With Jeff’s arm around me, we came in and he kicked the door shut.
“I’m Doris.” The woman grinned, opened her arms and ran to us, capturing us both in a bear hug.
“Really nice to meet you, Doris,” I said after she let us go.
“Jeffy took me on the airplane. I want to do it again.”
“Not for a while.” Jeff looked down at me. “Doris is my sister.”
“I-I… Wow,” I said. “You have a very cool brother, Doris.”
“Cool?” She picked up his hand and pressed his palm against her chubby cheek. “I don’t think so, Abby. Jeffy feels warm.”
I smiled. “Sorry. You’re right. He is warm, and I’ve missed him a lot since he was in Seattle with you.”
“Linda lives in Seattle. But she went away and Jeffy came. He says Linda’s not coming back, that she’s visiting God.”
“Linda took good care of Doris.” Jeff’s voice was soft, almost a whisper.
“Was Linda related to you two?” I asked.
“Not by blood,” Jeff said. “But she loved you, didn’t she, Doris?”
Doris averted her narrow eyes. “Can I have a Coke?” “Sure.” Jeff walked toward the kitchenette, Doris on his heels.
I followed, wondering why in hell Jeff had kept this from me. But the more I thought, the more I understood. He had a mentally retarded sister twenty-five hundred miles away from Houston-and not once since I’d known him had he visited her. He was a workaholic homicide investigator who’d put his family on the back burner. Talking about Doris to me or anyone else would not come easily to him. In fact, it would probably be harder for him than staring down at a corpse covered in blood.
“This isn’t the red can, Jeffy.” Doris was holding a Diet Coke and pouting.
Jeff said, “I know, but-”
“I want the red can. Linda always gave me the red can.” Doris’s happy demeanor had vanished, and I got the feeling I was about to witness the kind of tantrum that produced the wail I overheard on the phone the other night.
I stepped toward Doris. “This is my favorite kind of Coke. Texas Coke.”
Doris looked at me, frowning, then glanced at the can. “They had red Coke on the airplane.”
“But the airplane isn’t part of Texas,” I said. “This is what I drink all the time.”
“Your girlfriend drinks Texas Coke, Jeffy. And so do I.” She held out the can to Jeff. “Help me?”
After he popped the top, she reclaimed the soda and took a long drink. “Texas tastes kinda good.”
I smiled, and Jeff looked plain relieved. No way was he equipped to deal with this situation if a soft-drink issue made him this tense.
Doris, meanwhile, had something else in mind, because she walked by us, her Texas Coke in hand, headed for the TV. That was when I noticed the stack of DVDs- it looked like all Disney titles. She sat cross-legged on the floor, set her can beside her and started rummaging through the titles.
I said, “Does she need help with-”
“She can work the DVD player and remote like an expert. In a minute, she’ll be so into her cartoons we can talk.”
Jeff was right. Shortly after The Little Mermaid started, Doris seemed transfixed.
Jeff and I sat at the card table in his small dining area. I vowed not to say what he expected, like, Why the hell didn’t you tell me about Doris? But before I could come up with an adequate response to learning something new and very unexpected, he spoke first.
“I’m sorry, Abby. I couldn’t-”
I put a finger to his lips. “Don’t be sorry. I understand.”
He took my hand and kissed it. “When my parents died, it seemed right to leave my sister with Linda. Linda cared for Doris for years. Structure and routine are important for Down people. When I got the call after Linda had the heart attack and died, the doctor wanted me to put Doris in a group home.”
“But you couldn’t do that,” I said.
He shook his head, lips tight.
“Do you plan to find someone like Linda here?”
“Yes, but that won’t be easy. That’s why I don’t want anyone to know I’m back, or they’ll be calling me out on cases. I need time. Does Kate have contacts in social services? I can’t exactly put an ad in the paper and hire the first person who shows up.”
“I’ll ask. In the meantime, how are you?” I put my hands over his.
“I won’t lie. This has been harder than any homicide I’ve ever worked. At first I planned to do what the doctor said. But it seemed wrong to send her off to live with strangers.”
“How functional is she?” I asked.
“She can’t fix her own meals-unless you call opening a package of cookies fixing a meal. But she can take care of herself in every other way-dressing, the bathroom, you know.” His ears colored with embarrassment and his hands balled into fists.
I rubbed those white-knuckled hands, trying to ease his strain. “I’ll help you any way I can.”
He leaned forward and kissed me. “Thanks.” He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of Big Red. When he had two sticks of gum working, he said, “Did you look for the GPS device?”
I picked up my purse, took the thing out and placed it on the table. “You were right.”
“Ah. Easy to tail someone with this.” He picked up the little box and turned it over several times. “No identifying marks-looks like the manufacturer’s label has been removed. This thing sends your location to a satellite and-”
“Oh, I know,” I said. “Then someone picks up the signal on their little handheld computer loaded with fancy software. This spy stuff doesn’t come cheap. Why did I ever trust those TV jerks for a second?”
“You think they’re the ones who tracked you?”
“They have the money,” I said.
“If it was them, how did the killer find Billings?” The smell of his gum filled the space between us, and I was finding it hard to concentrate on anything but him.
I sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe the killer was the one who put that thing on my car. Or followed the Venture investigators who were following me. I probably had my own motorcade.”
“Come on. I think you would have noticed.”
“The idea that a murderer could put this under my bumper is scary. Without any identifying information, can we find out who bought this thing?”
“Give it to DeShay,” he said. “Our tech guys might recognize the brand, or might be able to activate it and find out where the signal is being downloaded.”
“I don’t think that will work, Jeff. When I disabled it, I probably clued in whoever was receiving my location information. They know I pulled the plug.”
“You’re the computer whiz, so I don’t doubt you’re right, but it can’t hurt to turn it over to DeShay and Don, see what the department can do with it.”
“Will do.” I checked my watch. “Wish I didn’t have to go, but I promised to meet Emma. Can I do anything for you? Pick up groceries, maybe?”
“Yeah. That would be good. Taking Doris to the supermarket would get her all revved up-something that’s not hard to do. Linda was great with her, but from the number of empty Coke cans I found at the house where they lived, I’ll bet Doris drank at least a six-pack a day. Maybe you can convince her that there’s a better Texas Coke-one without caffeine as well as sugar.”
“Mind if I ask her what she likes to eat-so we can at least wean her off her bad habits slowly? I mean, who better for the job than the queen of bad habits?” I grinned.
“Sure,” he said. But when I started to get up, he gently grabbed my wrist, gave me one of his intense blue-eyed stares. “You were great with her. I can’t tell you what-”
“Shut up,” I said.
He nodded, chewing his gum like crazy, and wearing the saddest smile I’d ever seen.
I blinked back tears as I went to talk to his sister.
20
Emma was waiting for me outside the production trailer when I arrived in her neighborhood. She’d had plenty of energy earlier, but now she held her left arm close to her body, and her eyes showed her fatigue.
“I didn’t want to talk to Mr. Mayo or Chelsea alone, and I can’t get near my house without their approval. I thought I’d just wait on you.”
“Let’s go for it,” I said.
She climbed the two steps to the trailer door and knocked. I was right behind her.
Chelsea let us in with a “Hi, y’all.” Besides her new-found and very bad Texas accent, she’d really taken to Nuevo Western wear and wore a straight denim dress, braided belt and new boots that were red, white and blue.
Emma said, “I’d like to see the house, but the workers at the barricade said I have to get a badge or something.”
From beyond the curtain that separated the front of the trailer from the back, Mayo called, “Chelsea, who is that?”
“Emma and Abby,” she shouted.
Then came the dreaded, “Send them back here.”
I rolled my eyes and Emma whispered, “Great.”
He was sitting on one of the couches watching what looked like an episode of
“I’m very glad you two turned up.” Mayo smiled, his flush fading.
Uh-oh. He’d flipped too fast, sounded way too nice.
