Dead Body Language (29 page)

Wolf perched on the stool behind the counter and examined a ring he’d pulled from his pocket. He said nothing. I took it as a go-ahead.

“You heard about that man who was killed at the bed-and-breakfast inn?”

Wolf continued examining the ring.

“Through my, uh, research, I found out he was married to someone in town.”

No response. Not even a twitch of an eyelid.

“Celeste.”

Wolf stopped and looked up. He seemed genuinely surprised. “You’re kidding.”

“Did you know the guy?”

Wolf shook his head without taking his eyes off me. A man of few words.

“Celeste was wearing a gold ring she says this guy gave her. Very ornate, free-form. It … well, it looks like your work.”

Wolf shrugged. “A lot of people wear my jewelry.”

“Do you remember selling a ring to a man called James Russell? Or Celeste?”

“I sell a lot of rings to a lot of people. I can’t remember them all. What’s this got to do with the article you’re writing?” Wolf slipped the ring back in his pocket and picked up his gloves.

“Sluice Jackson had one of your rings, too, Wolf. That day he fell into the grave. I found it there the next day.”

“So?” He looked blankly at me, his brown eyes cold and empty. I turned to the jewelry case and ran a finger along the middle of the glass, as if touching each of the rings. It was time for a long shot.

“That ring I found in the grave? It didn’t belong to Sluice. It belonged to someone at the mortuary. One of the deceased. In fact, it was one of several that were stolen from a man named Leonard Swec.”

I looked back at Wolf. He said nothing, but slipped on the gloves, slowly, taking his time with each finger as he pressed them into place. I kept talking—it was effective in keeping people distracted, at least for a while. I made it up as I went along.

“I have this theory. Someone removes jewelry from the deceased, probably during the night, and then gives it to someone else, who—”

“Who what?” Wolf asked, leveling his gaze at me.

I usually have no trouble making eye contact. It’s a
necessity when you’re deaf. But Wolf’s piercing dark eyes almost seemed a physical assault. “Who, uh, well, copies them, and then returns the fakes to the mortuary, while keeping the originals. Then—”

Wolf laughed, folded his gloved hands, then stretched out the tension. I glanced peripherally at the front door for a clear getaway in case he suddenly reacted.

“You could copy them, couldn’t you? In a few hours you could have duplicates ready to be replaced on the loved one’s hands, while you melt down the originals and redesign them. Then you could sell the new designs to the gold-crazy tourists for a huge profit. Who’s to know?”

“You’re the one who’s crazy,” Wolf said, flexing his thick, strong, glove-covered fingers. I glanced at the door.

“Lacy’s gold jewelry was missing from her home after she died, Wolf. Did she find out about your creative jewelry business, too?”

Wolf got up off the stool and turned toward his back room, his head bobbing slightly. After a few seconds he turned slowly back to face me, grinning strangely.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot. You can’t hear me, can you? Well, let me repeat myself. You’re not only deaf, you’re dumb. And you’re dangerous, spreading rumors like that. Rumors you can’t possibly prove. Because they aren’t true. That’s not journalism. That’s libel.”

“Sluice may have something to say about that when he recovers from his fall. You were at the cemetery when he ‘fell,’ weren’t you? Coincidence?”

Wolf gave another little laugh. “You really are nuts. Just like Sluice. And he’s never going to recover, at least not mentally. The old guy’s lost it. Ain’t nobody gonna believe what he says anymore, so forget about it. Besides, I had nothing to do with his fall. Why would I? He was—” He cut himself off and glanced over my shoulder. “I’ve got work to do.”

He turned around again and left the room, leaving me standing in the middle of the jewelry store. I thought about following him when I caught a glimpse of movement behind me. I whirled around to see two couples who
had entered the store sometime during our conversation. All I could do was walk out the door.

I checked my watch. I still had a few minutes before I was to meet Dan for lunch at the Nugget. I decided to go early and have a chat with Jilda Renfrew, after a quick stop at the Black Bart Drugstore for a bottle of calamine lotion.

The cafe was packed at eleven-thirty in the morning. Everyone seemed to be buzzing about the latest death in Flat Skunk. I waved to Deputy Arnold and Sheriff Mercer, who were downing cheeseburgers in one corner. I nodded to French, who was chatting up clients in another booth. Celeste was absent from her customary seat next to him.

Lacy’s attorney, Croaky Wheeler, sat alone in a window booth reading the
Mother Lode Monitor
and dining on what looked like a meat loaf sandwich. I ignored him, not ready to deal with the five-thousand-dollar check waiting for me in his office. The rest of the booths were filled, so I took a seat at the counter and ordered a glass of orange juice from Jilda.

“I guess you heard about that guy at the Mark Twain, huh, Connor? Whoa! Unbelievable!” She set down my juice, then leaned her elbows on the counter in front of me. “God, it’s like there’s some kind of serial killer loose around here or something. I’m getting totally paranoid.”

“It’s pretty scary. Did you happen to know the guy? James Russell?” I tried to sound casual.

“No way. But I heard he was married to a whole bunch of women. Must of been some kinda major stud.”

“So you weren’t one of his wives, huh?” I teased.

She laughed. “Naw, I’m a one-man woman. French is my honey.” She glanced over at him but he was too engrossed in making a sale to notice.

“Well, I hope you were locked up safe in your room with the windows closed and the lights on last night.”

“I was with Frenchy, thank God, although don’t print that in your newspaper. He doesn’t want anyone to know we actually sleep together. He’s kind of old-fashioned that way, you know. Thinks people wouldn’t understand ’cause I’m so young and he’s older. Isn’t that cool?”

Cool. I finished my juice and noticed the sheriff and deputy getting ready to leave their table. I moved over next to them.

“Mind if I grab this table?” I asked, as the sheriff pulled a couple of dollars from his pocket for a tip.

“It’s all yours,” he said with a toothpick in his mouth. He gestured toward the red leatherette seat. “I recommend the Pepto-Bismol today.”

“Thanks. Hope it goes well with calamine lotion.” I set the bottle on the table and gave my arm a scratch. “At least the colors match. Any news on that guy they found last night?”

The sheriff pulled the toothpick out of his mouth, which helped my comprehension a great deal.

“Yep.”

I grinned. “Well, what? Tell me!”

The sheriff looked at Mickey, then back at me and made a zip-the-lip gesture.

“Come on, Sheriff! Don’t hold out on me! The police and the press have to work together on these things. I want to do a serious story on this.” I hoped I wasn’t whining.

“You’ll find out soon enough. Soon as the evidence comes back from the lab. Then everything will be P.I.”

“Public information,” Mickey explained.

“I suspect I’ll be making an arrest sometime soon,” the sheriff continued. “Yep. But I can’t say anything more yet. If my suspicions are correct, everyone is in for a big surprise. Especially you, Connor Westphal. By the way, I don’t suppose you’re responsible for all this, just to build up circulation in that newspaper of yours, huh?”

“My paper hasn’t even come out yet! Listen, Sheriff, I—”

Just then Dan entered the café. Both the sheriff and the deputy looked over at him, then at each other. While the sheriff paid the bill, Mickey mouthed the words, “See you tonight, Connor, and be careful,” then followed Sheriff Mercer out the door.

“Hey,” Dan said as he slid into the booth. “What was
that all about? They looked like they’d just seen the ghost of Elvis or something.”

“I don’t know. Sheriff says he’s close to making an arrest in the death of James Russell, or whoever he is. But he won’t say who or what he’s got. He’s being very mysterious. Why does everyone love the drama of this so much?”

Dan and I ordered Hangtown Fry, the oysters-egg-and-bacon dish new to Dan’s palate, and relatively new to mine. As soon as we finished, we headed outside into the bright sunny afternoon, stuffed and satisfied.

“I need to walk,” I said. “Wanna come?”

We chatted about our latest cache of information as we strolled toward the end of Main Street to the cemetery. Dan followed me up Pioneer Hill and we located Lacy’s freshly filled grave. Dan started to sit down when I grabbed his arm.

“Poison oak. Right there. Be careful.”

He stood back up.

“We can sit on those benches over there.” I pointed to a cement seat about fifty feet away. Dan nodded and we walked slowly over. The cemetery offered a kind of relaxed ambiance in the daytime; it didn’t seem to encourage hurry.

“Well, it looks as if everyone—and no one—has a reason to kill Lacy and James Russell,” I said. “The folks around here sure have their little secrets, and they’re working hard to protect them. Did you tell the sheriff about Boone?”

Dan nodded. “He already knew. Guess the sheriff from Rio Vista notified him after we left. He asked me a few questions. Said they’re calling it accidental over there, but he seemed to think I might know more than I do.”

“Really?” I said, hoping he’d continue. While waiting, I thought about the conversations I’d had with Celeste, Wolf, and Jilda. Dan chewed on a blade of grass.

“It sure looks as if someone from the mortuary is involved, what with the trocar being used, the missing jewelry, Sluice falling into the grave. But …”

“But what?” Dan asked.

“What about Boone? How does he fit into all this?”

He shook his head, then held the grass blade between his thumbs and held it up to his mouth. His cheeks puffed up.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Making a—” He looked at me, then dropped the blade of grass to the ground. “Nothing.”

I didn’t pursue it. “Boone must have discovered something important enough to be silenced. That’s assuming he didn’t drown on his own. Maybe he figured out the bigamy scam. Or maybe he knew about the jewelry exchanges.”

We tried to hash it out for another half hour or so but the loose ends only became more entangled as the afternoon wore on. We walked back to the hotel building and entered our respective offices to do our respective chores. Dan had a brother’s mysterious death to deal with. I still had a newspaper to publish—tomorrow, by God. I pushed the newspaper envelope the rest of the afternoon, promising no interruptions until all the copy was ready to go to print.

At five o’clock I got a call on the TTY.

“connor it’s mickey we sort of had a date tonight do you remember for dinner are you still free GA.”

Oh, my God, I had completely forgotten. I stared at the red letters trying to think up a plausible excuse. I just didn’t feel like schmoozing tonight.

“Mickey! Hi. Sorry. I DID forget! It’s been one of those days!! Will you ever forgive me? Could I have a raincheck? GA.”

“no problem this case is getting to be very time consuming the sheriff is close to an arrest and i should hang around until things break GA.”

“Great. Thanks for understanding. Don’t suppose you know who he’s going to arrest? GA.”

“i really can’t say but can tell you this the hair and clothing threads we found at the mark twain were celestes! we also found some of lacys stolen jewelry there but the fingerprint belongs to someone else can’t say who but connor you should be careful GA”

I thought for a moment, then typed, “Thanks,
Mickey. I will. Let me know what happens, will you? Can you call me at home later? I’ll be working there most of the night. GA.”

“sure enough ill check on you see ya later GA.”

“Bye. GA. SK.”

“i always forget that SK part GA. SK.”

I hung up the phone.

I rode my bike home and cautiously entered my diner. Within seconds I was greeted by my faithful dog, Casper, who had a reassuring effect on my stress levels. I served her up a big bowl of doggy beef Stroganoff. I was glad to have a dog, and not just for the company. With all that was going on around town, she made me feel a whole lot safer.

I helped myself to the refrigerator leftovers—a bowl of rice, a couple of slices of cantaloupe, some dill-rye toast, and a chicken leg—and washed it all down with a light beer.

I was just about to go to bed when Casper started barking. I couldn’t hear her but I saw her head snap several times and the snarled expression from her mouth was unmistakable.

“What is it, girl?” I asked, suddenly alert. The locks had been changed—but then locks hadn’t stopped an intruder the other day.

The hair suddenly prickled on the back of my neck. I turned to recheck the front door when the lights throughout the diner went out.

I froze, tingling with sweat, not moving, not breathing. I couldn’t see Casper in the darkness but I could feel the whisk of her tail as she backed up beside me. I reached down to touch her and felt her head still snapping wildly.

And then I didn’t feel her any more.

I had to stop myself from calling “Casper!” I didn’t want to give my location away in the dark if someone was there. I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my chest.

I had to move. If there was someone, they probably already knew where I was. Stifling a panic, I tried to grope my way to the front door. After two steps I tripped over
an end table. It wasn’t easy curbing the urge to yell “Fuck!”

Growing more frantic, I stumbled on in the direction of the door. Something moved next to me—I could feel the air swish by. Casper? I reached down to feel for her. Nothing.

Was someone there? Was someone—

My answer came as a jolting grab from behind.

I took in a quick breath—mint?—and tried to duck. Too late.

A cloth with something strong-smelling, like ammonia, covered my face. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. My lungs filled in a painful gasp as I thrashed and swung my arms and legs at the assailant behind me. My throat burned.