Over Troubled Water: A Hunter Jones Mystery (8 page)

Sunshine had said she would get the locksmith back and have still another set of locks installed so that she would be the one with the keys. She said that if she could get Andy to talk reasonably and sign an agreement about moving out, she’d be fine with his staying there long enough to find a place to rent so she could put the house on the market.

It would all go well, he thought, if Andy would just go on to work. If he did, everything could be done peacefully with plenty of time, and Aaron would be watching again near the Interstate when Andy headed home. He wouldn’t be happy to discover that he couldn’t get in without his sister’s permission, and even though Sunshine had insisted he wasn’t a physically violent person, Sam didn’t plan to take any chances. Sam would be there to moderate any discussions and get him to listen to his sister. Andy’s getting back into the house would depend on his being reasonable. Jeremy Hayes had agreed to help, too.

A side benefit, Sam thought as he poured his coffee, was that he would get an opportunity to see the inside of that house.

India Jackson woke up at her mother’s house. She had been dreaming about her childhood, about her mother in the kitchen cooking and laughing, and China Rose playing with the cats. They always called her China Rose back then, and she was a little girl in the dream, but India herself was grown up. Dreams were funny that way, she thought.

Then reality came flooding back, and she remembered that there were things she had to do: routine things and miserable things.

She needed to go by her day care center and make sure everything was running smoothly. She needed to talk with Rondelle about getting one of China’s best dresses and taking it to the funeral home. She hoped Rondelle could pick the right thing because she just wasn’t up to going out to that house, seeing Russell again, and having him cry again because she “looked like China.”

She didn’t look like China, she thought. China was prettier, especially lately since she had lost the extra pounds and gotten a real beauty parlor hair cut instead of letting her dark curls go in all directions. China was shorter. Her eyes were wider and her features more delicate. And in the last six months, China had also become the slenderer one, the one with more energy, the one who was actually excited about the idea of riding a bicycle for 14 miles first thing in the morning.

And now she was gone – killed by some lunatic with a gun for no conceivable reason.

There was a gentle knock on the door.

“Hey, India,” Martha Mae Wilson said. “Your mother had a good night. I’ve just bathed her and fed her, and she’s gone back to sleep for a while. Why don’t I fix you some breakfast now?”

India had been the first to be told, the one who identified China with one glance before turning away, the one who had to tell their brother Harley. She said a quick prayer of gratitude that she hadn’t had to tell her mother, who didn’t understand much at all anymore and didn’t need to know that her baby girl had been murdered.

“Thank you, Martha Mae,” India said, glancing at her watch as she slid it onto her wrist. “But it’s later than I thought. I need to go over to my place and change clothes, and then I think I’ll just pick up something at R&J’s on my way to the center.”

“When are you going to stop living in two places?” Martha Mae asked.

India didn’t have an answer yet. She had sent her longtime boyfriend Charlie Mayo packing six months earlier. The apartment had never felt permanent, but she needed a space of her own, even if she wound up spending every other night at her mother’s home.

Taneesha was lying awake for a precious few minutes, enjoying every light-filled modern detail of the apartment she and Jeremy were renting until they decided whether to buy or build.

Every house she had lived in before had been old, “with character”, and – from her point of view – over decorated and old-fashioned. She liked the simple, clean lines and white walls of the apartment, the sliding glass doors that led to the patio where they could now have their morning coffee. The kitchen was too small, she thought, but she could live with it.

She smelled coffee brewing and as she got out of bed, the events of the last two days took over her thoughts again.

Aaron was in his truck, having his coffee from a foam cup. He had finished his second ham biscuit when he saw Andy Chapman coming from the back of his house heading for the Volvo in the cobblestone driveway.

Andy was a big man, almost as tall as Sam Bailey, but carrying a lot more weight. He was wearing a short-sleeved blue dress shirt with gray slacks that were belted under his belly. Aaron grinned. The man he had under surveillance was in work clothes.

After following the Volvo for five minutes and seeing it pass the city limits sign, heading northeast, he called Sam.

“Looks like our guy’s on his way to work,” he said.

Rondelle Carson was eating cereal at the kitchen table with her brother. She had just told him about hiding his guns, and he was angry.

“I was worried about you,” she said, “And you’re not getting them back just yet either. Skeet’s already taken a look at them. The killer used an assault rifle, so they’re not interested in your hunting guns.”

“I want them back,” Russell said. “And I don’t appreciate you giving them the idea you thought I’d be crazy enough to do something to myself.”

“I did what I thought best,” Rondelle said matter-of-factly. “It’s not about being crazy. I’ve known of more than one normal person who did something like that when they were all worked up. A gun just makes it too easy. Now you need to clean up and put on some other clothes because we’ve got to go to the funeral home this morning and make arrangements.”

Russell shuddered.

“Don’t get that way now,” Rondelle said. “It’s not going to take that long, and you need to let me handle it, but you have to sign things. You know how they are about getting the most money they can. I’ve already been coordinating with India about the funeral plans. She says they’d like for the funeral to be at their church. You don’t mind, do you?”

“I don’t care about anything anymore,” Russell said.

“Well, you’d better be caring about making a living by Monday,” Rondelle said matter-of-factly, “Because I’ve made appointments for you, and you’re going to start losing customers if you don’t. Once we get past the funeral on Saturday, and you rest on Sunday, it’ll do you good to be working.”

At Clearview Circle, the locksmith barely glanced at the copy of the will, which Sunshine had ready for him to see. The sheriff’s being there was sufficient for him. When she had called him and mentioned getting in through a window, he had assured her that he could pick the lock. So, first he was to get them into the house, and then he was to change the new locks on the back and front doors to still newer locks.

He got out a set of small tools and had the back lock open in less than a minute. Then he set about making more money from the Chapman family while Sam, Bub Williston, and Sunshine went into the kitchen.

“Isn’t this retro?” Sunshine asked Sam. “Last remodeled in the 1970s, I think.”

Sam noticed that it was big and sunny.

Sunshine opened the refrigerator door.

“Root vegetables,” she said, her voice sounding tender. “Tofu. Lentils. Kale. That’s my mom. Oh, and all these casseroles. Looks like Andy’s been eating them right out of the pans.”

“As long as we’re here, we’d like to see the rooms your brother’s using,” Sam said when they reached the front hall.

“You’re not investigating him, are you?” she asked, almost as if it were a joke.

“We have to rule him out,” Sam said. “And once we get him settled down, we’ll be getting a statement from him.”

“I suppose you have to,” she said with a sigh, “But Andy’s just all mouth, Sheriff. He’d never hurt anybody. Certainly not Mom.”

Sam barely heard her. He was looking at the way the light poured through the stained glass transom over the front door. He was seeing how beautifully made the staircase was, with wide safe steps and a banister that a child could slide down.

“I’ll show you his rooms,” she said, as they started upstairs, “And then I’m going to make sure I’ve got the clothes for Mom in my car in case Andy turns around for some reason.”

Upstairs, in the big central hall, she pointed the way to two doors on one side.

“He was pretty much living in those two rooms the last time I was here,” she said. “Mom let him have the master bedroom after our father died. It’s got its own bathroom. The room next to it was the nursery when we were babies.”

The big bedroom, to Sam’s surprise, was meticulously neat. Andy Chapman had even made his bed before locking everybody out. Everything was in order, including the shoes in his closet. He had a large TV screen in one corner, set up so that he could watch from his bed and an air conditioning unit in one of the tall windows. It was a big corner room with dark woodwork and heavy drapes.

“Looks like he’s neat. Was he in the military?” Bub asked, sliding open one dresser drawer after another, only to see more neatly folded clothes.

“Don’t think so,” Sam said, doubting that Andy Chapman would have been accepted if he’d tried. He opened the bathroom door to see more meticulous order. “Let’s check the other room.”

“Uh Oh!” Bub said when he got there first. “He’s got an outside lock on this one. Guess he didn’t want his mommy coming in.”

“Sunshine,” Sam called out. “Is it all right with you if we get into this room? He’s locked it from the outside for some reason.”

“Go ahead,” she said. “I’m trying to pick something out for Mom.”

Sam called down to the locksmith.

“I put this one in two or three months ago,” he said when he saw it. “There wasn’t anybody here but him when I did it.”

“Why’d he want it locked up,” Bub asked, “What’s in here?”

“Wasn’t anything but a computer set-up when I put this lock on,” he said, “You sure it’s OK for me to do this?”

“It’s no problem,” Sam said. “He doesn’t own this house, and he wasn’t renting.”

The locksmith shrugged and went to work. When the lock-picking was done, he turned the doorknob and opened the door. The room was dark.

“Done,” the locksmith said. “I don’t want to be here if that guy comes back. I’m going to finish up the front door. Tell Ms. Chapman I’ll leave the new keys on the dining room table and send her a bill.”

“Okay,” Sam said, as Bub stepped into the room and reached his hand around to feel for a light switch.

He found one and turned on the light. He and Sam stood there silently, staring.

The room had been dark because the one window had a dark green blanket nailed over it. It was smaller than Andy’s bedroom, with faded yellow striped wallpaper in a pattern that would have been right for a nursery. A computer desk with shelves covered half of one wall. There was an apartment sized refrigerator with half a dozen empty beer cans sitting on top of it. An old bathrobe hung over the back of the computer chair.

On the wall, neatly hung on a rack, was an assault rifle.

“AK 47,” Bub said.

“Don’t touch anything,” Sam said to Bub. “I need the crime techs for this.”

“What’s he got in there?” Sunshine asked, coming down the hall with one of her mother’s dresses on a coat hanger.

Sam put his hands on both her shoulders and gently stopped her.

“This might be a shock,” he said.

“Let me see what my idiot brother’s done now.”

“Don’t go inside,” Sam said. “Don’t touch anything. Just look from the door.”

Sunshine Chapman looked into the room long enough to take it in.

She turned to Sam, wide-eyed, and asked him, “Is that a real gun?”

“Looks like it,” Sam said.

“I’ve got what I need, and I’m going back over to Hilliard House,” she said, her voice breaking. “So would you please lock up when you’re done here?”

“Yes, we will,” Sam said just as politely, noticing how pale she had become. “And we’ll bring you your new keys when we’re done here. Deputy Williston is going to walk down the stairs with you and drive you back to Hilliard House. We’ll get your car back to you.”

He gave a quick prayer of thanks that Bub could turn her over to the Robin Hilliard and Colin Fletcher, who could always be counted on for kindness.

Sam stood at the door, made some quick phone calls and then he turned his attention back to the room he was guarding.

The wallpaper had little yellow ducks on it and brown bunnies on it. They were beating drums and blowing horns. If he averted his eyes from the gun, he could almost imagine the sunny nursery that was there years before. Almost…

Sunshine Chapman hadn’t planned to tell Robin Hilliard and Colin Fletcher about the gun, but there was something about the two of them that just encouraged the sharing of bad news.

“Tea?” Colin asked when he saw the look on her face. “Or bourbon?”

“She didn’t eat a thing for breakfast,” Robin said. “How about some of our special oatmeal, Sunshine? Colin makes it with chopped apples and pecans?”

“Sounds like something my mother would eat,” she said. “Fine. I’d like that. I guess I am hungry.”

“So you got into the house?” Colin asked, knowing perfectly well she had, since she had come back in carrying two of her mother’s dresses.