Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder (15 page)

Jo’s heart raced. The taller guy Stephen described could certainly be John. “If you saw a picture of the tall man, do you think you’d recognize him?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Would you mind coming inside with me? I have a picture.”

Stephen looked eager and uncomfortable at the same time. “You know, it’s late and Max here is getting antsy. Can we do this in the morning?”

Jo was at the end of her rope. She briefly thought about arresting him for failure to assist in a case, but she knew that was desperation whispering in her ear.

Jo took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I really need to make sure my friend is all right. It’ll only take a moment. It could make a huge difference.”

Stephen blew out a heavy sigh. He said, “Oh, okay. But just for a sec.” He bent over to pick up Max and followed Jo into the house.

Jo grabbed the picture of John and herself which had been taken in front of the Captain James Landing restaurant in Baltimore’s Inner Harbor the previous spring. They were sitting on the deck, with a huge plate of steamed crabs piled in front of them. John’s nose was peeling from a day out on the boat, and both of them grinned from ear to ear as they sat close together.

She walked back to where Stephen stood in the doorway with his dog. “This is my friend, John. Could this be the man you saw stumbling as the other guy helped him into the cab?”

Stephen took the photo out of Jo’s hands, studying it carefully. A double frown line formed above the bridge of his nose, and Jo saw a muscle bunch along his jaw line.

When he didn’t say anything, Jo prompted him, “Stephen, do you recognize him?”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess it could be him. I didn’t get a really good look.” He tried to return the photo back to Jo, but she ignored his gesture and he held the photo awkwardly in his hands.

“Did it look as if the other man was forcing him in any way?”

He cocked his head to one side. “What do you mean?”

“Did you have reason to believe he was being dragged to the cab against his will? Did you see any evidence of a weapon of any kind?”

“No, nothing like that. They looked pretty chummy, as far as I could tell.”

“Do you remember anything specific about the cab? The name of the taxi company, the color of the vehicle … anything at all would be helpful.”

“No, I didn’t give it much thought. I guess it might not have even been a cab at all, now that I think about it. I had the impression since it was idling by the curb, so I assumed it was a taxi.”

Stephen looked down again at the photo. Jo saw he gripped the frame tightly in his hands, until his knuckles showed white. His voice was cold as he held up the photo. “You’re pretty happy with him in that picture. Looks like more than just a friend to me.”

He shoved the photo back to her and said, “Your friend really should be more careful. Never know what sort of person you are going to run into in the dark.”

Jo sucked in a breath and she felt a chill run its finger down her spine. “What do you mean by that? Did you see something else I should know about?” She grabbed his shirt as he turned to go.

Stephen pulled from her grasp and bent down to pick up Max, who had been yanking on his leash and was barking madly. Jo realized the dog probably had picked up Cleo’s scent. The terrier wriggled in Stephen’s arms, ready to hunt down his prey. Stephen ignored the dog and said, “I think maybe I was mistaken about seeing your friend. It was dark and it could have been anybody out there. Look, it’s late. I need to be getting home.”

He turned around and let himself out the front door, not bothering to close it behind him. Jo fought the urge to run after him; she knew he wouldn’t tell her anything more tonight. But she was just as certain he saw more than he was telling her.

Jo walked over and closed the door. She wasn’t sure what to think of Stephen’s behavior. Would he lie about what he saw?

When she came back into the den, she heard the plaintive meows of her cat coming from upstairs. She ran up the stairs and found Cleo huddled beneath her bed. She cautiously reached under the bedskirt and scooped the kitten out, pulling her into her chest.

Jo could feel the small body shaking against her. She rubbed the cat’s ears and murmured, “Did Max’s barking scare you? It’s okay now.”

But as Jo thought about John, she wondered if she was saying that for Cleo’s benefit or for her own.

Chapter Twenty-One

Turners Bend

Thankgsgiving

Chip spent his second Thanksgiving at Iver and Mabel’s house. This year the guest list was expanded to include Jane’s children, who had spent the holiday last year with their father, and Lance.

Chip gazed out Mabel’s kitchen window and watched Lance getting Iver’s full litany, verse and chorus, praising deep-fried turkey. Last year that guy had been him. A lot had changed since then. He was feeling like leftover turkey or worse, Tofurkey … soybean curd pressed into a mold … doesn’t look like turkey, doesn’t taste like turkey.

As Mabel and Jane busied themselves in the kitchen with all the side dishes and pies, and Sven and Ingrid sat in the living room watching football, Chip reminisced to the women.

“Gosh, it was just about this time last year that Honey had eight puppies right here in this kitchen, and the last one was Runt. Hard to believe that eighty-five-pound boy once weighed just a few ounces. They grow up too fast.”

Jane took a taste of the gravy she was stirring and added some black pepper. “That’s the same thing I say about Ingrid and Sven. Just yesterday they were babies and now they’re almost adults.” She sighed wistfully.

Chip thought about Honey, Runt’s mother, the stray who had arrived at his door one stormy night and never left. “How old do you think Honey is, Jane?”

“Hard to tell exactly, Chip, but I’d guess she is seven or eight. Why do you ask?”

“She just hasn’t been herself lately. Doesn’t want to play. Kind of off her feed.”

Jane moved on to the potatoes. She started mashing them by hand, using Mabel’s old-fashioned masher with a wooden handle. She stopped to add a dollop of sour cream. “I better have a look at her. I can come by on my way home tonight and check her over. Sven and Ingrid are going to a youth event at First Lutheran this evening, so I’ll have to drop them off first,” she said, as she added a chunk of butter to the potatoes.

The idea of having Jane to himself elated Chip. His thoughts went right to their previous sexual romps, the first being the time she had come to the house to de-worm Runt and ended up in his bed. He felt better with each sip of the Pinot Grigio he was nursing, even though it was far too sweet for his liking. He knew full-well Jane’s visit may not be a repeat of previous magical evenings, but just to have Jane alone, no kids, no Lance, would be a step in the right direction.

Watching Lance charm all three ladies during dinner punched a hole in his happiness balloon. Lance was funny and sweet and flirtatious in turn. Mabel was calling him “my dear boy” and Jane was forever touching him. When Lance complimented Ingrid on her hair, she blushed and demurely thanked him. It was obvious to Chip that she was thunder-struck by his attention. Chip tried to derail his nemesis.

“What do you hear from Lucinda, Lance? She said you might be spending Christmas in New York with her. Sounds pretty serious to me.”

“Yes, Lucinda is a lovely woman, but Turners Bend has no lack of lovely females, as I’m sure you have found,” said Lance, gesturing to the three women around the table and winking at Jane in particular.

Chip had to admit to himself that Lance was as smooth as honey on a hot biscuit. The guy was acting way too much like Dr. John Goodman, his dashing hero. I could learn to hate both of them … Lance and Goodman.

* * *

Chip arrived home and quickly picked up dirty laundry, made the bed and cleaned out the litter box before Jane was due to arrive after dropping off her kids at church. He surveyed the living room, shooed the animals off the furniture, dimmed the lights and put Ella Fitzgerald in his i-Pod dock. Hearing Ella’s lilting intro to “Dedicated to You” quelled his nerves. He looked around, it wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

Jane arrived carrying her medical bag. She called Honey to the kitchen and looked in the golden retriever’s eyes and ears. She ran her hands along the dog’s back and underside, all the while asking questions about the dog’s energy, food, elimination, and sleep. Honey was compliant and wagged her tail in response to Jane’s gentle touch and soothing words, as she repeatedly palpated her abdomen.

“Good girl, Honey. You can go lie down now,” Jane said, as she finished her exam. “Let’s sit in the living room a minute, Chip.”

They settled themselves on the couch. It had been a halfway decent piece of furniture before the dogs appropriated it for their daytime naps. Now it was snagged and dirty and covered with animal hair.

“I’m sorry about all the pet hair. I just can’t seem to keep up on it. It’s everywhere. I guess I could get one of those special pet hair attachments for the vacuum cleaner. That is, if I had a vacuum cleaner.”

Jane did not laugh. Instead she had a grave look on her face, as she reached out and took Chip’s hand. She looked directly in his eyes and did not sugar-coat her findings. “I felt a mass in Honey’s belly, a rather large one. I’m sorry, Chip, I think it’s on her liver. I can’t be sure without further tests, but I can tell you it may not be good, but then again it could be benign.”

Chip felt like the air was being sucked out of his lungs, he couldn’t speak or swallow, and there was an odd ringing in his head. Jane put her arm around his shoulders and gave him time to absorb the news.

“I deal with this all the time, but it never gets easier. Pets become like family members. I even see it with farm animals. People love their animals and seeing them sick or losing them is sometimes harder than losing a human friend. I promise I’ll do all that I can for her. Bring her into the clinic tomorrow.”

“Jane, I …” He couldn’t go on, tears started to blur his vision and a lump gathered at the back of his throat. Jane held him, gently rocking until he quieted. Then she kissed him lightly on the cheek, slowly rose, gathered her supplies and prepared to leave.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Chip. In the meantime, try to get some sleep.”

* * *

Sleep eluded him. He lifted Honey onto his bed, whereupon both Runt and Callie joined them. The three animals slept soundly. Runt nipped in his sleep, Chip assumed he was dreaming about chasing rabbits. Callie curled up near the top of his head, her usual spot. Finally about 3:00 a.m. he maneuvered himself out of bed without unduly disturbing the animals and went into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of orange juice and stared at the diagram on his refrigerator without really seeing it. His mind was on Honey, when another thought jumped to the forefront of his consciousness.

“Iowa,” he whispered. “It’s a map of Iowa.”

He wondered how many times he had looked at the diagram and not seen the obvious. It was roughly the shape of the state of Iowa with five locations; each marked with an X. He had never been so sure of anything in his life. It was exciting and scary at the same time … five locations around the state.
Does this mean five bodies?

He called Fredrickson’s number, got his voice mail and left a message about his theory. Then his mind wandered to the body count in
Mind Games
.
How many bodies should I pile up in my story? One never seems enough in a good crime story.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Mind Games

Minneapolis & Brooklyn Center, Minnesota

Early August

Jo woke with a start when Cleo walked across her legs, sharp claws demanding attention. Her head pounded in the rhythm of her heartbeat. She was sprawled across the couch in her den, the notes and plans she had made throughout the night scattered across the coffee table. The temporary relief she felt at the realization she had been dreaming evaporated when she remembered John was still missing.

She swiped a hand across gritty eyes, and blinked a few times. To locate anyone who might have a record of picking up John at her house, Jo had spent the better part of the night calling all of the major cab companies in the Twin Cities and the surrounding suburbs, beginning with AA Airport Taxi. Around 3:00 a.m. she found the cab company who brought John from the airport to her door, but no indication anyone else had driven him after that. After finishing up with Zipp Taxi, she started in on the list of hospitals. Absolutely no sign of John, as if he had ceased to exist.

She looked at her notes, trying to clear the cobwebs from her sleep-deprived brain. Her analytical mind kicked in and she began plotting her strategy. An hour later, she leaned back against the sofa, her neck stiff.
Why does it feel like Stephen sent me on a wild goose chase?
Jo intended to have another little chat with him later this morning, but first she had other business to attend to.

Jo glanced down at her watch. 6:00 a.m. She dug under the pile of papers in front of her and located her cell phone. She stared at it for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to call John’s office. Jo had met Sally, John’s office manager, at a hospital function and felt an immediate connection to the older woman. Sally loved John like a son, and Jo sensed there were few things that escaped Sally’s notice when it came to her boss. Jo finally dialed the phone number for his office.

As she waited for a response, she padded into the kitchen when Cleo meowed impatiently. Jo wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder, reaching up into a cabinet to grab a can of cat food. A voice across the miles answered, “Neurosurgeon Specialists. How may I direct your call?”

“Good morning. This is Jo Schwann. I’d like to speak to Sally Townsend, please.”

“One moment.” Jo thought about what she would say to Sally. She needed to find out about John’s plans, but she wanted to avoid alarming his office manager until she knew more.