With Vics You Get Eggroll (A Mad for Mod Mystery Book 3) (7 page)

EIGHT

The sunlight backlit the man’s figure. He stepped into the locker. I stepped back. He lifted his knife. It was curved like a hook. I raised the cushion in front of me. He came closer. A lamp tipped over and glass shattered on impact. I tried to scream but my throat was dry and no sound came out.

“Madison Night, right? The decorator?” he said. “Hudson told me to get in touch with you. Says you was looking for a contractor? I tried to call but nobody’s answering your phone.”

“What did you say your name was?” I called. He hadn’t, but I didn’t care.

“People call me Lyndy. Are you sure you’re okay back there? You look trapped.”

“Mr. Lyndy, can you wait out front for me?” I said from behind the cushion.

“Sure.”

I waited until the storage locker was silent and shifted the cushion onto the top of a boomerang coffee table. I didn’t have much in the way of weapons, but I wasn’t going out unarmed against a man with a hook-shaped knife. I picked up an aluminum trash can lid and a fireplace poker and made my way out front, feeling more Monty Python than Doris Day.

The man leaned against the back door of Mad for Mod. He was older than I’d originally assumed. Dark, tanned, deeply creased skin glowed against his white hair. He was shorter than I was, exacerbated by the curve of his spine.

“I hope I didn’t scare you back there. I’ve been banging on the front door for about twenty minutes afore I came around the back. Saw the door open and saw your legs sticking up, got a little scared myself.”

Rocky’s barking sounded from inside the shop. The knocking must have riled him up. “Mr. Lyndy, you said you know Hudson?”

“Ain’t no Mister, just Lyndy. Yeah, I know Hudson. Taught him a thing or two about construction. Boy’s a fast learner.”

I knew Hudson had been raised by his grandmother, but I’d never stopped to think about how he’d gotten into construction and woodworking. I’d always figured he’d picked it up on his own.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the knife in his hand.

“That’s my carpet knife.” He held it up. “Truth is, I’m on foot. Don’t live far from here and I didn’t want to bring my whole tool box if you wasn’t around. Hudson called me yesterday and said you were looking for someone to help you on a project. I thought I’d show up ready for a job. I don’t do many jobs these days, but if Hudson wants a favor, I’ll do it.”

I was still wary of the knife and wondered exactly how far he’d walked while holding onto it. It seemed I had even more evidence to support my argument that most Dallas residents didn’t pay attention to the threats right in front of them.

“I can see it makes you uncomfortable. I lost my old one. This one’s new. I had it in my pants, but after a while I kept feeling the tip poking into my thigh. I didn’t even realize I was holding it when you saw me. Sure am sorry about that.” He set the carpet knife on the ground by the toe of his boot, and then eased it forward, away from him and toward me. It was an odd gesture. I’d seen people do it in old movies, when bad guys are told to stand down. In the movies, the bad guys usually have another weapon strapped to their ankle.

“Do you have any referrals?”

“I told you, Hudson,” he said.

“No, I mean client referrals.”

“Most of the time I do the work and get paid cash. I don’t ask people to write up referrals. But I’ve worked on most of these buildings out here. Been laying carpet since the sixties. I did the Granada Theater at the end of the street, and the Szechwan Pavilion on Buckner before they renovated.”

“Is there a way I can reach you? Do you have a business card?”

“You can write down my phone number.”

The longer I stood outside talking to Lyndy, the less wary I became. He seemed like a nice old man who was willing to do a job, but I wasn’t the same trusting soul I’d once been. I was going to need more than first impressions to put him on my payroll.

“When did you talk to Hudson?” I asked.

“This morning. Boy knows I get up early. He’s in one of them square states now but he said he’s on his way back. I got the feeling he wanted me to help you out until he got here so he could pick up where I left off.”

“Let me get your number, and if things pan out, I’ll be in touch.” Instead of going inside, I went to my car and pulled a pen and business card from the center console. Lyndy rattled off seven numbers, I prompted him for the area code, and he looked at me like I was crazy.

“Two-one-four,” he said. “I’ve been around longer than them new area codes.”

I thanked him for his time and watched him walk to the edge of the parking lot. When he turned around, I noticed sadness in his red-rimmed eyes. “Miss Night, Hudson said you were a good lady. I’ve been down on my luck and I could use the work, even if it does only last until he gets here. I understand you gotta call him and make sure I’m not lying about anything I told ya. I’d want my own girls to do the same thing if they were still alive.” He raised his hand to me in a cross between a tip of the hat and a wave. I waved back and watched him disappear into the streets behind Greenville Avenue.

I went back through the file of contractors that Hudson had left me. The last name on the list, one that I hadn’t gotten to because of the early time, was Emil Lyndy. The phone number matched the one the old man had given me. For the first time since he’d shown up by the storage locker, I felt myself relax a tiny bit. Maybe he was just a man with a tragedy in his past who was looking for a job.

I locked up the storage locker and spent the rest of the day designing the Japanese-inspired temporary interior for Cleo Tyler’s party. I tried to recall any pertinent scenes in the Doris Day movies I knew so well, but came up empty. Not a tragedy, I figured, since the room would be temporary and torn down when the time came to finish the rest of the Tyler house.

I made a shopping list: paint for the walls, brushes and ink to create a minimal design on it, string lights for the paper lanterns, and bamboo. I downloaded a photo of the Tyler living room as it currently was, diluted the colors enough that only a hint of walls, floor, and ceiling lines were present, and printed five copies. I placed a sheet of tracing paper over the photo, and with a sharp black marker, sketched on the placement of a long, low bench that could serve as a dining area, rectangular cushions like the red one I’d been wrestling in the storage locker, plants, and a portable sake bar. Once I replaced their light fixtures with suspended paper lanterns, it would take on a cartoony Asian flair, less aesthetically pure but higher in entertainment value—something I suspected Cleo would respond to.

I closed down the computer, locked the front door, and left out the back sometime after seven. The temperature didn’t change much between the time the sun was up and when it dropped, and the air held the beginning of what would soon become months of summer humidity. I envied Cleo’s ability to jump into the pool when she wanted to cool down. Maybe I’d take her up on her offer to attend the party. I closed the storage locker and drove to Thelma Johnson’s house.

I’d inherited the two-story stucco house from the son of a woman who had been murdered a year ago. It was located in the M streets, so named because all of the streets had names that started with that letter. The inheritance had required me to clear the back taxes on the property, and at the time, the idea of a secret hideaway had been appealing. I cleared up the bills and moved in. Turns out it was just in time. When my past came knocking on the door of my apartment, I’d needed a place to go. A place where nobody knew to look for me. And for the most part, this house had continued to be just that. A place where I could get away when I wanted to not be found.

Staying at Thelma Johnson’s house had started out as a once or twice a week thing, and had turned into my more regular residence. Now that Effie was moving out of my apartment building, I found that I didn’t want to stay there all by myself. The initial luster of buying the property and building my own small community through rentals had been tarnished by recent events. The community I’d built had vanished into thin air. I was forty-eight years old and had established that I didn’t want or need anybody in my life except for my dog. At least that’s what I wanted the world to think. Personally, I was starting to feel like a fraud for pretending to be so independent when more and more I craved companionship.

I carried Rocky from the car past the hedge, and then set him down. He took off across the yard, making a dash for the row of trees that lined the property. He lifted his leg by a purple Japanese maple that had been there for decades, and then raced in circles around the sidewalk. I guess when you spend your day cooped up inside a small office, you need a place to let off some steam.

I studied the vegetables in the garden while he played. A white butterfly caught his attention and he trotted along behind its irregular path. I picked the almost ripe tomatoes from the vine and called to Rocky.

“Time to go inside.” He looked at me, then back at where the butterfly had been. It wasn’t there. He dropped his head and trotted to the door like a sad but obedient dog. When I unlocked the door, a litter of takeout menus fell to the floor. I scooped them up and noticed a note scribbled on the one from Hunan Palace.
Same place. Midnight.
I opened the menu and found several items circled. Eggroll was underlined twice.

Tex was one of the few people who knew I sometimes resided at Thelma Johnson’s. His own history with the house ran a little deeper than mine. He’d dated the original owner’s daughter. Being discovered in my secret hideaway was like having a stranger discover the Batcave. Surprisingly, Tex had been considerate when it came to respecting my privacy.

I turned on the television. News reports had dwindled from full scale stories with press conferences to one sentence updates reporting on the lack of leads. And if the police didn’t have any leads, I wondered if that explained Tex’s surveillance mission.

Tonight, the female reporter who had lost control of the interview with Chief Washington stood in front of the Casa Linda shopping center. “Earlier this evening, a store employee said he saw a police officer force this woman into the back seat of his car. At this time, the police are operating under the assumption that she is the latest victim of the Lakewood Abductor. If you have seen her, if you have any information about her whereabouts, please call this number.” The photo of the recent abductee filled the center of the screen.

It was Cleo Tyler.

NINE

My chest tightened. I’d been at that shopping center hours earlier. So had Tex. And now, Cleo had been abducted. I clicked to the other local news channels, searching for more information. The reports were all the same. Cleo Tyler had gotten into the car with a police officer outside Paintin’ Place and nobody had seen her since.

I called Dan Tyler. After four rings, the call went to voicemail. “Dan, this is Madison Night. I heard about Cleo. I’m so sorry. I was with her at the house this morning. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.” I left my number and hung up.

Next, I called the police station and asked to speak to whoever was in charge of the abductions. I was connected to a Sgt. Osmond.

“Sergeant, this is Madison Night. I’m calling about Cleo Tyler’s abduction.”

“You and everybody else around town. She hasn’t been missing for twenty-four hours. That news reporter jumped the gun, and I don’t have anything to report.”

“I’m not calling with questions. I’m an interior decorator and Cleo Tyler is one of my clients. I met with her earlier today at her house.”

His tone became more lively. “What time was that?”

“It was around lunchtime.”

“Before you left, did she say anything about her agenda for the rest of the day? Did she mention where she was going or anybody she planned to meet?”

“Not really. I got the impression that Cleo didn’t leave the house much. She lounged around the pool.”

“Did you talk to her since then?”

“No. They’re saying on the news that she was abducted from the Casa Linda parking lot. That’s where I went after I left her house.”

“How long would you say you were there?” he asked.

“Forty-five minutes, somewhere around there. I had Chinese food takeout and ate in the car. I was at my apartment building by one thirty.” For now I kept Tex’s name out of it. “Sergeant, when did the cashier see her?”

“Half past four. He was collecting the shopping carts in the parking lot. She was at the end of the lot by the paint store. He said she got out of her car and into a black sedan with red and blue lights mounted on the bumper. He didn’t think anything until he heard barking from inside her car.”

“Daisy.”

“What?”

“Her Chihuahua. He was tiny. He fit in her handbag. She never left him in the car.”

“The cashier looked inside her car and saw the dog. On the floor he saw a gold shoe. That’s when he called us. Can you tell me anything else?”

“Where’s Daisy now?” I asked. “You didn’t leave her in there, did you?”

“One of the officers took her for the night.”

“Do you have any leads on what happened to Cleo?”

“Only what I told you. The cashier doesn’t even know if the car turned left or right.”

I gave Sgt. Osmond my contact information and hung up. My hands were shaking. I called Dan again, and again the call went to voicemail. Cleo had said he was out of town, and I didn’t have his cell. I should have asked the sergeant if they’d been able to reach him but I doubted he’d tell me if I called back.

The passage of time ticked by slowly. Tex was expecting me to show up in the parking lot with dinner at midnight, but would he be there? Did he know about Cleo’s abduction? Would it be safe for him to camp out in that parking lot now?

At eleven forty-five, I left. I picked up the order I’d called into Hunan Palace and circled the lot twice before locating Tex’s Jeep across the street, parked outside of an all-you-can-eat buffet-style restaurant. I left the first lot and parked in the second and then got into his Jeep. He tore into the Hunan Palace bag before I had the door closed.

“Did you bring the eggroll?”

“What’s with you and the eggroll?”

He pulled out the wax paper bag and extracted one of the deep fried rolls of cabbage and pork wrapped in phyllo dough. He finished it before I had a chance to hand him the duck sauce packet.

“Started back when I first became a cop. Stakeouts. Surveillance. We got Chinese food. Now, whenever I’m stuck in a car for any period of time, I crave eggrolls.”

“How long have you been stuck in this car?” I asked, noticing that the stubble on his chin seemed to have grown since earlier in the day.

“Not long enough. Something’s going on around here and I’m supposed to stay out of it.”

“This has to do with your case?”

“It’s not my case.”

“You know what I mean.”

He stopped eating for a second. “Night, what do you know about what’s going on?”

“Only what they’ve been saying on the news—that you’re connected to the abductions.”

He pulled a pair of chopsticks out of a paper wrapper and tossed the paper behind his seat. “The guy who’s doing this planted my badge in the woods near Kate Morrow’s body and then called in a tip to the police. If those two hikers hadn’t found the body, the cops would have.”

“Jeez,” I said. I knew the police had something big that connected Tex to the crimes, but I hadn’t expected it to be his badge.

He shot me a sideways glance. “‘Jeez?’ I’ve been saying a lot stronger stuff than ‘jeez.’”

“How’d somebody get your badge?”

“It’s a fake. You know you can order these things on the internet? I can tell the difference—anybody in the department can—but to the general public, this looks better than what they see on cop shows on TV. The chief has my real badge. He strongly suggested that I take a voluntary leave of absence while they work the case. I don’t blame him. He had to do something. But it’s not me out there doing this. Somebody’s pulling women over, showing them my badge, and taking them who knows where. Kate was the first victim to turn up and somebody leaked that my badge was found near her body. And as long as people think it’s me, nobody’s going to find out who it really is.”

“I don’t want to sound flip, but if they really thought it was you, wouldn’t you be in jail?”

“Something happened yesterday. I heard Nasty came in with a potential vic who made a statement. Seems it was close enough to what’s been happening that they couldn’t hold me.”

“Effie.”

“What’s an Effie?”

“Not a what, a who. Remember Effie? The college girl in my building who sometimes watches Rocky?” He nodded and bit down on a barbecued rib. “Someone attacked her. She said it was you.”

“What made her think it was me?”

“He had a nametag pinned to his uniform that said ‘Lt. Tex Allen.’”

“I don’t wear a uniform, and if I did, it would say Lt. Allen. It wouldn’t say ‘Tex.’”

“I know. That’s why you’re out.”

“What does Nasty have to do with any of this?”

“Effie wouldn’t talk to the police. She doesn’t trust them. I asked if she’d trust Nasty and she said yes.”

“You
called Nasty?”

“I don’t think you want to criticize that particular judgment call.”

For the next few minutes we ate. Tex kept his eyes trained on the entrance of the store. When the barbecued ribs and foil wrapped chicken were gone, we leaned back against the seats and relaxed as best we could. I didn’t know what Tex was hoping to discover by keeping up surveillance on the shopping center, but for the time being, I didn’t have any better ideas. I felt him closing off, dropping into his own world. As long as I was there, I needed to offer him a lifeline.

“Here’s what I know,” I started. “The guy impersonating you approached Effie on foot outside the Landing. He said she had a tail light out. Weird thing is, I was pulled over three days ago for a broken tail light. Remember, I called you?”

“Did you get a ticket?”

“I got a warning and fixed it this morning. Do you think that’s how he’s choosing his victims? Not how he’s choosing them, but how he’s able to follow them.”

“It’s one theory. Guy watches a place, sees who comes and goes. He sees a pretty girl get out of a car with out-of-state plates, he waits until she’s inside and breaks one of her tail lights. Easy enough to follow her when she drives away. Either approaches her on foot or follows and pulls her over.”

“The cops are finding cars abandoned in parking lots.”

“I bet some of the women get out of the car because they want to see for themselves.”

“That’s what Effie said. He asked if she wanted to see for herself.”

“How’d she get away?”

“She threw the car in reverse and knocked him down. She didn’t stop to see if he was okay.”

“That was smart.” He ripped the package off of a wet-nap and wiped the barbecue sauce from his fingers and mouth. “So he’s getting bolder and approaching women on foot. That would seem less threatening. I’ll make sure the chief knows about this.”

“He already should. Effie made a statement and told him. But the thing is, Tex, she thought it was you because of the name tag. She never even looked at his face. She’s still afraid of you even though she knows you couldn’t have been the person who approached her.”

He jammed his chopsticks into the carton of rice and threw it at the dashboard. Tiny white grains flew out and stuck in clumps to the steering wheel.

“Lieutenant, everybody knows it wasn’t you. You were standing next to the chief of police when she was approached. Whoever’s trying to frame you is doing a really bad job.”

“People who watch the news know, but people from out of town might not know anything about it. If it wasn’t me, it would be another officer. He’s using what we stand for to get women to trust him and he’s abducting them.”

I set down the rib that I was eating, my appetite suddenly gone. “What’s the real reason you’re camping out around Dallas?”

He jutted his chin toward the parking lot across the street where we’d been earlier in the day.

“I left that parking lot after you left. Went home. Crowd of news people were poking around the neighborhood, asking questions about me. I can’t handle that, not now. I went to the gym to work off some steam. There was another news van in the lot when I came back, so I cruised around for a while and then came here.”

“When was that?”

“Around five. Why?”

“There was another abduction today. A store employee saw a woman get into an unmarked police car with a man in a uniform.”

“Why didn’t he do anything?”

“The cashier didn’t think anything of it until he heard barking from inside the woman’s car. When he looked inside, he saw her Chihuahua and a single gold shoe. Tex,” I said, putting my hand on his forearm, “the woman is one of my clients. Cleo Tyler. I was at her house just this morning and now she’s gone. She could be dead.”

Tex punched his steering wheel and the grains of rice that had stuck fell off. I felt his anger at the lack of control building up. He reached out for the dash and gripped it in both hands, his knuckles turning white.

“The news crew you saw in the parking lot broke the news. I talked to Sgt. Osmond earlier today.” My voice came out shaky. “He said the news is making them look like fools because they didn’t even know she was missing when they broke the story.”

“Cleo Tyler. Married to Dan Tyler?” he said. He kept his voice even.

“Yes. You know her?”

“Him. His brother George was on the force. Died in a drunk driving accident.”

“I know. Dan told me.”

“We were friends, me and George. Worked a couple of cases together. I was at Jumbo’s the night of the accident. George wasn’t the only one who died—two teenage girls died too. It didn’t look good for the precinct and a lot of officers tried to distance themselves from the scandal. Not many went to his funeral. When I offered my condolences to Dan, he took a swing at me. Called me part of the problem, not part of the solution. Said someday the tables would be turned and I’d know how he felt.”

I thought back to Dan’s anger when he’d first heard that Tex was a suspect. He hadn’t mentioned that he even knew Tex, but clearly he did. And now he goes out of town the same time his wife was abducted.

“People deal with grief in different ways. Even though Dan knew about George’s drinking problem, it was easier for him to blame the police force than to blame his only brother. You probably represented everything about the department that he had come to hate.”

“He was right. A cop dies in the line of duty, he’s a hero. No matter what the job does to you, you have that. But George didn’t even get that. All the good work he did, it didn’t matter. When he died, he was the bad guy. Dan Tyler was right. You know what the worst thing was about that?” He paused for a second, but I didn’t think he really wanted me to say anything. “Within the month everybody was back at Jumbo’s. It was like George’s death never even happened.”