Dead Dancing Women (12 page)

“Don't forget one of those ladies is already dead,” Dolly said, and she shook her head at Eugenia. “I'd say everybody better be careful what they say and who they say it to.”

“You two gonna find out who did this? Seems that we've got you and the state police on this and nothing's happening.” Eugenia was getting herself worked up. I knew how she was feeling. I understood what it was like to feel targeted and not know by whom, or why.

“We're trying,” Dolly said. “We need people in town to report anything funny they might have noticed, anything they heard. It's going to take the whole town to stop whoever this crazy man is. You just pass that along now, OK? You tell everybody to give me, or Chief Barnard, a call if they know anything, because this is no joke. One woman's dead. At least two more have been threatened. We don't know where this is going to stop.”

Eugenia's eyes grew huge while Dolly talked, as if the enormity and seriousness were just sinking in. She nodded again and again. “You can depend on me. You know if somebody's whispering anything, anywhere in this town, it gets talked about in here. I'll be listening, and I'll call you.” She nodded to me and then to Dolly.

We made our way to the table Eugenia pointed to.

“Hey Emily,” she called after me. “How's your new dog working out? You named him Sorrow? How come? Sorrow. Seems like a sad name for a puppy. You ever heard of calling a dog Spot or Rover? Those are real dog names.”

I nodded, waved, and smiled. “I'll think about it,” I called back, deciding I should have named him Mud because that's what his name was going to be if there was any more chewing in my house. I felt immediately contrite. The poor thing had been home alone for ages now, tied up on the porch. I'd named him well. Living with me—a person who could forget him for hours on end—wasn't going to be easy. Sorrow it was, and Sorrow it would remain.

SEVENTEEN

Joslyn Henry's house was
as still and unoccupied as it had been when I'd gone by earlier. Leaves blew across the front porch, collecting against the east railing. It seemed to me Joslyn Henry wouldn't allow leaves to gather. While other gardeners—like me—let things go because winter was coming and next spring would be soon enough to clean up, Joslyn Henry had been at work, doing the things we were supposed to do, spreading winter mulch and weeding. As I recalled, standing with Dolly, knocking for the fourth time, when I'd seen her there was a kind of precision about her. Not in how she dressed, that was always casual enough, more in how she stood and looked straight into your eyes, and in the way she spoke, kind of leaning back away, tucking her chin down to form a nest of three, and looking down her nose. But who knew? After a friend was killed the way her friend was killed, she might be too upset to notice things like leaves collecting on her porch, or that a pot of mums had fallen from the railing and lay broken, dirt spilling down the front steps.

I peeked in one of the front windows, half expecting someone to peek back; someone not wanting to answer the door. I was beginning to feel like a true
persona non grata
around there. I couldn't blame it on being with Deputy Dolly any longer. They were avoiding me because I was me.

“What should we do?” I whispered to Dolly, feeling like a kid on Halloween when the homeowner is hiding inside, in the dark, and doesn't want to bother passing out a piece of penny candy to a scruffy kid. I didn't know whether to tiptoe off the porch or stomp and yell.

Dolly shrugged. “Let's leave a note. Ask Miz Henry or Ernie to call. Can't think of anything else.”

I scrambled in my purse for my notebook and pen, then scribbled out a note complete with greeting and compliments on getting her beds in order so early. I wrote that I'd be happy if she called me, or called Officer Dolly Wakowski at the police station in town. We had some questions about Ruby Poet's death, and were working hard to find out who'd done this awful thing.

Dolly read the note, then stuck it in the screen door.

On the way back down the steps, I picked up the broken pot pieces, collecting them into a little pile. I swept the spilled soil away with my foot and took the mum, dug a little hole with my fingers beside the steps, and stuck the flower into the hole, patting the soil around it. There, I thought. That's what one neighbor does for another. Not ignore a friend's garden. I still couldn't understand why Joslyn Henry hadn't done something about Ruby Poet's garden. Why let it go? If Amanda didn't care, certainly Joslyn Henry did. Or Mary Margaret, who seemed to value Ruby Poet above the others. Or Flora Coy, herself a gardener. None of the women were so old they couldn't have kept Ruby's garden in order. If I'd known, I would have done it. It was always such a shame to see a garden go wild.

Dolly was coming back to stay with me. She had all the stuff in her car to do my makeover, and she had her pj's, too, for sleeping on my couch. She figured her job on me was going to take a long time, and anyway, she told me, while she worked we could put the pieces we had, so far, together, seeing what we needed to do next.

I figured I could use the makeover and the help moving furniture in the room where Jackson would sleep. I had that hole to hide, and I wanted to get the dust bunnies out from under the bed and spruce things up a little. I wasn't sure how. Maybe I could get some flowers at the IGA in town. Flowers always made a room look festive, and Jackson liked it when I put flowers on the table, or in the bathroom. Or maybe I'd just pick some dead flowers. A kind of symbol.

All the way from the Henrys' to my house, I whined to Dolly that I shouldn't have left Sorrow alone so long, that it probably wasn't good for young dogs to be tied up, that I'd probably pay with psychological damage that would cost me plenty to rectify—in training and attention.

Sorrow sat in the middle of the drive, tongue lolling out to one side, ears up at attention. He saw me and galloped for the Jeep, leaping in the air like a doggie Lotto winner. When I got out, he was all over me, as if I'd been lost and now was found; as if he'd left me someplace and was so very grateful I'd found my way home again.

On the porch I discovered how he'd gotten loose. Chewed through the piece of clothesline.

“Better get him some chain,” Dolly said as I stood examining first the chewed clothesline then the place in the door where Sorrow had gone straight out, tearing the screen into a bent flap. Sorrow stuck his nose where I pushed at the screen, as if trying to figure out who could have done this dastardly deed. His innocence didn't fool me. I swore under my breath and quickly started thinking of punishments for him. None I could come up with fit the crime.

“I'm not going to start chaining an animal,” I growled at Dolly.

“Then get him trained better,” she said, going back inside.

“What do you mean ‘better'? He's not trained at all,” I shouted after her.

“Then get him into a class,” she called back. “I'm going to telephone Ernie's shop. See if he knows where his mother is.”

I sat alone with my puppy, facing my inability to care for him properly.

“Cage,” I hissed at his puzzled face. “As soon as I can, I'm getting into Traverse and finding a cage I can leave you in when I'm gone.”

Sorrow looked closely at me since I was kneeling and he could stare directly in my eyes. “You are a terrible animal,” I said.

He licked my nose. The damned thing loved me. He wasn't mad at me, though I'd been gone all day. He'd occupied himself. Wouldn't I have done the same? Did I expect more of a being from another species than I did of myself? Some kind of bigotry working in my head. I had to come up with new ways of dealing with Sorrow. Something no one had thought of before. I was, after all, a very bright woman. Surely I could outsmart a puppy. Surely I could come to terms with his needs and my own needs and learn to live with this warm, mischievous, little being.

Surely …

Maybe.

I fed him and gave him water, since he'd turned over his dish. After deep, incriminating gulps (though he'd had the whole lake in front of him), he followed me into the house and flopped on the floor. He was sound asleep in a minute. Who knew where he'd been all day? With whom? I could have lost him. Somebody could have picked him up—the way Simon did to begin with. I squatted beside the sleeping dog, now rolled into a black and white circlet, and petted his soft head. He had me, all right. I was hooked. Madly in love with this pathetic little creature.

“Nobody answers at Ernie's shop, either.” Dolly stood behind me, watching, hands on her hips. “They must have gone someplace together. Maybe Miz Henry needed a new dress for Ruby's services. That's what women always do when things get bad. They go shopping. Nobody up here any different than down below, where there's all those malls. They need new dresses for the big occasions, too.”

After a while she heaved a sigh. “Might as well get started on you,” she said. “I'll go get the stuff from my car. Bought a great color for your hair.”

“What about the Henrys? Should we call anybody else?”

She shrugged and reached to unfasten her gun belt. I supposed this was her signal that she was off duty. “We'll go down there first thing in the morning. They should be back by then.”

She put her gun on the counter. “Keep it close by,” she said as she patted her holster. “Never know when you're going to need it.”

She took her tie off and hung it over a chair back, then loosened her blue shirt at the neck. Dolly was now off duty and ready to begin her beauty salvage work.

On the way out to her car, she said, “I brought a sleeping bag. I'll sleep on the couch.”

“Oh,” was all I could think to say. Not exactly welcoming, but not unhappy either.

I would have gone out to help her bring in her bags and boxes and sleeping bag, but the phone rang just then. Jackson. I was almost happy to hear from him.

“Yes,” he said. “We'll be there just past noon, if that's all right? Don't worry about lunch. We'll stop somewhere along the road. I'll call you from Grayling and get the exact directions. I'm looking forward to seeing you, Emily. Hope you're not too unhappy to see me again. I'd hate to think we couldn't be friends.”

What could I do but assure him I looked forward to his visit. I was almost convinced it was true until what he'd said sank in. “We'll be there … ,” he'd said. “We'll stop …”

Before I could ask who this “we” was, he was gone with a merry, “See you on Saturday.”

“Damn him.” I slammed the receiver down and stood leaning against the desk chair.

“What's wrong?” Dolly was back, plastic store bags dangling from her fingers. The screen door banged shut behind her.

“Jackson's bringing someone with him.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Didn't you ask who it was?”

“He was gone before I realized what he'd said.”

“Call him back. I would. I'd ask him who the hell he's bringing.”

“Yeah, and I'd better ask where I'm supposed to put his friend? I've only got the one extra bedroom.”

“Maybe he thinks he's sleeping with you and his friend can take the bedroom.”

“Like hell.” I glared at her over my shoulder.

“Then call and ask.” She set her packages on the counter. “We'll work right here, OK? The light's good and the sink's close to rinse the color out of your hair. And …” She bent down, hunting the wall for something. “Yeah, there's an outlet right here for the dryer.”

“Well, I'm not calling,” I said, following her around the kitchen. “I'll just tell him when he gets here. His friend can go find a motel. Or they both can. Of all the damned nerve. I should have known he'd pull something.”

“Maybe it's a surprise for you. Somebody who wanted to see you. Somebody you both used to know.” She was taking things out of bags and setting them along the counter. Little brushes and little bottles and packages. It had never taken that much to fix me up before. I figured I must really be a fright if Dolly thought all of this was necessary.

I concentrated a minute. Could be Sam Larson, another English professor, who was coming with him. I used to like Sam. He wasn't an impossible snob like most of Jackson's friends. Could be Sam wanted to ride along. I wouldn't mind him. Or even somebody from the paper where I used to work. Maybe somebody with family up here. That was probably it. People moved up permanently, like I did, or they had summer places. A great time of year to visit. I decided I'd made too much of Jackson's “we” and began to look over the things Dolly'd brought to beautify me.

“Want me to fix you up after you've finished with me?” I asked, eager to get my hands on those makeup brushes, experiment with the liner pencils.

“No thanks. This is your night. We're going to get you so beautiful Jackson will be sorry for the rest of his life that he ever let you go.”

I had to laugh. A lofty goal here. An unnecessary goal. Still, it was nice of Dolly to care. She was showing surprising sides I'd never imagined. Not just our dumpy, mean, speeder-chasing, Deputy Dolly. She was cheering me up and giving me a weapon against my ex-husband.

Before we started, I asked for her help moving the furniture in Jackson's room. I showed her the hole Sorrow had chewed in the drywall. She agreed the only thing to do was move the dresser in front of it. Once we'd pulled the dresser over we couldn't open the door all the way but at least the hole was covered. Dolly decided that the room needed color since the walls were white and the bedspread was an old white chenille. She gathered colorful leaves out in the garden and stuck them in a cloisonné vase the previous owners had left behind. The vase and leaves, sitting on the night stand, brightened the room. Next she found a Mexican throw in the linen closet and spread it over the bed. Now the room looked at least a little sophisticated, brighter and more cheerful.

“Needs pictures,” Dolly mumbled as we stood in the hallway looking in.

“It's just Jackson. He won't be here long.”

“Still,” she said. “You gotta see my place. Pictures all over the walls. Couldn't stand not to have pictures. Like windows looking out on different places. Cut 'em out of magazines, if I have to. All over my walls. You should come over sometime and see my place.”

I agreed I'd have to do that, and got her off the subject of wall hangings.

“I hope you like the color I bought …” Her little face brightened as she opened a box of Clairol, took out the applicator and the color vial.

I struggled to smile. “You're really going to color my hair?”

She stood at the sink, held still, and frowned. “You weren't going to leave it those three shades of mud you've got going now, were you?”

Naw. I shook my head. Of course not. I'd be any shade Dolly'd chosen for me. Some nice fire-engine red, maybe. A chorus girl blond. I didn't have the heart to fight her. If she wanted me beautiful, then who was I to get in the way? I made tea for us and set out a plate of cookies.

“What color'd you get?” I dared ask as she stood frowning over the directions.

“Hmm.” She pulled at her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Something called ‘Mousey Brown.'”

“No,” I said, appalled.

“Kidding.” She laughed hard. “It's Deep Mink.”

“Hmm,” I said back. “Sounds expensive.”

I fingered the bottles she'd set along the counter. Some of them looked a little worn, old. I wondered if makeup got rancid, got diseased, caused death. I hoped I wasn't headed for some exotic illness they'd never trace to ancient makeup samples picked up in defunct department stores.