The Body in the Landscape (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 5) (6 page)

Nine

“I
wondered how long you could hold out,” drawled the baritone that answered. “Where are you?”

“Big Rack Lodge,” I said, picturing the man on the other end of the line. Dusky brown curls, gray eyes, and dimples. I sketched his lean, tall physique in the pose of the Ancient Greek Lysippos’s bronze
Athlete
statue. One hand of the runner reached toward his curls where I sketched in a phone instead of a laurel wreath. The other dangled naturally in mid-stride, just as Luke was most likely pacing to a place of privacy.

“So,” I continued, “I found a dead body today.”

“You sure know how to throw cold water on a guy,” said Luke
.
“It’s been a long time since I’
ve
even caught a glimpse of you, let alone heard from you
.
”

“Two weeks,” I said. “I had pizza for Thanksgiving.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Thanksgiving was a bit tense here too.”

“I’m sure it was hard for your family to nibble turkey while discussing how best to keep my brother incarcerated.”

The silence on the other side reminded me how chilly the night had grown.

“Sorry. Still a touchy subject in my family.” I rolled the pencil between my fingers. “Anyway, I was painting in the woods and found an older man who had fallen into a stream and hit his head. A local ne’er-do-well.”

“How far was the fall?” asked Luke.

“About six feet, I’d say. Face up.” I shivered.

“Fell backward? I’m sorry you had to see that, sugar. I guess you’ve been busy with the local police?”

“They deemed it an accident. Although my rookie deputy may think otherwise.”

“Your rookie?” I could almost hear Luke’s eyes narrow. “What’s his name?”

“Deborah. I might have found my match in the not-good-at-keeping-your-mouth-shut department.”

The tension in his voice eased. “What’d you do? Go out for a beer after your witness statement and got her to spill her suspicious death hunches?”

“Not even. I don’t think she likes me. And she doesn’t want to tell me her hunches. My hunch is they don’t match her superior’s. Around here, Abel Spencer is known as a sneaky gossip and drunk with no friends. I met an Abel Spencer the night before he died who was nosy, but not drunk. And he raised the sweetest dogs, Luke.”

“You met the victim the night he died? Are you the last known witness?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “The TV news said he was at a nearby trailer. And I can’t get a whole lot of information from Rookie Holt except when she slips.”

“No wonder she doesn’t trust you.”

“Hey now. It’s not like I’m a suspect. But I wonder if she does have a suspect? She sure doesn’t like the local contestant in this hunt.”

“You’re probably reading more into it than necessary. You do have an imagination.”

We mulled that fact for a long moment.

Luke’s voice dropped. “How’s things with your family?”

I thought about what Casey would say if she knew I was talking to the arrester of our brother.

“No change on that front,” I said. “Let’s not talk about it.”

He sighed, then brightened. “You got space in that hotel room for one more? I could swap shifts and steal down to Big Rack on Saturday. No one would know...”

I drew a gigantic exclamation point. “That’d be too easy, wouldn’t it? Todd is here, and of course, Max Avtaikin.”

“What’s Todd McIntosh doing at this hunt?”

“Todd’s assisting Max,” I said, drawing a tree on my pad. A heart appeared on the tree. I stopped before adding initials inside the heart. At this juncture, nothing seemed safe. “I’m worried Max is going to reinjure his bum knee cavorting around the woods. Of course, he doesn’t listen to me.”

Luke snorted. “Avtaikin’s a grown man and an excellent hunter. But won’t they be busy with the hunt? I could stay hidden in your room. We could order room service. I’d only let you out to paint.”

To center my libido, I drew a tiny image of my brother behind bars. “You don’t want room service here. Food’s terrible. Besides,
Bob
Bass is insisting I accompany the hunters, hoping I can capture the image of fresh blood dripping from his trophy before it stinks to high heaven. Which means I’ll be camping with the crew in the bunkhouse overnight.”

“Better hope the bunkhouse is bigger than a deer stand.”

“Judging by the fineries at the lodge, I’m sure we’ll have hot water at least. But I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a Jacuzzi.”

“Nice.” Luke paused. “I miss you, sugar. Can’t stop thinking of you.”

My heart throbbed. I snatched at saner thoughts. “Somebody sent a cake that looked like a decomposing pig to the party tonight. The hunters think it’s from an anti-hunting fanatic.”

“Lovely.”

“Actually it was pretty disgusting.”

“As our talks are few and far between, I hoped to keep death and disgusting cakes to a minimum.” Luke’s tone lightened. “How about I tell you about my day?”

“No death or cake?”

In the next room, someone had lowered the volume of their television. A phone trilled. At the booming “What’s up?”
I found
myself third party to that conversation.

Then realized eavesdropping could go both ways.

I prayed his TV had drowned out my earlier conversation, squeezed my eyes shut, and focused on Luke.

“Five traffic stops and one with a pot bust,” continued Luke. “Between them, I was thinking about you. How I’d like to take you out and then take you home. Want more?”

My eyes popped open.

“I don’t care what you have to do...” My lodge neighbor must have been pacing, because the voice faded, then grew louder as he approached my wall.

“Okay,” I whispered, securing the phone more tightly to my ear. “Where did you want to take me and what did we eat?”

I glanced at my sketchpad. I had drawn a deer wearing a hunting jacket, phone raised to his muzzle. This was the problem with accidental eavesdropping. Instead of sketching Luke, my artist subconscious had chosen my loud neighbor as a subject.

“...
how do you think? Distract him,” said my neighbor.

I added a mustache. And erased the mustache. My neighbor didn’t sound mustache-y. Although he did sound youngish. I replaced the mustache with a hipster beard.

“What do you mean, what did we eat? Always thinking about food.” Luke chuckled. “Wouldn’t you rather hear what I’d do after I took you home?” I could hear his smile stretch until the dimples broke to frame his grin.

I jumped at the sound of a loud bump. No-Mustache had dropped or kicked something. On my sketchpad, the deer kicked off his field boot.

“Sure, tell me,” I said, refocusing on Luke. I forced my hand to draw hearts and cupids. “What’d we do when you took me home?”

“First, I’d peel off that denim jacket you love to wear. And you’d kick off those old cowboy
boots.”

“Getting comfortable. Sounds good.”

No-Mustache’s voice oozed with condescension. “You know how. And don’t tell me you don’t like the benefits...” His voice trailed off as he began to pace again.

My deer now stood with his hooves on his hips, bearded chin raised. Below him, a bunny with drooping whiskers stared at the ground. I drew in a limp carrot.

“Let’s see, you’re still wearing that skirt I like.” Luke’s voice deepened and dropped to a caress. “What should we do about that?”

I
scribbled out the limp carrot. “Um, how about your jacket and boots?”

“You want me to take anything else off?”

“...is good,” said No-Mustache. His voice grew louder. “But I’d rather see him dead.”

“
Dead?” I exclaimed. Then realized No-Mustache could hear me.

And so could Luke.

“
Shit
,” I said.

“Sugar? You okay?”

In the next room, a door slammed.

“Fine, fine.” I dropped my sketchpad, ran to my door, and cracked the door to peer into the hall. “Where’d he go?”

“Where’d who go?” said Luke.

I opened my mouth, then shut it. Curiosity was one thing. Admitting to spying on your neighbor while your sort-of-boyfriend-but-not-really thought you were concentrating on nekkid fantasies was a whole other deal.

“You’re breathing hard. And not in a good way.” Luke’s voice switched from sizzle to snap. “What are you doing, Cherry?”

I swapped my attention back to the phone. “Nothing. Where were we? Do you still have on your imaginary
pants?”

“Are you even in your room?”

“Of course I’m in my room.”

“Then why are you asking yourself about where some guy went?”

Dangit.

“That was nothing. The TV.” I glanced at my dark TV. “In the next room. The walls are paper thin at this place.”

A young man in a knit beanie and skinny sweats stepped through an open door at the end of the hall. He balanced an ice bucket under one arm while he checked for his room key in his pocket.

I shut my door before he caught sight of me. “Soul patch,” I whispered. “Not a beard. But definitely no mustache.”

“I don’t have a beard. Or a soul patch,” said Luke. “Are you spying on your neighbor?”

“Possibly.” I rolled my eyes at my own idiocy. “I’d say I couldn’t help it because he was loud and saying crazy stuff, so I wanted to see the face that matched the voice. But I know that’s not a good reason.”

“What’s a good reason?”

“That we shouldn’t be talking like this, so I’m distracting myself. Just like I’m distracting myself with Abel’s death so I don’t have to think about what’s going on at home
.”

“Sugar—”

“You don’t have to say it. I shouldn’t have called in the first place. I don’t want to lead you on.”

“Lead me on? Darlin’
—”

“I’ll just say goodbye now.”

“Cherry—”

I hung up before I said something stupid.

More stupid.

Like, “I may love you but our families will never give us their blessing, so what’s the point of nekkid fantasies when we’re never going to live the real thing?”

Ten

As
it turned out, I was not as put off from eating as previously thought. Crackers and Coke weren’t nourishment enough for my hummingbird metabolism, nor were they comfort enough for my broken heart. On my search for sustenance, I bumped into the lodge’s twenty-four hour security patrol: a Red Bull-swigger named Ty, who manned a diesel-powered golf cart. My stomach’s violent growl had reminded Ty of his favorite stock car. After recovering from his shock, he regaled me with a story of similar engine noise he had experienced at his last NASCAR weekend. Then learned he spoke to the gal who had found Abel’s fallen body.

“I’d say I was surprised, but I wasn’t. Abel was looking for an accident in some ways.”
Ty
blushed. “That’s an ugly thing to say about someone who just passed, pardon me. Where’d that come from?”

“I have that problem all the time. Somehow my mouth got wired to my subconscious.” I wondered if Ty’s subconscious matched the unsaid suspicions of Rookie Holt’s
.
“That sounded like Abel’s accident was deliberate. Like someone had it in for him?”

“No, I don’t know why I said that.” Ty sipped from his Red Bull can, considering. “Abel did like stirring pots, though. You had to watch what you said around him. If you spoke out of turn about someone and Abel happened to overhear, they’d sure learn what you said quick enough. Most folks ignored him, but Abel seemed to enjoy tattling whenever he could. Real spiteful. He probably caused enough divorces and broken friendships ’round here anyway.”

“Why do folks love getting up in other people’s business?” I said, thinking of my nemesis Shawna Branson, the darling of Forks County who had caused my brother’s unfortunate incarceration. Shawna’d had it in for me since the Forks County Courthouse’s live nativity when, as one of the Christmas angels, I had stood too close to a mini heater and caught my wing on fire. My dance through the stable accidentally knocked over the manger, exposing Mary secretly holding hands with the donkey and not Joseph. Joseph (Wade Boiken) broke up with Mary (Shawna) and Shawna had hated me ever since.

Shawna had a similar quality for spreading gossip just for the enjoyment of getting others in trouble. I felt saddened by this new information about Abel Spencer. He hadn’t struck me as Shawna-like when I met him. Other than he loved animals and she loved to wear animal prints.

“You’d think they’d recognize the pain caused by rumors. You’d think they’d feel ashamed.”

Ty nodded.

“Besides, Wade Boiken, that idiot, ended up taking Shawna to prom five years later anyway.”

Ty had no answer for that.

I returned to the original subject, internally cussing myself for opening that damn mental box. “If he was so disliked, how did Abel learn the local scandals? I’d think everyone would avoid him.”

“He was pretty sly. He mostly did his spying at the Double Wide.” Ty smiled at the name. “The liquor makes folks forget to shut their mouths.”

“Where’s this Double Wide? And do they serve real food?”

Todd
and Max had returned to their cottage, but I called to see if they would join me for a drink at the Double Wide. A bar where liquor-loosened tongues seemed like a good place to appease my hunger and revive my downtrodden spirits. And hopefully, quench my curiosity about the mysterious Abel Spencer. Max had planned on spending the evening cleaning his guns, but, as usual, Todd had been amenable for greater amusement. He offered to meet me in their golf cart, the vehicle by which the cottage dwellers traveled around the large bass pond to the main lodge grounds.

Outside in my puffy coat, I admired the Christmas lights reflecting off the pond before turning to watch for Todd’s golf cart. A long, low building that looked like a giant chicken coop blocked my view of the dirt drive that led around the pond to the cottages. Decorative lighting shone on the quaint structure, obscuring the inhabitants. It was too far for me to see clearly, but a bird much larger than a chicken strutted along the pen adjoined to the coop. Which made me think of Thanksgiving turkey,
the particular fowl
I
had
missed this year.

Had Abel Spencer shared his Thanksgiving dinner with people or just his dogs? Was he only friendly to Swinton outsiders, like me, or had I mistaken the sweet affection with his dog for a general amiability? He had wanted to know about my participation in the hunt and whatever information I had about the contest. I thought he had just been curious. Was there a more malicious intent to his questions that I didn’t notice?

A strange scream, high-pitched and piercing, rang out from the giant chicken coop. My hands flew over my mouth as I stifled a scream of my own.

“Get a hold of yourself,” I muttered. The screech still rang in my ears and sent tiny aftershocks buzzing through my nerves. “Why is every little thing giving me the jitters today?”

Cherry Tucker did not get the jitters. And to prove it, I jogged up the path to check out the odd building. Twenty yards from the coop, I halted. “What in the hell?”

A heavyset man crept around the edge of the building. A camouflage balaclava covered his face, except for the pair of glasses balanced precariously on his camo nose. Matching coveralls stretched over his full stomach.

As the building was painted Scarlet Lake and spotlighted, his Army Surplus camo did not blend but gave the appearance of skulking vegetation. Vegetation that had just digested an extra-large beach ball.

“Hey,” I called. “What are you doing?”

Balaclava Beach Ball froze against the building, but the protruding belly blocked his ability to flatten himself. He stretched his arms and clung to the walls with his fingertips.

“I can see you,” I said. “Are you a guest of the lodge?”

He ran with the eagerness of a bat released from hell, but without the necessary wingspan to lift his weight productively.

As he took off, another shriek pierced the night.