Sign Off (Caught Dead In Wyoming, Book 1)

Chapter Six

Gina Redus placed two mugs of coffee on the table in front of the sofa where Mike and I sat and retreated to the kitchen, again refusing our help.

Raised trim around the table's edges showed the mellow reddish glow the entire table must have had new, but in the center the finish had given way to bare wood, scarred to a dull brownish-gray. The gold corduroy couch was worn ribless on the cushions and arms.

Gina returned balancing a tray with a plate of Vienna wafers, a jug of milk, a pot of sugar and the third mug. On the tray was a doily of real lace, its delicate, intricate swirls and whorls stark white.

"You know we went to school together, don't you?"

Mike rose to help her. "You and Foster? But he was-"

"Tom and me. We went to school together from the first grade, right up until he left for college. He had his choice of scholarships-academic or basketball. He took academic because even if he broke his leg he could keep studying."

She'd dosed her coffee from both the jug and the pot. She folded her legs under her on the only chair and stared into her mug between sips.

"Mona didn't notice him until he became the big basketball hero in high school. Then she noticed him all right."

"Uh, Mrs. Redus, about your husband . . ." I started. Not brilliant, but it should have done the trick. If she'd been listening.

"Once Mona noticed, there was no stopping her. It took her a while, but she got her hooks in Tom good, and wouldn't let go. And ruined his chance. And then she blamed him for not giving her what she wanted. The bitch."

"Mrs. Redus." Nothing. "Gina!" She looked up.

"Gina, I hoped you could tell us about your husband? I understand you'd separated before he disappeared?"

"Yes, we'd separated. End of September. Started divorce proceedings."

"So you hadn't seen him for a while before he disappeared?"

She shook her head. "He came by that Monday afternoon. He was spittin' mad about something Mona'd told him Tom had said." She leaned forward. "But Tom didn't kill him. If Tom had been the one who disappeared, I'd believe it of Foster, but not Tom. Not Tom."

I didn't argue, and she relaxed back into the chair. "So you and Foster were still seeing each other even though you'd separated."

Life flickered in her eyes, lifted her mouth, and, for an instant, I could see a much younger version of the woman before me.

"No, we weren't seeing each other. He'd left most of his things here. He saw no sense in renting his own place when he spent most nights with Mona or Marty or someone else. He'd stop by to pick up clothes and such. It wasn't that much different from before we separated. Only he didn't bother to lie about his other women any more."

"And that afternoon?"

"He picked up clean shirts and socks. He said he'd been at Mona's. Said she'd said Tom was threatening to make trouble. When I said it was natural Tom didn't want him screwing his kid's mother in front of the kid, Foster crammed those shirts into a pocket of his precious leather case like he'd never complained about a wrinkle in his life, cussed me out, said he'd teach Tom Burrell to mind his own business and stormed out."

She flicked her eyes from me to Mike and back.

"Only when he left, he didn't drive south like he would for Tom's place, or back to Mona's. He went north. And . . ." She drew out the word. "Since his new pickup was parked in front of a certain house over on Parallel Street an hour later when I went to my girlfriend's, I'd say he stopped off to screw Marty Beck. That's why Mona didn't start screaming about Foster being missing right off-she was sure he'd left her for another woman."