Читать книгу Doggone Dead - Dane McCaslin - Страница 9

Chapter 2

“Oh, Gwen, what’ll we do?”

Nora’s face was paler than the average northwestern complexion, and I could tell even from where I was standing that she was trembling all over. I made myself ignore Linda’s body and marched over to where Nora stood, grabbing her by the elbow and steering her back toward the living room. It was bad enough having a body in the kitchen, and I surely didn’t need Nora fainting in there as well.

“You sit right here. I’m going to call the cops.” I pushed her down onto the sofa and fished in my jacket pocket for my cell phone.

As cool as I was trying to be, I was still all thumbs as I tried punching in the simple numbers for the emergency services. Nine-one-one suddenly seemed like a complicated algebraic formula.

By the time I’d gotten through to an emergency dispatcher, had explained the situation, and had given the location, I’d calmed down enough to tiptoe back into the kitchen for a closer look. It wasn’t a ghoulish streak that made me do this. Instead, I wanted to see if I could figure out what in the world Linda was doing in Nora’s kitchen in the first place.

That she was actually inside the apartment wasn’t a surprise to me. No one, especially Nora, locked their doors in this building unless they were going out for more than a few hours. Taking a quick walk to the mailbox or having coffee with a neighbor wasn’t a good enough reason for locking a door. Still, I had questions. Had Linda known Nora had stepped out, or had she simply barreled inside, spoiling for an argument?

A loud thump on the apartment door roused me from my contemplation of Nora’s unwelcomed guest, and I went back into the living room. Nora had stirred herself enough to answer the door, and now she was standing in front of two very large men, one of whom looked like he could moonlight as an Ironman competitor while the other one looked more like a contestant on Iron Chef. Drawing in a steadying breath, I addressed my comments to him, trusting that a soft belly equaled a soft heart.

“Thanks for getting here so quickly.” I held out one hand in greeting.

Both officers merely glanced down as though expecting the proverbial smoking gun. Or bloody knife, in this case. My ears grew warm as I dropped my hand, but whether it was from embarrassment or an errant hot flash, I couldn’t tell.

Crossing my arms, I gave both officers the stare I’d perfected from years of dealing with the occasional impossible student. Firm and unwavering, unsmiling and mute. Unless one of them chose to speak up, I could do a silent standoff for as long as necessary. Finally, Ironman—Officer Taylor, according to the shiny brass name badge pinned to his uniform—gave a great sigh, moving his gaze from me to Nora and back.

“We were told you found a body? In your kitchen?” This was directed to the air somewhere between Nora and me, but I jumped in with the answer, not sure of her ability to string together a coherent sentence at the moment.

“Yes.” I started toward the kitchen and beckoned them to follow. “She’s in here, Officers.”

“Ma’am, if you could stop right there?” Apparently Officer Taylor could only communicate via questions.

I wanted to give him a lesson in sentence structure on the spot. Instead, I froze in place and watched as he walked into the kitchen, one hand resting lightly on the black Taser that hung from a wide leather belt.

Iron Chef—Officer Reinhart—remained behind, presumably to keep an eye on the two suspects. That would be Nora. And me. The mere thought that I could be seen as a dangerous criminal almost made me smile.

Almost. One glance at Nora told me she was close to collapsing, and I moved quickly toward her, reaching out to steady her with one hand.

“You need to sit down.” I guided her over to the sofa nearest the kitchen door and gently pushed her onto the cushions. “I need to get my friend some hot tea or something, or I’m afraid she’s going to faint.” This comment was directed to Reinhart, who had been watching the two of us with suspicion as if we were orchestrating some great escape plan right under his rather fleshy nose.

By the time both officers had decided that yes, indeed, we did have a dead body in the kitchen and had called for the necessary folks to join us, Nora looked as though she needed a month-long rest any place else but Portland, preferably someplace with lots of sun. And mojitos. And a cute waiter to keep them coming. Since I was officially retired, without a set schedule, I could offer to go with her, purely out of the goodness of my heart, of course.

“You know we’re going to have to reschedule all those jobs, right?”

I stared blankly at Nora, my mind still occupied with sunshine and sassy pool boys.

“What jobs?” I paused a moment while my brain played catch-up and then groaned, “Oh, you mean those jobs.” I’d completely forgotten about Two Sisters Pet Valet Services. “Can’t we cancel them?”

She gave a vigorous shake of her head and the fake ponytail gave up its tentative grasp on her head, falling to the floor like a dead ferret. Ignoring the wide-eyed stare from Officer Reinhart and a smothered laugh from Officer Taylor, Nora shoved the offending article under the couch with one foot.

“Let’s give that horrible driver a call. My gut tells me he’ll do it.”

“His name is Brent.” I fished in my jacket pocket for the crumpled card. “And what should I say?”

“Ask him—no, tell him we need someone to help us out. And remind him not to cause a wreck on the way over here, please.”

“What’ll I say about pay? You know he’ll ask.”

Nora gave a one-shouldered shrug as if letting the question slide off her back. “Whatever he wants. Within reason, of course. Tell him I’ll negotiate.”

Brent Mayfair had been a mediocre student but a sweet kid, always anxious to include everyone in whatever class project we had going on at the moment. No one had had a bad word for him, except for the football coach, and even then it was full of regret.

“That kid is built like a Mack truck, but he’s got instincts like a teddy bear made from marshmallow,” Coach Freeman had said. “I’d love to have him on the team. Heck, he’d be able to run over every last player out there, but he won’t do it. I’ve started calling him ‘Ferdinand’ because he’s too nice.”

I’d been with a group of teachers standing on the edge of the football field before the season’s first game, talking about the various players and just how far they’d go. Everyone agreed with Coach’s assessment of Brent, though, and I was secretly glad. I really hated it when my student athletes got injured and had to miss school, which to me meant missed assignments and falling grades.

“Gwen? Snap out of it and call the boy already.” Nora’s words broke into my reverie and I was happy to hear the typical brusqueness back in her voice. She’d clearly recovered from finding Linda’s body in her kitchen. Or maybe it was the prospect of a) making more money and b) bossing someone else around. “We need to get this pet sitting business up and running.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” I snapped off a salute with one hand while tapping in Brent’s cell phone number with the other.

“This is Brent’s phone. Leave a message.”

I held the cell phone away from my ear and turned to Nora, still trying to push the ferrety hairpiece farther under the couch with her foot. “He’s not answering. Should I leave a message?”

“Yep. And tell him not to call you while he’s driving.”

I rolled my eyes at her words. “I think he’s smarter than that. Besides, I saw a hands-free device in his ear.”

“Oh, fabulous. That means he will call you while he’s driving. Well, keep your ears open for the sound of a pile-up out there. That’ll be the kid.”

Hoping his voicemail hadn’t picked up Nora’s commentary, I said brightly into the phone, “Brent, it’s Miss Franklin calling. Could you please call me back at…”

I broke off with a squawk as someone began speaking in my ear.

“Miss F? This is Brent. Did I really sound like an answering machine?”

I closed my eyes and slumped back against the couch’s cushioned back. “Very funny, Brent, very funny.”

“I do that so I can see who’s on the line.” Had the boy no concept of how voicemail worked? Knowing Brent, it was entirely possible. “So, what is it you need me for?”

I cringed at his words and nearly corrected his grammar but stopped myself in time. I was retired, for heaven’s sake. Besides, if we didn’t get someone here in a hurry, the newly hatched business was going to die a painful death. Like Linda.

“Mrs. Goldstein and I would love to have you join us in a new business venture,” I began in a somewhat formal tone that earned my own eye roll from Nora.

“Oh, give me the phone.” She impatiently stuck out one hand, fingers motioning for my cell.

I meekly passed it over, glad to let her take care of business. A tremor began in my hands, and when another knock sounded at the apartment door, it made me spring to my feet in alarm, knees trembling. Was this a delayed reaction after finding Linda, or had I overdone the caffeine bit?

A phalanx of white-suited folks stood there, looking like refugees from a sci-fi space movie. Officer Taylor waved them in, and I watched as they moved across the living room to the kitchen, carrying what looked like oversized tackle boxes and tripod stands.

“Don’t you dare get my kitchen all dirty,” Nora called after them, one hand covering the cell’s mouthpiece. “My housekeeper will have your hides, I can promise you that.” With a follow-up glare that made Officer Reinhart start and then scuttle after them to the relative safety of the kitchen, Nora sighed and went back to her conversation with Brent.

“Don’t wear anything too good, but make sure you comb that rat’s nest hair of yours. And wear a tie.” After delivering that last order, she stabbed the “end” button and handed the phone back to me.

“A tie? Whatever for?” I glanced at the cell’s screen to make sure it was indeed disconnected before slipping it back into my jacket. “He’s going to be cleaning up after dogs, Nora, not serving dinner. At least I hope not,” I added with a shudder and a slightly queasy feeling. Sometimes words made pictures in my head that needed no further exploration.

“Don’t be silly.” I could tell her heart wasn’t in the rebuke. Instead, she was already on her feet, peeking around Officer Taylor’s bulk as she tried to see what was happening. “You there! The one in white. No, not you, the other one. Get that tripod off my counter this minute! I prepare my food there, young man. Would you want me to go to your house and start putting foreign objects all over your counters?”

There was the sound of shuffling and movement from the kitchen as Nora supervised the Portland Police Department’s forensic team. I sat back against the sofa cushions and watched in amusement as Officer Taylor tried to wrench control from her stubborn hands. Nora in action was always worth a ticket.

“Ma’am?” He was back in questioning mode, “Are you aware this is a crime scene?”

She stared at him, head tilted to one side as though she’d just discovered the earth wasn’t flat. I watched the scene unfolding in front of me and wanted to tell the unsuspecting officer he’d better watch his back. I’d seen Nora act just that way right before she’d all but skewered someone with a rapier-like response.

“Don’t be an idiot, Officer,” snapped Nora. “Of course I know. I found the body, didn’t I?” She turned around and surveyed the kitchen, a smile replacing the scowl. “Now, that’s much better. Would anyone like coffee?”

I smiled. Classic Nora Goldstein. She used the “carrot and stick” approach with aplomb and got great results as well. I’d have to be careful, or she’d be using it on me too.

There was the rattle of ceramic mugs as the coffee maker gurgled into life. I could hear someone protesting that the mugs were contaminating the scene, and Nora retorting that “the body is lying on the floor, not my kitchen counters.”

Amidst all the action, I’d almost forgotten that Linda Fletcher was still in the kitchen. I shivered suddenly and superstitiously mumbled the only prayer I could recall from my childhood. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die…”

I was pretty sure Linda hadn’t gotten up that morning with her mind on death. But someone had. And were they after Linda or Nora? And if it was Nora, what was the reason? She might not be everyone’s favorite person—all right, she could be downright abrasive—but her heart was as wide as the Pacific Ocean, and almost as deep.

And if they were going to come after Nora, they’d have to deal with me as well. With a bracing resolve underpinning my shaky emotions, I jumped to my feet as the front door opened once more.

Standing there was a woman I’d never seen. She was dressed as if going to a fancy party, even though it wasn’t quite noon, a pair of ankle-breaking stilettos on her feet and an ermine coat sliding from a pair of very bony shoulders. And when she opened her mouth to speak, I nearly fell back onto the sofa in shock.

“Oh, my God! I just heard! My stepmama’s dead!”

Stepmama? Dead? Judging by the astonishment on Nora’s face, this was news to her as well.

“Officer, could you help me a moment? Someone just let an entire batch of crazy into my apartment.” Nora was glaring at the woman, hands on hips as she blocked the apartment’s doorway. “And in case you can’t tell, Phoebe, I’m very much alive.” She paused a moment, her eyes narrowing in a way that I recognized as a danger signal. “And who told you I was dead, anyway?”

I missed the rest of the conversation as Officer Taylor joined the two women, stepping between them like a boxing match referee.

“Sorry, Miss F. I couldn’t stop her.”

Brent Mayfair, a sheepish expression on his face and a ratty tie hanging from his neck, moved around the woman and headed to where I sat. My mouth, I hated to admit, was hanging open in a most unteacherly—my word, not Webster’s—manner, but Brent didn’t seem to notice.

“That’s all right.” I spoke automatically, patting the sofa and motioning for him to take a seat. “How did she know where to go?”

“I guess she heard me ask that woman downstairs where Mrs. Goldstein’s apartment was. And she kinda followed me.” Brent gave his broad shoulders a shrug, straining the buttons of a very wrinkled dress shirt. “And you know me, Miss F. I don’t like putting my hands on no one, especially a lady.” He glanced over where the lady in question was still ranting at Nora as the officer attempted to calm her down, moving her back into the hallway. Judging by the salty vocabulary I was hearing, I was fairly certain the description of “lady” needed to be applied loosely.

“Anyone,” I corrected him automatically. “And you did nothing wrong.” I gave his arm a reassuring pat. “Would you like coffee while you wait to speak with Mrs. Goldstein?”

Nora had followed Taylor and the woman, firmly shutting the apartment door behind them.

“A soda, if she’s got some.” He paused, his grin lopsided. “I’ve had so much coffee today it’s a wonder you don’t hear me sloshing when I walk.”

I had to take a moment to process this logic. Wouldn’t any type of liquid add to the sloshing? Still, his expression was so hopeful that I nodded as I rose.

“I’ll see if Nor…Mrs. Goldstein has any.” I glanced over to where Officer Reinhart stood in the kitchen’s doorway, his bulk effectively blocking any entrance. “Or I can ask him to check the fridge. He’s probably not going to let me in there.”

“Yeah, what’s with all the police, Miss F.? You two been selling drugs outta here or something?” This was followed by a wide grin that crinkled his entire face.

“Not this time.” I managed to keep my tone light. “Just a visit from our friendly neighborhood cops, checking to make sure the oven is safe to use.”

“Whoa, that’s cool.” Brent looked duly impressed. “Maybe they need to go to my mom’s kitchen and check on our stove. It’s always burning our food.”

This kid was too gullible for his own good. He was going to make the perfect pooper scooper for the Two Sisters Pet Valet Services.

There was a momentary scuffling noise heard from the kitchen and Reinhart moved back from the doorway. The white-suited crime scene folks were packing up and leaving, hauling out the cases and tripods that they’d carried in with them. Brent’s eyes were so wide I was afraid he’d suffer permanent damage to his eye sockets.

“Wow, Miss F.” He turned to look at me, letting out a low whistle. “They really don’t fool around, do they?”

“Absolutely not,” I agreed solemnly. “A safe oven is a healthy oven.”

How I’d explain a dead body when they came to remove it was another issue entirely.

Thankfully, Brent was out on the first of four dog-walking assignments when the medical examiner’s office came to remove Linda Fletcher’s body. I’d already concocted a story of sorts that focused on the oven angle, but I was glad I didn’t have to use it. My ability to tell a whopper of a lie was becoming somewhat disconcerting, especially for someone who saw herself as a truth-loving, God-fearing, salt-of-the-earth woman.

“Good work.” Nora turned to me, holding up one hand for a high five. This was an action that always struck me as juvenile, but I dutifully held my own hand up and slapped Nora’s open palm. “You can be the marketing expert.”

“Marketing expert?” I was puzzled, trying to link telling lies and promoting a business. “As in rhetorical devices?” I was beginning to realize that my teacher brain was having a hard time shutting off. Just how long it would take to return to normal, I had no idea.

Nora didn’t bother answering. Instead, she walked to the kitchen doorway, shaking her head as she observed the detritus left by the police department.

“I need to call my housekeeper pronto.” She shook her head some more as she peered around the room. “And who’s going to want to clean up after Linda? I swear, Gwen, that woman is as much trouble dead as she was alive.”

“Well, don’t tell her. Your housekeeper, I mean,” I added, clarifying my statement. “Or call one of those crime scene cleaning crews.”

“Or I could ask knucklehead to do it when he gets back.” Nora turned to look at me, a mischievous grin on her face. “You could tell him that’s where you fainted because the oven was so bad.”

“He’s such a nice kid.” I walked over to join Nora in the doorway. “I hate to keep lying to him just to get him to do our dirty work.”

Nora snorted. “That’s called being a boss, Gwen. Ever heard of it?”

I thought about the various administrations I’d worked with over the years and had to agree.

“Dirty work it is,” I agreed. There was a knock at the door and I headed over to answer it. “And just in time, too. I think he’s back.”

It wasn’t Brent Mayfair, though. Instead, it was a rather stern-faced plainclothes officer, his badge clipped to the waistband of his immaculate chinos. Behind him stood Officer Reinhart and another cop, a woman with both hands resting on rather substantial hips.

Flashing his I.D. in a manner normally reserved for fast-paced cop shows, the plainclothes officer said, “Nora Goldstein? We need you to come with us downtown.”