Act V, page 5
Tugging the cotton top into place, Glynnis raced across the laundry room, almost falling over the filled basket, and into the den, trying to remember where she’d left the phone. She grabbed it off the end table just as her answering machine picked up and she heard her own voice cheerfully requesting that the caller leave a message. “Hello, hello…sorry just wait a second.” She fast-walked into the bedroom, tapped the button on the machine and the recording shut off. “Sorry, couldn’t reach the phone in time,” she mumbled into the receiver, feeling her cheeks flush.
The voice on the other end only made them redder. “Hey, Glynn. How’s it going?”
She didn’t speak for a moment. She’d known he would call after her conversation with her mother, but did it have to be this soon? Why hadn’t she checked the caller ID? “Hey, Dorsey.” Her voice was as clipped and unwelcoming as she could make it.
“Oh, Glynn, I’ve missed your voice.” His deep baritone was sleepy and sluggish, and made her shake down to her core.
She was torn between hanging up and begging him to come over. And she hated herself for it. “Dorsey,” she managed as flatly as possible, “are you drunk?”
“Good to talk to you, too!”
“Well?”
“I’ve only had a little.” Glynnis could hear fumbling on the other end of the line. It sounded like the phone had dropped. More fumbling, then, “Oh dang. Um sorry, Glynn.”
“Dorsey, maybe you should…”
“I miss you. I just thought maybe you’d want to go get some coffee or something.” He was using his injured lover voice now. Trouble. “I hope I didn’t take you away from anything, and I’m sorry about the short notice but…”
“Dorsey, it’s 11 p.m. and you’re drunk.” Then she felt just a bit of remorse. She’d spent a year of her life engaged to this man, the least she could do was be courteous. “Look, I just finished bathing the dog, and I’m going to bed to read. If you want to talk to me, you can reach me at the theatre during business hours.” Oh no, why had she said that? That implied that she wanted to see him. “On second thought, don’t call me at all, here or there.”
“Aw, come on, Glynn, you never go to bed before midnight. Just give me…”
“A chance? Why? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“Glynnis, just listen for a second. I lost my job and just wanted to talk to somebody.”
Glynnis took a breath, feeling unwanted sympathy wash over her. “You just got that job right after we…what happened?”
“I lost my temper and…”
“And you said something you shouldn’t have.”
“That’s about it.”
“I’m guessing you said it to the wrong person.”
“Yeah, my boss.”
Remorse ran all over her but she pushed it away. “Dorsey, I’m really sorry. Look, why don’t you go to the office tomorrow, apologize to the guy and do some damage control. I’d have coffee with you or even invite you over to cry on my shoulder, but I’m exhausted.” Plus I know where this would end up and I’m not going back there. “Are you going to be okay?”
A long pause, then, “I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll call you later?”
“Bye, Dorsey.” She tapped the button and set the phone down feeling like she’d just dropped the ball and lost the tournament. “Come on, Carl. Let’s go to bed.”
*****
“I thought they’d never go to sleep.” Gabby climbed into Kenny’s Trooper, tossing her bags in the back seat. She took long enough to give him a soft kiss, then fastened her seat belt. Kenny leaned toward her for more, placing his palm over her left breast. She swatted him off. “Drive. We’ve got more than two hours to Atlanta, and if we don’t catch this flight out, it’s over.”
“I don’t know what you’re so afraid of.” He put the car in gear and pulled out into the empty road. “We’re both adults. We can get married if we want.”
That was big talk and Gabby knew it. “While that’s true, you know that my daddy will do everything he can to make life hard for you if he finds out. And he can do a lot.”
“Yeah, I know. And not a soul in town would marry us because they all know who your folks are.”
“That’s right,” she brushed a jet-black lock with a single streak of cranberry red from her face. “It’s hard to remain anonymous when your uncle is also the rector of the only Catholic church in town and your parents pretty much built the parochial school.”
Kenny took the left turn exit onto I-85 and headed for Atlanta. “Did you leave the note for your parents?”
“Yeah, I hope they don’t get too mad when they figure out that I’m not at Jeanie’s house like I said in the note. With any luck it’ll take them a while to figure it out and then we’ll be back and settled in.” Gabby’s parents were about as high up in society as you could go in this town. Her father was a judge and her mother was head of the Legal Auxiliary. And of course there was Uncle Andrew, Father Andrew to the rest of the parish. A girl had to mind her p’s and q’s with relatives like that. Her parents had big plans for her. She would finish college and go on to grad school, obtaining a degree that she would use only until she saw fit to marry a very wealthy man with societal levels equal to or greater than her own. So far she had completed one year of college and hadn’t declared a major, something her mother wasn’t very concerned about. During that year she’d met a scholarship student, a senior, who also happened to be on Mama’s list of people with whom you should never associate, except perhaps when they come to cut the lawn. Kenny was handsome, rugged, smart, and just far enough away from her parents’ idea of the perfect mate to make her grab hold and refuse to let go. They’d been seeing each other on the sly for six months now, and neither had the guts to tell their folks.
Kenny’s parents had worked in the last remaining textile mill in town until it shut down and they’d both gone to work at the auto assembly plant. They made good money but Kenny knew they’d say he was getting “too big for his britches” if they found out about Gabby. They wanted him to be a lawyer because he could argue with God about the weather. He wanted it too, but he wanted Gabby more. “Don’t worry Babe,” he cut his eyes sideways at her. “After we’re married, it’ll be too late. They’ll have to accept it and go on.”
“You hope.”
“Yeah, I hope.”
*****
“Oh no, oh no!” Glynnis couldn’t catch her breath. She stumbled outside, not even bothering with a drink of water first. Gulping in the fresh outdoor air, she felt her heart begin to slow just a little. There would be rain tomorrow, lots of it. She wished it would come now and drown out the cacophony of thoughts racing through her head. Today had been the reason God created valium. First the police detectives, then her mother, and Dorsey, and just now, she’d had the dream again. The sword, the wine, the blood. It was the third time. Now it would happen and it couldn’t be stopped. Maybe it already had happened. “Please God let me be wrong this time. This time let it be just a dream.” But she knew it was too much to ask.
Glynnis went back inside, locked the deadbolt and checked the clock—only two in the morning, but she wouldn’t go back to sleep tonight. She grabbed Carl from his perch on the bed and walked back to the den to sit down in the recliner, her dog in her lap for comfort. She reached for the remote. Turning on the local channel, she put the TV on mute and pulled a soft cotton throw from the back of the chair over her legs. According to the thermostat, it was seventy-seven degrees inside, but she was cold. Glynnis set the phone on her lap and watched the screen. There would be a news report sooner or later, and then the phone would ring.
*****
“Aw, scarabs in a sandbox!” You have got to be freakin’ kidding me.” Addison rolled his eyes at his partner and spoke into the phone. “We’re on the way. Just don’t let those jerks tear up the place before we make it.” It was only eight in the morning and already things were hopping.
“My, my, Detective Paddix, what a colorful vocabulary you’ve developed.” Brice was always astounded at the variations of curses that Addy could compose. They were both creative and interesting and never managed to include an actual curse word. “Do you talk like that in front of your wife and the girls?”
“I’m still alive, ain’t I?” Paddix grabbed his badge and shoulder holster. “There’s such a thing as self-preservation and I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, took a huge gulp of cooling coffee and turned serious. “This one’s bad, Brice. Night shift took the call at around midnight. Police services have been there since one a.m.”
Brice followed his partner out the door. “If night shift took the call, then why are we going? They’ve got detectives on night shift too.”
“Yeah, but they thought we might be interested. See, the detectives on night shift heard that we got a visit from a particular leggy psychic, predicting this particular murder.”
“You mean Claude Danning?”
“I think that’s what I said. We gotta move fast. The press is all over the place already.”
“Terrific.” Brice reached into his pocket and jingled his keys. “I’ll drive.”
*****
When Glynnis opened her eyes there was a blonde wearing way too much makeup on the television. Glynnis glanced at the wall clock, still groggy from the semi-sleep she managed in the chair. 7 a.m. The blonde reporter was standing in front of an enormous home that had been cordoned off by yellow tape. The expression of fake concern on her face was less than touching. Glynnis rubbed her eyes and pushed Carl off her lap onto the floor. She recognized the blonde reporter from other newscasts, but she had never liked her before. Why start now? Still Glynnis wanted to, no, she had to, know. She turned up the volume. “…a home invasion resulting in the death of one of the occupants. We will continue to broadcast more information about this tragedy as we discover it. I’m Sandra Fitchwell reporting for Action News 4.”
Glynnis switched off the set. “Now it begins.”
*****
It was on the news already. The local station had broadcast it with the smiling blonde bimbo whose compassion for the victim had only been outdone by her desire to be the face behind the huge ratings. How ironic, they were calling it a tragedy, but they had yet to reveal how it was done or the name of the victim. Just wait until they found out who the poor man was and how he had died. Then they could truly and honestly call it a tragedy, a tragedy in the truest sense.
The funny part, the part that he hadn’t even planned on, was that once the police figured out exactly what was happening here, they’d have plenty of suspects. There were lots of folk who didn’t care for Danning—including himself, but his dislike for the man wasn’t generally known. He went into his kitchen for a big glass of chocolate milk. This business made him thirsty and he just couldn’t wait for the next news report.
*****
Gabrielle, now Mrs. Kenneth Schultz, leaned on one elbow and watched her husband while he slept. She brushed a stray blonde curl from his eye and then bent to kiss his nose.
Kenny smiled, a drowsy, contented smile, and then opened his eyes slowly. “Good morning, Mrs. Schultz. Are you feeling okay today?”
“I feel great.”
“Hmm…I’d better check for myself.” He reached for her backside. “Yup, you feel great.”
Gabby let out a squeal and snuggled back down into the bed. “Would you like for me to order room service?”
He didn’t respond because no answer was necessary. He reached for Gabby. Breakfast could wait.
Chapter 5
Brice and Addison worked their way through the crowd of reporters from television and newspaper toward the house. Brice felt a manicured hand on his upper arm and heard the silky voice of Sandra Fitchwell calling his name. Busted.
“Detective Gearhart, Detective Paddix, do you have a moment?” Her voice might have been silk, but her attitude was pure cut-throat. “I just wanted to…”
“Not right now, Ms. Fitchwell.” He pulled away and both detectives kept moving.
“But Detective, I just want to know why the police department saw fit to pull in reinforcements. I mean, after all, there are already two detectives inside.” She was holding a microphone toward Brice in the vain hope that he might answer.
He batted it away and kept walking. “Ms. B…” He stopped short of using the rhyming euphemism that Sandra Fitchwell had earned with the department. “We don’t call it reinforcement when we’re just trying to solve a crime that’s already been committed. We’re not expecting trouble here. The trouble has already happened. Look, why don’t you talk to me when I know something worth talking about.” Maybe by then I can get somebody else to deal with your nonsense.
They slipped under the yellow tape and entered the house. Leslie Handy was already there with her partner, Court Hawkins. The two of them had been partners for more years than Leslie wanted to admit. They argued like an old married couple but any higher-up that thought about splitting the two of them would have to come in with an army to do it. They were that close and worked well as a team.
“Thanks for coming guys,” Leslie whispered so the curious onlookers outside couldn’t overhear. “When we came on duty last night, we heard the gossip about your visit from the psychic hotline girl, and then this happened, so…”
“Good news sure does travel fast,” Addison quipped.
“What have you got?” asked Brice.
They passed through the entrance hall into a lavishly decorated family room where a fortyish woman sat with two kids, a boy, ten or eleven, and a girl, a bit older. Her eyes were swollen and red. She looked very tired. The girl was curled up in the corner of the couch, her head on her knees. The boy stared straight ahead, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Brice didn’t blame him.
Handy stepped toward them and introduced both men. “Mrs. Danning, this is Detective Paddix and this is Detective Gearhart. They’re here for consultation.”
Mrs. Danning just nodded. She was clearly past talking.
“If there’s somewhere else you and the kids want to go to while we…um, finish up, I can call you later if I have any further questions.”
“Thank you, Detective. Maybe we could go to my sister’s house for a while.” She urged the kids off the couch and then turned again. “Please, if you…” She couldn’t finish.
Leslie jumped in. “We’ll do everything we possibly can ma’am and we’ll keep you posted.”
Gloria Danning nodded and left with a police escort to help her get past the media.
Walking ahead of the three male detectives, Leslie Handy opened the door to the study. “Be prepared,” she said. “This one is bizarre.”
The smell of decomposition mingled with the odors of urine and alcohol to form a pungent stench that made Brice want to gag. It wasn’t the first time he’d smelled it, but he never got used to it.
Powder smudges covered almost every surface where the police services team had lifted prints. The only thing left to go to the lab was the body, a wine bottle and a wine glass. “Medical examiner wants this one soon,” Handy told them. “We requested that they leave the body for a few minutes so you could see the positioning.”
Addison and Brice got as close as possible to the slumped corpse without touching it. “There’s a definite stab wound just below the ribs, slightly to the vic’s right side.” Brice commented aloud. “Did he bleed out?”
“Possibly…probably,” Leslie answered. “No murder weapon; something all over the vic’s clothes, chair, and carpet that looks like it could be red wine. It’s hard to tell how much is blood and how much is wine because it’s mingled together, but the medical examiner will be able to tell.”
“Okay,” Addison looked at the wine bottle and the wine glass sitting on the table. “They printed the bottle and the glass. The guy was stabbed once that we know of.” He moved the man’s shirt away from the wound with a pen. “He spilled some wine and got stabbed in the belly. Probably hurt like a son-of-a-gun and he died slowly. Why didn’t he call for help?”
“Was the killer standing there waiting for him to die the whole time?” Brice asked. “If so, it’s like he or she knew when the rest of the family would be back, and how much time he had.”
“I got a better question for ya’,” Addison broke in. “Aside from our friend the psychic and her timely prediction, what’s so bizarre about a stab wound and some spilled wine?”
Brice, who had wandered around the back of the chair and was kneeling on the floor, answered his partner. “How many stab wounds have you seen where the murder weapon also passes through the back of the chair the vic is sitting in?”
“Holy handlebars!” Addy remarked. “You mean he was impaled, pinned to the chair?”
The two other detectives nodded. They’d already seen it.
“I think it’s time we talked to our Ms. Nuckolls,” Brice added.
“Yeah,” said Paddix, “Let’s find out how she really knew about the Danning murder before it happened.”
*****
They drove directly to Glynnis Nuckolls’ home, twenty minutes from the murder site. It was a single story ranch house with a slab porch up front and a sun deck combined with a screen porch in the back. The sun deck naturally had stairs, but the slab porch was equipped with a wheel chair ramp. Glynnis had purchased it that way.
“Do you think she lives with elderly parents or grandparents?” Brice asked nodding toward the ramp.
“Not the impression I got. House is listed in her name anyway.” Addison rang the bell. “Do you think she’s our killer?”
