Candace Carrabus - Dreamhorse 01 - On the Buckle (30 page)

“I don’t think they’d approve of us shooting up in here.”

She shrugged. “They’ve got butter cookies in the other room. Not bad for store-bought. You see the pictures?”

There were easels with photos of Norman.
 

“In a minute. Have you seen Sandy?”

“Why, no. You’d think she’d be here, too. Lots of others. We don’t get many murders round here. Most of ‘em didn’t know Norman when he was alive, but they’re curious.”

“Miss Parker?”

I turned to the unfamiliar baritone voice.
 

“Oh, Vi,” Clara said, beaming, “this here’s my cousin Frank, the coroner. Frank, Miss Viola Parker.”

“I understand you found the deceased,” he said.

I gestured with my head toward Hank. “We both did.”

“Dirty business,” said the coroner.

Hank nodded. “Time was, somebody wanted a body dead, they just shot ‘em. Nice and clean.”

“Or used a knife,” Clara added.

She would favor a knife.
 

I felt someone sidle behind me, then Malcolm’s voice whispered in my ear, “The good old days.”

This was an exceedingly odd way to reminisce, but I could see how the coroner would appreciate a body with a straightforward gunshot or stabbing wound over one cooked by compost. And I understood that weird subjects came up when people stood around at a wake, and they laughed at things they didn’t usually find funny.

Over Frank’s shoulder, I spotted Kevie the bartender-bouncer-pizza maker from Mel’s. He made eye contact and started working my way.

“Glad to see you’re okay,” he said. He very deliberately cut his eyes to Malcolm, then back to me.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“You didn’t end up with that bastard, JJ,” he clarified.

“Oh. No. I didn’t.”

“I tried to warn you that night, but you were already too far gone by the time you left.”

There was a shriek from near the casket. A short, heavy woman with pale skin and stringy black hair lumbered toward us. She wore a vintage purple polyester suit with a brown turtleneck beneath, support hose, and mean-looking black stilettos.

Clara put her hand on my arm. “Uh-oh,” she murmured. “Tighten your girdle, Vi. That there’s Bertha, Norman’s mother.”

Bertha pointed a finger in our direction and screeched like a drunken tropical bird. Heads turned her way. I slid behind the relative protection of Kevie’s stalwart form.
 

“Why is she coming over here?” I scanned the room for Malcolm and saw him glance up from his conversation at the same time.

“You!” Bertha howled and aimed her plump index finger at my face.
 

Crap. There was nowhere to go except into a four-foot horseshoe of blue carnations.

Bertha sidestepped around a wing chair and tottered to the right. Her thick ankles buckled, unable to sustain any lateral stability with only the two tiny points of support provided by the five-inch heels. She listed farther right, arms pin-wheeling for anything to grab onto, her fake alligator purse coming loose at the top of one swing sending it spinning in a long arc over the assembly like a quarter-back’s pass to the end zone. It landed smack in the middle of one of the picture boards. That tipped over onto a colorful flower arrangement balanced atop a fake ionic column. It began to lean.

Counter to all rules of physics, Bertha found her balance, and then zigged to the left. She bounced off Frank, who had his arms out and ready, but whether to catch her or push her away, I couldn’t tell.

“Your fault,” Bertha said to me. She zagged right again. “This is all your fault.” She overcorrected and began to slip backwards.

The ionic column toppled and the flowers plunged into the casket.
 

Bertha spun like a buoy in a hurricane. “Nooo,” she cried. “Those were expensive.” She swung back to me, seeming unable to stop moving once launched. “Norman’s dead because of you!” She pointed the chubby finger again. “You! Get out. How dare you? Get out.” She swayed.

Kevie grabbed her arm and she plopped into the wing chair.

“Now Auntie, you don’t mean that,” he soothed.

She blubbered into her hands.

I stared at her, as did everyone else. The only movement came from Malcolm, who pushed his way to my side and hustled me out through a miraculous parting in the sea of onlookers.

Outside, we ran into Dex and Renee.

“Leaving so soon?” Dex asked.

“Vi caused a scene,” Malcolm said.

“Sorry I missed it,” Renee said.

“Norman’s mother asked me to leave.”
 

“I’ll bet,” Dex said.

When did they become such masters of understatement? We stood there for a minute.

“Anybody know where Sandy lives, or her phone number?”

“Not far from here, I don’t think,” Renee said.

“I don’t have her number with me,” Malcolm said.

We were silent again, then Renee asked, “You want to go over there?”

“Don’t you think it’s odd she’s not here?”

“Maybe she’s coming later.”

“Vi’s right,” Malcolm said. “Sandy would have been here early and stayed until the end. We can swing by, knock on her door. I don’t think she has anyone else to check on her, now that Norman’s gone.”

The return of St. Malcolm.
 

Dex said they’d go inside for a visit, and catch up with us later. We agreed to meet at The Brick in an hour, and Malcolm and I walked to the Jag.

He started it, put it in drive, and then shoved the gear shifter back to park. The engine hummed eagerly beneath the hood.

“You sure do make life interesting,” he said.

I didn’t take that as a compliment. “Guess I’m the keep-you-on-your-toes-and-guessing side of the equation. Anyway, I didn’t ask for any of this.”

He gave my knee a squeeze, as good at communicating with touch as with words. Small wonder the horses liked him so well. Small wonder I did, too.

“She doesn’t really hold me responsible for Norman’s death, does she?”

“Probably, but no one else does.”

“Do the police have any leads?”

“They’ve questioned a few persons of interest.”

“Who wants to hurt you?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “I think I have a right to know what’s going on.”

“You know just about as much as I do. JJ’s the only person I know of who has a grudge against me.”

Brooke clutched no small amount of resentment toward him. I thought I’d decline bringing that up right then.

“What does the sheriff make of JJ’s history?” I asked.

“He’s disappeared for the moment.”

“Guess he took your advice.”

He grunted. “That would be a first.”

“What about the drug Norman took? Any ideas about that?”

“I don’t believe he took it,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Dex said—”

“I know Norman’s history. He was a fuck-up in a lot of ways, but I still don’t believe he took that stuff. Not that much of it, anyway.”

“Look I’m best friends with denial, too, but—”

He gave me a sharp look and pulled away from the curb.

“Sorry about your SUV,” I said.

“Don’t mention it.”

I got the feeling he really meant that, so I shut up until we reached Sandy’s. She lived in a small frame house about two miles outside of town down a dead-end gravel road.
 

The setting sun soaked the white-shingled cottage in pink, but it didn’t hide the peeling paint, sagging gutters, or rotten porch steps. It was hard to tell whether anyone was home, but her car sat in the driveway. Clouds had begun to bunch along the western horizon during the afternoon. They converged at that moment like a shade being pulled shut, and it was obvious there were no lights on inside.

Malcolm knocked. I called her name. No response. We frowned at each other. He pounded and yelled, “Sandy!
 
It’s Malcolm and Vi. Are you in there?”

I walked to the side and hopped like a bunny to peer in the windows. Couldn’t see much. The condition of the back porch was worse than the front, but the door was open a crack, so I took my chances and went up the three steps. They creaked but held. I shouted to Malcolm, and he came around.

He put one hand on the railing. It swayed. “Go in,” he said. “I don’t trust this to support both of us.”

Crap. Why did I have to be the first one in? Did I look like a brave person? Let me answer that.
No
.
 

My stomach clenched, and little beads of cold sweat broke out on my upper lip. The last time I’d seen Sandy, she’d been in tears over Norman’s death. I’d talked to her Saturday. I wondered if anyone else had seen her since then.

At my hesitation, he said, “Just step in far enough to get off the steps. I’ll be right behind you.”

That’s what they always say.

- 33 -

I took a bracing breath and did as he said. The door swung in to the kitchen. It smelled like rotten fruit, but in the dim shadows, I saw nothing more than the usual appliances, cabinets and sink. A few drawers hung open.

Malcolm came in and poked me in the back to prod me forward.
 

“This doesn’t feel right,” I said.

“We’re not breaking and entering. The door was open.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

He moved in front of me, looked around, sniffed. “I think I know what you mean.” He took my hand. “Come on.”

The kitchen opened to a living room. A worn sofa faced a television. The coffee table in between had several empty soda cans on it. Newspapers and magazines scattered across the floor, and a set of bookshelves had been emptied of its paperbacks, but I didn’t get the impression Sandy was a slob.
 

“He was here,” I said. “Whatever he was looking for in the apartment, he came here to look for, too.”

“You don’t know that.”

He didn’t sound convinced of his assertion. The place was isolated. No nearby neighbors. JJ could have ripped the sheetrock off the framing and no one would have noticed.

Malcolm nodded toward a doorway in one wall. “You better go in first.”

“What? Why me?” But I knew why—in case Sandy was in there and she wasn’t decent. The man had boundaries. Respect. Had to admire that. And I would. Some other time. At the moment, I’d prefer he toss his deference out the nearest window.

I stood as far as I could from the closed door and touched it with my fingertips. It creaked open enough for me to poke my head in.
 

The room on the other side of it barely contained the full-sized bed, dresser, and side table. The closet door was open as well as the drawers in the dresser, and clothes littered the floor. It smelled like the breath of a hangover laced with sex.

Sandy sprawled across the bed, naked, arms flung to the sides, legs and mouth spread wide. Fear jolted through me, and my breath hitched in my chest. Then, I realized she was snoring slightly. Not dead. Jesus. Thank you.

I was met with a view no one but a gynecologist should have. “Hang on,” I said to Malcolm. “She’s in here, but…” I moved all the way into the room. Evidence be damned. I pulled a sheet up to her chin, then said, “Coast is clear.”

He came in. “Is she all right?”

She was pale and sweaty, drooling slightly and taking shallow breaths, not the deep inhalations of someone in a normal sleep. A new bruise spread across her left cheekbone. Her eye looked swollen. I nudged her shoulder.

“Sandy?” I pushed harder and raised my voice. “Sandy!” She didn’t move. “Out cold.”

Malcolm laid the back of his hand on her forehead, then gently slapped her cheek. “Sandy?”

He used her phone to dial 911. As soon as he hung up, he speed-dialed a number on his cell, probably Dex One.
 

I looked around the room. Crammed on the tiny table next to the bed were a lamp, an alarm clock, a paperback, a glass with about a half inch of brown liquid in the bottom, and an empty tissue box, all partly buried in used tissues. They overflowed a wicker wastebasket on the floor, too. The trash also held an empty rum bottle.

I sniffed the glass.
 

“What is it?” Malcolm asked from the other side of the bed.

“If I had to guess, I’d say it was rum and Coke.”

“You have experience identifying liquor by smell?”

That was a halfway loaded question. “Some.”

I picked up the book. Wadded tissues tumbled to the floor.

“Don’t touch anything.” He planted his hands on his hips and glanced around. The walls were as bare as Sandy. “Was she covered with this sheet when you came in?”

“No.”

“Don’t touch anything else.”

I gave him a look. The book was a Romance—the kind Penny read. This one featured a fierce-looking, bare-chested highlander holding a sword with one hand and a buxom, red-haired lass with the other. They were framed by a forbidding sky. Wind blew his kilt up and her hair across his chest. Her buxomness looked about to spill out of her thin, lacey chemise. What she was doing running around the highlands dressed like that, I just don’t know.