Our Red Hot Romance Is Leaving Me Blue Page 4

  He walked out onto the porch and watched as his brother-in-law, John Patrick Daly, drove into view, his black Porsche Cayenne SUV ginning up whorls of white caliche dust.

  Justin normally welcomed the occasional visit from Rachel’s brother, John Patrick. He was the only person from the Daly family who treated him with decency. But Justin had never mentioned the strange happenings in his home to his brother-in-law and he sure wasn’t ready to admit to anyone that he had enlisted the aid of detectives to unravel mysterious happenings.

  After the Cayenne stopped and the driver’s window quietly slid down, Justin approached it. “Hey, J. P., how’s it going?”

  John Patrick eyed Debbie Sue’s red truck with interest. “Damn, man. Am I just in time for the party or am I too late?”

  John Patrick was known for his carousing ways. In his mid-thirties, unemployed but married to wealth and long-bored in that union, if a party was going on, he wanted to be included, especially if women were present.

  Justin believed his brother-in-law became a hard partier to compensate for his small frame and short stature. He was five feet six and probably didn’t weigh a hundred thirty pounds. The guy suffered a Napoleon complex in a big way. Knowing his appearance wouldn’t win him favors, John Patrick talked loud and long about his family’s money and power in Midland, as well as that of his in-laws, though he had neither money nor influence of his own. Still, he had been good to Justin, more like a brother than an in-law, and Justin was grateful. He could overlook John Patrick’s flaws.

  Justin laughed, glancing at the red truck parked in his driveway. “Naw, that’s just a couple of folks from Salt Lick. They, uh…they came to look at Rachel’s horses.”

  “You’re not selling them, are you?”

  “Oh, I’d never sell those horses.” Remembering Debbie Sue’s scolding, he said, “These folks are going to exercise and groom them for me. It’s not right keeping them penned up and I can’t keep depending on the neighbors to do it.”

  “Oh, sure, yeah. They do need the attention. Well, if you’re busy, I’ll go. I was headed home and just stopped by to check on you.” After Rachel’s passing John Patrick and his wife had moved to a vacant house about five miles up the road, ostensibly to be near Justin for moral support.

  Justin smiled and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Everything’s fine, J. P. Thanks for asking. I’ll holler at you later.”

  “One more thing,” John Patrick said. “Did you ever hear any more from that oil and gas company, the one that left the business card on your screen door?”

  “Lone Star Oil and Gas? Nah. They were probably just fishing around. I figure if they’d been really interested in drilling on this place, they would’ve gotten back in touch by now.”

  “Right,” John Patrick said. “You’re probably right…Well, I’d better go.”

  He backed in an arc and drove away. Justin walked back to the house, feeling guilty for the lie by omission to his brother-in-law.

  four

  Glancing in his rearview mirror, John Patrick Daly watched as Justin’s house grew smaller. He agreed it was about time Justin got someone to look after those damned horses, because John Patrick knew Justin had little knowledge of taking care of horses. Rachel had always done it.

  John Patrick hadn’t recognized the red truck parked in the driveway. For some reason he couldn’t shake a bad feeling about it and what really was going on at Justin’s house. The truck looked like dozens in the area. Nothing unusual about the make or model. John Patrick did note that no petroleum company signs were affixed to the doors, no tools or equipment rode in the bed. All he had seen there were some hay remnants.

  John Patrick had no reason to think his brother-in-law wouldn’t confide in him or that he would tell him a lie about being contacted by Lone Star Oil and Gas. Hell, Justin Sadler was pure as the driven snow. John Patrick doubted the man had ever told a lie in his entire boring, wholesome life.

  But still he felt uneasy.

  A thought zoomed into his mind and made him slam on the brakes, sending the SUV into a skid. This was perfect. Fuckin’ perfect. His plan had been to sneak onto Justin’s place some evening within the coming two or three weeks and turn those horses loose, but he had worried about being discovered. But now he could suggest the blame lay with the people Justin had enlisted to help care for the horses. He could hear it now: “Gee, they must have left a gate unlatched, Justin. Tough luck, buddy.”

  John Patrick was almost giddy with relief. With the horses gone, Justin would have no reason to stay in a big-ass house with so much acreage. With no reason to stay, selling the place to his brother-in-law, the only Daly who had ever treated Justin like real family, would be as natural as nodding off in church. And Justin, being Justin, would sell it cheap, too.

  John Patrick thought about the business card he had removed from Justin’s screen door. Somebody from Lone Star Oil and Gas had come back just a few days after leaving the first business card and left a second one. So the oil company must have a serious interest in negotiating with Justin to drill on his land. And why not? John Patrick knew from reliable sources that Justin sat on top of one of the largest untapped gas reservoirs since the boom of the fifties and sixties. The very thought of a well or two or three being put down on that section of land made John Patrick giddy all over again. Luckily, he had found the second business card before Justin did and had promptly disposed of it.

  Haunting Justin with Rachel’s afghan, her magazine, her wedding rings and perfume had cracked John Patrick up when he thought of them, but the pièce de résistance was the roses. Whenever he and his sexless wife, Felicia the Non-nympho, as he preferred to call her, had been invited to Rachel and Justin’s home, fresh roses had always been sitting on the coffee table. It was just Rachel’s added touch, something women did. So going to Justin’s house earlier today before Justin finished his shift, cutting a few roses and putting them on the coffee table had been a snap.

  John Patrick chuckled at his own cleverness. He couldn’t believe how well his luck was running. It was all so easy, he almost felt guilty. Almost, but not quite. He whooped out loud and pressed the accelerator, reveling in the immediate response of the Cayenne’s big engine. He liked when things responded—man, woman or machine.

  Still grinning, he reached for his cell phone. So much success had left him feeling smug and sure of himself. And horny as hell. He pressed a number and waited. A sweet voice, husky and seductive, greeted him.

  “Hey, Priscilla, how are ya, darlin’?…That’s good, that’s good. Listen, dumplin’, how ’bout I go by the store and pick up a couple of bottles of champagne? We can have a party in your pants tonight.”

  Re-entering his house, Justin mustered a smile. “Sorry, ladies. That was my brother in-law. He comes by from time to time. He’s been a good friend to me.”

  “Thought you said Rachel’s family hated your guts,” Edwina said.

  “They do. John Patrick’s the only one who doesn’t hold a grudge after…after what happened to Rachel.”

  “Speaking of grudges,” Debbie Sue said, “we need to know just exactly what did happen to Rachel, Justin.”

  “Yeah,” Edwina said. “That’s pretty much gonna decide whether we accept your business or Debbie Sue runs over you with her truck when we leave here.”

  For the next few minutes Justin told a story of how one fateful evening a year earlier, he and Rachel had spent an evening at her parents’ house in Midland. Things hadn’t gone well and had ended worse. Tempers flared, harsh words were exchanged. Justin and Rachel argued on the drive home. Her defending her parents made him feel she was showing disloyalty to him and disrespecting their marriage. Distracted from the road and his driving, too late he saw a speeding car weaving in and out of lanes and closing on them. The car swerved to dodge a truck and crashed directly into them on the passenger side, killing Rachel on impact. At the time, Justin had been too shaken to realize immediately what had happened, but drivers behind
him had verified the facts to the DPS troopers who investigated the accident.

  Other than a cut on his forehead, which the EMTs covered with a butterfly bandage, Justin had been spared injury. Knowing he hadn’t suffered physically and had only his heart and mind to nurse back to health had only made him feel worse.

  “Oh, my God, Justin, that was you?” Debbie Sue said. “I remember when that happened.”

  Silence filled the house for several seconds. Finally, Edwina spoke up. “Hon, that must have been hard for you to tell us and I can see where you’d feel some guilt. But there’s always gonna be stuff that happens in life that we can’t control. You just have to keep on living.”

  “I know this is no consolation, Justin,” Debbie Sue said softly, “but my husband was one of the troopers who investigated that wreck. I do remember him saying the blame lay squarely on the drunk driver.”

  Justin cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump that had stuck there. “He plea-bargained,” Justin said bitterly. “Pled guilty to manslaughter. He’s serving time in Huntsville, but he’ll soon be out.”

  Debbie Sue sat straighter, pushed her hair away from her face and continued, her tone serious but friendlier than it had been earlier. “You mentioned your wife’s perfume and her wedding set. Where do you normally keep those things?”

  “The rings are in a velvet box on the dresser. The perfume is there too.”

  “So they’re accessible to anyone that enters the house?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Has there ever been a forced entry into your house, broken windows, jimmied locks?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “But the locks look pretty old,” Debbie Sue said. “I noticed them when we came in. They’re probably the original ones from when the house was built. Let me show you something.” Among the many things Debbie Sue had learned since she became a detective was breaking and entering. She fished around inside her purse and came up with a metal nail file. At the front door, she pushed the button that locked it, approached the lock from the outside with the file and in a matter of two seconds of maneuvering the nail file, popped the lock.

  “Good Lord,” Justin said, awed. “I guess I need to get some new locks.”

  “And these things that have happened in your house,” Debbie Sue said, “they’ve always occurred when you’re gone? Nothing strange or out of the ordinary has occurred when you’re home?”

  “Yes, I’ve always been gone,” he answered, still studying the door lock.

  “That says the person doing this doesn’t want to be seen,” Edwina said. “If a ghost was doing it, being seen wouldn’t be a real problem, would it? A ghost wouldn’t care if you were gone or not. I mean, who can see a ghost?”

  Justin swung a look from one woman to the other. “But today, these roses, when I came home these roses were in this vase on the coffee table. I didn’t put them there. Rachel was the one who loved roses. She always put them out when company came over.”

  “You want it to be Rachel, don’t you, hon?” Edwina said.

  “The Styling Station is on the main street in town, Justin,” Debbie Sue said. “Anyone could have seen you talking to us in the parking lot. Most of the people in town know what we do. They could’ve guessed we’d be coming out here to your house.”

  Both women were now staring at him, waiting for a reply. He was startled that he felt a sudden drop in his stomach, like being in an elevator that lurched unexpectedly. He had never admitted to himself how desperately he had hoped Rachel was trying to reach out to him from the grave, and the reality that she wasn’t left him feeling empty and inexplicably saddened.

  Debbie Sue rose and hung her purse on her shoulder. “We’ve got enough information, Justin. I’ll get back to you this evening. Is it okay if I call you around nine?”

  Edwina rose also.

  “Sure, nine would be fine,” he said, his tone dull and lifeless.

  He stood and dragged behind the two women out of the house and to the driveway, where their rig was parked. No one spoke. Debbie Sue reached into her purse for her keys and moved items around. “Dammit, I must have left the camera in the kitchen. I remember laying it on the counter.”

  “I’ll get it,” Justin said.

  “I’ll go,” Edwina offered. “If you don’t mind, Justin, I’d like to stop off in your bathroom.”

  “Sure, first door on the right as you go down the hallway.”

  Edwina disappeared into the house. As Justin and Debbie Sue spoke about the horses and the care that they needed, a bloodcurdling screech came from inside the house.

  In unison, Justin and Debbie Sue bolted for the front door. Before they reached it, it flew open and whacked against the wall. Edwina, legs churning, arms windmilling, barreled through. Debbie Sue blocked her path and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Ed, forgodsake! What’s wrong?”

  “The kitchen,” she wailed. “The kitchen.”

  Justin and Debbie Sue exchanged looks. Debbie Sue released Edwina and charged through the doorway, headed for the kitchen. There she skidded to a stop, staring at the refrigerator door. “Oh, sweet Jesus. Oh, sweet Jesus.”

  Justin came up behind her. “Oh, God…” He leaned against the cabinet for support as he too stared at the refrigerator door.

  There, on its slick surface, spelled out with the alphabet letters that were available, was a message that had not been there earlier:

  D E PLZ HLP JUSTIN.

  A chill raced up Debbie Sue’s spine. She dashed from the house as if the devil himself chased her. Justin came up behind her and they joined an ashen-faced Edwina, who was pacing back and forth in the front yard. Breathing hard, Debbie Sue bent forward, her hands braced on her knees, waiting for her pounding heart to slow. “Fuck!” she gasped.

  She gathered her wits. Someone or some thing had damn sure been in Justin Sadler’s kitchen since they had walked out of it just a few minutes earlier. At last she straightened and glared at him. “Are these the messages you were talking about?”

  Justin looked back at her, confusion and desperation in his eyes.

  Debbie Sue turned to her partner, who had inched closer to the pickup’s passenger door. “Ed, when you went back inside, which did you do first, go pee or go into the kitchen?”

  “Straight to the kitchen.” Edwina flapped a hand toward the front door. “That’s when the pee got scared clean out of me. It’s a wonder we don’t need a mop.”

  “Tell us exactly what happened,” Debbie Sue said, still pondering how and when those letters could possibly have been moved.

  Edwina swore she hadn’t seen or heard anything she hadn’t revealed.

  “I can’t believe I ran out here,” Justin said, an expression of bewilderment on his face. “I’ve been dealing with these signs and messages for months. I must have been reacting to you, Edwina. I’ve seen that happen in firefighting—the man on your right goes into hysteria and others around follow. It’s called group panic reaction.”

  “Well, you almost saw panic reaction run down my leg,” Edwina said warily, stealing furtive glances at the house’s front door. “I don’t suppose you’re a smoker. Or I don’t suppose you’d have any cigarettes in the house. I quit smoking a couple of years ago, but for the life of me, I can’t think of a better time to start again.”

  “Cigarette, hell. I could use a drink,” Debbie Sue said.

  “Would you like to go back inside?” Justin asked. “I’ve got—”

  “Not me,” Edwina said firmly.

  Still confused and nervous, Debbie Sue directed her attention to Justin again. “I think we’ve seen all we need to, Justin. Ed and I need to get home. I’ve still got a husband and animals to feed and Ed’s husband is coming in off the road tonight. Look, we need to give this whole thing some thought. I’ll…or we’ll…oh, hell, one of us will call you this evening.”

  “I’ll be here,” Justin said, looking over his shoulder at the front door. “I hope you won’t let what ju
st happened scare you off. I think whatever is going on is harmless. I mean, I’ve been seeing this kind of stuff for months and nothing’s happened to me.”

  “Don’t worry,” Debbie Sue said. “We aren’t scared.” And she really wasn’t, she told herself. She started toward her truck again, but stopped. Oh, hell, they hadn’t retrieved the camera.

  “Oops. I still don’t have my camera. Could I ask you to go back inside and bring it out to me?”

  “Sure,” Justin said, and re-entered the house. Soon he returned and handed over the camera. “You’re the only people I’ve talked to about this,” he said. “I trust you ladies. And I sure hope you can help me.”

  Debbie Sue saw a sincere plea in his eyes. “I don’t know if we can be of help, Justin. The only thing I can promise is Ed and I’ll talk about it.” She climbed behind her pickup’s steering wheel.

  Edwina seated herself on the passenger seat, latched her seat belt and stared straight ahead. Debbie Sue cranked the engine, backed up and drove away, leaving Justin standing at his doorstep.

  Edwina remained wordless until Justin’s house was well behind them. “Just look at my arm.” She stuck her left arm out for inspection. “Those goose bumps won’t be gone for days. Maybe never. If I shaved my legs right now I’d bleed to death. But I’m in no frame of mind to talk about it, so just keep driving.”

  Not talking suited Debbie Sue fine for the moment. She needed time to mull over what she had seen. At the cattle guard she started to turn left, but Edwina grabbed the wheel. “Don’t go back to Salt Lick. I don’t know when Vic will be home and I’m not going home alone. Take me home with you.”

  “Ed, you can’t seriously believe a ghost changed those letters around.”

  “What else am I supposed to believe? That they just magically moved themselves to form a message? And a message directed at us at that?”

  Debbie Sue didn’t have an explanation, and for her, being unable to explain was as bad as discovering what the answer might be. “You don’t know that it was directed at us.”