When Bobbie Sang the Blues (25 page)

W
hen the woman’s voice answered, Christy hesitated, then plunged in. “Hi, my name is Christy Castleman.”

“You’re Bobbie’s niece. She talks about you all the time.”

Christy swallowed. “Yes. I didn’t realize she had friends here.”

Mary Dixon sighed. “She doesn’t have enough friends at a time like this. I’ve been so worried about her. We’ve talked every day. Did she want me to call her now?”

“Actually, no. She just wanted me to ask you about…Did you see her late Monday night?”

“No,” Mary said, “but we talked on the phone for a while. She called me from your parents’ house.”

“Would you tell me about that? I…really need to know so I can understand what Bobbie’s trying to…explain.”

“First, I have to ask what she’s told you about her personal life.”

“You mean with Eddie Bodine?” Christy asked.

“No, I mean personal habits, good or bad.”

“Oh. Are you referring to alcohol?”

“Yes.”

“I know she’s a recovering alcoholic and that she attends AA here,” Christy said.

“That’s right,” Mary said. “And I’m her sponsor.”

Christy shoved a box aside and sat on one of the planks covering the floor. Mary’s words brought tears to her eyes. She realized how much she loved Bobbie and hadn’t wanted to believe her own awful suspicions.

“She came in from her date with Jack on Monday night,” Mary continued, “and sat in your parents’ den, just thinking, I suppose. She called me about eleven forty. I’m a night owl, so she knew I’d still be up. She needed to talk, and I don’t betray a confidence.”

“That’s fine, Ms. Dixon. You don’t have to. She called you at eleven forty from my parents’ home?” Christy questioned, wanting to be sure of the details.

“That’s right,” Mary said. “Their number showed up on my caller ID. I was prepared to go to the police and tell them, but she said her sister heard her come in and could testify that she was home if…this darn case goes to trial.”

“Thank you so much. And by the way, Jack’s a great guy.”

“Yes, I knew from the way Bobbie spoke about him that night. Even though she’s afraid to love again, she’s met someone who gives her hope. I told her one has to be brave in life. My husband is a sailor, and we sail almost every weekend. He once told me the safest place for a boat may be the slip we rent at the marina, but boats weren’t built to stay in a slip. We have to keep trying, keep hoping. That’s what I told Bobbie that night.”

Christy sniffed, suddenly aware of the sounds of the men in the other unit and the fact that she should get back. “Thanks so much,” she said. “I have to run now. You sound like a wonderful friend. I’m glad my aunt knows you.”

“And it’s my pleasure to know her.”

Christy slipped the phone back in her pocket, along with the slip of paper with Mary Dixon’s name on it. She blinked, realizing she was staring at the boxes she and Bobbie had left here last Monday. The tops were open, the contents searched by the police. She hadn’t expected the jack handle to be here, and of course it wasn’t. What else had they taken for evidence? She didn’t touch anything but walked to the back of the unit, leaned down, and looked through the hole.

The movers had stopped for a minute, taking deep gulps of the drinks she had bought them. It was as easy to see into that unit as it had been to look into this one.

The hole was not freshly drilled but had already been there when Panada took the unit. She visualized him kneeling down, peeking through the hole, taking pictures perhaps. But what was there to photograph? Maybe he’d known there was going to be a murder and he was filming it for someone. If the Mafia had hired the men in the black Mercedes, maybe they wanted proof that their henchmen didn’t find the money and pocket it and that Eddie was out of the picture.

It was all that made sense to her, and it led her straight back to Houston Downey and Joe Panada and the comment she had overheard in the restaurant:
“Bodine knew better than
…”

Better than what? Not to pay up? To lie about the money? Both?

She turned around and studied the unit from the back vantage point. The flaps of one of the boxes sagged, and Christy realized some of its contents had been removed.

She peered inside, seeing books and magazines. Why would the police take a book or magazine? She knelt by the box, taking a sip of her energy drink before she capped it. On the top of the box and inside it, she saw more evidence of dusting for fingerprints. Surely they didn’t think her aunt would hide money in a cardboard box and leave it in a storage unit.

Curious, she lifted out the three magazines remaining and looked at the books.
Furniture Refinishing
. She held the book up and shook the pages. Nothing fell out but a fringed bookmark. No money. She laid it down and picked up
Making Old Things New
and repeated the process, shaking hard. This time not even a bookmark fell out. She considered the book on the bottom, the heaviest—but what was she thinking? If there had been money in any of these items, the police would have taken it for evidence. Just in case, she shook the heavy book. Nothing fell out. She read the cover.
Hope for Alcoholics
.

Christy stared at the book, longing to talk to Bobbie, to tell her she knew she was innocent, that she had been framed. She replaced the books and magazines, wondering what was missing.

Wait a minute. She had carried this box in herself. She recalled glancing through the flap on top of the box and seeing a glamorous blonde looking back at her from the cover of a fashion magazine.
She frowned. That fashion magazine on Roseann’s bed…wasn’t there a blonde on the cover? Was she jumping to conclusions? She recalled the lesson she’d learned when she had suspected Tony Panada of being Searcy Jance. Lots of people were buying the new fall fashion magazines, and it made sense Roseann would.

Christy walked back and peered through the hole. The movers were wrestling a cherry armoire against a side wall. The unit was almost full, and she suspected they were finishing up.

She heard Hornsby’s truck pulling in next door. She froze, knowing she shouldn’t be in here. At least she’d pulled the door down. She heard the office door unlock and then the accompanying slam of doors, and she realized how thin the walls were. If only he had been here that night! But of course, he locked his office at five even though the gates remained open until one.

She could hear him on the phone now. With the door closed, the metal unit would soon feel like an oven if she didn’t roll up the door and get some air. She glanced at her watch—ten minutes till five—and wiped away the perspiration gathering on her forehead. Hornsby would leave at five. She’d just have to stay in here until then.

Uncomfortable in the heat, she suddenly thought of Eddie Bodine. What had he gone through before he died? As Hornsby had said, there were no signs of struggle. Eddie must have convinced whoever brought him here that the money was hidden in this unit. And that person had already planned to kill Eddie once the money was located because his system had been filled with the
poisonous mixture of drugs. When there was no vacuum cleaner, that person had become angry, struck him in the head with the jack handle, and shoved him in the pickle barrel. The abundance of alcohol he had drunk worked with the drugs to finish him off.

She stared at the empty spot where the barrel had been. How long had he been in there before he died? No matter what Eddie Bodine had done, he didn’t deserve to die like that.

The cell phone jangled in her pocket, and she opened it quickly before Hornsby could hear. She slipped to the back of the unit where the guys were making a lot of noise on the other side.

“Yes?” An impatient hello, but she had lost her manners in the heat and stress of hiding.

“Christy, it’s Roseann. I thought you were bringing money.”

“I did. But your mother was half-asleep, so I told her I’d come back after these guys finished unloading.”

“Are you moving?” Roseann asked, just as her mother had.

“Just storing some stuff. Well, I’m not actually in that unit. I’m in…the other one.”

“What are you doing there?”

Christy realized Hornsby had stopped talking next door. Had he heard her? “I gotta go. I’ll call you later,” she whispered and hung up.

Hornsby would be leaving in five more minutes. She didn’t want him to catch her here.

“Hey, ma’am.”

Christy whirled to see a big eye on the other side of the hole in
the wall. “We’re ready to go. Could we use your phone? Just got one question for the little lady.”

Nodding, she opened her phone and dialed her aunt, then wedged her cell through the irregular-shaped hole.

“Why are you whispering?” he asked.

“I don’t want the manager to know I’m in this unit. He’s in his office, but he’ll be leaving soon,” she whispered. “Tell Bobbie I’ll be back to the shop in a few minutes.”

He nodded, then spoke into the phone. “Miss Bobbie!” Christy watched his broad back lumber toward the front of the unit as he talked. Then the metal door rolled down.

“Wait!” she called after him as loud as she dared. The men were so tired and rushed, they forgot to return her phone. Well, she’d get it from him as soon as she reached Bobbie’s shop.

She could hear the moving van’s engine fire up and the crunch of gravel as it drove off.

The phone rang in Hornsby’s office.

He answered in his usual tone, and then suddenly his voice changed, and he began yelling. “Listen, Panada, I’ve done enough for you. Don’t expect more.”

At the mention of Panada, Christy rushed back toward the metal wall. Her foot caught the end of a plank and she tripped, grabbing a box to steady herself. A thud echoed across the metal interior. Had he heard her? Her breath jerked in her chest, but she leaned closer to the section of the wall that she thought paralleled his desk.

“You may be a witness in this frame-up,” Hornsby yelled, “but you better plan on getting outta town as soon as they put the noose
around the bombshell’s neck. Those detectives stayed in your unit too long to be looking at an empty unit. I think they got curious about something you left behind.”

There was a momentary silence followed by a loud curse.

“How would I know what it was? You told me you got your stuff out. You never told me to go over and check it out. You must have dropped one of your dirty little videos or one of the props you use filming them.”

Christy cupped her palm over her nose and mouth to muffle a gasp and flurry of short breaths. She pressed her ear against the warm metal wall, straining to hear more.

“Don’t threaten me. You and Joe may be cousins, but you’ve dug a hole for yourself by helping them out. I did what I was paid to do. That’s it.”

She heard the phone slam down, and a string of curses burned her ears. Christy froze against the wall, snatches of his conversation banging in her head. She lined the words up like plot points.

“A witness in this frame-up.”
She looked at the hole in the back wall. Panada was the DA’s ace in the hole.

“Frame-up…Your dirty little videos…You and Joe may be cousins…
”

And the detectives were on to something. Maybe he filmed pornography back here. Maybe he sold pornography to minors.

But what had Hornsby been paid to do? Was he paid by Panada?

Christy thought back to last Monday when she and her aunt drove up to his office. Bobbie had plopped her purse on the counter and left it there while they went next door to examine the
unit. Hornsby had gone back to get the contract while she and Bobbie lingered, sizing up the unit.

Did Hornsby snoop around in Bobbies purse in those few minutes? Did he find the pills and concoct the perfect frame-up as he dumped some in a drawer?

Why would he do that? Had Joe Panada and Houston Downey followed Bobbie and Christy to this unit Monday morning? Had they called Hornsby just when they spotted Bobbie getting out of her truck? Did they tell him Eddie Bodine was chasing her, and Eddie had to die, so find a way to frame Bobbie for his murder?

A quick yet masterful plan. And Joe had Tony on the payroll to be sure things were handled right.

Or was Eddie looking over his shoulder at Hornsby rather than the guys in the Mercedes? Had Hornsby followed Eddie and Roseann across the street to the motel, knocked on the door, and grabbed Eddie while Roseann was in the shower? It would be a simple matter to offer him a drink and tell him he knew about the stolen money. That Bobbie had hidden it in her storage unit and he could take him to it…for a price. The scene unfolded in Christy’s mind like a video on fast forward.

She hunkered down against the wall, gripping the cold drink in her hands.

Would he go around back and see her parked car? Would he come back to this unit and open the door? If he did, she would be trapped. Her eyes flew wildly around the unit. There was nowhere to hide unless she lay behind the boxes. Then she’d have to melt into the concrete floor not to be seen.

Maybe she should just make a break for it, say her aunt had sent her out to retrieve something. But Hornsby had just proven he was sharper than she’d given him credit for. When he heard her come out, he’d suspect she had overheard the conversation. If he was involved with Panada and the others, he wouldn’t let her leave.