Rest in Pieces (2 page)

If I were smarter and if the stubborn streak that ran in my family had skipped a generation, I’d have moved away and left this town in the rearview mirror. But no one has ever accused me of being smart, and being stubborn was one of my best qualities. Besides, Lakeside is my home, and my son was born here. I may be a husband–less have–not, but I’m not a coward. Plus, if I couldn’t join the haves, then I vowed to beat them at their own game by ruling my own little fiefdom—the Bee Creek Elementary PTO.

No, someone murdering Molly didn’t make sense. “What would be the motive? An unsatisfactory report on some kindergartner’s report card?”

Haley hunched her shoulders. “Everyone loved Miss Miars. Reese and Riley adored her. They cried at the end of last year when they graduated from kindergarten.”

Because Haley was an over achiever, she’d had twin girls, Reese and Riley, who were also over achievers.

“It’s odd.” Monica crossed her legs and flipped through the magazine. “If there was any doubt about the overdose, the medical examiner would have ruled it a heart attack or something else to spare the family and so the life insurance would pay out. Insurance doesn’t pay for an overdose or suicide.” Not finding anything interesting, she tossed the magazine on the table next to her. “There must have been a lot of drugs in her system.”

Monica was a claims examiner for a worker’s compensation company. The woman could smell a con from a mile away.

I glanced at her. “Was there a life insurance policy?”

Who would the beneficiary be? Molly had an on–again, off–again relationship with our local eye doctor, but according to her, it was never anything serious. What about her family? In all the time we’d spent together, she’d mentioned her mother only once and the words weren’t kind.

“I don’t know. Let me see what I can find.” Monica pulled out her phone and started typing. “My company is a subsidiary of Global Life, the largest life insurer in the United States.” She typed some more and then looked up. “I don’t see a policy with us, but I can check around tomorrow.”

She turned her phone off and slid it back into her pocket. “If she did have a policy, I guess the beneficiary would be her mother.”

Andrea paused long enough to prop her left fist on her hip. “Have you ever met Edna Miars?” She shook her head. “There really aren’t words to describe her.” She thought about it for a second. “Well, maybe soul–sucking vampire who leeches the joy out of everyone she meets.”

It seemed she had lots of words to describe Edna.

“I’ve met her.” Haley looked around like she was trying to collect words from thin air. “She was…um…she was the most unhappy person I’ve ever met.”

No wonder Molly didn’t talk about her mother. According to the world at large, she’s a bitch.

“Tell us how you really feel.” Monica leaned over so that she could look past Haley to me. “Remind me why we like her? She’s like Snow White but blonde and nicer.” She glanced at Haley. “Do little pastel tweety–birds follow you around in the woods?”

Haley arched a Nike swoop eyebrow. “Sticks and stones.”

“She makes a damn fine margarita.” I winked at Haley. “And she’s the only one who can afford bail money.”

“Yes, I can see her appeal.” Monica nodded.

“Once, Molly told me she’d sell her body if that’s what it took to keep Edna at Lakeside Living.” Andrea sectioned off another piece of hair.

“What’s Lakeside Living?” I’d heard the name, but I couldn’t place it.

“It’s that new senior living community on the lake. I hear the one bedroom bungalows start at five hundred thousand.” Haley gestured with her chardonnay glass. “And that’s for the one with the view of the dumpster. If you want to see the lake, you’re looking at a million plus.”

“Trust me, Edna isn’t living near a dumpster. She’d want the best of the best. Her tastes run past champagne straight to platinum.” Andrea crimped the next extension in place. I think Andrea was starting to like me; she hadn’t burned me in a whole fifteen minutes.

“How could a kindergarten teacher afford to pay for that?” Molly didn’t have that kind of money. Once when we worked the same booth at the school’s fall carnival, she told me that she’d come from money. But after her father died, they’d had to scrape by.

“No clue.” Andrea shrugged. “All I know is Molly would have done anything to keep the old woman from moving in with her.”

Nothing made sense. Even though I was shocked and confused about the manner of Molly’s death, I’d accepted the coroner’s ruling and believed that it must have been a first–time overdose.

I had planned on going early to the viewing to say my goodbyes and try to begin the healing process, but now something was gnawing at me…something I couldn’t explain. Now I wanted to know just exactly what had happened to Molly Miars forty–eight hours ago. There had to be some evidence of her drug use, and I needed to see it for myself. Because if there was a chance she hadn’t overdosed, I needed to know. The Lakeside Police Department had a long history of watching out for the rich and famous. The rest of us had to fend for ourselves. Molly had been part of the have–not club, and she was my friend. I’d never let a friend down, and I wasn’t going to start now.

An hour later Monica, Haley and I walked into viewing room number one at Lakeside Funeral and Final Rest.

“Watch the door. I want to look for needle marks.” I walked down the center aisle that lead right up to the pale pink casket surrounded by dozens upon dozens of large flower bouquets and funeral sprays. I smiled to myself. Molly was definitely well–liked in the community.

“I’m sorry, come again.” Haley leaned forward like she hadn’t heard me the first time.

“I’m going to check her body for needle marks.” From the beginning, I hadn’t been completely comfortable with the overdose idea, and now I wanted to prove to myself that I was right.

“Cool.” Monica pulled the doors closed and stood in front of them. “Visitation starts in forty–five minutes and I’m sure the family will be here soon. I’ll keep them busy.”

“Here.” Haley pulled a retractable police baton out of her purse and flicked it open. “Shove this through the door handles. It’ll keep them closed.”

Monica just stared at her for a moment and shook her head. “Where did you get that?”

“Amazon.” Haley smiled and slid the baton through the door handle loops. “It was very highly rated.”

“Sometimes, I feel like I don’t know you at all.” Monica blew out a slow breath.

How could I not love these women? They were up for anything. Monica didn’t ask any questions and Haley pulled out a tactical baton.

I turned back to the casket holding Molly’s body. There was a weird orange light shining down on her face. Between that and the fluorescent lighting casting a green tint, she had the ethereal glow of an Umpa–Lumpa. Maybe good lighting in a funeral home was a bad idea.

Molly was dressed in a fuchsia dress that clashed with her beautiful red hair and the pale pink satin lining the casket. And of course the dress was long sleeved, so I couldn’t see any injection sites, track marks or bruises.

“Don’t most drug users inject in the arm?” I had no idea. That’s what they did on TV. Swallowing down a serious gag reflex, I touched her wrist, intending to roll up her sleeve. When my fingers brushed her hand, I froze. It wasn’t cold as I’d thought it would be, but it wasn’t warm either. Not having any experience with dead bodies, I assumed they’d be cold.

“I’ll Google it.” Monica called over my left shoulder.

You could Google heroin injection sites? Who knew? I touched Molly’s hand again and pulled my fingers away. Something oily smeared my fingertips. I rubbed my fingers together. It was thick, flesh–colored stage makeup.

“It says that they can inject anywhere there’s a vein. Unless they inject in the same vein over and over, there won’t be track marks. Also, you don’t have to inject heroin. You can smoke it, too.” Monica called from behind me.

It occurred to me that I was learning more than I ever needed to know about heroin from an iPhone.

I touched Molly’s hand again. It was hard and unyielding. Even dead flesh should be a little bit pliable, shouldn’t it? With my index knuckle, I knocked on it. It sounded like a ripe watermelon. Molly’s hand was hollow. Carefully, I picked it up. It was plastic, like a manikin, only with polished fingernails and even a ring.

The last time I’d seen Molly she’d had both of her hands.

“Um … do either of you know why Molly has a plastic hand?” I ran through every scenario I could think of and nope … I had nothing.

“What do you mean?” Monica called from the door. “Molly didn’t have a plastic hand.”

She walked over, leaned over the open casket, and touched the hand. “That’s not right. How far up does it go?”

Monica worked the button at Molly’s wrist until the cuff came loose. She rolled up the material as far as she could. The entire arm was plastic.

Haley’s heels clip–clopped on the tile floor as she made her way to the casket.

Her eyes turned wild. “Oh God. Stop that! What are y’all doing?” She turned around as if to use her body to hide the open casket from non–existent onlookers.

Monica took hold of the arm at the elbow and yanked. There was a pop and then a crack. The arm came loose at the shoulder and wobbled under the fabric.

Haley wrung her hands. “Oh God, you broke the body. That’s so gross.” She used her disapproving mommy voice. “It’s so disrespectful.”

“Why would she have a plastic arm?” How could overdosing result in her arm being replaced with a fake one? Was the rest of her plastic, too? Carefully, I knocked on her torso. It was hollow. I tried her other arm. Again, a hollow echo. “I think the whole body is plastic.”

“Not that.” Haley pointed to the head. “It looks real.”

Monica thumped Molly on the cheek. “That’s not plastic.” She turned to me. “Check her legs.”

I removed the large spray of pink roses from the lid and set it on the front row and then peered under the partially closed casket lid. It was dark. I felt around for a latch or some way to open the bottom portion of the casket. Not surprisingly, there wasn’t a lock, because why would a dead person need a latch release on the inside of their casket? I grabbed the edge of the lid and pulled hard. It popped up as if it were spring loaded.

“We are going straight to hell.” Haley glanced down and her eyes turned the size of magic eight balls. “Mother Shucker.”

Monica threw her hands up. “I feel like such a failure. You spend so much time with me and you still can’t cuss.” She turned to me. “We need to step up the potty mouth around her.”

“It’s so hard with the kids around.” I shrugged. “What can you do?”

Haley reached over, grabbed Monica by the chin, and tilted her head down.

“Holy. Shit.” Monica had a Ph.D in cussing.

I looked down. Holy shit was right.

From the waist up, Molly Miars was plastic, but from the waist down, she was missing.

Chapter 2

The door rattled behind us. We turned around in unison and stared at it. Light knocking started up.

“Is there someone in there?” A deep male voice called from the other side of the door.

“Yes, give us a minute.” I yelled.

“Haley, go and stall. Monica and I will …” I gestured toward the casket, “close her up.”

“We’re saying a private farewell. Molly was a dear friend. Just give us a moment.” Haley said in a loud, fake teary voice as she walked to the door.

“Certainly, but the viewing starts in twenty minutes.” The male voice was firm, but consoling.

I yanked on the bottom lid, but it didn’t budge. I yanked harder. The casket rocked back and forth, but the lid didn’t close.

I turned to Monica, who’d whipped Molly’s dress up and was photographing her plastic parts.

“Do I want to know why you’re doing that?” In an evening crammed full of weirdness, this shouldn’t have shocked me, but hey, I guess I’m easily shock–able.

“So I can research where they came from.” She pointed to a tiny patch of numbers. “I think those are serial numbers.”

I leaned over. There was indeed a small tag with numbers on the bottom of the torso. It was good to know that fake plastic body parts came with a VIN.

“Hurry. We need to figure out how to close this thing.” I walked around to the back and checked the hinges. They were locked in place. I felt around for a lever or a latch, but I couldn’t find anything. Mentally I went to my old standby for fixing most things—bang on it with a hammer, but damn it, I didn’t have a hammer. “Either of you have a hammer?”

Haley unlooped her purse from under her arm, opened the front pocket, and pulled out a small black gun. “Use the butt of this. It’s a Smith and Wesson nine millimeter.”

Monica looked at me. “Yep, we don’t know her at all.”

Haley’s arm reared back like she was going to toss it to me.

“Don’t throw it. I assume that it’s loaded. Throwing a loaded gun can’t be good.” Growing up in Texas and having married a cop, I’d been around guns my whole life, but I’d never handled one myself.

“The safety’s on and there’s no bullet in the chamber. It’s fine.” She tossed the gun to me. I caught it like a softball and used it to bang on the hinges. They finally gave way. The bottom lid clattered closed with a loud thud.