Current Affairs (Tiara Investigations Mysteries) (11 page)

Tara jumped into the breach. “Congratulations, Grandmother-to-be!” She raised her glass, and we toasted one beaming woman.
“Victoria’s about to be a grandmother, too.”

“Well, congratulations to you.”

“Thank you. My daughter-in-law is having twins.”
 

They had a few more minutes of talk about babies while I took care of the check. Then we walked Beatrice to her car, a silver mid-sized Volvo. She got in but didn’t close the door. “I turned sixty last week. Some birthday gift, huh? I’ve got my youngest back on my hands.”

Victoria closed the door for her. “My mother used to say, a mother is only as happy as her unhappiest child.”

“She wasn’t lying.”

She left, and the three of us loitered in the small parking lot to talk. Tara began, “I’ll tell you what set me back on my heels, the way she told us her daughter is expecting. Maybe it’s just being pregnant? Or it might just be that her husband was shot in cold blood in the driveway.
 
Good Lord.”

I watched Beatrice pull out onto Highway 20. “I know what you mean. I’m awed by her, and I’m intimidated, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

“Did you notice the way she told us what she wanted to and not a word more?” Victoria clicked her key fob, and several lights on the Lexus came on.
 
“Almost everything she told us led up to her appeal that we look out for Kelly.”

“This is all new to us, but don’t you think we should try to find out what kind of person David Taylor was?” Tara was biting her lower lip.

“I’m glad we’re going to the memorial service.” Then we were making the left turn into my subdivision and a right into my driveway. “Have either of you come up with any ideas, brilliant or otherwise, about the guy that shot at us?”

 
Both shook their heads no.

 
I was home by ten o’clock. I thought I should check for e-mails before taking the newspaper to bed to read. The first message was from my husband.

Remember a kid named Roger Wilson good kid loss talented

The cryptic tone and the lack of punctuation told me he had written this on his mobile.

Yes
,
I answered
.
A box popped up on my screen telling me he was on line. So my next message was written there
. Yes,
I wrote again. Then I realized I didn’t need to write in shortened sentences
. I ran into him in the grocery store last week. I’m so sorry.

Just returned.
IED on road from airport.
How r u

My mind went back to my husband saying, “You’ve got to find the IED before it finds you.” I ran my fingers through my hair from my forehead to the nape of my neck and thought about how he would want me to respond. Then I started typing again.
I’m fine
.
I rode Georgia Clay this morning and went sailing this afternoon. Tonight I met Victoria and Tara for dinner at Juanita and Juan’s. Another woman joined us and I found myself envious of her. She has such compassion for her daughter. I practically covet their relationship.

Baby, your mother is who she is.

I know.

Good night I
luv
u

Good night. I love you.

I turned off the computer and pulled out a sheet of stationery. At that point I didn’t know if I would correspond with a wife, now a widow. In the next few days that information would be forwarded to me. But Roger Wilson’s mother, for whom he was buying groceries, I could write to right then.

I don’t understand how any soldier ever dies. Isn’t there a cord going from someone here to the soldier in Iraq or wherever? And they are all covered in a blanket of love and attention. Why can’t that be enough?

Once more I would not write what was in my heart about my feelings on the war.

Eight

C
ontinuation of statement by Leigh Reed.
On Monday morning Tara and Victoria came over early for our standing appointment with Julio, our personal trainer. He specialized in strength training and Pilates for golf. It would seem we should be excused after all we had been through the last few days, seeing someone murdered, being chased and shot at, and last but not least having dinner with the Woman God Forgot.
 
We couldn’t tell him any of this, so we had to endure the full hour of torture.
 

I had set up bathrooms with guest towels and peach soap. After our showers we met in the kitchen. “We did it again,” I noted. We were all wearing black suits. “I’ll go change into pants.”

Victoria lost the jacket.
 

Then we were off to Cracker Barrel on Lawrenceville-
Suwanee
Road to meet with Savannah Westmoreland. We sat at our usual table and waited. Fifteen minutes later we got antsy.

“I’ll walk around and see if I can find anyone that looks like they’re waiting for someone.” I was back in two shakes. “No luck.”

“I wonder if she’s coming.” Tara looked out the window over her shoulder.
 
“I say let’s go ahead and order.”

Victoria made eye contact with our waitress. “I’m with you. We don’t know what her commitment level is since she contacted us by e-mail.”

 
We placed our usual orders of the Country Morning Breakfast with no meat, but with fried apples for me, and two Smokehouse breakfasts. Then I got out the e-mail jokes I had printed Sunday night. I read aloud while Victoria kept an eye out for Mrs. Westmoreland to prevent our being taken unawares, laughing our asses off. Women going through what our clients are going through don’t want to see the professionals they are counting on being jovial. I don’t blame them.

If the government is going to put health warning labels on beer, wine and liquor, let’s at least have a little truthfulness about the matter! WARNING: Consumption of alcohol is a major factor in dancing like an asshole. WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may lead you to believe that ex-lovers are really dying for you to telephone them at three in the morning. WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may actually CAUSE pregnancy.

Victoria took a quick look around. “I missed a lot of jokes last week. My computer went down on me.”

Tara pounced, “How was that?”

“What?”

“What was it like having a computer go down on you?”

“Like you’re always telling us, it only seems kinky the first time.” Of course, Tara says that kind of thing all the time, but I never expected it from Victoria. “By the way, Leigh, your skin sure does look good.”

“You think so? Thanks. I’ve been drinking and dialing. Yep, about a month ago I was watching something on a home shopping channel. Before I knew it I was dialing. A few days later I was the proud owner of a few hundred dollars worth of skin care products.”

Now Tara looked around to see if anyone was listening in. “That’s sort of what happened to me when I ordered the eavesdropping devices. I hadn’t been drinking, but I was worked up over … over what had happened.”

“Ugh,” Victoria and I groaned at the same time.

“All I ask is that you keep an open mind.”

“They’re hearing aids.”
 
The plates were placed in
front of us, and we went to town on the food. Just in time, I remembered my manners and thanked the waitress.

I started a more businesslike topic. “Victoria, I balanced our checking account. Hon, you haven’t cashed any of your paychecks in quite a while. You haven’t lost them, have you?” I knew this couldn’t be the answer.

“I don’t know how to explain the money,” she mumbled with her head down. “Yesterday I decided I wanted to spend the money on my son and his wife and their babies when they get here.”

“Was that what you meant after Shorty said they couldn’t afford to have kids, and you said they could?”
 

“Exactly.”

 
Tara pointed at me with her fork. “Success is a bastard.”

 
“Don’t you mean, ‘Victory has a hundred fathers, but defeat is an orphan’?” Victoria asked.

Tara shook her head. “No, actually I think I meant success is a bitch. That’s why Victoria has so much money she can’t explain. Where is this Savannah person? We are too busy to put up with no-shows.”

I took a drink of tea then looked at my watch for about the umpteenth time.
“I have a bad feeling about this, and it’s not the ten vitamins I took.”

“I think she just chickened out,” Victoria offered. “A no-show is the universe’s way of weeding out deniers.”
 

“Maybe she decided her suspicions were unfounded. That would be a good thing, right?” After saying this Tara started laughing so hard at her own joke she had to put her face in her hands. “Sorry, I tried.”

“I have an idea. My laptop is in my car. I’ll log on and see if she left us an e-mail. I’ll be right back.”

I clicked my key fob as I walked across the parking lot, and the car door unlocked. Just as I reached out to open it I felt myself sway back. It happened so fast it took me that long to realize someone was pulling my arm around. I turned and saw a man, a little heavy and average height, wearing a baseball cap pulled low on his forehead. My instincts kicked in. No, literally.
 
I kicked him in the stomach with my right foot. Then I pivoted and kicked him with my left foot, again in the bread basket. He went down like a sack of flour.
 
I would say like the sack of shit that he was, but that would be indelicate. Victoria and Tara saw some of this from the window and ran out to me. The assailant was lying unconscious at my feet. Tara knelt down to him and Victoria put her arm around me.

“He’s the guy that shot at us,” I said.

 
“He’s having a heart attack.” Tara pointed at his hand, still grabbing at his shirt collar, and started administering CPR. I reached for my cell phone.

Victoria stood there looking down at him. “Well, it turns out the way to a man’s heart is indeed through his stomach.”
This from Miss Congeniality?
What is the world coming to? “And you don’t need to call 911, they’re here.”

Tara followed Victoria’s gaze.
“Oh, my sainted aunt.”

Detective Kent walked up, shaking his head, talking on his cell phone slash
walkie
talkie. Then he put it under his chin. “Just leave,” he mouthed.

“That’s the man that shot at us yesterday,” I whispered, “and …”

Victoria wrapped her arm around my shoulder to lead me away. “It’s a long story, and she won’t go into it right now.” Then she turned me around. I noticed she was walking in, let’s say, an overly confident way.
 
Were we trying to act like leaving was our idea all along?

“Victoria, where are you taking her? Maybe she wants to press charges. Have you thought about that?”

“Tara, he doesn’t want to be seen in public with us.”

 
“How did he just happen to be in the neighborhood? Do you think his wife told him about our close ties to Cracker Barrel?” As I was talking I became lightheaded. “I’ll go pay the check. Be right back.”

Behind me I could hear Tara saying, “But Leigh, I left money on the table.”

I walked straight to the ladies room and into the handicap stall. Then I let myself slide down the wall to the floor but not all the way. The Cracker Barrel restrooms are always clean, but still
.
I put my hands over my face. Then I pulled them away and looked first at them and then at my legs. What had I done? I had hurt someone, that’s what I had done. If I told Victoria or Tara or just about anyone, they would have said it was self-defense, that he had shot at us the day before and maybe he murdered David Taylor. Even if everyone in the world says you did the right thing, there’s a truth in your heart that’s louder. We have to save our souls every day. I raised myself back up and went out.

“Okay?” Tara asked.

“I’m fine.
Ready for our visit to The Peachtree Group?”

I drove east on Lawrenceville-
Suwanee
Road to Buford Highway, on to Sugarloaf Parkway.
 
This was not the shortest route as the crow flies, but that time of day it was much quicker. We followed the directions from the six-inch screen of the navigation system to The Peachtree Group office address in Lilburn, east of Atlanta.
 

“Weren’t you afraid back there?” Victoria asked from the backseat.

“I don’t believe in fear.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Tara give
her a
quick glance and realized a statement like that did little to reassure people that you had your wits about you. “Okay, I’m afraid of kudzu.”

“Oh hell, everybody’s afraid of kudzu. Those vines can grow six feet in a night.” Tara was subtly monitoring my driving.

I stopped and let another car onto the road, and the driver waved to thank me.
 
Once she was satisfied I wouldn’t do anything crazy behind the wheel, she turned to talk to Victoria.

“You crack me up with some of the things you say, for instance what you said back there about the way to a man’s heart. It seemed,
mmm
, out of character, no offense.”

“None taken.
I remember when I was growing up and even in my twenties, my friends and relatives were always repeating crazy things I said, like that comment. There’s no telling how many census takers resigned after interviewing me. Over the years it stopped.
 
I don’t know when, but I think I know why.” She looked out the window. “Let’s talk about what we want to accomplish in our Peachtree Group meeting. This is definitely a different type of interview for us.”

Just like that we had changed the subject. Victoria was in a state of transition, and she would bring it up again when she was ready. I, too, wanted to talk about our appointment. “You’re right about that. This is new. I want to know if anyone there killed him, but I guess that’s aiming a little high for a first meeting. If we want to know who would have reason to kill the man, it seems getting to know about his world is a good place to start.”

 
As we drove the perimeter road around the office park, Tara commented on the size of the black glass building. “It must contain the manufacturing plant, as well as the management offices.” The structure was squat, only three or four floors, but it was wider than a football field. From the front we could see it was actually two buildings, one about a quarter of the size of the other. They were connected on the ground floor, and there was a glass walkway connecting the top floors. I followed the signs to the security gate. The approaching guard had the well-scrubbed look of an Eagle Scout.

"Hello, we have an appointment with Mr. Valentine."

Nodding, he went into his hut and checked a computer screen. He returned with a pass to place on our dashboard and directed us to a visitor’s parking space.
 
As we walked the paving stone path, Tara and I reapplied lip gloss, and Victoria checked for voice mail on the Tiara business line at her home. This telephone is physically at her house, but the ringer is turned off. We wouldn’t want Shorty to hear a phone ringing and go around the house looking for it. During the week we take turns having calls forwarded to each of our phones. We rarely check the land line on weekends. As Mason said to Dixon, “You have to draw the line somewhere.” Her call didn’t go through, and she looked down at the phone in her hand.

“My phone is off, but when I press the power button, nothing happens. I could have sworn I recharged it last night.” This is the same Victoria that had written the program for a computer game and embedded her resignation letter in it when we founded Tiara Investigations, so if she was perplexed, so was I.
 

Tara gave me a sideways glance saying that reassurance was called for.
 
“You just forgot, that’s all.
It’s not like you’re getting close to ‘Delta Dawn, what’s that flower you have on?’”

The pavers ended at a sidewalk, and we were looking at twin buildings. “Which entrance do we use?”

“Maybe toward that life-sized sculpture of their logo.”
Tara pointed at the marble monstrosity on the lawn. The letter
A
in Peachtree Group was a peach, and the logo was about five feet tall.