Retirement Plan (13 page)

“That we know of,” Redick said.

The lieutenant remarked, “You say you didn’t find the round on the second site. How about the first? Do you have the bullet?”

“We do,” Morgan said.

“Then we need to look at it,” the lieutenant told her. “See if we can get a match.”

Morgan stood. “If we’re all done here, let’s go have a look at the evidence in our vault. The building is a couple of miles east of here.”

The Indiana detectives stood gathering their papers and returning Morgan’s files to her.

Morgan assembled everything else and put it all in her briefcase. When she was at the door, Robert Redick blocked her.

He said, “I need to tell you something.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t
ever
call me ‘Bob’ again.”  

“What would you like for me to call you?”

Through clenched teeth, he said, “Detective Redick.”

For a moment she thought she’d faint from the growing intensity of her headache. She wanted to pop him one, but without comment she squeezed around him to freedom.

Chapter Nine

Lois hadn’t heard from Myrtle since the day Sophie registered her for an Internet dating site. Now a woman with hair the color of gold tinsel was standing next to Myrtle. Her wiry perm, swept up in the back, was held in place by a large green clip. She shed her parka, revealing a short-sleeved, white T-shirt, adorned with the word Pink in sequined letters, pulled tight across her ample breasts. Her bare arms were thick and mottled. They hadn’t even called first.

For a moment no one said anything. Finally, Sophie stepped back and pulled Lois away from the door, to leave room for Myrtle and her friend to enter the living room. Sophie said, “Come in. Come in.”

They stood inside the door, and Myrtle said, “Roxie, this is Lois and Sophie, two of my closest friends.”

Lois was a little surprised by the “closest friends” business, but she extended her hand to shake.

Sophie said, “Come in and sit down. I’ll just get some iced tea.” She met Roxie’s eyes. “You like iced tea?”

“Anything you got.” Roxie’s voice sounded like Kelly Ripa singing Lady Gaga.

“Okay, then.” Sophie went into the kitchen, leaving Lois to entertain this total stranger and Myrtle, the total nut.

Lois needn’t have worried. Roxie seated herself and started talking right away.  “We met through the Internet. I can’t believe my luck.”

“Oh, stop.” Myrtle gave her a playful nudge.

“You wouldn’t believe some of the tramps you find on those sites,” Roxie said. “All they want from a girl is sex. They don’t even want to eat dinner. They just come over and do it and leave. Even the ones who say they want a relationship—boy, you really got to watch out for the ones who say they want a friendship. Things get pretty weird.” She threw one of her thick arms around Myrtle. “I’m glad I didn’t quit before I met this one.”

 “So you have met many others before Myrtle,” Sophie asked, coming toward them with two glasses of tea.

Roxie said, “Geez, so many I lost count.”

Lois stood and headed for the kitchen for the others. Behind her she heard Roxie say, “I guess it’d be fair to say it was more than fifty. I just felt so used. I didn’t even get some of their last names. They never called again.”

In the kitchen, Lois found the two glasses (one with a wedge of lemon the way she liked it) sitting on the table. She stood still for a moment, pressing two fingers to her temple.

She took her time clearing the table, wiping off the counter, and emptying the dishwasher while Roxie’s loud mouth went on and on. She considered cleaning the oven but decided it would be rude to wait much longer. She picked up the tea. When she turned, she found Myrtle standing close behind her.

“Can I help you with anything?”

“No, thanks. I’ve got it.”

“So what do you think?” Myrtle whispered.

Lois shrugged. Roxie’s voice was still booming.

“She is a bit much, isn’t she?”

“A little talkative,” Lois said.

Myrtle sighed. “I know. It’s just that I haven’t had no one for so long.” She flushed. “I wanted you to meet the best prospects and help me decide.”

“How many have you met?”

“Roxie’s the first.”

“So do you or don’t you think Roxie is the one?”

Myrtle shook her head. She leaned close to Lois’s ear and said, “I just wanted to get laid. But Roxie started talking about all the others who only wanted sex, so I thought I could spend a little time with her first.”

“When do you think you’ll make your move?”

“When we leave here, I’ll take her home and walk her to her door and then do it.”

Lois chuckled. “You’ll have to get a word in first.”

“I’ll grab her and kiss her. How can she keep talking if I have my tongue down her throat?”

Lois threw her head back and laughed, then wished Myrtle luck.

Back in the living room, Sophie gave Lois an unpleasant look.

“I don’t get to meet good people much,” Roxie was saying. “I’ve gone to the bar all my life. Bartenders know my drinks—”

Myrtle interrupted her, for that was the only way to say anything. “The bar used to be the only way to meet anyone.”

Roxie nodded. “That is so true. When I was a youngster, I went to the Crone’s Nest every night after work. You remember when it used to be on Main Street—right there by where the Taco Bell is now. It was in the late seventies, I think. Oh, my, I’m telling my age. I met my first lover there. We were together for a couple of years. Then I got with Leslie. She screwed around on me all the time. But, boy, she was hot between the covers, if you know what I mean. But in 1983—”

“Excuse me,” Sophie said. “I’ve got something in the oven.”

Lois stood. “Can I help you, sweetheart?”

“No. I’ve got it. I know you want to talk a little more.”

Lois sat down.

Roxie had started in about Tallulah’s, how she (a drag queen) opened the week before the turn of the century with a big Y2K bash.

“Only youngsters go there now,” Myrtle said.

The next twenty minutes seemed like twenty days. Finally Myrtle stood and said, “We’ll be going. I don’t want to take up you girls’ whole afternoon.”

“You should come over to my place,” Roxie said. “I have a bar in the basement that’s real comfortable. It’s so nice meeting good people. Let’s keep in touch.”

Lois shook Roxie’s hand again. Every finger had a gaudy ring on it and she had a tattoo on her left forearm—Mickey Mouse.

When they closed the door, Sophie said, “Good people.”

“Right,” Lois said. “I was considering going for the M-16 to get her out of here.”

“Did you notice those long fingernails?”

Lois shook her head. “I hope Myrtle isn’t too disappointed.”

“She will be if she was counting on penetration.”

“Maybe she uses dildos. Or her fist.”

Sophie gave her a playful shove. “Miss Burnett,” she said, “remember yourself.”

*

The girl had come to Celia Morning the night after two pickup trucks had hauled the trash and any furniture that wasn’t worth saving away. Celia was sitting in the living room watching a Friday-night late movie and working a crossword puzzle when the tapping on the back door startled her. But as she walked into the kitchen, through the window she saw a small figure.

Celia pulled the door open and said, “Come in. I’ve been expecting you.”

The girl wore a red windbreaker and torn, faded blue jeans. Her long reddish hair was pulled back in a limp ponytail, held in place by a green rubber band. As she walked past Celia, a faint smell of body odor followed her.

“Do you want something to drink? I’ve got soda.”

The girl nodded without meeting Celia’s eyes. Then, as Celia swung the refrigerator door open, the girl said, “You know he’s dead, don’t you?”

Adrenaline shot through Celia, but all she said was, “I have Died Pepsi or Diet Mountain Dew.”

“Pepsi.”

Celia handed the girl a can and asked, “Are you hungry?”

“Will you answer my question?”

“Who’s dead?” Celia stalled while asking herself how the girl knew that about Smallwood.

“Jon Woods, the guy who lived next door.”

“Mr. Smallwood lived next door.”

“Is that what he called himself?”

Celia pulled a jar of peanut butter out of the cabinet and slid the bread box open.   “I didn’t know him well. But I can’t say I’m sorry he’s gone.” She motioned toward the table. “Have a seat. I’ll fix you a snack.”

The girl sat and watched Celia as she prepared the sandwich. The Pepsi can sat on the table unopened.

“My name is Celia Morning. I have a daughter about your age.”

“I’m sixteen,” the girl said.

“Well, Merris isn’t quite that old. You don’t look sixteen.” Celia set the paper plate in front of the girl. “What’s your name?”

“Kitty.” The girl picked up the sandwich, and her dirty fingers contrasted against the white bread. She chewed and swallowed, and before she took a second bite, she said, “Kitty Curry.”

“Nice to meet you.” Celia pulled a chair out across from her and sat down.

The girl ate in silence. When she shoved the last bite into her mouth, she opened the Pepsi and said, “Can I have another?”

Celia stood. The sudden move seemed to startle the girl, but she hurriedly tried to hide her reaction.

As Celia worked, the girl asked, “How well did you know the guy next door?”

Shrugging, she said, “Not very. Why?”

“You seem awfully interested in things over there. If you didn’t know he was dead, you wouldn’t of broke into his house. Neither would I.”

Celia placed the second sandwich in front of the girl and sat down across from her. “Why are you staying there?”

Kitty chewed and swallowed. Then she took a long draw from the Pepsi can and, with her free hand, held up two fingers. “Two reasons.”

Celia waited, watching her.

“First, he was a bad man and I’m glad he’s gone. He can help me more dead than he ever did when he was alive. And, second, I don’t have nowhere else to go.”                   

And that’s how it started. The girl stopped in late at night for food. She sometimes asked for money. She’d sleep on the couch and be gone in the morning, not every night, but more than once a week. Sometimes, not nearly enough, the girl used the shower. Now and then Celia noticed that she took food with her on the way out, but Celia was glad to provide it.

Kitty’s father had known Jon Woods. She’d run away the night Woods was killed.  As time went on, Celia realized that she wanted to tell the girl about the killing, to talk to someone about it. She’d considered confiding in her own mother, but when she tried to imagine that, she’d pulled herself up short. She could never tell anyone—unless it was Kitty, who already believed she’d been involved somehow. What if Kitty went to the police? It hardly seemed likely, but Celia couldn’t risk it. Twice Celia tried to ask the girl where she stayed or what she did during the days that Celia didn’t see her. But Kitty was good at avoiding those questions.

The Morning children didn’t encounter Kitty until school was out for the Easter break. Merris spent most of her time with her nose in a book, and that spring she was working her way through Tolkien. So when Kitty showed up for lunch one day, she barely acknowledged the introduction. The boys seemed curious about her, but accepted that she was a friend of their mother and alternately stayed around her or totally ignored her.

Once Merris did ask, “Why do you let her smoke in the kitchen? You never let Dad do it. What if I smoked? Would you let me?”

“She’s a lot older than you,” Celia answered. “But you know what? I didn’t let Dad smoke in the house because it wasn’t good for any of us. I’ll ask her to go outside.”

That seemed to satisfy Merris. Her well-being had been put before Kitty. After that day, Kitty only smoked outside the house.

One warm night in early June, Celia and Kitty sat on the back steps. Kitty was smoking cigarettes bought with money from Celia. They weren’t talking, just looking at the clear night sky, the almost-full moon, and the stars. The school year had ended and all three kids were home all day. That morning she’d put both boys on the bus to church camp, where they’d be for two weeks.

A realtor had bought the corner house and had been restoring it all spring. Celia remembered the night she’d gone into the house and torn all the pictures off the bedroom wall, then searched the house for more. She’d discovered an old suitcase in the bottom of the closet full of pictures and magazines that made her want to vomit. A laptop computer had disappeared before she could grab it. She thought Kitty might have stolen it and sold it for cash. Whatever happened to it, she hoped the police wouldn’t find it. She’d destroyed all the evidence she’d pulled out of Smallwood’s house in the burning barrel at the back of the lot and covered the stuff with branches she’d cleaned from her yard. She’d had the trash collectors haul off the suitcase. 

Out of a long silence Kitty said, “Looks like you’ll be getting a new neighbor soon.”

Celia nodded.

“Hope you have better luck than last time.”

Celia said, “Don’t see how it could get any worse.”

Kitty tapped a fresh cigarette from her pack and dug in her pocket for a match.   The flame threw crazy shadows across her face. She inhaled and blew smoke out both nostrils. Then she said, “I was there the night he was killed.”

Celia didn’t respond immediately. She tried to imagine the child, streetwise as she was, seeing Jason Smallwood murdered.

Finally Kitty went on. “My father dropped me off there to meet him.”

“Your father—why?”

But Kitty wouldn’t look at her. “Woods paid my father for an hour or two with me. It wasn’t the first time. If Jon Woods had lived, it wouldn’t have been the last. It didn’t matter to me. Sometimes Jon was nice. He bought me cigarettes and sometimes little gifts, jewelry or whatever. I always sold it for drugs. But it was nice of him.”

“Your father let him?” How could a parent let that monster near his daughter? Then she understood. “He sold you to him.”

Kitty nodded.

Celia gasped. “What a sick fuck. How long had that been going on?”