Hiding Gladys (A Cleo Cooper Mystery) (7 page)

ELEVEN

Is there anything better
in the whole world than waking to the sound of waves pounding and seagulls crying and your whole body’s limp as a noodle from having used every muscle—and I mean
every
muscle—all night? The answer to that is no—unless you’ve never experienced it. In that case, you probably can’t imagine how I ended up in a dark hotel room feeling not the least bit guilty. Sex with Bud had always been great. As long as we were married, I never strayed. In all those years—and a few times since—our sex life never lost its fire. But always, always, it had a tender component. A sweetness, no matter how frisky we got.

With Nash, on the other hand, there was definitely no sweet component. In all honesty, it even had a scary edge, which made me wonder if I’d ever go to bed with him again. Then certain memories brought on a jolt like I expect a cattle prod would produce, and I knew I would.

But, hey, I did check into my own room. I should get points for that, right? I felt around in the bed. No Nash. A vague memory of pushing him out of the bed sometime before dawn came to me. I guessed it was before dawn. Heavy black-out drapes made the room dark as a pit so I couldn’t really tell. I looked over at the nightstand for the digital. It wasn’t there. Must have been the crash I heard in the wee hours of the morning. I felt something scrunched up under the cover at my feet and dug around between the foot of the bed and the sheets. My dress. Further exploration rendered one shoe and, finally, my watch. I held up the glow-in-the-dark Mickey with big numbers and saw that it was nearly seven o’ clock.

Dang, I was burning daylight. Gladys would land in Raleigh and be waiting for me by noon, besides which I knew Nash expected me to have a leisurely Saturday morning breakfast with him. I planned to be long gone by then.

I got up and went to McDonald’s feeling just fine about leaving Nash without so much as a good-bye. The morning after first-time sex, so awkward. Truth be told, he’d probably appreciate my giving him some space. Besides, I had a big project going and while it might be a workless weekend for him, it definitely wasn’t for me. Halfway through my McDonald’s iced coffee, I concluded I was going to survive last night’s debauchery. Without taking my eyes from the road, I dug my cell from my purse—a maneuver I was becoming remarkably brilliant at—and said, “William,” the voice command to dial my son.

He answered immediately. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey, Will,” I said, “how’s my firstborn?”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “Fine. What’re you doing?”

“Actually, besides wondering how you are and wishing I could be in Miami with you right now, I was hoping you could do me a huge favor.”

“You know you can visit me anytime you like, and I’m always more than happy to help you if I can.”

What a good boy I raised. “Great,” I said. “What I need is one of your excellent computer searches on a company.”

“What’s the name?”

“I.T.N.F. TestCo Group. The C in TestCo is capitalized. I believe they may be a Charlotte-based company. I know if anyone can find out who they are, it’s you.”

“Okay. Give me the rest of the day. By the way, I’ve got everything set up for the computer presentation for your banker. All we need now is data.”

“I’m on it,” I said, amused at the implication, however politely packaged, that I should get on the stick and start feeding data to him as soon as possible and not leave everything to the last minute.

“I’ve got a lot going on here with my stuff too. But I’ll call you soon as I have something.”

“Thanks, honey. You’re still coming up to Raleigh Thursday, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely, but I’ll talk to you before then.”

It was almost eleven when I pulled into the driveway of my house in Raleigh. Tulip was so excited to see me I was afraid she’d explode.

Henri was behind her. “She’s really missed you,” she said. “And I have too. What’s on your schedule? Are you going to have time for me today?”

“I’ve got a friend coming in at the airport around twelve. If you could pick her up, I’d be eternally grateful.”

“Grateful enough to loan me your Bakers with the stacked wooden heels?”

I grabbed my overnight and my garment bag from the seat and headed inside. “Seriously, what I really need is the time to go over the core logs from that consulting job I finished last month out in Wyoming, and write up my report. I was supposed to have sent it in last week … And yes, you can borrow my Bakers … once.” I might be a practical dresser on the job, but for all other occasions, I love clothes.

“Okay then. I’ll do airport duty. I must say, though,” my daughter said primly as she followed me through the door, “I really expected you home yesterday afternoon to take care of your paperwork. What were you doing all day?”

“I had some, uh, catchup work I needed to attend to. I took care of it.”
Well, how else would you describe it?

“What kind of … ”

“Better scoot, sweetie, if you’re gonna make it to the airport in time,” I said as I ushered her back out the front door. “I’ll phone my friend and let her know how to find you.”

As soon as she left, I called my lawyer.

“Sharon, I believe I’ve got a problem.”

“Shoot.”

“First of all, Gladys isn’t missing anymore. She’s been in Florida with her sister this whole time, hiding from her kids. Turns out they’re trying to have her declared incompetent. They claim they’ve got a Power of Attorney. Say they’re going to take over the test site with a new option they’ve gotten with some company I never heard of.”

“Oh. Is that all?” Sharon said nonchalantly.

“Should I be worried?”

“Is there a P.O.A. filed anywhere?”

“Gladys says no.”

“Then you’re okay. My advice would be to keep Gladys away from her kids until we get this thing wrapped up legally. That way she’s protected and so are you. I take it from what you’ve told me that she may need protecting from her kids.”

“That looks to be the situation to me.”

“Okay, then. Carry on. But just to be on the safe side, might be best if you have Gladys inform that sheriff guy of her whereabouts. You said he had a Silver Alert out on her. He’ll probably want to talk to her in person too. You can arrange that easily enough. Also, her children should be informed that she is safe. Maybe she knows a good time to call when they aren’t likely to be home so she can just leave a message. Something to the effect that she’s visiting a friend … that would be sufficient.”

Shortly before one o’ clock Henri delivered a distraught Gladys to my door. I ushered her into my kitchen, poured her a cup of coffee and did my best to tell her all I knew about what had happened to Irene. I wanted to spare her the grisly details, but she kept asking questions, and isn’t knowing the truth the quickest path to recovery from losing a loved one? I think it is, so I did my best to tell her everything.

“I just don’t understand,” Gladys sniffed, dabbing her eyes. “Irene wouldn’t hurt a fly. Everyone loved her. She was a pillar of the church.”

“What about her gentleman friend? You implied you don’t like him very much,” I said.

“Oh, I only complained about him because I thought Irene was too old to marry again. But he’s a nice man, a good man. And I believe he loves Irene … or loved her.”

“When was the last time you actually saw her?”

“Right before I left for Sister’s. It was a Monday and she’d come over to my house to help me put up strawberry preserves. She and I went to the store. I needed some more lids.” Gladys got a faraway look in her eye. “Oh, I almost forgot, we dropped my car at Buster’s garage, up on the main road. You know, to check it out for my trip. While Buster worked on it, we went back to ladle and seal. Then she drove me back to Buster’s to pick up the car, and I said good-bye and reminded her to go back the next day while the kids were out to dinner to put the jars on my pantry shelf. She said she would.”

“Why the next day and why when the kids were out?”

“I can tell you don’t know anything about canning. I guess I’ll have to teach you.” She patted me on the hand. “Preserves can’t be moved for twenty-four hours after they go into the jars. Has to do with the seals. And why when the kids were out? Well, Irene liked to avoid them because they always ask her to do extra stuff for them.”

“So how long were you at home before you left?”

“All morning. We dropped the car off early and worked through lunch. Then, after she left me at Buster’s, I got on the road. When I go to Sister’s, I always stop just over the Georgia line in Brunswick, which is about a six-hour drive. The next day, I do the last six. I’m too old to make all twelve hours in one day anymore.”

I thought about what Sheriff Evans had said—that according to the medical examiner, Irene had been dead about two weeks before I found her. Gladys must have been one of the last people to have seen her alive.

“Well, let me give you some good news, Gladys. You need it.” I told her about the testing and how the results seemed to be on target with what I’d predicted.

Gladys sighed, then began weeping again. “Isn’t that always the way it goes? Here I am, planning the nicest and most comfortable retirement for Irene and me, and now she’s gone. I thought I’d always have her with me.”

I couldn’t help it—tears welled in my eyes too. I blinked them away, rubbed her shoulder and suggested a bath or a nap, maybe. She opted for resting.

Tulip, who had been watching, trotted down the hall behind her to the guestroom and stayed with her until she fell asleep.

TWELVE

Gladys kept busy for
the rest of the weekend with numerous calls to Sister to discuss Irene’s funeral arrangements, and then making the funeral arrangements. She also insisted on helping with the daily cooking, which I agreed to only because it seemed to make her feel useful. It also gave me more time for paperwork.

By late Sunday I’d caught up and was ready to head back to the test site Monday morning. But before leaving I needed to pick up a few necessities at the drugstore. On the way out I found Gladys on the couch with Tulip, watching
Out of Africa
on the Oxygen Channel.

Shifting her attention from the movie, she said, “I got lucky.”

“How’s that?” I said.

“I figured the kids might be at the Sunday buffet at the Golden Corral today so I called home. Sure enough, no one answered and I was able to leave a message saying I was visiting a friend and would be home soon.”

“Oh, good,” I said. “What about the sheriff?”

“Got an appointment with him here tomorrow if that’s all right with you.”

“Of course it is. I won’t be here, but you don’t need me, do you?”

“No. I’ll be fine. I gave him your address and he said he has one of those navigators in his car so it wouldn’t be any trouble to find me. You just get back to the farm and finish our testing. That’s the most important thing right now.”

“Sounds like we have all the bases covered, then,” I said and picked up my car keys.

In the drugstore, as the cashier counted out my change, I thought I saw Bud at the other end of the aisle. What was he doing at this drug store? He always used the small, family-owned drug store in his neighborhood, Country Club Hills.

More to the point, what was he doing in the condom section?

I took my bag and ducked out before Bud could see me. Then I jogged a block up the street to the only parking spot I’d been able to find, hopped in the Jeep and looked around for Bud’s truck.

No sign of it. Instead I spotted his cream-colored Porsche Carrera and a hot young babe in it.

Bud pushed through the door of the drugstore, walked across the street and smiled—sheepishly, I thought—at the bimbo. They were laughing as the Porsche growled away from the curb, accelerated past me, and disappeared.

My throat constricted with emotions I couldn’t identify. Jealousy? Possessiveness of my children’s father? Common sense told me Bud hadn’t been living these last five years as a monk, but this was my first time actually witnessing him moving on with his life. The intensity of my feelings surprised me. Indeed, considering
I’d just crawled out of bed with another man, they were nonsensical. Still, I felt lousy, a little weird even. Then, being the practical person I am, I decided overanalyzing my emotions was a waste of time so I did what any level-headed, self-employed woman would do. I cranked up the tunes on the radio and headed back to the house to pack. Monday morning couldn’t come soon enough for me.

I was back on the test site raring to go at seven o’ clock, the faithful Tulip back by my side—at least she was until she caught the scent of some hapless critter and dashed off into the woods to find it. By ten we had finished the last few holes in the initial testing of the east side of the creek.

Mule and Stick were packing the last auger flights on the rig so we could move to the next one when Wink walked up and said, “Statewide just called. They’re having some problems at a soil compaction test site about two hundred miles to the north—”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, I’m the closest foreman in the area so I’ve been designated to take care of it.”

“I see,” I said. This was a normal occurrence, exploration companies often ran simple jobs without a foreman, calling in one only if there was a problem.

“Shouldn’t take long to set whatever it is to right. Probably be back here by Wednesday night.” Wink rolled out his field map, indicating a section of our site with his finger, and added, “This is the area you said you wanted to drill next, so I gave the boys their marching orders. Of course, you can change them if you want, but when they finish, it’ll be time to move across the creek to test the west side of the property. This is the bridge we checked out, right here.” He pointed to where he had circled the bridge on his map with a pencil.

“Sounds like a plan, don’t worry about us,” I reassured him. “We’ll see you when you get back.”

“Remember, if you need me and you can’t reach me on the cell, it’s because I’m in one of the dead zones down here. Just wait a little and try again.”

“Gotcha,” I said, absentmindedly, my thoughts skipping ahead to the moving drill rig.

I ran to catch up with the crew as the rig slowly bumped along through the woods on the newly cleared path.

By two o’ clock we’d finished all the initial testing I had planned for the east side of the property. Now Mule and Stick stood by the rig waiting for instructions. Tulip sat at my feet looking up at me, waiting too.

“Let’s head on across the creek,” I said, reaching down to stroke one of her silky ears. She leaned into my knee and moaned happily. “We have plenty of daylight left to get set up on a core hole, maybe even pull one section before we knock off. I’ll walk ahead of you.”

The rich smell of raw earth and tree sap combined to delight my senses. It was better than perfume. I came to where the trail Wink had cleared dead ended into an old logging road, turned left, and followed it to the creek. As I crossed the twenty-foot earthen bridge, I took in the soothing sound of gurgling water as it flowed through the concrete culverts. Upon reaching the far side, I turned to watch my guys as they pulled up to the creek.

Both men got out to make a cursory check of the situation. Then Mule took the wheel as Stick, walking backwards and using hand signals, directed him forward until the front tires of the enormous rig were equally spaced on the edges of the narrow bridge. Now, with Stick still guiding him, Mule began to creep slowly across the creek.

I continued on my way to the drill flag. The sound of a woodpecker’s hammer echoed again. Was it a red-bellied or a pileated … But then I heard a sickening crunch and panicked shouts from Stick.

“Hold it! Hold it! Hold it!” he hollered.

I turned and watched as the rig tilted dangerously to the left as that side of the bridge began to collapse under it in slow motion. “Noooo!” I screamed and ran back, my legs pumping like pistons.

In the few seconds it took me to reach the edge of the creek, the rig had almost reached its tipping point of forty-five degrees. Momentarily stopped, it hung motionless over the creek.

Mule sat behind the wheel like a crash dummy. The only thing moving was the water of the creek as it rushed around the rig’s tires. All it would take would be a slight shift of the auger flights and the whole shooting match—rig, auger flights, and Mule—would go in the creek.

I watched the tires. The force of the water rushing around them was increasing in direct proportion to the volume now being trapped by the rig’s position over the culverts. Angry swirls and eddies roiled in the once docile creek, chewing large chunks away from the earthen bridge. I understood it wasn’t a question of if the rig would tip farther, but when.

Stick seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion and we both started screaming at Mule, “Get out! Get out!”

For a brief second he seemed glued to the wheel, but then he quickly got the message. He tried to distribute his weight evenly as he reached for the door. Stick ran to the cab to try to help him out.

With a clang, the auger flights shifted slightly and the rig sunk farther into the creek. The tilt was all that was needed to panic Mule into opening the driver’s door and leaping out into the creek. Instantly, his feet were sucked from underneath him.

I caught a brief glimpse of his legs between the bottom of the door and the water before he disappeared with a gurgling yelp into the muddy cauldron.

At that moment the rig tipped beyond the point of no return and slowly began to settle itself in the creek. About half the load of auger flights unloaded into the water with a clamorous ring, like a madman loose in a belfry tower with a sledgehammer. The open door was the only thing that saved the rig from completely rolling over on its side.

“Mule!” I screamed and jumped in the creek. Water chunky with dirt, sticks, roots, and other debris from the collapsed earthen bridge beat against my legs as I waded to the door of the cab. I knew perfectly well it was a dumb thing to do, to go under a 25,000-pound drill rig—but I had to get Mule.

He was not going to drown on my watch. With the creek water swirling in a torrent around me, I pulled myself around the door, but then was sucked down and slammed into the undercarriage of the rig. When I came up, I found Mule. He’d been washed into the cab and was pinned flat against the passenger door by the force of the water.

With one hand I held on to the arm of the side-view mirror, and reached for Mule with my other. No good. It was all I could do to keep from getting trapped in the cab too. I pulled back and braced against the door, which was sinking deeper and deeper into the sandy creek bottom. At any moment the door was bound to buckle and the rig would lay completely down with Mule in it.

Stick now appeared, wading in from the back end of the truck. He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me back, yelling, “I’ll get him!”

“No! Wait!” I yelled back with the sudden clarity often bestowed on the truly desperate. I looked into Mule’s wild eyes. “Let go!” I shouted and made a waving motion with my hand toward the window. “Just go through the window!”

I saw realization dawn in his eyes, saw him take a deep breath and slip into the rushing torrent. I felt Stick push away from me. Then, for a second, the water level built up in the cab and the sucking pressure let up.

By the time I made it to the other side of the rig, Stick was hauling Mule onto what was left of the bridge. I hauled my soggy butt out of the creek. Tulip barked and leaped up and down like a pronghorn antelope. I realized she had been barking the whole time I was in the water.

“You okay?” I asked Mule.

“I think so,” he said uncertainly. I didn’t blame him for not knowing.

“Good. Get your ass on that dozer as fast as you can and push a channel through the bridge so the water won’t beat to pieces what’s left of it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, heading off with Stick to get the bulldozer.

In less than ten minutes with the dozer they opened a channel and allowed the creek to settle back to being its lazy self. Only now, instead of bubbling over crayfish and flat rocks, it meandered through the rig—still propped on its door—and our scattered auger flights.

I stood on the creek bank and gazed at the wreck that was the rig. All I could see were winged dollar bills flying up and away from the carcass. The dozer clattered to a stop behind me and Mule and Stick came to stand beside me and survey the damage.

“Phew! That was a close one!” Stick exclaimed.

“You can say that again,” Mule told him. “Good thing I’ve kept my girlish figure or I’d’ve never fit through that window.”

“I can’t believe you even tried to get out the down side of the rig in the first place, you moron. It’s a damn miracle you weren’t squished,” Stick said.

“Don’t be calling me a moron.”

“And with the creek practically pushing you out the window, you still tried to come back out the driver’s door. Don’t you know the old saying, ‘Go with the flow’?”

“Yeah. But haven’t you ever heard the one about, ‘Never leave through a different door than the one you came in’?”

“Knock it off, you two,” I said. “Truth be told, the open door’s the only thing that’s keeping the rig from tipping over completely. Start stripping off the auger flights, casings, and anything else that isn’t attached to the rig.”

“We got enough chains in Stick’s truck to reach from the dozer to the rig, but I don’t think we’ll have enough horsepower to pull it out,” Mule said.

“You’re right,” I said, “we won’t. Besides, I’m afraid we’d break the rig in half, pulling from the bank. Angle’s too steep. We need an all-terrain wrecker, something with flotation tires so it can get down in the creek and work from a better angle. I think I know where to get one.”

It took me several tries before I was able to reach Wink’s voicemail. I dreaded giving him the bad news that way, so just left a message to call me. With luck, I’d have the rig up and in a garage with repairs underway before he called me back.

Make that lots and lots of luck.