Too Big To Miss (23 page)

    I didn't believe that for a minute. "What does her son have to do with anything?"
    "I just want to know how to reach him, that's all." She purred the words sweetly, almost slipping into her phony Southern accent in an attempt to sway me. For a moment, I got a glimpse of the Glo Kendall we all knew.
    "If Sophie wouldn't tell you, why should I?" My voice was getting thick. I cleared my throat. "That's what happened, isn't it? Sophie wouldn't tell you anything about her son. She knew you were going to hurt him, maybe even kill him. But why?"
    "We asked her nicely, Odelia, we really did," she explained, ignoring my question. "But she wouldn't talk." Evil Glo smirked. "She even tried to deny she had a son. Finally, we just had to threaten her. When she pulled her gun on us, we had to let her know we meant business. Blaine didn't just tell her what we were going to do to the boy, he told her what we were going to do to her to make her talk. That's when the stupid bitch shot herself."
    
So
, I thought to myself, for the second and final time,
Sophie killed herself to protect Robbie.
I felt tears sting my eyes and clutched my searing shoulder, but it wasn't my physical pain making me cry.
    "So, Odelia, tell me about John and Sophie's son and I'll let you go," Glo said, sweet as pie. "Otherwise, you'll just have to join Sophie. The two of you can shop the big mall in the sky together." She laughed.
    "This time, Glo, everyone will know it's murder," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "There'll be no doubt."
    She adjusted her grip on the gun and took aim.
    "But why, Glo?" I asked in earnest. "Sophie only wanted to help you." Soon it wouldn't matter why, but I needed to buy some time.
    "An eye for an eye, Odelia. It's as simple as that."
    "Revenge?" I moved my foot slightly, shifting my weight from one leg to another. My shoulder still hurt, but I was beginning to get used to it. "This is about revenge? What did Sophie ever do to you, except help you?"
    "Sophie never did anything to me. She was just plain stupid, a casualty of war, you might say."
    "Like the security guy?"
    She shrugged. "Hey, Glenn Thomas had already killed for John Hollowell, so why not for someone else?"
    I looked at her incredulously. "You made Glenn Thomas kill Danny Ortiz? But how?"
    Bad Glo grinned. "It was easier than you think. You see, I know all about John Hollowell's evil deeds, even those from twenty years ago. I know who, what, when and where...everything but where his son is."
    My brain shushed the pain in my arm so it could think. Suddenly, a piece of the puzzle, the piece lost on the floor under the table, was found. The bracelet...a silver bracelet with the initials BS...could mean Bonnie Sheffley. They sure didn't stand for Gloria Kendall and I quickly ruled out bull shit. But Glo couldn't be Bonnie. She wasn't old enough.
    "How do you know Bonnie Sheffley, Glo?" I asked, forgetting the gun and looking straight into her eyes.
    She looked straight back, her eyes as hollow and cold as the end of the gun pointing at me.
    "Bonnie Sheffley was my mother."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

ALTHOUGH I HALF-EXPECTED her to say that, the shock of actually hearing it nearly knocked me off my feet. I staggered back a few steps.
    "Careful, Odelia," Glo said, realigning her aim. "You wouldn't want me to think you're trying something."
    "But I thought Bonnie was...I mean, she's been gone a long time."
    "You mean, you thought she was sold into white slavery by John Hollowell, and she was. My mother had me when she was in high school. I don't know who my father is. She stashed me with her grandmother in Hemet when she went to work for the Hollowells as a live-in nanny. One day she came to visit me and gave me this." Glo indicated the bracelet.
    "She said she was going away to marry a very rich man and soon she'd send for me. She was so excited. She actually believed that scumbag Hollowell had arranged a marriage for her with a wealthy older man overseas. We never heard from my mother again. Grammy tried calling the Hollowells to see if they knew where she was, but got nowhere."
    Her voice started to crack. She sniffed, cleared her throat and continued. "About three years ago, my mother showed up in Hemet out of the blue. Her grandmother was dead and I was living in her trailer with Blaine. My mother was half crazy and a diseased drug addict when she finally came home. A year later she died."
    "If you want revenge, why not kill Hollowell? Why his son?" I asked as I cautiously shifted my weight again. My lower back was starting to hurt more than my shoulder from standing still so long.
    "I told you, Odelia, an eye for an eye. That's why." She wiped her face with her free hand. "I want that bastard to suffer. Killing him outright is too good for him."
    I couldn't argue with that.
    "Before she died, my mother told me everything. She told me how Hollowell got his company, how he was blackmailing his wife and her brother, and about Sophie and Hollowell's bastard son. She learned a lot living in that house, listening to the fights that went on constantly. She even told me about Jonathan and her role in his death, and how Hollowell had promised to marry her as soon as he divorced his wife, then changed his mind and found her a rich husband instead. There was no rich husband, of course, just a pimp a hundred times worse than Hollowell." Glo coughed her smoker's cough.
    "The last year of her life, my mother spent in confession with me as her confessor. When she died, I decided whatever it took, I would get back at Hollowell for what he did to my mother." Her voice faltered, but Glo cleared her throat and continued. "My mother told me all about Sophie London, so I checked her out and found out about Reality Check. I took on Blaine's accent and made up a story about moving here from Tennessee. I figured it was just a matter of time before I found out about her son, but as the months dragged on, I got antsy to get it over with, so Blaine and I decided to force her to talk."
    Glo paused, then took a step forward. "Now, Odelia, where can I find Hollowell's son?"
    I took a step back, then another. Twigs cracked under my feet and low shrubs brushed my legs. I shook my head slowly.
    "Come on, Odelia," Glo said, again wiping her face. "Tell me and then you can go home and get ready for work. It's that easy."
    Without a word, I slowly backed up through the scrub another few steps. Glo moved forward, matching my pace. A small animal scurried over her trespassing feet, spooking her. She gave a short, low squeal.
    As soon as I saw her falter, I moved as fast as my fat, middle-aged body could go...straight at her...and tackled her as if a Superbowl ring was at stake.
    Upon impact, the gun flew from her hand and we tumbled into the dense growth. Her arms and legs wrapped around me like a python. I struggled to free myself, but it was difficult. With every move I was dragging her two-hundred-pound bulk around like dead weight.
    I fought like a mad woman. My heart was pounding, my breath coming in short gulps. I thrashed around in her arms until I managed to turn over, taking her with me. We rolled over and over, through the prickly brush, coming to a halt under a low hanging tree with me on top, our faces inches from each other. Glo looked frightened, understanding she'd lost control. In the rolling her legs had come free. My weight was pinning her down. Still, she had a tight grip on me.
    Freeing an arm, I grabbed her hair and started pounding her head against the hard earth. This was life and death. Suddenly, I wasn't squeamish about smacking her around. I keep raising her head and slamming it against the ground until she let go of me.
    Just as I disentangled myself and got off of her, Glo tripped me. She scrambled to her feet and leveled a hard kick to my ribs as I was trying to find my own footing. I went sprawling back into the dirt and almost passed out from the pain.
    Shaking my head to clear it, I saw Glo scurrying through the brush on her hands and knees. Even in hazy pain, it only took me a second to realize she was looking for the gun.
    Taking off through the maze of low branches and thick brush, I ran wildly. My legs were being torn by sharp undergrowth. My chest heaved. Even with the regular walking, I wasn't in very good shape. I was exhausted, my side felt shattered, and my head hurt where I'd been hit just a few days before. I made a dive into a thicket of dense growth, hoping for cover to give me time to rest.
    I head footsteps coming closer and willed my breathing to slow down, to be quiet. Soon the steps retreated and headed in another direction. With as much stealth as I could manage, I started crawling deeper into the bushes on my stomach, mud smearing my clothes and body. Small critters scattered. Slowly, I got up onto my feet, but kept crouched close to the ground. I could hardly make a dash for my life on my belly, and I'd be damned if I'd die in the slime, inching along like a snail.
    Die! I might die. My body began shaking. I commanded it to stop and surprisingly it did. I had to keep alert.
    Gently pulling apart some branches, I peeked out to see Glo methodically walking through the bushes. Here and there she kicked aside undergrowth. The gun was held ready in her hand. She was dirty from our earlier tumble. Her face, tracked with tears mingled with dirt, reminded me of a stone gargoyle.
    "Come out, come out, wherever you are," she taunted as she walked. Frustrated, she moved away from my hiding place and headed in the opposite direction, searching new patches of dense shrubbery.
    It was now or never.
    Just up ahead I could see the trail again. It wasn't far, maybe a few yards. It was also in the open, where I had a better chance of people seeing me and helping. Where I was now, I could be killed and my body hidden for days. To my right, the overgrowth ended and an embankment, naked and raw with erosion, plunged downward.
    I looked again. The trail was above me, close, but up a slight incline, which would slow my get-a-way.
    A shot was fired. It hit the dirt a few yards from my feet. I ran like hell for the trail, screaming the whole way to draw attention.
    Just as I reached the hard-packed dirt of the horse trail, there was another shot. I pitched forward, then wobbled backward, and staggered down the incline. A few missteps later and I was headed down the embankment. Scorching pain radiated down my left leg, and I knew I'd been hit.
    On my back, in scrub still damp with morning dew, I did a quick check. Nothing vital had been hit, but my left side from my hip down was screaming violation, and every move was torture. Rolling over onto my stomach, I scrunched as close to the ground as I could, flattening myself against the side of the slope. Slowly, I started moving sideways and down, trying to get away from the trail above. I couldn't see anyone, but she was up there. I could hear her heavy smoker's cough brought on by the exertion.
    Pain or no pain, I made my way down the steep embankment like an upside down crab. With each movement of my left side, I bit my lip. Below me were marshy shallows and another trail, a small dirt nature trail.
Not much further, Odelia. You can do it
, I told myself. My chest ached, my breathing was shallow.
Faster, girl, faster.
Then I looked up and turned to stone.
    Standing above me was Glo Kendall. A sick grin stretched grotesquely across her filthy face. One hand clutched a gun, and that gun was pointed down the embankment directly at my head.
    I closed my eyes tight and thought of my father.
    "Police," someone nearby shouted. It was a woman's voice.
    My eyes popped open at the sound, and I looked back up the slope. Glo Kendall still held her gun, but it was no longer pointed at the top of my head. Now she had it aimed at someone on the trail, someone out of my line of vision.
    Again, someone yelled, "Police," this time followed by other words I couldn't make out.
    The shot from Glo's gun rang loud and angry, defiling the clean morning air. Then I heard a blast from another direction. I watched as Glo teetered at the edge of the trail above, the gun still in her hand. Then she lifted her arm and re-aimed down the trail. I heard a shot, answered instantaneously by another. Glo turned and staggered, then dropped down the slope, plunging toward me. I tried to move out of the way, but my injury prevented it. Her body struck mine and together we tumbled down, coming to rest on level ground near the marsh.
    Her weight was resting on my left side. The pain was so intense I thought I would die from it. I tried to move her off me, fearing she would come to and decide to finish me off with her bare hands. Finally, I managed to roll her over. I gasped. Blood covered her windbreaker in the middle of her chest. Her eyes were open, her mouth slack.
    Everything was spinning, drowning me in dizziness. The pain didn't matter anymore.

Chapter Thirty

THE FLOWERS FILLED the sterile hospital room with springtime, and my friends filled it with love. If my ass didn't hurt so much, I'd actually enjoy my situation.
    Since I was positioned on my side, both Greg and Zee were crowded on the same side of my bed. Each looked appropriately worried, yet relieved. They'd both been here the day before when I'd had surgery to remove the bullet from my left buttock. So had my father. Even Mike Steele had showed up with a huge bouquet and asked when I'd be back at work.
    I must have passed out yesterday. The last thing I remember was being sprawled at the bottom of the slope with Glo Kendall's dead body. When I came to, Ruth Wise was kneeling over me, checking me for injuries. So much of Glo's blood was on me, it had taken her a while to realize most of it wasn't mine.
    I'd been shot in the bottom, the bullet lodging in my blubbery behind, but thankfully not penetrating deep enough to hit any bones and cause serious damage. I'd also been grazed on the right shoulder.
    Once again, call me lucky. But I was more than lucky, I was blessed.
    "The doctor said you might be able to leave the hospital tomorrow," Zee said. "If not then, the day after." She got up and nervously fussed with my covers. My experience had dropped her into a mode of frenzied caregiving.
    "Yes," I said, giving her half a smile. I was still on pain killers and enjoying it as much as possible.
    A knock came at my door. "Hello?" someone called in. It was the Olsens, Peter and Marcia. Surprised, I waved them in.
    "When we heard, we just had to come," Marcia said, her smile barely masking her worry.
    Greg wheeled out of the way. The Olsens stepped forward. Marcia leaned over and kissed my cheek. Peter patted my hand. Zee and Greg introduced themselves. Marcia was holding a large tin, which she placed on the night stand.
    "My mother sent these for you," Marcia told me. "They're cookies, all her best recipes."
    News had traveled fast. I was shot yesterday and already today I'd had lots of visitors, most bearing gifts. And it was only the middle of the afternoon. I was truly touched.
    "Please tell Mrs. Pugh thank you for me," I told Marcia. "I'm sorry I didn't get to tell her myself."
    "She and Robbie are minding the store," Peter said.
    The room went quiet.
    "Does Robbie know?" I asked quietly, as if the boy might be in the next room.
    Marcia and Peter tossed each other looks. Hers was pleading, his tight and firm.
    "Not yet," Marcia said. "But we're discussing it. After all, he's not a child, and John Hollowell may still stir up trouble."
    "No need for him to ever know," Peter added in a low tone. "We can just send him away to finish school. Somewhere out of Hollowell's reach."
    "How are you going to explain the money from Sophie's estate?" I asked. "It's about a million dollars."
    Both Olsens looked at me with surprise. Peter Olsen's mouth hung open. Then, like a trap, he shut it.
    "It's a difficult call, I know, and not mine to make," I said honestly. "But I do have one request."
    Marcia squeezed my hand. "Anything, dear."
    "I have Sophie's ashes. I'd like you to bury them at her grave in Santa Paula. No funeral or anything. I just want her to go home and be with her family, where she belongs."
    Again, all was still, then Peter said, "We can do that." His eyes were sad and damp. "Least we can do, considering she died twice to save Robbie."
    The rest of the visit was pleasant and gave me a chance to study the Olsens. They seemed a happy couple and well suited to each other. Sophie may have been Peter's passion, but Marcia was his mate, both in soul and heart. It was easy to see it in the way he looked at her and held her hand. On their way out, they almost bumped into Detective Frye. He stopped them and directed them back into the room.
    "I have some news," he announced. "And it's something you folks will want to know, too."
    All eyes expectantly turned to him.
    A nurse came in just as he started to speak. It was someone I hadn't seen before. "There are entirely too many people in this room," she said with authority.
    Frye flashed his badge. "Just a few minutes, please. Then we'll thin out the crowd."
    The nurse eyed the badge, then me, with more than a fair amount of curiosity. With a disapproving look, she left.
    "John Hollowell is dead," Frye announced bluntly after the nurse departed.
    Peter Olsen put an arm around his wife. Zee gasped. Greg caught my eye. He looked surprised, but not heartbroken. I felt the same.
    Frye continued. "His car was found abandoned near Camp Pendleton. He was in the trunk, trussed, and shot in the head, execution style. Looks like a professional hit."
    Peter was the first to speak. "Can't say that I'm sorry, Detective."
    Frye nodded somberly, but said nothing.
    Hollowell was dead. Did I feel sorry about it? To be truthful, no. But I felt I should be. Just over two weeks ago, I might have been. Three weeks ago, I'd have mourned the loss of any life, even that of a killer's, thinking of it as a waste of a precious gift. Today, I only had sympathy for his victims. I had changed a lot in a short time.
    After more good-byes, the Olsens left to drive back to Santa Paula.
    "We found Blaine Kendall," Frye said after the Olsens left. "Apparently, he and his wife had a major argument yesterday morning before she hooked up with you. She shot him and left him for dead. Fortunately for him, we got to their place right after Glo Kendall was killed."
    Frye paused and took out a pack of gum. He offered it around. Zee took a stick, but was too nervous to unwrap it. It slipped from her fingers onto the bed. I picked it up and removed the foil for her. When I held it out to her, she collapsed into a nearby chair in tears. Greg rolled over and put his arms around her. She cried into his shoulder.
    "His story matches what she told you, Odelia," Frye said, continuing. "And it was Blaine Kendall who stole Ms. London's hard drive and assaulted you and Iris Somers. When they read she had shot herself over the Internet, they worried they had been caught on camera, too. Blaine Kendall has a criminal record back in Tennessee, mostly assault and burglary. It's a long one, starting when he was a kid, but nothing hardcore. Glo Kendall's record was clean, except for some minor things when she was a teenager. They hooked up a few years ago when Blaine moved to California."
    "You think they killed Hollowell?" Greg asked.
    Frye shook his head. "Doubt it. Bullet didn't match Kendall's gun. And, like I said, the hit was professional, very sophisticated and well planned. Not at all the work of a small-time criminal."
    
Another mystery
, I thought, but this one I didn't care about.
    "What about Iris?" I asked. "Any improvement?"
    "She's stabilized," Frye told us with another slow shake of his head, "but still in a coma. May be for a long time. Her family is going to fly her back to Maryland and get care for her there."
    "Every time I think that the same thing could've happened to you..." Zee started to say, trailing her words off.
    Greg gave her a comforting squeeze.
    "But it didn't, Zee," I said, trying to comfort her myself. "It didn't and I'm going to be fine. Better than ever."
    She smiled at me. Zee Washington has a beautiful smile, large and glorious, and today it did more for me than the painkillers.
    "Takes more than a bullet in my ass to get me down," I assured her. "Although I am concerned about the surgery. Will one side of my butt be shaped differently now? You know, flatter? Bad enough I have a huge behind, without it being lopsided."
    Everyone laughed.
    Zee wiped her eyes and nose with a nearby tissue. "You'll just have to get liposuction to even it out."
    Laughing, Greg left Zee and wheeled closer to me. "I have to go back to work, sweetheart. I'll see you later tonight." We both leaned over, meeting halfway for a nice, sweet kiss.
    "I'll go with you, Greg," Zee told him. "I need to get home before the kids start rolling in." She gave me a quick kiss on my forehead, promising to come back later with Seth and the kids.
    After they left, Frye milled about.
    "Alone at last," I joked.
    He smiled wearily as he pulled up a chair next to my bed and sat down. He stuck another piece of gum in his mouth. I could tell he was only half with me.
    "Your wife still here?" I asked in a gentle voice, my joking gone.
    "Yes, but they're releasing her in a few hours."
    "That's wonderful."
    "For now," he said, his voice distant. "At least until the next time. My daughter's coming by to help take her home."
    I shifted in the bed, my good side getting tired of supporting my weight. I had two options...my side or my stomach. But it was difficult to visit with people while floundering on my tummy like a beached whale.
    "She's going to die soon," Frye said sadly but frankly. "In a year or two the doctors say, maybe less. Hard to say with these things. I just hope it's sooner than later. She's been in a lot of pain for a long time."
    "I'm sorry, Detective. Kind of puts my butt wound in its proper perspective."
    "That wasn't my purpose in telling you that, Odelia," he said, running his hands over his tired face. "And I shouldn't be unloading on you like this." He looked at me and gave me a small, tired smile. "And please call me Dev."
    "No problem, Dev," I said, smiling back. "And thank you. You've been there for me these last few weeks. Smart of you to plant that police woman in our group. Ruth was literally a life saver."
    Frye leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. I could smell the spearmint from his gum. "I have a confession, Odelia."
    I waited, wondering what was left to tumble my world. Was the big and burly Frye really the emaciated Clarice Hollowell in disguise? At this point, nothing would surprise me.
    "Ruth wasn't on assignment," he said. "She's with the Tustin PD. She was there as a personal favor to me, keeping tabs on you and the group on her own time. I had a hunch that either something might turn up within Reality Check, or that the killer might be targeting the group."
    "That's some favor."
    "Well, Ruth owes me," he said, winking. "She's my daughter."