Gone Crazy (17 page)

I was so zoned out that I didn’t even notice the other car pull in at first. When the headlights flashed over me, I squinted, but didn’t budge. The other car parked right next to mine. A moment after the engine stopped, my cousin Jack stood by my rear bumper. “Lil,” he said, and hopped onto the trunk of his car. He looked as ghastly as I felt, which was saying something. “Mind if I sit?”

“Free country.”

All I got was a “Hmm.” And then we sat. Finally, as the moon rose, I asked, “Whatever happened to the dog?”

“What dog?”

“Your sister’s.”

“Oh, Benito,” he said, sounding amused. “I gave him to one of Lisa’s friends. She’d always wanted a purse dog.”

God save me from the rich and idiotic.

“What brings you out here?”

“Father’s estate.” A sigh as heavy as I felt escaped him. “Damn lawyers.”

I almost smiled. “Complicated?”

“Mother.”

We both grimaced. Boris crawled on my lap and stood on his hind legs to head butt me in the chin. I scritched him around the collar. “I’m getting closer to clearing up this Collier thing,” I offered.

“Don’t rush,” said Jack sourly. “Mother’s lawyers will have me and the estate tied up for years at this rate.”

I let my brain veer off the topic of murder just for a change. “How’s she arguing against the will?”

“Says it’s not valid, so if she can get it thrown out, in effect Father will have died intestate, and that means she gets one-third of everything. To the tune of about…” I think I heard the calculator in his head clicking. “With the current situation, she’d get about twenty-three million.”

“It’d gut Littlepage Inc.,” I said confidently. “And leave you with a lot of bloody scraps.”

Jack laughed, a nasty ugly little sound that had Boris flattening his ears. “I’m hoping to make her go away with a million-five a year, on condition she never re-enter the country or contact me in any way.” The moon was behind us, or it probably would’ve shown me the freezing glare that is the Littlepage family heritage. “I think she’ll take it, but for now the lawyers have to earn their share, so it’s hurry up and wait.”

“I hope you’ve made a will,” was all I could think to reply. I’m not much on high finance. I don’t earn enough to make it above low-to-middling finance.

“Done and done,” he confirmed, and yawned. “That reminds me. I know this is a lousy time to bring it up, but…”

I sighed into Boris’s fur. “Go for it.”

“What would you say to a land swap? One burial plot for one acre?”

Like a true genius, I asked, “One acre of what?”

“Land,” enunciated Jack carefully. “On Littlepage Road. We own it right up to Missy’s place.”

At first I was shocked he knew who Missy was. Then my common sense kicked in. He was male. Missy Campbell was pretty. She was also our town’s sole prostitute, strictly on the side since her job at Food Mart didn’t quite cover the costs of raising three kids solo. She got some kind of benefits from being a soldier’s widow, I think, but rumor had it she was saving that money toward educating the kids. Tom and I didn’t interfere with Missy’s “freelance work,” as Aunt Marge called it if pressed to discuss the subject. Missy kept it quiet, she kept it clean, and she kept it away from her kids. As long as they were okay, we pretended she was just a friendly gal, and Crazy kept on ticking. Just like a time bomb, was what I was thinking that night.

“I wouldn’t want to be too close to Missy,” I told Jack as neutrally as I could. “Boris and kids are a bad mix.”

“There’s a little spot about halfway between our house and hers. It’s not much,” he warned. “But I think it’d suit. You can’t see any neighbors.”

That did sound like heaven. “Show me where to sign.”

Now he got all awkward and weird, like a boy asking a girl for her phone number. “Ah, I don’t know about your, um, financial situation, but, y’know, if you need help to get a nice little, I mean, if you want to have any help…”

On any other day, I would have laughed till I cried. “I’m good. I don’t need much. Just space for me and Boris.”

“You’re sure? You’re entitled by blood, and if Mother does have Father’s will ruled invalid or whatever the word is, then as your mother’s daughter you’d qualify for a share by law.”

“God no,” I said, and slid off the trunk, to Boris’s disgust. He had gotten all comfy. “Thanks for the offer, Cousin Jack, but no thanks.”

Poor guy sounded like he’d agonized over this. “You’re sure? It’d be a lot more money than the Ellers left you.”

I patted his arm as I walked around my car to open Boris’s door. “I’ve got good credit, I’ll manage. G’night, Jack.”

He called a farewell to me as I drove away. I’d thought I was the loneliest person in Crazy that night. I wasn’t.

***^***

I woke up to squeals, the smell of cinnamon rolls, and Boris hissing like a pit viper. I was getting smothered in hair, a perfume that reminded me of cherry blossoms, and a faint odor of cumin. I pushed out, and the squeals finally stopped. So did the hair. I sat up, blinking furiously. “What the hell!”

Bobbi sat at the foot of my bed, grinning like a fool. She bounced. She was holding a container full of cinnamon rolls. She must have known they’d buy forgiveness. “Guess what, guess what, guess what?”

I snatched at the cinnamon rolls. Still warm. Oh,
yeah
. “What, what, what?”

She thrust her hand at me. I stared at it stupidly a minute. Then I saw the fat little star ruby ring. “Holy crap!”

Boris stopped hissing and leapt on the bed, tail fluffed and lashing. He yowled at Bobbi. Under all that fluffing, he was plain embarrassed. Bobbi must’ve caught him napping, too. Good. I hated to be alone in my humiliations.

The glory of the ring faded a bit. “Wait a second,” I said, through the happy haze of sugar and cream and cinnamon. “You’ve only known each other a couple months. If that.”

“Spoilsport,” Bobbi pouted, or tried to pout. She bounced again. I was having flashbacks to adolescence. “I know. But, Lil, honest, it’s different. You’ve met him. He’s nothing like that asshole I married the last time.”

I couldn’t argue that. “This isn’t just his guilt trip over Ruth’s little stunt?”

Bobbi tipped her head to one side, viewing me with a kind of sobriety that held a lot of pity. “Lil,” she said softly, “I knew he was special the second I saw him. Doesn’t matter it was in the dairy aisle. And it’s not like we’re kids.”

Another good point. “Okay, then,” I surrendered, and gave her a big hug. “Congratulations! When’s the wedding?”

“Just as soon as his mother recovers from her heart attack.”

I was lost in my second cinnamon bun. “She’s sick?”

“No,” said Bobbi, “but she will be when he tells her he’s marrying a white girl. His first was a nice Indian girl his mama picked out.” She rolled her eyes as I snorted laughter through my nose. I wasn’t about to open my mouth. It’d waste cinnamon roll. “She’ll probably have as big a fit as Ruth. Not that she could be as mean as Ruth,” Bobbi went on and flicked her nails. They’re short but impeccably manicured. “Old witch. Anyway, no sense getting all worked up about it. We’ll get married when we get married. Fall, maybe. And I am
so
going to wear red.”

I had a sudden vision of me in a sari, and I shuddered. “Um, when you say get married…”

“Civil ceremony,” she said and hugged me. “No ugly dress.”

Thank God for that. When she married Ruth’s rat filth of a kid, we’d had to wear these flouncy, shiny satin dresses with big bows on the butt and lots of ruffles. With actual petticoats underneath. And lace fans. And lace gloves. And white lace hats. It’d taken me years to track down and destroy all photographs of me in that thing.

“C’mon, be happy,” she urged.

I tried, and I gave her something in return for the cinnamon rolls. “You’re first to know I’m getting an acre of land off Littlepage Road.”

She squealed. Bobbi’s got a squeal that’ll hit a register usually only dogs can hear. Boris’s ears twisted. Mine just about melted.

I leaned back into my pillows and reached for another cinnamon roll. “So tell me about the ring,” I said. What the hell. I was already late. Crazy could handle a day without me lurking in a speed trap.

***^***

I rolled into the office after directing a lost tourist to the convenience store at the intersection of Piedmont Road and the highway. The weather was summer-hot and sticky, and even Boris didn’t have much bounce. He went right to his water bowl and then his condo without sparing a tail-flick for Tom’s cousin. Who was half-asleep on the little couch, watching Davis eat lunch with his brother Jeff as they played Scrabble through the bars. I didn’t know what surprised me most, and stood for a minute trying to decide what to figure out first. I chose mushrooms, and grabbed a cold juice from the lunch room before I waved Tom’s cousin to the chair on the other side of my desk. “Tell me it’s good news.”

Tom’s cousin surprised me. He kept it simple, and handed me the kind of report even a federal prosecutor couldn’t pick at. He must’ve seen my expression, because he grinned a little. “I’ve testified before.”

I set aside the report to read later. “What’s the short version?”

“It’s
Amanita
, absolutely, but it’s not local.”

I scowled, skimming the first page of the report to hide my rising bad mood. “
Amanita
grows all over. Even
Amanita phalloides
.” I hoped I hadn’t mangled the fancy name. “I did do a Google search.”

“True, and yes, it’s death caps, the stains show that,” said Tom’s cousin patiently, and tapped his report heavily. “My methodology and sources are all in there, Sheriff, you can verify them if you want. The thing is, there’s no way those mushrooms came from around here. Whoever dried them didn’t bother to wash them first.”

My brain was feeling tight and clumsy. Sugar crash from all the cinnamon rolls. “What’s that got to do with it?”

He sighed, but happily. The guy really did like his job. “Ever hear of fungus gnats?
Sciaridae
, to be exact. They ruin mushrooms. Real pain in the ass for mushroom farmers. So are a lot of other little critters, but the point is, some insect larvae get into the mushrooms and that’s the end of the mushroom cap. The part people eat, in other words.”

“Okay,” I agreed, “I get that. So what’s the big deal that these are dirty dried mushrooms?”

“Not local dirt.” He held up his hands. “Let me back up. Not enough dirt to identify without getting fancier than I’ve got money for. But there’s also some insect traces in those dried mushrooms. Including
Lycoriella solani
, and I also identified some
Lycoriella auripila
. Fungus gnats. And you don’t find them in the US. You find them in Europe. And Russia. But they’re not found in our country. Not around here. See, mushrooms get into our country when people bring trees with native soil that’s got the spores and all. But the bugs? The bugs don’t travel so good.” He’d lost some erudition as he got more excited, but that was fine by me. “Those death caps came from Europe, based on the larval remains. And I figured,” he finished with a grin, “that was news worth sharing in person.”

It was. I leaned back. I whistled. Now all I had to do was figure out who’d been to Europe lately.

We’d been speaking quietly, but it’s a small office. I was sure Davis and Jeff had caught bits and pieces here and there. When I glanced over, they’d abandoned the Scrabble game. I could tell by the tone that they were arguing, but it didn’t sound very heated. More like men who already know what they’ll do but need to work up to it.

I gestured for Tom’s cousin to stay seated, and I ghosted over on my rubber-soled shoes. Boris is a good instructor on the stealthy approach. When I got close enough, I announced, “Something to share with the class?” and both men jumped.

Jeff nodded at Davis. It wasn’t permission. It was an acknowledgment the guy in jail should do the honors of clearing his name. Davis cleared his throat. And he told me which Collier had gone to Europe not quite a year ago.

The only surprise to me was that I was at all surprised.

18.

I
wish I could say I ran right out and rounded up the Colliers, but I’d done that before, shooting blind, and I wasn’t doing it again. I wanted more than Davis’s word, and that took work. The kind of work that you never see cops do on TV.

Paperwork.

First on the list, I had to fill out forms for the State Department, so I could find out which Colliers‌—‌if any‌—‌had passports. And more forms to find out where said Colliers had been, on what dates, using said passport. Since I had fourteen Colliers‌—‌strike that, sixteen, because I didn’t assume Jeff and Davis were innocent‌—‌that was a lot of paper. Sixteen names, dates of birth, Social Security numbers, and on and on until I welcomed the chance to bust a speeder just to break up the monotony.

Then came the request for credit card records. I’d only asked for six months’ worth. I needed all of the previous calendar year. For sixteen people. From eleven different issuing companies. The only blessing was I knew that already because I’d been through the paperwork once before. Practice definitely makes competent, if not perfect.

And then, because I’m an impatient gal, and big corporations and government departments don’t exactly have the speediest turnaround times, I started calling every travel agency within a hundred miles. I stopped after I found five that featured some kind of packaged foodie tours of some European nation or other. A quicker way would’ve been the Google search I finally did, and that depressed me past the point of dark chocolate to fix. There were tons of the damn tours. Narrowing it down without records would only waste more time.

That left me with the insulin that Marilee said had gone missing while Laura was there. Possibly. I wouldn’t put it past Marilee to lie. But by the same token, I wouldn’t put it past Laura to steal the insulin. The question was how to prove any of it. Unless I found a way to crack Laura.

I started to grin. Kim came to my desk and put down a box of peanut butter cups, then retreated like she’d planted a land mine. “Lil? You’re worrying me.”