being a crack shot. She can outshoot any of her officers, any day. And she don’t take no sass, as the locals say.

“How am I?” I might have given other answers to that question, but I settled for the simplest. “Not too bad, I guess. We had a full house for lunch in the tearoom, which is good. But Doris went AWOL again. Ruby’s out on patrol, looking for her.”

Sheila rolled her eyes. “Poor Doris.”

“Poor Ruby. Doris gets a kick out of it, if you ask me, especially when she’s driven back to Castle Oaks in a squad car. Your uniforms ought to make her walk. There’s nothing wrong with her legs, Ruby says.”

Sheila chuckled. “Probably a good idea.” She glanced around the shop. “Is Sally here?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Sally who?”

She turned back to me. “Don’t give me that. You know who I mean. Sally Strahorn.”

“Gee,” I said, hamming it up. “I wonder how you found out that Sally’s in town. Is it possible that when Sheriff Blackwell picked up the phone last night . . .” I let my voice trail off suggestively.

She ducked her head, coloring. “Yeah, you’re right. I was with him when you phoned.”

“Figures.” I grinned, remembering that Blackie had sounded a bit groggy. Maybe I had caught them in flagrante delicto. “I won’t ask what you were doing when I phoned. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you. Anyway, I’d already heard that you two are a couple again. Ruby told me she saw you at Beans’ the other night.”

“News gets around, doesn’t it?” She gave me a challenging look. “Okay with you?”

I held up both hands. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy, Smart Cookie. And I figured you wanted folks to talk, or you and Blackie wouldn’t have showed up at Beans’. ” Everybody who is anybody in Pecan Springs hangs out there, and when two people are noticed to be a couple—especially when one is the police chief and the other is the county sheriff, and each was previously engaged to the other—the news spreads out like a tsunami. I added, “We’re looking forward to seeing you and Blackie at the party on Saturday night.”

“We’re planning on it.” Sheila put her palms on the counter, and I noticed, enviously, that her nails were beautifully manicured. Mine are not. I work in the garden every day. What Sheila mostly does is fill out paperwork. “What about Sally?” she repeated in a businesslike tone.

“I wish I knew.” I pushed my empty plate away. “She was supposed to meet me here for lunch, but she didn’t show. I got hungry and gave up waiting.” I tilted my head, feeling curious. “What’s up with you and Sally? As I recall, the two of you didn’t exactly hit it off the time or two you were together.” Sally hadn’t hit it off with any of my friends, actually. Sheila wasn’t the only one.

Sheila was watching me. “How long has she been in town?”

This did not sound like an idle inquiry, and I felt a nudge of apprehension. “Why are you asking?” I countered.

“Official business,” Sheila said crisply, and straightened, giving her gun belt a hitch. “How long?”

Uh-oh. Official business. A police matter. Maybe Sally had been involved in an accident before she showed up in Pecan Springs. Maybe this had something to do with Myers. Maybe—

But given Sally’s previous record of weird behavior, there was no point in guessing. “Here’s the straight scoop,” I replied, equally crisp. “She showed up day before yesterday, around eleven, here in the shop.”

“That would be Tuesday. Right?”

“Right. She was lugging a duffle bag. She said she’d ridden the bus into town. She didn’t have a car or a place to stay or any money—”

I stopped, remembering my encounter with Bonnie Roth at the bank. Not having money was another one of the things Sally had lied about.

“She
said
she didn’t have any money,” I amended. “No money, no car. Which meant no motel. So I invited her to stay with us for the holiday.”

The phone rang, and I picked it up quickly, thinking it might be Sally. “Is my mother there?” Ruby asked plaintively.

“I’m sorry, Ruby, she isn’t. Why are you asking?”

“Because somebody saw her heading in that direction, walking fast,” Ruby said, sounding disappointed. “Phone me if she shows up there—okay?”

“Okay.” I glanced at Sheila. “Smart Cookie is here. Have you already called the cops?”

“Castle Oaks called when they first missed her,” Ruby replied. “It’s standard operating procedure. But tell Sheila, will you? Just in case.”

“I already did,” I said. “I also told her that her officers should make Doris walk back, just so she doesn’t get too used to riding in those squad cars.”

“Good idea.” Ruby chuckled sadly. “Call me if you see her.” She hung up.

“Ruby says Doris is hotfooting it in this direction,” I reported. It would be funny if it weren’t so sad.

Sheila took her radio off her belt, spoke into it briefly, and replaced it. “We’re putting another car on this side of town. We’ll find her.” She went back to the subject. “I’m surprised to hear that you invited Sally to stay at your place over the holidays, China. I thought you weren’t a big fan of hers.”

“I’m not,” I admitted. “But she seemed . . . well, different, I guess. Not quite the same old Sally. Ordinary clothes, no makeup, a little less attitude.” Unfortunately, there was still some of the old Sally, the part that told lies, but I didn’t see any point in going into this with Sheila. “Anyway, it’s Christmas,” I added. “Be of good cheer and all that. And she is Brian’s mother, after all. He doesn’t like to make a big deal about it, but he’s glad to have her here.” I looked at Sheila. “Why are you asking? What’s she done?”

Sheila was matter-of-fact. “I don’t know that she’s done anything, China. But her sister is dead. I was notified by the Lake City chief of police about an hour ago.”

I stared at her. “Leslie?
Dead?
Oh, god, Sheila! When? How?”

Leslie, dead. It was hard to believe. Leslie was a couple of years younger than Sally, which made her, oh, six or seven years younger than I am—a young woman, with most of her life ahead of her. Hearing something like this always stops me in my tracks. First there’s a sweeping wave of regret and sadness, and then something else, something less noble, a great gratitude that I am still alive. What had happened? Some sudden illness, maybe, or an accident?

“You knew her?” Sheila asked.

I nodded. “Not as well as McQuaid or Brian. Leslie is—was Brian’s favorite aunt. But yes, of course I knew her. She’s visited us quite a few times.” I paused. What was I going to tell Brian? He would be terribly upset. “How did it happen?”

“Sorry. I don’t have the details.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll fill in the gaps.” I gave her a sadly grateful smile. “I appreciate your stopping by to tell Sally in person, Smart Cookie. Next-of-kin notification is no fun. Thank you for doing this.”

I was already beginning to make mental lists. Leslie was divorced, no children. Sally was her only sister, and their parents were dead. Sally would have to go up to Lake City and do all the unhappy things that need to be done when a family member dies: make funeral arrangements, deal with the house and the furniture and the bills, notify people in the deceased’s address book—all that difficult, painful stuff. I know how hard this is because I am still cleaning up my brother Miles’ estate after his death last spring. It takes a long time and it hurts the whole while. Sally would want to leave for Lake City right away, and she might not be back for Christmas. She’d have to take Brian’s car, I guessed. Or maybe she could wait until McQuaid got home, and he could drive her there. I was sure he would want to go to the funeral.