Darkling I Listen (43 page)

It's just a phone,
she reminded herself.
Creepy isn't contagious.

Sitting on the bed, she stared down at the phone, reluctantly reached for it. Just a phone. That's all. Samsung. Sprint. Worked just like every other cell phone. She flipped it open, punched the Power button, and waited for it to bleep at her with a green light in the small display window.

READY
winked up at her.

She pressed the Recall button.

A number flashed-up. Henry's number. Called at seven-fifteen that morning.

I'm afraid something dreadful has happened. We got a call around seven. From the Emergency Clinic. Someone said you and Mr. Brandon had been in an accident—that you were both critical and
were
being airlifted to Tyler General. Mr. Henry left for the clinic immediately.

We got a call around seven…

The motel phone rang.

"I finally got through to Fred," Mildred said. "He's in
Cancun
and won't be home until Friday. There won't be a problem accessing the files. He keeps everything on record for seven years. One big glitch. He won't cooperate unless he speaks to
Brandon
first. He'll give him a call tomorrow. Now before you panic, Alyson, I've told him everything, and he understands the seriousness of the situation. Fred is as slick as bat guano. He could ream Betty up the backside with a jackhammer and she'd think he was making sweet love to her. Try to get some rest, kiddo. I've got a hunch you're going to need it."

"I've got a hunch you're right," Alyson said, looking down at Betty's phone.

*

Alyson called the Texas Medical Board the next morning. Betty Wilson had applied for and received her
Texas
license
seven months ago—shortly after
Brandon
returned to Ticky Creek, Mildred pointed out. Alyson followed up with a phone call to the Kansas Medical Board. Records indicated that Betty had worked at
Kansas City
Memorial
Hospital
for ten years, up until two months before she relocated to
Texas
.

"Well, that's that," Mildred declared as they drove to the funeral home to pay their respects to Henry. "Betty might be creepy, but she's obviously legit. It's like I said; she's become too involved in the Carlyles' lives. You've said yourself that they treat her like family; it's obviously gone to her head."

"But what about the phone call? Made to Henry's farm from her cell phone around the same time she said she got that bogus call from the clinic."

"Maybe she ran to the Sack-It-Quick or something—called Henry to make sure they had enough grape jelly for breakfast. She arrived back at the farm just as Anticipating called."

"That could be disproved by checking phone records, couldn't it? There'd be two calls on record; one from her, one from Anticipating."

"Law enforcement will have to get a warrant to check those records. And to do that, she'll have to be considered a suspect. They have to have a legitimate reason for prying into someone's personal business. This isn't exactly a police state, you know."

"Have you heard back from Fred Wolff? Was he able to reach
Brandon
?"

"Haven't heard. Fred's good and he's thorough, but he's not the best communicator in the world. Besides, the man is in
Cancun
."

Alyson shook her head. "Something just isn't right with Betty. I've felt it all along. I've got
a
uncanny ability to sniff out rotten character, and I'm telling you, something very mendacious is lurking under that woman's facade. My skin crawls when I'm within twenty feet of her."

Mildred pulled the car into the Roselawn Funeral Home parking lot. The lot was full, and Mildred was forced to park on the street. Nervousness and despair rolled over in Alyson's chest as they walked up the sidewalk and through the front doors. Clusters of people crowded the corridor, conversations muted, expressions
…
expressionless. A man approached and, extending one cold hand, he said, "I assume you're here to see Henry Carlyle. The first sanctuary on your right. The funeral is at ten in the morning. A short service here, another at graveside." He turned and walked away.

"What do I say to
Brandon
?" Alyson blinked the rise of tears from her eyes. "I want to hold him—comfort him, not chitchat."

"Main thing is to see if he's keeping it together." Mildred caught her arm. "Let's get this show on the road. God, I hate funeral homes. When I die, I'm donating my whole freaking body to science. If there's anything left of me when they get done plucking my bones, I hope they grind me up and make fingernail polish or something."

"Harlot Red," Alyson said with an unsteady grin.

Mildred made a sound and headed down the corridor, Alyson trailing. She recognized most of the faces
who
turned to watch her. Janet from the Dime A Cup. The good old boys from Red Neck Feed. Several couples she recalled from the
River Road
but couldn't remember their names.

Giant, fragrant wreaths of roses, carnations, and lilies flanked the open coffin. Alyson fell back, a crush of emotion pressing on her chest. Mildred looked around, her face suddenly looking its fifty-odd years. She extended one hand toward Alyson. "We'll do this together," she said.

They clasped hands.

Alyson's heart raced, and her legs became lead.

They moved together to the coffin.

Henry rested within a cloud of blue satin, looking very distinguished in his navy blue suit.

Alyson thought she'd prepared herself. Then she realized, just as she had realized that blinding-bright summer morning when she first viewed her grandmother tucked into her Forever Rest
container, that there could be no preparation for this.

A
sob
climbed her throat. She pressed her hand
to her mouth and experienced a sweep of anguish and anger that made her head feel as if it would burst.

Someone slid an arm around her. She looked around, into Ruth Threadgill's bloodshot eyes.

Ruth tucked a Kleenex into Alyson's fist and smiled. "There just ain't no words to lighten the moment, is there? But I'll say this; Henry was a good, good man. He led a Christian life and he loved his family. Bernice and Brandon were his whole world.
Him
and Bernie had somethin' real special together. There weren't a one of us in Ticky Creek who didn't look at their union with a touch of envy. He just ain't been the same without her. He died a little more each day that he had to watch her fade away. If there's any justice in what's happened here, maybe it's in God's takin' him now as opposed to later. At least this way he
don't
have to watch her suffer no more. An' he won't have to suffer without her."

"I wish I'd known him longer," Alyson whispered. "I feel
…
robbed."

"His passin' is gonna leave a big empty space in our lives, that's for sure."

Alyson looked around. Her gaze slid over the milling visitors.

"He ain't here," Ruth said more quietly, and reached for another tissue. She blew her nose, gave a sniff, and shook her head. "Mr. Reed, the funeral director, says
Brandon
ain't been up yet. Ever'one's a bit shocked, considerin' how close they
was
an' all."

Mildred muttered a curse and walked away.

Alyson felt her face go cold, as if every ounce of blood had drained from her head and pooled in her legs.

Ruth noticed, and took Alyson's arm in her hand. "He's fine, Hon. I seen him this mornin'. Most of us here had a run by. You know, dropped off food and whatnot. I fried up a chicken and took it over. Janet dropped off a ham, I believe, and a pound cake."

"How did he look?" Alyson asked.

"Rough, of course, but that's to be expected. I'd say he was holdin' up pretty well. Kept to
himself
, mostly. Stayed close to Bernie. You know how it is. She's all he's got now…
"
Her voice trailed off as she studied Alyson.

"What about Betty?" Alyson did her best to keep the concern from her voice, and the suspicion.

"Warm. Hospitable. Sad. Fluttered between Bernie and Brandon like a mother hen. Thank God
Brandon
's got her, right? Then again, maybe
Brandon
will see Bernie into a rest home now that Henry's gone. Never made much sense to any of us that Henry would want the responsibility of carin' for such an invalid. But that was Henry for you." Ruth smiled down at Henry and gave a quick soft sob. She patted Henry's folded hand like it was a child's. "Bless his heart, took his vows seriously, right to the end. Until death do us
part.
" With a hiccup of emotion, Ruth turned on her heel and hurried away.

Dear God, if she didn't get out of here immediately, she was going to totally humiliate herself.

Alyson found Mildred in the hallway, smoking and pacing. By the time they got back to the car, dusk had fallen. "Drive to
Brandon
's," Alyson said. Mildred nodded, as if she were contemplating the trip already. They made the drive in silence.

Deputy Conroy sat in his patrol car outside the farm's security gate. As Mildred pulled into the drive and stopped, Conroy climbed out of his car and ambled to them, shoulders hunched from the cold, hat nudged back from his forehead. Bending, he smiled at them through the window.

"Ladies, y'all doin' all right tonight?"

"Right as rain." Mildred pointed to the house. "We've come to pay our respects to Mr. Carlyle."

Conroy smiled at Alyson. Only it wasn't a smile, exactly. More like a wince. "Sorry, but Mr. Carlyle ain't seein' nobody right now. He's gone into seclusion. You understand."

Mildred thumbed at Alyson. "This is his fiancée. I'm thinking he'll want to see her."

Conroy shook his head and averted his eyes. "That ain't the way I hear it, ma'am. I was told not to let anyone disturb
Brandon
this evening. Especially either of you."

"
Brandon
tell
you that, or did Betty?" Mildred demanded, tapping her long red nails impatiently on the steering wheel.

"Well
…
Betty. But she said it was
Brandon
's request."

Alyson, leaning over Mildred, looked hard into Conroy's face. "Have you actually seen or spoken to
Brandon
yourself?"

"I didn't come on duty til three this afternoon, but I seen him walk down to the barn just before dusk."

"He hasn't been to the funeral home," Mildred declared, exasperated. "Don't you think that's a bit odd?"

He shrugged. "Not really, under the circumstances. If there's someone out there intent on doing him some harm, holed up in his house is probably the best."

"Unless he's holed up in the house with Anticipating," Mildred blurted.

Conroy raised his eyebrows. "You mean Betty? You're joking, right?" He rubbed his stomach. "'Bout all Betty's guilty of is overindulging us. She brung me enough food for dinner to feed an army."

"Is that so?" Mildred laughed. "I'm glad to know the price of buying off law enforcement in Ticky Creek is cheap as a plate of fried chicken and pound cake."

Alyson grimaced.

Conroy frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Any of you yeehaws down at the sheriff's office run a background check on Betty Wilson? Like where was she the night this place was vandalized? Maybe checked out her apartment for a stolen Oscar—"

"She was at home Halloween night, and we don't go bulldozing into people's homes around here without a good reason. This ain't
Law and Order,
ya know."

"I'd say burglarizing and vandalism is a damn good reason, Deputy. And how do you know she was home Halloween night? Because she said so?"

"Well
…
yes. Hell, Betty ain't got
no
motive to hurt the Carlyles. You got to have a motive—"

"Look, Barney, where I come from everyone is guilty until proven innocent. She has access in and out of this place—"

"That back gate was open. If she wanted in, all she'd have had to do is drive right through."

"Well, duh." Mildred bumped her forehead with her fist. "It doesn't take an Einstein to figure she wouldn't be that stupid. Why don't we just take a little ride over to her place and check it out? Might be a little more productive than sitting here in the dark and burping up the onion you must have eaten with that fried chicken—"

"Mildred!" Alyson slapped Mildred's arm, making Mildred glare at her.

"Honey, we don't get what we want in my business by mollycoddling sluggards and idiots."

Deputy Conroy's eyes
narrowed,
and he cleared his throat. "Code of Criminal Procedure, Article 18.01, Sections B and C. No search warrant shall be issued for any purpose in this state unless sufficient facts are first presented to satisfy the issuing magistrate that probable cause does in fact exist for its issuance.