In Sickness and in Death

When I mentioned it to Ray, he hung up on me so fast that I didn’t get to ask him to call me when he found out the answer. No matter, I would get it out of him later.

I drove straight from Danny’s school to Erica’s apartment, hoping to see the Porsche back in the driveway. It wasn’t. I did see tire tracks on the driveway and footprints in the dusting of snow leading to her door.

I leapt out of the car and rushed onto the front porch. No one responded to my hammering on the door. I fished out my key and unlocked it.

Inside, the living room appeared the same, just dusty and unoccupied, as was the kitchen. Her bedroom and bath were another matter.

The mirror over her dresser now lay in pieces. Her dresser drawers hung open and empty. The bathroom vanity mirror had also been smashed. I surmised that the stiletto heel lying in the sink had been used to do the deed.

All of Erica’s toiletries were missing. Only their lavender scent lingered in the air. Her suitcases were gone too. The remaining clothes lay strewn about the bedroom floor, still on the hangers, as if they’d been considered for packing and dismissed. Her discarded shoes were heaped in a pile in front of her closet.

I sank onto the corner of her bed and surveyed the damage.

If I called Ray, he would ask if I saw signs of foul play. In all honesty, I did not. When it came to Erica, breakage was commonplace. Once, she’d even put an umbrella through her television set. With the exception of the mirrors, the room just looked like she’d packed to go somewhere in haste. I crossed my fingers it wasn’t Las Vegas to marry one of the unknown men in the Elvis chapel.

I dropped to the floor, crawling about on my hands and knees, trying to discern if she’d taken summer clothes or winter, beach or ski chalet, fashionable or serviceable. I came to no conclusions.

I did, however, spot her new prescription bottle under the bed. A count of the pills told me she’d stopped taking them two days after we’d had the prescription filled.

“Oh, Erica, how can I help you if you won’t help yourself?”

____


I trudged across the driveway and knocked on the door of my old neighbor and nemesis Mr. Murphy. During the years I’d occupied the apartment next door, he’d made an almost weekly trip to my door to complain about the placement of my trash cans on garbage day. With his attention to detail, I hoped he might have noticed Erica’s departure and perhaps her departure companion.

He wasn’t home.

I got back in my car and drove by The Lincoln House. Erica’s Porsche sat right where she’d left it days ago. It was too early for the restaurant to be open for lunch. I doubted any of the lunch shift employees would be of much help anyway. Erica worked the five to close shift. Maybe I would come back later and question some of her co-workers about Erica’s mystery man. I could only suspect that she’d either run away or moved in with him. Surely psycho serial killers didn’t have their victims pack suitcases.

Asdale Auto Imports was closed, according to the sign in the window. I was pleased to find the parking lot behind the building empty. Cory had stayed home or gone out on the town today as he should. But I needed to find the name of the redhead who wanted to purchase the Caterham. I wanted to find out if she was the same woman I saw at The Cat’s Meow the other day. And I wanted to know if her brother had red hair, too.

But first I had to call the two dealers and discuss their available cars so I would have a reason to contact this woman.

That took me an hour. At the close of the hour, I wasn’t excited about either car. The condition and maintenance records for both sounded satisfactory, but the prices were not. I didn’t feel like flying Cory to either dealership’s location to examine the cars. I really couldn’t imagine how owning one of them was going to turn this woman’s love life around.

Cory had written her name in his tight script on a pink Post-it Note. Leslie Flynn. He’d noted her brother’s phone number underneath her name and the message to find her a Caterham DeDion.

I dialed the number. A man answered.

I identified myself and asked to speak to Leslie.

“This is she.”

Now I heard the slightest hint of femininity in her otherwise gravelly voice. Dear God, did the woman have no attractions at all? “I understand from my mechanic Cory that you’re interested in purchasing a Caterham DeDion. I’ve located two for sale.”

“Excellent. How much are they?”

“Around forty thousand.”

“Who do I make the check out to?”

I pulled the phone from my ear and looked at it. She must be nuts. No bargaining? No negotiating? I put the receiver against my ear again. “Leslie, I wanted to talk with you more about these cars. I’m not sure they’re the best value for your dollar.”

“I’ll be right over.”

“Leslie?”

She’d hung up on me.

I sat at my desk and waited for her arrival, finding myself in the awkward position of not wanting to make the sale. These Caterhams didn’t merit their asking price, and the dealers didn’t seem inclined to bargain. Hiring me to broker the deal seemed silly, especially considering the fact that Leslie could locate these guys by herself if she just got online. And, even though it wasn’t my concern, I didn’t think owning a Caterham would be the answer to her prayers. If this man she desired was so shallow that he could be won over with the purchase of a British sports car, he couldn’t be worth having in the first place.

Had I become the love police? Maybe I should just let Leslie and, for that matter, Erica, decide what was right for them.

Nah. My new mission was to help people, whether they realized they needed help or not.

When the yellow Mustang convertible pulled into the shop’s parking lot a half hour later, I knew Leslie was the woman I’d seen at The Cat’s Meow.

She entered the showroom through the front door, stamping snow off her tan work boots. I walked out to greet her, thinking Cory had described her quite well.

Leslie Flynn had thinning sunburst red hair. I would have said it was a dye job, but the abundance of freckles visible even on her tanned skin suggested it was natural, or, at least, a simulation of natural. Her teeth were not only crooked but stained, and the brown Carhartt overalls and matching jacket she wore emphasized her unfortunate weight. As Cory had said, it wasn’t pretty. And she smelled kinda funny, too.

She looked me up and down. “You’re a cute little thing, aren’t ya?”

I felt my cheeks flush. “Thank you. Please, come in and sit down in my office.”

Her work boots clunked across the floor behind me. She dropped with a whompf, expelling all the air from the seat cushion.

I wasn’t sure quite how to begin, never having tried to talk a customer out of buying a car. “That’s a nice Mustang you’re driving now.”

She straightened and beamed with pleasure. “It handles well.”

“It’s a popular car. More popular than a Caterham.”

Her head bobbed up and down. “I know, I know. But have you ever seen Gatekeepers or eX-Driver?”

“No, I’m not familiar with those.”

“They’re Japanese animated cartoons, and they feature the Caterham. The man I’m interested in loves the Caterham and those cartoons.”

“You’ve talked to him about the cars and the cartoons, then?”

“Many times.”

“So you two already have a relationship?”

Her lips parted and her eyes narrowed as she appeared to consider my words. “I sell him eggs. Fresh brown eggs.”

“I see.” I didn’t really.

Leslie must have sensed my confusion. “My brother and I run a dairy farm. We have chickens, too. We also sell flowers and planters.”

Now I recognized her perfume. Eau de Manure.

Farms covered the hills and valleys of the Finger Lakes countryside, most run by Mennonites with family names like Weaver and Hoover who spoke with German-like accents. In fact, the Finger Lakes region had received the dubious distinction of hog-farming capital of New York, dubious because the swine aromas didn’t mix well with the fine wine aromas that the dozens of surrounding vineyards preferred to promote. The Mennonite farmers were tourist attractions, however, given their farm stores that sold homemade cheeses and fresh eggs as well as quilts, jams, wooden toys, and handcrafted furniture. Their simple clothes, refusal to use electricity or phones, and use of horse and buggy transportation or bicycles, which gave them their lean muscled physiques, also intrigued visitors to our area.

With her bright yellow Mustang and her less than toned body, I didn’t figure Leslie Flynn for one of our more touristy farmers.

She went on, “The farm has been in our family for a hundred years. My brother and I still work it. We have hired help, too.”

I wondered why Cory had made it sound like she was only visiting the farm. She seemed fully immersed in it on a daily basis. “Is farming a lucrative business?”

Leslie’s eyes rolled back in her head. “It’s a living. We can supply most of our own food needs. I can wear coveralls every day, so we have money for other things like cars, don’t you worry.”

“I wasn’t worried about that. I’m just curious. I haven’t spent time on a farm.”

“You haven’t missed much. I’m planning to spend less time there in the future. I want to see the rest of the country. I just have to find a bookkeeper for my brother. He’s a nightmare when it comes to organization and paying bills.”

I could understand her desire for a different setting. After living in Wachobe all my life, I’d started to wonder what else was out there. Maybe her plans to leave had given Cory the idea she was only visiting her brother. I wondered what her brother thought about her plan to seduce a man with a Caterham. It was the kind of idea Erica would come up with. I thought it best not to ask, but I couldn’t let the opportunity pass to ask Leslie about her brother. “Is your brother a redhead, too?”

“He sure is. We’re twins, born two minutes apart. I’m the older, wiser twin.”

“The women are always the wiser ones.”

Leslie bellowed. “I’m learning that more and more every day. My brother’s a bit of a hothead. It’s all I can do some days to keep our help from quitting when he gets the notion to light into them.”

“My sister met a red-haired man the other night … at The Cat’s Meow.” I rushed on, embarrassed to admit my sister was hanging out at a strip club. “She took quite a liking to him. Do you think it might have been your brother?” Perhaps their lack of organization and ability to pay bills had brought them together.

Leslie scratched her cheek. “He spends a lot of time there, I know that. I had to go over there the other day and cover a check he bounced. If you tell me her name, I’ll ask him about your sister when I get home and let you know. Now, how about you tell me about these cars you found?”

I supplied Erica’s name, then spent the next half hour comparing and contrasting the two vehicles, emphasizing their selling points as well as their drawbacks. Overall, I hinted to Leslie that no matter how fun a sports car the Caterham might be, it would not buy her a boyfriend.

She leaned back in her chair when I finished and hooked her thumbs around the straps of her coveralls. “You don’t seem keen on me buying this car, Mrs. Parker. What’s wrong with a Caterham?”

“Nothing, and please, call me Jolene. If you have the money and you think you’ll enjoy driving the car, then you should buy it. It’s just—”

“You don’t think it’s going to get me a man.”

“No, I don’t.”

Leslie examined her dirty and cracked fingernails. “I read an article that said men find women who drive these cars attractive. I know he likes these cars already. I just thought he might notice me as a woman if I drove one, too.”

“If I had to guess, Leslie, I’ll bet the article you read was written by a man trying to lure more women into buying sports cars. Most of them are bought by men.”

Leslie’s knee bounced up and down as she appeared to consider my words. “You’re a married woman. Tell me, how did you attract your husband?”

I smiled. “He thought I was pretty.” Just like Valerie Bertinelli, but I kept that to myself. I didn’t want Leslie Flynn to try to remodel herself to look like a Caterham. She’d have a hard time becoming sleek and racy.

Leslie glanced down at herself with a rueful grin. “I ain’t pretty.”

Although I’d just had that thought myself, I felt obligated to disagree. “Nonsense. A new hairdo, a little makeup, clothes that emphasize your womanly assets—he’s sure to notice a change in your look.” I sounded much more confident than I felt. He would notice, but who knew if he would find her attractive? I tried to push that thought out of my mind. Something about Leslie Flynn made my heart go out to her. I felt the need to help her in any way I could.

She fiddled with the buttons on her flannel shirt. “I don’t know how to pick out clothes. I get my haircut at the walk-in place for eight bucks.” She darted a glance at me from the corner of her eye. “Can you help me pick out some clothes?”

I laughed. I’d be no help there.

Leslie stiffened. Her brow furrowed.

I held up my hand to appease her. “I’m sorry. I’m laughing because I don’t pick my clothes out, either. I buy them at Talbots across the street. The manager picks them out for me.”

Leslie’s eyes brightened. “She’s a nice gal? She might help me?”

I laughed again. “Nice might be too strong a word, but, yes, she will help you.”





I put on my coat and walked Leslie across the street to Talbots. The sun had come out in full force today, melting away all traces of last week’s snowfall. In fact, the temperature felt downright warm, and my wool coat felt too heavy for the day.

As we approached the store, I could see Celeste Martin through the window. She was waiting on a customer. From her gestures and facial expressions, I had no doubt she was telling the woman exactly what to buy. Celeste had a gift for fashion. She also had a gift for gossip and attracting men. I was hoping I could get at least two of her gifts to work in my new friend Leslie’s favor. From experience, the gossip would always work against me.

By the time we entered the store, Celeste was ringing up her customer’s purchases. Leslie and I hovered in the vicinity of the cash register while I waited to catch Celeste’s eye.

She handed a tiny red and black envelope to her customer. “Here’s your receipt. And here’s your bag.” She caught sight of me. Her eyes narrowed, but her smile remained firmly in place. “Thank you, Mrs. Dean. Please be sure to stop back next week. Our fall clearance prices will be in effect.”

She walked around the counter. “Jolene, I haven’t seen you in months.” Her gaze traveled down my body to my dress boots. “You’ve lost weight. You’re a size four now. Your sister must be jealous.”

“Have you seen Erica lately?”

Celeste nodded. “At the restaurant. She’s put on a few pounds.”

“Have you seen her this week?”

Celeste raised an eyebrow. “No. Is she missing?”

I swallowed my pride. Celeste knew all about my family’s mental health issues. In fact, last year I’d learned she even dated my father for a while shortly before his death, a revelation that came as quite a shock to my world. Even more shocking was the fact that no one in town told me about it while it was happening. They usually loved to spread “news” as soon as they heard it. “Yes.”

She glanced at Leslie, looking her up and down. “I’ll keep my eyes open.”

“Thank you.” I gestured to Leslie. “This is Leslie Flynn. She wants to have a new look. I told her you would be able to help her.”

Leslie pointed to Celeste’s head. “You have beautiful hair. I’d like to have hair like yours.”

Celeste raised a hand to her blonde, perfectly coiffed hair that always brushed her chin but never, ever would dare to get in her eyes. It might not even have the nerve to grow, since it always looked the same. I’d never seen a dark root on her, but we had gone through school together. Celeste was a natural brunette. However, knowing her, she was a blonde all over now. “It’s not your color. I don’t think this cut would suit you, either, but I can give you the name of my stylist. He’s been known to work miracles.”

Leslie’s head bobbed up and down, an excited grin on her face. Clearly, she’d missed the insinuation that a miracle was required.

“Celeste, can you help Leslie pick out a few things? I’m going to try on some pants.”

Celeste moved toward the stairs leading to the Plus size department. “I’m sure we can find … something for you, Leslie.”

Leslie clapped her hands together, smiled at me, and lumbered after her. The two disappeared into the loft.

I moved to Petites and selected a few pairs of pants. I slipped into the dressing room to try them on. The floor overhead creaked. A few minutes later something thumped onto the floor. I finished my try-on quickly and started in the direction of the stairs.

Celeste came down, holding a mannequin’s arm in one hand and the leg in the other. “That woman’s a menace.”

I cringed at her hiss. “She needs you, Celeste.”

“She needs to lose weight. She needs veneers. She needs a new dye job and extensions.” Celeste dropped the mannequin’s parts on the counter behind the register. “And she needs a bath. I might have to fumigate.”

She looked at the three pairs of pants in my hands. “How did those work out for you?”

“I’ll take them.”

“You’ll need sweaters to mix and match. I’ve got the winter styles in the basement.”

I didn’t really need or want the sweaters, but Celeste liked to manage a top-selling store. And Leslie needed her goodwill. I could always return the items on Celeste’s day off.

An additional six sweaters and a hip-length quilted jacket later, I left the store laden with packages and Celeste’s promise that Leslie would be a new woman when she came into my shop tomorrow to continue our discussion about the Caterham.

I sat in the Lexus and dialed Ray for a second time today. He didn’t answer his cell phone. The department operator said he was out of the building. With any luck, he was hot on the trail of Danny’s mother and potential aunt. If anyone could sniff them out, it would be the hound dog named Ray.

I started the car and headed back to Mr. Murphy’s house in the hopes he’d returned home and could answer my questions about Erica.

His car was in the driveway when I pulled in next door. I dashed across his soggy lawn, my heels sticking in the grass, and raced up his front steps.

He pulled open the door before I had the chance to ring the bell. “You’re here about your sister, aren’t cha?”

Thin and sprightly as ever, Mr. Murphy now had tufts of hair growing not only above his ears but out of them. Coupled with his enormous earlobes, it made it difficult to focus my gaze on his wizened face. I did my best.

“She’s packed her bags. I can’t find her. Did you see her leave?”

“Sure did.”

“Was she with someone?”

Mr. Murphy’s hair tufts wafted up and down as he nodded. “Tall boy, with dark hair.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Never seen the boy before. Never seen any of those wild boys visit her more than once.”

“What kind of a car was he driving?”

“White one. One of those foreign four-doors. They’re everywhere.”

“Can you be more specific? A Honda Civic? A Hyundai Sonata? A Toyota Camry?”

Mr. Murphy waved his hands. “I don’t know names. Not the boy’s name. Not the car’s. No names.”

I tried to keep the smile on my face. “Can you tell me what time she left?”

“Morning. After the first two hours of the Today show. You know, when Regis comes on.”

As I struggled to think of something else that might be helpful, Mr. Murphy started to close his door. My time was up.

I held my hand against the door, halting its progress. “Can you think of anything else, Mr. Murphy? Anything at all? Erica hasn’t been taking her medication. I’m worried about her.”

He rolled his lips and looked toward the porch roof. “Boy had on a Syracuse Orangemen sweatshirt. That’s all I know.”

That was enough. I let go of the door.

He slammed it shut.

The “boy” was Maury Boor.

____


I checked my watch. I didn’t have time to look for Maury and Erica now. The day had slipped away from me. It was now quarter to three. School dismissed at five minutes after three. Danny would be waiting for me in the turnaround.

As I drove toward the school, I recalled Maury’s fascination with the Syracuse University basketball team. For a short guy, he’d been obsessed with the mighty tall ones. Maybe because he’d never had a chance of making the team himself. Maury must have asked Erica at least twenty times over the course of high school to attend a game with him. His parents had been season ticket holders. Maybe they still were. Maybe Ray could get the campus police to provide an address to go with those tickets.

I drove into Danny’s school’s turnaround and pulled up to the curb behind a woman in a minivan. She had a bumper sticker that read “Soccer Mom.” Would that be me someday, too? I’d never drive a minivan, but I could do soccer. Maybe. Depending on the weather.

Ray didn’t answer his cell. I didn’t bother calling the department. He’d be home for dinner soon enough.

Danny came out of school with his backpack over his shoulder, dragging his new coat through the wet grass and puddles. I cringed.

He climbed into the back seat.

I turned to look at him. “How was your first day?”

“Okay.”

“Was Mr. Mathews nice?”

“He’s okay.”

“How were the other kids? Did they talk to you?”

“Yeah. They’re okay.”

“Okay” was the word of the day. I started the car and eased my way out of the parking lot, trying to avoid the other more hurried moms and the kids jaywalking across the street.

When we got home, Danny plunked in front of the television. I headed into the office and fired up my computer, searching for Maurice Boor in the on-line white pages. The only listing I found was for an elderly man in another state. I dialed the number, hoping to find Maury’s dad.

He wasn’t a relative.

Faced with another dead end, I turned off the computer and headed into the kitchen to pull out all the remaining Thanksgiving leftovers. If I really was a super soccer mom, I’d be able to mix them all into a delicious casserole. I gave that thought all of a minute then shoved them as is into the oven to reheat.

Ray came through the door just after five, as he did most days. “Where’s Danny?”

“In the living room, watching TV.”

He motioned toward our bedroom. “Come talk to me.”

I followed him, noticing his pant cuffs were filthy. “How’d you get so dirty?”

“Crawling around the parking lot of The Cat’s Meow.” He took off his pants and threw them in the clothes basket. “I wanted to see if I could find a remote in the parking lot. The bartender said no one had turned one in.”

“Did you find one?”

“No, but the bartender and the bouncer remember Danny’s father going out of the bar and coming back in again to look for something. The bouncer figured at first it might be Danny, but his father was looking on the bar and the floor.”

“Maybe for his remote?”

“That was my thought. But that’s not what I wanted to tell you.” Ray pulled on a pair of jeans. “I called Newark and checked out Jessica James.”

“And?”

“They sent officers to her house. She wasn’t there. They talked to the neighbors, who said they hadn’t seen her for at least a month. The description they gave matches Josie Montalvo’s description, right down to the rhinestone fingernails. DMV provided a picture of Jessica James. It matches the picture on Josie Montalvo’s license. We found it in the apartment where we think she was killed. The two women appear to be one and the same person. But DMV never issued a license to a Josie Montalvo, and the Social Security office says the number on her card doesn’t exist.”

“So Josie Montalvo was a fake?”

Ray nodded. “The neighbors knew her sister, Jennifer, too. And Danny and Danny’s father.” He started to flip through his shirts, considering and dismissing them in turn.

“What else did they know?”

He pulled a thick rugby shirt off a hanger. “They all lived with the aunt in that house for two years after Danny was born. Then his mother died. The neighbors weren’t sure, but they thought it was from complications related to pneumonia. They did say the family was devastated. Danny and his father lived there with the aunt for another year or so—then one day he and Danny were gone. Jessica continued to live there until about two months ago when she bought the Escalade. The neighbors said she put her bags in her old gray Cavalier a month later and disappeared. She left the Cadillac in the garage. They thought she’d taken an extended vacation or something.”

I watched Ray pull his shirt over his head. Danny had thought that his aunt, Josie Montalvo, might be his mother. At age three, maybe he had believed she was. His memories from that time of life would be cloudy at best.

“So what does it all mean?”

Ray reached out and pulled me into a hug. His shirt smelled dusty. Yet another area of housework I’d neglected.

“Danny’s father knew Josie Montalvo. He was found driving the Escalade that she, as Jessica James, reported stolen. He was at The Cat’s Meow, which suggests he knew where she worked. He may have known where she lived as well. He’s now the number one suspect in her death.”

I wiggled out of his arms and gazed up at his face. “So you think he killed her?”

Ray rolled his neck and shoulder. “No.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “You don’t?”

“No. The first thing we did was light up both the Escalade and the Camry. There’s no trace of blood in either vehicle. The guy has no real history of violence. His prison record is exemplary. His parole officer said he followed the rules of his parole. Even the neighbors said he was a good father and a good neighbor. He appeared genuinely shocked to hear Josie Montalvo was dead.”

“He’s talking now?”

Ray heaved a sigh. “He’s still not talking, but I could tell from his body language. His attorney wanted a deal. I think Jessica James’ death threw a monkey wrench into it.”

“Will you investigate Danny’s father for her murder?”

“No. When the sheriff heard the definite connection to Danny, he took me off the case. I’m back on patrol duty for the month.”

The sheriff’s office in our county was fortunate to have only tenured members. The sheriff had decided that every deputy would have the chance to work investigations, so they took turns. When a deputy was not assigned to an investigation, he was on patrol, usually in hopes of finding another investigation to pursue. The sheriff must know what he was doing. Employee morale in his department was exceptionally high.

“So you’re not going to be involved?”

“You can bet I’ll be looking for her body under every bridge and haystack.”

Ray’d probably find it, too. “What should we tell Danny?”

“Nothing. His father’s not in the lockup any more. He’s in the jail. I’ll take Danny to visit him tomorrow. He can tell Danny what he thinks is right.”

I felt a niggling of suspicion. “Are you hoping he’ll come home and share the story with us?”

Ray ran his finger down the bridge of my nose. “Only if it helps the two of them, Darlin’. Only if it helps.”





Over our dinner of leftovers, I told Ray and Danny about Mr. Murphy witnessing Erica’s departure from her apartment in the company of the man I believed to be Maury Boor.

“And he was driving a white car, a four-door import. Mr. Murphy didn’t know which make or model. What are the odds it could be another white Toyota Camry?”

Danny choked and sputtered on his milk as his gaze shot to my face.

Ray studied Danny. “What do you think, Danny?”

“I don’t know.” He focused on his mashed potatoes.

Ray turned to me. “Camrys are one of the most popular cars on the road, especially white ones. They last forever, and they don’t show the dirt as much. We must have several dozen in this county alone.”

I knew that. But I’d been hoping Ray would tell me something different—I’d been imagining all sorts of scenarios involving my sister, a psycho killer, and a white Camry, not to mention dry ice in a cooler.

Ray continued, “After dinner, I’ll make some calls to Syracuse. See if I can find a season ticket holder named Boor. I’ll call the DMV and see if I can find a Camry registered to a Boor, too.”

Danny finished his plate and rose from the table.

Ray fixed an eye on him. “I didn’t hear you ask to be excused.”

“May I be excused?”

“What’s the magic word?”

Danny wrinkled his brow and thought for a moment. I began to despair in earnest for his upbringing. Finally, he got it. “Please?”

“First take your dishes to the sink.”

Danny carried them over, then disappeared into the living room. I expected to hear the television again. Instead, he reappeared with his backpack in hand. “I have homework.” He stared pointedly at the table.

I scrambled to my feet. “Let me clear the dishes and you can sit here to do it.”

Ray helped me carry the dishes to the sink. He leaned close to my ear. “Good to see him showing some responsibility. I’ll go make those calls.”

I started to load the dishwasher. “I need to run over to The Lincoln House and ask some of the dinner shift crew about Erica and Maury Boor. Maybe one of them knows more about Maury.”

“Go ahead. I’ll babysit.”

I wanted to tell Ray that it’s not babysitting when it’s your own child, but, then, Danny wasn’t really our child. He was definitely temporary; just how temporary, Social Services and the penal system would have to determine. Four years for car theft was a far cry from a murder sentence. I wasn’t naïve enough to hope Jessica James was still alive. I could only hope Danny’s father wouldn’t be convicted of killing her. Danny wanted to be with his father, and, even with his obvious faults, his father did love Danny.

Just like I loved my sister. But, boy, could she be a pain in the ass. As I guided my Lexus over the roadways in the direction of The Lincoln House, I thought about the dozens of other times Ray or I had set off in search of her. The last time she’d been released from the psych center, Dr. Albert had said she wouldn’t ever come back. Of course, he might not have anticipated her “cure” and subsequent decision not to take her meds. Maybe he should have, though. It wasn’t all that uncommon for patients to think they no longer needed their medicine. Was he not as good a doctor as I thought? Maybe his statement had even given her the impression she was cured. Would I have to find her a new shrink, too? I hoped not.

The Porsche still shone under the street lights at the back of The Lincoln House’s parking lot. I peeked inside to see if she’d left any clues. I saw piles of beer caps and wine corks on the back seat. Erica collected them and stored them in shoeboxes. She labored under the delusion that her collection would be sold for money some day. I also spotted half a matchbox. The label was covered by a cork. I tugged on the door handle. Of course, she’d remembered to lock it. I’d have to look for the spare key in her apartment.

I went inside the restaurant and introduced myself to the hostess, an older woman who seemed to recognize me. When I explained about Erica, she expressed her sympathy.

“She’s a sweet girl, but lately she’s been a little … cranky. I tried to help clear a table in the barroom last week, and she bit my head off. Accused me of trying to steal her tip, which was ridiculous. I did see her leave with that dark-haired man. One of the girls said she knew him.” She pointed her index finger at me. “Wait here a minute.”

She returned, followed by a brunette with a ponytail, wearing the black pants, white shirt and the tie of a server. “Patty knows him.”

The brunette’s ponytail swished behind her as she nodded. “Maury Boor. Class of ’90. He sat next to me in homeroom and at graduation. Real quiet. He’s grown a couple feet since then. He’s kinda cute now.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“I thought he lived outside Buffalo, but I’m not sure. Try the phone book.”

“I did, online. I couldn’t find him.”

“Did you use his real first name?”

I tipped my head. “I thought it was Maurice.”

“No, it’s Emerson. That was his dad’s name, too, so they called him Maury. Maurice is his middle name.”

I thanked her for the information and headed for home. When I walked in, I found Danny in front of the television. Ray was in our office, on the phone.

He motioned me inside as he hung up. “Syracuse issued one season ticket to an Emerson Boor. He gave an address in Geneseo. Could that be Maury’s father?”

“It could be Maury. One of the waitresses who graduated with him said he was named after his father, Emerson. But she thought he lived in Buffalo.”

“The basketball season started over a month ago. I’m sure the University sent the ticket out months before that. Maybe he moved. I’ll call the department and have him run through DMV and check for a record on Emerson Boor. He’s somewhere close by.” Ray picked up the phone again.

I sank into an armchair to wait.

Ray didn’t seem to like the answers he got. A muscle in his cheek twitched as he listened. I leaned closer, trying to hear.

“Good work. Thanks for checking.” He hung up and rubbed the five o’clock shadow on his chin, making a rasping noise that sent shivers down my spine.

“DMV’s last known address for Boor is Buffalo. They’re sending his picture. I can start showing it around tomorrow. But there’s bad news, Darlin’. Emerson Maurice Boor, age thirty-five, has an arrest record in Geneseo for stalking a female co-worker.”

____


Tuesday morning I awoke after another nearly sleepless night, rolled out of bed too fast, and had to grab the bedpost because the room swayed. In fact, my whole life swayed. My sister was in the hands of a stalker, and my foster child might be about to learn his father was a murderer—and I didn’t think I could do much to protect either of them. I hated to be so helpless.

Ray had kissed me goodbye around six, eager to check out Erica’s apartment and hunt for Maury Boor. While he hadn’t been interested in Erica’s disappearance days ago, the fact that he was now on patrol, coupled with Maury’s record, made her top priority. I think he figured Maury had psycho killer potential, but he didn’t want to alarm me. He never liked to alarm me. Hence, he tended to hide things from me. This time it was too late—I had already made the leap myself.

I drove Danny to school and waited until he’d vanished into the stream of children walking through its front doors. He seemed to have a spring in his step this morning, maybe because Ray had asked me to bring Danny to the public safety building at seven p.m. tonight to visit his father. When I told Danny the plan at breakfast, his eyes had lit up, and he couldn’t wait to go out the door and get the day started. Perhaps he thought it would pass more quickly if he got the jump on it. I, on the other hand, dreaded what his visit to his father might bring, fearing Danny wouldn’t hold up well to learning about his mother’s and his aunt’s deaths, not to mention the fact that the police now considered his father to be their number one suspect.

At nine-ten I walked into the showroom. The door was unlocked. The bells jingled to announce my arrival, but Cory did not appear. I headed toward the garage entrance.

“Over here.”

I jumped. My purse dropped to the floor. I turned to find Cory sitting behind the wheel of the Ferrari in the middle of the showroom floor.

He waggled his fingers at me. “Sorry.”

I picked up my purse and walked over to climb into the passenger’s seat.

The moment my butt hit the seat, I remembered that a dead man had been the last one to … ah … rest on it. I blocked that memory out of my mind and closed the door. If I couldn’t get past it, how could I expect a customer to?

“Why are you sitting here, Cory?”

“Brennan and I watched some old black and white movies last night, the kind where the couples sat in the cars as though they were driving and the scenery moved past them.”

I smiled. “Ah, yes.”

“I don’t have anything to work on this morning, so I’m pretending Monte Carlo is moving past.”

I leaned my head against the seat rest. “Is it hot out?”

“Very. Not a cloud in the sky.”

I closed my eyes and felt the sun on my face, which wasn’t too tough since it was pouring in through the showroom window. The temperature today in Wachobe had risen to fifty degrees already. We were looking at a second Indian summer. Must be all that global warming.

“And they’re racing today. We’re in the lead.”

I opened my eyes and glanced over at him. “You’ve gotten the racing bug all of a sudden, haven’t you?”

He grinned back at me, his teeth glittering ivory from all the whiteners he used on them. According to Cory, a stage actor must have gloriously white teeth. I’d wondered more than once if he’d reached the point where they glowed in the dark. “Brennan’s excited to race this Mazda. The turbo’s got a lot of power.”

“Do you see us getting involved with other race teams, or just Brennan?”

“Just Brennan, unless you think differently.”

I closed my eyes again. “I don’t. To be honest, I’ve been wondering if I should get out of the sports car business altogether. You’re the moneymaker here. I haven’t sold much this past year and I still have this lemon.”

Cory touched my forearm. I turned toward him again.

“I think the time is coming for this car, Jo. People have forgotten about the murder. And now that fuel economy standards mandate a corporate average fuel economy of 35 miles per gallon by 2020, America isn’t going to be manufacturing the sports car classics like the Corvette. Pretty soon it will be all about imports. Our knowledge and skills will be in demand, you’ll see.”

Everything I’d read gave me the same idea, but still … “I thought about offering you the business.”

His head wagged back and forth. “I don’t want the responsibility, Jo. The last few months sucked without you. I was afraid you weren’t coming back. I wouldn’t have time for Summer Theater without you. I love cars, but I love the theater, too. I want the time to do both. Besides—” he slid his hand into mine “—we’re a team. Batman and Robin. The Lone Ranger and Tonto.”

I tapped the Ferrari’s dashboard with my free hand. “Laurel and Hardy.”

His girly eyelashes batted. “I don’t do slapstick comedy.”

“Fair enough. How about you take the day off? I owe you a few days off.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Leslie Flynn’s coming to see me at eleven. She’s going to unveil her new look.” I explained to Cory how I had enlisted Celeste’s support to makeover Leslie.

Cory wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel. “I’m not going anywhere. I have got to see that.”

“Fine, but be advised I’m also talking her out of buying the Caterham.”

____