Chapter 5

My home was decorated in what I like to call ‘cozy cluttered.’ I know nothing about interior design and wasn’t interested in learning, so my furnishings were a hodgepodge of mismatched items I’d bought just because I liked them. My favorite piece—and the oldest—was a cowboy desk dating back to the 1890’s. It was solid oak with a drop-front writing surface and intricately carved spindle legs. I’d bought it from a guy in Miami, Oklahoma who refinished antiques.

That was where Josie normally left her notes. Since I didn’t see Josie right away, and I lived with perpetual worry over her, my eyes automatically went to the desk.

No note leaned in its usual spot against the beveled mirror, but it could be one of those times she hadn’t left one.

“Roe?” It was Josie’s voice, coming from down the hall.

I let out a relieved sigh that she was still there, not realizing until then how worried I was that she wouldn’t be.

I walked into the living room, arriving there at the same time as Josie. She looked better. Some color had returned to her cheeks and the bruises were starting to fade. She wore jeans and a mint green blouse she’d left here on one of her previous stays. She could make do with wearing my sweats around the house, but no way would anything in my wardrobe actually fit her.

“Hey, how are you?” I asked as I pulled off the ball cap and slid my hair out of its ponytail holder, massaging my scalp.

“I’m okay. Better, actually. Feeling almost human again.” She crossed her arms and shook her head. “You make me sick. Your hair looks great even after you’ve tortured it with bondage all day.”

Her comment was in keeping with our mutual admiration/envy of one another’s appearance, left over from childhood. Josie wished for my busty, dark-haired, dark-eyed look, while I would have happily traded it for her petite, blonde, ethereal prettiness.

“Right.” I rolled my eyes. “Hey, how about if I change clothes and we drive around looking at Halloween decorations, then I take you out to dinner?”

“Sounds great. I’m going stir crazy.”

“I’ll be ready in a jif,” I said, heading down the hallway. Although I’d subjected my mother to my grubby look—and unintentionally subjected Lane Brody—I wouldn’t do it to Josie, or the other restaurant patrons.

I changed clothes and was ready to go in ten minutes.

Josie and I drove through the streets at dusk, just the right time to ogle Halloween decorations. There was a house a few miles from mine that always had an impressive display.

I slowed as we approached, pointing out the life-sized vampire, the Michael Myers dummy holding a bloody knife, the witch stirring a cauldron, all the delightful creatures of the season.

“Nice,” Josie said. “Wouldn’t scare little kids a bit.”

I laughed. “I know, but you have to admit, it’s pretty cool.”

“For a wacko like you, yeah, maybe. But you’re twisted.”

It was good to hear her light-hearted banter, and to talk about nothing, like we had in the old days. I needed to bring up the detective’s visit, but it could wait. I wanted her to eat dinner first, and if I told her, it might spoil what little appetite she had.

Of course, I was sure once she finished eating, I’d think of another reason to put off telling her. I wanted her to have a tasty dessert first, a pleasant evening, a good-night’s rest, a hearty breakfast, blah, blah, blah. Truth was, I didn’t want to tell her at all.

The hostess who greeted us at Chili’s was young and pretty with those thick, unruly eyebrows that looked good on people like her and Brooke Shields. If I tried to wear mine like that, I’d look more like Oscar the Grouch.

There was a twenty-minute wait, and when we told the girl that was fine, she exclaimed, “Awesome!” with wide-eyed enthusiasm normally indigenous to cheerleaders and lottery winners.

We walked outside, and I huddled in my coat, watching the traffic zip by on Barry Road while Josie smoked.

“How was your visit?” she asked.

“Oh, the usual. I was treated to a list of my shortcomings, along with a list of my brothers’ virtues. On the upside, their list was longer than mine.”

She smiled, but her expression turned pensive, and I wondered if she was thinking about her family. I knew she had to miss them. In spite of her problems with drugs, it was a mistake to completely drop out of their lives. They loved her and I was sure they still wanted to maintain a relationship.

Josie and I were silent as she finished smoking, each lost in our thoughts. When she stubbed out her cigarette, we went inside to finish our wait.

The smell of Fajitas made my stomach growl. I almost let out a cheer when—in just under the twenty-minute prediction—we were led to a table.

We shared southwestern egg rolls and an order of chicken fajitas. I wouldn’t have hated splitting a dessert, but was afraid I might split if I did. Dinner over, there was nothing to do now except lay it on her.

“So, what’s up with Matt?” I asked as an opener. “You’re still with him, right? You two have a place together?”

She shrugged. “Here and there. We stay with friends mostly. We got into a fight.” Her eyes darted to mine, and I couldn’t help but glance at the lingering signs of their ‘fight.’

“I took off while he was out and haven’t talked to him since. That’s when I showed up at your place.”

“Do you know how to get in touch with him?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

I sighed and dug in my purse for Detective Brody’s card. I slid it across the table. “The cops need to talk to him. They asked me if I knew where he was. When I said I didn’t, they wanted to know if you were in town. They want you to call them.”

“Why?” she asked again, looking down at the card like it was a poisonous snake, not picking it up.

“They have some questions about a murder.”

Her head snapped up and her eyes widened. “Murder? No way. Matt’s got nothing to do with any murder.”

“I don’t think he’s necessarily a suspect. But he’s wanted for questioning.”

I could see the hesitation in her face, and she still didn’t reach for the card. I put my hand over hers. “Josie, we’re talking murder here.” I lowered my voice. “Probably a drug deal gone bad or something. If Matt knows anything that will help the police, you need to help them find him.”

“I don’t know where he is,” she said, quietly, vaguely.

“Just talk to them. Please. I told them you’d call.”

She nodded and picked up the card, slipping it into her jeans pocket, but I didn’t think she’d call. I’d give her a few days, and if she didn’t, I’d call them myself.

****

Lane’s first impression of Highland Lily Bed and Breakfast was that it looked like something out of one of those sappy romance movies he used to watch, just to indulge Catherine.

A sidewalk flanked by what had to be artificial flowers led to a wrap-around porch that held a pink, wrought iron bench and white porch swing. The home itself was a white, two-story, with pink shutters and a pink turret at each corner.

No bell, so he lifted the old-fashioned door knocker and tapped it lightly.

Although the bed and breakfast was essentially a hotel, it was also the owner’s home and a sign next to the door requested that guests knock for assistance. He wondered if the killer had knocked.

The door was opened by a woman who looked as though she’d been crafted specifically for this house. She was in her mid-sixties, with hair so silver it looked artificial. She wore round, rimless glasses and a blue dress with tiny, pink embroidered flowers. Her features practically twinkled with homespun friendliness.

“You must be Mr. Brody,” she said in a soft, low voice.

“Detective Brody, ma’am. Yes.”

“Please, please, come in.” A frown momentarily erased the sparkle from her face. “I never dreamed we’d have need of a homicide detective at Highland Lily.”

Lane wondered if it felt odd to transpose her name in order to refer to her house. Like he’d feel if he lived on Brody Lane.

He walked through a foyer into a sitting room filled with antiques. An old-fashioned rocking horse stood in one corner and a black piano in the other.

“Won’t you sit, Mr. Brody? Would you like a nice cup of tea?”

He didn’t correct her on the title this time. She gestured toward a fragile looking sofa and he gingerly sat, worried the spindly legs might give under his weight.

“No, thank you.”

She settled on a similarly fragile wing-backed chair caddy-corned to him. “Just ask whatever you’d like. Don’t worry about offending my sensibilities.” She looked around as if afraid someone might overhear, even though they were the only ones in the room. In an exaggerated whisper, she said, “I watch ‘CSI’ all the time,” like she was confessing to a porn fetish.

“I understand Mr. Hebringer was working here Thursday night.”

She nodded gravely. “Yes, he was. He worked every night except Sunday and Monday. Those nights I covered myself. We aren’t very busy on those nights and that gives—gave—Mr. Hebringer somewhat of a weekend.”

“Were there any other employees here on Thursday night?”

“No. Mr. Hebringer was my only employee. Every day, I fix breakfast and lunch, then retire to my room. Guests fend for themselves for dinner, and Mr. Hebringer would be the only one around in the evenings.”

“How many guests stayed here on Thursday night?”

“We have six rooms and only three were occupied that night.”

“I’ll need the names and addresses of those guests.”

The cloud passed over her sunny countenance again. “Oh, my. My guests value their privacy.”

“As do we all, Ms Highland, but this is a homicide investigation. Catching the guilty party takes precedence over your guests’ desire for privacy.”

She twisted her hands in her lap. “I just don’t know.”

“I can come back with a warrant. One way or another, I’ll see your guest list.”

“Very well,” she said with a dainty sigh. She stood. “Excuse me. I’ll get the register for that night.”

She was back quickly, considering her objection to the task. She handed him a lace-covered notebook turned to Thursday, October twenty-fourth. There were three entries—two couples and a lone man’s name.

“Did Mr. Bray stay here alone?” Lane asked. That had to be unusual for a bed and breakfast.

Her lips tightened. “I didn’t ask Mr. Bray about his business, including who his guest would be, or if he would be having a guest at all, for that matter.”

“You weren’t interested in whether he had a guest?”

“Not in the least. None of my business with whom he chooses to spend the night.”

“So, if he’d brought an orangutan in an evening gown, you wouldn’t have a problem?”

Her chin lifted and her nose scrunched as if sniffing something repugnant. Her voice was tight with disapproval when she spoke. “Of course I’d have a problem. Animals aren’t allowed.”

Great. Lane jotted down the names and addresses of the guests and handed the notebook back to her. “Do you know of Mr. Hebringer having any problems with guests?”

“Problems?”

“Conflicts, disagreements, fights.”

“Oh, my, no. That just didn’t go on. Not here.”

“How about away from your establishment?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know of any problems Mr. Hebringer had with guests at all. Not with anyone, actually. He was a good employee, and I didn’t get involved in his personal life.”

“How long did he work for you?”

She put a finger to her lip, thinking. “Going on two years now.”

Lane nodded. “Can you show me where Mr. Hebringer worked? Where he checked guests in? And take me through some of the duties he might have performed that night?”

Lily Highland led him to a small room off the living area. In it was a counter that was obviously the registration desk, a table with a coffee pot sitting on it, and another fragile-looking sofa.

“This is where he spent a great deal of the evenings, although he had free run of the downstairs. He would sit on a stool and watch his little portable television when he wasn’t taking care of guests.”

“What did he do throughout his shift, as far as chores, responsibilities, things of that nature?”

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Mostly making sure the guests were happy and taking care of their needs. He straightened up in here, took the trash out, kept the coffee made, that sort of thing.”

Lane went behind the counter. There was a tall stool and a few shelves built beneath the counter that held pens, paper, a twin to the notebook Lily Highland had shown him, magazines, and DVD’s.

A tall, round trash can sat next to the stool.

“I’d like to see where he took the trash.”

She gave a quick nod, but he could tell that her hospitality was waning. Dropping the notebook on the counter with a little more force than a delicate flower such as herself should use, she swept toward a door that led outside and opened it. Lane followed.

They walked down a winding path to an outbuilding. A dumpster stood beside the shed.

Ms Highland pointed to the dumpster. “He put the trash in there. That’s it. You’ve had the complete tour.”

“Thank you,” Lane said. “I think that’s all I need for now. I just want to look around some. I’ll see myself back to the front. I appreciate your time and I’ll let you know if I have more questions.”

“Yes,” she said, as in ‘I’m sure you will.’ “Goodbye, then.”

She turned and hurried back inside, no doubt anxious to lose herself in her idyllic world that didn’t include murdered employees and visits from homicide detectives.

He checked carefully around the dumpster, not finding anything unusual.

Hebringer had most likely been taken from here. The guests reported he wasn’t around when they came downstairs to check out. But, was he actually taken from here or did he get called away? Did he know the killer and leave his job to meet him?

A wall of trees lined the back of the property. The house was set back from the road and the nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away. An entire army could have converged on the property and snatched Hebringer without anyone noticing.

****

I typed in the seemingly endless list of names, keeping one eye on the dates of demise and the other on the desk next to Asia’s.

Who had Adam given the promotion to? He hadn’t told me, so I was curious, and a little suspicious. It was close to quitting time, and, so far, no one had appeared to take over the desk. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Tabitha sashay in and rest her toned, cheating butt in the chair. She did, after all, have connections. Of course, it wouldn’t make sense for her to take a job writing for a newspaper, I was pretty sure she’d need help writing a grocery list. I wouldn’t put anything past Adam, though.

“MPM night, you going?”

Asia’s question interrupted my spiteful thoughts. I took my hands from the keyboard and looked up at her.

MPM night was Melting Pot Mojito night. The Melting Pot was a fondue restaurant in the Plaza near downtown Kansas City. They made the absolute best Mojitos in the world and every Monday night, Asia, myself, and some of the other girls in the office met there after work for happy hour.

“Sorry, I can’t.”

“Can’t? There’s no ‘can’t’ on Mojito night. What’s wrong with you?”

I picked up an ink pen as I spoke, clicking the top over and over. “Josie’s at the house.”

Asia rolled her eyes. “You’re not her mother, you know.”

“No,” I replied shortly, “If I were her mother, I’d be dead.”

Asia had the grace to look ashamed for about five seconds before shaking her head. “You can’t fix her, Roe.”

I was working on a suitable reply when movement at the crime desk caught my attention. Phillip Conan dropped a briefcase and a photo of his wife and kids onto the surface and gave me a chagrined wave. I waved back, proud of my magnanimity.

So, Phillip had gotten the job. I liked him. If I couldn’t have the position, I was glad it had been him. I glanced toward Adam’s office. He stood on the other side of the glass, watching me. Waiting for me to fall apart? Well, to hell with him. No show for you today, asshole.

“You’re sure you won’t go?” Asia was still at it.

“I’m sure. Next time, ‘kay?”

“Fine,” Asia sighed dramatically, “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow and you’ll be jealous.”

“I’m already jealous.”

Asia looked toward Adam’s office. He was still standing at the window.

“What the hell’s he doing?”

“He wants to see if I’ll lose it since he passed me over for the promotion.”

“I think he wants in your pants.”

I was starting to get on my own nerves with the pen clicking, so I stopped, tossing it onto the desk. I shook my head. “He gave that up when he hooked up with Tabitha.”

“Maybe the tabby cat doesn’t take care of his needs. He’s wanting some of what he let go.”

“Maybe his ego is such that he wants every woman he sees.”

“He’s hot, I’ll give him that,” Asia said. Then she shuddered. “But he’s such a freakin’ pig I can’t imagine actually screwing him. No offense,” she added quickly.

Asia was right. I was amazed I hadn’t seen Adam for what he really was while we were together. “None taken,” I replied. “I plead temporary insanity for the two years we dated.”

Asia nodded. “I’ll accept that.” She grinned and tugged on my sleeve. “Come on, walk me out.”

I followed Asia out into the cold evening air. The professor and Headphone were huddled against the building. They each wore coats, but they were the same ones they wore year round, thin and tattered. Headphone had a beanie cap pulled over his earphones. Temperatures had been dropping steadily and now hovered just above freezing.

“Hey,” I said to the professor. “Shouldn’t you guys be at the shelter? Seems a little chilly to be outside.”

Headphone rocked to his music and ignored me. The professor smiled and said, “Cold is a state of mind. If one never experiences the bite of bitter cold, one can ever enjoy the comfort of blessed warmth.”

Asia snorted and muttered, “If one never visits the world of the sane, one will never know how fucking whacked out one is.”

Although said quietly, it was loud enough to carry to the professor. I sent a quick, apologetic look his way and he smiled, lifting his eyebrows as if to say, what can you do?

I dropped a twenty into his bucket instead of my usual five. A payoff for my friend’s rudeness. It wasn’t enough.

Asia and I parted ways in the parking lot, she to the delights of MPM and me to the unknown. My stomach knotted with dread. I never knew what I’d find when I arrived home during Josie’s visits.

Would I find her still straight, feeling relatively normal, or would I find her in the throes of DT’s? Or, in the false and fleeting ecstasy of the high heroin gave her? Or, worse case scenario, would I find a note telling me she’d taken off again?

Ever the optimist, I bet on the first scenario and swung through the drive-in at Kentucky Fried Chicken for a bucket of extra crispy.

I got home and opened the door, my gaze immediately going to the cowboy desk. Again, no note. But the house seemed unusually quiet, and although I smelled stale smoke in the air, there was no sign of fresh smoke. Even though the dread in my chest told me she was gone, I searched every room of the house.

No sign of Josie or her meager belongings.

Actually, this was the worst case scenario. Although she’d seemed much better last night, when Josie bolted without even leaving a note, it meant she was really in a bad way.

****

Good friend that I was, I decided since Josie was no longer in my care, I’d join Asia and the others after all.

I circled the parking garage on Pennsylvania until I found a spot, then walked down the steep, winding drive out to the street. The Melting Pot was a few quick turns, up one block, then two blocks left. The walk in the cleansing air felt refreshing and in no time, I was entering through the doors of the restaurant.

Asia was sitting with Mary, Elaine, and Beth from the newspaper. My friend’s face brightened when she saw me come in, and she waved me over.

As I made my way to the women, a waitress stopped by their table, and I saw Asia speak to her and point to me.

Bless the girl and her future offspring, she’d ordered me a Mojito.

There were hugs all around when I reached the table and took a seat. My cocktail arrived not long after I did.

The Mojito was lovely—clear and effervescent with a bright, green, bobbing lime and green sprigs of mint that clung to the sides of the glass like tiny barnacles. Perhaps its appearance appealed to me as much as its taste. I took a grateful sip. Nope, I was mistaken. It was definitely the taste.

We shared cheese fondue with apples, vegetables, and bread for dipping. I made a determined effort to join in on the chatter of my co-workers, but my thoughts kept straying to Josie.

Questions stabbed at me relentlessly. Where was she? Was she on the drugs again? Was she hurt? In jail? Cold, hungry, on the streets while I indulged in decadent fondue and Mojitos? Was she with Matt getting the crap beat out of her?

What really bothered me was that I hadn’t called the detectives and told them she was in town. If I had, maybe they would have brought her in for questioning, held her as a material witness, arrested her as an accomplice, something, anything that would have kept her from whatever fate might have befallen her now. Whatever was happening to her at this moment was my fault.

Rum and cheese-soaked bread rose to my throat in a wave of nausea. I wished I hadn’t eaten, and that I hadn’t had that third Mojito. Well, mostly I wished I hadn’t eaten.

Panicked concern for Josie brought me to my feet. “Did you drive?” I asked Asia, raising my voice over the noise of the crowd.

She shook her head. “I rode with Beth.”

“Are you okay to drive?” I asked Beth. I was not going to have the endangerment of yet another friend on my conscience.

Beth held up a non-alcoholic O’Douls and gave me a thumb’s up.

“Where are you going?” Asia asked when I rummaged through my purse for cash to pay my share.

“I have something to take care of.”

“You shouldn’t be driving, girl.”

“I’m calling Gable,” I told her, which was true, but I was going outside to do it. I wasn’t going to call a priest from inside a noisy bar.

Asia’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You on a rescue mission?”

I didn’t answer.

“You gotta let her make her own mistakes or nothing will ever change. You’re enabling.”

I knew all that but couldn’t help it. Couldn’t throw Josie to the wolves.

I nodded and kissed Asia’s cheek, waved goodbye to the rest of them, and stepped outside.

I looked at my phone to check the time. Nearly ten. Hopefully, Gable was still awake. He answered on the second ring.

“You weren’t getting ready to go to bed, were you?” I asked.

“Are you kidding? Priests never sleep. It’s part of our penance.”

“I thought your penance was that you could never have sex.”

“Uh oh…” he said slowly, drawing out the words. I laughed. “What’s up, sis?”

I paced back and forth in front of the Melting Pot as I spoke, trying to stay warm. I pretty much had the sidewalk to myself, other than an occasional couple who strolled by. The Plaza wasn’t busy—this being a Monday night—but it also probably had something to do with the new Power and Light District taking away a lot of business from the Plaza.

I took a breath. “I’ve been drinking, and—”

“Of course you have. It’s Monday.”

“Anyway,” I said firmly, “I’m worried about Josie—”

“Of course you are. You’re breathing.”

“Geez. Aren’t priests supposed to listen?”

“You’re right. Sorry. Go on, my child.”

I ignored the sarcasm. “Josie’s been staying at my house the past few days, but when I got home this evening, she was gone. No note. Nothing. I haven’t been able to get her off my mind. I’m really worried.”

“You want me to pray with you?” he asked, being deliberately obtuse.

“Are you sure your calling wasn’t actually a stand-up comic?” I snapped. “I want to go look for her but I can’t drive because I had two Mojitos.”

“Three. At least.”

“What?”

“Two is the number all drunks use. No one would believe you only had one, and three would be too many, so you always say two.”

I’d found him mildly amusing at the beginning of the conversation, but now he was just pissing me off. “Never mind,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’ll call someone else or take a freakin’ cab and run up a five-hundred dollar fare looking for Josie.”

“Cool your jets, sis, I’m almost there.”

“You are? Almost where?”

“At the Melting Pot. I’ve been on my way since you first called.”

“How did you…?”

“Monday night. Melting Pot Mojitos. You think I don’t know what my baby sister’s up to? I just had to give you a hard time. If you want my help, you have to live with it. See you in ten. Be outside.”

He hung up before I could say, ‘bite me.’

****

Gable’s ‘92 Grand Prix belched and lurched along the darkened streets. The car was clean, but smelled funny, like fast food and pine air freshener. The stuffing beneath my leg protruded from a rip in the seat cover. But I was grateful for the ride, no matter how primitive.

I peered out my window, searching the desolate faces for Josie. I knew it was pointless. If Josie were on the streets, she most likely wasn’t out in the open, hanging with the other street people gathered around the trash, or strolling with the street-worn hookers. She would be holed up in some corner, lying in an alleyway on the cold, filthy ground, lost in the drugs. I wouldn’t be able to spot her from the car.

“Pull over and let me out,” I said suddenly.

“What? Are you out of your mind?”

“I can’t find Josie from in here.”

“You want to walk these streets? Alone?”

“I don’t want to walk them at all, but I want to find Josie. I can’t ask you to go with me, so yes, alone.”

He stared at me longer than he should have, considering he was behind the wheel of a moving car.

“I…” He shook his head and pulled his gaze back to the windshield. “I… just… can’t… I’m speechless.”

“Then I guess I’ve accomplished something tonight.”

“You’re about to accomplish giving me a stroke. If you think I’m letting you go out there,” he jabbed a finger toward my window, “alone, you’re completely insane.”

I didn’t respond, just sent my irritated vibes his way.

It worked. He heaved a loud sigh, jerked the car into the parking lot of a convenience store, and slammed the gearshift into park.

He lifted his right hip and removed his billfold. “Take your wallet out of your purse, and leave any important documents—driver’s license, credit cards, whatever—in the car, along with anything in your purse you don’t want to lose. Just keep a little cash in your wallet.” As he spoke, he removed cards from his own billfold.

“Why not just leave the purse and wallet in the car?”

He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and shook his head like I was the most ignorant creature on the planet. “For one, if someone sees your purse in the car, they might break a window to get it. We could put it in the trunk, but thieves usually get in there, too. You can slide your loose items under the seat, and maybe if no one sees them, they won’t bother with the car. Plus, if we’re mugged, they’ll expect us to have something on us. If we don’t, they’ll hurt us. You have any more questions?”

I didn’t. We climbed out of the car. His movements were agitated, his head shaking dramatically, his walk an exaggerated stomp.

“Come on,” he bit out, grabbing my arm and pulling me alongside him. “If you have a death wish, no sense putting it off.”

Once we were in the midst of the street world, I realized Gable had been right. I was insane.

A group of guys—two Hispanics, one black, one white—with tattoos, piercings, baggy jackets, and low-hanging crotches, gave us hard stares as we walked by. Some of the people looked menacing, others just pitiful. Most of them gave us distrusting looks, a few were downright hostile.

I searched the sea of faces for Josie, or even Matt, but didn’t see anyone who looked the least bit familiar.

Gable didn’t lose his nervous agitation as we trolled the streets. If anything, it increased.

One of the alleyways I insisted on checking out was where his dire prediction came true.