Thoroughly 10 - What Are You Wearing to Die? (14 page)

“And other things.” He rested his hand on the glass case. “I’m glad I decided to show this, though. I think Starr would have liked for folks to see it. She loved fawns.”

I was glad to hear him getting to the place where he could speak her name naturally. That was definite progress.

Now that I thought about it, in the past several weeks, Trevor had seemed more at peace than he had since her death. Maybe Farrell had been right, for once. Maybe entering the competitions had been what Trevor needed to take his mind off his grief.

Entering the competition had not helped Wylie forget his grievance, however. He stormed up as we were looking at Robin’s fox and snapped, “They didn’t give me a thing on my buck.”

Trevor nodded. “I noticed that. One of the judges mentioned that the antlers were a trifle askew.”

I looked in the direction where they were both looking—at a buck hanging on an exhibit panel. Its antlers were jaunty, like it’d been out drinking with its buddies all night—or maybe that was Wylie, before he attached them back to the head.

“It’s as good as the rest of them,” Wylie protested. His eye lit on Robin’s fox and its first-place ribbon. “It’s certainly as good as that fox. I don’t see what’s so wonderful about that thing. Looks like something you’d put in a kid’s room, doesn’t it?”

He was asking me. I personally wouldn’t put a stuffed animal in a child’s room, but I couldn’t think of a tactful way to say so in that crowd.

Joe Riddley rescued me. He clapped Wylie on the back and said, “You’ve just started, son. Nobody wins a prize their first year in the business. Give yourself time. Next year you may get a first.”

“Well, I don’t see what all the fuss is over Robin. She’s not so all-fired great.” But Wylie seemed a bit mollified as he wandered off in search of new ears for his complaints. Joe Riddley has always been good at smoothing folks down.

Trevor watched Wylie go with a frown of disgust. “He could be a fine taxidermist if he’d complain less about Robin’s work and concentrate on his own, but he won’t take instruction, gets touchy if you criticize a thing he does—he thinks he knows it all.”

I’d seen that brand of arrogance before. My mama used to say, “Nobody is as stupid as somebody who won’t say ‘I don’t know.’” I have found it’s true in almost every realm of life.

“Where’s Bradley this weekend?” Joe Riddley asked Trevor.

“Ridd and Martha offered to keep him for me both nights and tomorrow, so I can socialize a bit, and Robin took him and the girls over to Atlanta today, to see the aquarium. She only agreed to register for the convention and enter her fox if I wouldn’t make her come. Crowds spook her.”

“From the crowds we were in the only time we went to the aquarium, she’s likely to come home more spooked than if she’d come to the convention,” I informed him.

He laughed. “Could be.”

Somebody else called his name and motioned for him to come over and join them.

“Go ahead,” Joe Riddley urged. “If it’s all right, we’ll look around a little more.”

“Stay as long as you like.” With a farewell wave, Trevor strode through the crowd. Soon he was in the middle of a group of men who were laughing and carrying on. I was glad to see him joining in.

Joe Riddley wanted to amble around the adjacent room, where the manufacturing exhibitors were. I peered in and saw it was full of knives, animal forms, eyes, and other paraphernalia used by taxidermists in their work. “I think I’ll go back and make one last trip around the exhibits,” I told him. “Just to be sure I’ve seen them all.”

As I got back to Robin’s fox, a couple stood beside it in deep discussion. They looked younger than we were, but more life-worn. She was thin, with a lined face and anxious eyes. He was tall and gaunt, stoop-shouldered and gray, as if he carried a lot of burdens.

The woman’s voice was low but hysterical. “Look at the eyes!”

“Now, Mother.” The man put his hand on her arm, and she gave a quick, guilty look around the hall.

“Can you see a sign of a seam?” she demanded in a lower voice.

The man bent down to peer at the fox’s back. “Nope. It’s good work, I’ll give you that. But before you get excited, let’s see what we can find out.”

I stepped up. “May I help you?” It seemed the hospitable thing to say.

“We are wondering about the man who entered this fox, Robin Parker,” the man told me. “It’s a fine job of taxidermy.” He was trying to sound casual, but his voice wobbled. “Do you happen to know if he’s from Georgia?”

“Robin is a woman,” I informed him. “She lives and works right here in Hopemore.”

They exchanged a look that might have spoken volumes if I’d known the language.

“Do you know her?” The woman eyes were fired up like those of a horse that knows it has to wait but is eager to bolt out of a gate. “We sure would like to meet her. She did a fine job on this.”

“We’d be interested in buying, if she’d like to sell,” the man added.

“I do know her, but she’s not here today. That’s her boss over there, the tall man with the—” I almost said “brown beard,” but quickly amended it to “gray beard. He entered the fawn.”

They threw the fawn a quick, polite look, but it was the fox that had their full attention. The woman’s hand reached out to stroke it, but pulled back before she touched the fur. She was strung so tight, she almost strummed. The man put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go talk to him, Mother.” They made their way through the crowd.

They had scarcely left when a man stopped by the fox and bent down to get a better look. What I saw best was penny-bright curls. When he stood, he gave me a startled look. I’m sure mine was equally startled. Why was that young soldier still in the area? Was he expecting to find his wife at a taxidermy convention? Or was he genuinely interested in taxidermy? He seemed pretty knowledgeable about the fox. “You know who did this?” he asked forcefully, examining its back and tail.

“A local taxidermist. She’s good, isn’t she?”

He bent down and examined the fox again. “She sure is. This thing is mighty near perfect. You know where I could find her? I’d like to talk to her about buying it.”

“You may have to stand in line. The couple over there”—I nodded toward them—“are asking her boss the same thing this very minute.”

“Then I’d better get over there.” He threaded his way through the crowd.

I had no idea whether Robin would sell the fox, but she’d never struck me as the sentimental type, and if I were a taxidermist, I’d be glad to sell to folks who got that excited over my work. I didn’t know how much something a tableau like the fox and rabbit would bring, either, but if two bids were being offered, the price could go up. I hoped so. A single mom could generally use every penny she could get.

I had seen enough dead animals. I headed to the next room to find Joe Riddley. He was examining with great interest what might have looked like a polar bear if I hadn’t known it was simply a bear form. “You thinking of ordering one of those?” I asked, staking my claim to the arm he used to reach for his wallet.

“Thought I’d give it to you for your birthday. We could put it in the front yard to entertain the neighbors.”

“As is, or are you planning on getting him covered with brown bear fur?”

“I kinda like him like he is. Besides, it’s tricky, getting hold of bear fur without riling the bear.”

“Maybe we ought to comparison shop before we make a final decision on my present. We might find something I’d like even better, like diamond earrings or a cruise to Hong Kong.”

He shook off my hand and reached for his wallet. “You wanting me to buy this thing right here and now? If not, don’t start talking about cruises and diamonds.”

“How about if I start talking about supper?” I pulled him toward the door. “We don’t want to miss the buffet.”

The Hopemore Country Club had a seafood buffet every Friday night, and we made a point of eating light at noon to save room for it. Our son Walker, the club’s president that year, swore that a major topic at every board meeting was how much money they lost each week on Joe Riddley’s capacity for seafood and my own for dessert. We didn’t let him slow us down.

As we headed toward our car, I saw the young soldier hurrying out of the building, his color high and his strides long. Was he trying to beat the couple to Robin, to buy her fox? If so, he’d better hurry. They were already backing out of the parking lot.

Of what happened that dreadful evening, I have no firsthand knowledge. Here is how I reconstruct events from later conversations and the
Hopemore Statesman
:

Robin Parker and the children got back from Atlanta around six thirty, and she dropped Bradley off at Ridd’s. She and the girls ate at Hardee’s, and she took them home. She found a note on her door that would change her life.

She called her brother and left him a message to come keep her children; then she got the girls ready for bed and told them Uncle Billy would be there soon. She dressed, paying special attention to her clothes, and left sometime after eight.

Trevor Knight had been invited by friends to join them for dinner, but he had an out-of-town appointment late that afternoon. He suggested he drop by his friends’ room after he got back and they could go out for drinks. Bridges were icy, so he drove slower than usual. Around nine, he pulled into the motel parking lot.

As he got out of his car, he saw Dan and Kaye Poynter, the couple who had earlier been asking about Robin Parker’s fox. “We never expected to see our breath in central Georgia,” Kaye said as a greeting.

They moseyed together toward the right-hand motel elevator.

“Every place in town was packed, so we drove out to the Candlelight Inn by the river,” Kaye continued. “It’s real nice, and the food was delicious.”

“It is a nice place,” Trevor agreed. “Did you ever find Robin, to ask if she’ll sell her fox?”

Dan answered as he took Kaye’s elbow to help her up the curb. “No. We went by her house on our way to dinner, but there was nobody home.”

“She was probably late getting back from Atlanta, and most likely took the girls out to eat afterwards. She’s not much on cooking after a long day.”

“We thought we’d go freshen up a bit, and try again.” Kaye’s voice grew anxious. “You don’t think it’s too late, do you?”

Trevor checked his watch. “My guess is she’s getting the girls to bed around now. Shall I call her and see—and tell her to expect you?” He pulled out his cell phone, but Kaye put out a hand to stop him.

“Don’t bother. We’ll drive out that way in a few minutes and see if she has any lights on. If not, we’ll check again tomorrow.”

At the elevator, Trevor stepped back to let them go first. Dan motioned for him to go ahead of them, but Trevor insisted. They were guests in town. Dan pressed the button and the door opened.

Inside, a woman lay on the floor, her head bent at an unnatural angle. She wore a brown mink coat. A mass of curls covered her face.

Dan and Trevor both stepped forward, but Dan reached her first. He dropped to his knees to check for a pulse. “He works with our local emergency management team,” Kaye said, her eyes anxious. “He knows CPR.”

The woman’s coat hung open, revealing a red dress and a stunning figure. Trevor did not recognize her, but he could not see her face.

Dan looked up at the others. “She’s dead.” He climbed unsteadily to his feet and stepped back, his face pale.

Kaye darted into the elevator and brushed the hair back from the woman’s face and neck. Blue eyes stared unseeing at the elevator ceiling. Before Trevor could remonstrate that they must not touch anything, she had flung herself across the soft fur coat. “It’s Bobbie! Oh, Dan, it’s Bobbie! Look at her neck! And that’s the coat…”

Dan gave a moan, clutched at his chest, and crumpled to the pavement. Kaye fainted across the dead woman’s torso.

Trevor, afraid someone would summon the elevator from above, stepped awkwardly over Dan and went far enough inside to rest his back against the door to keep it from closing while he punched in 911. It was while he waited for the operator to answer that he got his first good look at the dead woman’s face. The light was dim and the face was bright with cosmetics, but she seemed familiar. He bent closer to get a better look.

It was Robin Parker.

An ambulance arrived and whisked Dan and Kaye both to the hospital. The sheriff came with flashing lights. The parking lot filled with motel guests and curiosity seekers. The only person Trevor remembered later was Wylie Quarles, standing over at one edge of the crowd.

Trevor felt queasy, but he stayed to answer questions as best as he could. After a while, he told the sheriff, “Look, I’m worried about Bradley. He’s gone to Cricket Yarbrough’s to spend the night and I want to be the one to tell him what’s happened. He liked Robin, and after losing his mother, I don’t want him to hear this from anybody but me.”

The sheriff suspected Trevor needed Bradley more than Bradley needed his grandfather, but he nodded. “I think we’ve got all we need from you. I’m terribly sorry you had to find her.”

Trevor’s chest heaved with a sigh that made his beard tremble. “Me, too.” He stumbled off toward his car.

The sheriff, not being a family man, didn’t think about Robin’s girls until past eleven, after he’d set in motion interviews with motel guests and staff, interviews with the Poynters at the hospital, and a detailed investigation of the crime scene. Only when one of his deputies asked, “Does she have any family we ought to notify?” did Sheriff Gibbons remember those girls.

He was in the process of going through her purse at the time, so he took her keys and asked a deputy to accompany him.

“That oversight will haunt me all my life,” he would tell me later.

Trevor, too, would be sorry he hadn’t given the two little girls a thought.

Robin lived in a small ranch house not far from Trevor’s, far back from the road and built on a hill that sloped from front to back. The lot was surrounded on three sides by woods, and the nearest neighbors were quite some distance away. “Isolated for a single woman,” the deputy remarked.

“But probably cheap,” the sheriff pointed out.

The blinds were all down, but the house glowed with lights in several rooms. They went to the door and knocked loudly. Nobody came.

“It’s the sheriff. Open up!”

The only sounds were a barking dog in the distance and the sound of an animal—perhaps a possum or a deer—working its way through the woods behind the house.

Buster knocked and called again. He hoped Robin had left so many lights on because she knew she’d be coming home late, and had taken her children to stay with a friend as Trevor had—although that would mean more work to locate them.

He was sticking Robin’s key in her lock when he heard a high little voice. “How do we know you’re really the sheriff?”

“Look out the window. You’ll see I have on my uniform.”

He heard a scraping sound inside. The porch light came on. A thin white face peered through a gap in the venetian blinds. “It’s him,” she said. They heard a lock turn, then the knob. The door opened a crack.

The smaller sister stood inside the door, peering out at them. “Can I go home with you?” she asked Buster.

“Anna Emily, you know you are not supposed to ask that!” Exasperation oozed from every word as the older sister jerked the door wide open.

The two girls looked up at the sheriff and his deputy. Their hair was tousled and they wore flannel nightgowns. Both had tear tracks down their cheeks.

“Can you tell me your names?” the sheriff asked.

The big one took a breath of self-importance. “I am Natalie and this is Anna Emily. I am five and she is three.”

“Who is here with you?” He squatted down to their eye level to ease their necks.

Anna Emily snuffled and reached for his hand. “Uncle Billy was supposed to come, but he never did. Can I go home with you?”

Natalie pushed her away and took charge of the explaining. “Uncle Billy probably got lost. Mama said he’d be here right after she left, but he didn’t come. But Daddy angel protected us and we slept in Mama’s bed.”

“Maybe Mama’s in my bed.” Anna Emily turned toward the hall.

Buster reached out to stop her. “Your mother has had an accident.” He spoke as gently as he knew how.

“Is she hurted?” Anna Emily demanded.

“Is she dead?” asked Natalie, her blue eyes anxious.

Buster nodded at Natalie. “I’m afraid so, honey.”

Natalie’s lower lip began to quiver. Tears filled her eyes. “She’s not ever coming back? Just like Bradley’s mommy?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Are we norphans?”

Anna Emily stepped up and repeated, “Can I go home with you?”

The older sister huffed. “Anna Emily, you know Mama said…” She stopped and looked at the sheriff with five-year-old shrewdness. “Are you funning us? ’Cause if you aren’t, you better find Uncle Billy and find him quick. He’s the only living kin we got. That’s what Mama says.”

“Do you know his last name?”

She put one hand on her hip. “I told you: Billy. His first name is Uncle and his last name is Billy.”

“Is he Billy Parker?”

She looked uncertain, then shrugged.

The deputy spoke behind Buster. “Maybe she’ll have his name written down somewhere.”

The sheriff nodded, and addressed the children again. “We’re going to look around here, trying to find your Uncle Billy’s phone number. Do you know where your mother might have written it down?”

They shook their heads in unison.

Buster called the Division of Family and Children Services and asked them to pick the girls up. While they waited, he and the deputy searched the house. They found no address book, no telephone lists, and no numbers written inside the phone book. In fact, except for a few recent bills, Robin had no papers at all—no correspondence, no journals or diaries, not even a grocery list. She seemed to pay her bills in cash, for they did not find a checkbook. But they found no money, either. Finding Billy seemed impossible without a last name.

A DFCS worker arrived and took the girls to Ridd and Martha, who had agreed to take in foster kids that late at night. Buster went back to the scene of the crime.

The deputy to whom he had handed Robin’s purse had news for him. “We found this.” It was a scrawled note on the back of an envelope addressed to Captain Grady Handley in Augusta.

“Have you checked out his room?”

“Yessir. He registered for the whole weekend, but he’s not there now and his bed has not been slept in.”

The sheriff frowned down at the note. “Then maybe we’d better find out who and where he is.”