Remote Consequences (5 page)

"Nice car."

The unexpected voice from the back seat made my throat emit a high-pitched squeak as my eyes darted up to the rearview mirror.

A thirty-something male sat in my back seat. His eyes were piercing, hair cut military short, and his mouth—dangerous. I reached for my bag. It contained an industrial-sized pepper spray, and I intended to use it.

"Don't bother. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to help you."

My hand froze in mid-motion.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?"

"That's not important. I heard you found something today, and I think I can help you."

My mind raced through possible scenarios. Find cell phone, call cops. Jump out of car, run for help. But he didn't seem aggressive. He seemed calm, almost unnaturally calm. Fear did not overwhelm me, but caution remained.

"I'd be more comfortable chatting if we'd met under, say, any circumstances other than you breaking into my car."

His expression softened and the tension in my shoulders lessened a notch.

"My apologies. Old habit."

I turned to look at him directly. One hand on the door handle. Ready to bolt if not for the fact that I'd be abandoning Stella. "Old habit? What are you, a friendly retired robber?"

This entire conversation seemed like something out of a wicked dream. In fact, this day continued on its course of the sublimely strange.

"Let's just say, our government trained me how to enter places quietly, and besides…I didn't break in. Your car was unlocked."

I thought about his words. Government training? Military haircut?  

"Well, what is it you want from me?" Getting to the point was another one of my personal superpowers.

Another disarming grin from the secret agent man in the back seat. "It's not what I want from you. It's what you need from me."

"Great. Riddles."

He chuckled softly, and the sound caused a few stray bumps to emerge and salute him from my forearms. Whether the chills were from fear or attraction, I couldn't quite tell yet. But one thing was certain: I needed sleep in a serious way. A man breaks into my car, and I'm getting chills from his laughter.

He interrupted my thoughts. "Sorry. I overheard you chatting in the café today. You found a body at Mayor Mills' house."

I turned my upper torso around to face him. He wasn't asking a question—he was making more of a statement of fact. "You heard that?"

He nodded. "What can you tell me about the body?"

I swallowed. Someone actually wanted to hear my story and not make me the punch line. This was the fourth person today I'd discussed the body with, but the first person who'd made me feel at ease about it. "Why should I tell you? Who are you?"

He seemed to ponder my question carefully and then made a move to reach behind his back. I darted for my bag and tried to locate the canister of spray. I wrapped my hand around the first oblong object I found and pulled it out—thrusting it toward him.

"Nice bone."

My eyes cut over to the object I was holding. One of Pickles' chewed bones. Mangled and dirty. So much for my self-defense training. If he'd been reaching for a weapon, I'd be dead by now.

Luckily, what he'd retrieved from his back pocket was a newspaper clipping.

I dropped the chew toy on the car seat and reached for the paper.

He spoke in a calm, deep voice. "I think I know who the body belongs to."

*  *  *

I pulled up to 973 Edgewood Road just after five. I'd never been so glad to see Aunt Patty's house.

It seemed a bit like a mirage after the day I'd had. I stepped out of the car. Blue jeans and a white tank top adorned my tired body. I could almost hear Patty telling me to eat more—fatten up, men like a little something to hold on to. The memory made my heart ache for her wit.

My mystery man had left the article with me and told me he'd meet me for breakfast at the café. I'd told him that I had to be on duty by seven thirty, and he'd asked if six a.m. was fine. I'd agreed, but early mornings weren't my thing. Of course, there'd been a time just a few weeks ago that I'd been at the hospital doing rounds with the residents at five every morning. Only then, it had seemed important and exciting.

My booted feet clomped up the porch steps to the kitchen door, and I pulled open the screen. Before I could get inside, I heard the door screech open next door.

"Mandy, honey, is that you?"

Crap on a stick.

I'd forgotten about Ms. Lanier and her boiled buttock.

I turned and waved. "Yes, Ms. Lanier. I'll be right over. Let me just wash up."

"All right, then. I made camp stew. Are you hungry?"

My ears perked up at the offering of a home-cooked meal. Unfortunately, I'd never paid much attention when it came to cooking. It wasn't the first time I'd wished I had paid more mind to the things Aunt Patty had tried to teach me. Camp stew. A mixture of barbecued pork, chicken, potatoes, lima beans, corn, and tomatoes. It was a heavenly creation that would save me from a night of yet another leftover casserole from the funeral stash in the fridge.

"Be right there," I called again, and entered the kitchen just long enough to drop my purse, pat Pickles on the head and refill his food and water dishes, and give my hands a thorough washing at the kitchen sink. I placed the newspaper article next to my bag and decided to deal with that later.

Right now, I had a date with a huge bowl of stew and a woman with a sore bottom. I was living the dream life.

"At least I've got you, huh, Pickles?"

He snorted but didn't lift his head from the bowl of food.

*  *  *

Two bowls of stew, two dozen Saltine crackers, and a glass of sweet tea later, I was still eyeing the dish of peach cobbler steaming on the nearby counter. Obviously, my appetite was still lingering after the less-than-stellar lunch I'd endured with my old
friend
Penny. There'd been nothing wrong with the food, but it had been difficult to eat when Penny was tossing nosey questions at me left and right.

There were no secrets in Millbrook. At least, that was what I'd always thought until today. Someone had a secret. Someone in the Mills family. And I intended to find out what it was if for no other reason than pure medical curiosity. I wanted to know more about this ice man. Maybe without the help of the police. Maybe
with
the help from my breaking and entering mystery man. I really needed a name for him. Maybe he'd reveal it tomorrow at breakfast.

"I'll wrap up some peach cobbler for you to take home. Will Paget be able to come home tomorrow?"

 At the mention of my hospitalized sister, I popped back to reality out of my fantasy world of secret agent men and mysterious dead bodies. My life was usually much less intriguing and much more plain old frightening.

"Yes, ma'am. Dr. C. is keeping her over night just for observation."

Ms. Lanier nodded as she cleared the table and placed the empty bowl and spoon in the suds-filled sink to soak.

"I expect it'll be a good night's rest for you, too."

I nodded, but the nod didn't even convince me. "Ms. Lanier. I came across something today when I was working at Mayor Mills' house, and I was wondering if I could talk to you about it."

Ms. Lanier propped herself against the clean counter and waited.

"So, I found a dead body in the freezer." No sense recounting the entire story again. Frankly, I was tired of telling it. Better to just jump to the punch line.

She didn't even blink at the news. No shocked expression. No eye rolling. No tone of disbelief when she said, "I'll bet it was that Myrna Mills. I never did trust that bitty."

Now it was my turn to gawk and express shock. "Now, Ms. Lanier…you don't know that. This all could have been just an accident. Maybe the police will go by and get this sorted out. Maybe there is a perfectly reasonable explanation."

She puckered her lips at my words. Then emitted a tsk-tsk sound. "You can't be serious, Mandy. What possible reasonable explanation could there be for a dead body in a freezer? What did it look like, anyway?"

I thought about it. "You know, I didn't hang around long enough to come up with a real description. It was kind of shocking. But it was a grown man, and he was curled up."

"Mmm hmm. Huh." She began to pace around the kitchen with a bit of a limp. "Well, I was gonna say if it was a woman that it was Myrna's doin' for sure. That Dougie never could keep his pants on."

I let out a little laugh. "Wow. A politician who cheats. What a novel idea."

"Yeah, the word is he's been sleeping with that housekeeper for years. So what did you do after you found it?" She stopped behind one of the table's chairs and balanced herself with one of the seatbacks.

Amika.

"Wait…Amika? The German-sounding housekeeper with those vivid blue eyes?"

"Yep. Oh yeah. Everyone knows about it, but no one says anything. You know how most of this town treats them like the royal family."

Oh, I knew, all right. But I decided to get back to our conversation at hand.

"Anyway, I went to the police station and told them, but they kind of gave me a hassle."

She shook her head slowly. "Those boys down there don't know how to handle this stuff. What you need is a real man like that Gil Grissom."

I ticked off names in my mind and couldn't seem to place the name. "Gil who?"

"I know he's out there in Vegas, but he'd know what to do with this body situation."

"Vegas? What are you talking about?"

"He comes on television every Thursday night—well, he used to, anyway."

The pieces finally snapped together in my mind. "Do you mean from the show
CSI
?"

She gave me a short grunt. "Of course I do. Who do you think I'm talking about? This kind of body discovery would be perfect for that show."

I opened my mouth to explain that it was a fiction-based show. That those weren't real forensic experts. But I just let it go. So much for Ms. Lanier being a true genius underneath all that body powder and hairspray.

"I was kind of thinking about doing a little investigating of my own, but I don't know where to start."

She grinned at me. "I'll think on it and let you know."

I might have officially lost it, but I was about to take the advice of one little old lady and agree to the help of a man who claimed to be a government spy.

"Well, I guess I'd better head home for now. I need some rest if I'm going to embark on this new adventure. Plus, I have to figure out who is going to care for Paget while I'm off working and snooping. I called Kendra and had to let her know that I wouldn't be needing her services any longer."

"What did she say happened?" Ms. Lanier inquired.

"Oh, she seemed really nonplussed about the whole thing. She claimed she was in the bathroom when Paget slipped out and she didn't even know she was gone until she couldn't find her at lunchtime. I mean, Paget has slipped out on me before, but it was really Kendra's lack of concern that worried me. Of course, now I'm back with zero care lined up."

Ms. Lanier opened a cabinet over the sink and extracted an old whipped-topping container and the matching lid. "I may have an idea on that."

She pulled a long-handled spoon from the drawer and began scooping heaping mounds of cobbler into the plastic container. My eyes were nearly watering with anticipation.

"Oh, yeah? Like what?"

Ms. Lanier finished filling the container and then turned toward me, eyes sparkling. "I know someone who is looking for a little extra work. But you have to be open-minded."

I wasn't sure how much more open-minded I could be. I'd take anyone responsible enough to keep Paget safe at this point.

"I think I can do that."

Ms. Lanier was beaming. "Oh, good…good. I'll set everything up, then. You go on home and get some rest now."

I wanted to ask more questions about the new caregiver idea, but Ms. Lanier was ushering me out the door with the covered bowl of sugary goodness.

My bed was calling to me, and I figured tomorrow would be another long day.

"Oh, but before you go…can you take a look at this?"

I was almost to the door with my container of bliss when I stopped and turned around. Ms. Lanier was untying her apron and lifting up her dress. Her belly bulged over a tight pair of pantyhose. The hosiery had started to roll downward over her generous midsection.

"I hope you don't mind taking a look at my little problem. I can't imagine showing this to that handsome Dr. Cavello."

Oh, geez. Appetitus interruptus.

You never miss the water till the well has run dry. –Irish Proverb

Towel wrapped around me, I waited in the after-shower mugginess for my reflection to become visible in the fogged mirror. Chewing on my lower lip, I shed the towel and donned hot-pink panties and an oversized T-shirt before swiping my damp towel across the mirror to create one clear corner.

Tired eyes stared back at me. I'd stayed in the shower until the hot water heater had finally given up. Despite my best effort to wash away the stress of the day, worry still lingered in plain sight. Were those wrinkles forming on my forehead? Wasn't I too young for wrinkles?

I shrugged at myself and then pulled a red-tipped vent brush through the long, wet strands of my hair. Opening the bathroom door, I was greeted by the lonely face of Pickles.

"Hey, boy, ready for bed?"

He stood and trotted down the hallway toward the back of the house. I watched as he stopped just outside Patty's closed bedroom door.

"No, boy. I'm sleeping in the den. Remember?"

He sat down in front of Patty's door and emitted a small whine.

It would be nice to sleep in a real bed. I hadn't had a good night's sleep since I'd arrived here, and that ancient sofa was likely the culprit. I walked down the hall and stood above him. We both stared at the closed door.

Another whimper from Pickles.

I reached down and patted his firm but smooth head. "I know, boy. I miss her too."