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When I first heard Marlene’s story, I’d concluded that Detective O’Connor’s absence was by choice. Julie’s assumption was the exact opposite. I started to come around to her way of thinking on Friday afternoon, when I took a walk to ponder the talk Tommy and I had had. We’d both been honest, for once, and I thought we’d come to a better understanding of each other. I felt good about our relationship going forward, and I hummed a tune to myself as I went down Hawk Street.
Big Frank was watering his lawn, which he tends as if it were the last green patch in the state. A car that was going much too fast forced me to step onto his damp grass, and I backed off quickly. “Sorry.”
Big Frank who, as one might expect, is a large man, gave a papal-style wave, excusing the sin of squashing his grass this one time. “Signs all over the park saying, ‘Slow Down,’ and they still drive like it’s Talladega. We need speed bumps.”
It was an often-proposed project, but so far, the speed bump nays had shouted down the speed bump yeas. No one likes those annoying hindrances, so we get more warnings and more signs, neither of which alleviates the problem.
Frank turned toward Main West, shading his eyes with his free hand. “That new woman’s daughter comes through here like a bat out of hell. Old Katie Ball is almost deaf, and I worry that if she steps out of her driveway at the wrong time, there’s no way the blond will stop in time to avoid hitting her.”
I chuckled. “I bet even Katie would hear Gloria’s little green Bug grinding along.”
“It wasn’t the Volkswagen she was driving a few nights ago,” Frank said. “It was a black Chevy, an Impala, I think.”
“When was this?”
Frank seemed surprised at my interest, but he isn’t one to let a storytelling opportunity go by. “Let me think.” He set the hand holding the hose on his hip and rubbed several of his chins with the other. “Monday night. I went to bed at eleven, laid awake for probably an hour, but I couldn’t drift off. Sometimes the outside air helps me feel sleepy, so I got up, put on some clothes, and walked down to the lake and back.” He waved the hose toward Main East. “I was almost back here when I heard a car start down at the other end of the street. It came toward me, and I stepped off the road to let it by. When it went under the streetlight, I recognized Gloria’s daughter at the wheel. She had this black knit cap pulled down over her hair, but I got a good look. Like I said, she was driving like her back tires were on fire.” Frank paused, frowning at the memory. “A few minutes later, I heard Gloria’s little VW start up. She followed the black car, but at a much more reasonable speed.”
“Where did they go?”
His eyes rolled upward as he tried to recreate what he’d seen. “They turned left, so I’d say out of the park.”
After agreeing that people are odd and often inconsiderate, I left Frank to his horticulture and went on, lost in thought. Lorna Van Buren had been driving what sounded like O’Connor’s car the night he disappeared. Tommy thought Jack Barre was some sort of cybercriminal, and maybe he was, but it was the Van Burens who’d done something with the detective’s Impala.
What should I do with the information? It wasn’t concrete evidence I could take to the police, especially since they didn’t know O’Connor was missing. His superior thought the detective might have gone off with a woman, which made me stop and think. Lorna Van Buren was attractive enough, if a guy liked the tough-girl type. The fact that she’d driven O’Connor’s car wasn’t proof of a crime.
I wasn’t even sure the car was O’Connor’s. Black cars aren’t exactly rare.
Still, it felt like there was something wrong at the Van Buren place. Earl had told Wilma, (who told Julie, who told me) that Lorna refused to let Bill inside her mother’s home after the storm. In our new spirit of honesty without anger, Tommy had confessed that he offered to fix Gloria’s malfunctioning shower—for free—and Lorna had refused that too. What might they be hiding in that trailer?
A disturbing image arose in my mind: the two women rolling O’Connor’s corpse into the trunk of his own car and driving it off to some unknown location. Why else would they both have left the park in the middle of the night?
I wanted a look at the inside of Gloria’s trailer. It was the last place we knew for certain that Ray O’Connor had been, and while the Van Burens would no doubt have cleaned up if they killed him, they might have missed something.
Who should I tell about this? Nobody, I decided. As a theory, it was pretty wild, and I imagined Tommy looking at me wide-eyed or Julie suggesting, Why don’t you go and lie down for a while, Alice? Still, it felt like I’d found a thread of truth. If I looked around that trailer, there’d be some sign of O’Connor’s presence, maybe even evidence of a struggle. The telltale pool of blood they often find in movies came to mind, though I hoped it wasn’t that graphic.
I must have talked myself in and out of unlawful entry a dozen times before I got home. If I did it, I decided, I’d go alone. I couldn’t let my friends or my husband face whatever happened if I were caught. Once I accepted the idea that I was going to do it, I went on to the next consideration, how not to get caught.
The park’s annual cornhole tournament was scheduled for tomorrow at the outdoor activities area. It was a popular event, so B-Bird’s streets would be as deserted as they ever get. If I could convince the Van Burens to go and watch the competition, I could slip inside their place and look around. A quick walk-through is all I need, I told myself. Two minutes, and I’ll be out of there.
But how could I be sure they went to the tournament? I didn’t want to call attention to myself by suggesting it.
A few steps on, I thought of someone who’d love to invite the Van Burens: Ty and Nan Shaw. We call them the Asking Couple, because they’re always willing to drum up support for park projects. They collect donations for charity. They sign people up to help with events. They ask for items you no longer use for the annual white elephant sale. Because they’re so nice about it, they usually get what they ask for.
Ty was spraying grass clippings off the sides of his trailer when I reached their lot on Stork Street. After some small talk, I said, “I wonder if anyone asked the new renters on Hawk to come to the tournament tomorrow. It’s an older woman and her daughter, and they might enjoy meeting everyone.”
Ty was enthusiastic. “You should definitely ask them.”
“Me? I hardly know them.”
He seemed genuinely puzzled. “What’s knowing them got to do with it?”
“Could you ask them?” I put a hand on his arm. “I’m not as confident with new people as you are.”
“Oh.” He seemed pleased. “I guess we could stop over there tonight and see if they’re interested.”
I smiled to myself. If I knew Ty and Nan, the Van Burens wouldn’t only be informed that the tournament was scheduled. They’d be picked up in the Shaws’ golf cart, transported to the game field, and provided with drinks and snacks as well.