In Sickness And In Death Part 11

I moved to Pet.i.tes and selected a few pairs of pants. I slipped into the dressing room to try them on. The floor overhead creaked. A few minutes later something thumped onto the floor. I finished my try-on quickly and started in the direction of the stairs.

Celeste came down, holding a mannequin's arm in one hand and the leg in the other. "That woman's a menace."

I cringed at her hiss. "She needs you, Celeste."

"She needs to lose weight. She needs veneers. She needs a new dye job and extensions." Celeste dropped the mannequin's parts on the counter behind the register. "And she needs a bath. I might have to fumigate."

She looked at the three pairs of pants in my hands. "How did those work out for you?"

"I'll take them."

"You'll need sweaters to mix and match. I've got the winter styles in the bas.e.m.e.nt."

I didn't really need or want the sweaters, but Celeste liked to manage a top-selling store. And Leslie needed her goodwill. I could always return the items on Celeste's day off.

An additional six sweaters and a hip-length quilted jacket later, I left the store laden with packages and Celeste's promise that Leslie would be a new woman when she came into my shop tomorrow to continue our discussion about the Caterham.

I sat in the Lexus and dialed Ray for a second time today. He didn't answer his cell phone. The department operator said he was out of the building. With any luck, he was hot on the trail of Danny's mother and potential aunt. If anyone could sniff them out, it would be the hound dog named Ray.

I started the car and headed back to Mr. Murphy's house in the hopes he'd returned home and could answer my questions about Erica.

His car was in the driveway when I pulled in next door. I dashed across his soggy lawn, my heels sticking in the gra.s.s, and raced up his front steps.

He pulled open the door before I had the chance to ring the bell. "You're here about your sister, aren't cha?"

Thin and sprightly as ever, Mr. Murphy now had tufts of hair growing not only above his ears but out of them. Coupled with his enormous earlobes, it made it difficult to focus my gaze on his wizened face. I did my best.

"She's packed her bags. I can't find her. Did you see her leave?"

"Sure did."

"Was she with someone?"

Mr. Murphy's hair tufts wafted up and down as he nodded. "Tall boy, with dark hair."

"Do you know his name?"

"Never seen the boy before. Never seen any of those wild boys visit her more than once."

"What kind of a car was he driving?"

"White one. One of those foreign four-doors. They're everywhere."

"Can you be more specific? A Honda Civic? A Hyundai Sonata? A Toyota Camry?"

Mr. Murphy waved his hands. "I don't know names. Not the boy's name. Not the car's. No names."

I tried to keep the smile on my face. "Can you tell me what time she left?"

"Morning. After the first two hours of the Today show. You know, when Regis comes on."

As I struggled to think of something else that might be helpful, Mr. Murphy started to close his door. My time was up.

I held my hand against the door, halting its progress. "Can you think of anything else, Mr. Murphy? Anything at all? Erica hasn't been taking her medication. I'm worried about her."

He rolled his lips and looked toward the porch roof. "Boy had on a Syracuse Orangemen sweatshirt. That's all I know."

That was enough. I let go of the door.

He slammed it shut.

The "boy" was Maury Boor.

____.

I checked my watch. I didn't have time to look for Maury and Erica now. The day had slipped away from me. It was now quarter to three. School dismissed at five minutes after three. Danny would be waiting for me in the turnaround.

As I drove toward the school, I recalled Maury's fascination with the Syracuse University basketball team. For a short guy, he'd been obsessed with the mighty tall ones. Maybe because he'd never had a chance of making the team himself. Maury must have asked Erica at least twenty times over the course of high school to attend a game with him. His parents had been season ticket holders. Maybe they still were. Maybe Ray could get the campus police to provide an address to go with those tickets.

I drove into Danny's school's turnaround and pulled up to the curb behind a woman in a minivan. She had a b.u.mper sticker that read "Soccer Mom." Would that be me someday, too? I'd never drive a minivan, but I could do soccer. Maybe. Depending on the weather.

Ray didn't answer his cell. I didn't bother calling the department. He'd be home for dinner soon enough.

Danny came out of school with his backpack over his shoulder, dragging his new coat through the wet gra.s.s and puddles. I cringed.

He climbed into the back seat.

I turned to look at him. "How was your first day?"

"Okay."

"Was Mr. Mathews nice?"

"He's okay."

"How were the other kids? Did they talk to you?"

"Yeah. They're okay."

"Okay" was the word of the day. I started the car and eased my way out of the parking lot, trying to avoid the other more hurried moms and the kids jaywalking across the street.

When we got home, Danny plunked in front of the television. I headed into the office and fired up my computer, searching for Maurice Boor in the on-line white pages. The only listing I found was for an elderly man in another state. I dialed the number, hoping to find Maury's dad.

He wasn't a relative.

Faced with another dead end, I turned off the computer and headed into the kitchen to pull out all the remaining Thanksgiving leftovers. If I really was a super soccer mom, I'd be able to mix them all into a delicious ca.s.serole. I gave that thought all of a minute then shoved them as is into the oven to reheat.

Ray came through the door just after five, as he did most days. "Where's Danny?"

"In the living room, watching TV."

He motioned toward our bedroom. "Come talk to me."

I followed him, noticing his pant cuffs were filthy. "How'd you get so dirty?"

"Crawling around the parking lot of The Cat's Meow." He took off his pants and threw them in the clothes basket. "I wanted to see if I could find a remote in the parking lot. The bartender said no one had turned one in."

"Did you find one?"

"No, but the bartender and the bouncer remember Danny's father going out of the bar and coming back in again to look for something. The bouncer figured at first it might be Danny, but his father was looking on the bar and the floor."

"Maybe for his remote?"

"That was my thought. But that's not what I wanted to tell you." Ray pulled on a pair of jeans. "I called Newark and checked out Jessica James."

"And?"

"They sent officers to her house. She wasn't there. They talked to the neighbors, who said they hadn't seen her for at least a month. The description they gave matches Josie Montalvo's description, right down to the rhinestone fingernails. DMV provided a picture of Jessica James. It matches the picture on Josie Montalvo's license. We found it in the apartment where we think she was killed. The two women appear to be one and the same person. But DMV never issued a license to a Josie Montalvo, and the Social Security office says the number on her card doesn't exist."

"So Josie Montalvo was a fake?"

Ray nodded. "The neighbors knew her sister, Jennifer, too. And Danny and Danny's father." He started to flip through his shirts, considering and dismissing them in turn.

"What else did they know?"

He pulled a thick rugby shirt off a hanger. "They all lived with the aunt in that house for two years after Danny was born. Then his mother died. The neighbors weren't sure, but they thought it was from complications related to pneumonia. They did say the family was devastated. Danny and his father lived there with the aunt for another year or so-then one day he and Danny were gone. Jessica continued to live there until about two months ago when she bought the Escalade. The neighbors said she put her bags in her old gray Cavalier a month later and disappeared. She left the Cadillac in the garage. They thought she'd taken an extended vacation or something."

I watched Ray pull his shirt over his head. Danny had thought that his aunt, Josie Montalvo, might be his mother. At age three, maybe he had believed she was. His memories from that time of life would be cloudy at best.

"So what does it all mean?"

Ray reached out and pulled me into a hug. His shirt smelled dusty. Yet another area of housework I'd neglected.

"Danny's father knew Josie Montalvo. He was found driving the Escalade that she, as Jessica James, reported stolen. He was at The Cat's Meow, which suggests he knew where she worked. He may have known where she lived as well. He's now the number one suspect in her death."

I wiggled out of his arms and gazed up at his face. "So you think he killed her?"

Ray rolled his neck and shoulder. "No."

I couldn't believe my ears. "You don't?"

"No. The first thing we did was light up both the Escalade and the Camry. There's no trace of blood in either vehicle. The guy has no real history of violence. His prison record is exemplary. His parole officer said he followed the rules of his parole. Even the neighbors said he was a good father and a good neighbor. He appeared genuinely shocked to hear Josie Montalvo was dead."

"He's talking now?"

Ray heaved a sigh. "He's still not talking, but I could tell from his body language. His attorney wanted a deal. I think Jessica James' death threw a monkey wrench into it."

"Will you investigate Danny's father for her murder?"

"No. When the sheriff heard the definite connection to Danny, he took me off the case. I'm back on patrol duty for the month."

The sheriff's office in our county was fortunate to have only tenured members. The sheriff had decided that every deputy would have the chance to work investigations, so they took turns. When a deputy was not a.s.signed to an investigation, he was on patrol, usually in hopes of finding another investigation to pursue. The sheriff must know what he was doing. Employee morale in his department was exceptionally high.

"So you're not going to be involved?"

"You can bet I'll be looking for her body under every bridge and haystack."

Ray'd probably find it, too. "What should we tell Danny?"

"Nothing. His father's not in the lockup any more. He's in the jail. I'll take Danny to visit him tomorrow. He can tell Danny what he thinks is right."

I felt a niggling of suspicion. "Are you hoping he'll come home and share the story with us?"

Ray ran his finger down the bridge of my nose. "Only if it helps the two of them, Darlin'. Only if it helps."

Over our dinner of leftovers, I told Ray and Danny about Mr. Murphy witnessing Erica's departure from her apartment in the company of the man I believed to be Maury Boor.

"And he was driving a white car, a four-door import. Mr. Murphy didn't know which make or model. What are the odds it could be another white Toyota Camry?"

Danny choked and sputtered on his milk as his gaze shot to my face.

Ray studied Danny. "What do you think, Danny?"

"I don't know." He focused on his mashed potatoes.

Ray turned to me. "Camrys are one of the most popular cars on the road, especially white ones. They last forever, and they don't show the dirt as much. We must have several dozen in this county alone."

I knew that. But I'd been hoping Ray would tell me something different-I'd been imagining all sorts of scenarios involving my sister, a psycho killer, and a white Camry, not to mention dry ice in a cooler.

Ray continued, "After dinner, I'll make some calls to Syracuse. See if I can find a season ticket holder named Boor. I'll call the DMV and see if I can find a Camry registered to a Boor, too."

Danny finished his plate and rose from the table.

Ray fixed an eye on him. "I didn't hear you ask to be excused."

"May I be excused?"

"What's the magic word?"

Danny wrinkled his brow and thought for a moment. I began to despair in earnest for his upbringing. Finally, he got it. "Please?"

"First take your dishes to the sink."

Danny carried them over, then disappeared into the living room. I expected to hear the television again. Instead, he reappeared with his backpack in hand. "I have homework." He stared pointedly at the table.

I scrambled to my feet. "Let me clear the dishes and you can sit here to do it."

Ray helped me carry the dishes to the sink. He leaned close to my ear. "Good to see him showing some responsibility. I'll go make those calls."