Ripped Apart (A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery, Book 5) Read online

  “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Mom. I couldn’t not offer to help. Our neighbor’s house, four doors down, took a really big hit. Jo Jo Wallinski’s top floor was completely obliterated, and the back half of the house has been reduced to rubble.”

  “I hate to hear that. Keep your chin up, as hard as that is to do. I’m sure Rockport will come back bigger and better than ever.” I was trying to cheer up my only child, but the words sounded hollow even to me.

  “I know, Mom. Everyone is saying the area will come back bigger and better than ever. But the amount of time they’re predicting it’s going to take is so damned long. I wonder if Rockport will ever be the same charming little town it’s always been.”

  “Rockport came back following Celia. She’ll do it again, I’m sure,” I said. The last major hurricane to hit the area was Hurricane Celia in 1970, when my daughter was only a toddler. Her memories of that storm were naturally limited, and it hadn’t been nearly as destructive, or deadly, as Harvey.

  “It’ll sure be a lot easier once you and Daddy can join us. I’ll let you know as soon as we can get back on to our property. We’ll have a new motorhome to stay in by then.”

  “You and Milo can save money by staying with us,” I offered, hoping she’d turn me down, even if buying a new RV would take a big chunk of dough out of the Moores’ bank account. Our travel trailer didn’t have any of the modern slide outs, and space was cramped with just Rip and me living in it. Dolly, our chubby tabby, didn’t help with the space restraints, either. Fortunately, she didn’t mind sharing the couch with Rip when the two napped. To save living space, and divert the odor, Rip had cut a hole in the floor behind his recliner and installed a small ramp down to a storage compartment under the floor. Dolly had her own personal bathroom in that compartment, which she grudgingly shared with boxes of photo albums, Rip’s toolbox, a couple of fishing poles we’d purchased the last time we were in Rockport, and other miscellaneous stuff we kept stored in that undercarriage compartment. “The trailer would be a little cramped, but we could make do somehow.”

  “No, we won’t need to stay with you. And you know I’m allergic to cats,” Regina said without preamble. She sounded even less enthused about my offer than I’d felt when I extended it. “But thanks for the offer. We’ll buy a new motorhome. We’ve been wanting one and we certainly wouldn’t want to intrude on you guys.”

  Thank God, I thought, as I uncrossed my fingers. The very idea of two more adults living in the Chartreuse Caboose made me want to slice my wrists with dental floss. I’d chosen that name after I’d painted the exterior of our trailer chartreuse, and then added bright yellow sunflowers for more color. Regina cringed every time she looked at it. I hate to admit this, but that was half the fun of turning our home into somewhat of an eyesore. “Eyesore” was Regina’s description, by the way, not mine. I found our home joyful and vibrant, like a ray of sunshine. It definitely stood out in a crowded RV park. “Well, okay. But you would be welcome to stay with us, if buying a motorhome doesn’t work out.”

  “All right. Thanks, Mom,” she said.

  "The offer stands if you change your mind. Are there any updates on your missing neighbor?"

  “Unfortunately, no. Do you remember meeting Reilly Reynolds? You met her and her husband, Walker, at our holiday block party last winter.”

  “Yes, of course I remember them. They were the good-looking pair who wore the matching, and rather gaudy, Christmas sweaters, weren’t they?”

  “Yeah, but their sweaters weren’t nearly as gaudy as the one you wore, Mom.”

  “That’s debatable, dear. I recall Reilly had a flawless complexion and long hair so blond it was nearly white. She was the short, fragile-looking lady who was bubbly and outgoing. Am I right?” After Regina’s “Yep!” I continued. “She and her tall, muscular husband were like polar opposites in both appearance and personality. He was a large man who pretty much kept to himself. He wasn’t very talkative and made no effort to chat with us, while she treated us like long-lost friends. If I recall correctly, the couple were finding it difficult to keep their hands off one another that night. I was tempted to tell them to get a room.”

  “Ha! Ha! Yes, that’s the couple. They’d just recently gotten married at the time of the block party, although they haven’t seemed to be as affectionate to one another in recent months. I guess the honeymoon is over, as they say. Perhaps they realized their nonstop PDA’s were making the rest of us uncomfortable.” Regina chuckled. “PDA means public display of affection, by the way.”

  “I know. I read People Magazine on occasion, and―”

  “When you find them laying around in an RV park laundry room?” Regina chuckled. Her laughter was usually contagious. Not so much today, however.

  “My point is that I try hard to stay up-to-date.”

  “Of course.” Regina’s sarcastic tone quickly changed to melancholy. “What happened to Reilly is so (bleeping) sad.”

  “Yes, it is. Very upsetting. Do they know what happened to―”

  “Look, Mom, I’ve got to go inside. I’m out by the hotel’s pool and I have to pee like a sailor.” Regina was so flustered, she'd screwed up the old adage.

  I considered, but decided against telling her she actually had to pee like a racehorse. She’d already been cussing like a sailor. I was disappointed that Regina had cut me off in order to end the call before she could expound on the circumstances behind her next-door neighbor’s disappearance. But when you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go. That old saying gets more true with every year older I get, it seems. I was sure I’d hear more about Reilly Reynolds when we arrived in Rockport. By then, I assumed, either her death would be confirmed or she’d have been found alive and well and was back in the loving arms of her husband, Walker.

  “Okay, dear. Be careful and take care of yourselves.”

  “We will. In fact, I’m going to take advantage of the free tetanus shots that they’re offering today at the emergency care place by the Rockport post office. Don’t fret. I didn’t sustain any cuts or scrapes but thought I’d score a vaccination while they’re free. I’ll stop by Gracie’s and see if she’d like to take advantage of the opportunity too. Stay put at the Alexandria Inn until you hear from me that they’ve dropped the curfew. Okay?”

  “Okay, sweetheart. We’ll wait for your call. We love you two.”

  “Love you guys more. Bye,” Regina said before she and I hung up simultaneously.

  I was pleased to hear a little bit of me had rubbed off on my daughter. “Score a vaccination while they’re free” was not a remark I’d have ever expected to hear Regina say. I, on the other hand, had a tendency to score anything that was free, whether I had any use for it or not. It probably was more of a generational thing than a personality trait. Those of us who lived through some really lean times tended to be more prone to pinching a penny so tight that Lincoln’s eyes bulged out of the copper.

  We were still in Missouri, but no longer staying in the inn as Regina had indicated. We had moved our trailer into a nearby RV park so we wouldn’t be underfoot and taking up a suite that Lexie Starr and Stone Van Patten could be renting out. They had insisted we stay on at the bed and breakfast establishment free of charge for as long as we wanted, as their personal guests. But Rip and I had felt that, like fish, we might begin smelling after a few days. We surely didn’t want to overstay our welcome. Nor did we want to feel as though we were taking advantage of our dear friends’ generosity.

  We had given Stone an inspiration, he’d told us. “We’ll be adding three or four full hookup RV sites on the premises in the near future. That’ll allow us to be more accommodating to guests. One day people like you who own RVs will have a place to stay whenever they’re in the area.”

  I looked forward to that day. A stay at the B&B visiting with Lexie and Stone was a joyful interlude I always enjoyed tremendously. I didn’t look forward to heading down to Rockport, Texas, however. Seeing my beloved hometown in such a
state of disarray would be heart-breaking. I prayed it wouldn’t be as much in shambles as I was imagining.

  Unfortunately, I discovered it was every bit as bad, if not worse than I’d visualized when we arrived in Rockport a few weeks later.

  Even more disturbing, I’d soon discover that Regina and Milo’s next-door neighbor, Reilly Reynolds, had still not been found. Her status remained “missing and presumed dead”. Furthermore, there’d be circumstances behind the woman’s mysterious disappearance that had me itching to do a little investigating. And that’s rarely ever a good thing…

  Three

  Despite all the images we’d seen on television and the Internet, Rip and I were still shocked at how overwhelming the destruction was when we drove through Rockport for the first time since Hurricane Harvey struck. Seeing the tent camps that had popped up around town brought tears to our eyes. People with nowhere else to go were now living in makeshift shelters, tents, and travel trailers supplied by FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency. The early September heat was unrelenting and it had to be unbearable inside the small tents that, in some instances, held families of five or more people.

  A philanthropic woman named Samantha McCary had set up such a camp on her property on highway FM3036. She’d allowed folks who’d lost their homes to set up tents, trailers, and various other forms of shelter on her land, and arranged for food and supplies to be brought in. She campaigned for donations of clothes, cash, and other necessities to help out those displaced individuals, and even helped find jobs for those seeking employment. It was the compassion and kind-heartedness of people like Samantha McCary that was helping Rockport pull through the catastrophe and move forward again.

  We made the nearly sixteen-hour drive down from northwestern Missouri, arriving at Regina's and Milo's without incident. We drove over the small, and now severely damaged, bridge onto Key Allegro Island three weeks to the day after Hurricane Harvey had made landfall. At the entrance to the island was a handmade sign stretched out in front of a pile of rubble that read, ROCKPORT STRONG. RIPPED APART, MENDING TOGETHER. We had passed other similar signs, a couple of which were less optimistic in nature. One was unrepeatable.

  Upon seeing my daughter for the first time in months, I embraced her a bit harder and longer than usual. I was so relieved she'd been left unscathed by the hurricane, physically at least, even though her and Milo's home appeared a little worse for wear.

  It didn’t take long to get the Caboose set up and ensconced in Regina and Milo’s driveway, directly behind their new thirty-five-foot motorhome. I can’t be positive, but I got the impression Reggie tried to block the view of our travel trailer from their neighbors by stuffing our trailer behind their well-equipped motorhome, which was ironically named Thor Hurricane.

  The 2017 motorhome Regina and Milo purchased had two electric slide-outs, one of them quite large, and slept about twenty-seven people. Twenty-seven might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it sure looked like it could hold that many. It was incredibly roomy compared to our travel trailer. The Thor Hurricane actually could sleep eight people, which was at least four more than I’d ever want “bunking” with us in the close confines of any recreational vehicle. I envied the theater seating and what seemed to be a garage-door sized television in their new RV. The unit even had an electric fireplace, which I felt bordered on grandstanding. I certainly hadn’t raised Regina to be a showoff. Of course, that could just be the green-eyed monster coming out of me. In fact, I’m almost sure of it.

  I’ll admit I was more than a little jealous of the stacking washer and dryer units in the hall closest. Having to gather up all the dirty laundry and go to a laundromat once a week had become tiresome after our second week of life on the road. It had now been over seven years since Rip had retired and we’d become full-time RVers. In that time, we’d become more open-minded about what constituted dirty laundry, and more lenient about articles of clothing that could be worn another day or two without offending those nearest to us. Like anything, the RV lifestyle had its pros and cons.

  “Once you guys get all set up,” Regina began, “join us in the motorhome for some grilled cheese sandwiches I’m making for lunch. We’ve got potato chips and dill pickles, but if you want anything other than beer or water to drink, bring it with you.”

  Beer was always Rip’s first choice, but was no longer a fixture in his diet. I fixed myself a tequila sunrise and his Crown and Coke to take with us. After eyeing some of the hurricane’s aftermath, I was in desperate need of some alcohol. I also took along some homemade chocolate-chip cookies. I knew Regina had been born with a powerful sweet tooth, and I’d never known her father to turn down an after-dinner treat, either. Like beer, cookies weren’t allowed in his diet, either, but I decided one or two wouldn’t kill him. Seeing the destruction the hurricane had left behind must have had the same troubling effect on Rip’s emotions as it had mine. I figured a couple of cookies might cheer him up a bit.

  We were all hungry so there wasn’t much conversation as we ate. Afterward, Regina and I cleaned off the table so the four of us could catch up with what had been going on since we’d last spoken. Milo looked exhausted, and with good reason. He’d been putting in fourteen hours a day helping a number of new customers clear away enough debris to enable them to begin the process of rebuilding. He’d had very little time to devote to his and Regina’s home, which fortunately had sustained less damage than some of their neighbors whose homes were in shambles. Like the Moores, the Reynolds’s house next door had been spared for the most part. It was by no means habitable, but with only broken glass, roof damage, and some miscellaneous exterior damage, it was still standing. A small travel trailer, perhaps twenty-feet long at best, was parked in their driveway.

  “So, has Reilly been located?” I asked between bites of my sandwich.

  “No.” Regina shook her head slowly. “She’s still missing. It’s such an odd thing, too. Like many, Walker and Reilly ignored the mandatory evacuation order and stayed behind to ride out the storm. Walker said his wife followed Scrappy, their Maltipoo, outside―”

  “Their what?” Rip asked.

  “Maltipoo. It’s a cross between a Maltese and a toy poodle,” Regina explained.

  "When did they stop referring to crossbreeds as mutts?"

  Regina ignored her father's question and continued her story. “So anyway, when Scrappy got out and ran off during the height of the storm, Reilly raced after him. Apparently, the dog panicked and took off down their pier, according to Walker. Walker then got distracted by flying debris crashing through their living room window, and didn’t see whether or not Reilly followed the dog down the pier. He assumes she did. By the time he went back to check on his wife and Scrappy, neither was anywhere to be seen. Like I told you, Scrappy turned up a few blocks away several days later, tired and filthy, but otherwise all right. A lady on Luau Lane found him curled up in her bushes and posted his photo on Facebook, which is how Scrappy found his way home.”

  “It’s nice to hear that social media can be used as a beneficial tool now and then,” Rip remarked. I was shocked he even knew what social media entailed. After fifty years of marriage, I still learned something new about my husband every day. I listened in amazement, as Rip continued. “More often, sites like Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter just seem to stir up trouble. They are occasionally employed as weapons, in cases like cyberbullying and shaming, or, worse yet, as a means to perpetrate a crime, such as pedophilia. Unfortunately, the anonymity of social media gives power to people to use it for reprehensible reasons.”

  “Uh-huh.” Regina, who was constantly checking her Instagram and Facebook accounts, and tweeting out her thoughts and opinions, gave her father an odd look before continuing with her story. “So, anyway, Reilly has not been seen since. I feel so bad for Walker. He has been beside himself. One look at him, and you can tell he feels guilty he wasn’t more attentive to her when she ran after their dog. He said he should have never let her go out
side, or at least should have stood watch until she returned to the house.”

  “Poor guy,” I replied. “Perhaps it’d have been wiser for Walker to go after the dog. Or, at the height of the storm, even let the little pooch fend for itself. Animals are pretty resourceful and resilient.”

  “I’m sure Walker would have gone after Scrappy,” Milo said, “had he not been on crutches at the time. He’d just undergone knee surgery for a torn ligament a week prior to the storm. He’s just now getting along all right without the crutches. With a bum leg and his wife missing, he's in no condition to do any manual labor. I offered to help him restore his and Reilly’s house to a more livable condition, but he told me his best friend since high school had been hired to do it. I recall the two men playing high school football together. Anyway, he got an incredible deal on the project, and I’m relieved not to have one more job I feel obligated to tackle.”

  “No doubt,” Rip said. “Regardless, it was certainly kind of you to offer your services, son. Not everyone would have been as thoughtful under the circumstances.”

  “I couldn’t not offer to help, Rip, because of the circumstances,” Milo said. “Walker’s a really good guy who's not only recovering from knee surgery but also an emotional wreck right now.”

  “I’m sure. If what he suspects happened to his wife is correct, her body will be washing ashore soon or resurfacing somewhere. It’s hard to believe several weeks have passed already without it being discovered.”

  “Yeah, I thought so, too.” Milo nodded his head before standing up. “Sorry, folks. I need to get back to a job I’m working on over on Fulton Beach Road. Why don’t you two get settled this afternoon? We’ll regroup tomorrow morning to come up with a plan on where to start. I’ll be able to help out here and there, but I won’t be able to dedicate a lot of time to our place. I’ve got too many other jobs lined up, and more being added every day, it seems.”