Not One of Us(12)

“Anyone with you?” I pressed.

“Lawd, no.” She gave a breathless laugh. “My Ralph died near five years ago. Heart attack.” Her tone turned wistful. “I been alone ever since.”

I understood that tone. Sometimes, when I woke in the middle of the night or the twins had gotten on my last nerve, I missed Josh—until I remembered the final year of our marriage. All the lies, all the betrayals and anger and pain. Then I’d assure myself that I was much better off alone.

We reached her house, and she invited me inside, urging me to take a seat. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked.

“Just water, if you don’t mind.”

While Reba bustled about the kitchen, I studied her living room. Her decor was surprisingly modern, with leather furniture and an expensive large-screen TV banked against the opposite wall. Interesting that her choice in personal grooming was not. Besides the pink sponge hair rollers, I noted a jar of old-fashioned cold cream on the coffee table. She returned with a glass of water, and we sat opposite one another on each end of the couch.

“You stated that you heard Mr. Strickland’s motorcycle about eleven last night. Do you think it could have been another motorcycle? Another driver?”

Reba shook her head, removed her scarf, and began snatching the rollers from her hair with trembling hands. “I must look a fright. Didn’t realize I’d end up being seen like this by the whole neighborhood.” The rollers fell into the lap of her floral muumuu.

“This must be difficult for you,” I said. “But I need you to focus on the events of last night. For Mrs. Strickland’s sake.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she ran a hand through the tight curls. “Of course. Letitia would want her son’s killer caught.” She drew a shaky breath. “It was Ray’s motorcycle. I looked out the window and checked. I get nervous here living alone at night. Ya know?”

“I understand. Was he alone on the bike? Was another vehicle following him?”

“Not that I noticed. I only peeked out the window once and then went to bed.” She bit her lip. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but . . .”

“Go on,” I urged.

“I guessed he’d been drinking. The bike weaved a bit on the road, and when he turned in the driveway, he lurched it to a stop.”

“Did you observe him go into the house?”

Her face flushed slightly. “I did. Just wanted to make sure he got in safe. The front porch light was on, as always. Ray tripped on the first step but didn’t fall. Took him a minute, but he fished keys out of his pocket and stumbled in the door.”

This was more than the quick peek out the window she’d originally claimed. “Were there any lights on inside the house before he arrived?” I asked, wondering if someone had been waiting, hidden, for Ray’s return.

“No, the house was dark. Hadn’t seen or heard anyone pass by, either, except for Tillman Ragsdale and his wife driving by after a night out.”

“And after that?” I prodded. “Did Mr. Strickland turn on any lights?”

“I don’t know. Once he went in, I went to bed.”

“You didn’t hear anything else the rest of the night?”

“Nothing. I sleep like a well-fed baby,” she admitted. “But when I woke up this morning, I got to thinking. What if Ray had fallen and hurt himself last night in the house? He’s usually up early and sits out on the porch to smoke. Letitia never let him smoke in the house, and I was glad to see he still honored her wish.”

“But this morning, he wasn’t outside, and that alarmed you.”

“That, and like I said before, I had a premonition. Just like I had when Letitia had a heart attack, and again when—”

I cut her off as I pulled out a business card with my contact information. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Tankersley. If you recall anything new, please give us a call.”

“Of course.” She glanced at the card as she palmed it in her shaking hand. “Don’t mind admitting I’m nervous knowing a killer was so close by. What if he comes back? What if he knows I’ve been talking to you?”

“You didn’t see anyone. There’s no reason you should be in jeopardy. If it makes you feel better, we’ll have a police patrol make periodic drives by your house the next few nights.”

She nodded and swiped at the sudden swelling of tears. “I know Ray’s been in lots of trouble. Done some bad things. But I remember when he was just a tiny boy. Always so polite. Full of mischief too—the harmless kind,” she hastened to add.

It heartened me that someone had a kind word for Raymond Strickland. That another soul besides his dead mother would care that he’d left this world. I exited Reba’s house in time to meet Oliver crossing the street. I filled him in on our conversation, and he nodded thoughtfully.

“That matches up to what another neighbor relayed. He saw Mr. Strickland drinking last night at Broussard’s Pavilion. Claims Strickland got in a fight there last evening with several men who threatened to kill him.”

My first murder case might turn out to be easy to solve. With any luck, we’d have an arrest by nightfall. If so, I’d be sure to call Reba and let her know. “Who were these men?” I asked, curious if a name might be familiar.