Touch-Me-Not (2 page)

C
HAPTER
2

What to do? Should he call the police? Tasers were nonlethal, weren’t they? He hadn’t actually killed Jerry Sparks, had he? He hadn’t meant to. Better call the cops. He couldn’t. It was illegal to own a Taser. And whatever Sparks claimed was on his cell phone . . . LeRoy had a feeling he knew what it was. If the police checked the phone . . . No way could he involve the police. What did Jerry Sparks mean about his wife? He went to the back door and locked it.

The office phone rang. LeRoy let the answering machine pick up.

“Mr. Watts? It’s Maureen. Just checking to see if you’re still there. When I got home, I found I’d left my purse in the office. I’ve got my key. Bye,” and she hung up before LeRoy could get to the phone to tell her he’d stop by her place with her purse, no trouble.

He had to get rid of Sparks’s body before Maureen got here. Where? The van? He was shivering, a steady shaking from his chattering teeth to his clenched toes. Yet he felt feverish. Sweat trickled down his back and from under his arms, and his sweat already stank of fear. He looked at his watch. Maureen would be here in ten minutes or so.

He’d never killed anything before. Never went hunting. Never even saw a dead person before, except his grandmother at her funeral. LeRoy looked at the grimacing dead face and turned away. His stomach roiled.

The van. Put him in the van and cover him with a tarp. Take care of it later.

But first, the Taser darts. He ejected the cartridge from the weapon and gathered up the strands of thin wire. He’d have to pull the darts out. He yanked the wires that led from the Taser cartridge, and the tiny darts, no more than three-eighths of an inch long, came out of Sparks’s clothing with a slight tearing sound. He gathered up the cartridge with the two wires that ended in darts, dropped the whole thing into his toolbox, and slammed the lid shut. He’d get rid of the spent cartridge later.

Sparks’s cell phone. He had to do something with the cell phone. LeRoy wrapped his handkerchief around his hand, felt around in Sparks’s sweatshirt pocket, past wadded-up tissues and sticky candy wrappers. Just as he found the phone, it emitted a loud burst of rap music and LeRoy dropped it.

“Shut up!” LeRoy shouted at the insistent rap music. “Shut up, shut up!” He picked up the phone and fumbled for the off button.

Someone pounded on the back door.

“Hell!” muttered LeRoy. He wrapped the still-blaring cell phone in his handkerchief and thrust it into the bottom file drawer and slammed the drawer shut.

Bang, bang! Slap, wham!

“Be right with you!” shouted LeRoy. The supply closet. He took a deep breath and heaved Jerry Sparks onto his shoulder, still warm, like one of his sleeping kids after a day at the beach. Sparks was a small man, skinny from the drugs. Easy to carry. But the smell. How could he have stood himself?

Wham, wham!
“Daddy! Open up!”

His kids! Back from practice. Early. Shit!

“Just a second, Zeke!” He opened the supply closet with the hand that wasn’t supporting the dead legs and dropped Jerry Sparks onto the floor, wiped his hands on his jeans, and shut the closet door. He started toward the back door. No, first he’d have to lock the closet.

“Daddy! I have to go to the bathroom!” Pound, pound.

“Daddy, Zeke hit me!” cried Jared.

The key. Where in hell was the key? Leroy fumbled through Maureen’s top desk drawer and found it.

“Stop shouting, kids. The neighbors . . .” He twisted the key in the lock. The key broke off. “Damn!”

“Daaaaaddy!”

“Zeke’s gonna wet his pants,” said Jared.

“Use the bushes, Zeke!” Sweat was dripping into LeRoy’s eyes and he was having trouble seeing.

“Daaaaaaddy!”

He glanced around. Had he overlooked anything? Seemed okay. He went to the back door and opened it. Zeke was dancing from one foot to another. “Sorry, kids. Had to tend to something.”

“Why’d you lock the door?” Jared asked. “You never lock the door.”

His two boys, twins, tumbled in, hot and sweaty from baseball, a dirty-clean nine-year-old-boy smell.

“Pee-yew! Something stinks!” said Jared.

Zeke unzipped his jeans and raced for the toilet.

“Did the coach buy you pizza?” LeRoy searched for his handkerchief to wipe his forehead, then realized it was wrapped around the cell phone in the file drawer.

Jared nodded. “All of us guys. Pepperoni.”

“What did you have to drink?” LeRoy snatched a paper towel off the stack on the counter and mopped his brow.

“Lemonade.” Jared made a face. “He never buys Cokes.”

“Lemonade’s healthier,” said LeRoy, crumpling up the paper towel and putting it into his pocket.

Zeke reappeared. “What stinks, Daddy?”

“Something I’m working on,” said LeRoy, wondering how he could get the corpse out of the supply closet, now he’d broken the key, and when he’d be able to get it into the van, and where he could leave the body of Jerry Sparks.

As he was wondering how he could dispose of the corpse, LeRoy heard a gentle rap on the front door and the sound of a key turning, and Maureen, his office manager, entered. She was a comfortable woman in her early sixties and had been with him since he’d started the business eight years ago. “You’re still here, Mr. Watts?” She glanced around. “Heavens! What on earth is that smell?”

“Coach bought us pizza, Maureen!” said Zeke, dancing around her.

“That’s nice.” She advanced into the showroom. “I’ve never forgotten my purse before. Getting old, I guess. I was carrying that spider plant Mrs. Avery gave me, and I totally forgot.”

The office phone rang, and before LeRoy could stop her, Maureen answered it. “Watts Electrical Supply.”

LeRoy couldn’t hear the voice of the caller.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, we’re closed.” Maureen listened, then put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Emily Cameron. She wants to know if her, um,
friend
”—she emphasized the word—“Jerry Sparks is still here. He’s not answering his cell phone, she says.” She removed her hand from the mouthpiece.

“Afraid not,” said LeRoy, reaching for a paper towel.

Maureen reported that to the caller, listened, then turned to LeRoy again. “She says he was going to stop by.”

“He’s not here now,” said LeRoy, not looking at her.

“Sorry, Emily,” and Maureen hung up. “I don’t understand why such a nice girl has anything to do with that dreadful man. Do you know her?”

“She’s done some baby-sitting for us. She just got a job at the boatyard.”

“A lovely girl.” Maureen shook her head. “What goes through some people’s minds, I’ll never know.” She headed toward the file cabinet. “I’ll get my purse from the bottom drawer and leave.” She sniffed. “What
is
that smell?”

“It’s not us,” said Zeke, pinching his nose between finger and thumb.

Just as Maureen was reaching for her purse, the cell phone in the file drawer uttered a loud rap phrase.

“Good heavens!” Maureen laid her hand on her chest. “How that startled me!” She found the cell phone, still swathed in LeRoy’s handkerchief, and the phone burped out its rap phrase. “Whose phone is this?” She held it up.

He looked away. “Customer must have left it.”

“I suppose I should answer?” The phone burped out its rap phrase. “Maybe it’s the owner, trying to trace it.”

“No!” said LeRoy sharply. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap at you. Bad case of nerves today. I’ll take care of it.”

Maureen shrugged. “Not like you to be nervy, Mr. Watts. I hope you’re not coming down with something?”

“Me, too,” said LeRoy.

She switched off the cell phone and wrapped it again in LeRoy’s handkerchief, put it back in the drawer, and slammed the drawer shut. Then she headed toward the supply closet. “I promised I’d get those bills out this week, Mr. Watts. I’ll take a box of billing envelopes home with me and work on them tonight.”

“No, no! Absolutely not,” said LeRoy, moving between Maureen and the closet. “I won’t have you working at home. You go on now. Water that new spider plant.”

Maureen laughed. “Did anyone ever tell you what a nice man you are?” Before she got to the front door, she turned. “Bye, bye, boys. Have a wonderful evening, Mr. Watts. You and your lovely family.”

C
HAPTER
3

Zeke squirmed into his seat at the kitchen table. “Macaroni and cheese, yum.”

Sarah set down her knitting and got up from the table. “You got another call from your secret admirer.”

“She say anything this time?”

“She hasn’t since the first couple of times. She whispers ‘LeRoy! LeRoy!’ like that. Find out who she is, will you? She’s driving me crazy.”

“The phone company can put a tracer on the calls, but if she’s on a cell phone . . . Aren’t you eating?”

“I’ve already had supper.”

“Zeke almost wet his pants,” said Jared. “Daddy locked the shop door and wouldn’t let us in.”

“Jared!” warned LeRoy.

“He never locks the door,” said Zeke. “He told me to use the bushes, but I didn’t.”

“You told him to
what
?” said Sarah.

“Zeke!” snapped LeRoy. “Enough!”

Sarah sat down again at the head of the table with her knitting. “I take it you had a tough day.”

LeRoy grunted.

“Why don’t you take the boys fishing this weekend?”

Zeke bounced in his seat. “Yay! Fishing!”

LeRoy hung his jacket next to the refrigerator and sat in his usual place at the end of the table.

“Did you wash your hands, Roy?” Sarah asked.

“Oh. Yeah.” LeRoy got up and stumbled to the sink. He turned on the hot water full blast and scrubbed his hands with the nailbrush and more soap than he needed.

Sarah studied him. “Are you feeling all right?”

LeRoy splashed water on his face and dried it with a dish towel. “Something at work.”

“
Don’t
use the dish towels to dry your face, Roy. You know how hard I try to keep things nice.”

Zeke said, “Daddy’s shop stinks.”

“ ’Cause of you.” Jared jabbed his twin with his elbow.

“Stop it, boys,” said their mother. “You’re upsetting Daddy.” She turned to LeRoy, who’d seated himself again. “What’s bothering you anyway?”

“Nothing,” said LeRoy. “I’ve got to go back to work after supper, finish up a job.” He tugged his napkin out of its plastic ring and spread it on his lap.

“This is exactly what I mean.” Sarah thrust her knitting needle into the next stitch. “You spend far too much time at work. It’s affecting our family and it’s affecting your health.”

“Stop bugging me,” snapped LeRoy.

“I’m only thinking of you.” Sarah changed the subject. “We had a busy day at the library.”

“Yeah?” LeRoy scowled, got up from the table, and tossed his napkin onto his untouched plate of food. “I suppose you were telling the librarians how to run the place, as usual.” He snatched his jacket from the peg.

“LeRoy, that’s uncalled for. . . .”

He strode out of the kitchen, through the living room, out the front door, which he slammed shut, got into his van, started the engine, and backed out of the driveway.

The Watts lived in West Tisbury, in a small house at the end of one of the many dirt roads that branched off Old County Road. LeRoy tramped down on the accelerator and the van jounced over the speed bumps. He turned onto Old County Road without thinking to look for oncoming cars.

Christ, he was going crazy. Jerry Sparks, dead in the supply closet. An accident. Call the police? Not after all this time. And whatever Sparks had on his cell phone . . .

In the state he was in, he’d better be careful driving. What if a town cop stopped him for speeding?

He slowed down, turned onto State Road, and drove carefully to Vineyard Haven. He passed the boatyard where Jerry Sparks’s girlfriend worked, passed the fuel tanks and the boat-rental place, still closed for the season, and continued on into Oak Bluffs. He parked behind his shop and let himself in with his key, made sure the shades were drawn in front, then turned on the lights in back. He found a pair of needle-nose pliers in his tool chest, knelt down beside the closet door, and went to work on the broken key.

There was a series of loud raps on the door. “Anybody here?” A male voice. “Watts?”

LeRoy got to his feet. “Be right there.”

He turned on the lights in the front of the shop, opened the door, and gasped. A gigantic uniformed police officer stood there. Tall, broad, face shadowed by the visor of his garrison hat. He’s come for me, thought LeRoy. Then with a sudden wash of relief, he recognized the officer. He caught his breath and formed his mouth into a sick grin. “Hey, Smalley. Didn’t expect you. C’mon in.”

Sergeant Smalley of the State Police stepped inside. His boots reflected the overhead lights. “I was coming from a meeting and saw your lights on in back. Blinds drawn. Just checking to make sure everything’s okay.”

“Thanks. Had some work to tend to. Guess you’re still on duty. Can I get you a Coke or a Pepsi?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m not on duty. I’m on my way home. Got something stronger?”

“Jim Beam do?”

“Sounds good.” Sergeant Smalley removed his hat and set it on the counter. LeRoy’s tool chest was next to the supply closet. Smalley looked at the chest and then up to the lock. “I see you broke off the key.”

“Yeah.” Had he seen the Taser cartridge? “I need to get the billing envelopes out of the closet for Maureen.”

“Here, let me have those pliers.”

“No way!” barked LeRoy. “You sit down. I’ll pull Maureen’s chair over.”

“Won’t take but a minute to fix,” said Smalley.

“How are things with you?” asked LeRoy, getting off the subject of the key as quickly as possible. He shoved the chair toward the sergeant. “You still seeing that woman doc from the mainland? How’s that going?” He went to the bottom drawer in the filing cabinet, hoping Jerry Sparks’s cell phone wouldn’t ring, then remembered with relief that Maureen had turned it off. He brought out the bourbon and two plastic tumblers.

“Who knows,” said Smalley. “I could go for her, but like they say in the personals, ‘GU.’ Geographically undesirable. The mainland might as well be Australia, as far as dating is concerned.”

LeRoy poured a couple of fingers of bourbon into each of the plastic cups and passed one to Smalley.

“Here’s to you!” Before Smalley took a swallow, he sniffed. “What are you working on? Smells like stale piss.”

LeRoy seated himself on the stool behind the counter. “Kids. You know. Baseball practice . . .” His voice trailed off. Smalley, he knew, didn’t have kids. Wasn’t married.

West Tisbury’s police chief, Mary Kathleen O’Neill, otherwise known as “Casey,” and Victoria Trumbull, her deputy, were driving up Circuit Avenue on their way home from the All Island Law Enforcement Officers meeting, the same one Sergeant Smalley had attended.

Victoria raised her cuff to look at her watch. “It’s almost eight. I wonder why the light is on in the electrical store. It seems late for LeRoy to be working.”

“We might as well check, since we’re driving right past,” said Casey.

Victoria leaned forward. “The State Police cruiser is out front. Sergeant Smalley may need our help.”

“I doubt it.” Casey pulled in next to the cruiser.

Victoria opened the door and eased out. Sitting down, she appeared short, but when she stood up, she was just shy of six feet. Her height was in her long, still-fine legs.

“I’ll go first, Victoria, just in case. You wait.”

But Victoria followed close behind. Casey knocked briskly on the door. “Hello, everything okay?”

Inside the shop, Victoria heard what sounded like a chair falling over.

LeRoy Watts opened the door. His eyes darted from Victoria to Casey and back. “Mrs. Trumbull . . . Monday . . . ? The outlet . . . ?”

“Monday’s fine,” said Victoria. “We were driving by and saw your lights on.”

“I see the State Police vehicle is here,” said Casey.

Sergeant Smalley stood up. “Social call, Chief. Stopped by on my way home. Some meeting, hey? Good speaker.”

“Excellent. I didn’t realize stalkers can have more than one way of going after their prey, like the paparazzi who follow, phone, and photograph celebrities.”

Victoria added, “And the fact that most stalkers are perfectly ordinary people otherwise.”

LeRoy shifted his weight from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. “Smalley and I are having a nightcap. Can I offer you something?” He backed into the room and picked up the stool that had fallen over.

“Not me,” said Casey. “Victoria?”

Victoria was studying LeRoy. “No, thank you.”

“Everything’s under control, then?” said Casey.

“Thanks for stopping by.” LeRoy brushed his forehead with the back of his hand. “Good to know the Island’s law-enforcement officers are on their toes.”

“Is there anything we can do before we leave?” Casey asked. “Sure you’re okay?”

“No. No, yes. Thanks,” said LeRoy.

Casey opened the door. “Guess we’ll be going, then.”

“Thanks again,” said LeRoy. “See you Monday, Mrs. Trumbull.”

“See you,” said Smalley, and resumed his seat.

Back in the Bronco, Victoria said, “Something didn’t seem quite right.”

“I agree.” Casey reversed out of the parking space and continued up Circuit Avenue. “Maybe because we caught Smalley drinking in uniform.”

“It wasn’t that, I’m sure. There was an odd odor in the shop, not at all like electrical goods.”

“You pick up on a lot of stuff I miss, Victoria,” said Casey. “But Oak Bluffs is out of our jurisdiction, as you well know. We’ve got enough to keep us busy in West Tiz.” She looked at her watch. “It’s late. I’ve got to get home.”