Simply Lies

Chapter 44

“I’m going with a police detective, Dad, I’ll be fine.”

Gibson’s parents had come over to watch the kids. Gibson had packed an overnight bag, and was saying goodbye to her father on the front porch of her house.

“I think you’re getting in this sucker so deep, you’ll never get back out.”

“One way of looking at it.”

“Is he picking you up?”

“Yep, in fact that’s him now,” said Gibson as Sullivan’s trim dark sedan pulled onto her street and turned into the driveway.

“You be careful, cop escort or not. I’m too old to be raising little kids. My knees and back are shot.”

She hugged him, surprising her father, and said, “I’ll call with my status.”

“You got your Beretta?”

“Of course.”

She got into the car with Sullivan, who flicked a hand in greeting at Gibson’s father. Rogers merely nodded back, his hands stuffed in his pants pockets as he stared down the police detective.

“Still looks like a cop,” noted Sullivan. “Intimidating.”

“My dad will look like a cop until he takes his last breath.”

They headed north and rode Interstate 64 to 95. At Fredericksburg they branched northwest onto Route 17. A little under three hours after starting their trip they were rolling into the little hamlet of The Plains.

“Don’t think they see many murders here,” noted Sullivan as they cruised along.

“I would hope not. Did you make a call?”

“Yeah. Someone from the Sheriff’s Office will meet us at Oxblood’s place.”

“What do we know about him?”

“Not much. He was around forty. Lived with his mother until she died. Then he kept living in her house. Did equipment repair work locally. Kept to himself.”

“They from The Plains?”

“Don’t know, but I’m going to ask.”

When they pulled into Oxblood’s drive they didn’t see a sheriff’s car. But a woman did come out from the house next to Oxblood’s. She was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. She looked weathered and tough.

They got out and introduced themselves and told her why they were there. She eyed Sullivan’s police credentials and nodded.

“I’m Barbara Cole. As you can see, I live next door.”

“You knew Daryl?”

“Yes, and his mother, when she was alive.”

Sullivan took out his notebook. “And her name was?”

“Cindy Oxblood.”

“How long has she been dead?” asked Gibson.

“Oh, four years now. Time flies.”

“How’d she die?” asked Gibson.

“Car accident, on the road coming in here. Don’t know how it happened. Critter might have run in front of her. She went off the road and the truck flipped. She wasn’t wearing a seat belt, unfortunately. Not sure she would have survived anyway. Cab was crushed from the impact.”

“Do you know where they moved from?” asked Gibson while Sullivan wrote all of this down.

Cole screwed up her features. “I think I recall her saying the west coast. Oregon, yeah, Oregon.”

“She ever mention her husband? Any other kids?”

“No, and I’m not one to pry. I don’t like talking about my ex, either. Just makes me feel stupid all over again.”

Gibson smiled at the woman’s frankness. “I feel your pain,” she said, drawing a glance from Sullivan.

“And you found Daryl?” asked Sullivan.

“Me and the other gal.”

“What other gal?” said Gibson sharply.

“She was here taking a survey and had an appointment with Daryl. She knocked on his door but he didn’t answer. She came to my house and we went over there together. That’s when we found Daryl.” She shivered. “Still have nightmares about it. Been keeping my door locked and my gun under my pillow ever since.”

“I’m sure. Can you describe the woman?”

Cole did so and Sullivan wrote it all down while Gibson listened intently.

“There was no mention of the woman in the police report,” said Sullivan.

“Yeah, she had other appointments to get to and didn’t want to get involved. She lit out of here before the cops showed up. So I didn’t see any need to mention her.”

“Can you tell us anything else about her? What she said. The car she was driving.”

“Think the car was a rental. Looked like one that you get at the airport. She was thin and tall and pretty and real put together, if you know what I mean. Nice clothes, carried herself real well.”

“Did Daryl seem like the type who would make that sort of an appointment?” asked Sullivan.

“He would if they paid him, or gave him free stuff.”

“What was she taking a survey on?” asked Gibson.

“She said with people who didn’t have an online presence, or some such. The company she worked for was sort of researching those types, I guess to figure out how to sell them stuff another way. I think every day about chucking the whole internet and going back to the way it was, but I never seem to get there.”

“Did she act suspicious at all? Nervous?”

“No, nothing like that. She just seemed like she was out here doing her job. Look, she didn’t have nothing to do with what happened to Daryl. She knocked on my door. I had to get my spare key to Daryl’s house to let us in. When we found him, we were both shocked, let me tell you. I came close to throwing up and she didn’t look much better.”

“And then she left?”

“She needed to get going. And she couldn’t tell the police anything I didn’t.”

Gibson looked at Sullivan, who shrugged.

He looked at the door to Oxblood’s place. There was no police tape there.

“Local cops finished up in there?” he asked.

“Yeah, they were here yesterday taking stuff away, and then they took off a lock they had on the door.”

“Can you let us in while we wait for the sheriff?”

“Sure thing.”

She opened the door with her spare key and led them inside. She showed them around Oxblood’s room, where his body had been found.

Cole shivered as she looked around. “There was so much blood. It was horrible.”

“Did he have any enemies that you knew of?” asked Gibson.

“Hell, nobody around here has enemies like that. Daryl kept to himself. No troubles.”

“Drugs?”

“No, not that I know of. He never seemed like that, anyway. I thought it might be something to do with opioids, even mentioned it to that gal. But when I thought about it later, I just didn’t think that was possible.”

“What was his mother like?”

“Sort of like Daryl. Cindy kept to herself. I probably knew her best, being right next door. But she didn’t go to church, or join any of the local organizations.”

“Did she work?”

“No. Cindy didn’t really go anywhere. When they first moved here she mentioned something about a settlement her husband had gotten from an accident.”

“But her husband didn’t come here with them?”

“No, she said he had died.”

“Why move here all the way from Oregon?” asked Gibson.

“She said she had lived in Virginia once and really liked it.”

“How was Daryl when he was younger?” asked Sullivan.

“He drank some, drove his car too fast, got into some minor scrapes here and there with some buddies. But then he sort of pulled back into a shell, I guess you’d say. Didn’t go out. Sat home with his ma. Got a job at the vehicle repair place in town. Was a good mechanic. He worked on some of my stuff. Fixed it right up.”

They heard a car pulling into the driveway and Sullivan glanced out the window. “It’s the sheriff. I’ll go out to meet him and then bring him in.”

When he ducked out Gibson turned to Cole. “Where was the writing on the wall found?”

“In here.”

She led Gibson to the other room and they stood looking at the words.

“Did the other woman come in here, too?”

“Oh, yes. In fact, she was in here before I was. I found her here after I called the police.”

She had the presence of mind to look around after finding a dead body, thought Gibson.

Gibson’s gaze roamed over the words until she came to where Clarisse had tried to obscure the writing.

“What happened there?” she said, pointing.

“I don’t know. Guess the folks who wrote it did that.”

“Did the woman give you her name? I think Detective Sullivan forgot to ask.”

“Yes, she did. I asked for that in case the police would want to know even though I ended up not mentioning her. It was, let me think, yes, Julia, Julia Frazier. That’s what she said.”

Frazier. The same name used by the lady on the phone talking to Clarisse.

“It seems that she’s gone missing.” That’s what was said.

Clarisse’s mother, perhaps?