Love Game (20 page)

I called Bridget from the hospital-lobby pay phone, and she answered after the first ring.

“No, I will not sit on your face. No, I will not bark like a dog. No, I will not call you Mommy. But let me tell you about Susan B. Anthony,” she said.

“Bridget, it’s me, Gladie.”

“Oh, Gladie, thank goodness it’s you. It’s been so long since I got a non-sex call. This is a non-sex call, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I was just wondering if you’d like to go on a field trip with me.”

I MET
Bridget at her place, and we drove up the mountain in her Volkswagen Beetle. The phone didn’t stop ringing, but she was very good about not using it while she was driving.

“I can’t figure these men out,” she said. “Why do they keep calling? What pleasure could I be giving
them? I’ve been trying to analyze it, but I don’t think I’m any closer to the truth.”

“I think it’s a pretty base pleasure they receive.”

“Amazing that this idiotic, animalistic gender has subjugated females for millennia.”

Poor Bridget, she was having no luck turning around the perverts to her cause.

“Maybe you should have the number changed,” I suggested, “so you don’t have to talk to these guys.”

“I’m not giving up yet, Gladie. I still have hope.”

I filled Bridget in on the murder. She thought the logical answer was a partner in crime, but, since no money was involved, I had my doubts about that idea.

“Let’s see what we find,” I said.

The drive seemed shorter in the light of day, but the dirt road was still as muddy as it had been last night. Emergency services had torn up the area where they parked, providing us with a clear sign where to stop. Long tracks cut through the road and into the grove.

“What a mess,” Bridget said.

My body tingled, and I felt the rush of blood in my ears. I hopped out of the car and walked into the grove, careful to look down for clues.

“What are we looking for?” Bridget asked.

“Something. Anything. I just have a feeling. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You sound like Zelda,” she said.

“No I don’t.”

“But with her it’s love; with you it’s murder.”

“That’s so not true,” I said.

We reached the dog a few minutes later. The police
hadn’t even bothered to rebury it. “First we found the dog,” I explained.

“I know that dog,” Bridget said. “I recognize the collar.” There were no tags on the collar, but it was decorated with little Batman symbols. “It’s Jim Farrow’s dog. What’s he doing way up here?”

“Who’s Jim Farrow?”

“He’s a plumber. Lives on Gold Digger Avenue. He fixed my toilet once and brought his dog with him. What was her name? Oh, yeah. Paws. Poor Paws. I guess Jim wanted her buried up in the grove. Nice place for a dog.”

I leaned down. I couldn’t tell if Paws had died of natural causes, but her death was recent. There wasn’t a lot of decomposition.

“It’s a big coincidence, two corpses up here, even if one is a dog,” I said.

“Gladie, maybe folks are buried up here all the time, and we just didn’t know about it.”

It was an interesting hypothesis, but it didn’t ring true. The grove was a busy place: The trees were big business, and a lot of people were employed to handle them. The bodies would have been discovered sooner or later.

“Where are the workers?” I asked, looking around. “Shouldn’t they be pruning or something?”

“The big harvest is done. It’s seasonal work up here. They have a few weeks off now, at least.”

“Let’s keep looking around,” I said.

The area where Rellik had been dumped was framed in police tape. Little flags dotted the ground, which I suspected marked where the body was found.

I froze in place and scanned the area. Last night, the body was hiding amid a lot of brush, and the trees were intact. Today, branches were broken and the brush was trampled on and dispersed in piles around the area.

Emergency services had done a number on it. I was sure the police had taken photos before they started removing brush, but the chances that Spencer would show me those photos were slim to none.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember the scene. It was hard, since it had been dark, I had been on my hands and knees, and then I had upchucked and run away.

“It was like he had been thrown over there,” I said, pointing to a place under a tree. “Dumped.”

“The murderer must have been strong,” Bridget noted.

“Good point. He must have been very strong. Rellik wasn’t a small man.”

“So he was killed somewhere else and dumped here,” Bridget said.

“Another good point, Bridget.”

I lifted the police tape and ducked under it. I studied the ground where Rellik was found but didn’t find any blood.

“I think you’re right, Bridget. He had a lot of holes in him. It would mean a lot of blood.”

We searched the area, turning up leaves and twigs. We found an old newspaper, a rusty spoon, and a ChapStick. Nothing to bring us any closer to unraveling the mystery of Michael Rellik’s death.

“We’re missing something,” I said. “I know we are. Something’s up here.”

I dropped to my hands and knees and combed through the underbrush with my fingers. Bridget searched the branches.

“I’m thirsty,” she said after about an hour. “I’ve got snacks in the car. How about we take a break?”

I was disappointed. I had been sure there was something here for us to find, something that would give us important information. Without it, I was no closer to getting answers, and I really, really wanted answers. But these days, since I’d moved in with my junk-food-loving grandmother, I never said no to snacks.

I stood up and dusted myself off. My clean clothes were now dirty but still intact, and I was loving my shearling coat. So much better than a threadbare Cleveland Browns sweatshirt. Bridget took a step away from the tree and yelped.

“Oh, wow, I almost did a Gladie,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Almost doing a Gladie could mean a lot of different things.

“I almost stepped on this.” She bent down and picked up a nail from the ground.

“Is that blood on it?” I asked.

The nail was straight and new—clean, except for the blood. Bridget wrapped it in a tissue and put it in her purse. “Was that what you were looking for?” she asked.

Something told me it was. We’d have to get it to Spencer to make sure, but my tingly feeling was telling me the nail in Bridget’s purse had made the holes in Rellik’s chest.

I was thirsty now, too, and couldn’t wait to open a
celebratory bottle of water. We stopped a few yards away from where we’d left Bridget’s car by the side of the road and stared at it.

“Are we moving, or is my car moving?” Bridget asked.

“I think it’s your car.” It was rocking in place with a lot of gusto but going nowhere.

“What could make it move like that?”

“An earthquake?” I guessed.

“An earthquake that only affects the ground under my car?”

She was probably asking the wrong person, since I thought I was living through the zombie apocalypse just last night.

“Maybe a sinkhole,” I said.

“Do you hear that?”

There was a low rumbling noise that came and went, and it seemed to be coming from inside Bridget’s car.

“A volcano?” I guessed again. None of my theories were very reassuring. We walked closer to the car, watching our step in case there really was an earthquake, sinkhole, or volcano.

“Gladie,” Bridget asked, “are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“I doubt it.”

“That’s good, because I’m seeing a bear in my car.”

“Oh, well, then, yeah, I’m seeing what you’re seeing,” I said.

“Gladie, there’s a bear in my Volkswagen Beetle.”

“It’s got a lot more headroom than you’d expect for such a small car.” The bear was sitting in the driver’s seat, happily eating our snacks, but after a moment it
looked up, noticed us, and growled a ferocious sound. It clawed at the seat, doing enormous damage.

“I wonder if I’m covered for bear,” Bridget said.

“Bridget, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Bridget grabbed my arm and stood firmly rooted to her spot. “No. We’re supposed to freeze. Go ahead, Gladie, play dead like me.”

“Isn’t that what you do for possums? Play dead?” I asked, never looking away from the bear.

“I don’t know. I’ve never had a possum in my car. I’ve only had a bear in my car.”

I didn’t want to die like that, eaten by a bear. It was way down on my list. Below malaria but a notch above being burned alive.

“I vote for running,” I said.

“I don’t think I can, Gladie. I can’t feel my legs.”

“I’ll feel them for you. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“I can’t move.”

Our debate came to a crashing halt when the bear finished the snacks and grew tired of ripping apart the car’s interior. It slid out of the car, dropping huge, clawed paws onto the muddy ground.

“I’m closing my eyes now,” I said.

“It’s looking right at us,” Bridget whispered. “Keep playing dead.”

“In a minute we won’t have to play,” I said.

“It’s turning around and walking the other way.”

“Maybe it’s going to get mustard.”

I opened one eye to see the bear’s butt recede into the grove. I exhaled loudly, and my body slumped.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Bridget said. Obviously Bridget could feel her legs again: She was running full out to her car. I wasn’t far behind.

We had to tag-team the drive back into town, because the bear had eaten the driver’s seat. I crouched down and did the pedals while Bridget handled the steering wheel, and we drove that way until we got to the police station.

We bypassed the front desk and marched straight to Spencer’s office. He jumped up from his desk and put his hand over his face.

“What is that smell?” he asked.

“Bear,” Bridget said.

“Excuse me?”

“We found something,” I announced. “For our case.”

Spencer’s eyes got big. “
Our
case? What case is that, Miss Marple?”

“Rellik, of course.” I heard him grind his teeth together. “Are you crying?” I asked.

“You stink,” he explained. “You’re making my eyes water.”

“Show him what we got, Bridget.”

“I don’t want to see,” said Spencer. “Pinkie, you’re giddy again. It’s written all over you.”

“No I’m not.”

“Not only are you giddy, but you’re more giddy. You’re giddy up.”

Bridget dug the tissue-wrapped nail out of her purse. “Here,” she said, handing it to him.

He took it and unwrapped it. “Probie!” he yelled.

Bridget’s phone rang, and she took the call out in the hall. “Finger you?” I heard her ask.

Remington ran into the room. “Yes, boss?” he said, barely glancing my way. He was wearing brown
Dockers and a blue button-down shirt. Spencer showed him the nail.

“What did you find in autopsy?” I asked.

“None of your business,” Spencer said.

I turned to Remington. “What did you find in autopsy?”

“Pinkie,” Spencer said in his I’m-warning-you voice.

“May I see the report? May I see the body?” I asked, but Spencer was giving me the cold shoulder.

I sighed and took two steps toward Spencer. He choked and pinched his nose. “Why do we have to dance this dance again?” I asked. “You know how it’s going to end. You’re going to block me and warn me and threaten me, and I’m going to go around you and do what I want.”

Spencer seemed to think about my argument for a moment.

“Is the nail the murder weapon?” I asked.

“Well—” Remington started. He glanced at Spencer, and Spencer nodded. “It may be one of the murder weapons. Rellik was shot multiple times with what we think was a nail gun.”

“Oh,” I said. It made sense. The contractor was killed with one of his tools. “Thank you. Now, was that so hard, Spencer?”

Bridget returned with her phone against her ear. “Yes, I love dogs,” she was saying. “No, I don’t have doggie style, whatever that is.”

“Hey, Remington,” I said. “I think I’m watching you fight tonight.”

Spencer’s eyebrow shot up. “You’re what? He’s what?”

“I can’t go,” Bridget said. She had ended her phone call. “I’m hanging out with Lucy after she’s released from the hospital.”

“Then it will just be me,” I said.