Twisted Reason (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery) Read online

  “I’ll pray for you,” he said in a meek tone of voice.

  “Quite frankly, sir, a good lead would be far more productive.”

  He stared at her with pity-filled eyes. Lucinda feared he’d fall to his knees and break into prayer for her immortal soul right where he stood. Instead, he broke his gaze with a sigh, turned and walked outside without saying another word. She mentally labeled and filed him under ‘hypocritical blowhard’.

  The card she’d given him lay abandoned on the floor where he stood. She bent to pick it up and became aware of small sounds of movement in the kitchen. She walked into the doorway and spotted Vicki in front of the sink holding a glass carafe.

  “Hello, Lieutenant. I’m getting ready to brew a fresh pot of coffee. Want a cup?” Vicki asked.

  “That would be nice. Thank you.”

  “Have a seat at the table. I’ll bring it over as soon as it’s ready.”

  Lucinda slid back into the chair she’d occupied earlier, but this time, in addition to observing Vicki, she absorbed the pleasant ambience of her surroundings. The kitchen design was different from that in the living room but had a soulful compatibility with it. It was warm, with a sort of south-west feel dominated by earth tones but with splashes of primary and secondary colors everywhere. “You have a lovely kitchen,” Lucinda said.

  Vicki chuckled. “Thank you. We did this a few years ago after Jimmy, our youngest, went off to college. We were feeling our oats then – free at last, free at last. Just the two of us on our own, living our own life, making a schedule based on what we wanted to do. And being a bit more spontaneous. Sure, we had to accommodate the kids when they came home on break but the rest of the year was ours.

  “The weekend after we took Jimmy to Maryland to school, we flew off to the Mexican Riviera to rekindle our old romance. And it worked – oh my, did it work. It was as passionate and intense as was when we first met.” Vicki closed her eyes; a small smile caressed her lips.

  “That sounds very nice,” Lucinda said with a smile, reminding her of the weekend she spent with Jake last Fall in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

  Vicki opened her eyes, poured two cups of coffee and carried them to the table. After sitting down, she continued, “While we were there, I bought all of these hand-painted door handles, drawer pulls and wall tiles you see scattered in the backsplash design, along with a few other odds and ends. I wanted to decorate the kitchen in a way that captured the feeling of Mexico and the magic of that weekend. I think I did a pretty good job of it. I love this room – it’s where I come when I’m feeling overwhelmed or stressed. It always helps restore my balance and serenity. Except maybe today. I don’t know if anything could work after the way this morning started.”

  “I suppose when Edgar Humphries arrived a couple of years ago, it disrupted the unbridled feeling of freedom you and Eric had – like having a child in the house again.”

  “Oh worse than a child,” she said pursing her lips. “You see, it feels right when you tell one of your kids what to do or to wear a jacket or wipe their mouth at the dinner table. But when you have to do those things with someone you respected, admired and adored, it’s a nightmare.”

  “Did you feel that way about your father-in-law when you married Eric?”

  “Oh, no, not at first. The admiration and respect were there but I was too much in awe of him to have any affectionate feelings. He was a physics professor at the University of Virginia – he’s actually Dr. Humphries. In the beginning, I was intimidated and even a little afraid of him. A gruff voice, a staggering intellect and as blunt as hell. But when Jenny, our oldest, was born, I saw a side of him I didn’t know existed.

  “When she was an infant, he was soft and gentle with her. As she became more aware of her environment, he learned sleight of hand tricks to keep her amused for the next several years. When her fascination with mathematics became obvious, he spent hours concocting elaborate word problems like ones that involved covering the surface of the earth with peanut and jelly or creating crazy scenarios with planes crashing in New Jersey cranberry bogs and oceans turning into ice cream.

  “With Eddie, he found an entirely different way to interact. Edgar spent hours learning elaborate magic tricks to share them with his grandson. He also gave him lessons in light refraction to help him have a better awareness of how to use color and light in his paintings. Eddie is the artistic one,” she said with a smile.

  “Jimmy, on the other hand, always wanted to be moving and as fast as possible – snowboards, skateboards, surfboards, scooters – if he could put his feet on something and go, he was happy. But at all times, he harbored an urge to go faster and faster so his grandfather taught him about aerodynamics and how to apply it to the movements he made and postures he assumed. I guess I don’t have to tell you that made me pretty nervous. But he always put a lot of emphasis on safety and accident prevention so I couldn’t object. He was a wonderful grandfather – a lot more hands on with them, Eric said, then he’d been with his own kids.”

  Vicki exhaled a deep sigh with a whimper at its core. “He was magnificent and to see him turned into a man who couldn’t remember how to tie his bow-tie, or balance a checkbook, or find his way home was crushing and the burden of caring for him became heavier every month.”

  “Why was he living with you?”

  “Where else could he go? Eric has a sister but she was wrapped up in her career well into her thirties before she married and started having children. Now they have four, all living at home including the oldest commuting to college. They don’t have room for him physically or emotionally. And he couldn’t stay where he was. He just couldn’t keep things straight in his life on his own any longer.”

  Marguerite Spellman entered the kitchen with two forensic techs. “We’re ready to check out the bedroom, Lieutenant. You want to join us?”

  Lucinda nodded and turned to Vicki. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you, Mrs. Humphries?”

  “With looking through his bedroom? No not at all. I tried to create a cheerful place for him and a helpful place. I tried to make his life here easy. I guess his running away meant I hadn’t done a very good job of that.”

  “I wouldn’t make that assumption, ma’am. We don’t know yet how he left or where he’s been. It would be helpful if you could you make a list of the facilities you visited with your father-in-law and contact information for the people that helped you, if you still have that available.”

  At Vicki’s nod, Lucinda turned and followed the forensics crew up the stairs. She waited in the hallway till the photography and videography was complete and then entered. Yellow walls, white curtains with tiny yellow roses on the border, a yellow and white checked comforter, Vicki certainly did design a cheerful bedroom. One wall was filled with photographs – beneath each one a label named the people and locations. Each drawer in his dresser had a list of its contents taped in the upper right-hand corner. A list of important numbers hung from a tiny chain attached to the base of the telephone.

  On top of the dresser, dust dulled the shiny surfaces of the coins in a tray, a hairbrush’s handle and the top of a wooden box. She slipped on a glove and eased open the lid. Inside were cufflinks, a watch and a rabbit’s foot. It made her want to cry.

  “What exactly do you want us to find in here?” Marguerite asked.

  “Probably most important would be an address book, if he had one. It’s possible he left here of his own free will and hooked up with an old friend. We’ve got to find them. Aside from that, look for any notes – in drawers, in pockets, wherever.”

  Lucinda started on the dresser, the two techs went into the closet and Marguerite checked the nightstands on either side of the bed.

  Lucinda found nothing in the top three drawers and went down on her knees to search through the bottom one. The other drawers, as labeled, had nothing but rolled socks and folded underwear, T-shirts, and sweatshirts. She pulled the final one out and saw only two piles of sweaters, she lifted
the stacks out of the drawer, hoping to find something more.

  Marguerite finished with the nightstands and was on all-fours looking under the bed when she shouted, “I found a billfold.”

  “What’s it doing under the bed?” Lucinda asked.

  “And why is it still there so long after he disappeared?” Marguerite said as she reached long to grab it.

  “Is it his? What’s in it?” Lucinda asked.

  Marguerite pulled her arm out from under the dust ruffle and held up a brown leather tri-fold. “Let’s see,” she said. “Yeah, I think it’s his. There’s an expired driver’s license with his name on it and an address in Lovingston, Virginia.” She rifled through the plastic sleeve attachment. “There’s a photograph that looks like it was in the wallet when it was purchased, a Visa card, a library card, an AARP card.” She pulled apart the two sides to look at the cash. “Two, no three, one-dollar bills, and two folded up pieces of paper.”

  “What’s on the notes?”

  Marguerite opened them. “This one says: ‘I live at 834 Jefferson Street’. And the other one says: ‘My phone number is 703-197-5791’.”

  Now, Lucinda felt tears forming. She blinked fast to chase them away.

  Six

  Lucinda went down the stairs thinking about her great-grandfather. She was rather young when he died – she never knew him well. She had a vague memory of a funny smell and strange behavior. In retrospect, she wondered if he was suffering through the same kind of deterioration that had destroyed the mind of Edgar Humphries. But she didn’t know and probably never would.

  Going through the case folder, Lucinda had noticed that Miss Jenkins, the woman who fixed lunch for Edgar, lived just two blocks away. She left the house and went down the sidewalk. It was another Victorian home but much smaller than the Humphries house. It was faded from the sun and weather, aching for a fresh coat of paint. She pushed open a short wrought iron gate that wobbled at the hinges. The grass in the lawn was a week or two overdue for a mow.

  But the flower beds running around the fence line and next to the sidewalk were immaculate. It was too early in the year for most plants to bloom but crocuses nodded an assortment of small yellow, purple and white heads in every bed. The brass knocker, knob and footplate on the door gleamed and the front porch was swept clean.

  The door flew open before Lucinda and reached the top of the steps. A grey-haired, smiling Dorothy Jenkins, with a newspaper folded open to the crossword puzzle in her left hand and a pencil perched on her opposite ear, stood in the doorway. “What can I do ya for?” she asked.

  “I’d like to talk to you about Edgar Humphries.”

  “Did ya find him?”

  “Yes, but could we please talk inside?”

  “Oh, sure, sorry, honey. Where’s my manners? Come inta the house.” She directed Lucinda into the room to the left of the front door. “Ya can have a sit down right in here. Shall I put on the tea kettle?”

  “No, Miss Jenkins, I’m fine. Let’s just talk,” Lucinda said, as she slid into an upholstered chair with worn arms.

  “Okey-dokey. So ya found ol’ Edgar? Wonder if that means I got me a job again,” Dorothy said as she sat in a chair perpendicular to her visitor.

  Lucinda leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I hate to deliver this news, Miss Jenkins, but Mr. Humphries is deceased.”

  “Damn me. You don’t say. How did the old guy die?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Lucinda said. “Isn’t Mr. Humphries about your age?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure. We’re pretty close in age. But I ain’t afflicted with the Old-Timers. Makes a big difference. It ages ya to be confused all the time.”

  “I’m sure it does,” Lucinda said thinking that her most confusing cases had certainly taken a toll on her. “I understand you were the first person to notice that Mr. Humphries was missing.”

  “Yeah, that were me. I looked all round the house and backyard afore I went walking the neighborhood. Weren’t the first time I had to find him to feed him his lunch. I went out up a block, over a block, down two blocks, across another block, up one block and I was back at the house. No sign of the old bugger. Started worrying then.”

  “Did Mr. and Mrs. Humphries seem concerned?”

  “Oh, lordie, yes. How they went on! I actually thought they might be a bit relieved, particularly the missus. But no, not quite wailin’ and gnashin’ of teeth, but mighty close.”

  “Why did you think Mrs. Humphries would be relieved?” Lucinda asked.

  “Well, she’d get a bit peckish sometimes – oh, not in fronta the old guy, mind. But sometimes she felt pretty put out with having to take charge of everything, with him not being her father and all. She had to hire the people to come in ta take care of him and trained ‘em and responded when there was a problem. Took her away from work quite a bit. Never Mr. Humphries. Always her. Think that chaffed her butt a bit.”

  “You think she may have had anything to do with Edgar Humphries’ disappearance?”

  “Aw, nah. She was right fond of him; it was carryin’ all the responsibility she didn’t like. But it seemed like Mr. Humphries finally accepted that his dad needed to go to some sort of home. They were lookin’ for one. If they hadn’t been lookin’ and all, maybe. But, nah, things were workin’ out the way she wanted. Even if he hadna disappeared, I’d been out of a job just the same.”

  “Do you need to work at your age, Miss Jenkins?” Lucinda asked.

  “Can’t say I need to, but I’d just as soon have a little job. Keeps me feelin’ useful. And helps me afford little extras in my life. Social Security is mighty nice and it pays my bills, but there’s nothin’ left after that. I almost had another job. Mrs. Culpepper, over on Lincoln. I was all set up with her to start comin’ over and fixin’ lunch for her ma during the week. Then, the Monday afore I was supposed to start. Her ma up and disappeared just like ol’ Edgar.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Don’t think they’ve found her yet. Hey, is that a glass eye you’re sportin’?”

  Lucinda wanted to ignore the question but sensed that if she did, it probably wouldn’t go away. “Yeah, Miss Jenkins, I do have a prosthetic eye. Now about this—”

  Dorothy tipped her head back and forth like a little bird peering at Lucinda’s face. “Well, if that don’t beat all. It’s mighty realistic lookin’.”

  “Thank you, Miss Jenkins, but—”

  “Wonders’ll never cease. Whatcha bet one day, they’ll make glass eyes you can see outta? Or have they already done that? Can you see outta that one?”

  “No, Miss Jenkins. Can we please return to the missing woman?”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry, honey.”

  “Is her last name, Culpepper?”

  “Nah, it’s Mrs. Culpepper’s ma. I’m sure her last name’s different but I can’t recall Mrs. Culpepper ever calling her by any name but Mom.”

  “When were you supposed to start fixing lunch for her, Miss Jenkins?” Lucinda asked.

  “Let me think,” Dorothy said, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. “It was last year but I can’t rightly recall the date. I still got my old calendars, though, let me go fetch it.”

  Possibilities rumbled through Lucinda’s head. What are the odds that one woman would be involved with two missing persons? Is she connected to their disappearances? It doesn’t seem likely. She’s doing great for her age, but really. Could it be someone that knows her? Is she a link?

  “I got it,” Dorothy said as she walked back into the room. “And here ‘tis.” The opened wall calendar curved over the old woman’s arm. “Look it,” she said, pulling the pencil off her ear and using it as a pointer. “December 8 – that was the day I was supposed ta start.”

  Lucinda gathered contact information for the Culpepper family and went back down the street to the Humphries’ home. She tracked down Jumbo Butler and asked him about the new missing woman and her concerns about a connection to Miss Jenkins.

  “I can get y
ou a copy of that case file. I never saw any connection between the disappearance of Mrs. Culpepper’s mother and Edgar Humphries but then I didn’t know about the overlap with a caregiver, probably because Miss Jenkins hadn’t started working there yet. Anything else you need?”

  “I read the statement you got from Jenkins when Edgar Humphries first went missing so I know what she said. But how was she? How did she strike you back then?”

  Jumbo squinted his eyes and rubbed his thumbs and forefingers together. “As I recall, she was rather distressed about Edgar’s disappearance. She seemed to like him and like her job caring for him. In fact, I remember her saying, ’Nothing says love like a warm biscuit straight from the oven.’ Made me think of my grandmother,“ he said with a smile. “Edgar apparently liked those biscuits a lot. And she wasn’t hopeful from the start. I remember her saying something about poor, old Edgar having eaten his last biscuit. She was certain something terrible had happened.”

  “What about the Humphries?”

  “They were pretty optimistic in the beginning. But the doubt set in pretty early on, though, considering his mental condition. But like most loved ones of missing persons, the not knowing made them a bit crazy. Not that I blame them.”

  “Did you get the impression that either one of them knew where he was or had anything to do with his disappearance?” Lucinda asked.

  “Eric Humphries sure didn’t. He was ambivalent about his father going into an assisted living facility and wasn’t really convinced it was the best thing for his father. Vicki on the other hand was eager to place him. I guess out of everyone, she had the strongest motivation to get him out of the house. But I can’t see her killing him.”

  “That might not have been part of the plan but something may have gone wrong. Was there anyone else – someone who might have made you suspicious or even uncomfortable?”

  “Yeah, now that you mention it—one of the sons. Can’t remember which one it was. But when he was here, he was a problem. No matter what I asked Eric or Vicki, he’d jump in with a defensive response as if I were attacking his parents. I passed it off as anxiety, but who knows?”