He opened the driver’s side door and sat down in the front seat. He noted that, though tight for him, the seat was set back far enough for a tall woman.
Then he saw the special devices that had been fitted onto the car. They were controls set within arm’s reach to work both the brake and gas pedal.
So his aunt could have driven this car despite her infirmities.
He noted the sticker on the upper left side of the windshield. It was from a lube shop in Paradise. It listed the next date for service and the mileage the car should reach by that time. The date was from exactly thirty days ago. Puller looked at the mileage listed and then shined his light on the dashboard. He did a quick calculation, and also factored in his aunt’s death.
In the roughly twenty-six days she could have driven it the car had gone an average of ten miles per day. He thought rapidly. Could his aunt with all of her back issues have driven hundreds of miles at a stretch? It was doubtful. But could she have driven shorter distances? That was more likely.
What if she had driven the same distance every day? Ten miles a day, in fact. That sounded doable even with her back problems.
So five out and five back. It at least gave Puller something to go on, something to check when there was so much that wasn’t clear. He could do that route on all points of the compass and see where he ended up.
The next moment Puller quickly climbed out of the car and softly closed the door. He extinguished his light and pulled his Mu.
Someone had just come in the front door of the house.
Puller went through the garage door back into the kitchen, making hardly any noise. The other person in the house was not being nearly as quiet. That could be both good and problematic for him.
He edged around the doorway leading into the family room. He heard squeaks from above. The person had to be upstairs. He wondered briefly if it could be the police, but surely they would have announced themselves. However, if it was Hooper, Puller might shortly find himself in a shootout with the hair-triggered cop. The last thing he needed right now was to be arrested for blowing away a police officer. Yet if anyone was going to get shot tonight he much preferred it not be him.
His hand slipped to his trigger guard. When it moved to the trigger he had to be prepared to fire.
And he would.
And then he saw the person come down the stairs.
And his military cop voice roared, “Down on the floor. Now. Or I will fire my weapon.”
The person did not get down on the floor.
She screamed and ran.
CHAPTER 26
She did not make it to the front door before Puller reached her. He wrenched her arm back, pulling her face-to-face with him.
“Omigod, please, don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me,” she pleaded.
Puller let go of her arm, stepped back, but kept his Mil at a forty-five-degree angle, ready to aim it up at her if the necessity arose. He switched on a table lamp, partially illuminating the room.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded as he ran his gaze over her.
She was about twenty-five, with blonde hair in a ponytail. She wore faded blue jean shorts cut high up her thighs, a tight-fitting lime green T- shirt, and flip-flops with “Corona” printed on the straps.
“I’m Jane Ryon. Who the hell are you?”
Her tone and words had grown more defiant when it appeared that he was not going to shoot her, but her fearful gaze held on his gun and she still seemed wobbly.
“John Puller.” He held out his ID and badge. “CID agent with the Army.”
“Good God, you’re Betsy’s nephew,” she exclaimed.
“And you’re her caregiver. Or were her caregiver,” replied Puller.
“How did you know that?”
“I ask questions. Like I’m doing now. What are you doing here?”
She opened up her bag so he could see inside. “I left some things in an upstairs bedroom. A jacket and some slacks. I thought I’d be back for them when I came to see Betsy again, but of course that didn’t happen.”
Puller holstered his gun. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
“It’s okay. At least I know my heart is strong now. Otherwise I would’ve dropped from a coronary.”
She was about five-five and in good shape. The definition in her legs and the extreme trimness of her frame made Puller deduce that she was a runner.
“I’m really sorry about your aunt,” she said. “She was a nice person. Do they know how she died?”
“How did you find out?”
“I came here on the day they found her body. I was actually coming to visit another client on this street. The police cars were here and then a hearse arrived. I talked to one of the cops. He said Betsy had been found in the backyard dead. That’s all I know. I thought maybe she had a heart attack or something.”
“Her official cause of death was drowning.” “Drowning? I thought they said she was in the backyard. Did she actually drown in the bathtub?”
“No, in the fountain out back.”
“But it’s not that deep.”
“Apparently she fell, hit her head, and slipped into the water unconscious.”
“Oh my God, how awful is that?”
“Well, if she was unconscious she would have felt no pain or panic, but it’s still not a pleasant way to go.”
“Who found her?”
“Next-door neighbor.”
“Cookie?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sure he’s really broken up. They were good friends. It was funny to see them together. He’s short and she’s tall. She reminded me of that lady from The Golden Girls TV show. I’d watch it on TV Land when I was a kid.”
“Right,” said Puller.
“She was her own person, and although sometimes she was hard to get along with, I admired her spunk.”
“Yeah, spunk runs in the family,” replied Puller. “Cookie told me you help him too?”
“Oh yeah. I’ve got a lot of clients in Paradise. Keeps me hopping.”
“You a native?”
“No. And I don’t technically live in Paradise. I’m in Fort Walton Beach, which is nearby. I came down here about five years ago from New Jersey. The winters are a lot nicer, meaning warmer.”
“I bet. How was my aunt before she died?” “She had the typical aches and pains associated with someone of that age. She was on meds- again, no surprise there. She used a walker. She was tall, a lot taller than me, but her spine was curved. She had her good days and bad ones. Like all of us.”
“Yeah, but she recently had a really bad day.” “Well, yeah.”
“How were her spirits? Did she seem depressed, annoyed, worried?”
“Not more than usual. I’ve been a caregiver for quite some time now, and I’ve found that older people’s emotions can run the gamut during the day. They tend to be in higher spirits in the morning. As night approaches they start to falter a bit. At least that’s been my experience.”
“Did she drive? Or did you drive for her?”
“I would run errands. To the store, the pharmacy, stuff like that.”
“In her car?”
“No. I’d use my own. The company I work for doesn’t allow us to drive our clients’ cars. Insurance thing.”
“So did she drive, then?”
“Not while I was here.”
“Which was how often?”
“Two-three times a week.”
“Every week?”
“Usually, yes.”
“And did you stay over every time?”
“No, hardly ever. She didn’t really require it.” “When would you leave?”
“Around nine.”
“So if she went out at night for a drive after you left you wouldn’t know about it?”
“No. But why would she go out for a drive? I mean, where would she go?”
“Asking the wrong person. I just got down here. Don’t really know the lay of the land yet. But if she did drive around and went, say, five miles out and five miles back, where might that take her?”