Alyx didn’t put the gun away until Steele had left the house. Then she securely locked the door behind him.
“Independent as they are, cats find more than pleasure in our company.”
––Lloyd Alexander
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: The Last Umatilla Trip
Alyx didn’t want to give Carole Berth the opportunity to say no, so she didn’t call ahead before driving to Umatilla again. The temperature was in the high seventies and the sun was shining as usual. It was a lovely day and I was enjoying myself. Better known for palm trees, the beach and Walt Disney World, we drove through the part of Florida that most people from out of state don’t know exists. We passed several miles of agricultural fields, a small grove of orange trees, and an open field with cattle grazing contently, some up close to the fence, their big brown eyes watching the occasional vehicle drive by.
We arrived at Carole’s door before noon. A pale, sickly looking twenty-something young man answered the door. Alyx gave her name and asked to see Carole.
“She’s not home,” he wheezed.
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“No clue,” he shrugged.
“Do you mind if I sit out here and wait for a while?”
“Fine with me,” he responded and he closed the door.
She came back to the car and we waited. At one point, I caught the movement of a curtain at one of the windows. I didn’t think it was Carole’s son; the figure I glimpsed before it moved away was much larger. I thought it was probably her husband, and I had a fleeting idea as to why he was hiding from Alyx.
Carole finally arrived home, and was naturally surprised to see Alyx, not to mention me.
“What are you doing out here? Didn’t anyone come to the door?”
“Yes, a young man, who I assume is your son, answered the door, and I told him I’d sit out here and wait for you. He seemed to be having trouble catching his breath, and I didn’t want to make him feel any more uncomfortable. Does he have heart problems?”
“No, he’s full of allergies and has asthma. As you can guess, he doesn’t spend much time outdoors. I’m sorry, did we have an appointment that I forgot?” she asked, more than a little annoyed, I thought.
Alyx pulled the check from the estate sale out of her bag and handed it to her.
“I thought since I had the time, I’d bring this to you.”
Carole took the check and shoved it in her purse. “That really wasn’t necessary, I told you it was all right to mail it,” she said.
“Well, it’s a little more than what I felt comfortable mailing. We sold almost everything and paid you for the items we kept. I’ll arrange for those few things we didn’t sell to be picked up this week if you don’t mind me keeping the key a few days longer.”
I looked hard for any reluctance and didn’t see any––only irritation.
“Actually, the truth for my visit is that I have some questions, and I hope you understand that I have to do whatever I can to help find Althea’s killer.”
“You still want to help her even though my aunt lied to you?”
“If, as you say, she was sick, then she wasn’t responsible for her behavior.”
Carole pursed her lips in resignation but still didn’t invite us in. “So what do you want to know?”
“Detective Smarts isn’t obligated to tell me anything, and he hasn’t, even though I found two pieces of evidence that he missed. Judging from the contents of the lingerie chest that were scattered on Althea’s bed, you must have been looking for something too. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I really have to go. My husband is waiting for something he asked me to pick up for him.”
Alyx stepped off the porch and abruptly turned around before Carole turned the knob.
“Does your husband have a heart condition?”
“I don’t see how my family’s health is of any concern to you. No, he doesn’t.”
That was the end of the conversation. She left Alyx standing there and went into the house without a backward look.
“The sun rose slowly, like a fiery fur ball coughed up uneasily onto a sky-blue carpet by a giant unseen cat.”
––Michael McGarel
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: The Train Station Incident
“Hi, Maggie, I know you were worried about my trip to Umatilla, so I thought I’d let you know,” Alyx said into her cell phone as we wound our way back home. “I’m on my way back, about twenty miles out, taking a side trip to the Amtrak railroad station, mostly for sentimental reasons.”
She told Maggie that she remembered the time she’d taken ten year-old Ethan on his first train ride––taking the train to the next stop and back. She said that according to the article she’d read in the paper, the station, originally built in 1813, had a doubtful future as there was only a small amount of money earmarked for its rehab project.
The right exit came up; the route took us through an older residential neighborhood to Old New York Avenue, and into the empty, gravel parking lot of the station. Alyx got out of the car and walked the short distance to the benches on the boarding platform. She seemed preoccupied as she walked slowly back to the car, unaware of a vehicle until it swerved in front of her. As the wheels spun on the gravel, the driver rolled down his window and yelled, “Watch out, you stupid woman!”
The car didn’t touch her, but disoriented by the action, Alyx fell on her knees. A station employee ran towards her and helped her up.
“Are you all right?”
Alyx brushed off her knees. “Yes, I think so. Did you see what happened?”
“Yes, I did. That car drove in slowly and picked up speed when it swerved in front of you. It looked to me like he did it on purpose.”
“Did you recognize the make of the car?” she asked.
“I’m sorry; I don’t know one from the other, and I didn’t even look at the tag. Do you want me to call the police?”
“No, there’s not much I can tell them other than it was a black sedan. I didn’t see the tag number either.”
After the incident, we drove directly to the police station in Beachside. A tall, skinny man with a potbelly and a few strands of dirty hair was telling an officer at the front desk about an altercation with his neighbor, a two-inch cut on his cheek still fresh but not bleeding.
The officer wrote down all the information about the man’s complaint on a form, and then took care of two people over the phone before he turned his attention to Alyx, thirty minutes later.
Busy filling out a log sheet, he didn’t even look up when he asked if he could help her.
“Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?”
She skipped the small talk that usually accompanied her requests. “I’d like to speak to Detective Smarts.”
“He’s not in the station at the moment, ma’am.”
“He is on duty today?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Is there any way you can reach him?”
He looked at his watch. “Are you sure no one else can help you?”
She bit her lower lip. “I received a threating note, and someone just tried to run me over. I prefer to speak to Smarts, but, yes, someone else can help me.”
“Your name?”
“Alyx Hille and this involves the Althea Burns’ case.”
The officer looked up and smiled. After a discreet phone call, Detective Smarts appeared a few minutes later, a toothpick dangling from his mouth.
He scanned the note Alyx handed him, and the smirk on his face quickly disappeared. He made no comment about my presence, but asked her to follow him down the hall to an office no bigger than a closet. He slid behind the desk and asked her to have a seat in one of the two folding chairs facing him. I took up guard next to her. She told him everything. He listened without interruption.