Most Likely to Die (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (19 page)

- Nineteen -

And then I saw the lone shoe. One shoe, more than a yard away from the car. A black shoe with one long, slender stiletto heel and one big gold bow.

My limbs froze beneath my soggy clothing, finally receiving the signal to halt. Too late. Why hadn’t I stopped when Wayne had told me to? Before Wayne had told me to? Because now I could see the other shoe too, still on Elaine’s left foot stretched out from beneath the BMW. And her legs, encased in black stockings with gold threads glittering in the sun.

“Dead?” I heard and then realized it was my own voice asking.

“Must be,” Wayne’s voice came back, barely audible.

I wanted to turn his way, to see if he was all right, but I just couldn’t move my head. Or my eyes. I couldn’t stop seeing. The gold threads seemed to be glowing now. In fact, everything seemed to be glowing. And tilting. No, spinning.

I was sitting on the blacktop before I knew I’d planned to. But I was moving again. At least, parts of me were. All my limbs seemed to be shaking. And my stomach was doing a new dance step I didn’t want to learn. I took a deep breath and looked up at Wayne. He’d stopped in his tracks too, eyes closed, body swaying.

I stood up fast. Too fast. But I ignored my own wave of dizziness and grabbed Wayne around the waist, steadying us both at the same time as I leaned into him.

“Sit,” I told him.

His eyes popped open.

“Sit,” I repeated.

So he sat, and I sat. And we had a little conversation.

“She’d be moving if she was still alive, wouldn’t she?” I asked.

“Think so,” Wayne agreed.

I didn’t want to check. Because to check I’d have to get closer. To check I’d have to touch her. Could you get a pulse from an ankle?

“There’s a whole BMW on top of her,” I pointed out. But I still knew I’d have to check. What if she were dying right now as we spoke?

“Her torso must be crushed,” Wayne added. I didn’t think he wanted to check either.

“Ambulance,” I suggested. “We need to call an ambulance.”

“Or the police,” Wayne agreed, nodding. Then he heaved a big sigh and stood up. But he didn’t move toward the house. He moved toward the BMW. Quickly. Toward Elaine. Before I had a chance to join him.

I turned my head involuntarily as he knelt down to touch her.

“Dead,” he announced a few breaths later. “Can’t find…can’t find…” His voice shriveled into a croak.

I spun my head back around and saw him bent over, one hand on the BMW bumper, the other on his stomach, his eyes closed again.

I was up in a heartbeat and holding him, keeping my eyes averted from what was left of Elaine. I helped Wayne stand up again and together we walked slowly toward the house, ringing the bell when we got there. We had to get inside to phone. But, of course, no one was home.

By the time we figured out how to get into the house through the garage, we were both feeling better. Dizzy, sick, and dry-mouthed, but better.

We went back out to sit on the blacktop again, our backs to the BMW. I would have liked to have sat further away, but Wayne was worried that someone else might turn up before the police.

“Who?” I asked, my mind still too muddled by shock to think clearly.

“Elaine’s children,” he answered quietly.

The image of Dawn, Elyse, and Eddie Junior walking with their aunt Ursula filled my mind with the full sensory detail of virtual reality. I just hoped they were with Ursula still. I hoped they’d be with Ursula for a long time. She seemed to like them. Maybe to love them. And their mother…their mother—

That was when I began to cry.

Fortunately, it was the police who came sirening up the driveway before any of the Timmons family did. A man and woman in uniform jumped out of the first car. The woman sprinted toward the BMW. The man strode toward us.

“You the ones that called it in?” he asked.

Wayne and I nodded simultaneously.

“You touch anything?” he asked.

“No,” I answered just as Wayne answered, “Yes.”

A tremor jerked my shoulders. Wayne had touched the car. And Elaine. Would they think…No, no, I told myself. Whoever killed Elaine didn’t lift the car onto her body. They drove it over her. I took a quick breath, wishing I hadn’t thought that one out in detail.

Detective Sergeant Gonzales had joined the party before Wayne even had a chance to explain why he’d touched the car. And then we both had lots of time to explain. Separately. Wayne on one side of the driveway first, then me on the other. Why were we there in the first place? Why had Elaine asked us there? Why had we entered the house to call? Why had Wayne touched the body? How well did we know Elaine? Who and what did we see as we came up the driveway? Who and what did we see and hear at the memorial service? Why did Elaine want to talk to us specifically? How did I really feel about Elaine Timmons?

I had a feeling Gonzales was going to begin with the Miranda rights routine again when Chief Irick arrived on the scene.

The chief oozed out of an unmarked car and hitched up his pants before strolling toward Sergeant Gonzales and me. There was a big smile on his red face.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite little murder lady,” he called out. “Right on the scene again. Making a habit of it, aren’t you? You didn’t happen to kill this woman here, now, did you?”

I shook my head. “No, sir,” I added, trying to funnel respect and sincerity into my tone. And trying to weed the revulsion out. Implied lechery and absolute authority are not an appetizing mixture.

Irick was still smiling. But Gonzales wasn’t.

“We have the situation under control, sir,” the detective sergeant told his chief. “If you’ll just—”

“Just what, Gonzales?” Irick interrupted, the smile never leaving his face as his head swiveled around to face his sergeant. “Just retire so you can take over?”

“Sir!” Gonzales hissed.

I turned my head, embarrassed for both of them. Especially for Gonzales. Much as he scared me, he was a professional. I wasn’t sure what Irick was.

Unfortunately, I turned my head too far. There was yellow crime scene tape all around the BMW now, but Elaine’s legs were still sticking out from under the car, glittering in the sun. My stomach starting practicing that new dance step again. I brought my head back fast. Back to face Chief Irick.

Irick’s interrogation was decidedly more casual than Gonzales’s had been. And a lot faster. Did I kill Elaine Timmons? Did I know who did? And did I have anything important to add?

“Then you and your boyfriend can get on out of here,” he finished up.

I could almost hear the sound of Sergeant Gonzales’s anxiety attack from where he had stomped off behind us. I peeked over my shoulder. Nothing was coming from his lips, but the air was crackling around him as he imploded. And I couldn’t really blame him.

But I wasn’t about to take any time out to console the man. I grabbed Wayne and we drove off before either Gonzales or Irick decided to ask us anything else. I wanted out of there.

“Do you suppose anyone’s thought to intercept Ed Timmons?” I asked Wayne once we were safely in the car heading back down the road. “And Ursula and the kids?”

“Hope so,” was his only reply.

In fact that was all he had to say for the rest of the trip home. But Wayne made up for what he lacked verbally with his big, gentle hands. He massaged my shoulders, and patted my arm, and stroked my head and neck over and over as I drove. If C.C. had been there she would have been jealous. And it began to work. His big hands were wiping out the pictures I’d seen. Maybe for him too. If only they could wipe out my thoughts.

Because I wanted answers as much as Sergeant Gonzales did. Why
had
Elaine wanted to talk to me? Had she known who Sid’s killer was? If I had talked to her earlier, would she still be alive?

Of course I didn’t have any answers by the time I pulled into my own driveway. But at least when Wayne and I got out of the Toyota we finally got to hold each other. And we held each other tight. So tight, we could have broken bones. Somehow, Elaine’s death had gotten to both of us more than Sid’s. Was it because of the children? Or the way she’d looked—

The sound of a car driving up behind us broke our clinch. Simultaneously, we dropped our arms and turned toward the incoming vehicle.

It was a turquoise vintage ‘57 Chevy. Driven by Felix Byrne, my friend Barbara’s boyfriend, the pit bull of newspaper reporting.

Wayne and I exchanged a look of panic. Was there time to run away? Then Wayne’s eyebrows dropped into protect mode and his shoulders swelled into their bodyguard persona. No one but me would have believed the look of panic had ever been in his eyes now. I tried to copy his expression and posture. As much as a person of my size and shape can.

Felix slipped out of his Chevy cautiously, eyeing Wayne as he approached us. Felix was small and slender with a luxurious mustache and soulful eyes. And a lust for information that the whole of the Internet wouldn’t satisfy. He’d badgered me unmercifully to get gory details for his articles so many times that I could almost predict his approach. Anger, hurt, then bargaining. But Wayne scared him.

Not enough, unfortunately.

“Howdy-hi, Kate. Hey, big guy,” he greeted us with a wide smile. “Heard through the grapevine you two discovered a stiff in Gravendale today.”

I nodded. Wayne just glared. Smart man. I vowed to keep my head immobile from here on in.

“Care to share a little information with your old pal, your
compadre
—” Felix began.

“Go away,” Wayne said quietly.

“Now wait a friggin’ nanosecond here,” Felix objected. Nope, not scared enough. “You both were there when the first stiff got fried too, and you guys never bothered to tell me! Me, your friendly crime reporter. Holy moly, what are friends for?”

He stared our way, his soulful eyes full of obvious hurt. Too obvious. Felix could have had a career on the stage.

When neither Wayne nor I said anything, Felix changed directions.

“Man, that Gravendale cop shop is a gonzo place, huh?” he tried this time. “Thinking two nice guys like you could off a couple of Kate’s old buds.” He shook his head sympathetically.

I was dying to ask him if the Gravendale police really thought we did it, but I kept my mouth shut despite my thumping heart. Gravendale was in Sonoma County. I had a feeling Felix couldn’t suck information there like he could here in Marin. And anyway, I didn’t believe that Irick and Gonzales could agree on anything, even if it was our guilt.

“How about a little info trade, huh?” Felix offered. “My poop for your poop—”

“Go,” Wayne said again slowly. “Away.” Only this time he took a step forward.

Just one step. But it was enough.

Felix took a step backwards.

“Hey, big guy,” he said, smiling widely again. “Just asking the question, man. If you’re uptight now, maybe I’ll make it back here a little later.”

Wayne took one more step.

Felix jumped into his vintage Chevy and backed out of the driveway, popping gravel.

“Later, man,” he yelled out his window. And he was gone.

Wayne and I walked up the front stairs and were through the doorway before we dared to look at each other. Because the moment we did we started laughing. We laughed all the way over to the couch and held each other until all the laughter was gone.

Completely gone. At exactly the same time. I rubbed my arms. Suddenly, my whole body felt numb. But not my mind.

I looked into Wayne’s now serious eyes.

“Who—” I began.

“You spent yesterday interviewing people,” he stated.

I could feel my shoulders slump as I nodded. And I reminded myself, no more snooping. Hadn’t Elaine’s body been proof enough that the murderer was serious?

“Who did you talk to?” Wayne asked.

“Pam, Lillian, Jack, Aurora, and Natalie,” I told him. No more lies either. But should I tell him about the telephone threat?

“And…” he prompted.

“And Pam loves Charlie,” I replied on cue. “Charlie’s worth a million dollars, by the way.” Wayne blinked in surprise. I went on. “Lillian is a great sculptor. Jack’s a manic-depressive with suicidal tendencies, and Aurora…”

I stopped to think. Aurora was so many things. Worried mother. Hypnotist. Saint? Manipulator?

“Aurora’s a witch,” I finally finished. “But I’m not sure if she’s a good witch or a bad witch.”

“And Natalie?”

“Natalie’s a concerned boss and about as stressed out as you can be and still walk,” I concluded after a moment’s thought. If Natalie’s jerking gait even counted as walking.

Damn. I wanted to find out who did it. Snooping or no snooping. Because until I did, there was always going to be a threat to Wayne. And who knew what the murderer thought counted as snooping? Coming to Sid’s memorial may have been enough by itself.

I’d find out who the murderer was. It was that simple. My chest opened up with the decision. I took a long breath in and tried to imagine that breath was courage.

“Kate, if you talk to anyone else, will you take me with you?” Wayne asked as if he’d heard my decision.

“Absolutely,” I agreed. Because if we were always together, Wayne would be safe. Or at least more likely to be safe.

Wayne blinked again, unbelieving for a moment.

“From here on in, we’re in this together,” I insisted, straightening my shoulders. “Where you go, I go. Where I go, you go. Deal?”

I stuck out my hand.

Wayne took it and shook it, looking into my eyes, searching. I returned his look without flinching. I wasn’t going to tell him about the threat. We would find the murderer and it would be over.

The majority of my brain cells were already gathering for a protest march, screaming in anticipation. But I ignored them and took Wayne into my arms again. And then we made love until I could feel again.

*

The next morning, true to our deal, Wayne and I were seated together on a vinyl couch between a woman with a yowling orange cat in her wire carrier and a man with a black Scotch terrier choking on its leash. It was time to talk to Mark Myers, veterinarian. I wondered if we should have brought C.C. as a cover. Mark had a partner in his practice. Her name was on the door. Maybe she wouldn’t appreciate our just dropping in like this any more than Mark would.

So far, I hadn’t seen anyone at the desk, so Wayne and I had just sat down. I peered sideways at Wayne. His brows were dropped in a scowl. Yesterday, the idea of investigating together had sounded good to both of us. Today, it was a little different as we both took more time out to neglect our respective businesses. But then again, that might not have been why Wayne was scowling. It might have had more to do with the terrier, choking on its leash, trying to get to the cat just two bodies away. The terrier that was frantically clawing Wayne’s thigh in frustration.

The whole office was bursting with the sound of animals. I could hear chirping and yelping and squealing from the inner offices. I just hoped none of it was human. The smells were definitely animal, though, and pungent despite the antiseptic base.

When I turned my head back, magically there was a woman seated behind the receptionist’s desk.

“Can I help you?” she asked us, a smile on her square freckled face.

“Well, yes,” I answered quickly, smiling back as widely as I could. I remembered my recent fiasco at Nusser Networks all too well. “My name’s Kate Jasper and this is Wayne Caruso, and we’re friends of Mark. We were in the neighborhood, so we thought we’d just drop by.” I paused and added earnestly, “And I promise we’re not solicitors.”

The receptionist leaned her head back and laughed. That was a relief.

“Just stay where you are,” she told us. “It might take a little while. Mark’s giving a Russian Blue her shots, but he’s always glad to talk to friends.”

So we sat on the couch for a few more minutes until another woman came in with another caged cat. Wayne graciously rose and gave her his seat, his scowl disappearing completely with the action.

When the woman sat down, the terrier went really crazy, snuffling and leaping in the air, and choking on its leash, as the cat inside the new carrier hissed and cursed the terrier’s ancestors. At least, that’s what it sounded like. The woman with the new cat shoved up against me, trying to pull the cage out of terrier range.

I never heard Mark walk up over the din. I jumped nearly as high as the terrier when he tapped me on the shoulder.

“Hey, Kate! Wayne!” he shouted cheerfully. “Enjoying the local fauna?”

“Oh, sure!” I shouted back.

Mark winked. But his intense eyes were alert in his round face. Maybe that’s what gave him such a youthful appearance. Even with the receding hairline, he looked younger than any of the rest of the class of ‘68. A good twenty years younger than Becky, I thought sadly. And his wiry body was in shape too.

“Thought we’d ask a few questions if you’ve got a minute,” Wayne put in seriously from his side.

Mark’s eyes narrowed for a moment, looking even more intense. But then he motioned us past the receptionist’s desk with good humor.

“Follow me to my private kennel,” he offered, and we did, down a hallway past a couple of rooms with open doors. A tall woman was wrestling with a poodle in one of the compartments. An animal container whose contents were hidden to my eyes howled alone in the other one.

“Kennel” was a good word for Mark’s office. The whole space must have measured all of six by ten feet, barely enough room for its battered wooden desk and the equally battered chairs on both sides. A bird cage hung from the ceiling with two little yellow birds, chirping away. We squeezed into the room and took our seats, the door still open to the sounds of the less cheerful animal mayhem surrounding us.

“Betcha a potbellied pig you’re here to talk about Sid,” Mark opened the conversation, plopping down in his own chair.

“You’d win,” I replied, happy to cut to the chase.

“Ask away,” he ordered and spread his arms wide in acquiescence. At least, as wide as he could without denting the walls.

“Did you see Sid at all during the years between high school and the reunion?” I asked.

Mark leaned back in his chair, his eyes rolling up in their sockets as he thought.

“A few times right after high school, I think,” he answered, rolling his eyes back down finally. “In town once. And a couple times at restaurants. But nothing for the last twenty years or so.” Then he smiled. “It’d been donkey’s years, if you know what I mean.”

Wayne took over then, ignoring the animal humor.

“Seemed like you really liked Sid in spite of his…” He faltered for a moment.