Love Me If You Must (17 page)

 
28

“Not one to gossip,” Dorothy said. She shifted in her seat. “All I know is what I see and hear for myself. Don’t pay no mind to rumors.”

“I understand. I’m not looking for rumors. I’m looking for facts. Did Dietz have family? Friends?” I leaned toward Dorothy on the love seat, eager for information that might clear my name.

“Heard he’s got family over in Jackson. That’s where the funeral is, the paper said. Far as friends go, I don’t think there’s a soul in town that liked the man. Even Sandra eventually saw through him. Everyone else just paid him due homage.”

“How long did Sandra and Martin know each other?”

“Can’t say for sure. They’d been dating quite awhile before he popped the question. Saw the ring when she first got it. She’d been over to the Ramseys’. Showed me on her way home.”

“Sandra knew Rebecca and David Ramsey?”

“Small town, dear. For a good number of years, they were pretty tight. Sandra loved watching the renovations. David teased that she was Martin’s spy.”

Dorothy rubbed her eye with a bony knuckle. “Then long about a year ago last April, Sandra quit hanging around the jet setters that had made her career, the Ramseys included.”

I remembered Tammy saying Sandra had helped with the church youth group. I assumed that activity took up Sandra’s former big-shooter schmooze time.

“And let me guess,” I said. “That’s when she broke up with Martin.”

“She didn’t want to call it off. Said she just wanted to get her life together. Martin harassed her for trying to change. Mocked her for wanting to do the right thing. When she jumped in the race for commissioner against him, that’s when he showed his true colors. She held her head up as long as she could. But he intimidated and embarrassed her in front of everyone. She had to throw in the towel.” Dorothy shook her head. “Never thought she’d just up and leave like that, though.”

“How was Martin after she left?”

“Think she broke his heart. He bad-mouthed her every chance he could, promising she’d never be able to come back to Rawlings. But men only do that when they’ve got their hearts broken. Don’t know why he thought he could be mean to her and she’d stick with him. A woman can only take so much.”

Control freak. That was Dietz. Sandra was okay as long as she toed the line, but do something for herself, and she was toast. Maybe all that bad-mouthing Dietz did was designed to wrap a smoke screen around the facts.

Sandra Jones was dead in my basement. And Martin Dietz put her there. I was almost sure of it.

That got me back to the important question: who killed Martin Dietz?

It had to be someone who knew and loved Sandra. Someone loyal to her memory. Someone who knew what Dietz had done and was just waiting for the right time to take revenge. Waiting for the day when some schleppy renovator chick could take the rap.

I leaned toward Dorothy, feeling as if the answers were somehow mingled with the ganglia in her brain and all I had to do was ask the right questions. “Tell me about the waterproofing project last year. What part did Martin Dietz play in that?”

“He had to approve it. Saw him there a couple times while it was going on. He was always one to keep a close eye on things.”

“Did you ever see him down there after business hours? You know, a time maybe when he shouldn’t have been?”

Dorothy looked at the floor in front of her. “Can’t think of one.”

“What about Jack? Do you think he might know of a time?”

“Might, I suppose.” She glanced up quickly. “But he doesn’t like to talk to strangers. I’ll ask him for you.”

Yeah, right. By the way he’d plopped his bottom into the love seat, Jack had wanted to stay and visit.

Dorothy stood. “Promised you soup, didn’t I?” She headed to the front door. “Best get to it.”

I wasn’t done digging for clues, but I didn’t want to push her. I’d hit a nerve somehow asking about Jack.

“Thank you for the love seat,” I said as she walked out.

Half an hour ago, I’d been ready to burn the plaid atrocity. But having cuddled up in it, I was hooked on its sink-down-to-my-toes comfort. I stood back and looked. The shape softened the angles of the open stairwell. Between the love seat and new paint job, the parlor seemed cozy. And free was always better than renting.

I curled into the curved arm, almost giddy to own a stick of real furniture.

I closed my eyes. Lucky for me there were Officer Brads in the world. Instead of freezing, I was toasty in my usually drafty Victorian.

I must have dozed off.

Clang, clang, clang. Prison guards were opening and closing my cell door. Behind me, Verna was telling me how to make coffee. “Three scoops in the top. But don’t you use that nasty water.” I was only half listening to her. Mostly I was wondering why the guards kept banging the door. “Am I in, or am I out?” I asked.

“You’re in,” the guard said and stuck his face up to the bars. It was David.

I stumbled backward to get away from him and fell across Verna. But it wasn’t Verna anymore. It was a dead, decaying body.

Teeth without lips smiled up at me. “I’m waiting, Tish.”

I screamed myself awake, scrambling upright on the love seat. My heart pounded.

Night had fallen while I’d napped. Streetlights sent a dim glow to the parlor. I stood and groped my way to the kitchen.

I turned on the light and waited for the fluorescent bulb to reach full intensity. I eased toward the kitchen sink and looked over at the cellar door. Yellow police tape draped across it, most likely forgotten after the brief and unrevealing investigation. Crime scene, the black letters warned.

I could only hope that Martin Dietz had made amends with his Maker. I didn’t need another ghost wandering the halls. As it was, his death was enough of a curse. A picture of my house plastered all the area papers, along with details of the murder in the basement. I crossed my fingers that no one would recognize the Victorian once I transformed it with a fresh coat of paint come spring.

I opened the fridge and scrounged around.

An onion bagel and some low-fat cream cheese fit the bill.

I leaned against the counter as I ate and thought about breaking through the police tape. If I had a speck of courage, I would throw a private grave-digging party and have the case wrapped up in thirty minutes or less. And without Dietz around to stop me, no one could comment on the excavation of my cistern.

I brushed a crumb off my lip. I was stuck in limbo between knowing the right thing to do and having the gumption to actually do it.

And it wasn’t like I had anybody to come to my rescue. Officer Brad probably choked down a chuckle every time he remembered the body I thought was in my cistern. And I couldn’t invite a police officer to join me in wrecking a crime scene, even if it was already abandoned.

David remained a possibility. But I shuddered to imagine his reaction if I asked him to help exhume a body. He might think I was a little on the loony side now, but after that, he’d be convinced I’d lost my marbles.

That left Jack Fitch as the most likely White Knight in the neighborhood. I could tell him I just wanted to redo the concrete job in the cistern. No offense, Jack, it’s just too bumpy. Can’t you help me take out the old concrete and smooth in some new? And if we happen to find a body under there, oh well. You never know what you’ll uncover in these old homes.

I scraped the bottom of the cream cheese container with my last chunk of bagel. There was always the off chance that my basement was devoid of a body. No Sandra. No Rebecca. No Jan in residence. Just plain soil under that chunk of mortar.

I swallowed a lump of dough.

I was betting on a body. Of course, with Dietz getting so carelessly clunked in my cellar, I might end up back in the slammer.

A thunk came from outside the back window. My heart did a double flip-flop.

I froze against the counter, then pitched the cream cheese container in the trash and dusted off my hands.

 
29

I tiptoed to the window and peeked through the glass, shielding my eyes to block the glare. I could vaguely see movement almost directly below me at the basement window over the cistern.

I squinted and craned for a better view. Could be a dog.

I bit my lip. Or the person who did in Dietz.

My heart kicked into overdrive. Oh, for a pair of outdoor floodlights.

I heard scratching, like someone prying at the window casing.

I slunk toward my bedroom, avoiding the squeaky spots on the floor. I dug through my jean jacket for my cell phone and dialed Brad’s home number. I’d had enough of the criminal justice system to last the rest of my life. I sure didn’t want any more officials at my door. But maybe, if Brad was off duty, he could come by just as a friend and nab whoever was outside peeling my paint.

“Hello?”

I almost sagged to the floor in relief. He was home.

“Brad. Hi. It’s Tish. Um, I think there’s someone behind my house, and I was hoping you would take a look for me. Unofficially, of course.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Sure, Tish. I’ll be right there.”

Ten minutes or more passed. I heard a knock at the back door.

I opened it to find Brad standing with Jack Fitch.

“I found your visitor.” Brad glanced at Jack.

“Jack?” I said his name in a high-pitched squeak. “What were you doing back there?”

“I didn’t get to finish. Have to finish.”

I shook my head, bewildered, and looked at Brad. “Finish what?”

Brad touched my elbow and spoke to me in a low voice. “Can I talk to you alone for a minute?”

I glanced at Jack. He seemed consumed with his cuticles.

I shrugged. “Sure. Come on in.”

Both men entered. Jack stood in the kitchen while I led Brad to the new love seat. We sat down at the same time. I scrunched back into my own corner as far as I could go. Our knees angled toward each other, almost touching.

Brad blew out a breath and looked at the fireplace. “Jack has a bit of a compulsion. He likes to finish what he starts.” He smiled and looked at me. “A lot of people are like that. But with Jack, it’s really hard for him to let go of the waterproofing project he helped with last year. He wasn’t there when the crew finished, and he worries that it got left undone.”

“Did you bring him down there and show it to him?”

“Yeah. He’s seen it. But he always insists it isn’t finished and he has to finish the job.”

“Okay. So he was trying to get in my basement just now to finish a year-old project that’s already done?” No wonder Dorothy had flinched at my mention of ghosts that day on the porch. She figured Jack was doing the haunting.

Brad tapped his fingertips together. “Something like that. This has happened before. I talked to Dorothy about it last week. She was supposed to keep an eye on him.”

My eyebrow lifted. “You talked with her about it last week?” I remembered Brad hugging Dorothy on her front porch that one day. He must have been speaking to her about it then.

I bounced my fingers on my thigh. “You mean, the stick-in-the-window thing, that was Jack?”

“Most likely.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“To protect Jack’s privacy.” He leaned toward me. His voice softened. “Listen, no harm has been done. Jack’s no killer. He was at home with Dorothy when Dietz was murdered. And now that you’re aware of the situation, you can be on the lookout. It’s hard enough for Dorothy. Please don’t make it worse just because you’re mad at me.”

“Mad because you respect Jack’s privacy but not my own? Imagine that.” I crossed my arms.

It had taken Brad all of thirty seconds to spread the rumor of my background in October. I hated double standards. My look must have said it all.

“Whoa, Tish. I’m doing my job as a peacekeeper. Dietz’s murder in your basement couldn’t exactly be kept under wraps.”

“I’m not talking about Dietz. I’m talking about my grandmother.”

Brad’s brow shot up. “I didn’t release that information.”

Pressure built up behind my eyes. “Maybe not just now. But you knew about it last month. How could you go around telling everyone?”

His forehead creased. Brown eyes stared into mine. “You’re wrong. I read about it in the paper this weekend, along with everyone else.”

“You looked me up in the police computer and saw my rap sheet.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“You already knew my name. The second day I was here.”

“I saw Dorothy the next morning. She’d talked to the realtor and knew your last name. That’s all. The only reason the story’s out now is because some reporter did his homework.”

“I wish I could believe you.” I almost choked on the lump in my throat.

“Why don’t you?”

“Because you’re a cop.”

“And that makes me a liar?”

“Let’s just say I have a basic mistrust of anyone in authority.”

“And why is that?”

I wanted to slap him for asking so many questions.

“Because I spent three years behind bars and found out that jerks run the system.”

Brad looked off toward the window. “A uniform doesn’t make someone good. It doesn’t make someone bad. It’s just a uniform. People are human everywhere you go.”

“Well, some people have an obligation to be better than human.”

“Does that include you?”

My hands yearned to strangle him. “I’m not exactly in a position of power. If I mess up, I’m not wrecking other people’s lives.”

“What about your grandmother’s?”

I stared at him a second, shocked that he could even make the implication. His needle came a little too close to popping my balloon.

I jumped up and stumbled toward the kitchen. “How are you doing in here, Jack?”

He stood at the water dispenser, holding down the lever. Water dripped to the floor.

“Hey, buddy.” I smiled and headed his way with a towel. “Someone’s going to slip in that puddle.”

He took the towel and wiped up the spill. “I like this. It’s better than the small bottles.”

“Cheaper too.” I swung my arms. “So, Jack. I heard you did a great job down in the basement. Who else worked on it with you?”

I felt Brad’s aura enter the room. I glanced over my shoulder. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, listening.

Jack put up a thumb and a finger. “There was Mr. Lloyd and his son Josh.”

That was old news. I knew about Lloyd & Sons’ participation back in July when I started canvassing for a contractor.

Jack put up another finger. “You know David. I saw you with him the other night.”

I remembered my surprise to learn that David Ramsey had earned a key to my house from his efforts on the project. It was hard to picture him wearing work clothes and wielding a sledgehammer.

“There was Mr. Hershel. He used to live here.” Jack added a finger to his count.

I’d only met Rick Hershel briefly, but from what Dorothy said, Rick was having a hard time letting go of the Victorian himself.

Another finger made a full hand. “And I helped,” Jack said. “I carried buckets of cement down the steps. I dumped it in the holes.”

“You did a great job.”

Incredible. It was hard to picture myself actually living in a neighborhood where people would work together like they had on this one waterproofing project. When I was growing up, Grandma always complained that no one would lift a finger to help her out. Of course, she’d never admit she needed help.

Rawlings had that good-neighbor element that so many towns lacked. Then again, a year after the project, one man was dead, bashed by one of these so-called neighbors. And there was the possibility that another body was beneath the surface of a waterproofing project gone bad.

I poured myself a cup of water and took a sip. “So, Jack, do you remember seeing Mr. Dietz in the basement?” I glanced over my shoulder to see what Brad was up to. His stony features hadn’t moved.

“I saw him sometimes. He came down to talk to Mr. Hershel. He got in a fight with Mr. Lloyd one day.”

“A fight, huh? What was it about?”

“Mr. Lloyd wasn’t doing it right. He wanted to dig a hole for the water to run into. Mr. Dietz said no, he had to put in a pump. The hole could be outside, not inside. Mr. Lloyd said, ‘What do you think that cistern is there for anyway?’ Mr. Dietz said he better not catch him digging holes in the basement unless he was hooking up a pump. The job better get done right, or Mr. Dietz would make sure Mr. Lloyd lost his license.”

I could almost picture the scene between the two men. Tall, gray-haired Lloyd versus stocky, bald-headed Dietz. One bare basement bulb reflecting off their sweaty brows. Gentlemen, take your corners.

“Sounds like Mr. Dietz was really mad.” I imagined veins popping from his temples, ready to burst.

“He yelled really loud. Jan came down to see what was wrong. She told Mr. Dietz to get out, but he wouldn’t go. Said he wasn’t done inspecting the project. She went back upstairs and called Officer Brad.” Jack nodded toward the off-duty Brad.

I turned, intrigued. “So, you broke up the neighborhood brawl?”

“Dietz was gone before I got here. Jan was pretty upset, but Rebecca and Dorothy came over and helped her calm down. As usual, Sandra came by later and smoothed everything over for Dietz.”

“Of the four women you mentioned, three of them aren’t around anymore.” My unspoken question hung in the air.

Brad nodded once. “Rough year. Three relationships down the tubes.”

I pursed my lips. “You don’t sound very sorry for the trouble you caused.”

Brad raised an eyebrow. “What trouble was that?”

“Please. Don’t pretend you weren’t all over Rebecca Ramsey.”

Brad squinted. “I don’t know where you got that information, but it’s incorrect.” His voice took on a ragged quality. “There was never anything between Rebecca and me.”

I blinked, wondering whom I should believe. David, who swore Brad was after his wife. Or Brad, standing there close to tears, seeming to wish there’d been something more between him and Rebecca than merely friendship.

And maybe there had been.

I moved a step closer and squinted at him. “How does Rebecca like California? Hot enough for her?”

Brad gazed down at me. “We don’t correspond.”

“Well, maybe now that David’s out of her picture, she’ll be back in touch.”

“Highly unlikely.” Brad closed the gap between us. “Am I missing something? You called me. So why do I feel like you’re annoyed I’m here?”

I stood my ground. “I’m not annoyed. I’m ready for bed.” I ruffled my fingers through my hair. “Thanks for coming by.”

I turned toward my other visitor, who toyed with the nozzle on the water jug. “You want a to-go cup, Jack?” I looked at Brad. I wanted in the worst way to be polite to him. But somehow, manners would signal a truce. And I wasn’t ready for that. I pushed Brad and Jack out the door using only eyebrows, crossed arms, and tapping fingers.