Salvaged to Death (4 page)

“If you need any help with those panties, you know where to find me, Sadie. Day or night. Seriously. And if I’m not there, could you take a picture?”

“Hal, you make me laugh.”

“That time I was serious,” Hal said, his tone petulant.

Sadie was laughing when they pulled up the long lane to Fiona Tomkins’ house. But when the door of her car was ripped open and a shotgun was shoved against her temple, her laughter quickly went away.

They were frog marched into a small house. The man holding a gun on Sadie was wiry, leathery, and probably younger than he looked. The man holding a gun on Hal could have looked like anything—it was difficult to tell under a massive beard that hung below his chin.

“Fiona,” the smaller man called. “Fiona, come out here.”

Fiona came from the back of the house, wiping her hands on a towel. “What the world are you doing, you dang fool?” She walked forward and snatched the guns away from the men, giving the smaller one a shove that sent him flailing into the wall.

“I’m trying to figure out what these strangers are doing here on my land,” he said, quickly righting himself and glaring up at her.

“It’s our land, and don’t you forget it,” Fiona said. She looked in danger of clunking him over the head with one of the guns. They glared at each other, the tension palpable between them.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that this is your ex-husband,” Hal said. Reluctantly, they tore they gazes off each other and fastened them on him.

“Who’s he?” the presumable Mr. Tomkins asked.

“I hired security,” Fiona said. She fisted her hands on her hips. Sadie turned her attention to the unknown man to their right. Was he their son? It was difficult to tell who he looked like under so much facial hair. He regarded her with a solemn, unflinching expression that left her vaguely unsettled. It was as if instead of her trying to figure him, he was figuring her. If the blankness in his eyes was any indication, he wasn’t impressed by what he found.

“What do you mean you hired security?” Mr. Tomkins asked.

“Someone’s been messing with my ladies,” Fiona said.

“I told you I don’t know who done it,” he replied.

“So you say. I hired an investigator to figure it out and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Now Mr. Tomkins turned his attention to Hal, eying the deerstalker cap on top of his head with suspicion. “Do they make you wear those ugly hats?”

“Actually, I’m…” Hal began, but Sadie interrupted.

“He’s not allowed to divulge proprietary secrets,” she said, squeezing closer to Hal as she slipped her arm around his waist.

“And who are you? His secretary?” Mr. Tomkins asked.

“Of course not. I’m his cousin. He said I could tag along and watch him work this case. There’s nothing I love better than spending time with my family.”

“I can’t believe your suspicious mind,” Mr. Tomkins said, returning his attention to Fiona.

“Me? Who’s the one that greeted my guests with a shotgun to the head?” she said.

“I have valuable scrap to guard,” he yelled.

“My valuable pumpkins are being murdered!” she countered.

“No one is touching your pumpkins!” he screamed. “No one’s touched them in years!”

“Then how do you explain Marge?”

“Marge died of natural causes!”

“Having her stem sliced in half is not natural!”

“Her stem wasn’t sliced! It split from too much water!”

“You’re crazy!”

“Crazy is as crazy does!”

Sadie nudged Hal. He stepped forward and extended his hands toward the couple who looked like they were gearing up to come to blows. “Fiona, Mr. Tomkins, let’s agree to disagree for now. My cousin and I will soon get to the bottom of the situation and be out of your hair in no time.” Hal, being Hal, had slipped into an accent reminiscent of Sherlock Holmes. Fiona seemed unfazed by his behavior, but Mr. Tomkins squinted up at him.

“You talk funny.”

“It’s all part of what has made me one of the top twenty private investigators in the eastern half of the northwest quadrant of Virginia,” Hal said. Mr. Tomkins scratched at his whiskers and stared at Hal’s hat.

“Git out of my house,” Fiona said. If she had a broom, she would be brandishing it at her ex-husband and the other mystery man.

“Not without my guns,” Mr. Tomkins said, a feeble show of defiance since she had already propped their guns congenially beside the door.

“Take your guns and stop using them on my guests,” Fiona said.

“I’ll do what I want, when I want as long as it’s still my land,” Mr. Tomkins said, but his bold words didn’t match his meek gesture. He scooted to the door with haste, grabbed his gun, and fled. Behind him, his silent companion trounced without ever having said a word.

“Who was that other man?” Sadie asked.

“That’s Bo,” Fiona answered. “He works for Tom, doing whatever needs done.”

“Tom is your husband,” Sadie surmised.

“Tom Tomkins,” Hal said. “You’re kidding.”

“Ex-husband,” Fiona said with a sigh. “Let me show you to your rooms. She turned and they followed her down a narrow hallway. Sadie was surprised and impressed by the small house. What had looked like a plain brick domicile on the outside turned into a charming cottage on the inside. Cabbage roses and lace abounded, as did framed cross stitch and embroidery. Based on Fiona’s masculine appearance, Sadie would have guessed that Fiona’s house would abound with camouflage and deer heads.

She deposited them in two small, yet equally appealing bedrooms. Each was equipped with a cottage-style single bed, causing Sadie to wonder who Fiona’s guests were. Obviously she must occasionally host someone. Why else were her guestrooms so adorably appointed? As soon as Sadie retrieved her suitcases and set them down, she made her way to Hal’s room and sat on his bed.

He sat beside her. “Are you going to tell me why you’re my cousin now? And why I’m now in charge of this investigation? Not that I’m complaining because I’ve totally got it in the bag. The husband is guilty, and the silent beard guy is his cohort.”

“My usual technique is not going to work here,” Sadie said.

“You mean the one where you stun people with your beauty, fool them into thinking you’re a shallow airhead, and then dazzle them with your brilliance,” he said.

“Yes. Totally wrong for this setting. People here respect authority, and they don’t see women as authority figures. We’ve stumbled back to the nineteenth century. For the duration of our stay, you’re the expert, and I’m along to learn your techniques.”

“Excellent,” Hal said. “What do you think we should do first?”

“Nap.”

“This is why you only have one client,” he said.

“We’re going to stakeout the pumpkin patch tonight. We need some rest,” she said.

He bounced lightly on the bed. “Why does it have to be a single? We could have napped together. Cousins nap together all the time, right?”

“Totally,” she agreed. “As long as they’re under the age of two.” She patted his head, scuttled back to her room, and made herself fall asleep.

She awoke sometime later to a glorious smell. The house was redolent with the scent of sausage and fried apples. Her nose led her to the kitchen where she found Fiona and Hal.

“Fiona, your divorce is official, right? I like to make sure before I ask a woman to marry me,” Hal said. He was practically drooling beside the stove, and Sadie didn’t blame him. If the food tasted half as good as it smelled, then it would be delicious.

Fiona deftly flipped whatever was on the burner. Her hands spanned almost the width of the pan; she dwarfed Hal, both in girth and height, and yet she blushed like a schoolgirl at the attention.

“Oh, now,” she said, setting the pan back on the stove with a clatter.

“Good morning,” Sadie said. “Or rather good evening.”

“Hi, sunshine,” Hal said, smiling.

“Did you sleep?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Hal, you didn’t sleep last night either,” she chided.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m used to pulling all-nighters. Sleep is for the weak. All I need is a steady supply of caffeine. Incidentally, I’m seeing four of you right now, but it’s not cause for alarm until I start seeing six.”

“You’re going to fall asleep in the pumpkin patch,” she said.

“Apologize to the Great Pumpkin for me, will you?” Hal said. Fiona directed them to the table. She hadn’t contributed anything to the conversation, but Sadie thought that was the way she liked it. She was a quiet, steady sort of person. Like Luke. A wave of longing for him hit her like a fist to the gut. She pushed it aside.

Fiona closed her eyes in what might have been prayer. Sadie dropped her head, trying to remember the mealtime grace her family used to say. “God is great, God is good, let us thank him for our food.” Gideon had always turned “food” into a joke, making it rhyme with “good” to tease Sadie and her mother. As the years waned, Victoria had found it less cute until eventually the prayer was dropped altogether and family meals disintegrated into tense silence.

The food, though heavy, was delicious. Sadie and Hal told Fiona so. She didn’t reply, but her ample cheeks warmed again, and she smiled a little. She had a dimple if one was inclined to look closely. Fiona was a woman of contrasts. Sadie liked interesting people. She could probably do quite a case study on her hostess. In a way, she and Fiona were mirror images of each other. She was dainty and feminine with blond goldilocks curls and wide blue eyes. She gave the image of someone who had never broken a nail, much less climbed a tree. But inwardly she was still the tomboy she had once been—the daddy’s girl who loved nothing better than fishing, skipping rocks, and target practice. Fiona, on the other hand, had all the looks of a masculine warrior and yet seemed to like all things frilly. Together, they were the perfect woman. Or man. Maybe both.

“Sadie, it always alarms me when you’re quiet and introspective, something that has been happening far too often lately,” Hal said. He had been carrying the conversation for the last few minutes, Sadie realized with a jolt. Without Luke to counterbalance her act-first, think-second nature, she was filling his role. She shook her head, both to rid herself of thoughts of Luke and his careful, alarmist tendencies.

“Tell me about your ex-husband,” Sadie commanded. “I need to get a better sense of who he is.”

“He uses a lot of pretty words,” Fiona said. “I know he’s not much to look at, but he talks a good game. People follow him. They do his bidding. Women like him. He can be charming when he wants.” She frowned and stabbed an apple.

“Did he use that charm on someone else?” Sadie guessed.

Fiona nodded. “A waitress at the diner. I thought it was harmless flirting. I found out otherwise and threw him out.”

“How long have you been apart?”

“Three years—divorced two.”

“You didn’t waste any time going through with a divorce,” Sadie observed. Some couples were separated for years before finally making it official.

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” The way she brandished her knife as she spoke made the words more foreboding. Shame on anyone who tried to get the drop on Fiona Tomkins; she was ready for them.

“And Bo, what’s his story?” Sadie asked. There was something about the man that bugged her, and she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was almost as if he was familiar in some way, when she knew she had never met him. Even without the beard she was sure she didn’t recognize him.

Fiona shrugged. “He’s a drifter. We get a fair amount of them on the mountain. They want anonymity or nature for whatever reason and then they move on. He’s been here about six months—longer than most. He and Tom hit it off right away, which doesn’t say much for his smarts. Those who follow Tom are never the brightest bulbs, myself included.”

“Love has nothing to do with intelligence,” Hal interjected. “Who among us hasn’t fallen for a pretty face and flowery words?”

Me,
Sadie thought. She had a heavy dose of cynicism when it came to empty flattery, especially after her ill-fated marriage. She hadn’t fallen for Kai because he called her pretty; she had fallen for him because he offered escape. Compliments were not her danger zone—escape hatches were.

They finished supper and helped Fiona clean up. She seemed tired, an introvert’s cue that she needed a break from her company. That fit with Sadie’s plan anyway. She tugged Hal outside and to her car.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“We’re going to pay a little visit to Tom Tomkins and see what he might have up his sleeve. I don’t trust him, and I really don’t trust his bearded henchman. Suit up, this is your moment to shine.”

“I’ve been waiting for this my whole life,” Hal said. He put the deerstalker cap on. “I wanted to get a pipe, but it wasn’t in the budget. How do people afford to smoke? Clearly they’re not doctors.”

“You could probably go to any field around here and cut tobacco, if you’re interested,” Sadie said.

“Some other time, perhaps. For now I have a case to solve: the case of the pernicious pumpkin.”

Sadie shook her head.

“Too pretentious?” Hal said. “I’m trying to stick with alliteration since it’s all the rage around here. Who names their son Tom Tomkins?”

“Maybe it’s a nickname,” Sadie suggested as they drove up a long dirt lane. Unlike Fiona’s long dirt lane, this one was clearly new. Hers had grooves from long years of use. This one looked like it had been recently plowed. At the end, they found the largest salvage yard either of them had ever seen. It was surrounded by a high fence and razor wire. Nearby, a dog barked. Not the squeaky chirp of a toy dog like Bon-bon. This one was the resonant war cry of a canine intent on wreaking carnage.

At the forefront of the salvage yard was an ugly wooden shack. Inside, lights were on. Hal and Sadie stepped from the car, expecting to have more guns shoved at their temples, but nothing happened. They walked sedately, albeit quickly, to the shack and went inside.

Tom Tomkins sat behind an ugly metal desk, Bo flanking his right like any proper henchman. They might have been visiting a mob boss in the city instead of a wiry junkyard owner in the middle of nowhere.

“Good evening, Mr. Tomkins,” Hal said. He made no move to sit because there were no chairs. Tom Tomkins sat in the only chair. Did Bo stand all the time, Sadie wondered. No wonder he looked so grumpy.

“Evenin’,” Mr. Tomkins said, as if words were currency and he needed to clip them for the sake of economy.