Death Come Quickly (10 page)

“Any word from Sheila?” she asked quickly. “Have they located Gretchen yet?”

“That's what I was about to ask you,” I said. “Kitt would have called here if Gretchen had shown up, wouldn't she?”

“I don't know,” Ruby said, pulling a long face. “She might not have thought of it.” She closed the register drawer and reached for her cell. “It won't hurt to check. I'll call her.” But a moment later, she was shaking her head. “The call went to her voice-mail box. She must have turned off her phone.”

“I suppose there's nothing else we can do.” I glanced at my watch. I had to get to the bank before the drive-up window closed. “McQuaid went to Austin and won't be home for supper, so the kids and I are doing a pizza from Gino's and a salad. Jake is coming, too. Want to join us? Caitlin would love it.”

Ruby and Caitlin are special friends. They bonded when Caitlin first arrived, through a mutual love of the color pink and all things faerie. (It's a long story: I'll have to tell you some other time.)

“Thanks,” Ruby said. “I appreciate the offer, but Hark is bringing a couple of steaks to throw on the grill.” She shrugged out of her kimono and hung it on a hook.

“How's that going?” I asked curiously.

I knew she was seeing Hark again—how seriously, I could only guess from Hark's frequent smiles and general geniality. He's had a crush on Ruby for several years, but in her heart of hearts, she's been stuck on Colin Fowler. Their fatally flawed affair ended when Colin was murdered two years ago. Ruby's survivor guilt was enhanced when she learned that she was the beneficiary of his substantial life insurance, now safely tucked away for Baby Grace's college education. But her heart-to-heart connection with Colin changed when she went to visit a friend who had just inherited a haunted house built by a widow whose grief for her lost loved ones had imprisoned her for a lifetime—and even beyond. Ruby came back from that visit feeling a great deal better about a great many things in her life.

“How's that going?” Ruby repeated. She put her head on one side, as if she were trying to decide how to answer. “Well, if you're hoping that I'll say I've fallen madly in love with Hark, you'll be disappointed.”

I suppose I was, a little. Ruby in love is a sight for sore eyes. But then again, not so much. For Ruby, love has always been marked by excitement, passion, futile longing, and the expectation of heartbreak. If it's none of these things,
it isn't love. Hark is not at all exciting, and although I can't personally speak to his potential for physical passion, it's hard to imagine him inspiring either futile longing or heartbreak. He's a big man who makes me think of Garrison Keillor—slow talking, slow moving, with a heavy, bearlike build, sloping shoulders, and dark hair that's always rumpled because he's always running his fingers through it. He is quiet and intelligent, with a gentle and generous spirit. He cares for Ruby and can provide the kind of stability she needs—even though she doesn't know she needs it. In other words, he is definitely not Ruby's type.

And then she surprised me.

“Not
madly
in love, anyway,” she said.

“Oh, yeah?” Now I really was curious. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“That I like him a lot?” It was a question. Pensive, she tapped the end of her pencil against the tip of her nose and added, “That I like him a lot—and love him a little, maybe?”

“Well, good for you,” I said heartily. Ever since I've known her, I've thought that Ruby's problem with love is loving too much. Liking a lot and loving a little strikes me as a substantial improvement. “How does Hark feel about this development?”

I didn't have to ask, however. Patience is one of Hark's signature virtues, along with sturdiness, reliability, et cetera. I imagined that he was pleased. Delighted, probably. Overjoyed.

Ruby didn't get to answer. Her cell phone dinged briskly. She reached for it, spoke, listened, and then said, “That's great news, Kitt! Where?” To me, she mouthed,
They found Gretchen.

“Wonderful!” I said and waited for the details.

Her eyes widened as she listened. “Well, things can be replaced. They're positive she's going to be okay?” A long exhale, more listening. “Of course,” she said finally. “It's good that they're keeping her overnight. You never can tell about concussions. Thanks for letting me know.” She closed her phone with a snap. “That's a relief,” she said to me.

“Where in the world
was
she?” I asked urgently.

“In the janitors' closet in the basement of the communications building on campus. The door was locked from the outside. One of the custodians heard her banging on the wall and let her out. A good thing, too.” She shivered. “It might have been Monday before she was found.”

“The
basement
?” I was startled. “What in the world was she doing down there?”

“It's the quickest way to get from the parking lot to the elevator,” Ruby said. “I know, because Kitt wanted to show me around the media lab a couple of weeks ago, and that's the route we took. Since it's summer, there are a lot more parking spaces around the back of the building. Kitt and Gretchen have been parking back there and using the basement door. It's a little spooky, but there was no reason to think it wasn't safe.”

“Yeah, right,” I said dryly. “Nothing is ever not safe, until it isn't.”

Ruby nodded. “Well, it wasn't safe this time, obviously. Gretchen was waiting for the elevator when it happened. She's got a mild concussion, and of course she was plenty scared, especially when she began to think she might not get out for a while. But otherwise, she's going to be okay. The guy who hit her snatched her camera—her purse, too.”

“
Hit
her?” I asked, thinking immediately of Karen. And then, “Took her camera?”

Ruby nodded. “Her camcorder. It's one of the digital cameras the girls are using to record their documentary—a really nice one. Apparently somebody saw her go in, knew that the basement was likely to be deserted, and wanted a camera. This one was just too tempting to pass up, so he grabbed it.”

“Her purse.” I narrowed my eyes. “What about her purse?”

“Kitt said the janitor found it in a trash can just outside the basement door. Empty, of course. The only thing in it was her car keys. I guess he didn't want to be charged with auto theft.”

Her camcorder. One of the cameras the girls were using to record their documentary. My skin prickled. Something was going on here—something besides the opportunistic theft of an expensive camera and the contents of a purse.

“They're keeping her overnight at the hospital?” I asked.

“Uh-huh.” Ruby frowned. “You said her parents are in Belize. What about her sister? Will she be okay by herself?” She paused, concerned. “I wonder if anybody has thought to let her know what's happened.”

I hoisted my bag over my shoulder. “As it happens, I'm on my way to pick up her sister. She's having supper with us tonight. I'll tell her about Gretchen—if she doesn't already know—and ask if she'd like to stay at our house overnight.” I gave Ruby a knowing grin. “You and Hark have a wonderful time. Don't do anything you wouldn't want to see on the front page of the
Enterprise
.”

“That leaves it pretty open,” Ruby said.

I was halfway to the door when I thought of something else. I turned. “This other girl, Kitt. She's a friend of Amy's, I understand.”

“Right,” Ruby replied. “In fact, they're neighbors. I met her at one of Amy and Kate's get-togethers.”

“What's her living situation? I mean, does she live alone? With a girlfriend?”

“She's married,” Ruby replied. “Her husband is also a grad student, in engineering, I believe.” She looked at me. “Why are you asking?”

“No reason,” I said. “Just curious.”

But it was more than that, of course. The bits and pieces were beginning to add up. And I didn't like what I saw on the bottom line.

• • •

T
HAT
pizza had to wait for a while. Five minutes before I got to the Keenes' house, someone from the police department called Jake to tell her that her sister had been in an accident. She was frantic to go to the hospital and make sure that Gretchen was really okay, so that was where we headed. But the Adams County Hospital is only a short drive from the Keene house, and I managed to stall Jake's questions about what had happened to her sister.

“I don't have the details,” I said. “Let's save all that until we see Gretchen. She can tell us.” Jake—upset enough already—complied.

Julie Paprock, whom I met when she helped out with Caitie's Girl Scout troop, was on duty at the hospital reception desk. She's a platinum blonde with a trim figure and plenty of bounce—which she needs to keep up with all of her volunteer work in the Pecan Springs art community. I introduced Jake and explained who we wanted to see.

Julie gave Jake a sympathetic look. “Your sister is feeling much better. I know she'll be glad to see you.” To me, she added, “Gretchen's friend Kitt just went to the cafeteria to get some supper, so both of you can go in.” She gave us the room number. “But when Kitt comes back, one of you will have to leave. Okay?”

We thanked her and went down the hall to the room.

At twenty-three, Gretchen is a grown-up version of Jake, not quite as athletic, a little more well-rounded, a little less blond, and very pretty. But not at the moment. Her head was bandaged; there were abrasions on her arms, her cheeks, and her forehead; and she was going to have one heck of a shiner in the morning. Jake burst into tears when she saw her, and I was startled at the damage. From the abrasions, I guessed that after she was knocked unconscious, she was dragged facedown across the cement basement floor and into the closet.

“I'm okay, guys,” Gretchen said weakly. “Really I am.” She reached for Jake's hand, managing a chuckle. “Or I will be tomorrow, when they let me go home.” She closed her eyes. “Right now I've got one humongous headache. It just won't quit.”

“But what
happened
?” Jake burst out. “All the cop said was that you were in an accident, and I was scared to death. Is the car okay? Where is it?” To me, she added, “It's our mother's car. She told us we could use it as much as we wanted while she and Dad were gone.”

Gretchen opened her eyes and glanced at me. I shook my head just a little, letting her know that I hadn't told her sister what had happened.

“It wasn't that kind of accident, Jake,” Gretchen said. “The car is perfectly okay. Kitt says it's right where I've been parking it this summer. Behind the communications building.”

Jake let out her breath. “Well,
that's
good.” She paused, trying to figure this out. “But if it wasn't the car, what kind of accident was it?”

Gretchen sighed. “I was waiting for the elevator in the basement of the communications building. Somebody conked me over the head and snatched my camcorder and my purse.”

“Oh, no!” Jake exclaimed, horrified. “Oh, Gretchen, poor you!”

“Afraid so. I woke up in a cleaning closet, but the jerk who hit me had bolted the door on the outside. I was in there for hours and hours. Somebody finally heard me banging a bucket against the wall and let me out.” She grinned crookedly. “The only serious damage is to my head
.
And that's not permanent, so there's no need to alarm Mom and Dad. The news will keep until they get home. There's nothing they can do, anyway.”

“Did you get a glimpse of your assailant?” I asked.

“I wish.” Gretchen sighed. “As I told the cops, Ms. Bayles, I didn't hear a thing. I have no idea what he hit me with—or even whether it was a he or a she.”

“So you've already been questioned?” I asked.

“Yes. Twice. By a policeman and then by the chief.” She managed a smile. “I feel important.”

“I can think of less painful ways to be important.” I frowned. “The video that you and Kitt were working on—had you deleted the files from your camera?”

“No,” Gretchen said. “They were all still there, although of course I've backed everything up on my laptop. The camera has a thirty-two-gigabyte memory card, about four hours of recording. There were two other cards in my purse, with more of the footage. Kitt and I were going to download everything—her files and mine—to the computer in the media lab this morning. We need to start editing if we're going to get finished by the end of the term.”

“I see,” I said. “Did you get your purse back?”

“Yes, and I'm glad. It's my favorite purse. Why?”

“Just an idea,” I said. “If you'll tell me where it is, I'll check for those memory cards.”

“In the drawer here beside the bed.” Her head must hurt, because she gestured with her eyes, careful not to move. “They're in the side pocket, in a plastic sleeve.”

I took out the purse and explored the side pocket with my fingers. “I can't find them,” I said. “You look, Jake.” I handed the purse to her, but Jake couldn't find them, either.

“Damn,”
Gretchen exclaimed, disgusted. “The jerk took my camera
and
the memory cards. And my credit card. But at least he left the car keys.”

“And as long as the files are backed up, you still have everything,” I said.

“Yes, but—” Gretchen stopped, frowning. “The camera. Those memory cards. You don't suppose—”

She was silent for a moment, and I wondered where she was going with this. When I heard her next question, I knew she had made the same connection I had.

“Ms. Bayles, how is Dr. Prior? I asked a couple of nurses, but nobody on this floor seems to know. That seemed a little odd to me, but . . .” Frowning, intent, she searched my face.