With Vics You Get Eggroll (A Mad for Mod Mystery Book 3) (18 page)

TWENTY-SEVEN

“Let me see if I understand this. Chad was using copycat scare tactics to drum up new clients?” I asked.

“He says he needed money. When the news kept talking about an abductor in Dallas, he got the idea as a way to get paid in bonuses. It worked, too. People are scared. Nobody wants to be known as the place a woman was abducted,” she said. “So they signed on the dotted line.”

“Walk me through how he did it.”

“He says he bought a uniform from a supply company. He still had the receipt in his wallet. Sunglasses and a sheriff’s hat so nobody could recognize him.”

“And the carpet knife?” I asked, though I already suspected where it had come from.

“He said he took it from some old guy who’d had too much to drink.”

Lyndy. He’d told me that his regular carpet knife was missing. That’s why he had a new one tucked in the loop of his painter’s pants. I’d been so put off by the appearance of the new one that I hadn’t stopped to think what might have happened to the original.

“But Effie said he had a badge with Tex’s name on it.”

“He heard the mother of the first victim accuse Tex at the press conference so he made up a name tag. Literally printed it off on a computer and slid it into a plastic sleeve that he pinned on to the uniform.”

“But he went after his own girlfriend. That’s not normal.”

“What part of this is normal? Chief Washington said Chad thought it would be a joke. He thought she’d recognize him, but she freaked out and took off. Knocked him down when she backed out of the space. He never expected her to go to the police about it, and after that, he couldn’t tell her it was him. But she was so shaken up that he wanted to make up for it, so he invited her to move in with him.”

“But he kept the knife hidden under his sink.”

“Chad might be sneaky, but I wouldn’t say he’s the sharpest tool in the shed. He said he was going to try to find the guy he stole it from and return it.”

“The guy he stole it from is Lyndy. His daughters gave him that knife because he’s a carpet layer. It’s the last thing they ever gave him before they were killed in a car accident. And now the police are out there looking for him because of it. And if that’s not enough, Lt. Allen’s practically living in seclusion because his name has been linked to the abductions twice.”

“Madison, Tex isn’t the victim here. He’ll survive this. Those missing women might not.”

We stared at each other, considering what this meant. The valet attendant pulled up with Nasty’s car. She got in and drove away. I gave her a good ten minute lead before I walked Rocky the opposite direction toward my own car. It was well into date night, and Greenville Avenue had transitioned from casual daytime activities to full on restaurant and bar hopping. I drove to Thelma Johnson’s house and traded my straw hat for a light blue ribbon that I tied in a bow just above my bangs. I traded my ballerina flats for navy blue Keds and turned to Rocky. “I’m going to go visit Lt. Allen in a graveyard. You’re not allowed in there so you have to stay here. I’ll be back before you know it. Behave, okay?” I kissed him on top of his head, filled his bowls with food and water, and left.

Traffic had let up enough that I risked taking the highway. It was a straight shot down 75 to the Lemmon Avenue exit, right on Hall Street, and then the search for parking. A brown van, still sporting the seventies paint job of amber and rust diagonal stripes on the side, pulled out of a space. I slipped the Alfa Romeo in and cut the engine. The brown van turned the corner at the end of the street and disappeared.

The temperature had dropped. Years ago, living in Pennsylvania, I would have laughed at anyone who referred to a slight change in temperature as cool, but I’d adjusted to the Dallas temps as much as the next person. I wrapped my arms around each other, rubbed the sleeves to keep me warm, and headed to the entrance gates. The first thing I noticed when I reached them was the sign that said, “No Animals Allowed.” The second thing was the locked gate. I peered between the black metal bars for signs that someone was inside waiting for me.

“Psssst.”

I jumped. Tex approached me from my left.

“Took you long enough,” he said. “Exactly what time do you think the sun goes down?” He reached in front of me to the padlock on the gate, inserted a key, and popped the lock open.

“How do you know I haven’t been driving around trying to find a parking space?”

“Because I’ve been sitting in that van waiting for you since seven. If you’d have driven past, I would have seen you.”

“You
were in the van?”

“Don’t just stand here, Night. Go inside and let me lock the gate behind us. The last thing we need is more attention.” He glanced down at my light blue dress with the white Peter Pan collar. “You couldn’t just wear black, could you?”

I went inside and let him fiddle with the lock. When he turned back around, he took off his jacket and handed it to me. “You’re cold. Take this.”

“I don’t need your coat.”

“Yeah? Well, I need you to not glow in the dark. So put this on for now, okay? Besides, the last time I went on a date with a woman dressed like Doris Day, it didn’t work out so well for me.”

“This isn’t a date.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I bet that line doesn’t work on a lot of women, does it?” I took the jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It smelled like a pizza oven.

“Hunan Palace wouldn’t deliver to the van. Joe’s Pizza did,” he said.

“Lieutenant, I have to tell you about something that happened tonight.”

“Chad Keith, Nasty’s employee. I know.”

“You know? About Big Bro Security and the carpet knife and Chad impersonating you?”

He nodded. “Nasty called. When she realized what he did she thought it was best that I heard it from her.”

“If you already knew about Chad, why’d you ask me to come here?”

“I asked you to come here before I knew about Chad. I want to show you something. Follow me.”

He studied my face, and then headed down a paved path that ran through the middle of the cemetery. The only light came from streetlamps in the neighborhood, enough to create eerie shadows over the graves and the leaves that blew around our feet. I followed a few steps behind him. I didn’t know where Tex was taking me, and I didn’t ask. Something was on his mind and, especially after last night, I didn’t want to push him.

The cemetery was mostly populated with nondescript tombstones that indicated the lives of parents and children, but scattered among them were graves marked off by small flags. I stopped to look at one. “Confederate Soldier” read the star emblem on the metal flagpole, though the flag wasn’t the Dixie that I’d come to associate with Confederate soldiers. When I scanned the rest of the graveyard, I picked out several of the unique flags.

“Every April, the Sons of the Confederate Soldiers gather in the graveyard and honor the soldiers who died. These flags were put up then.” He put his hand on the small of my back and steered me away. “That’s not why I brought you here.”

We walked down the paved path and turned right where the pathways intersected. To the right of us was a stretch of graves all marked off with the American Flag as I knew it. Unlike the confederate soldiers who were scattered throughout the graveyard, these graves had been relegated to the back, facing the opposite direction.

I looked closely at the closest tombstone. The outline of a shield filled the concrete. The heading just under the top of the shield was the word “Lieut.,” and in a curve underneath it was “Thom. Rexford Allen.” Below that was a series of letters and numbers. I stood up and looked at Tex.

“These are the Union soldiers,” he said. “And that’s my great grandfather. I didn’t know his grave was in here until I was sixteen. Nobody in my family wanted to talk about the fact that we fought for the Union.” He was silent for a second. “When I walk through this cemetery, I don’t see Confederate and Union soldiers. I see men who died in battle fighting against each other. Brother fighting brother. And that’s a war that nobody wins.”

“You know what I think? You’re the person you are today—protector of the people, fighter of bad guys—because of your grandfather. That shield on his grave? It’s just like the shield you carry every day. It means something.”

He picked up a twig, studied it for a few seconds, and then whipped it into the air, over the tops of the row of graves.

“My mother was a drunk,” he said. “She used to have men over all the time. They weren’t nice men. I had to protect my brother and sister from that.”

He turned his attention from the row of tombstones to me. It was the first time I could see the vulnerability in his expression instead of his cop mask or his flirtatious side.

“She had a stroke. The hospital kept her on life support for two months. They were waiting for me to be old enough to make the decision to pull the plug.”

Through everything that had happened since I’d heard Mrs. Morrow accuse Tex of abducting her daughter on TV, I’d been able to see Tex, the man, more clearly. The decisions he’d had to make that defined him: protecting his siblings, having his father leave when he was just a child, watching his mother destroy their life. It made sense that he’d been drawn to the police department. To protect and serve. To establish control.

“Night, this thing with the Lakewood Abductor. It taught me something about myself. Something I didn’t want to face. I’m not just a cop for now. I’m always going to be a cop. It’s my life. Even after I’m not on the force, it’s not going to change. It wasn’t until that whole life was threatened that I realized how much I needed it.”

“You found the thing that’s most important to you. Most people never do.”

“This guy, this killer, he made it personal when he planted a fake badge on Kate Morrow’s body. Because of that, Nasty’s employee printed up a name tag with my name on it. Now I’m sitting on the sidelines because that’s the only way to help. But it’s killing me. Living in a camper, trying not to be seen, waiting for the phone to ring to find out if anybody has a new lead. And I can’t stop thinking that whoever is doing this is inside my head. Guys on the force are looking at me differently. It’s like brother fighting brother all over again.”

I heard the words he’d left unspoken.
And that’s a war that nobody wins.

“It’s not always going to be this way. This guy is going to get caught. Chief Washington is on it. Whoever’s doing this is running out of time.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” He reached up and tugged the collar of his jacket that was draped over my shoulders. “Night, you put a face on the people I swore to protect. You made it personal too. I can’t do my job if it’s personal.”

“Is that the real reason why you won’t tell me where you live?”

He looked down at me, and the ambient light from a streetlamp reflected off his steel blue eyes. In the darkness, they looked soulful, like the deep end of a swimming pool that had been painted black. I’d seen Tex when he was angry, and I’d seen him when he’d been flirtatious. I’d never seen the look I saw tonight.

“You wouldn’t deserve the life I’d give you,” he said. He flashed a half smile. “But don’t think for a second I wouldn’t like to know what you wear under those dresses of yours.” He hooked his index finger into the collar of my dress and stood on his tip toes. I slapped his hand away.

“Lieutenant!”

“Come here,” he said. He reached a hand around the back of my neck and pulled me in for a hug. The jacket fell from my shoulders and I felt his hands against my back through the thin fabric of my dress. I wrapped my arms around his lean, muscular torso and held tight.

In the distance, the sound of sirens pierced the quiet. They grew loud, insistent as they approached. Blue and white cop cars screamed past us and swung around the corner. Tex’s arms dropped from me and his head snapped in the direction the cars had driven.

“Something happened,” he said. “I have to get to the van and listen in on the scanner.” He took two steps away from me and stopped, turned around, and looked at me. “Show’s over, Night. Let’s get out of here.”

I followed him to the main path and out of the cemetery. He put his hand on my elbow, urging me forward. I stumbled over the roots of a tree but mostly kept up with him, until he stopped in my way and I ran smack into him.

“Why’d you stop?” I asked. I looked over his shoulder and let out a scream.

On the path between where we’d entered and where we stood was a woman, bound and gagged and unconscious.

Vic number four.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Tex dropped to the ground and felt her neck for a pulse. A flood of policemen ran toward the entrance to the cemetery. Guns were drawn. I threw my hands up in the air.

“Allen, get away from her,” said an officer I didn’t know.

“She’s still alive. She needs medical attention,” Tex said.

“Allen, you know the drill.”

Tex ignored the instructions and worked at the binding over the woman’s mouth. He cast the dirty rag aside when it was untied, and turned to me. “Give me my jacket,” he said.

I felt around over my shoulders. It wasn’t there. I looked behind me. I didn’t see it.

“I don’t have it anymore,” I said.

The officer held his gun at his side. “This is the last time I’m going to say this, Allen. Stand up, put your hands up, and move away from the woman.”

Tex’s jaw clamped shut, but he did as the officer told him. After Tex had backed up, another officer came forward and checked the woman’s pulse just as Tex had done. “Wave the ambulance through,” he said behind him. A white ambulance with a red stripe and a Blue Cross logo eased down the narrow one-way street. Men and women in navy blue uniforms with gold lettering hopped out and attended to the woman.

“Who is she?” I asked. Several cops looked at me as if noticing my presence for the first time.

“Who are you?” the young cop asked.

“Madison Night,” I said.

Tex cut me off with a wave of his hand. “Leave her out of it.”

“You know I can’t do that, Allen,” the officer said. “She’s present at a crime scene. I have to get her name and her statement.”

“I’ll get her statement,” said Sgt. Osmond, materializing out of the crowd. I threw a thankful glance at him, and then turned to Tex.

He leaned close and whispered, “Tell them the truth, Night.”

I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Everything’s going to be okay,” I said, just like Hudson had told me yesterday.

“How do you know that?”

“Because the good guys always win.”

Osmond cleared his throat behind me. I left Tex standing by the gates of the cemetery and followed the sergeant to the sidewalk.

“Okay, Ms. Night, what happened here tonight?”

“You know he didn’t do this. You know that, right?” I said.

“Ms. Night, I know you and Lt. Allen are—have a—” He stopped talking, apparently not sure what word came next in his sentence. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“Lt. Allen is my friend,” I said. “He’s a good cop. You know that. Chief Washington knows he didn’t do any of this. The more time you waste on Lt. Allen as a suspect, the more power you’re giving the real abductor.”

“Ms. Night, I still need your statement.”

I looked back at Tex. He was talking to a couple of officers while the woman was moved to the back of the ambulance. He didn’t look particularly happy about being separated from what had to be done, but he’d lost the look of hellfire that had been on his face when he first saw the body.

“He asked me to meet him here, so I did.”

“What time?”

“It was after the sun went down, maybe eight, eight thirty? Around there. He has family resting in here. We were paying our respects.”

“The cemetery is supposed to be locked at night. How’d you get in?”

“Lt. Allen had a key to the lock. He let us in and locked up behind us.”

Sgt Osmond made a few notes. “How long were you in there?”

“I don’t know. What time is it now?”

He checked his watch. “Quarter after nine.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Ms. Night, are we going to find anything incriminating when we go through the cemetery?”

“Like what?” I asked, and then suddenly flushed red when I realized what he was asking me. “Sergeant, I told you. We were there to talk about Lt. Allen’s family, nothing more.”

“So there’s no evidence to place either of you anywhere inside those gates?”

“Yes, there is. Lt. Allen’s jacket. He loaned it to me because I was cold. When we ran out, it fell from my shoulders. It’s inside on the ground somewhere.”

He nodded and capped his pen. “Thank you, Ms. Night. If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

“Who is she?” I asked.

“Who, the woman? I don’t know. I sure hope she’s one of the abducted women we know about.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have reports of five abducted women. Kate Morrow and Linda Gull were found dead. Cleo Tyler’s going to make it. I don’t know yet about this woman. If she’s one of the five, then we can assume the perp is only holding one more woman. If she’s not, then we really don’t know how many women he’s got.”

Sgt. Osmond walked me to my car. I shook his hand and unlocked the car. There wasn’t anything I could do for Tex. It was time to go home.

Rocky and I spent the night on the sofa at Thelma Johnson’s house with the local news channel on the TV. I learned nothing I didn’t already know, and I woke up with a neck so stiff I could only twist my head halfway to the side.

Crestwood Pool was closed on Sunday. I dressed in navy and white plaid pants and a navy blue belted tunic. I packed up Rocky and drove to Mad for Mod.

We stopped off for an ottoman that someone set out by the curb and arrived at the studio shortly after nine. I locked the ottoman in the storage locker out back and then opened Mad for Mod for business, even though it was early. Never underestimate the attention of a morning walker, I say.

I distracted myself for an hour by cleaning the furniture in the display area of the studio, but eventually found myself back in the office. I pinned the photos of the abducted women back on the wall of cork. Two of them had been murdered. Two of the women had been left alive. I now discounted Effie’s encounter, knowing it was Chad, but her friend Barbie fit the pattern. As far as the police knew, she was the last missing woman.

I went to the recycle bin behind the studio and dug out the newspapers that had accumulated. Inside, I stacked them by date and flipped through, looking for information on the women who’d been abducted. Each time a report had been filed, a brief bio of the woman had accompanied the article and the growing list of safety precautions that were being issued by the police.

Kate Morrow: only child, visiting her mother.

Linda Gull: passing through Dallas on her way to meet friends in Shreveport.

Cleo Tyler: recently purchased a second home in the Lakewood area.

Susan Carroll: headed to the airport after a reunion weekend where she and her brothers celebrated their parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary.

Barbie Ferrer: after living in New Mexico for several years, she was moving back for a new job.

Kate and Linda were now dead. Cleo had been left in the grocery store parking lot, and Susan had been dropped off behind at the cemetery, barely alive. What was the criteria that determined who lived and who died? The flip of a coin? If so, then how long until that coin was flipped for Barbie Ferrer?

I’d gotten immune to the impact of Dan Tyler hanging up on me and called Cleo.

“Cleo, this is Madison Night. How are you feeling?”

“Honey, I saw the report on the news about that woman they found at the graveyard. We need to talk. How fast can you get here?”

I hopped in my car and took off for Sweetwater Drive, parking in front of the Tyler residence twenty minutes later. Another pickup truck sat in the driveway. The sound of a power saw pierced the otherwise quiet Sunday morning.

Cleo met me out front. Today she wore a red one-piece bathing suit with cutouts on the side, loosely covered with a sheer sleeveless duster printed with giant Hawaiian flowers. Heavy makeup on her face hid what was left of her fading black eye. A gold band was wound around her upper arm like a coiled snake. Flesh-colored bandages were wrapped around each wrist, hiding the welts from the handcuffs.

After an exchange of hellos, Cleo said, “Madison, I’d like to apologize for my husband.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m sure he wasn’t himself from the moment you were abducted.”

“That’s not it. He hasn’t been himself since we came to Dallas. Truth is, I thought the change of scenery would do him good. He’s been more and more self-contained lately and I don’t know how to draw him out. Our colleagues have started to pick up on it, and we’re losing business with the studio because of him.”

“Where is Dan right now?”

“I sent him out for groceries. He won’t be back for a few hours.”

“He spends hours at the grocery store?”

“I gave him a list that encompasses four different stores. It’s going to take him awhile.”

“How are you feeling, Cleo?”

“Honey, I’m not saying I like being tested, but southern women are built to last.”

“I’m sorry to ask this, but is there anything you remember from when you were taken? Did the man say anything to you? Anything that can help the police find the last woman?”

“I wish I could help, honest I do. He held something up to my face and I passed out. When I came to, I was blindfolded and sitting on the floor. I don’t know where we were. The only thing I remember was him asking me about my family.”

“He asked you about Dan?”

“He asked if I was married, if I had brothers or sisters, and if I had any children. I wasn’t going to say a word, but that’s when he hit me.” She put her hand to where the makeup hid her bruised cheek.

“Cleo, I’m so sorry.” I put my hand on her arm.

Cleo’s words were clipped, as though she’d separated herself from the nightmare and was only able to speak in mechanical terms as if it had happened to someone else. I knew she’d been over it with the police and I didn’t want to make her relive it.

“I’ll survive. I wish I could remember something else that would help the girl who’s still missing. The reporter on the news says she’s twenty-five years old.” She shuddered and took a long pull on her drink. “But this isn’t why I wanted to talk to you. I need something to take my mind off of what happened, and as long as we’re in Dallas, this house is it. The way I see it, there’s only one thing to do. Pretend Dan never fired you, and get it into shape.”

“Excuse me?” I said.

“I can’t entertain in a half-finished house. The pool needs landscaping, the fireplace needs refinishing, and I still want my Japanese great room.”

“Cleo, are you sure you’re up for this?”

“Honey, I can’t let myself stop and think about what happened.”

“But Dan was quite specific about firing me.”

“You leave Dan to me. Now, how soon can you start back up here?”

Aside from the whiplash a yo-yo might experience, I thought it best to seize the opportunity before her husband returned and changed her mind. “How’s this afternoon? I’ll call my contractor and we can start to tackle that wall of glass blocks.”

“Perfect.”

Cleo went back inside and I called Hudson. “Hi,” I said.

“Hi.”

“I guess you’ve heard about the woman they found outside of the graveyard last night?”

“Susan Caroll. They’re saying she’s going to make it.”

“Hudson—are we okay?” He was silent for a beat longer than was comfortable. “Okay, different question. Professionally speaking, is there any chance I can convince you to do some work today?”

“Depends what you had in mind.”

“Remember I told you about Dan and Cleo Tyler?”

“The Cliff May. I thought they fired you?”

“So did I, but the wife assures me that’s not the case. She wants me to tear down a partition of glass blocks that was put in during the eighties.”

“And you’re sure there isn’t something else going on there?”

“Cleo just went through a pretty nasty scare. I don’t want to do anything to upset her, but I don’t trust her husband. I can’t predict his reaction when he sees me here working.”

“You’d like to stack the deck by bringing me in to diffuse any residual hostility on the part of the husband.”

“You’re good at reading between the lines, aren’t you?”

“One of my specialties. That’s it?”

“Well, there’s one more thing. There’s a chance that they’re interested in more than your carpentry skills.” I told Hudson what Cleo had said about wanting to meet him to talk about the film rights to “our story.” His laughter told me he wasn’t too concerned.

We made arrangements for Hudson to swing by Mad for Mod to pick up the elements of the Asian interior that I’d left in the hallway. As I was about to hang up, he said my name.

“Yes?”

“We’re okay. See you soon.”

I unhooked Rocky’s leash and he took off for the backyard and the sound of Daisy barking.

I headed straight for the bathroom to check the status of the pink fixtures. It had turned out beautifully. Once we added in white tile trim to the rest of the tile work, it would be heaven. I pulled my coveralls on over my outfit, pulled my hair into a low ponytail, and stuck the hardhat on my head. When I stepped outside of the bathroom, I found Cleo standing in the great room.

“Madison honey, the last time you were here you said you might want some help,” she smiled. “This here’s Jake. He’s been looking for work and like I always say, the more the merrier!”

A man stepped out from behind the glass brick wall. My smile wasn’t nearly as genuine as Cleo’s. The new contractor was Jake—Jacob—Morris, the man Tex had tried unsuccessfully to arrest all those years ago.