Killer Con Fuego Read online

  Maude shook her head. “We’ve gone over the past.” Santi frowned. He didn’t like walking through Scooby’s story without his permission. But dire times called for complete humility. He and Maude had journeyed through dire times before. They’d muddle through this one, as well. “Did you find anything?”

  Santi took up Lydia’s spot on the arm of the couch. “I’ve been everywhere. No one has seen Scooby. Old friends, new friends; they're all just as worried about him as we are.”

  Maude explained the details of the break-in at Con Fuego to Santi. “Well, that explains why I haven’t found him across town. He’s still right here.”

  “I don’t think it was Scooby,” Maude said.

  “Neither do I,” Lydia agreed.

  “But the guy knew the code and was sporting Scooby’s eyesore of a jacket,” Santi argued.

  “Yes,” Maude said. “But can you see him leaving the restaurant only to return and club Mr. Sky?”

  “Run away, yes. Come back, no,” Santi said. He rubbed his neck and groaned. “Oh, Maudie, I’m a wreck. I’m going to shower, eat, and grab a quick nap. I’ll go back out in an hour.” Maude nodded her assent.

  “Thank you, Santi,” she whispered. The brief yet connective eye contact between the couple nearly brought each of them to tears. Santi kissed his wife one more time before saying goodbye to his company and hurrying upstairs.

  “I’ll be right back,” Maude said. “Please don’t go anywhere.”

  Maude hurried up the stairs to her husband. Lydia retrieved her phone from the coffee table. “It’s almost one a.m. No wonder I’m wearing out.”

  “One a.m.!” Flora looked at her own phone to confirm the time. “Enoch will need me any minute. I can’t believe Kevin hasn’t already texted.” Flora gathered her belongings and cast sorrowful looks at Lydia. “Please tell Maude I’m sorry. I’ll be back, but I don’t know how long I’ll be. It depends on if I fall asleep while feeding Enoch.”

  “We’ll tell her,” Kat said.

  Ivy procrastinated. She wanted to be there when the epiphany broke. But Scout would soon need her, as well. Plus, Ivy really needed to hold Scout. After a night filled with shadowy proclamations and painful memories, Ivy wanted nothing more than to tell her daughter she loved her and snuggle her close.

  Joan caught Ivy’s hesitancy. She jumped from her stool first. “Let’s go,” she said to Ivy. “I’m sure Scout could use some time with her mom.”

  Ivy smiled with gratitude. “And with her favorite Auntie.” Joan swiped her and Ivy’s phones from the kitchen countertop. The girls hugged Lydia and followed Flora back to the families.

  Lydia stalked Maude’s living room. She felt horrible. There wasn’t a clear cut path through this mystery. Not even another suspect to distract attention from Scooby. Charles, Calvin, and even Harrison had a motive. Only Charles had the opportunity. But they’d gone to the police and revealed all. Scooby had run.

  Eric and Laurie Sky admitted their vile yet stupendously ignorant attempts to shut down Con Fuego. Eric’s bump on the head and the video that corroborated his story took suspicion from him. Laurie Sky was still in the mix. She had a motive, with Vikki threatening her in the ladies’ room. She had an opportunity as she lounged with Vikki at the bar. But Lydia seriously doubted, with the lady’s intense love for Tango, her pet rat, that Laurie would have anything to do with rat poison.

  Everything pointed to Scooby. Where was he?

  Maude trampled down the stairs, dressed in a new pair of jeans and a sweater. Her chef clogs had been exchanged for running shoes. She entered the living room, her determination renewed.

  “Let’s go through Scooby’s room,” she said.

  “Haven’t the police already done that?” Kat placed discarded coffee cups in the sink.

  “Once,” Maude said. “But maybe they missed something.”

  Lydia thought it over. “They must still be interrogating Eric Sky. Or else they would have been here the moment they thought Scooby had attacked him.”

  “I thought so too,” Maude said.

  “Maybe they received a tip concerning his whereabouts. They may be pursuing a more likely lead,” Kat said.

  “More likely than his home?”

  Maude led her new friends down the hall to the back room. In the vacation townhouse, Scooby’s room was the same as the one Ivy, Scout, and Joan were staying in. It was much tidier than Lydia expected. And very minimalistic.

  The dresser hosted a laptop and a Bible. No clothes graced the floor. The bed was neatly made and awaiting its owner. A phone charger sat in its proper position on Scooby’s bedside table.

  “I don't think we’re going to get anything here,” Kat said. “This kid is way too clean to leave anything behind.”

  Maude frowned and set her hands on her hips. “That’s what’s weird. He came home early Saturday morning. He slept here. If it was his goal to run away, wouldn’t he have taken some of his things with him?” Maude pulled open dresser drawers. All of them were filled with organized stacks of clothing. She went to the small closet and slid it open. Dress pants, chef coats, and jeans hung in orderly clusters. A pair of boots and chef clogs sat on the closet floor, as did an empty and sagging backpack.

  Lydia frowned at the neatness. Scooby hadn’t even packed a bag. He’d left only in what he had been wearing. It didn’t seem as if Scooby had known he wasn’t coming back home. Maude walked over to a small canvas bag in the corner of the bedroom and opened it. “Just his uniform from Friday,” she said. “The police already looked it over.”

  Lydia sat on the corner of the bed. “Is there anything Scooby owns that’s too important to him to leave behind?”

  Maude paced. “There is one thing. I’ve never looked inside of it, but I have dusted around it.” She returned to the closet and stood on tiptoe. Maude still wasn’t tall enough to reach the top shelf with more than her fingertips. “Do you mind?” She turned to Kat and stepped out of the way. “There should be a shoebox. Be careful, it’s ratty and old. But if it’s there, then Scooby’s disappearance wasn’t premeditated.”

  Kat casually reached an arm above her head and pulled down a faded red and white shoe box. She blew the dust off of the lid and set the box on the bedspread next to Lydia. Maude went to it and slid open the lid.

  “I feel so dirty, opening this,” Maude said.

  Lydia placed a hand on Maude’s trembling hands. “You’re only looking to help him. You’re not snooping. Anything you deem too intimate, we’ll leave alone.”

  Kat’s voice was gruffer and to the point. “The police are going to go through it, anyway. You might as well know what’s in it first.”

  “Dear Lord, help me.” Maude prayed aloud. Lydia understood. Maude had probably been purposefully avoiding Scooby’s mystery shoebox since he’d moved in. If it was Lydia, thoughts of its contents would plague her quiet moments. She would need divine guidance and restraint as well.

  Chapter 36

  WITH HER INDEX FINGER, Maude flipped through envelopes and trinkets. A few photos graced the bottom of the box. Maude took these out one at a time and laid them on the bed. Lydia inspected each without holding them. The first photo was of a toddler and a woman. It hosted frayed edges and bent wrinkles.

  “Do you think that’s him?” Kat stood above the bed and stared down. She pointed at the picture. “It looks like he carried that one around in his pocket.”

  Maude gingerly held the photo in her hand. As gently as if she was holding an infant, she brought it up to her face. “It does look like Scooby when he’s not on guard. The dimples are definitely his.”

  “Do you think that’s his mom?” Lydia asked.

  Maude’s forehead creased. “It could be. Scooby doesn’t talk about his mother. He’s only brought her up once or twice. And always by accident.” She brought the picture even closer. “But she does look like him, doesn’t she?”

  Maude moved her palm outward and let her guests peek at the photo.

 
; “It looks like he’s about two, maybe three,” Kat said. Lydia agreed.

  Maude rested the photo back on the bed. She took one more fond look at the image of a young Scooby. She then pulled out the next picture. Her facial expression changed immediately. She resisted the urge to fling the photo to the floor.

  “This is her,” she said, handing the instant photo to Lydia.

  Lydia scooped up the picture. There was Vikki Winters with her arms around Scooby’s neck. Her hair was redder and shorter. Her makeup made her look more like a college co-ed than a thirty-year-old con woman. The shirt she sported made her cleavage the only obvious focal point. She smiled winsomely at the camera.

  Scooby’s hair was longer. It parted into a dark curtain that framed his very young eyes. Scooby’s face shimmered with pride and happiness. It was apparent, to Lydia, that Scooby had fallen tail over tops for Vikki’s deception. He had loved her thoroughly. Lydia’s gut twisted all the more for Scooby.

  “He looks like he’s 15, at the oldest,” Kat said. Her voice was tinged with hostility. Lydia knew it was aimed at Vikki Winters, or whatever she had called herself when she was with Scooby.

  Lydia was surprised she’d allowed Scooby to get a picture of the two of them so cozy together. It was very condemning if it fell into the wrong hands. Lydia got an idea. “Can you flip it over?”

  Maude did. Scrolled in green magic marker, on the white of the back, was a big heart with the words Denise and Me. Maude stifled a whimper. “We’ve got to find him. I don’t care if he did kill Vikki,” she said. “He needs help.”

  “I wholeheartedly agree,” Lydia said.

  BACK AT THE RENTAL house, Ivy nursed and cuddled Scout back to sleep. Joan snoozed on the bed beside her. Once again, Eden, Eloise, and Jess had found their way into the girls’ room. They were huddled like puppies on the floor, on top of all their pillows.

  Ivy tucked Scout into her portable crib. She then covered the mass of girls with a large knitted blanket. Eloise whimpered happily in her sleep and nestled deep into the new warmth.

  The rain restarted outdoors. It tinked on the window in a steady rhythm. The light from the courtyard danced through the water droplets. It cast aquatic patterns on the bedspread. Ivy pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them close. She watched the rain streak the window like tears against a dusty cheek. Sadness crept into her core. She’d fought it for so long. But now, in a quiet bedroom surrounded by new friends and family, she felt it pulling at her.

  Without noticing, she started to rock herself slowly back and forth. Joan groaned and stretched. Neither young woman had changed out of their daytime clothes. Their shoes rested outside the bedroom door, but nothing else was different.

  Joan still sported her jersey sweatshirt. Ivy didn’t notice her roomie’s sudden movement. She kept her eyes on the patterns the weather was creating, as she struggled to keep her breathing under control. If she started crying, she risked waking the entire room.

  “Do you want to go to the patio?” Joan whispered so softly that Ivy didn’t even startle.

  Ivy didn’t want to move. But she also didn’t want to disturb the whole house. “The boys have the TV on. They won’t hear us if we’re quiet. We can close the sliding glass door and talk until we’re too tired,” Joan continued.

  Ivy was already too tired. Carrying her sadness wasn’t working any longer. She had to get just enough weight off to make life bearable again. Joan would be leaving soon. The risk of her judging Ivy was great, but Ivy’s exposure to her judgment would be short-lived. Maybe she’d risk it. She wrapped a flannel throw blanket around her shoulders. Joan did the same. The girls tiptoed in socked feet down the hallway and out to the back patio.

  UNDERNEATH THE FIVE photographs, Scooby treasured in a ragtag shoebox, sat letters. Some from Vikki, or Denise as Scooby had known her. All promised an amazing future together. Each echoed with sentiments of undying love and ever-growing affection. It made Lydia’s stomach swirl.

  She knew Ivy had been through a similar situation. Ivy’s ex-boyfriend Martin had done everything he could to recruit Ivy into his ring of underage prostitutes. How any human could use another so horribly was beyond the scope of Lydia’s imagination. So were the scars worn by the abused parties.

  Maude cried over each newly learned fact. She carefully repacked the box and put it away. Not a single item got them even one step closer to helping Scooby. But every fresh detail further bolstered Scooby’s motive.

  In the picture of the fake couple, Vikki had looked quite a bit different but not so much that Scooby would’ve been unable to recognize her. There wasn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind that he had. The moment he’d stepped into the party on the patio, he had come face to face with the woman who had chewed up his youth and spit it out.

  Lydia was impressed that Scooby had escaped Vikki’s clutches. He’d made the proactive decision to leave. That choice had most likely kept him alive and out of prison for the past few years. Lydia was proud of Scooby for his willingness to upturn his life to do what was right.

  Maude’s pride over her surrogate son was obvious in her affection and dedication to him. But it only caused them to run in circles, hoping for clues that stubbornly evaded them.

  IVY LONGED FOR A HOT cup of coffee. The patio kept the wet off the tiny outdoor table, but it did little to keep away the cold. Joan and Ivy had decided to partake only in water during their conversation. Making a fresh batch of coffee ran the risk of awakening the boys sleeping on the living room floor.

  Thaddeus Miller slept on the pullout couch. Though his snoring was loud, the girls doubted it was louder than the coffee machine steaming a new carafe of bean juice.

  Joan curled up on the edge of her chair. The metal seat sent chills swirling through her skin. She did her best to keep a small cushion between her back and the chair. Ivy burrowed beneath her blanket and hoodie. Only her face peeked out from behind her coverings.

  “So,” Joan said. “Tell me more about Grant. I figure the past is off limits, but the future might not be.”

  Ivy smiled at the mention of Grant’s name. She wondered if another letter from him was awaiting her return to the Everett house.

  “I don’t really know all that much about him.” Ivy giggled softly. “He comes from a big family with very hearty values. He says he sees a future happening for him and me and Scout. But I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you like him?” Joan asked.

  Ivy bit at her lower lip. “I do like him. Probably too much for my own good. And I really think Grant believes in what he sees for us. I’m just not sure he’s thinking realistically.”

  “Because?”

  Again, Ivy’s lip bore the brunt of her thinking. She clenched her teeth even more tightly as she struggled not to cry. Her voice cracked, faintly. “Because I’m no good for him.”

  Joan’s heart startled. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s this clean wholesome kid. I’m a mess. I mean, I have a baby Joan. A baby. I don’t think that fits in with his family’s values.”

  Joan puzzled over Ivy’s swinging mood. By Ivy’s expressions, she fluctuated between heartbroken and angry. Even her tears raced around the varying feelings. “How do you know? Did you ask him?”

  “I don’t have to ask him. Do I? What mother or father wants their good boy to marry a teen mom? I’ve never met a mother or father who would.”

  “But he knew about Scout before he told you of his hopes. And so did his aunt. I can’t believe he hasn’t talked with his family about his plans. I bet he did before he mentioned them to you. If he’s the kind of guy you say he is, then he’s not leaving anything out when he’s asking for wise counsel.”

  Ivy swiped fretfully at her face. “Yeah, but what are they really going to say to him? He’s so set on it. You should hear him talk about it in his letters. He feels like God has hand-picked me for him.”

  “Maybe he has,” Joan said.

  Ivy scowled through fiery tears at Joan. “W
hy would He do that? God wouldn’t stick a wholesome guy like Grant with someone like me. Even without a baby, my life will only drag him down.”

  Joan leaned forward to lock eyes with Ivy. “Who exactly do you think God should stick with Grant?”

  Ivy burrowed deeper into her blanket. “Someone like you, that’s who.”

  Joan cackled softly. “Me? Girl, you are mistaking me for someone else. I’m a mess. Maybe not the same kind of a mess as you feel you are, but a mess nonetheless.”

  “Really?” Ivy sneered sarcastically. “The missionary daughter of two of the greatest citizens of Honey Pot.”

  “Yes, exactly.” Joan leaned closer to Ivy. She forced eye contact. “I’m nothing like them. I’m a jealous, judgmental old phony. At the orphanage, I can love and console my kids. But I’m always chiding myself for judging the other volunteers. I think they’re not helping enough. Or not being kind enough. Or being too nice. The list of flaws I can pick out in another person is endless. I’m horrible at grace. It’s hard for me to give and even harder for me to receive.”

  Joan choked on her own words. Something had come unsettled in her heart. Something, until that moment, she had been dodging. She silently thanked God for the insight and did her best to return fully to Ivy.

  “Yeah, but did you grow up under the perverted eye of a creepy stepfather. Have you always secretly believed he killed your mother only to wake up one day and realize someone else had?” Ivy clamped a hand to her mouth. She’d spat out more than she had wanted, and it twisted in her stomach.

  Was that what all her nightmares had been about? Was she reliving the night her mother died? Was she punishing herself for judging the wrong man? Ivy didn’t want to think about it anymore. She wanted to push it far away from herself and the freezing patio. She didn’t want Joan to ask her for more details. Ivy quietly begged God to stop the conversation before it became too painful.