Mom Zone Mysteries 02 Staying Home Is a Killer (31 page)

Tessa fell into step with us. Marilyn harrumphed. “Next time, I’m not going to call you. You’ll just miss your workout.”

“Thanks for talking to me, Marilyn,” I said.

Some of the starch went out of her posture. “Glad to. It’s a shame what happened to Penny.”

I almost didn’t go inside Cuts and Curls. It was the lingerie displayed in the window. Two teddies, one black and one red, and a bra and panties in zebra stripes. It made me wonder what kind of salon it was, but I hadn’t found anyone to cut my hair and Barbara cut Abby’s hair. Abby always looked great. I pulled my key out of the ignition. I’d try it.

I stepped under the awning that ran the length of Clairmont’s only strip mall. Cuts and Curls was sandwiched between a video rental store and Domino’s Pizza. The strip mall, plus a grocery store, a gas station, and a small branch of the county library, made up Clairmont. Of course, things would change when the massive Super Wal-Mart that was under construction down the highway finally opened.

I pushed through the door and smelled permanent solution. “Hi. I’ve got an appointment with Barbara,” I said to the woman who was jerking towels through the air and folding them into neat piles.

“Hi, come on in.” She had short blond hair, flawless makeup, and shiny long nails. Her bangs were pressed down on her forehead, but the rest of her hair was teased straight out. She looked like she’d stuck her finger in an outlet. She wore a red leather vest, a black belt with thick silver studs, and jeans. “That’s me. Call me Barb. Have a seat.” She unfurled a black cape. I settled in the chair near the window and had visions of me with an electrocuted-style hairdo. “I just need it trimmed.”

“Oh, honey.” Barb’s red nails flicked through the ends of my hair. “You need more than a trim. You need shape. Style. I’ll take care of you.”

“Nothing too radical, okay?”

“Sure. No problem. I won’t take more than an inch or two off the length.”

Abby’s hair always looks great
, I told myself.

“Three at the most.”

Fifteen minutes later, I focused on a sign over Barb’s station that read
GAELIC PUNK RULES
instead of the cascade of falling hair.

“All right,” she pronounced and spun me toward the mirror.

Wet hair hung in hunks on each side of my face, ending at my chin. Great. I looked like Morticia Adams, the bobbed version.

“Don’t worry. I thinned it. It’s gonna be spectacular.”

It will grow. No matter how bad it looks, it will grow
. I glanced around for something to distract me. “Why the lingerie?”

“I’ve got a little side business, Pamper Yourself. I do Pamper Yourself Parties. You know, like Tupperware, but silk and lace are so much more entertaining than plastic, don’t you think? Here’s my card. Call me, if you want to host a party.”

“Umm, I’ll see.”

Barb swiveled the chair again and snapped on the blow-dryer. Outside, a car parked next to the Cherokee, probably Barb’s next appointment. But instead of coming inside, the person, a man, got out and walked to a pickup parked in front of the video store. Something about that man. I shifted to get a better look.

“Too hot?” Barb yelled.

“No. It’s fine.” The man had on a baggy wind suit with the hood up. He slid into the seat, pushed back the hood, and smiled, revealing teeth so brightly white that I could see them even from this distance. It was Victor.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

I’d hopped up from the chair and run to the window. Yes. It was Victor and he was talking to Rory. Rory put the pickup in gear and backed out of the parking space.

“Barb, I’ve got to go.” I ripped the cape off, pulled some cash out of my purse, and grabbed my coat. “Sorry. There’s an emergency.”

“What about your change?”

“Keep it. It’s a tip. It looks great.” The cold air outside seemed to instantly freeze my wet hair. I felt like a Popsicle. I jumped in the Cherokee and pulled out into the parking lot. Rory’s black pickup slid out of the exit and into traffic going to the base.

As I drove, I did a little mental sorting and reorganizing, just like when I organized closets and cabinets. Sometimes I put something away and it didn’t fit quite right and I had to dump everything out and start again. I dumped what I knew about Rory: strange exchanges of a carpet, regular trips to Turkey, and expensive tastes, and he’d been on the receiving end of demands from Clarissa. What did I know about Victor? Shady business deals and accusations of fraud. He said he didn’t have “it,” the manuscript.

It looked like Rory was smuggling something from Turkey. I doubted he was doing a land office business in smuggling religious manuscripts. After seeing how often and how regularly he flew in and out of Turkey, I figured the manuscript was an anomaly and drugs were the staple of his smuggled cargo. If Rory was smuggling drugs, maybe Victor was his distributor. It would explain why there wasn’t a lot of art in his gallery; it was a front.

I cranked the heater while I waited for an opening in the traffic flow, then gunned it, which made the heater give off an extra spurt of warm air. We were out of Clairmont in a few seconds. I eased off the accelerator as we zipped through the deserted flat plain around the base. Scrub bushes alternated with clusters of pine trees, which sent long shadows across brown patches of dry grass as the sun sank in the sky. I put my visor down to block the direct sun as it hovered on the edge of the horizon.

After five minutes, the chain-link fence that enclosed Greenly Air Force Base began. Rory slid into the turn lane and I let two cars get between us.

I should call Thistlewait and tell him I’d seen Victor. Victor with Rory. I drove slowly and pulled out my ID card to show at the gate. The light changed. I hit the gas and sent my purse sprawling. My cell phone bounced across the passenger seat and slid down the gap by the door. Rory pulled through the ID checkpoint. I stopped, and a security police officer glanced at my ID and waved me through. I’d have to call Thistlewait when Rory stopped.

But he didn’t stop. Most of the traffic was on the other side of the street as everyone headed home for the day. Rory sped through the streets and I dropped farther back. He turned left at the next light and I knew he was going to the squadron. I hung back until the truck disappeared around a curve. The road to the squadron was long, windy, and empty because the squadron was situated on the flight line in the old alert facility, one of the most remote buildings. I pulled into the squadron’s parking lot as Rory went inside the building.

Where was Victor? I couldn’t see him in the truck, but it had tinted windows. Either Rory had dropped him off or Victor was still in the pickup.

I parked on the far side and fished the phone out of the crevice, pulled up my hood, and headed for the squadron. Despite my hood, my wet hair clung to my head.

I trudged up the incline ramp and opened the inner door. It was quiet until someone shouted, “See you tomorrow,” and a bank of lights down the hall went off. Where would Rory go? His office?

I pushed back my hood and slipped down the hall. The low pile carpet silenced my steps. The door to the Safety Office was closed. A faint silhouette of me showed in the door’s glass panel. I’d gotten the electrocution look after all. My hair was still wet at the scalp, but the ends were dry and stuck out at odd curving angles. Sort of drowned rat meets electric outlet look. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets and tucked my arms into my sides because I felt cold all over.

Now what? Then I heard a faint thud. I went to the stairs and peered down. The lights were on in the Hole, the basement break room. I went down the stairs on tiptoe, but didn’t hear anything else. When I got to the last tier, I squatted down and looked into the doorway. Nothing.

I moved down to the next step, crouched again. I could see Rory behind the bar, pushing and pulling at something. I felt as frozen as the hair on my scalp. I had to move. He was going to come up these stairs. If I didn’t move he might see me before he got to the stairs. He bent down below the bar and I moved before I realized I’d started. I scuttled as quietly as I could down the rest of the stairs and slipped into the alcove under the stairs. Rory crossed the room and didn’t even glance at the doorway. I’d been so cold a few moments ago, but now my heart thumped. I was burning up inside my coat and I felt a sheen of sweat cling to my skin. My head still felt cold. The contrast in temperatures made my head ache.

I edged over to see what Rory was doing. He opened a storage closet at the far end of the room, went inside, and emerged with a rolling suitcase. He came straight toward me. I merged back into the recess below the stairs. Rory pushed down the extendable handle on the suitcase, gripped the other handle attached to the top, then trotted up the stairs. I leaned my head against the chilly cinder block wall. Thank goodness the stairs were solid and not the kind with spaces between the treads. His feet pounded up the steps, sending off echoes that reverberated up and down the stairwell and provided a counterpoint to the banging of my heartbeat.

I waited a little bit to make sure Victor wasn’t going to follow him; then I stood up after the echoes faded. There could be a logical explanation. Maybe Rory had forgotten a suitcase after his last trip? I doubted it. In fact, I’d seen him return from a trip a few days ago and he’d had his suitcase with him. That was the day I’d seen him give Mr. Baseball Cap the rug. Maybe Rory was on his way to another drop.

I sprinted up the stairs, then moved more sedately through the squadron. At the base of the incline to the outer doors, I watched Rory heave the suitcase into his truck and drive away. The parking lot lights had come on in the twilight and highlighted his movements. After the truck disappeared behind another building, I hurried to the Cherokee.

I pushed the heater to high again and followed Rory’s taillights in the growing darkness. I didn’t get close until Rory exited the freeway in Vernon. I dropped back as far and I could, but I didn’t know the residential area in the North Valley and I had to stay fairly close.

Finally, Rory turned a corner and pulled into a driveway next to a tiny yellow frame house, a box on a rock, as Mitch would say. I parked on the street several houses back and waited. Rory pulled the suitcase out as the passenger door opened and Victor stepped out. They walked to the front door and Rory unlocked it. I let out a sigh of relief. They didn’t act like they suspected anyone had followed them. I opened and closed my phone a few times. What about the suitcase? I wanted to know what was in it. What if I was wrong? What if there was nothing in that suitcase but clothes? I couldn’t give Jensen another reason to suspect me. I could picture it now. Thistlewait would call him and Jensen would wonder why I “happened” to run across Victor and Rory. Nope, I couldn’t call Thistlewait yet.

I slipped out of the Cherokee. Literally. My foot hit ice and half my body slid under the Cherokee. Great. Now my jeans were soaked, just like my hair. At least I matched.

I scrambled up. At the end of the driveway stood a mailbox with the name Tyler on it. So this was where Rory lived. I followed a hedge that separated the yellow house from its neighbor. Darkness had descended quickly once the sun was completely down and I was glad for the blackness. At the end of the hedge, I scooted across the backyard to the rear of the house. I inched up to a window with miniblinds. Wow! You really can see through them if they aren’t completely closed. I could see a portion of a wooden table scattered with mail and a set of keys. A jacket hung over the back of a chair.

I eased down the yellow siding to the next window. This one had curtains, but they were open an inch. Light illuminated a narrow strip of window between the panels. I shoved myself between some bushes and felt snow seep through the fabric of my jeans. I was going to need a hot bath after this.

Inside, I could see the corner of a bed. The bed bounced and I shifted around until I saw Rory lean over to unzip the suitcase he’d tossed on the bed. He flipped the top open and pulled out paper-wrapped bundles about the size of his fist. Then he stacked the bundles on the bed and said something. I could hear a muted rumble. Rory nodded his head toward the window. I shrank down just as the chink of light went black, then reilluminated. I watched the strip of light from the window that fell on the snow. After a few seconds, I inched up.

I strained on my tiptoes, but I couldn’t see what was in the bundles. Now Victor had a cardboard box. He opened the bundles and examined them. Then he rewrapped them and placed them in the box. He filled one box, dumped Styrofoam peanuts from a trash bag on the top of the bundles, taped the box closed, then came toward the window again. This time I was ready and ducked for a few beats, then popped up again. Rory must keep the empty boxes near the window. Victor walked back to the suitcase with another empty box.

Rory emptied the suitcase, zipped it closed, and stashed it in the closet on his way out of the room. Victor put the last bundle in the box and upended the peanuts over them, but only three plastic peanuts fell out. Victor crumpled the empty bag and tossed it on the floor, then went to the closet and pulled down a stack of blankets. He tossed a thick electric blanket back on the shelf and kept a blue throw.

I pressed against the yellow siding. That throw! An intricate patchwork of different blue fabrics. And fringe. A one-of-a-kind throw. I watched Victor stuff Penny’s throw in the box, close the flaps, and tape the box shut.

Oh. My. God. Rory had Penny’s throw. I hadn’t seen it at her house since she died. A wave of revulsion washed over me. Thistlewait said Penny had been asphyxiated. Had she been killed with the beautiful throw she loved? But why else would Rory have it? If he wanted to make the crime scene look like an accident and there was something on the throw, like blood or fluid, he’d take it. Will got so drunk after she died he probably didn’t notice it was gone. In fact, I bet he didn’t pay much attention to what was around their house anyway, especially the blankets and throws. I clamped my teeth together and swallowed hard on the awful taste in my throat. I forced myself to move slowly as I backed away from the window. I trotted along the shadow of the hedge, but I hit the sidewalk sprinting.