Totally Buzzed (A Miller Sisters Mystery) (4 page)

I felt myself wavering, but I held my ground. "Plus an Unmarked for the duration?"

J.J. gave me an incredulous look. "You want an unmarked squad too? Why don't you bleed me some more? How about a new grill and a year's supply of beer to go with all that?"

Confident now, I crossed my arms over my chest. "No, my grill is just fine, thank you very much, but I could use a year's supply of dog food. Just the squad and a free hand in the lab should do."

Being an intelligent man, Sheriff Green knew when he'd been beaten. "I'll go for the dog food, Buzz, but the only squad I have is mine, so forget it. Now let's go and see what Malcolm has to say." He grabbed me by the belt loops and yanked me against his side. I yelped and he noogied the heck out of the top of my head.

"Cut it out you moron, I said I'd help!" I jabbed him in the ribs with my fist.

He let out a whoosh of air and let me go. He shot me an injured look. I smiled, savoring my victory. It would have been cheaper for them to buy me a squad rather than to feed Wesley and Hilary for a year! We strolled back into the melee, where Mee-Me was gloved up and doing an initial examination of the body, ignoring the chaos still reigning around him. Moe, Larry, and Shemp strung police tape around the box, while Curly attempted to make time with Al.

Mee-Me looked up from his clipboard, reminding me somewhat of an adorable, near-sighted Bulldog. "Hey, Buzz, hey J.J. Too bad about Miz Carole, eh?" We both nodded.

J.J. rubbed the back of his neck. "I just can't imagine who would want to kill her."

Malcolm pointed to the body with his pen and said, "I don't know who, but I have a hunch about how she died. Want to hear it?"

We both nodded and looked solemnly on while Mee-Me extrapolated in great medical detail about his initial examination. Our eyes began to cross and I elbowed J.J. When Mee-Me finally took a breath, J.J. interrupted him. "So in your professional opinion, Malcolm, what does all that mean?"

Mee-me shrugged and considered his notes for a few minutes. He sighed heavily and scratched his brow. "All that means, ladies and gentlemen, is that she is dead. Murdered, actually, and with great prejudice."

3

J.J. expelled an exasperated breath. "Come on, Malcolm, a blind man could see she's dead. Hell, he'd only have to take a whiff around here to know someone was dead! I'm thinking she didn't crawl under there by herself and die of natural causes, so cut the crap. I meant what is your unofficial opinion? What's your initial, unconfirmed best guess at what happened here?"

Malcolm became serious. He consulted his notes, checking off points. "Well, I see numerous contusions and lacerations on her arms and face. Doesn't look like anything is broken–except maybe her nose. Her hands are in tough shape, however. She has been beaten, dragged, and if the bullet hole between her eyes is any indication, I'd say she was either shot by a very good marksman or executed. I can't tell that until I do powder testing. Until I get her down to the cool room (Mee-me hated the word 'morgue'), I cannot be any more specific than that."

J.J. whistled. "That was specific enough. Thanks, Malcolm. Any thoughts on how long she's been dead? Ballpark?"

"I can't give you that with any amount of accuracy until we run tests, J.J. Normally I could look at the body and hypothesize according to our weather and the extent of decay, but the Miller girls kind-of wrecked that theory when they fell into the evidence."

J.J. continued speaking quietly with Malcolm. I walked back over toward the body. I crossed my arms and said, "Damn, I was afraid of that. Don't let that worry you Carole, we'll get him."

The longer I studied her body the more I felt that old, eerie calm settled over me. Thoughts were trying to surface and I fought them back. I examined and mentally noted the obvious and the relevant. I began to feel a little queasy and must have called J.J., because he suddenly appeared beside me and handed me Malcolm's clipboard.

"You going to be okay, Buzz?"

I took a deep breath and pulled a pen out of my back pocket.

"Yeah, sure. I felt Carole for a second, but I think I'm okay. Can you stick close just in case though?"

"You bet. But if you go too deep, I'm going to pull you back, so don't get mad."

I smiled and he pulled me close for a second. I smelled a hint of man and Veveter by Axe and almost swooned.
Whoa Buzz, what are you doing? This is J.J. your best friend, your partner before you wimped out and quit the department.

J.J. has seen me at my best, and at my very worst. He picked me up when I was beaten and bloody, said nothing when I slipped into a vision, and sat with me and Jack Daniels through the aftermath.

He always did know what I was thinking before I did. Kind-of creepy, but I bet I've creeped him out more than once over the years, too. Kidnappings, rapes, lost pets and people; sometimes pictures would flash in my mind, but on really bad days, I would witness an entire scene in a flickering, 8mm kind of way. J.J. knew all this. He pulled out his mini-recorder and stayed with me as I began the inspection of the body. I expected J.J. to go the opposite direction and draw his own conclusions, but he must have thought I was going to whack out, because he was never more than a step away from me. J.J. almost ran me over when I stopped near Carole's waistband. I zeroed in on the tiny change pocket of her jeans. The short hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I leaned in and flicked a tiny piece of plastic protruding from that pocket with my pen.

Pulling out my cell phone, I snapped a couple of pictures.

I touched J.J.'s arm and halted him, pointing silently to Carole's jeans pocket. With a nod from him I slowly removed a piece of plastic wrap, which was taped closed. Inside the plastic was what appeared to be a paper towel wrapped around something lumpy.

I snapped another few pictures. Drugs, was my first thought.

"Drugs?" J.J. eyed the tiny bag and looked back at me.

I shrugged and looked around for Malcolm. "That would be my first guess, but Carole didn't seem the type. Maybe her kid. Hey Malcolm!"

Mee-Me hurried over to us, holding out an evidence bag. I dropped the plastic inside, confident he would properly seal and label it.

Turning to speak to J.J., I suddenly felt that creepy feeling slither up my spine. A wave of vertigo swept over me. I wavered and grabbed J.J.'s belt.

He took an arm and as if in a tunnel I heard, "Buzz? Are you alright? Are you with me here?"

I opened my mouth to answer but nothing came out. I held out my hand and reached toward the bag Malcolm still held in the air. J.J. saw my fingers wiggle and he grabbed the bag out of Malcolm's fingers.

I touched the plastic. "Seeds."

J.J. looked confused. "Seeds? What seeds, are there seeds in here?"

J.J. shoved the bag into my hand. There was remove buzzing in my ears and the world waved and shimmered in front of me. J.J.'s mouth moved but I could not hear his voice as he faded into a thick grey mist.

The noon sun fell away, giving rise to a full moon and a large farmhouse on a hill. I smelled damp earth felt the crisp bite of an autumn evening. I recognized the scene but could not place it.

I knew what was happening and tried to fight back, to tamp it down. My great grandmother called it 'The Sheeny', or the 'Irish Magic'. I called it the bane of my existence. The Sheeny was what made me an exceptional detective, but it also ate holes in my stomach and gave me nightmares. It made me drink too much and had failed me at the moment I needed it most. I dreaded it and I feared it, because I believed in it and knew enough not to fight it when it came. I gave myself over to the feeling of vertigo and it engulfed me like a tidal wave.

I felt a chill and materialized as a part of the scene, an objective observer of what was about to happen. I stood at the bottom of the porch now, and realized I was at Graff's Garden Center–the greenhouse and nursery next door to my mom's and dad's farm. I braced myself for what was to come.

* * *

Lightning exploded as horrific screams tore through the night. Non-stop and agonizing, the screams were wrenched from a soul so tortured death would have been a blessing. The front door flew open. Carole Graff stood in the opening,
listening. Giving no thought to her personal safety, Carole tore out of the house. She followed the screams to the old horse barn at the back of her property and slid to a halt at the open door. I ceased being the objective observer and was one with Carole. I could feel the blood pounding in her ears as we drew a ragged breath. We stood paralyzed as we stared at the gruesome scene before us. Blood was sprayed everywhere; it coated the floor and spattered across the walls. Carole's face was a frozen mask and I could taste the metallic sting of blood on my tongue. A screaming horse was tied in the cross ties, bleeding from its nose and mouth. The creature fought for its life, sweat pouring off its sleek coat. Veins popping, it reared high, clawing at the sky. It screamed in agony, tossing its head and spraying everything with blood. As the poor beast fought for its life, several men stood off to the side and looked on.

Carole stood paralyzed as the dying horse made one final attempt to free itself from whatever torture it was forced to endure. It reared again, lost
its footing on the blood-slicked floor and flipped over sideways.

The resounding crack of the mare's broken neck echoed in the dense silence. We watched the dead horse dangle in the cross ties, streams of blood pouring from its mouth and nose. Carole stood rooted in the sudden silence. A tiny sob escaped her lips.

All heads turned in our direction. Crap, I thought, as Carole realized she had stumbled into a situation she was never to have witnessed.

"Go," I yelled, "Carole, run!" Of course, no one heard me.

Two men pulled guns from their waistbands. One man rolled a cigar in his mouth, pointed at Carole
,
quietly said, "Get her."

In that split second of comprehension, instinct took over. Carole whipped around and ran blindly into the night. Footsteps clattered behind her. Shouts of, "Stop that bitch! Now!" rang in my ears.

"They'll catch you at the house, don't run to the house," Carole chanted to herself as she ran.

We tripped over field stubble as we ran blindly across the hay field behind the barn. Years of physical labor paid off for her as she hit the back fence at a full run. She half climbed/half fell over the top. I could feel the bite of the jagged claws of the barbed wire tearing at her clothes and ripping her skin.

She stayed on all fours for a minute, breathing hard. She turned and saw the bouncing beams of flashlights, and heard the curses and yells of the men chasing her. They were gaining ground. "Go, Carole, run," I screamed silently. She stumbled forward, heedless of the brambles shredding her clothing and gouging her arms. Her chest felt tight and her lungs ready to explode by the time she got to Mom and Dad's property line. Barely hesitating, she hurdled the fence and stumbled toward the farmhouse.

"Get to Millers, Call 911, Get to Millers, Call 911," she chanted to the pounding of her feet. She saw Miller's house up ahead. Blood pounding and chest heaving, I felt a surge of relief run through her as she thought, for the first time, she would make it. We neared the farmhouse and I became the observer once again.

Suddenly Carole was lifted off her feet as she was tackled from behind. She landed face first in the dirt. The air exploded out of her as a body landed on top of her. "Air," she gasped. "I need air." She was roughly hauled to her feet. Head down, hands on her knees, she sucked in gulps of air. Turning to run, she was again knocked down and dragged by the collar of her tee shirt over a low rise. She fought her attacker, kicking and screaming. "Please, someone hear me!"