Pineapple Lies (3 page)

Penny squinted at her, her expression cold. “You were always a precocious child.”

“Is it a man or a woman? What age?” asked Darla.

“I hope it isn’t a child!” said Mariska.

“I think I heard one of the nerds say the bones were female, but to be honest, I’m not sure. I can tell you the skull was a normal adult size.”

“Oh, that’s good,” said Mariska. “I mean, not
good
, but better.”

“Do you think we
all
have bodies in our yards?” asked Darla, glancing down the street toward her own house as if it were a party guest she’d just found lurking near her good jewelry.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Penny. “This land was nothing but swamp when George and I expanded Pineapple Port, not a grave site.”

“I told you not to build this place on an Indian burial ground,” said Charlotte.

Mariska gasped. “What? It was?”

“I’m just
kidding
.
Poltergeist
reference.”

The women stared at her with blank expressions.

“You know… Little girl gets sucked into the TV? Their house was built on an Indian—”

“Precocious,” muttered Penny.

Charlotte sighed. “Look, never mind. Bottom line is I don’t know much yet, but I’ll tell you everything when I find out. You all go home and let me do the snooping. Maybe if you leave, some of these others will wander off.”

Charlotte watched a woman slowly pass her house, Dachshund in tow. It was the tenth time she’d passed by and the stubby-legged dog looked tired. One more circle and the poor thing would be dragging behind her like a deflated party balloon.

None of the women moved.

“Hello?” said Charlotte. “Did any of you hear me?”

Darla and Penny remained planted on the sidewalk just outside Charlotte’s gate, trapped in a contest to see who could purse their lips more tightly. Bettie’s attention wandered down the block, and Charlotte followed her gaze to find a tall, athletic-built man headed in their direction. He had dark hair; not shaggy, but long enough that Charlotte suspected it took real effort to keep it so perfectly in place. As he neared, his mouth curled into the sort of charming grin that could melt the icing off the ladies’ best church bazaar cupcakes.

He made eye contact with each woman, spending no more or less time on each, and then glanced at the yellow tape half-heartedly hugging Charlotte’s picket fence.

“This must be the place,” he said.

The four women watched, silent, as the young man slipped past them and walked toward the stoop. The grim keeper of Charlotte’s doorstep turned towards him as he approached, preparing for battle.

Good luck with her
.

After a short conversation, the officer stepped aside and allowed the tall stranger to enter her home, her dour puss replaced by two rows of teeth arranged in the shape of a genuine smile.

She giggled as he passed.

Giggled
.

Charlotte would have bet money the woman had never giggled in her life.

Noticing eight eyes upon her, the officer’s face collapsed like window blinds, shifting back to her usual mask of disapproval. She crossed her arms over her chest. Charlotte wonder if the officer had just given her home to the dark-haired man and now planned to keep her out while he redecorated.

“Who the hell was that?” Charlotte said aloud, not expecting an answer.

Darla, Penny and Mariska all answered in unison.

“Declan.”

Chapter Three

Charlotte passed the disapproving gaze of the officer at her door without turning to stone and reentered her home. She found the handsome stranger in her living room, bent over, scratching Abby behind her ears. Abby stretched and groaned, shifting her butt toward the man in order to offer him more spots for attention. He apparently had a mystical power over all women, regardless of species.

She glared at Abby, who remained oblivious to her failings as a watchdog.

Charlotte rolled the man’s name over in her mind. She’d heard it before. He was the one who swept in and bought all the best things at the estate sales Mariska and Darla loved to peruse. She’d heard Mariska lament that she missed all the good stuff because ‘Declan had already picked it over.’ She’d pictured him older.

“Declan?”

Declan looked up, gave the dog one last pet and straightened. He scratched his nose, and Charlotte saw he had large hands; each of his long, elegant fingers ending in perfectly clipped, buffed nails. She wondered if Declan had a woman in his life who worked at one of the four hundred nail salons in the area. He wore no wedding ring. If he were married to a nail technician, she probably would have told him to do his own damn nails by now, so that didn’t make sense…

“Hellooo…?”

Declan’s face was suddenly very close to hers, his bemused smile working the laugh lines on either side of his mouth to maximum visibility. He peered into her eyes and used the hand attached to those elegant fingers to wave, as if she were a window and some small child stood on the opposite side of her skull.

Charlotte took a step back to better focus. Declan smelled like mint and expensive aftershave. It was not unpleasant.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“You called me. Then you sort of phased out.”

Watching him approach outside, she’d guessed Declan to be about six feet tall. Now, to scale with the other things in her home, including herself, she decided he might be closer to six-three. She wondered if he liked being that tall or if it made life difficult. Sitting in plane seats was probably uncomfortable, his knees pressed against the seat in front of him; but on the other hand, he had full access to high cabinet shelves, where most people could keep things only rarely used…

“You did it again,” said Declan.

Charlotte refocused.

“What? I did what? Called you or phased out?”

“Phased out.”

“I did not.”

“Did not,
what
? Call me or phase out?”

“Either.”

“Yes, you did. Both. The phasing bit you did twice.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Declan opened his mouth and then shut it. He took a deep breath.

“Let’s take this from the top. You just came in the front door, right?”

Charlotte looked back at her front door and then crossed her arms across her chest. She added a slight head tilt and twisted her lips, adopting what she would call “the disapproving parent” stare. This con man was not about to convince her that
she
had called him to her house. Who did he think he was? Who did he think
she
was, that she would fall for such a scam?

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Answer me first. You just walked in, right?”

She thought about her answer, concerned it was a trap. She couldn’t find the harm in responding.

“Yes.”

“And you said ‘Declan’ right?”

Charlotte’s scowl released like a spring trap, her mouth forming into a small ‘o.’

“Oh, you mean I
called
you…”

“
You called me.
Right. By name. See? Unless I’m not Declan anymore and, well I can check my driver’s license…” he twisted his body, pretending to reach for his wallet.

“No, no. I see what you’re saying. I did say your name.”

“Told you.”

“I thought you were saying I
called
you to this house. Like on the phone.”

He stopped pantomiming the move for his wallet and grinned.

“No worries,” he said, leaning forward and lightly tapping her shoulder.

She instinctively jerked away from his touch. Declan registered her flinch and pulled back his hand, smile failing for a nanosecond. He ran his shoulder-tapping hand through his hair.

“How did you get in here?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean why did the officer let you in here?”

“I told her I was I was a consultant.”

“A consultant of what?”

“She didn’t ask.”

Charlotte scowled, remembering the officer’s giggle. Abby wasn’t the only crappy watchdog.

“Anyway…” he said, drawing out the word to fill the awkward silence. “I know you didn’t call me here. This was a false alarm. I figured when I saw the crime tape, but I thought I’d double check.”

“False alarm?”

“Oh, sorry.” He held out his hand to shake. “I’m Declan, as you know. I own the Hock-o-Bell Pawnshop in town.”

Charlotte shook his hand.

“Did you say the
Hock
-o-Bell?”

Declan adopted a serious countenance, so serious, it bordered on sadness.

“It’s named after my dear, departed mother, the Belle of Swansea.”

Charlotte squinted. “Really?”

“No. Just kidding. It’s a play on the restaurant. I just moved the shop to an abandoned Taco Bell.”

Declan pulled his wallet from his back pocket and retrieved a business card. He handed it to her.

She studied it and then put it on her counter, mumbling, “Make a run for the hoarder.”

She smiled at the look of surprise that leapt to his face. It was if he’d just noticed her standing there. She felt like she’d been in a movie starring Declan, until she’d diverted him from his scripted lines. He seemed lost.

“That’s funny,” he said. “
Make a run for the hoarder.
Can I steal that?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure it’s
me
you need to clear it with.”

Declan replaced his wallet and thrust his hands in his pockets, still grinning and staring at her. Charlotte found it unnerving. Her eyes darted to Abby, who lay at his feet, her chin resting on his toes.

Traitor.

“Anyway, false alarm,” said Declan. “I come around when the, uh, residents…you know…
move on
. But this fellow apparently passed a long time ago. Just as well.”

“What do you mean, just as well?”

Declan made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “There isn’t anything of value here. It’s practically barren. It looks like a dorm room. Like some kind of crazy professor off his meds lives here.”

“Hm,” said Charlotte, following his gaze as it swept her home. She’d never noticed how empty it was. Stacks of books leaned against the walls and against each other. Two short sofas with different patterns, a table, and a rickety dining room chair were the only pieces of furniture. She made a mental note to write
decorate
on her chalkboard wall.

She looked at the strapping gentleman insulting her abode. She could feel a scowl creeping down her forehead, but was powerless to stop it.

“So you swoop in when old people die to buy their worldly possessions for your shop.”

Declan winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I actually pay good money for good items. There are vultures around here who
do
try to steal what they can, but I always try to be fair. That’s why they call me Fair Declan!”

“They do?”

“No. But they
could
.”

“But they wouldn’t because it isn’t very catchy.”

“No, not really.”

He stared at her again. His head tilted to the right.

“Wait. How did
you
get in here? Are you visiting your grandparents? Oh no…is this their house?”

Charlotte shook her head.

“Whew,” he said, putting his hand on his chest. “Thought I might have put my foot in my mouth there for a second.”

She said nothing as he awaited his answer.

“So… What
are
you doing here?” he asked.

“I live here.”

“In the area?”

“
In the house
,” she said sweeping her arm towards the living room. “Home, sweet dorm room.”

Declan screwed his eyes shut as if in pain.

“You live
here?
You can’t possibly be over fifty-five.”

“No, I grew up here. I’ve been grandfathered in, so to speak.”

“Are you a professor?”

“No. I just like to read.”

“Are you off your meds?”

Charlotte glowered at him.

“Sorry.
Kidding
. Jeeze. I really am sorry. I didn’t—I mean, it’s a nice house. Uncluttered. Furniture is over-rated.”

“Uh huh.”

“I apologize for any and all misunderstandings,” he said, clapping his hands together. “I feel as though I’ve overstayed my welcome and I’ll be on my way.”

He thrust out his hand to shake again. “Nice to meet you.”

Charlotte was trying to decide whether to shake his hand or flip him off when one of the officers from the backyard dig entered and allowed her to keep her lady-like air.

“Hey Declan, you’re still here,” said the deputy, smiling and wiping his sweaty brown on his sleeve. He gave his belt a hard yank to pull it over his belly.

“Yeah, Daniel, I was just heading out.”

Charlotte looked at the deputy and then back at Declan, her hand now enveloped in his. Everyone seemed to know the handsome pawnbroker. Maybe Deputy Daniel tipped him about deaths in the neighborhood. Declan probably had dinner with the ambulance drivers every Thursday. He was a
ghoul
. He made his living from the death of her friends.

“We were just saying we had something for you,” said the deputy, holding aloft a plastic evidence bag.

“Oh yeah?”

He gave Charlotte’s hand one last short shake before releasing.

“I mean, if it wasn’t evidence,” said Daniel. “We pulled a necklace from the bone pile.”

The officer held up the bag for Declan to see. Inside, Charlotte saw a sunflower, attached to a gold chain. Even with dirt caked to the delicate petals, the bright yellow and orange enamel glowed in the sun streaming through her front window.

“Think it’s worth anything?” asked Daniel.

Charlotte’s lip curled.

“Daniel,
really
,” she said, but the deputy didn’t acknowledge her statement. He didn’t shift his stare from Declan.

“What is it?” he asked. “Declan? Are you okay?”

Charlotte followed his gaze and saw the blood had drained from the pawnbroker’s face. Declan swallowed and took a step forward, his arm lifting to touch the bottom of the evidence bag. Daniel released the sealed bag into his open palm. Declan stood, staring at the necklace, his thumb moving the bag against the flower to remove more dirt from the petals inside.

Pale, he looked at the deputy.

“I know who she is,” he said.

“You recognize the necklace?” Charlotte asked.

Declan nodded, his eyes never leaving the bag.

“I gave it to her.”