Then it occurred to me that Bill Bond could supply the Social Security number from the dealership’s financial records and that he’d probably do so with great enthusiasm. He wanted that money back.
Again I felt guilty because I was assuming Tom had the money. I was forgetting innocent until proven guilty. I determined to remember that a reporter is supposed to be unbiased and a friend is supposed to believe.
“Has he always been a car salesman?” William asked.
“I don’t know.”
“When did he move to Amhearst?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where does his family live?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who are his friends?”
Edie’s head came up and her shoulders straightened. “Me.”
William looked at her for several ticks of the antique mantel clock. Edie held his stare. Then he gave a little smile. “Thanks for talking with me, Edie. If Tom comes home, please have him contact me immediately.” He handed her a card.
“
When
Tom comes home, he’ll call you immediately.”
After William was gone, Edie curled up in the corner of the blue sofa, hugging herself like she was trying to warm the chill inside.
“Where is he?” The tears she had controlled when William was here flowed down her cheeks unchecked. “Doesn’t he know how scared I am?”
I watched Edie and struggled with what to do with the information we had just received from Sergeant Poole. The missing money definitely made the missing man a news story. In fact, it made Tom a major story in a small town like Amhearst.
But Edie was my friend. How could I lay her pain before the whole county? But how could I not? I knew Mac would go with the story as soon as he became aware of it, and the fact that Edie was an employee of the
News
wouldn’t make any difference. In fact, it couldn’t be allowed to make a difference.
And wasn’t it better that I write the story than—than who? There was Edie or me. Or Mac. Obviously this story wasn’t one Edie could write. And it was definitely better that I write it than Mac. Given his major grouchiness these days, anyone was better than Mac.
“You know this is going to make the
News
,” I said.
Edie nodded in resignation. “I know. You’ll write it, won’t you?”
“Probably.”
“Please. I want it to be you. I know you’ll be fair. You’ll make it clear that just because Tom is gone and the money is gone, they don’t have to be together.”
I nodded and sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too. I thought my days in the paper were over.”
I looked at her, intrigued.
She shook her head, obviously regretting her slip of the tongue. We sat in silence for a while. Then suddenly Edie started crying again. “Oh, Merry, where is he?”
I had no answer, just useless sympathy. “Edie, why don’t you go to bed? You need some rest.”
“Like I could sleep.” She looked at me through puffy eyes. “But you go on home, Merry. There’s no reason one of us can’t have a good night’s sleep.”
I sat in the blue leather chair, my feet tucked beneath me so I wouldn’t slide onto the floor. “I can’t leave you like this.”
“Pish-posh. I’ll be fine.”
“Pish-posh? Now where did that come from?” If you aren’t patting, distracting is good.
Edie gave a weak smile. “My father always said that.”
“What was he like?” I asked, pleased that distracting was working. Maybe I should ask Mac about doing an advice column.
“He was a professor at the University of Delaware, a charmer, a marvelous guy—when he wasn’t drunk.” She became very interested in the needlepoint pillow in her lap, picking at nonexistent loose threads. “He was a nasty drunk.”
I made a distressed noise. So much for the efficacy of distraction.
“Don’t let it worry you,” she said. “He’s dead now. And Mom and I survived.”
I wondered what was involved in
survived
. “Where does your mother live now?”
“Still in Newark.” She said it with the
ark
in Newark getting just as much emphasis as the
New
, unlike Newark, New Jersey, where the accent was definitely on the first syllable. “That’s where I lived until I divorced Randolph.”
“That’s about an hour away. Randy must get to see him frequently. Wait. I’m assuming Randolph is still in Newark.”
“He’s still there, but Randy doesn’t see him much. Randolph’s lack of interest is probably the main reason Randy fights with Tom and me all the time. A kid always wants what he can’t have. Greener grass, I guess. It’s an ego thing or a control thing or something. Or maybe it’s just as simple as a broken heart. He can’t do anything to make Randolph pay attention, so he takes out the pain on us because we’re handy and won’t turn him out.”
“You guys are very good to him.”
“Of course we are.” Edie looked surprised that I’d find that fact worth commenting on. “I’m his mother.”
And that said it all.
I watched Edie trace the pattern on the pillow she held. “Did you meet Tom in Newark or here? Or somewhere else?”
“Here. When I moved here, I lived in a tiny two-bedroom apartment and drove the oldest, most endangered car you’ve ever seen. Finally the car died, and I had no choice but to buy another even if I couldn’t afford it. I went to Hamblin Motors and the rest, as they say, is history.” She smiled softly to herself.
“Love at first sight?”
“At least serious like,” she said. “He asked me out as soon as I signed the sales papers. I found out later that the price was so good because he didn’t take his commission.”
“Wow! That is indeed serious like.”
“We were married in two months, and I’ve never regretted a day of it.”
At least until last night, I thought, but I didn’t say it.
The front door flew open, crashing into the hall wall.
Edie sat straight up. “Tom?” The hope in her voice broke my heart.
Randy stalked by the living room without so much as a glance in our direction. He continued down the hall to the back of the house. In a moment I heard him opening the refrigerator.
Edie checked her watch. “It’s 1:05. No kid his age should be out this late, but tonight I’m just not up to the confrontation. All I can think about is Tom.”
I nodded, thinking that Randy had been counting on just that and was taking advantage of her preoccupation. The kid was clever, a master strategist and champion manipulator. Usually that meant a keen intelligence. What a waste, I thought, to use your mind to wound and distress.
“I just hope he hasn’t been with that adorable little Sherrie all this time. Too cute. Too many hormones.” Edie shivered.
Randy appeared in the doorway, a can of Mountain Dew in one hand and a bag of Chips Ahoy in the other. He had enough caffeine and sugar there to keep a small town awake
for hours. He’d probably wolf it all down and fall immediately into a deep slumber.
“No word from Tom-boy?” he asked his mother.
She shook her head.
He smirked. “Aliens, Mom. Or else he’s deserted you.”
“Randy!” I couldn’t help it. He was being so unkind.
He ignored me. “Just like you did Dad.” His smirk deepened. “I guess you’re finally getting what you deserve.”
Edie sighed. “I’m not going to discuss why I left your father, Randy. You know that. He’s your father, and I won’t talk against him.”
I watched Randy absorb his mother’s comments without any perceptible change of expression or posture. I concluded that Edie’s comments on this subject were as familiar and frequent as were his barbs. He turned to me without a blink.
“That your car in the drive?” he asked.
I nodded.
“I’m getting a car in a couple of months.” He looked back at his mother and said, “My father is giving it to me.”
Obviously he meant Randolph, not Tom.
He laughed. “It’s a good thing because Tom wouldn’t get me a car if I was the last person on earth.”
“And neither would I.” Edie’s eyes were unflinching as she looked at her son. “Things like cars and the trust to let you have one have to be earned.”
Randy shrugged. “I guess I’m lucky that Dad doesn’t agree.” He turned to me. “Want to see my car?”
I glanced at Edie, who raised her hand in a be-my-guest motion. I turned to Randy. “Okay.”
He put his Mountain Dew on the glorious occasional table in the hall, and I could see Edie bite her lip to keep from reprimanding him about it.
Randy opened the blue bag of cookies. He pulled out a handful to fortify himself while he showed me his dream car.
I expected him to pull out a picture, but he didn’t.
“Come on,” he said. “It’s in the garage.”
I glanced again at Edie.
“Randolph can never remember Randy’s birth date,” she said. “He thought it was sometime in the spring, so he sent the car ahead so he wouldn’t be late.”
Randy turned on his mother. “He knows my birthday! He wants me to have the fun of anticipation.”
Edie shrugged. “If you say so.”
“When is your birthday?” I asked.
“July 13.” Randy scowled at me, daring me to make something of the midsummer date.
I merely nodded. “Well, show me.”
Still scowling, Randy led me down a level, through the family room, to the connecting door to the garage. He went through first and flicked on the lights. I followed and blinked at what I saw. I knew then that Edie and Tom didn’t have a chance.
There, gleaming softly under the harsh overhead light, sat a silver, ragtop Porsche convertible.
“It came three days ago.” Randy ran his hand lovingly over the sleek curve of one fender. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“That it is.” I began to circle the car. All I could think of was how inappropriate this expensive, classy, powerful car was for a novice driver. The potential for tragedy was incredible!
I bent down to peer inside. I might as well study the upholstery before it was drenched with Randy’s blood.
Someone had beaten Randy to it.
Blood stained the passenger seat and floor, great quantities of blood, overwhelming quantities of blood. I knew there had to be very little if any left in the very dead man who slumped against the gray leather interior.
FOUR
I
made a noise halfway between a scream and a burp at the sight of the body. My first thought was that Tom had finally come home.
“What’s the matter with you?” Randy demanded, ever sympathetic to a woman in distress.
I couldn’t find my voice, so I pointed. He bent and peered in. Next thing I knew he was retching in the corner. So much for perpetual cool.
I made myself look in the car again. I had to know if the corpse was indeed Tom.
It wasn’t. First, the body looked too tall, even slumped. Tom was slight all over, and this man had wide shoulders and a paunch. Also, Tom wore his hair closely cropped, and this man had straggly hair that should have been cut weeks ago. And of course, this man had the wrong face, with strong, broad features instead of the narrow, almost delicate ones that typified Tom.
I straightened from my quick second glance with a deep sigh of relief and turned to Randy, who by now was leaning weakly against the side of the car.
“Get off the car! It’s a crime scene!”
Randy, green around the gills, jumped and obeyed.
“We don’t want to touch it and contaminate any evidence.” Randy nodded as he swayed.
I gave him a push. “Back into the house. We need to call 911.”
Edie took one look at Randy as we stumbled inside and surged to her feet. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s a dead guy in my car!” Disbelief was Randy’s dominant emotion now that he was away from the scene. Feelings of outrage and violation would follow shortly. “And there’s blood all over!”
Edie looked wide-eyed at me, seeking confirmation—or denial—of Randy’s comments.
I nodded. “Where’s the phone?”
They both pointed to the kitchen.
I called 911 and returned to the family room just as Edie and Randy walked back in from the garage.
Edie was white-faced as she looked back toward the garage. “I never saw him before in my life.”
The police didn’t recognize the corpse either.
“How’d he get here?” Randy demanded of anyone who’d listen, and that was usually me. “And why in my car?”
Like I knew.
“How long’s he been dead?” he demanded of the police. “How did he die? And why in my car?”
“Speaking of your car, son,” William Poole said quietly, “when was the last time you looked into it?”
“Ah.” Randy looked very wise. “You want to know when the body got there.”
William nodded. “That’s the idea.”
“Well, I sat in it just before I left for dinner. I met Mom at Ferretti’s, not that she invited me.”
“And there was nothing unusual about the car or the garage when you last saw it at what? About 5:30?”
Randy thought for a minute. “Yeah, about 5:30. And if by
unusual you mean there was a dead body lying around bleeding all over the place, no, there was nothing at all unusual. I just sat behind the wheel making believe I was driving.” Randy’s hands were in front of him, steering.
William adjusted his gun on his hip. “One piece of advice, son. Don’t even think about taking that car onto the road before you have your license.”
Randy blinked and flushed. “I’d never do something like that.”
I could almost hear William’s mental
Right
.
“Besides,” Randy continued, “Mom has the keys.”
William nodded. “Good. Make certain you leave them in her care. If you break the law here, we can make it twenty-one before you get a license.”
Randy stared. “Twenty-one?”
“Twenty-one,” William repeated. “But since you’re not going to take her out early, there’s no problem. Right?”
Randy nodded reluctantly. Busted by the cops before he even committed the crime!
“And when you do get your license,” William continued, “don’t see how fast she can go.”
Randy held up his hand. “That’s two pieces of advice. You said one. Two’s one too many.”
William ignored the disrespect, and Randy resumed pacing, cursing and muttering under his breath. I suspected that beneath the distress and excitement of being part of an official murder investigation, he was livid about the blood spilled all over his new upholstery.