Dead Dancing Women (17 page)

“Now, Dolly,” I reached over and put my hand on her taut arm, “Lucky's just thinking of your safety.”

“Why?” She glared at me. “We're going to finish this, Emily. If we leave it to the state guys, it'll get shelved. They do a good job when they know the territory, but I'm telling you this isn't like Gaylord, or even Grayling. And certainly not like it is in Traverse. These people won't tell them anything. This is a closed-in place. We protect each other—even from outsiders who might do us some good.” She turned back to Lucky, who looked miserable. “What if we played along? I mean, I'll talk to Officer Brent. I want to. You can tell everybody I'm on indefinite leave. But don't tie my hands, Chief. There's one to go, don't you see? One more of the women. They've got to get Flora. She's the last of 'em. If I keep her with me, maybe force whoever it is to come after her with me around, we can finish this.”

Lucky was shaking his head. “That would mean I'd have to lie; cover for you. That's not how I operate.”

I liked Dolly's idea. We could work full time. She could be watching Flora Coy, who was worrying me even as we sat there. The word would get around that she was relieved of duty. Whoever had called would think they'd settled that problem. It sounded good to me.

“Chief,” I said, “you've never been up against anything like this before. Neither has Dolly. I certainly haven't. But I'd like to see it through. Not because of my mystery writing. Nothing like that. Dolly and I must be close to something. They're after her. They've been after me from the beginning, when they put Ruby's head in my garbage can and threw her arm on my porch. I don't think either one of us will be safer now by being shut out. We're in deep, for whatever crazy reason. We need your help, that's for sure. But we can't be pushed away. We're as much a part of this as any of the old women.”

Lucky stared hard at me. Finally he nodded. “You're right, Emily. OK. As of now Dolly's officially off duty, but I'm not stopping you from going right on with what you've been doing. Word will get around soon enough that you're still working the case. I'll deny it; tell them you're on your own, if that's what you're doing. Make sure you take care of Miz Coy. That's the biggest job you've got. Keep the woman safe, for God's sakes. I'd lock her right up in my jail if I thought that would do it, but I can't.”

Dolly sighed hard and beamed at her boss. “Thanks, Chief. I won't let you down.”

She looked over at me and grinned. “We're still in business. First it's Mrs. Coy. You want to come?”

“I've got guests at home, remember? Probably sitting there waiting for breakfast to appear. Why don't you pick her up and bring her out for lunch? I've got to call Bill. I saw a reporter from the paper at the fire, and a photographer, but I'll bet he doesn't know they think it's arson. I want to get on the story right away. I need to talk to Mrs. Coy. She's got to have some information, something she's noticed, even if it's only the odd way someone's been looking at her.

“No memorial services now. And no funeral,” I added. “No bodies all over again. Did you see Amanda around the fire?”

“I wasn't looking for her.”

“Funny if she wasn't there. Wonder what she and Ernie are going to do about a funeral. If I were them I'd give up and hold a memorial later.” I thought of something and turned back to the chief. “What about Gilbert and Sullivan? Were they in there with Mary Margaret? They were supposed to be watching out for her.”

Lucky looked disgusted. “Yeah. Gilbert said he was gambling up at the Soo. Sullivan was home and he's lucky to be alive. Got himself out a back upstairs window. Drunk when we came on him. Standing there looking back up at the building like he was expecting his mother to leap out after him. They're both with the state police now. I've asked for them to drop in here, too, when they can. Guess they've lost their home as well as their mother, and their jobs. Can't see either one of them doing this. Too much to lose.”

Dolly and I left, then parted outside the police station. It was raining, mirroring how I felt as I drove back home. Downcast. Gloomy. All wet.

TWENTY-FOUR

Another Monday morning. Colder
overnight. Roiling, black clouds above. Rain coming. There could even be snow. I'd seen thick, cottony snow collect before on colorful, fall branches. It was a trick of nature, maybe like a seasonal joke—to show us what was coming, what we couldn't avoid; to remind us of icy roads and whiteouts and blizzards where the wind blew straight across in front of you and stung your skin as bad as sand.

The crows were back, greeting me as I drove in even though I had no garbage can and might never dare set my garbage out again.

I walked in my house as the northern cardinal sang out nine from my bird clock.

Jennifer and Jackson weren't exactly waiting for breakfast, but the counter was littered with plates and cups, the sink filled with pans and spatulas, and the two of them sprawled in front of my TV, watching Murphy's Funeral Home burn on a news bulletin.

Sorrow was the only one happy to see me. He leaped and yapped as if scolding me for leaving him alone with that pair. I checked his dish, which was empty, and gave him water.

“That what they called you about?” Jackson looked up from the TV.

I nodded, too horribly tired to watch the fire again, in miniature.

“Awful thing,” Jennifer said, showing sympathy.

I got a cup from the cupboard. Unfortunately, they'd left me no coffee so I made a cup of tea instead, without asking anyone if they wanted any, or needed anything, or asking if they were comfortable, laid out together on my sofa. I didn't have the heart for sarcasm.

“The owner didn't get out?” Jackson asked, rolling his eyes back to look up at me. I stood behind them, watching the flames devour Murphy's Funeral Home, though I had no stomach to go through it again.

“No,” I answered, determined to be uninformative.

“Those places must have a lot of chemicals in them. An old building like that could be a death trap.”

“It was,” I said.

“Oh, by the way,” Jennifer smiled up at me after stifling a yawn, “somebody was here to see you. An old guy in a funny suit. Woke us up before eight. Brought a bunch of dried-up vegetables he said were leeks. I stuck them in the refrigerator, though it doesn't really look like something you would want to eat.”

“My neighbor,” I said and then blew at my tea, wishing I could take it somewhere, anywhere, else, without seeming too antisocial. “From across the road.”

“Strange duck,” Jackson said. “I didn't want Jennifer to answer the door. Looked like a derelict to me.”

“Just different. Harry does odd jobs for me. He say anything?”

“Said he hoped you could use the leeks and that if you got a chance he'd like you to drop over. Something he wanted to talk to you about,” Jennifer said.

I figured later would be soon enough. What I needed right then were a few hours of straight, hard sleep. I thought longingly of the futon in my studio. Away from the house. Quiet. I'd work if I wanted to, finish the Survivalist story. I had to get into Traverse City and drop the story off to Jan Romanoff, along with the roll of photos I'd shot, since I didn't do digital. Jan would call later for cutlines. It wasn't difficult to deal with the newspapers and magazines up there. Either I sent my stories in electronically, or I drove to town and dropped them off.

I had no idea what time Dolly might come by with Mrs. Coy. She was probably as tired, as defeated, as I felt and would go home and sleep. Poor Mrs. Murphy. Another one of the harmless old ladies gone. What good were Dolly and I, if we couldn't stop what was happening? Maybe we were a part of it. Not the way they said about Dolly, but just sticking our nose in. I shook my head. First some sleep, then I'd suffer all the guilt I could muster.

So, at least a few hours.

I made excuses to my guests, who didn't seem to understand that I was leaving the house, and started out toward my studio, my lone beacon of sanity. I could almost feel my body begin to relax, one limb at a time. I pictured the lumpy futon and a pillow with my head on it.

A yellow SUV came tearing down the drive and my whole body sagged.

Simon and Gloria. Sorrow, who'd reluctantly accompanied me out to work, went into spasms of joy. He leaped on Simon, chest-high, and barked, then backed off because I'd been telling him leaping on people was unacceptable. He twirled in the air instead. Simon laughed and scratched Sorrow's ears and patted his head, then crouched down to talk to him, man to dog, letting him know what a wonderful animal he was and how lucky Emily was to have such a fine creature living with her.

“Awful about Mrs. Murphy, isn't it?” Gloria put a fist to her mouth, looking as if she might cry. “Everybody feels so bad. And they're saying it might have been set—the fire. We just can't believe it, can we, Simon?”

He agreed. If anything, his eyes welled up faster than Gloria's.

“Who do you suppose would do such a thing, Emily?” Simon stood, leaving Sorrow to sit with his tongue out, hoping for more attention. “We came because we heard you and Dolly got run off the case. Everybody in town's fighting mad over it. Nobody but a few nuts believes she had anything to do with the fire.”

“Three dead women.” Gloria shook her head. Her face was drawn. I had the feeling Simon and Gloria had been in the crowd outside the burning building, standing there half the night. What did they have to say that was so important it brought them out here when most of the town wasn't moving, was home sleeping?

“Me and Simon would help you both out if we could. You know we've been telling you every last thing we hear around town.”

“I know that. You've been a big help. All it takes is one small fact: something somebody said about the women, something somebody let drop—a reason for murder. Just about anything.”

“Well, that's what we were thinking,” Simon said, standing taller, like a soldier, arms behind his back.

I hadn't asked them in because I wasn't in a hurry to introduce my company around. We stood near the middle of my drive. I thought of asking them out to the studio, was about to make a motion for them to follow me, when Gloria elbowed Simon and hissed, “Go on, Simon. Tell her what we came out to say.”

“You tell her. You're the one told me,” Simon hissed right back at her.

Gloria took a couple of deep breaths, looked off, then back at me. Her pretty face was earnest with her news. “I know who called the police and said she saw Dolly coming out of the funeral home. She told me herself.”

“Who?” I demanded, sure if this fact were clear we would be straight on to whoever was doing these terrible things.

“I hate to say it. It seems so disloyal of me.” She made a face, then looked back at me. “Don't tell anybody it was me, OK? I mean, I like my job …”

“You don't mean Eugenia?” This wasn't the direction I'd imagined.

Gloria nodded. “She told me right there at the fire. Said she was driving by. I guess she fell asleep in her office, doing the books, and didn't wake up until almost two o'clock in the morning. She thought she might as well get home because she had Nancy coming in to open and could still get some sleep. She drove by Murphy's and swears she saw Dolly running out. She thought it was funny and almost stopped to ask her what was going on, but she didn't want to get into one of Dolly's long stories so she went on home to bed. The sirens woke her. She got dressed and went to where she saw the engines going and there was the funeral home already up in flames. Eugenia asked me if I thought she'd better call somebody about what she saw. I told her to talk to Dolly, but she said with what's going on in town, maybe she'd better call Lucky Barnard. Then afterwards she told me she was afraid, with all that's happened, well, who knows but maybe Dolly and the chief are both mixed up in it. I mean, we're all scared to death now. We don't know who's going to be killed next.”

I was angry with all of them. Poor Dolly. She'd been working her head off to bring this terrible tragedy to an end. Judged and found guilty—on what? “What did Eugenia see anyway? I know it wasn't Dolly. She was home in bed.”

“She says it looked just like Dolly. Kind of a dumpy person in a uniform. She swears it was a police uniform.”

“But she didn't see her face? Or his face?”

Gloria shook her head.

“She's sure it was a woman? Not a small man—somebody like Ernie? How about one of the boys—Gilbert or Sullivan?”

“I'll ask her. Don't think it could be Gilbert or Sullivan. That's their mother.”

“But if the person was running hunched over. Could have been anybody she saw. Why did she automatically think it was Dolly?” I asked.

“The uniform, I guess. Maybe you should talk to her,” Gloria said. “Just don't tell her who told you.”

Gloria fell to chewing her lip, thinking hard.

“You know, Emily, I was thinking about a story for you,” Simon said, his face lighting up. “About a guy who's really crazy. I mean, this guy kills people right and left. Then you could have maybe a federal agent come after him. Only make it a woman. That will be a surprise …”

“Hannibal Lecter,” I said.

“Who?” he said.

“It's already a book. And a movie.”

“You mean the story I'm telling you?”

“Un-huh,” I said.

“I didn't see anything like that.”

“Bet you did. With Jodie Foster?”

“Who?”

“Jodie Foster. She was the federal agent in the first one. Julianne Moore in the second.”

“I never see movies.”

“Then somebody told you the story.”

He shook his head. “I don't think so. Just kind of came to me.”

“Somebody told you,” I said.

They drove back out and I was almost to my studio, already feeling my head on the pillow I kept out there for emergencies, like writing until it got too dark to find the house and spending the night on my futon. I didn't make it. Dolly arrived, a little lady whose eyes barely peeked over the dashboard, beside her. It wasn't just that I wasn't going to get any sleep now, but everything was going to be hashed over again and again, and in front of Jackson and Jennifer, who would keep asking dumb questions. Unless I could think up an errand for them, I thought, ever hopeful. Unless I could make up the perfect place for Jackson to go see. Hmm … out on Torch Lake, maybe. He'd like that. Snobby enough for him.
Just heard about it, you two. Better get over there fast.
I made up an address on a road that didn't exist, and walked along behind Dolly's car, back down toward my house, not nearly as tired as I had been.