Murder Among Strangers (The Kate Austen Mystery Series) Read online

  MURDER AMONG STRANGERS

  A Kate Austen Mystery

  By

  Jonnie Jacobs

  Copyright print edition 2000, digital edition 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Author’s Note on Digital Edition –

  This is a story about murder, romance, and personal secrets. These things don’t change much over time. But technology does. This story takes place before the widespread use of cell phones, computers, DVDs, digital cameras and other modern day conveniences we now take for granted. In going over this manuscript to ready it for digital formatting, I was surprised to find how much these things had changed. I hope none of this diminishes your enjoyment of the book.

  Chapter 1

  At the tender age of six, my daughter Anna has already learned that it’s hard to tell the good guys from the bad. The saints from the sinners, friends from foes.

  She’s standing at the window, her eye on the cable- television truck parked across the street.

  “Is it them, again?” she asks hesitantly, afraid that this time the answer will be yes.

  I run my hand over the top of her head. Her honey brown hair is fine and silky under my palm. “No. That’s over. Remember?”

  “For how long?”

  “Forever. It’s not something we need to worry about anymore.”

  “Libby says—”

  Anna’s words are cut short by the appearance of Libby herself, who sashays into the room in a whirlwind of teenage energy.

  “Have you seen my yellow sweater?” she asks without preamble. It sounds like an accusation, but I’m reasonably sure that’s not what she intends.

  Libby is a foster child of sorts—the daughter of a friend who was killed last year. While we’ve had our disagreements, the absence of a blood tie seems somehow to cut us some slack with one another.

  “I haven’t,” I tell her. “Did you check your backpack?”

  “Backpack. Closet. The car. Everywhere.”

  “It’s in my room,” Anna exclaims, as though she’s just scored in Jeopardy. “You took it off when we were doing our exercises.”

  Libby slaps her forehead with the heel of her palm. “Right. I remember now.”

  The two of them head for Anna’s room, the specter of bad tidings forgotten.

  I sink down in the armchair near the window and find my eyes drawn, as Anna’s were, to the van across the street. My mind, though, is filled with images from the night it all began. Like the opening credits on the big screen, they unfold in my mind.

  It was January—cold, wet, and ugly. People think it doesn’t rain in California, but it does. That night, it was raining heavily. The kind of downpour that makes you think God has opened a spigot over your head. Even at the fastest speed, my windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the deluge. The wind howled, dropping limbs and blowing debris across the roadway.

  I was headed home, hugging the winding, two-lane road like a safety line in the night. In this unincorporated part of the county, houses were few and far between. Streetlights were nonexistent. It was later than I’d expected, which would irritate Michael. But then, he was already irritated, although about what I couldn’t say. That, in turn, made me peevish. We’d been snapping at each other for weeks, then compounding the problem by ignoring it.

  I squinted into the darkness, cursing the ineffectual wiper blades he’d promised to replace. The rain pounded loudly against the car roof, threatening to drown out the radio. I was concentrating so hard on the parallel ribbons of yellow at the center of the roadway that at first I didn’t see the car with its lights off stopped near the shoulder on the other side. It was an older model turquoise sedan, long and wide. And it blocked enough of the lane that anyone coming the other direction would have to swerve across the double line to avoid hitting it.

  As I went by, my gaze caught the face of a woman in the driver’s seat. Young, with an expression so petulant it was almost comic. Her eyes met mine briefly; then she looked away. I’d passed before it all registered.

  I thought of simply driving on. She hadn’t flagged me down, after all. Nor did she appear to be injured. She would have managed, I told myself, if I hadn’t happened by. Couldn’t she manage just as well if I passed and didn’t stop?

  Sure. Is that what you’d want if the situation were reversed ? Or if it were Libby stranded there on a deserted road in the middle of the night ?

  I found a wide spot in the pavement and managed, with considerable effort and some deft maneuvering, to turn the car around without getting stuck in the mud. I headed back in the direction I’d come and pulled in behind the car.

  Okay, Ms. Good Samaritan. What if she’s out here on purpose, studying the effects of rain on asphalt or some such thing. You’ll have inconvenienced yourself for nothing and wind up looking like a fool.

  It wouldn’t be the first time, I told myself.

  In the illumination of my headlights, however, I saw immediately what the problem was. The car’s right rear wheel was missing.

  I parked on the shoulder, behind the stranded car, and felt a moment’s satisfaction at doing something which would undoubtedly irk Michael if he knew about it.

  Grabbing my umbrella, I climbed out. The woman rolled down her window when I approached.

  “Do you need help?” I asked.

  She shook her head. Straw blond curls shimmied with the movement. “No. I mean, I don’t think so.”

  She was attractive in a hardened kind of way. Without the dark lip liner and heavy eye shadow she might even have been pretty. She looked to be in her early twenties, although between the makeup and the darkness of night, it was hard to tell. She sounded about twelve.

  “I can give you a lift somewhere, if you’d like.”

  “No, I . . . “ She was shivering so hard she had trouble talking. “My . . . friend went for help. Only I thought he’d be back before now.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “I don’t know. Over an hour.”

  “You sure he’s coming back tonight?”

  “This is his car.” She hugged her arms across her chest in an effort to keep warm.

  “Why don’t you at least turn on the engine and stay warm?”

  “The tank’s almost empty.”

  “Look,” I told her, holding the umbrella tight against a gust of wind. “You’re freezing cold. Besides, with the car jutting out into the road the way it is, you could get hit. Why don’t you let me take you into town? You can leave a note for your friend.”

  She shook her head. “No, really. Bobby wouldn’t like that.”

  To hell with Bobby, I thought. What kind of friend leaves a young woman alone on a night like this, without even enough gas to keep the engine running?

  “What’s your name?” I asked her. “The least I can do is call Bobby when I get home and make sure he hasn’t forgotten you.”

  “It’s Sheryl Ann. But I wouldn’t know where to have you call. He was going to get the tire fixed. I’ll be okay. Really.” She was putting up a brave front, but I could hear the doubt in her voice.

  “Maybe there’s a blanket in the trunk,” I said. “And some flares.”

  “I don’t . . . ”

  My patience was wearing thin. I was cold and wet and anxious to be on my way. But Sheryl Ann seemed incapable of helping herself. I was afraid that if I simply walked away, I’d be reading about her demise in the news: Young woman freezes to death in winter storm.

  I re
ached through the open window for the keys. “Let’s take a look and see. Okay?”

  “No,” she said, more firmly this time. “I’m fine. Really.”

  But I’d already grabbed the keys. I was used to dealing with recalcitrant children, which was how I was beginning to think of Sheryl Ann. I found the lock and opened the trunk.

  Sheryl Ann was out of the car now, without an umbrella or a jacket. “I’m fine,” she said again, tugging on my arm. “You really don’t need to—”

  “See, there is a blanket,” I told her. “Now that you’re wet, you’ll really need it.”

  I grabbed a corner of the blanket and pulled, uncovering a man’s shoe. Tugging harder, I saw that it wasn’t just a shoe. There was a foot inside. Attached to a leg. Which, given the futility of my tugging, I felt certain was connected to a body.

  It took a moment for these realizations to sink in, and when they did, they hit me like a lead ball in the chest. Fear sucked the air from my lungs.

  “It’s not the way it looks,” Sheryl Ann said.

  That was often the case. But unless this body in the blanket was something other than flesh and bone, it didn’t look good.

  “Is he dead?”

  She nodded.

  “Who is he?”

  “Tully.”

  “Tully,” I repeated, simply for something to say.

  “My husband,” she added.

  I didn’t try to sort it out, not just then. All I wanted was to get away from there as quickly as possible. I started to back up, heading for my car.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said, following me.

  “Look, whatever’s between you and your husband, I guess it doesn’t really concern me, right? So I’ll just . . .

  Headlights flashed around the bend. Tires screeched a car skidded to a stop on the opposite side of the street.

  Fear prickled my skin and sent a tremor down my spine.

  I should never had stopped.

  Squinting into the glare, I saw a man emerge from the passenger side. As he began rolling a tire up the road toward us, the car took off again with another squeal of rubber on wet pavement.

  “Bobby!” Sheryl Ann’s voice was flooded with relief.

  I, on the other hand, felt nothing of the sort.

  Bobby couldn’t have been far out of his teens, if that. But he was big, built like a linebacker. His hair was cropped close to his scalp, and he sported a silver ring through his left eyebrow.

  “Jesus Christ, Sheryl Ann.” He let the tire fall flat at our feet as he inspected the open trunk. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “I didn’t . . . I mean, she just stopped to help.”

  “And you opened the goddamn trunk for her? Now what are we going to do?”

  I started backing up again.

  Bobby stepped forward. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Well, now that you two are set I’ll just be heading on—” My heart was pounding so loudly, I was sure he could hear it.

  Bobby grabbed my arm, roughly. “You’re not going nowhere, lady. You think we’re that stupid?”

  No, I was the one who was stupid. Utterly, totally stupid. Why hadn’t I just driven on? Why did I feel this need to offer a hand to anyone who looked the least bit needy?

  Bobby’s fingers dug into my flesh, bringing tears to my eyes.

  “What are you going to do with her?” asked Sheryl Ann.

  Bobby shook his head. “We can’t let her go. She’ll head straight for police.” He kicked the tire in disgust. “Fuck. We’ll have to get rid of her, I guess.”

  Bile rose in my throat. “I won’t say a word to anyone,” I stammered. “Honest.”

  Bobby spat on the ground.

  “You mean you’re going to kill her?” The awe in Sheryl Ann’s words wasn’t comforting.

  “You got a better idea?”

  She shook her head slowly. “No, I guess not.”

  Panic filled my head like a blinding white light. I screamed and managed to pull free. I started to run. Bobby’s hand grabbed my wrist; his other arm circled my neck. I could feel his breath on my face.

  With one quick movement, he released his grasp on my wrist and reached into his pocket. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him raise a hand. Something dark and shiny glimmered in his fist.

  Then red-hot pain shot through my body. I sank into merciful nothingness.

  Chapter 2

  I was cold. Chilled to the bone. Maybe even through the bone. I had a throbbing lump at the back of my skull and a headache so terrible I didn’t dare open my eyes.

  “Michael?” My lips had trouble forming the word. I struggled to say his name louder, but all that came out was a low moan. I tried again, leaning slightly toward the pressure of his body. He needed to take out the garbage. It smelled something terrible.

  So cold. My muscles knotted against the frigid air. The bedcovers must have slipped off during the night. Carefully, shifting only my right arm, I tried reaching for the comforter. But my arm wouldn’t move. Nor would my left. Or my feet.

  Then I remembered.

  The flash of metal, the burst of searing pain.

  And Bobby.

  It all came back to me in sudden, bold relief, and turned my stomach inside out.

  I’d never given much thought to the journey from life to death. Never spent much time wondering whether it entailed a passage through pearly gates, a white light beckoning at the end of a dark tunnel, rivers of smoldering embers, or simply a fading of consciousness. But I was pretty sure none of us made the trip by garbage truck, ridding around in pitch-black, breathing gasoline fumes.

  I took this as a positive sign. I wasn’t dead. But I had a gut-wrenching headache, and my mouth tasted of blood. With a searing jolt of consciousness, I realized that the body pressing against my back wasn’t Michael but a dead man named Tully.

  Panic gripped me. Tears burned the comers of my eyes. I tried moving my arms again. They were bound. As were my feet. And it wasn’t a garbage truck, I determined with growing lucidity, but the trunk of a car.

  Me and Tully.

  One dead, one on her way.

  Again I felt the white swell of terror. My heart pounded in my ears. I couldn’t breathe.

  They were going to kill me.

  Kill. Me.

  Gradually, panic gave way to overwhelming grief. I’d never see Anna again. Never feel the soft warmth of her slender body in my arms. Never hear the I love you that accompanied our ritual good night kisses, or experience the utter joy of a spontaneous and unexpected hug. Never again. Hot tears snaked down my cheek.

  Anna was only six. Two months shy of her seventh birthday. Would she even remember me in the years to come? I tried to recall if we had any good photos of me. Or if we had any photos of me at all, since I was usually the one behind the camera. Would Andy, who was my former husband and Anna’s father, fill her head with verbal pictures that were wrong? Would he let Michael see her? Anna was fond of Michael. If she lost him along with me . . .

  Anna, Michael, and Libby. Andy, too. For all his faults, I cared about him. A wave of sadness rolled over me—a desperate longing so powerful I thought it might kill me before Bobby had a chance.

  Kill me. There it was again. My own death staring me in the face.

  Looking at the situation from Bobby’s point of view, I could understand the logic of it. They’d already killed poor Tully. What did they have to lose by doing away with me, too? They couldn’t very well let me go. Not when I’d seen the body in their trunk. Even I could understand that. So what choice did they really have?

  I wondered how they’d do it. Would it be over quickly? Would it hurt?

  And why hadn’t they done it already?

  The car turned sharply, and I rolled against Tully. His flesh was stiff and unyielding. Colder even than my own.

  We turned again and stopped so abruptly I thought for a moment we’d hit something. Then into reverse. We backed up
, turned, and came to standstill again.

  Car doors opened, then slammed shut. Footsteps, voices. Where were we? Would someone hear me if I yelled for help?

  I managed to lift my bound fists against the inside of the hood. There wasn’t much room for leverage, but I pounded as hard as I could. The sound was muffled, not nearly as loud as I’d have liked.

  “Help,” I screamed at the top of my voice. “Help me. Anyone, please. I’m in the trunk.”

  Hurried steps, a muttered shit, and the trunk sprang open. Bobby towered above me, a shadowy giant barely discernible against the dark sky.

  A blue neon sign, dim with dust and age, flickered in my peripheral vision. I felt a surge of hope. We’d stopped near a business. Surely, there were people here who could summon help, if only I could find a way to alert them.

  “I thought I told you to fucking gag her,” Bobby said to Sheryl Ann.

  “The handkerchief was too small. I couldn’t tie it. Besides, she was out like a light.”

  “Yeah, well she’s not now.” He looked to his right in the direction of the neon sign, then back at me. “We’re lucky we didn’t stop at one of those busy places right off the freeway.”

  “Please,” I said. “I’m cold.”

  “You’re going to be a lot colder before long.” He turned to Sheryl Ann. “Give me that handkerchief.”

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” I pleaded.

  Ignoring me, Bobby began folding the handkerchief. Sheryl Ann stopped him. “C’mon, Bobby, have a heart. Let her go the bathroom. You want her to pee all over your trunk?”

  “Don’t see how it matters. We’re going to have to wash it real good anyway.”

  “You ought to let her ride in the car, too. Where it’s warm and not so, so . . . ” Sheryl Ann stopped and took a breath. “Where she doesn’t have to lie next to Tully.”

  “What?” Bobby’s voice exploded like gunfire. “We running a bus service or something?”

  Sheryl Ann pressed her body against his, ran a hand down his cheek to his lips. “C’mon, baby. What’s she ever done to you?”