Secure Location

chapter Fifteen

When Cruz got to Haileyville, he searched for funeral homes on his smart phone. There were four. The first one he tried was closed but the second one had lights on. He rang the bell. A man in his mid-forties, wearing a black suit and shiny black shoes, opened the door.

“May I help you?” the man asked, his tone hopeful. Cruz understood. In a town this size, the four funeral homes would be in fierce competition. “My name is Detective Cruz Montoya. I’m investigating a case and I’m trying to find information on this man.” He flashed Blakely’s picture. “It’s my understanding that his parents died, maybe about a year ago. Do you recognize him?”

The man studied the picture, then shook his head. “Perhaps one of his siblings handled the arrangements. What’s the name?”

“Troy Blakely.”

The man tapped his chin and Cruz saw that his nails were very clean. Probably bad for business to have embalming fluid under the thumbnail. “Now I’ve got it. You’ve got the timing right. It was almost a year ago. If you’ll follow me, we can look it up.” The man led him to a back room, done in tasteful gray and maroon. The man motioned for Cruz to sit and took his own seat in front of an old desktop computer. After a few clicks of the mouse, he stopped. “Here we are. Blakely. Gloria and Ted. Sad situation really. The woman died and the husband arranged the funeral. At the same time, he prepaid for his own services. That’s not all that strange. However, we realized he had something in mind when just three days later, we were advised that he was also deceased. A deliberate overdose on his wife’s medication.”

“Their family?”

“No family. I assisted in the writing of his wife’s death notice for the local paper and specifically asked him about children. He did mention that his wife had lost a daughter from a previous marriage many years ago but he didn’t want us to mention that in the newspaper.”

“No son? You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be. No mention of one and he definitely wasn’t at either funeral.”

Cruz wanted to pound his head on the table. It wasn’t making sense. It had to be the right couple. Same last name. The waitress had the name of the town right.

But no son. Troy Blakely had made it sound like he was very close to his parents.

Something did not smell right.

“What’s their address?”

The funeral director frowned. “I’m not sure I should release that.”

Cruz cocked an eyebrow. “Who’s going to complain? They’re dead and there’s no family.”

The man nodded. “I suppose you’re right. And we, of course, want to cooperate with the police.” He wrote something on a slip of paper and passed it across the desk to Cruz. “Good luck, Detective.”

Cruz plugged the address into his GPS and found the small house in less than ten minutes. It was a modest ranch on a quiet street, with concrete birds and rabbits and even a few frogs in the flower garden.

Had they belonged to the Blakelys? Were they left behind in the garage, no longer a concern for a man determined to follow his wife?

He knocked and a minute later, a young woman opened the door. She had a baby, dressed in pink and white, perched on a hip. “Yes,” she said, her tone guarded.

“Hi,” he said, trying for relaxed. It was a struggle when he was strung tight. “I thought Gloria and Ted Blakely lived here.” It was as good an opening line as any. It was possible the new owner had learned something about the previous owners from helpful neighbors.

She shook her head and swayed in the way that all young mothers seemed to know. His sister and sister-in-laws had come home from the hospital knowing how. He stared at the baby. Cute kid. Not much hair. He was about to lift his gaze when the baby flashed him a gummy grin that lit up her face.

At that moment, he’d never envied his partner more. In a few short months, Sam would come home to pure sweetness. Sure, there’d be dirty diapers and sleepless nights but it wouldn’t matter. Because there’d be love. Unconditional love.

“They’ve been gone for almost a year,” the woman said, bringing Cruz back. “They both died. We got the house for a good price. Guess it freaked some people out that the man had killed himself here.”

“Any family?” he asked.

The woman shook her head. “I guess not.”

This was going nowhere fast. “Thanks for your time,” he said, giving the baby one last look. He turned, walked down the sidewalk to the house next door, and knocked on the red door. A woman with a square body and a round face answered. Cruz guessed her age to be about sixty.

“My name is Cruz Montoya,” he said, holding his card steady so that she could read the information. “I was hoping to talk to someone who knew Gloria or Ted Blakely.”

She shrugged and her housedress lifted on one side. “I suppose I knew them as well as anybody. They kept to themselves a lot.”

“What about family?”

“Poor things. They didn’t have anybody. Not like me and Bert with our five.” She leaned forward so far that Cruz thought she might topple over. “I think they might have lost a child,” she said, her voice a mere whisper. “One time when I was visiting, I had to use their bathroom.” She patted her abdomen. “Five babies and your bladder ain’t what it used to be.”

Maybe he should tell his sister. She kept complaining that her breasts were sagging. It would give her a whole new body part to worry about.

“I happened to see in their bedroom. There was a pink cross hanging next to the dresser. “It had a name on it. I think it was Missy.”

Cruz pulled out the picture of Troy Blakely. “Did you ever see a man who looked like this hanging around?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. But then again, I don’t see so good anymore.”

“Is there anybody else who might have known them?” he asked.

She pointed at the house across the street. “You could talk to the Moulins. Of course, neither Debi nor Frank gets home from work until after five.”

He wouldn’t make it back to San Antonio until after seven-thirty. He didn’t want to leave Meg alone for that long. “Thanks for your help,” he said. He got in his car and headed east.

* * *

DETECTIVE MYERS LISTENED to Meg’s story without interruption or expression. He sat in a visitor chair, she sat behind her desk. When she finished, she realized she was clenching her hands together. “Well?” she prompted. She’d spewed her guts. He could at least answer.

“I appreciate you telling me,” he said. “I’d have liked to have known right away but that’s a moot point now. I take it your ex-husband doesn’t know any of this.”

She nodded. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I don’t have any compelling reason to tell him,” he said. “But he’s a smart guy and from what I can tell, a good cop. If he starts digging, he might stumble upon it.”

That’s what she was afraid of.

“You don’t have any reason to believe what’s happening now has anything to do with what happened twenty years ago?” Myers asked.

“No. But something unusual did happen today, shortly after I called you. I don’t want to make too big a deal out of it but I want you to know about it.”

“What was that?”

“I had a visitor. Or so Tim Burtiss said. I had to run upstairs to Scott’s office and when I got back he told me that some old lady had come by. He said she seemed sort of nervous and that she asked to see Margaret Mae.”

“Margaret Mae?”

“That’s what everyone called me when I was a kid.”

Detective Myers nodded. “When you lived in Maiter?”

“Yes. And before that, when I lived in Houston. I didn’t go by Meg until college.”

“What did Tim tell her?”

“He told her the office was Meg Montoya’s and she said that’s who she wanted. Tim said that he asked the woman for her name, to check it against the list and that she got real pale. He thought she might fall over. She never did give him her name. Just walked away.”

“And you have no idea who she was?”

“No. I asked Tim what she looked like and he said that she wasn’t much over five feet. Kind of round. Pretty old, too. Maybe sixty.”

Detective Myers smiled. “Tim evidently hasn’t heard that sixty is the new forty.” He closed his notebook. “But you don’t know that this person had anything to do with what happened twenty years ago in Maiter. Maybe it was somebody who lived across the street from you when you were five and you lived in Houston?”

Maybe. But she had a horrible feeling that it had something to do with a secret that she’d managed to hide for half her lifetime.

She needed Cruz to go back to Chicago before all her lies started to unravel. Getting him to agree was going to be difficult, almost impossible.

There was probably only one way. It went against everything she believed in but she was desperate.

“You might be right,” she said. She stood up and he did the same. She walked around her desk, across her office, and opened the door. Charlotte was at her desk, her hands on her computer keyboard. The woman looked up but didn’t say anything.

Meg shook the detective’s hand. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Detective Myers nodded and left.

Charlotte was staring at her. Meg just shook her head. “No calls for a little while, please,” she said. She went into her office, shutting the door behind her. Then she picked up the telephone and put her plan in motion.

* * *

WHEN CRUZ GOT BACK to the hotel, he went to Meg’s hotel room and was disappointed when it was empty. She had always worked hard and it didn’t look as if she changed her pattern. He took the elevator down to the first floor.

There was no security guard outside her office. He started running. When he grabbed the door handle and realized the office was locked, he felt marginally better. Meg had probably ended her day and sent the security guard on his way.

But where the hell was she? She’d promised that she wouldn’t leave the hotel. He pulled out his cell phone and punched up her number. It rang three times before she answered it.

“Hello,” she said.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I...uh...yes, I’m fine,” she said. “Just a little busy.”

She sounded as if she was out of breath. Maybe she’d gone to the hotel gym. “Where are you?”

“With Scott,” she said.

Cruz’s chest got tight when his mind immediately conjured up the kind of exercise that the two of them could be getting. Get a grip, Montoya. “Working late?” he forced himself to ask.

“Not so much,” she said. “Look, Cruz. Scott and I have been talking.”

Okay. Talking wasn’t bad.

“And I...I am moving into his suite.”

Worse than bad. Going over a cliff bad. The first time she’d left, he’d been left to wonder. Now she was painting a real clear picture. He was speechless.

“Cruz?” she prompted.

“You couldn’t tell me this in person?” he asked.

“Uh...no. But Scott said he’d like to talk to you.”

He wanted to break the man’s neck, not talk to him. But before he could hang up, Slater was on the line.

“Cruz, it’s not that Meg and I aren’t grateful for your help. But we’ve got this covered. We really think it would better for all of us if you went back to Chicago tonight.”

Cruz’s legs felt weak. He leaned back against the wall and sank until he was sitting on the floor. He didn’t even care if he was on some security camera. What did it matter if he looked pathetic? He was.

He hung up. He had nothing to say to Slater. Damn them both. He sat on the cool tile floor, feeling nothing. He was numb. He had been so stupid, had actually believed that Meg coming to his bed meant something.

And now she was jumping into Slater’s bed.

It made getting shot seem like a walk in the park.

Better for all of us if you went back to Chicago tonight. Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around and watch, or congratulate the happy couple when they finally made their way down to breakfast.

He got up and walked down the hallway. He opted for the stairs instead of the elevator, wanting to physically exert himself. Better that than stick a fist through a wall.

It took him less than five minutes to pack up. Like some sick fool, he checked her closet. She hadn’t moved her things yet. He ran his hand across the peach suit that she’d worn that first day. She’d looked so pretty, so professional.

He closed the door of her closet and left the suite. He didn’t bother to check out—Slater could handle that—he was handling everything else. He waited for the valet to get his rental car, sure that they were wondering why he’d had them park it less than fifteen minutes ago if he planned on leaving again so soon.

Nothing much was going how he’d planned.

Once the valet delivered his car, he got in, cranked up the air and turned toward the airport. His phone rang and he saw that it was Sam.

“Montoya,” he answered, hoping like hell that he didn’t start to wail in front of his friend.

“I got the scoop on Meg,” Sam said.

The only scoop that mattered was that Meg had chosen Slater. But Cruz kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. “Okay,” he said.

“Born in Houston. Parents were married. No other siblings. Lived there until she was fourteen. Then the family moved to Maiter, Texas, where they lived for a couple years. Family moved back to Houston. Parents got divorced about a year afterward. Meg lived with her mother until she went away to college in Chicago. Neither parent remarried, both are now deceased. Meg stayed in Chicago after college. You know the rest.”

Meg had told him that she’d grown up in Houston. She’d never mentioned Maiter. Had said that her parents were divorced and both deceased.

“I appreciate you getting back to me,” Cruz said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m on my way back to Chicago.”

There was a long silence on the line. “Are you okay?” Sam asked finally.

“Dandy,” Cruz said. “Just dandy.” He hung up. Then he called Detective Myers.

The man answered on the second ring. “I was just about to call you,” he said. “We’ve made contact with all the major retail stores in town to ask them to review their transactions to see if anyone purchased shoes, a jogging suit and a backpack recently. I’ve already heard back from a couple but no luck. The rest said they could get back to me within forty-eight hours.”

“That’s good,” Cruz said. Myers was competent. Cruz wasn’t needed here. Did he need it written across the damn sky? “I...uh...wanted to touch base with you. I’m leaving today.”

“That surprises me.”

“Yeah, well, it’s time,” Cruz said. There was no need to go into the details. He’d been dumped. Again.

“Does Meg know?” Myers asked.

“She does. Look, I wanted you to know what I found today. There’s a waitress who worked at a restaurant that Troy Blakely frequented here in San Antonio. She knows him. Said that he mentioned that he was from Haileyville. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes.”

“I drove there today. His parents both died about a year ago, the woman from natural causes, the husband three days later from suicide. What’s odd is that Troy wasn’t mentioned in the obituary and the neighbors I spoke with weren’t familiar with a son.”

“Then how do you know you had the right family?”

“The details that he gave the waitress match the details of the deaths. There’s something here, I’m just not sure what it is.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Finally, Myers spoke. “But you’re not going to keep looking?”

Now it was Cruz’s turn to weigh his words. “I can’t. Meg made it pretty clear that she doesn’t need my help.”