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“Any idea why she would leave early?”
“Not really. No reason for me to know.” Margaret paused. “Maybe to check up on Todd.”
“What do you mean?”
“He keeps the store open until closing time no matter what. So I suppose he was still counting cash or something.”
“So, she might have been heading there?”
Margaret shrugged.
Yeah, except Elsie went the other way toward the beach. Was she meeting someone? Gibson wondered.
“What were you doing all that time?” he asked.
“I was helping Felton. Getting the guys beer and stuff.”
“Did you see anybody?” He turned to Felton.
“Too busy with the fireworks.”
“Who were the men helping you?” Gibson asked.
“Some friends.” He glared at the detective and gave Eckhart a sideways glance, admiring her good looks like most men did. Gibson waited.
“A guy I met at the bar a few years ago. And his son.” He coughed into his handkerchief again and cleared his throat. “They live in a trailer park by the canal.”
“Could we have names?”
Eckhart poised her hand over the notepad and wrote down the info.
“What about the store? Will they close it?” Margaret asked.
“For now, I’m sure,” Gibson said and pulled at his sweat drenched collar.
“It’s muggy enough to rain. I can feel it coming,” Margaret said, nodding with authority.
Eckhart sat quietly.
“Okay. Thanks for your time.”
“All right, officer.”
Felton ignored them.
The detectives headed down the hallway, Margaret pursuing close behind.
Gibson cast a backward look as they drove off. Ominous clouds shoved each other in the northeastern sky. They tumbled into larger foreboding masses as they raced across the lake on a wind Gibson couldn’t feel.
“Yikes. We’re in for trouble.”
Chapter 7
“What should we do?” Jackie asked.
“We better go see how Todd and Savannah are doing,” David answered.
The tires hummed along the sticky tarmac, changing to a low purr when they hit the metal grid of the bridge. Jackie looked down the canal and gathered in a breath. A familiar friend in this hostile world. The essence of earthy loam from the lushness all around seeped into the car vents. A reminder of long summer days and wasted youth. She lowered her eyes and inclined her head backward.
Jacobs Landing. No light glowed from within. It appeared deserted, shutters sealed to life. Flowers in the terracotta pots were limp beyond promise. David felt as wilted as the flowers. He was feeling the soaring temperatures more than his wife. They trudged down the narrow stone pathway, holding hands tightly. The one-storey house had a gabled roof and dark wood-framed windows. The porch had little embellishment except for the intricate wrought-iron railing. He knocked, paused and waited for a response, and tapped again. Savannah swung open the door. A huge yawn, splotchy skin and bloodshot eyes suggested sleep deprivation. She tugged at her greasy hair.
“Is Todd awake?” David asked.
“He’s in the kitchen. Better come in.”
Heat punched them from behind, trying to invade the house. Savannah crossed her arms over her chest as if a chill had hit her. David hastened to the rear of the house, leaving the women standing in the foyer.
“Let’s go to the beach,” Jackie said.
“I guess,” Savannah answered.
They ambled down the dusty lane, Grandma’s home on the right, the Underwood family residence on the left. A long tract of meadow grasses played in the faint breeze as they lumbered along. Past the fields, Felton’s place came into view. Below the bluff across the street, barely visible stood a house tucked behind a row of trees and native shrubbery. The neighbourhood bogeyman lived there—Mr. Hugh Tatlow. Jackie had seen him the other day, and he had looked the same as she had remembered him—a giant guy with black eyes and a piercing glare. Creepy. As a kid, she had invariably eluded his property and ran like hell if she encountered him.
Savannah faltered on the beach landing, inhaled a breath and risked the first step. She skirted the depression at the bottom. The coast swept away into the distance, fading at a curve. As if drawn by a magnet, the girls wended their way to the lake, hot sand shifting under their feet. The water was chilly in contrast. Savannah wiggled her toes as the silvery bubbling crests curled past her naked limbs to strike the shoreline with softness. Overhead the sunlight pulsed down from a pastel blue sky. The seagulls screamed and whirled gracefully with the thermals.
They found a shaded patch against the dunes where timbers had sailed in from winter storms. The driftwood bleached by the summer rays sat pale in their current home until the next squall reclaimed them. Jackie pushed backward into an arched hollow on an auspicious log. She passed her fingers over the ridges that swirled along its surface. She was undecided what to say to her grieving companion. Savannah remained quietly beside her. The melody of the wash licking the sand made it tough for Jackie to hold her eyes open. The sun stabbed a tunnel through the shivering leaves and touched down on Savannah’s fiery red hair. The same ruby hue as Elsie’s locks. Jackie’s moan of sadness was not lost upon her friend.
The restless night had weighed on Jackie’s resilience, and she nodded off. The squealing of gulls startled her from her nap. Savannah was gone. She felt alone. A sharp wind sent goosebumps along her arms. She glanced up at the black clouds hurrying in and sprawling across the sky. A brilliant force of lightning shocked her to her feet. A boom made her jump. The squall unleashed itself, lashing the top of the water, hurling spray into the air. Drops of rain changed into casks as she tripped up the stairs. Each lightning crack and rumble of thunder sounding closer. When she reached the landing, a flash lit up all around. The detonation came moments afterward. Jackie rushed forward from peril straight into the arms of a stranger. She hollered, wrenching herself loose from his powerful grasp. Black evil eyes glared at Jackie, making her run as fast as she could. She careened down the lane, tears cascading down her cheeks. A hand captured her. She screeched wildly, and whirled round to face her fear.
* * *
Todd had gone back to bed, so David wandered outside to the store. He stood on the stoop with a lit smoke, staring at the gathering storm. The sky had dimmed, but the heat hadn’t let up. The clouds bunched together closer, blacker and steeper. A spark of lightning split the sky, and a deafening boom crackled overhead. He butted out his fag and decided to look for the girls. As he headed down the roadway more forks of lightning and thunder rolled over him. The clouds broke free and dumped rain onto his hurrying figure. An Expedition whipped out of Grandma’s driveway almost colliding into him. He continued moving quicker, his limbs working overtime until he spotted Jackie. She was running blindly down the lane with her eyes lowered. He grabbed at her arm to slow her down. She struggled to get away.
“It’s me.”
She looked up and fell into his body.
“Mr. Tatlow. He tried to…”
“It’s okay. Let’s get out of this downpour,” David assured her.
Chapter 8
“Who’s next on our list?” Gibson studied the list. His finger paused at Mrs. Mary Cunningham. “We’ll visit Grandma. If it’s at all like my family, people will just show
up. Maybe Gregory is there.”
Grandma’s home was adjacent to the roadway. The two-storey white building had an expansive wraparound veranda on both levels. It was the perfect grandchild playground. Lots of space to run and bike. Apple trees, their gnarled branches weighted with fruit spurs, peppered the grassland on the right. Jacobs Landing stood out across the field. The hedge on the left blocked out Felton’s dwelling.
There were rose beds here and there about the house and along the driveway. Lavender and marigolds weaved in with the shrubs. Katherine would treasure this, Gibson thought. He shut his eyes for a flash and sighed. Grandma rested in a rocker by the front door, hands on lap, gazing at the darkness rolling in. Bobby pins, stuck in randomly, barely kept the puffs of silvery hair in control. Her skin was weathered and wrinkly.
“Good afternoon,” Gibson said as he walked to the porch.
“Are you the detectives?”
“Yes. May we ask a few questions?”
“What a dreadful affair. Poor Elsie.”
Eckhart picked a basket weave chair opposite the elderly woman and sat. Gibson leaned on the railing and crossed his arms.
“Would you like some water? Not as good as Felton’s. But it’s icy.” The rocker groaned as she broke its motion with feet stuck on the ground. She reached for the glass beside her.
He shook his head and smirked at the dig directed at Felton and his well water.
“Did you notice anything at the party? Anybody follow Elsie out or anything?” Gibson asked, figuring Grandma didn’t miss much.
“I’m not so young anymore. I went home before the fireworks started. I really can’t help you.” Her head had bobbed up and down as she listened, her mouth twisted into a frown.
