An Affair to Dismember (19 page)

“The part about jumping on the back of happiness when it gallops by is pure genius,” Lucy said about my pitch.

“Really? You like it? I added the horse references. Fred’s from Utah.”

“Very nice. Gladie, don’t you wonder where Randy Terns hid the money? They don’t have a basement, and you said Peter broke through the walls.”

“Maybe Peter found it and is lying,” I said. I updated Lucy on my discussion with Peter, but I left out the part about him kidnapping me and abandoning me in the middle of nowhere. I had wonderful friends who would become overbearing and suffocating if they knew I had been dragged and threatened.

“I think it’s that Jane woman,” she said. “She seems like the type who would throw knishes and murder her own father.”

“It’s possible Jane threw the knish,” I said. “But I think Chuck Costas is the murderer. I think Randy
Terns made waves about the blackmail, and Costas killed them both. Maybe he has all the money now.”

I went to the window. Betty stood on her front porch with Cindy, her penny collector daughter. “That poor woman,” I said. “Betty’s never had her hair done. She’s worn the same clothes for the past forty years. She told me that she and Randy didn’t like to go out, but I think he didn’t let her go out.”

“He imprisoned her?”

“Not imprisoned, exactly. I mean, the front door doesn’t even close properly. I don’t know, but something wasn’t kosher in that marriage.”

LUCY DROVE me to the police station. Fred was conveniently at the front desk. I hoped to get in and get out in record time.

“Hey! Hi, Underwear Girl.” Fred greeted me with a big smile. I was a little surprised to see him at work. The last time I had seen him, he almost shot up the precinct. I kind of figured he would be on vacation in a padded room somewhere.

“Hi, Fred,” I said.

“I’m doing just fine,” he offered. “Not a scratch on me. Can you believe it? That was one hairy pickle I was in.”

“It was a hairy pickle,” I repeated.

Lucy turned to me. “Underwear Girl?”

“I’m glad you’re all right,” I said, ignoring Lucy. “But I’m here because I want to talk to you about feeling even better than all right—about feeling great. Fred, I want to talk to you about love. True love. Soul mate love.”

“Gee, Miss Burger, that sounds great.” Fred smiled from ear to ear.

“Fred, when you find the someone to make you happy,
to love you like you’ve always wanted to be loved, well, life is so much better.”

“I think you’re awfully pretty, Miss Burger,” he said.

“Uh-oh,” said Lucy.

“Thank you, Fred,” I said. “Are you with me? Are you ready to fall in love and live a life filled with love?”

“Yes, ma’am! I am!”

Fred jumped over the desk. I stumbled back, but he was fast, catching me and taking me into his arms. I tried to push him away.

“What are you doing? Get off me.” He had me in a bear hug. I was having trouble breathing. Just as I was about to lose consciousness, I noticed he smelled like onion rings.

“Honey, you are bulging out her eyes,” Lucy observed. “Loosen up. Let her go. She can’t go very far very fast. You have all the weapons, remember? I promise you can Taser her if she bolts.” Lucy was such a wise woman. Nobody could argue against her. Fred eased up, and I took a deep breath.

“What’s going on? What’s going on?” Spencer charged into the reception area. He wore a formfitting black suit with a black tie. He looked like the best man in a wedding, but he was madder than a spitfire.

“Get off her.” With one move, Spencer dislodged Fred. “Are you okay?” he asked me. When I nodded, he went after Fred.

“Are you completely insane, or did that bullet find you and damage that tiny brain of yours?”

“Sorry, Chief. I was just giving my girl a hug.” Fred looked pleased as punch. I had a strong desire to leave town and get my job back as receptionist at Porky’s Pig Farm in Fresno. I deserved nothing better. How could I have messed up something so simple?

Spencer gave me his full attention, but his head was cocked to the side, his left eye closed, as if he had lost all
power of movement on that side of his face. Then he turned back to Fred.

“Your girl?” he asked. “Gladie is your girl?”

“Uh …,” I began.

Lucy interrupted. “If you’ll allow me, Officers. I’m afraid there’s been the teensiest of misunderstandings. Gladie was just trying to initiate Sergeant Fred in the ways of love.” She paused and looked up at the ceiling. “No, that didn’t come out right.”

“You came down here to pick up my desk sergeant?” Spencer asked me. “Wait a second. Let me get this straight. You came down here to pick up my desk sergeant?” He enunciated every word like he was reading my rights.

I took a step backward. “Of course not. I’m sorry, Fred. I was talking about another soul mate. You’re a wonderful man. I just know that together with me you will find love. No. Hold on, that’s not what I meant.”

“She’s shy,” Fred explained to Spencer.

“Come with me.” Spencer grabbed my elbow, and I yelped in pain. I had precious little skin left on either of my elbows. “What’s wrong?” he asked. He pulled up my sleeves and studied my arms. I was scratched and scraped all the way down. He noticed my hands, too, which had been torn up from the dirt road.

Lucy gasped.

“What happened to you?” Spencer asked.

I debated with myself how much to tell, but he read something in my face and grew serious.

“Follow me,” he ordered. I followed him to his office, and Lucy trailed along. Spencer closed his door and motioned for us to sit in the chairs in front of his desk.

“Tell me what happened to you,” he said.

“I fell down.”

“Who was there when you fell down?”

I tried to think of a story. I wasn’t exactly protecting
Peter. I just felt that ratting him out would add to my troubles.

Spencer turned to Lucy. “Who was with Gladie when she fell?”

“Darlin’, I didn’t know she fell. She didn’t tell me a thing.”

I shrugged and smiled.

“However,” Lucy continued, “she did tell me she had a protracted conversation with Peter Terns last night. That’s Randy Terns’ oldest son. I’m sorry, Gladie, but I won’t be quiet if he is responsible for hurting you.”

“Nothing’s broken,” I said.

“Did he hit you?” Spencer’s voice was just above a whisper and stone cold.

“No.”

“Did he push you?”

“Just out of his car. It wasn’t going that fast,” I added. “Just above a crawl, really, but I didn’t want to get out.”

“You didn’t want to get out,” said Spencer, calmly.

“We were in the middle of nowhere. I was scared. It was dark, and I didn’t know how to get back.”

“I see.”

“And then he dragged me.”

“He dragged you,” Spencer repeated, rolling the words around his mouth, as if he was deciding what to do with them.

“Not for long,” I explained. “I couldn’t hold on for very long.”

Spencer’s blue eyes grew dark.

“You didn’t think to report him? The man who dragged you with his car?” Spencer asked.

“I thought it would get complicated. I know with kidnappings you have to call in the FBI. And Spencer, I know you told me to stay away from that family, but it wasn’t my fault. I was just minding my own business
and up he drove and told me to get in. I didn’t have a choice. There was a bulge in his pocket.”

“Kidnapping?” he asked. “He kidnapped you?”

“Well … that.” I gestured like it wasn’t a big deal. “It sounds a lot more serious than it was.”

“Darlin’,” said Lucy, “the man kidnapped you, dragged you with his car, and left you for dead in the middle of nowhere.”

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds serious, but Holden found me and brought me home. No harm, no foul,” I said.

“That tall friend of yours? He found you?” Spencer asked.

I REFUSED to make a statement and file charges, which infuriated Spencer no end. He insisted on going to the Ternses’ house to put the fear of God into Peter to make sure he left me alone. He also insisted that I go with him in order to stay out of trouble.

Lucy, Spencer, and I left the police station together, just in time to bump into Bridget, who was picketing in front of the building. She wore a sandwich board on which was written: “Money for guns? How about books? What’s wrong with books?” She attacked Spencer almost at once with a verbal onslaught.

“Nice building. You spent all of the town’s money on this monument to tyranny. How about money for public services? How about that?” she demanded.

“Law enforcement is a public service, lady,” he said, trying to walk around her, but she blocked him with her sandwich-boarded body.

“Arrest me! Arrest me! I dare you! Arrest me!” she yelled.

“Is this your friend?” Spencer asked me.

“Never mind that,” spit out Bridget. “Arrest me, you … pig!”

“My life has gotten so interesting since I met you,” he told me. I couldn’t argue. I had definitely made an impact on him.

“Bridget, honey,” Lucy said, always the voice of reason, “Gladie has been attacked. She was kidnapped last night by Peter Terns and dragged through the streets behind his car. The chief is going to see to her safety, and he is going beat the shit out of Mr. Terns until that low-life bottom-feeder begs for mercy.”

“You were attacked?” Bridget asked. She hobbled over to me, the sandwich board swaying from side to side. She tried to hug me but couldn’t get close enough.

“I’m fine,” I managed. My voice wobbled—Bridget’s concern had put me over the edge. “It really wasn’t that bad.”

“Waterboard him,” Bridget instructed Spencer. “Waterboard him, and if that doesn’t work, shoot him in the kneecaps. Make him pay.”

With Bridget’s concern for human rights thrown out the window, we left Lucy and Bridget, and Spencer drove me to the historic district. He parked in front of the Ternses’ house.

“Tell me honestly. Are you all right?” he asked.

“Just some scrapes and bruises. I’m fine, Spencer.”

“Listen, I got the initial report back from the ME. Jimmy the Fink died of a stroke. Natural causes,” Spencer said.

“Stroke? What kind of stroke?” I asked. “A provoked stroke? Like something was slipped into his morning beer and gave him a stroke? That kind of stroke?”

“A stroke. Like if you don’t eat right, don’t take your blood pressure meds, and smoke like a chimney stroke. That kind of stroke. Natural causes. No murder. And no murder for Randy Terns, either. What we have here,
Gladie, are two old guys who kicked the bucket. Two unsuspicious deaths.”

“Two mongo-sized coincidences,” I said.

“I don’t disagree, but we’re not talking murder. So you’re making enemies of the Terns family for no reason. They’re crazy and not the nicest of people. They are not good enemies to have. We’ve got to calm this situation down before it escalates out of control. You got me?”

“How are we going to calm this situation down?” I asked.

“You are going to mind your own business, and I am going to suggest to Peter and his siblings that they leave town, that there is no bank heist money. I’m going to show them my pretty, shiny badge.”

“Sounds like you’ve got everything under control,” I said.

“Babe, I always have everything under control. You don’t know me, but I’m very good at my job.”

That’s when we heard the bloodcurdling scream come from the Ternses’ house.

THE SCREAMS were unnatural, worse than cats, worse than someone being murdered. The screams kept coming in waves, like an air raid siren.

“Stay here,” Spencer told me, and jumped out of the car, his gun drawn. He announced his presence at the Ternses’ door and walked right in.

After a minute the screams were accompanied by yelling in a basso profundo. That was Spencer, I guessed.
He must have everything under control
, I thought. I got out of the car and walked toward the house.

The screams were a lot louder from the front porch with the door open. I had no idea how vocal cords could withstand such loud, prolonged screaming. Spencer was saying “Police” over and over, but the screams continued unabated.

I walked in and followed the noise down the hall toward the bedrooms. Spencer stood just inside the door of the master bedroom, where Christy the drug addict was having a complete breakdown, screaming, opening Betty’s drawers, and throwing the contents everywhere. Christy had shaved her head and wore nothing but men’s boxers, a wifebeater with no bra, and tube socks. Spencer tried to calm her, but she was obviously stuck in her own drug-induced world and didn’t seem to be aware of him.

I jumped five feet in the air when Rob, Peter’s brother, the one I was supposed to distract, appeared behind me. “She is tweaking balls,” he murmured against the back of my neck. “She’s up to her armpits in crank. She’ll never get her kid back now.”