Murder at the Tremont House (A Blue Plate Cafe Mystery) (23 page)

Rick
finally came in about eight-thirty. The restaurant was more crowded than usual, and it seemed everyone wanted to stop to talk to him. “Big day, huh, chief? You got it solved?” Ben Rylander asked. Charles Ogilvie said unhappily, “Did the Smith boy really kill those women? I can’t believe it. Such a nice boy.” And a bluff old farmer I didn’t know said heartily, “You got him in jail, Samuels?”

Rick remained noncommittal and, I, knowing small talk wasn
’t his forte, wanted to shoo them all away. He ate a chopped steak with grilled onions and melted cheese and a salad and then sipped on coffee while I closed the books. Even in the eerily quiet and empty restaurant, he didn’t say anything to me about what had happened. And we walked to the house in silence.

But something
alerted him, and he detoured by the front of the house. “You’ve got a broken window. Was it broken this morning?”

I shook my head.
“I don’t think so, but you know I rarely see the front of the house. I go in and out the back. How did you know?”

For the first time, he flashed a smile at me.
“Instinct. You’re the one who should have known. Come one, I’ll check the house before you go in.”

We went in the back door. That is
, he did, and let Huggles out, while I waited on the porch and kept a protective eye on the dog. When he came running up to me after taking care of business, I asked, “Huggles, were you scared? Did you bark? I wish I could hear you at the café.” He waggled his rear end with its stubby tail as though he understood every word I was saying.

Rick came out.
“Rock through the front window. I’ve got latex gloves in the car. I’ll go get them.”

“
I’ve got rubber gloves.”

He shook his head.
“Too much texture. And all the residue from whatever you’ve been using them for would mess things up. I’ll be right back. Wait here on the porch and scream really loud if anyone comes near you.”

I agreed and settled down in a rocking chair. Wouldn
’t you know, as soon as Rick went around one side of the house, Tom came up the driveway on the other side. Instinctively I screamed before realizing who it was. Rick rounded the far corner of the house, gun drawn and yelled, rather dramatically I thought, “Freeze.”

Tom raised his hand
s in the air and said calmly, “Hey guys!”

Rick lowered his gun.
“Blast, Bryson. I almost shot you.”

Tom put his arms down and came toward the porch.
“I know. Glad you didn’t. Why are you both so trigger-happy tonight?”

Rick explained about the rock and the gloves in his car and said, almost sheepishly,
“I told her to scream.”

“
She did,” Tom said ironically.

Rick went to get the gloves; Tom went to inspect the damage, and Huggles and I were left alone in the kitchen. When Rick came back, we were still left alone as they picked up the rock and carried it into the kitchen, wondering why they needed gloves to pick up a rock. What Rick hadn
’t told me was there was a note attached to it. Rick asked me to wipe off the table just to be sure and get a baggie. I was more frightened than ever to see that a note was tied to the rock. This wasn’t an accidental rock thrown through a window, though perhaps I was foolish to have even thought that. With care…and me watching with my heart now in my mouth…Rick cut the string, put it in the baggie, and unfolded the note. Tom and I peered over his shoulder. In crude lettering it said,

Now you
’ve gone too far. Cary has been arrested. This is the end.

Nothing more.

Rick snorted. “Whoever it is hasn’t even got the information right. Cary has not been arrested. I have no murder weapon, nothing beyond instinct.” He threw me a look. Carefully he put the note and then the rock into the baggie and sealed it, peeled off his gloves and threw them in the trash.

Only then was I allowed to go clean up the glass, while they locked Wynona in my bedroom and kept Huggles in the kitchen. I went with broom, dustpan and vacuum, while the men talked serious business. As I swept I could hear the low hum of their conversation in the kitchen.

At one point I stuck my head in to say, “Rick Samuels, you better not be telling him what happened with Roger and Cary Smith today. I want to know, too.”

“
I’m waiting. We’re talking about keeping you safe.”

I was already scared enough. The idea they were hav
ing a conference about my safety only made it worse. I swept everything into a trash bag I would wrap with newspapers before putting it into another bag, and then I vacuumed to get the last little bits that I couldn’t see. Back in the kitchen, I heard Rick say, “She’s safe at the café. It’s the rest of the time I worry about.”

“
She could stay at our house, but Donna wouldn’t tolerate the dog and cat, and Kate won’t leave them.”

“
I’ve been staying here at night,” Rick said, “in Donna’s old room. We’ll just have to work something out about the daytime.”

I guessed he added that about Donna
’s room to make sure Tom didn’t misunderstand.

Pouring myself a glass of wine—they had each opened a beer—I sat down
in the kitchen with them and said, “Okay, give. What happened today? Tell me.”

“
I’ll do better than that,” he said. “I’ll let you listen.” He pulled out a tape recorder that wasn’t as big as my cell phone.

“
Roger Smith came into my office before I could go to talk to Cary,” Rick continued. “I figured he wasn’t likely to run, and I didn’t want to yank him out of class in front of his buddies, so I planned to wait until after school. But Roger beat me to it, said he had something he had to tell me. Here, listen,” and he switched on the tape recorder.

Tom and I sat
riveted in silence.

It began with the usual identification information—who he was interviewing, where, time and date, and the fact that he had on file written permission to tape and share as necessary. Then Roger began to talk:

“I knew Sara Jo Cavanaugh, knew her the minute I heard she hit town. I was once married to her, and she is my son’s biological mother. We had a brief fling, and when she turned up pregnant I married her because I thought it was the right thing to do, though Lord knows I wasn’t the only man who got into her pants. But much later, when it was necessary, we did DNA testing, and Cary is my son. When he was about a year old, Sara Jo began stepping out on me, drinking way too much, perhaps even doing drugs, and neglecting Cary. I filed for divorce and she fought for custody, arguing that he was her son. That’s when we did the DNA testing. I was easily able to prove, with a string of witnesses, that she was an unfit mother and I was granted sole custody until she straightened out her life. The judge said he’d re-hear the case at that time.

“
We began a game of cat-and-mouse. I moved with Cary to San Antonio, changed my name. I’m in human resources or, as we used to call it, personnel management, and it wasn’t hard to find work, though I had to do a dance to explain the name change. We settled in and were happy. Maybe a year later, when Cary was about two, I married Bonnie, and she’s been a wonderful mother, even if a bit overprotective. I guess we’ve both been that way because of the circumstances.

“
Eventually Sara Jo tracked me down. I never knew how she found us, but we moved to Houston. After a few years, she found us again. We moved all over, but somehow I couldn’t leave Texas. We kept moving, and I kept changing our last name. I always found work, though I was under scrutiny because of the name change. All but one employer accepted my explanation when I told the God’s honest truth.

“
The last time we had to move, from Corpus Christi to Tyler, I decided to try raising Cary in a small town. I wanted him to have that kind of high school experience, so I bought our house in Wheeler, and I commute. For five years, I thought we were safe, and then she showed up.

“
This time, I was tired of running. I decided to stay put and see what happened. She didn’t take me to court as I expected and was prepared for. The Dallas lawyer who followed all this said I had a solid case. But instead Sara Jo, who was always devious, played her reporter game. I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think she was a trained journalist. I put a private detective on it, which strained our budget, but he lost her after we moved from San Antonio, said she just disappeared until she turned up here.”

“
Did you kill her?” Rick asked.

“
No, absolutely not. I never wished her well, but I didn’t wish her dead either, and frankly, I don’t think I have the stomach for killing. I don’t own a gun, and I’ve never allowed Cary to learn to shoot, though he may have practiced with a buddy’s BB gun or maybe even a shotgun. I hope not. I’m opposed to firearms.”

“
What was your last name originally?”

“
Cavanaugh.”

“
Does Cary know that Sara Jo was his mother? I understand she spent more time with him than the other boys.”

There was a long silence on the tape, and finally Roger said,
“I haven’t asked him. I’ve been afraid to.”

Rick turned off the machine.
“That’s it, folks. He volunteered to go get Cary, wanted to do it right then, and I thought it looked a lot less obvious if his dad got him out of class than the chief of police.”

“
How did his dad explain the sudden trip to your office to him?”

“
Told him what Kate has been saying all along: he’s the only link we can find between the two women.”

“
Did you tape Cary?” Tom asked.

“
Nope. Underage. I didn’t think it was smart. But he didn’t kill her. I’m sure of it.”

“
Instinct?” I asked softly, and he answered with a wry grin, “Yeah, instinct. Cary’s like his dad—doesn’t have it in him to be a killer.” Rick yawned, and I knew he was hinting for Tom to go along, but Tom was nowhere through yet.

“
So you didn’t arrest either one?” Tom persisted.

“
No evidence, as I said. No gun. And there are two problems: why would either of them kill Sally Vaughn? She was apparently trying to help Cary. The boy told me he liked her a lot, appreciated the work she did with him, and he liked math—it’s his best subject. She was grooming him for a college scholarship. And why stalk and threaten Kate, except that she’s the number one suspect and is trying on her own to solve the case.” He emphasized “on her own” and gave me a reproachful look.

I was mulling over the business of
Cary being an outstanding student versus Cary needing tutoring in math. The only way to find out would be to subpoena his school records, and I didn’t even know if you could do that. “Rick, can you subpoena his school records? I’m bothered that he said he needed tutoring and Sally Vaughn said he was an outstanding student.” He gave me a long look that said I was meddling again, and then reached out to put a reassuring hand on mine. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m taking all this to Halstead tomorrow,” he said.

“
On Saturday?” I asked.

“
Law enforcement is not a five-day-a-week job,” he replied in a way that made me feel chastised.

Eventually Tom left to go to the hardware
store for plywood to put over my window. He’d repair it in the morning. It was one o’clock when he finally went home. I gave Rick first dibs on the bathroom—maybe if I stayed in the house I’d have to figure a way to add at least a half bath. But he was quick, and I got ready for bed, settling Huggles and Wynona in.

“
Leave here at six-thirty?” he asked through the closed door.

“
It’s Saturday. Don’t you want to sleep in?”

“
Nope. Got to go to Canton first thing. And you have to make me a sticky bun so I’ll have the energy to face Halstead, who will want to know why I haven’t arrested someone. Anyone. I don’t think he considers whether or not we have the evidence for a conviction when he makes those pronouncements.”

“
Okay, six thirty.” I groaned when I looked at the clock. I knew I’d lie awake, puzzling about the Smith family, and I did. They seemed like a nice, stable family, though now I knew there was an unusual twist to their story. But still, they seemed like a close, normal American family. Yes, Bonnie was a bit rough around the edges but she was devoted to her son, as she repeatedly called him. Personally I couldn’t see what the quiet and apparently well-educated Roger saw in her, but maybe he saw a much-needed mother for his son. None of them were killers though. But if you couldn’t link those two deaths to one of the Smiths, how else could you explain them. I’m not a big believer in coincidence in such cases.

It was after four in the morning before I fell asleep but at least I hadn
’t popped up at every creak and groan of the old house. I felt safe with Rick there. Would I feel as safe with David? Did he even own a gun? I’m not a big proponent of firearms. In fact, I think they’re dangerous in the hands of more people than not, but in this case, having a gun handy seemed like a good idea. Especially since I was the only target left. It made me think of the movie title,
Dead Man Walking,
even if the circumstances were wildly different. I hoped I wasn’t a dead woman walking.