Die Smiling (22 page)

“You remember if he told you anything about himself?”

“God, Claire, I feel like I'm gonna hurl, gimme a break here.” He lay down again and put a towel over his face. After a few seconds, he spoke again, “He said he goes to school at Missouri State in Springfield, some kind of history, ancient history, I think, or maybe it was archaeology. I dunno.”

“Anything else? Try to think. How about having a girlfriend? Did he say anything about that?”

“Yeah. He said she's a stripper and hot as lava, I remember him saying that, because I thought, wow, that's pretty damn hot, lava is. I think her name was Patsy or Pammy or something like that with a P. And he said her parents don't like her seeing him, so they have to sneak around.”

“Why don't they like him?”

“I dunno. That's all I remember him sayin' about it. I'm tellin' you we didn't talk much.”

“Did he say exactly when he started working at Lohman's?”

“Nope. Like I said, I think he's new around here, but who knows because I hardly know him. I still can't believe you actually drove out here to give me the third degree. Jeez, give me a break. Some friend.”

Okay, now I was beginning to feel pretty low, guilty, even. “Well, I did bring you some Mountain Dew, didn't I?”

“Yeah, and that's supposed to make me feel better about gettin' my balls busted?”

“Hope so.”

“Well, sorry, but I'm pissed. I would never think bad of you. And I sure as hell wouldn't accuse you of somethin' like this, either. Hey, you got what you came for, didn't ya, so why don't you just get the fuck out of here and leave me alone?”

“Okay.” I stood up. “If you think of anything else about this Costin guy, give me a call. Please.”

“Yeah, right. You'll be the first to know.”

“Hey, Shag, don't you think you're overreacting here just a tad? I came out to check on you and ask for your help with my case. What's the big deal?”

“Because we're friends, Claire, but I guess you don't really know much about that kind of thing, do you? Everybody's fair game to you, Miss Hardass Super Detective of all time, friends or not, take 'em down, throw away the key, who cares that they're friends and neighbors and relatives. Take 'em down, solve the case, stomp on people who've never done anything to you. Hey, why don't you just go ahead and get outta here? Or do I need to call a lawyer first?”

“Cut it out, Shaggy, you're saying a lot of stupid things right now that you'll probably regret when you feel better.”

“Leave. Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”

I took him up on that pointed yet pleasant invitation and left, but I knew Shaggy's irate behavior was way out of character and way out of line. He was a very even-tempered kind of guy, even more so than Bud, and he'd been involved in most of my investigations in one way or another. He knew how things worked.

Unfortunately, I felt bad anyway, and his last words hit home in a big way. He was right, too. Having friends wasn't exactly a forte of mine, something I'd shied away from over the years, so keeping them hadn't happened a lot, either. Shaggy had been one of the exceptions. We'd always gotten along great. He was a good guy. I liked him about as much as anybody. I wondered if he could be hiding something and what it could be. His life had always been pretty much an open book. Maybe I should talk to Buck, find out if anything was going on with Shaggy that I didn't know about. Or maybe he was just sick and out of sorts.

Whatever the case, I felt almost two inches tall when I got back into my Explorer and backed out of Shaggy's driveway. Today was not turning out to be any better than yesterday or the day before, or the year before, actually. I was alienating all my buddies one right after another, so didn't feel particularly like Miss Congeniality as I headed back to the station to fill in Charlie and Bud. After that, I was going home to lick my wounds for a while. Maybe if Jude wasn't hanging all over Black, he could make me feel better about having to grill my good friend.

When I got downtown, eased in my parking place, and made my way to the front entrance of the sheriff's office, Bud was right there, waiting at the front desk, impatiently, by the looks of it.

He said, “Charlie's already thinkin' about putting me back on. You gotta make sure he does. I'm goin' crazy sitting around doin' nothing while that psychopath runs free.”

“Charlie changed his mind already?”

Bud nodded, excited about Charlie's possible decision to reinstate him, and I knew the feeling. When I'd been pulled off a case, Charlie had jerked my badge, and under similar circumstances. I hadn't liked it, either. In fact, I'd hated it. I'd felt naked.

“What about Brianna? Doing any better?”

“No. She's asleep now, but it finally hit her, I think, and she went off by herself for a while and when she came back, she got all hysterical and cried for two hours. Out of the blue, she just went to pieces. Man, and now she's tellin' me she wants to break up.”

“What?”

“Says she doesn't want to see me anymore, that she wants me to stay away from her. I guess seeing Hilde at the funeral was too much for her. She's actin' weird, and I'm not sure what to do about it.”

I frowned. Why on earth would Brianna turn her back on Bud now, as good as he'd been to her?

“She doesn't mean that. She's been through a lot. It's just pain talking. She's grieving.” And I knew what I was talking about on that front.

“You think Nick might be willing to see her? I'm tellin' you she's in real bad shape all a sudden.”

“Probably, you can ask him. But give her a little time, that's what she needs more than anything. She's still in shock. Hell, so am I.”

Bud did not look convinced. “Yeah, I guess so. But she acts different now. Scared, almost, or something. God, I wish I knew what to do.” He glanced away, shaking his head, then returned his gaze to me. “What about you? Anything new at your end?”

“Not much. I'll fill you in after I run the case for Charlie. I'll see if I can talk him into putting you back on.”

Once summoned inside the inner sanctum, I sat down across the desk from Charlie and quickly launched into the details of my recent interviews before Charlie could start cussing. According to Bud, who'd been forced to hang around the station more than me of late, the sheriff had toned down his purple-tinged rants and raves since his wife had pulled the plug on his foul and profane but considerable cursing acumen. Actually, he appeared fairly calm at the moment, collected, even. Pretty good showing for him.

After my fast-talking spiel dwindled and dried up, the facts laid out, as inadequate as they were, he said, “So, in essence, you haven't found out one damn thing that's worth a plug penny?”

I sort of nodded, although I didn't know for sure what a plug penny was. “Well, sir, I haven't had much time to investigate yet. You know, I'm trying to handle this case on my own. It's gonna take lots of footwork. I haven't even interviewed my primary suspect, that being Hilde's ex-lover. He's the guy who runs a health club at South Beach.”

Charlie considered me. His face was not florid, no cuss words, no bulldog, Winston Churchillian glare. I began to suspect high doses of Xanax with a little dab of potent tranquilizer thrown in for good measure. Maybe I needed a swig of that elixir. “All right. You best get down there and see if he can alibi himself for the last few days. If you get a rap sheet on him, get ahold of the arrestin' officers and see what they can tell you. Does this guy know Hilde's dead?”

“No, sir. I plan to hit him with the news before he can manufacture a convenient alibi and have it waiting for me. Maybe if we're lucky, the news won't get to him before I do.”

“Okay, let me think about this for a sec.”

Charlie swiveled back to the window and stared outside a while. I waited. This was His Way. I was used to it and sometimes enjoyed the quiet. I was antsy today, though, and didn't enjoy it for long. I fidgeted, waited not quite another minute, maybe two, before my patience hit a brick wall and collapsed writhing on its belly.

“I need Bud's help on this, Sheriff, and as you know, Bud's strictly a professional, a seasoned veteran. He's not gonna go off half-cocked just because he's involved with Bri. You know him better than that.”

Charlie turned to me, but didn't say anything. I tried some more. “I can handle most of the interviews on my own, but he could check out the body-tampering thing while I'm down in Florida. I need some help on this, sir, and Bud's just sitting on his hands, doing nothing.”

I paused again, waited hopefully for him to jump in and agree wholeheartedly. Nothing happened. Silence reigned. Valiantly, I did not give up. “Okay, my gut tells me that that Walter Costin guy at the funeral home has a hand in all this, but I'm not sure how yet, or why. I think if we put a tail on him, he might get nervous and lead us to something pertinent. Should I give that top priority or head down to South Beach as originally planned?”

“Is Nick going with you?”

I nodded. “Black's offered me use of his private plane. Said he's got some kind of hotel business down there and I can hop a ride.”

“Good. Get his take on the perp's psychology. He's proved himself useful in the past.”

“I'll feel him out on the flight down.” I realized belatedly how untoward that sounded, but also like something that would probably happen. Luckily, Charlie didn't attach the lustful connotation.

“Let him help us out, if he can. Like I said, I trust him.”

“Yes, sir. So do I.”

I sat waiting, foot-tapping edgy, and could almost hear Bud's boots tromping up and down the hall outside; chomping at the bit, he was, to be sure.

Charlie turned back to the street view and resumed his staring-into-space routine. I wondered how he did that without getting bored. Or falling asleep. “Okay, I'm gonna give Bud a chance and see if he can remain impartial. He can tail Costin, because I sure as fuck, I mean fudge, don't want Bud in Florida raising hell outside my jurisdiction.”

Fudge?
Coming out of Charlie's mouth? Oh, man, you gotta be kidding me.

Charlie was frowning. “Don't look at me like that, Claire. I promised Ellie Lynn I would tone down my language here at work.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.” I quickly changed the subject, but fudge, really? I couldn't believe it. “Reinstating Bud will be a tremendous help to me in this case, sir. Thank you.”

“When do you leave?”

“Today, if possible. Tomorrow at the latest. As soon as Black can make the arrangements.”

“Right, okay, get the hell out of here and keep me posted, dadgumit.”

“Yes, sir.”

Although I was summarily dismissed, there was still that one huge white elephant in the room that I hadn't mentioned, or at least, there soon would be. “One more thing, sir, and I do hate to bring this up.” That got his attention and was it ever the truth.

“Yeah? What's that?”

I did not want to say this, but knew I had to. “Well, thing is, see, Shaggy's name turned up in one of my interviews.”

At last, I had his undivided attention. The window gazing stopped; his chair swiveled and squeaked its way back to face me. “You mean, Shag from down at Buck's office? Johnny Becker?”

“Yes, sir. 'Fraid so.”

“How's that?”

I cleared my throat, licked dry lips, braced myself for Unbridled Sheriff Rage. “Well, sir, I don't think Shaggy's involved in any of this, of course not, but Costin did place Shaggy at the funeral parlor the night the body was disturbed.”

Dented brows, flushed face, the whole works. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Oops, and so much with the fudge substitutes. “Apparently they know each other a little bit. Costin said Shaggy went down there to play video games that night.”

Oh, boy, was that ever a black scowl to behold.

“What the fudge do you mean?”

Glad Charlie was trudging down Ellie's straight and narrow again, I said, “I talked to Shag already, and he denies being there, but can't prove it. He's been home sick with stomach flu, so nobody can verify his story.”

“Screw this fudge shit. You got to be fuckin' kiddin' me.”

Relapse number two, and counting. “No, sir.”

“Shit. That's just great. If the papers get hold of this, they'll go nuts. What's Buckeye have to say?”

“I haven't talked to Buck yet, Sheriff.”

“Well, don't. I'm gonna call him myself. I can't believe Shaggy was stupid enough to get himself mixed up in shit like this.”

“He's denied it, sir. He just can't prove he was home alone that night.” I paused. “I believe him, sir. We both know Shaggy. He's incapable of messing with a dead body.” I laughed. Weakly, though. The guy was a crime scene investigator, after all. He messed with corpses for a living.

“Yeah, but shit happens. Tell Bud to check it out and see if he can turn up anything dirty in Shaggy's background.”

“Sir, do you really think that's necessary at this point? This is Shag we're talking about.”

Scowl turned to ugly glower in a great big hurry. I turned to quivering jelly in the same space of time.

“Yes, I think it's fuckin' necessary, Detective. Any other questions?”

“No, sir. Thanks for putting Bud back on the case. You won't regret it.”

“Well, we'll see about that, now won't we?”

I did not leave Charlie in a smilin' good mood. But I was about to put Bud into a great one, so it was sort of a tit for tat. Bud was waiting outside in the corridor. He stopped his pacing and gazed expectantly at me.

“You're back on. He wants you to tail Walter Costin and find out if he's hiding anything.” I lowered my voice and told him about Shaggy's possible involvement. “He wants you to do a background check on Shag and see if anything crops up.”

“Oh, man, this is bad. Shaggy's gonna be pissed at me.”

“He's already pissed. Don't worry, you won't find anything. Shag'll check out clean. Listen, I gotta go to Miami and check out Hilde's ex-boyfriend.” I glanced around, waited for a female clerk to pass by, then lowered my tone. “You can do this without losing your cool, right?”

“Yeah. I'm good. It just took me some time to accept all this is happenin'. Man, it seems so unreal.”

“Okay, that's what I told Charlie. Well, keep me posted on what's going down with Costin. It shouldn't take me more than a couple of days at South Beach.”

“Hey, by the way, Bri said we could search Hilde's beach house down there, if we think it might help. They used to live in it together, but Hilde stayed there alone after Bri moved up here. Both their names are on the deed, and she told me where to find the key. I can give you directions to the place. It's thirty, forty minutes up the coast from Miami. Maybe you'll get lucky and turn up a lead there.”

“Yeah, maybe. How long's Hilde been living down there on her own?”

“Ever since she left that Vasquez guy. Bri says their place is kinda remote. She wants to make sure everything's all right down there. Maybe this'll ease her mind some.”

“Sure. Tell me how you get there.”

I listened to the directions, which turned out to be fairly simple and easy to remember, as was the location of the extra key. Behind the glass light fixture on the front porch. Not exactly security conscious, but easy for me to find.

“Bud, you sure it's okay with Bri for me to check out the place and see if I can turn up something?”

Bud nodded and said he was going to track down Walter Costin and see where that led. He was smiling, happy to be back on the job, and I was smiling as I finished up a couple of reports languishing on my desk. With Bri being the sole owner now and giving me permission, I could enter Hilde's residence legally and without the Miami PD tagging along for the ride. Yeah, that way I could take my own sweet time tossing the place for clues about what kind of ugly stuff Hilde had been into in the days and months before her death. Because, so far, dead ends were leading to dead ends.

Fifteen minutes later, I left my desktop in a relative clean state, for me, walked outside, got into my Explorer, and punched in Black's private cell number. He picked up on chirp two.

“It's a go on South Beach. How soon can you get away?”

“The plane's due in any time from JFK. Jude took it home for some kind of modeling commitment, but she's coming back in time for the pageant.”

Well, that struck me as the best news I'd had since I'd found Hilde's mutilated mouth. Black had managed to cheer me up, after all. Except for the Jude coming back part. That rather sucked.

“Too bad, so sad. I'm gonna miss that purty little gal like crazy.”

“She likes you, Claire. She told me you were very nice.”