“Custom Fabio? That’s his name? Is that a joke?” Rhetta stared at her friend’s small purse. How could the woman possibly fit anything in there?
“Not at all.” Ricky’s ponytail bounced under her ball cap when she shook her head. “He calls himself Custom Fabio. Although he resembles Eddie Murphy more than he does that gorgeous model, Fabio. Custom Fabio wears his long hair in dreads and he has three gold teeth. I think his real name is Fablonzo.”
“What’s the plan?” Rhetta asked, fishing money out of her purse to leave a tip. Randolph had already picked up the tab for the breakfasts and was headed to the cashier. Luckily, he was out of earshot when Ricky laid out her theory.
Ricky leaned in close to Rhetta and whispered. “I’ve scoped it out. Billy Dan and I peered in the window. That’s how I saw the scrapes and paint chips on that truck. They are a totally different color. I can crawl in through the window, snatch some paint scrapings and hoist myself back out. Thing is, what will Randolph say?” She jutted her chin toward Randolph, who’d paid the cashier and was heading back to the table.
Rhetta whispered, “We can’t tell him. He’d never allow us to break and enter, especially after what happened out at Jeremy’s barn.” Ricky nodded her agreement.
Billy Dan groaned. “What will we do with Randolph?”
“I’ll think of something by the time we get there.” Rhetta joined Randolph who was waiting for them by the front door and slipped her arm into his. They led the way into the sparkling sunshine and nearly empty parking lot. She didn’t have the vaguest idea how to get him to turn his eyes away while they broke into yet another building.
The four stood outside, next to three vehicles. Ricky and Billy Dan had driven separately, so they debated which vehicle to take to the cabin on the back country roads. Randolph suggested they all ride together in the Artmobile.
Ricky solved the problem. “Billy Dan, why don’t you lead the way, and let Randolph follow you in his truck? I need to take my truck anyway. I have a few groceries in there and I need to get them into a cooler. I’ll make a quick detour to my campsite.” Billy Dan nodded, unlocked his Ford Ranger’s door, and slid behind the wheel.
Ricky continued. “Rhetta why not ride with me? My campsite is close to where we’re going. We’ll meet the guys at the Griffith cabin. I know where it is.”
Randolph’s window glided down noiselessly. “That’s fine, I’ll follow Billy Dan, and that way no one will have to drive anyone back into town.” He waited for Billy Dan to pull out on to Highway 34 before slipping in behind him.
Rhetta slid into the passenger seat of Ricky’s two door Ford 150 work truck. There was no back seat, and no groceries on the front seat. She raised an eyebrow at Ricky.
Ricky grinned. “I had to think of something. Billy Dan whispered to me that he could take the long way to Whispering Pines Lake. We should get there ahead of them, and have time to nab the paint flakes off that truck and get out of the shed before they get there.”
Rhetta high-fived Ricky. “That’s what friends are for!”
Chapter 48
Ricky slid behind the wheel of her little truck. Rhetta snapped her seat belt on, and they set out on Highway 34. By now, Rhetta couldn’t spot either Billy Dan or Randolph.
Ricky must’ve noticed Rhetta peering around. “They’ve already pulled off on The Old Dump Road. That winds around and comes out at Whispering Pines Lake. But we’re going to have to step on it, to get there before they do.” With that, she veered on to a dusty, narrow gravel road.
Rhetta rolled up her passenger door window against the cloud of red gravel road dust, and turned on Ricky’s air. “Spill it, sister. Why did Billy Dan take you out to Adele’s cabin?”
“I told Billy Dan about finding the body. Billy Dan knew I’d been seeing Jeremy. He never asked anything about me and Jeremy, but I volunteered the details.”
Rhetta said, “The details?”
“Some of the details. That’s when he told me about wiring up Adele’s cabin. We weren’t far from it so we drove past it. We stopped and peeked into the shed.” She glanced at Rhetta. “You know, Jeremy and I were breaking up. I discovered a lot about him that I had never suspected. ”
Rhetta nodded. “Such as?”
Ricky took another right turn on to an even narrower road, one that went partially through a creek bottom. She pointed to a cluster of trees inside a small area enclosed by an ancient wire fence. “There’s a Union Soldier’s grave over there. Billy Dan told me about it.” She slowed the truck as they passed over a road filled with boulders the size of Kentucky.
Rhetta turned to Ricky. “You’re stalling.”
They angled up a creek bank and the road improved. Ricky continued. “The night of the pool party, I overheard Jeremy talking smack to Anjanette. He was overdrawn in his construction account, and dear mother didn’t want to give him more money. He threatened her. I’m not sure what that was about, and I don’t know with what. At the time, I didn’t make much of it, except that I pegged him then and there for a first class loser. We fought when I caught him with his pants down. I split.”
Ricky kept one hand on the wheel and rummaged through her purse with the other. “I wonder if he was blackmailing his own mother. Maybe Anjanette is the one responsible for killing Malcom, and somehow Jeremy knew that?” She found her cell phone. She glanced at it, and returned it to her bag. “No signal,” she muttered.
“Or, what if Jeremy is the one who killed Malcom and Anjanette knew it, but never turned him in?” Rhetta glanced at her own cell phone. “No Service” displayed where bars and 3G should have been.
Ricky nodded slowly. “But who killed Jeremy?”
“My money is on Mylene Allard. She told me she hated Jeremy, and she called me to meet her at the barn that night. She might have been setting me up. Why, I don’t know. If I ever see her again, I plan on asking her.” Rhetta sat back against the seat and sighed. “I just don’t know. It’s too confusing. The two deaths are related. We need to figure out who hated both Malcom Griffith and Jeremy Spears.”
Ricky held up her hand and began raising a finger at a time as she ticked off her list. “First, there’s Anjanette. She probably hated Malcom for not leaving Adele when he found out she was pregnant with Jeremy.” Another finger popped up. “Next we have Mylene Allard, Malcom’s daughter, who hated Jeremy, and was probably really ticked with her own father. Maybe enough to get into an argument with him and kill him accidentally. Or on purpose. From what you’ve told me, she’s a pretty rough character.” A third finger. “There’s Adele Griffith. She couldn’t stomach Malcom fooling around with Anjanette, so she offed him.”
“Offed him?” Rhetta asked. “You sound like you’ve been watching too many movies.”
Ricky laughed, but without any trace of humor. “I didn’t like Jeremy much either, but I sure didn’t kill him. Even though Sheriff Reasoner hasn’t cleared me.”
Rhetta took up the list. “We have Anjanette, Mylene, Jeremy, and Adele. Who can we rule out?” Now it was her turn to tick off suspects. “I think we can rule out Anjanette because she loved Malcom. Also Adele. Even if she knew her husband was fooling around with Anjanette, she still loved him and needed his income. I think Jeremy makes a good suspect in Malcom’s death. Maybe he’d been blackmailing Malcom and they got into a fight.”
“Malcom owned that property back then. So it’s possible Jeremy went over there.” Ricky nodded. “That makes sense.”
Rhetta turned to Ricky. “Who is the common denominator to both dead men?”
They replied in unison. “Mylene Allard.”
Chapter 49
As Ricky topped a hill, the serene blue of Whispering Pines Lake sprawled over several acres in the valley below them. Ricky slowed at a gravel drive. Two square columns, built from cemented creek rocks much like the boulders they’d just driven over, stood like sentries, one on each side of the entrance. A wrought iron arch connected across the top of the two pillars. The na
me Griffith was welded into the crown of the arch, although the “h” in the sign had come loose from the welds and listed to the right. Definitely a rustic effect. The driveway looked in better shape than the gravel road they’d just traveled. Ricky had pointed out they had come in the back way. The road going away from the cabin was in much better shape. At least, the boulders were smaller.
Ricky turned and drove through the gateway and down the hill. As the driveway curled around a century old oak, a log cabin appeared. Ricky pulled up in front. There was no sign of Billy Dan or Randolph. The yard needed tending. What was left of a lawn was overgrown with dandelions and crabgrass at least a foot high. A wild climbing rose vine battled with morning glory and blackberry brambles for space on a tattered trellis leaning against the front of the cabin porch. A piece of plywood nailed over the glass in the front door displayed a “No Trespassing” sign. The oversize hasp and padlock would’ve stood little chance against a couple of hammer blows.
Ricky pulled a Baggie out of her purse and slid out of the truck.
“Come on. Let’s do this before the guys get here.” She began loping around back toward a metal shed that stood about thirty feet directly behind the cabin, hidden from the drive. Rhetta scrambled after her. Luckily she’d worn jeans and tennis shoes.
“Do you always keep empty Baggies in your purse?” Rhetta asked as she caught up with Ricky.
“What?” Ricky glanced at the Baggie. “Of course.”
“Why?” By now they’d reached the side of the garage, and Ricky was evaluating the window.
“In case I have the dogs with me, and I have to walk them in town. You know, to pick up doggie stuff.”
“Oh. Right.” Cat owners never worried about outdoor droppings. Mainly because cats like to hide their messes.
Ricky had already hoisted herself up to the sill and was kneeling sideways on its narrow ledge, tugging at the window, trying to raise it. “I bet this crummy window hasn’t been opened in years.” The window held fast. She grunted and pushed up as hard as she could on the double hung window. Painting over the trim had probably sealed the window forever. It remained stubbornly unyielding.
Rhetta said, “Move over, I’ll climb up there too and maybe we can open it together.” Ricky reached down and clasped one of Rhetta’s hands and pulled while Rhetta boosted herself up next to Ricky. The two of them squeezed together on the sill and tried pushing up on the window frame. It still didn’t budge.
“I’m not sure how we’re going to get this window open, short of breaking it.” Rhetta said, her forehead sweating and her hands filthy from the window dirt. She wiped her hands across her thigh to remove the dirt. Then she wiped her face with the back of her hand.
“I guess that’s why the term is called breaking and entering. Ya gotta break it before you can enter.” Ricky giggled.
“We better not do that. Randolph will have a stroke. Let’s get down and try the door. With any luck, it’s unlocked.” Rhetta began peering over her shoulder to see where she could drop without landing on the rocky gravel below.
“It’s not. Billy Dan and I tried it the other day.”
Before Rhetta could drop safely to the ground, a gunshot exploded, shattering the window, sending glass and wood shards in every direction. Ricky pitched forward and, with a loud thud, toppled through the window to the inside of the building. Rhetta screamed and fell backward to the gravel below.
Chapter 50
Before the echoing reverberation of the first shot had died away, another shot rang out. Rhetta had the wind knocked out of her when she landed on her back, but the bullet whizzing past her head and slamming into the side of the garage fueled her adrenalin. She rolled over and scrabbled for cover.
Not daring to stand and run, besides being unable to, she scuttled on her hands and knees around to the edge of the garage. She propped her back against the building, gasping for air. Her heart slammed against her ribs and she felt like her lungs had seized. She panted, desperate to replenish her lungs and kick start them. Fear made it harder for her to gasp for air. Blackness accompanied by dancing points of light edged inward from her peripheral vision. She was on the verge of passing out. Her head spun and she slumped sideways, yielding to the nothingness. Then her lungs began working, the reflexive breathing pushing oxygen to her starved brain. The darkness around her eyes gave way to light again. She could breathe!
“Ricky,” she whispered. “Can you hear me?” No answer.
Rhetta gulped a few more breaths and crawled around to the side of the shed opposite from where they had perched on the sill. No doors. She flopped over and continued until she came to the end of the garage where there was a single rollup door held in place by a locked padlock. She edged away from the garage and crouched behind a dense wild olive bush. There were no more shots. Instead, she heard the distinct crunch of gravel from footsteps as someone slowly walked around the building. She flattened herself to the ground and prayed that her raspy breathing wasn’t so loud as to alert the intruder to her position. She dared a peek upward through the brush, but could only see a slim form in jeans and wearing boots, a black T-shirt and matching ball cap. Although his back was to her, she clearly saw the handgun he clutched, muzzle up, like they do in cop shows. When he reached the window, he was too short to see into the shed. After a couple of attempts to jump up and peer in, he gave up and moved on away. Rhetta failed to get a glimpse of his face.
He walked toward the cabin, his back to her the whole time. She lost sight of him as he rounded to the front of the cabin. A motor turned over followed by the crunch of gravel and squealing tires. Then, quiet.
With her breathing coming more regularly, Rhetta dared to stand. Her heart was still jackhammering in her chest, but she managed to sprint to the garage window and shout to Ricky. “Are you okay? Ricky, please answer me.”
A muffled sound answered her from somewhere inside.
Rhetta shouted, “He’s gone, Ricky. Are you hurt?”
Ricky answered a little louder this time. “I think I broke my arm.”
“Hang on, I’ll try to break the padlock and get you out.”
“Go to the toolbox in the back of my truck. I have a big pair of cutters in there.”
“I’m on my way. Don’t go anywhere,” and bolted for the bolt cutters.
She scrambled into the bed of the pickup and popped open the lid of the unlocked toolbox. She quickly spotted a pair of bolt cutters suitable for busting bolts on an elephant’s leash. She picked them up and lugged them to the end of the truck, rolled over and let herself down and dragged them back to the padlocked door. It took all her strength to spread the cutter arms apart. Still weak and gasping for breath, she dropped the cutters. She made a second attempt, and this time, took a deep breath and pressed the two handles together. The padlock snapped and fell to the ground. Rhetta dropped the cutters, and pushed as hard as she could until the door finally managed to slide about two feet open. She squeezed through and into the dark interior.
Ricky was standing near a dusty seventies-model pickup truck. She supported one arm with her opposite hand, and called Rhetta over. “Come over here, and pull this Baggie out of my pocket.” She twisted sideways to present her right pocket.
Rhetta removed the Baggie. “Are you okay?”
Ricky limped over to the front of the truck. “Like I said, I think I may have broken my arm when I fell.” She hopped a few more steps. “I think I twisted my ankle, too.” She stopped at the front end of the truck, which had been backed into the garage. Rhetta saw now how Ricky had been able to see the front of the truck from the window.
“Look right there,” Ricky said, pointing to two unmistakable dents and paint scrapings. “See if you can gather those paint scrapings into the Baggie.” Rhetta bent to examine the scrapings. Sure enough, they were definitely white, or off-white. They couldn’t have been from the truck, which was the same shade of green as goose poo. The top of the old truck was covered in bird droppings and bit
s of nest material and feathers. Evidently, the starlings had no trouble finding a way in to the locked garage.
Using her fingernails, Rhetta scraped the bits of paint into the plastic bag and carefully folded the top. She turned to Ricky. “Can you walk enough to get out of here?” She stuffed the Baggie into her jeans pocket. “Here, lean on me.” She slipped an arm around Ricky’s waist.
Ricky accepted the help, then limped toward the door, shinnying through the small opening. Rhetta followed. Where they emerged they were met by a glowering Randolph, arms folded, looking like he was about to explode.
Chapter 51
“Just what were you two doing in there?” Randolph asked, his calm voice belying the thundercloud that darkened his deep blue eyes to nearly coal black.
“Oh, Randolph, I’m so glad you’re here!” Rhetta rushed to her husband in relief.
From his surprised expression, that probably wasn’t the reaction Randolph expected from her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, concern seeming to replace any anger. After receiving her hug, he stood back and studied her.
She knew she probably had muddy streaks and bits of gravel, brush and dirt clinging to her hair and face. He reached up and brushed a twig out of her hair.
“I’ll admit that we tried getting into the garage through the window,” Rhetta said and pointed to the shattered window. “But before we could pry it open, someone began shooting at us, and blew out the window. Luckily for us they missed, but Ricky fell in, and I fell back. I think Ricky has a broken arm and a sprained ankle.”
“Shot at you?” He turned to Ricky, who nodded. “Let’s get you to the clinic in town. We need to call the sheriff, too.”
Billy Dan put a protective arm around Ricky’s shoulder. “I’ll take her, Judge. You take care of Rhetta.”