Whirlwind (15 page)

Ms. Baylor parked and turned off the motor. A dim light shone in the house trailer. “Looks like he’s home.”

Jas opened her car door. A dog bayed. She hesitated, not sure where the sound was coming from. “’ooney’s dog,” Grandfather said. “He ’oves the flea-ridden critter.”

Ms. Baylor made a noise of disgust. “I spent an entire evening listening to stories about that hound treeing raccoons. It was mind-numbing.”

“What’s its name?” Jas asked. “In case it comes to check us out.”

“Digger,” Ms. Baylor said. The hound bayed again.

“’ooney keeps him tied up behind the trailer. Got a big dog ’ouse.”

Jas climbed from the car and opened Grandfather’s door. By then, Ms. Baylor had walked around to the passenger side.

Hands on her hips, the investigator studied the trailer. “That dog’s really noisy. I’m surprised Looney isn’t brandishing a shotgun out the window. He wasn’t expecting visitors.”

“That
is
weird,” Jas agreed. At the farm, the dogs announced every arrival. There was no way a visitor or stranger could sneak up.

Holding Grandfather’s arm, she hoisted him from the car. Ms. Baylor took his elbow on the other side, and together they got him square on his feet. For a moment he swayed. Then, using his cane, he headed toward the house.

The stairs to the front door were made of stacked concrete blocks. Stopping at the bottom, Grandfather grabbed Jas’s arm for support. He rapped hard on the screen door with the tip of his cane and hollered, “’ooney! Tommy ’ooney!” The name echoed as if through an empty building. He rapped again, the aluminum door clanking loudly. Still no one responded.

The hound dog bayed, the sound rising gloomily into the night sky. Jas shivered. She hoped Ms. Baylor carried a weapon. Though where she would hide one in her skintight outfit was a mystery.

“Could be he’s passed out drunk,” Ms. Baylor said. “You two stay here. I’m going inside.” Bending, she slid a small gun from her boot.

Jas kept hold of Grandfather. Ms. Baylor climbed the steps, arm relaxed by her side, the gun snug against her thigh. Opening the door, she stuck in her head and hollered, “Tommy! Hey, dude, it’s Shasta. We missed you at Big Mama’s.”

When there was no answer, she went inside. The door crashed shut and Jas jumped. Leaves crackled as the wind suddenly gusted, bringing with it the mournful howl of the dog. “I’m not staying out here,” she told Grandfather. He didn’t need any urging. With Jas guiding, the two hustled up the steps and into the trailer.

The smell of mold and rotten food hit her like a pie in the face. To the right, in the kitchen area, dishes were piled in the sink. An open milk carton and a half-eaten TV dinner sat on a
card table. The light was on, and fat black flies buzzed from sink to table in a frenzy.

“Whew.” Jas pinched her nose. “This makes our kitchen look like an ad in
Better Homes and Gardens.”
Then she noticed the cupboard doors flung open and the pots and pans scattered on the floor. This was beyond messy. It was as if someone had been hunting for something.

She turned Grandfather in the direction of the living area. It contained a flat-screen TV and a worn recliner. Beer cans littered the floor. A dirty dog bed with a rawhide chew sat at the foot of the chair. A stack of magazines had been knocked over, and DVDs were strewn across the stained rug.

Jas gripped Grandfather’s arm tightly. “Someone searched the place. Ms. Baylor?” she called, keeping her voice low. A light turned on in the hallway, and the investigator walked into the living room. Her face was pale under her bright yellow bangs. Instead of her gun, a cell phone was in her hand.

“Where’s ’ooney?” Grandfather barked nervously. Jas could feel him shaking.

“He’s here. Dead.”

“Dead?” Jas’s skin turned cold. Grandfather’s arm jerked as if he’d been punched. “He’s sprawled on his bedroom floor. Someone bashed his head in.”

“Hugh,”
Jas gasped.

“THERE’S NO PROOF IT WAS HUGH.” MS. BAYLOR
began punching 911 on her cell phone.

“No!” Jas flew over and snatched it from her hand. “Don’t call the police yet.”

“I have to. It’s the law.”

“Not until we look around.” Looney might be silent, but Jas wasn’t. “The place is trashed. Hugh had to have been hunting for something. What if Looney had evidence we need? Evidence that could tie Hugh to Whirlwind? Or tell us where he took her?”

“Honey, Looney
was
the evidence. That’s why he was killed. The murderer made sure he wouldn’t talk.”

“Murderer? It was Hugh.”

“Regardless, I’ve got to call the police.” She held out her hand.

Reluctantly, Jas gave her the phone, but
she wasn’t giving up. “When the police get here, they’ll seal this place off. If there is evidence that could lead us to Whirlwind, we’ll never find it. Just give me a few minutes to look around,” she pleaded.

Ms. Baylor opened her cell but then hesitated. “I agree: Tommy may have been smart enough to keep a record of his hauling work. But where in this trash heap would he have kept it?” Slowly, she walked into the living area, examining the mess. “It does look like Tommy knew his killer. There’s no sign of forced entry. No defense wounds. And Looney did say something odd the other night after a dozen beers loosened his tongue.”

“What?” Jas held her breath.

“‘Sometimes us poor folk can get the better of the rich.’ We’d been talking about being ‘dirt poor,’ as he put it. However …”

“He could have been talking about information he saved to bribe a wealthy client!” Jas exclaimed.

Grandfather had sunk into the recliner. “’ooney was no dummy. I bet he ’ept some kind of record, too.”

“But what kind of record? And did Hugh
find it?” Bending, Ms. Baylor scrutinized the paneled walls. “No sign of a computer hookup. He could have had a laptop—and Hugh snatched it and ran. Looney’s body isn’t stiff, and the blood is only partially dried. He hasn’t been dead long.”

“Or we could have scared him off before he found the evidence,” Jas said, glad Ms. Baylor was referring to the killer as
Hugh
.

“No. Looney’s been dead longer than that. And no car passed us.” One ruby nail tapping her lower lip, the investigator strolled into the kitchen. Jas followed her. They stopped in front of the refrigerator. “Look, I don’t dare search the freezer, cereal boxes, or loose floorboards. If the police find out I was snooping at a crime scene, they’ll yank my investigator’s license. But that doesn’t mean you two can’t.”

Jas’s eyes lighted. She reached for the refrigerator handle.

Ms. Baylor held up her palm like a stop sign. “Gloves, please. I’ve got disposable ones in my purse. Just remember—I can’t wait too long to call. The bartender knows what time we left Big Mama’s.”

Grandfather heaved himself out of the
chair. “I’ll ’art in the bedroom. ’ou stay out of ’ere, Jas.”

That was fine with her. She had no desire to see Looney’s bloodied head. She followed Ms. Baylor to the car. “Even when you call the police, we’re on the outskirts of the county, so it will take them a while to get here.”

“I know. Still, we have about fifteen, twenty minutes at the most.” The investigator reached through the rolled down window and pulled out her purse. In seconds, she found latex gloves and a penlight. Rummaging a second time, she drew out a larger flashlight. “I’m going to poke around by the truck and van. Now go.” She handed Jas the gloves and penlight. “You haven’t much time.”

Jas leaped back up the steps and into the trailer. She found Grandfather in the narrow bedroom doorway at the end of the hall. His face was gray. Raising his cane, he touched the tip to her chest, keeping her back. “I don’t want ’ou to see this.”

Jas swallowed hard as she helped him pull on the gloves. The metallic smell of blood wafted from the room. She didn’t want to see it, either. She had nothing against Tommy
Looney, and she was sorry he’d died because of Hugh.

“We need to find something, Grandfather,” she whispered. “Something that will tie Hugh to Looney’s murder. Something that will help us find Whirlwind.”

“’es. I’ll check the ’athroom, too.”

“Will you be okay?”

He inhaled deeply, “’es.” Turning, he limped into the bedroom.

As Jas hurried to the kitchen, she slipped on the gloves. There wasn’t much time.

Pretend you’re Tommy Looney. Where would you hide something?
Jas wasn’t even sure what she was looking for.

Hastily, she poked through the freezer and refrigerator, checking inside opened containers. She felt the floor for loose tiles, the walls for loose panels, the bottom cupboards for false bottoms or sides. She peered under the table and chair, thinking something could have been taped to the bottoms. Under the sink, she looked inside the few boxes and jars of cleaning supplies. Then she double-checked the cupboards. Last, she opened the oven, crusty with burnt food.

Nothing. She made sure she replaced everything to its original place. Then, jumping to her feet, she started on the living room. Using the penlight, she hunted under the recliner and around and under the TV and stand. There were no curtains or shades, and the rug seemed glued to the floor. Walking the perimeter, she tapped on walls. Frustration nagged her. Maybe they were wrong, and the only record Tommy had kept was in his head. That’s why Hugh had killed him.

Jas’s gaze fell on the magazines.
Field and Stream. The Rifleman
. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she leafed through every one.

Ms. Baylor stuck her head inside the trailer. “Get your grandfather outside and in the car. I told the police we stopped in to visit, found Tommy dead, and called immediately. They’ll be here in ten minutes.”

We need more time!
But Jas didn’t dare protest. She hurried to the bathroom. Grandfather was slumped tiredly on the closed toilet seat. His face was etched with sadness. Jas had forgotten that he’d known Tommy. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “I didn’t ’ind anything.”

“That’s okay.” She tried to sound upbeat. “Maybe the police will find something. This was murder. They’ll be thorough.”
And it will take them forever
.

By the time Jas got him in the car, sirens blared in the distance. The hound dog began barking furiously.

A wild idea hit her. “I’ve got to check one more place,” she told Ms. Baylor. “I’ll meet you by the mailbox.”

“Wait. Where are you—”

But headlights were turning into the drive. Jas took off clockwise around the trailer. It was a moonless night and so dark she ran right into a metal object and pitched into the grass. A wet tongue splatted her cheek along with snuffles and whines of delight. Jas threw her arms over her face, trying to protect herself from the slobbery greeting.

“Shhhh. It’s all right, Digger.” She patted the hound, then pushed him off her. A chain rattled as he hopped back and forth, wanting to play. “Good boy. Sit.” Miraculously, he did.

Light from the trailer dimly illuminated the wooden doghouse. The hound had worn an oval in the grass. Beyond the grass were thick woods.

Jas crept to the doghouse, Digger on her heels. Clicking on the penlight, she crawled all the way around it. It was set on bricks to keep the floor dry. She shined the beam underneath but didn’t see anything out of place. Then she stuck her head through the arched hole, grimacing at the odor. Twisting, she checked the sides and corners. The thin beam found a cruddy bone sticking from the straw bedding, but no records.

A lump of disappointment rose in her throat. Before pulling her head out, she aimed the light upward. The lump stuck in her chest. There, taped to the roof, was an ordinary white envelope.

Fingers trembling, she began peeling the tape. Faint voices came from the front of the trailer. She had no idea how long the police would interview Ms. Baylor and Grandfather. She had no idea how much the investigator would tell them. The insurance company needed the cooperation of the police, so obviously she would tell the truth. But that truth didn’t include what Jas might find in the envelope.

Digger let out a woof, then shoved his head
inside. Jas pulled off the last of the tape. She slid the envelope underneath her T-shirt, tucking it into the waistband of her jeans.

“Good boy.” She ruffled the hound’s floppy ears. “Now let me out.” As she crawled backward, her foot hit a food pan, making a clattering noise. She froze. Beams of light bobbed wildly to her left, and the voices grew louder. The police were following her path around the back of the trailer.

Scrambling to her feet, she bolted for the woods. Digger bounded after her. He hit the end of the chain. It snapped him to a hard stop, and he whined pitifully. “Dang you, dog.” Running back, she unsnapped the chain, worried he’d hurt himself.

Together they raced into the woods.

Sticks snapped, branches slapped. Digger trotted ahead as if on a path, so Jas kept behind him. But she knew he’d head to a coon tree or a rabbit hole. She had to get back to the road or she’d be lost forever.

When she was far enough to be safely out of sight, she knelt in the leaves. The flashlight beams bounced off the trailer. They aimed at the windows, not the doghouse or the woods.
The police weren’t searching for her. They were checking the perimeter. That meant they didn’t realize that an idiotic teenager, pretending to be Nancy Drew, was on the loose.