Dead on Delivery (24 page)

He nodded as if he’d come to the same conclusion. “Are just you and Meredith going?”

I wasn’t sure how he was going to take this part. “No. Paul insisted on coming with us.”

“Oh.”

I couldn’t tell if that was a good “oh” or a bad “oh.” I waited.

“Well, as long as you have someone with you, I guess it’s okay. Do you want me to come with you, too?” I knew he’d offer.

I could not begin to describe the ways I did not want Ted joining our merry band, but telling him that didn’t seem like a good idea either. “I think we’ll be okay. This way you’ll be available to make our bail if something goes wrong.”

“Don’t joke about that stuff, Melina.”

If only I was.

I HADN’T BEEN ABLE TO FIND AN ADDRESS LISTED FOR JOHN Littlefield. I had been able to find one for Kurt’s mother, Ginny Rawley, though. I figured she would probably know where to find Littlefield. He’d been one of her son’s friends, hadn’t he? I wasn’t quite sure how else to find him.

It pains me to say that Ginny Rawley was not thrilled to see me. I believe her first words were, “Get out of here or I’m calling the cops. Again.”

It was not what I considered a warm welcome. I persevered. “Mrs. Rawley, I just want to ask a few questions. I want to help. I think someone wanted to hurt your son and I want to make sure that person doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

She stopped in mid-door-slam. “Who are you?”

“My name is Melina Markowitz and these are my friends, Meredith and Paul.” I could feel their presence at my back, warm and comforting.

Rawley’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you all be interested in my son?”

I opened my mouth, hoping that a plausible lie would come out, but was saved the trouble by Mrs. Rawley herself.

She held up her hand. “Never mind. I don’t care why you’re here. I’m just glad someone finally cares enough to listen to me. Come on in.” She opened the door.

The inside of the place definitely lived up to the charm promised by the outside. The walls were gray and dingy, and the carpet had definitely seen better days. The mismatched collection of furniture in the living room spoke of people’s cast-offs and a little judicious Dumpster diving. In other words, it wasn’t all that different than my own apartment. I plopped down on the couch, feeling right at home. A spring poked me in the back in welcome.

“What was it that you were trying to tell people that they wouldn’t listen to?” I asked. Meredith settled on the couch next to me, but with a more cautious movement.

Paul came in slower, looking around as he walked in, and sat down next to me. I think it’s a werewolf thing. They can’t just walk in. They have to check everything out. If he could have gotten away with sniffing everything, he probably would have.

“I know my Kurt committed suicide,” Mrs. Rawley said, her chin quivering slightly as she spoke. “I know that, but I also know that someone drove him to it.”

I leaned forward. “I think so, too, Mrs. Rawley. Who do you think did it?”

Her eyes popped open. “You do? You think so, too?”

“I don’t just think it. I’m sure of it. The day that you caught me poking around in your house, I found . . . something. Something that made me really suspicious. I want to hear more about your thoughts, though.”

“I can’t believe someone believes me.” Tears formed in her eyes now and she pressed a tissue against her mouth. “I’ve been talking and talking and talking, and everyone just kept patting me on the back and mumbling about the grieving process and accepting it. I’ve accepted it. My boy’s gone forever, but I know someone pushed him to it.”

“How do you know? What made you think that?” Meredith asked.

“He wasn’t himself that last week. He was jumpy and nervous. I know it was strange being home after all those years away. I figured it was a little like when a soldier comes home from the war. It takes them a while to acclimate, to realize no one’s going to be shooting at them anymore or trying to blow them up on the side of the road. I figured it was like that.” Mrs. Rawley pressed a tissue against her lips.

PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder. It wasn’t a bad diagnosis. I nodded my head.

“Then the stuff with the bugs started. He said they were crawling on him, biting him all the time. I bought him all new sheets and blankets. He still thought they were biting him at night. So we bought a new mattress. That didn’t help either. Then we started with the doctor appointments. The regular doctor. The dermatologist. Finally, the shrink.” She leaned forward and whispered, “My boy wasn’t crazy. Or at least he wasn’t until they made him that way.”

“Who? Who made him crazy?” I asked. “Who did this to him?”

She sat back again. “I’m not sure. At first I thought it was those Latinos. They’ve got all kinds of witches and curses they can throw at you, but they don’t do nothing for free. If it was one of them, somebody was paying them to do it.”

I glanced over at Paul. He was looking straight ahead.

“I think maybe it was Littlefield,” Mrs. Rawley whispered, glancing around as if someone might be listening.

“The third boy?” I asked.

“He’s the only one that’s still alive that killed that Aguilar man. He was the one that rolled on the other two. Then Kurt said he got religion while they were in lockup.” She pressed her lips together. “I don’t believe it, though. It was nothing more than a cover. Make himself look all pious and contrite. He was a sneaky one. I never liked him.”

“So the boys were friends before this all happened?” I asked.

“Oh, sure. They were all on the basketball team together. It was just JV, but they were good. Afterward, well, they weren’t such good buddies anymore.”

Mrs. Rawley gave us John Littlefield’s address and we stood up to leave.

“What did you find in my house that made you think Kurt didn’t do this?” she asked, as she walked us to the door.

I put my hand on her arm. “I’d rather not say right now. I don’t know how this is going to play out and it might be better if you didn’t know too many details.”

She nodded, eyes again wide. “Got it. You need anything else, though, you just let me know.”

Then she threw her arms around me and hugged me. “You know, you’re not at all bad. I’m kind of sorry that I called the cops on you.”

I extricated myself from her embrace. I’d forgotten about that. “What did you tell them?”

“I gave them your license plate number. I was so upset about seeing you poking around at the house. I don’t know who I thought you were, I just knew you didn’t belong. Then I ran into Drew Bossard, Neil’s little brother? And told him that I’d seen you. He suggested I call the police. You know, just to make sure they knew where to look if there was any trouble. Anyway, I’m sorry about that.”

Fabulous. That was just what I needed. Something else bothered me, though. Mrs. Rawley’s apartment was a solid half-mile from her old house. “How did you know I’d been in your house that day?”

Her brow furrowed a little. “I got a phone call.”

“From whom?” Meredith asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It was a woman, though. She said I’d better go check on the place, that someone was sneaking around it. I didn’t ask any questions. I just ran.”

WE WERE PARKED IN FRONT OF LITTLEFIELD’S APARTMENT BY a little after ten. He wasn’t home. John Littlefield’s apartment wasn’t even as nice as Mrs. Rawley’s. According to Mrs. Rawley, his parents had moved away soon after his conviction. Why he’d come back to Elmville instead of going to wherever they were living wasn’t something she understood. She said Littlefield was spouting some nonsense about making amends and repenting.

“How much longer?” Paul demanded from the backseat. “Can we open a window? I’m suffocating back here.”

Note to self: werewolves—even when they are in human form—suck at surveillance.

“The right time will present itself. We have to be patient,” I explained. Again. “Read a magazine.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Eat a snack.” I shoved the tote bag full of food that I’d packed at him.

He shoved the bag back. “Cheese sticks and grapes are girl food. Worse yet, they’re human girl food.”

Meredith twisted around in the front seat. “Pretend you’re hunting and you’re lying in wait.”

Paul leaned forward so that they were almost nose to nose. “If I was lying in wait for this guy, I’d be out in those bushes behind the apartment and at least I’d be able to breathe.”

I sighed. “Here he is.”

Littlefield rode up on a bicycle. I grabbed the rewrapped box and got out of the car. Meredith and Paul followed me.

“Excuse me,” I called. “Mr. Littlefield?”

He looked up from where he was locking his bike to a rack. “That’s me. What do you want?” He backed up a little.

I didn’t blame him. Alone, I’m not immediately intimidating. With Paul and Meredith walking up behind me like we were the Usual Suspects, I probably looked a little more like trouble. Sadly, I was. “Could we talk for a moment, Mr. Littlefield?”

His back was against the wall now, literally. He glanced from side to side, but there wasn’t really any place to run to. “What about?”

“Please, Mr. Littlefield, I’d rather have this conversation in private. Can we go inside your apartment?” I smiled and tried to look unassuming.

He looked from me to Meredith to Paul and back to me. “Okay, then. My apartment’s this way.”

We followed him in. To say the place was Spartan would be an understatement. The apartment was a single room. There was a mattress—neatly made—in the corner and a chair against the wall, with a box that was clearly being used as a table next to it. There was a bowl and a spoon and a mug drying in the rack next to the sink. That was pretty much it.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Meredith said, looking around.

Littlefield closed his eyes and said, “‘If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?’”

“Matthew?” Paul asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Littlefield nodded. “Chapter sixteen.”

“Well, okay then.” Biblical quotes were so not my thing. Apparently Paul was good at them. Who knew? We had ourselves a brand-new parlor game. “Mr. Littlefield, I have a delivery for you.”

“What kind of delivery?”

“I’m glad you asked. I’ve made two other deliveries in your town recently. One to Neil Bossard and one to Kurt Rawley. I’m pretty sure you know those two young men?”

Littlefield nodded, his eyes growing wider.

“I’m also pretty sure you know what’s happened to them.” I didn’t want to spell it out if I didn’t have to.

He nodded again and sat down in his chair with a thump. “They’re dead. They took their own lives. It’s a sin, you know.”

“I have to make this delivery. I have to give you this box,” I said as gently as I could. “But Meredith here can destroy its contents after you open the box and I think you’ll be okay.”

He glanced at Meredith and then his gaze flickered to Paul. “What does he do?”

I looked over at Paul, too. “He, uh, helps us and makes sure we stay safe.” I figured that was as good an explanation as any. Saying that he ripped the throat out of anyone who looked cross-eyed at his woman didn’t seem like a good idea.

“Do you know what’s in the box?” Littlefield asked.

“I looked.” There. I admitted it. I waited for lightning to strike. None came.

“And it’s the same kind of thing you delivered to Neil and Kurt?” He gnawed at a thumbnail.

“Pretty much.” As in exactly the same.

“I don’t want it.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

I felt a pang of sympathy. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a choice. I have to give it to you. It’s my job.”

His brow creased. “‘Work hard and become a leader; be lazy and never succeed.’ Proverbs.” He held out his hand.