Plan Bee (12 page)

“Stanley,” I said, “will you go in and take a look at the body in case it disappears again? I want a reliable witness just to be on the safe side.”

“I can do that,” he said.

“It’s not pretty.”

“I’ve seen it all,” Stanley assured me, walking toward the door.

“He’s in the fireplace.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Stanley said, skidding to a stop. “Never mind. I can tell you aren’t. Be right back.”

And he disappeared inside.

Holly, who has been known to wrestle a shoplifter to the ground and use some amazing pinning techniques and brute force against said perpetrator, leaned heavily on Ford’s truck and said, “I feel faint.”

I ignored her, since obviously I was the one who should pass out, not her. “Did Stanley call the cops like I asked?”

She nodded.

“Well, where are they?” I didn’t hear a single siren. “You’d think they would respond pronto. They’re right down the street.”

“It’s gridlock. All the parade vehicles and floats are jammed up and cars are trying to get out. Nothing’s moving.”

Figures. In our small town we joke among ourselves that none of us better have an emergency during certain times. Like opening day of hunting season. Or St. Patrick’s day, which we consider a national holiday worth closing our businesses for. Now, we’ll have to add the Harmony Festival to the list of do-not-bother-calling-cuz-nobody’s-
going-to-respond days.

About the same time, Tom Stocke, Mom’s new “friend,” showed up. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Stanley lit out like his pants were on fire. One minute, we’re talking about bees, the next he’s gone.”

“Dead body,” Holly said, muffled since by now she was sitting on the ground with her head between her legs. I knew what she was saying, but it sounded like “
debitty
.” Tom looked confused.

“Stanley’s checking something out inside. We’re waiting for the police,” I said. “I don’t know what’s taking them so long.”

“I saw a squad car with its lights on trying to get through traffic,” Tom said. “They’ll be here soon.”

“Maybe they should get smart and leave their vehicles behind. Walking a few blocks wouldn’t kill them. They could have been here a long time ago,” I groused.

Tom glanced at Holly before saying to me, “Is your sister okay?”

“Nothing to worry about.”

“I’ll go in and help Stanley,” Tom offered, and went inside the house before I could warn him.

Then Holly had a text-speak setback, starting with an easy one, OMG! (
Oh My God!
), and ending with some acronyms I’ve never heard before, which surprised me since I’d really studied up when Holly was flinging them around left and right.

“Take it easy,” I said, which she probably interpreted as EZ. “You don’t want to have a relapse.”

“Why? Why? Why?” my melodramatic sister said, lifting her head long enough to give me grief. “Do you have to get involved in every single crime in this town?”

God, she sounded just like Mom! Like I could help it that I tripped over a body in the cemetery and discovered it later in a fireplace! Sometimes my family wasn’t one bit supportive. I expected it from Mom, but Holly?

“The only thing I’m guilty of is finding the body,” I said defensively. “I didn’t kill him.”

“Is it really that Ford guy?”

“It’s him.”

“Gad!”

Patti appeared on the scene. I was surprised it took her so long. This time she didn’t sneak up. She barreled into our group. I brought her up to speed on events. Patti didn’t ask a single question, which was good because I only had abbreviated sentences left in me.

“Has anybody seen Lori?” I asked.

“I did,” Patti said. “She came through the crowd like a rocket launching. Highly suspicious behavior, so I got a picture of her, see?” Patti held up a small camera and showed me a photograph of Lori looking wigged out—big round eyes to go with her pumpkin head.

“That’s exactly how she looked when she left the scene,” I said. “Fleeing the scene of a crime is illegal, isn’t it?”

“Only if you’re the one who committed the crime,” Patti said authoritatively, like she knew everything regarding a citizen’s legal responsibilities. I was pretty sure nobody could walk away from a crime scene without getting into some kind of trouble.

“Hang on to that picture anyway,” I advised. “You never know.” Then I added, “Maybe she did something bad.”

I ought to let Lori hang out to dry instead of offering the truth. Her fingerprints were sure to show up. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to kill Ford and stuff him in the fireplace. I’d been spying on her and knew that.

A picture of Lori certainly wasn’t hard evidence that she’d committed any kind of crime, but I’d love to see her explain why she hadn’t reported finding the dead body, like any responsible citizen would.

Finally, the first squad car arrived. I saw Hunter striding down the street toward us. This was Johnny Jay’s turf, so Hunter wouldn’t interfere with the investigation unless he was asked to, which wasn’t going to happen. That was fine with me, because then he’d be available to support me, watch my back, keep the sharks at bay.

He must have sensed I needed a hug, because that’s the first thing he did after searching my eyes. Looking over his shoulder during the hug, I saw Johnny Jay running down the street. That man, in spite of his bulky size, could really travel.

I bucked up to go a few rounds with him.

But then Stanley and Tom came out of the house. Apparently Tom didn’t have the same steely stomach and strong nervous system that Stanley did, because he wasn’t too steady on his feet. In fact, Stanley seemed to be holding him up.

The first thing Stanley said to the gathering crowd was, “Holy moly, you know who that is in there? That’s Tom’s brother!”

Somebody got a lawn chair for Tom and he collapsed into it. Johnny Jay’s police force went into action, some going into the house, some separating us witnesses from the gawkers and herding the latter group down the street where he’d instructed his men to close off Willow Street and make sure nobody crossed to that side unless they belonged there.

“We’re going to use your house as a base of operation, Fischer,” Johnny Jay said to me. “We need to take statements and try to figure out this mess while the team finishes up here. After that, we’ll all walk around and reenact everybody’s movements.”

“I’m part of the press,” Patti said. “You better let me come along. I have a pass.” She held out her homemade press pass.

“Beat it, Dwyre,” the chief said.

As we filed along the sidewalk, I saw Mom and Grams at the end of the street having a discussion with one of the
cops responsible for keeping people away. I could hear Mom arguing with him.

“I’m one of the
town officials
for the festival,” she said, putting extra emphasis on titles. “And this is the
Grand Marshal
. We have every right to go through.”

The cop shook his head.

“Go home, Mrs. Fischer,” Johnny Jay called out. “You, too, Wallace,” he said to Hunter.

“I’m staying,” Hunter said.

“And what makes you think I’m going to let you?”

“Professional courtesy.” Hunter winked at me as if to say he was giving it a good try, but I shouldn’t hold my breath.

“This is my jurisdiction and my rules. You want courtesy, go to church.”

And with that, the chief slammed my front door right in Hunter’s face. Johnny Jay had Stanley, Tom, Holly, and me in his spiderweb. We waited for him to start eating us alive.

“We’re going to take you one at a time,” he said. “My officer here is going to make sure you don’t compare notes while you wait your turn. And your stories better hang together.”

“I don’t feel so good,” Holly said.

“Boo-hoo,” said our friendly police chief.

And that’s how I spent the rest of the afternoon; telling my side of things, rewalking every single step I’d taken, explaining what I’d touched, all the little details that I hated having to remember. After that, I put special emphasis on asking why it had taken so long for the cavalry to arrive, a topic I considered extremely important.

“It’s your fault your department responded so slowly,” I said to Johnny Jay. “You can’t discriminate against me by refusing to respect the importance of my phone calls. I had a real emergency on my hands. I pay taxes just like everybody else and I deserve better treatment. I ought to file a complaint. Besides, I told you Lori Spandle was the first one inside. Why don’t you have her yet?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Right up until the end, he kept all us witnesses completely segregated with cops watching our every move. I didn’t learn anything new about Lori Spandle. But I wanted to know how it happened that Tom’s brother showed up in town and hid from sight at my ex’s house. Really, I had a lot of questions.

Johnny Jay tried to get the final word in, as usual. “I don’t want anybody involved in this case socializing together until we get to the bottom of this. And no talking about the case among yourselves.”

“You can’t order me to stay away from my sister,” I said.

Johnny Jay didn’t reply, he just dangled his stupid handcuffs as a silent warning.

He could take a flying leap as far as I was concerned. I’d found a murdered body in the house next door and that fact made me involved whether he liked it or not. What if a serial killer was murdering everybody on Willow Street? What if Patti and I were the next targets?

Okay, maybe that was a little over the top, but (thankfully) it isn’t every day that a person next door is murdered. Lots of things go through a neighbor’s mind. Like am I next? Self-preservation steps up to the plate intent on slamming a home run.

I made a to-do list:

• Find out why Lori Spandle hadn’t behaved like a responsible citizen and get her in trouble.

• Learn more about Tom Stocke’s background, including his mysterious brother.

• Avoid Johnny Jay like the plague.

• Hide from Mom, who was going to feed me to the wolves for getting involved in another awkward position that in her repetitive words “reflects poorly on the family reputation.”

Holly was in deep, too, which helped my case with the family matriarch. Although my sister’s role was minor compared to mine. And once I thought about it, I realized she wouldn’t be involved at all if I hadn’t called her and told her to come to the crime scene. Shoot. Mom would
not
be happy about that, either.

And what about how no one believed me last night when I found Ford’s body the first time? Here it was, right in plain view. A few people owed me apologies for doubting my word. At least we now knew who the body in the cemetery belonged to. And that no one was buried in the Petries’ backyard.

When I finally returned to The Wild Clover, the vendors were packing up. I couldn’t help noticing how unhappy they looked.

Aggie Petrie summed it up for everyone. “I lost sales for the whole blasted afternoon, thanks to that corpse. And you”—this was her talking to me—“couldn’t you have just left it there till after the festival? You’re as dumb as dirt.”

I sorta took offense at that, but after considering the source, I decided not to react to it. Some things just aren’t worth fighting over. And I’ve been called worse things than “dumb as dirt.”

Aggie wasn’t through with me. “Speaking of dirt, I’d hate to be the one to mention garden dirt. You owe me. For ruining sales. For trespassing on our property.”

Her son shot me a glare, but I wasn’t sure if that was because he blamed me for their lack of sales or because his dad caught me in his yard under suspicious circumstances. Chalk one more up to Patti and her brilliant ideas. And as usual, I’d been stuck holding the bag. Or in this case, the shovel.

“I was trying to be helpful,” I lied, sticking with the weak story Patti and I concocted. Or rather I came up with when I was forced to improvise. “Helping prepare your garden for the next round of planting.”

“Horse hockey. Here’s what we’ll accept and there’s no room for negotiating.”

Jeez, this woman was impossible. Now she was making demands.

Eugene stood off to the side, acting like he wasn’t part of this couple. Almost tame, as he usually was when his wife had the floor. Not at all like the Rambo he’d been when he drew on Patti and me.

Aggie had her cane and she was tapping it at her side when she said, “You’ll let me leave my booth set up right like it is for a week. I’ll sell to your customers and if I’m lucky I’ll make up for lost revenue. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll leave it.” No way could I look at Aggie every morning for a whole week or deal with her rotten personality.

“Then I’m calling the police chief and pressing charges against you for trespassing, and I’ll throw in destruction of property right along with it. And anything else that sounds good.”

“I changed my mind,” I said. “I’ll take it.”