by J. R. Ripley
The doorjamb was splintered. The front door dangled on its hinges. I tiptoed closer and peered inside. The fire was nearly out.
Yvonne Rice sat in the easy chair closest to the fireplace. Spools of embroidery floss rested on the table beside her. An unfinished magenta and gold feather lay in her lap. Her chin sagged, and her eyes were slits.
And, oh yeah, there was a red wound in her chest that needed patching.
5
My hand flew to my mouth. “Is she—” I noticed her knit cap on the floor between the chair and table.
Dan whirled, lowering his weapon to his side. “Damn it, Amy. I told you to wait outside.”
I was trembling. “Is she? Is she dead, Dan?”
Dan frowned and laid a finger on her neck. “Yeah.” The radio on his shoulder squawked as he called in to report the incident.
“Did she—Did she take her own life?”
“No. There’s no weapon in reach. If there was, we’d see it.” He lifted the skirt of the chair with his toe, and we both studied the empty space. “Nothing. Besides, from the wound, I would say she was shot from several yards away.”
“So it was definitely murder,” I whispered.
“You had better wait on the porch, Amy. Anita says Chief Kennedy is on his way.” Anita was the town dispatcher. “He will be here in a minute or two.”
And we both knew what he would think about finding me on the scene of another murder. And we both knew it wouldn’t be good.
I retreated to the porch, settling myself on the simple pine-plank bench beneath the front window. It suddenly felt twenty degrees colder outside. I hugged myself for warmth.
A minute or two later, a police car came skidding to a halt beside my minivan. Chief Jerry Kennedy was at the wheel. But not for long. He hopped out, hitched up his pants, and stomped toward me.
“What are you doing here?” he asked sourly.
He was so predictable.
Looking up at him from my seat on the bench was making me uncomfortable, so I stood. “I was here earlier for dinner. So was Dan. I forgot my purse.”
“Is your wallet in your purse?”
“Yes.” His question confused me. “And my camera and my store keys. That’s why I came back. Why?”
Jerry Kennedy grinned an evil grin. “That means you’ve been driving without a license. I can write you a ticket for that.”
“I was not driving without a license,” I shot back. Jerry always brought out the worst in me, no matter how far down I tried to keep it bottled up. “I have a driver’s license, as you full well know. I simply did not have that license on my person on my drive here.”
I shot what I’d hope he’d pick up on as a meaningful look inside the house. “If you’ll let me have my purse now, this whole issue—which we shouldn’t even be talking about because you’ve got a young lady inside who has just been shot to death, and it is catching her killer you should be concerned with right this moment and not whether or not I had a driver’s license physically on my person when I arrived—can be resolved.”
I took several, long deep breaths to calm myself. And catch my breath. I was winded. Yelling at Jerry Kennedy takes a lot out of a woman. I didn’t know how his wife and daughter managed without blood pressure meds.
“Easy, Amy.”
I turned. Dan was watching from the doorway. The EMTs had arrived, along with Andrew Greeley, who had pulled up rather ceremoniously in his own vehicle, a hearse—Death’s delivery service, as folks around town liked to joke. Painted black, of course, with a soft black leather interior—not that such finery mattered much to the bulk of his passengers, who traveled in the fully reclined position.
“Let’s get to it, Greeley,” barked Chief Kennedy.
“That’s why I’m here,” came Andrew Greeley’s soft reply. There didn’t seem to be much of anything that could rile him, although Jerry did his best to try.
Greeley is a gentle giant of a man who has been around about as long as the dinosaurs. He serves as Ruby Lake’s coroner and operates his family’s mortuary and cemetery. As far as the Town of Ruby Lake goes, he’s got the dead covered—from head to toe to dirt.
One day, hopefully far, far away, he or one of his kids, when they took their turn running the mini-empire of death, would probably be seeing me without my clothes on. Not a pleasant thought, so I dropped it.
“Hello, Amy. This is a surprise.” Andrew Greeley wore a frumpy black coat with a high collar and gray trousers with cuffs. Stringy white hair fluttered around his long face.
“It’s been a night for surprises,” I replied numbly.
“Enough chitchat,” Jerry snapped. A stiff brown policeman’s cap covered blond crew-cut hair. Jerry still looks pretty much like he did as far back as middle school, with a fleshy, boyish face, squat nose, freckles, and dark jade eyes. His gut hadn’t gotten any bigger since the last time I had seen him, but it hadn’t gotten any smaller either.
Jerry paused at the door, suited up, and slipped on a pair of crime-scene gloves with far less grace than I’d seen in the movies and cop shows. “Park it right there and wait, Simms. I’m gonna need your statement.”
I bit my lip to keep from giving him a statement right then and threw myself down on the bench. But I didn’t last long. I peered through the crack in the curtains, watching Jerry and Dan work their way around the cabin, opening and closing doors, poking into every nook and cranny.
I could not see from my vantage point, but he probably peeked in her underwear drawer too.
Andrew Greeley examined the body with slow deliberation while two EMTs waited with their hands folded behind their backs. A stretcher sat on the floor between them. Officer Reynolds had arrived and was photographing the scene from all angles.
Nervous, I rose and paced the length of the narrow porch. Back and forth. Up and down.
I was itching to go inside. I wanted to see what they were seeing—well, except for that underwear drawer. I wanted to hear what they were saying.
What was going on inside?
Why was Yvonne Rice dead?
Officer Albert Pratt arrived in uniform and carrying reinforcements in the form of trays of coffee from Truckee’s Road Stop, a highway establishment popular with truckers and known for its accommodating, capacious parking lot, hot showers, decent food at reasonable prices, and, perhaps best of all, a no-frills, low-cost bar.
Pratt was an intimidatingly large black man with curly black hair. He had recently joined the Ruby Lake police force, having relocated from New Orleans.
“Ms. Simms.” He tipped his head as he balanced the coffee. “I heard you were here. Discovered another dead body, did you?”
“Actually, just to be clear, it was Dan who discovered Yvonne dead inside.”
“But you were here when he did.”
I couldn’t deny that, so I didn’t even try. Pratt and I had some history, too. He had once handcuffed me, and, no, we had not been dating at the time.
“Have a coffee?” Officer Pratt asked.
He held out the tray, and I didn’t wait to be asked twice.
“Thanks.” I peeled back the plastic lid and inhaled. Truckee’s brews great coffee.
Officer Pratt settled the two trays of coffees on the now-empty bench. “I’d best get inside.”
He wiped his feet on the sisal mat at the door, not that Yvonne would be complaining about him tracking dirt in the house, and stepped inside. I decided it couldn’t hurt to watch from the doorway. Sipping my coffee, I leaned against the door frame and watched in silence.
Yvonne Rice’s body had been shrouded and placed on the stretcher that Chief Kennedy and Andrew Greeley now said was clear to be moved. I stepped aside to let the EMTs pass.
“What the hell?” I heard Officer Pratt exclaim.
“What is it, Al?” Chief Kennedy approached his underli
ng.
“That thing.”
Chief Kennedy quirked his eyes at Baron Samedi on the mantel. “Ugly, ain’t it?”
“Hush. You shouldn’t say that, Chief.” Officer Pratt looked alarmed.
“Huh? What the devil’s got into you?” Jerry Kennedy wanted to know.
“That there is the Lord of Death,” Officer Pratt explained. He pointed a finger at the statuette. “You don’t want to be speaking ill about him. He might put the juju on you.”
“Juju?” Jerry laughed. “Next thing you’ll be theorizing that he murdered this here young lady. What do you think, Dan? Shall we cuff him? Assuming you’ve got a pair small enough to wrap around those tiny wrists of his,” he added with a second chuckle.
The man was a real card. That card being the joker.
Pratt was shaking his head unhappily. “You shouldn’t be making jokes, Chief. I’ve seen things…heard things.”
“That’s right, Al,” Dan remarked as he joined them. He seemed to be determined to be the lone voice of reason. “You’re from Louisiana, aren’t you?”
Pratt nodded. “Had me an aunt who kept hers in her cupboard in the living room. Hers was dressed all in black but for a blood-red vest.” He turned and looked at the chair where Yvonne’s body had been found. “Baron Samedi was looking right at her.”
Dan visibly bristled.
Officer Pratt’s fingers hovered an inch from the statuette as if he feared touching it. “They say the most potent ones are carved from ancient English yew trees. I bet this one’s made of yew.”
Officer Reynolds stepped between them and the fireplace and snapped a picture of the statuette.
I eyed Baron Samedi from a safe distance. The yew is known in mythology as the Tree of Death, probably owing to the toxic qualities of its leaves and seeds rather than its being the physical manifestation of voodoo deities.
Jerry cussed. “Cut that out! I’ve seen and heard enough. Our victim was shot once in the chest with a real bullet, not voodoo-cursed to death.” He put a hand on Pratt’s shoulder and forced him to turn around and face the crime scene. “Let’s focus on that, shall we?”
“Yes, sir,” Officer Pratt said reluctantly. He rubbed the back of his neck as if the Lord of Death’s eyes were burning a hole in him.
“Do you know what sort of weapon it was?” I asked from the doorway. I could still smell the coffee and dessert we had enjoyed only a little while ago—albeit mixed with the smell of gunpowder and blood.
Jerry snapped his head around and glared at me. “Are you still here?”
“You told me to wait for you.”
Jerry frowned. “Outside, I said.”
I glanced at my feet, which were clearly on the front doormat. “I am outside.”
“Follow me,” he said, brushing past me. “Let’s get this over with.” Back on the porch, he lifted the trays of coffee and set them on the ground after helping himself to one. “Park it, Simms.”
I did.
Although I was tempted to tell him that without my driver’s license on my person I shouldn’t legally be parking anything. It was a good retort, and I intended to save it for another time. One where a murder hadn’t just occurred.
Jerry took a sip of coffee, cursed that it wasn’t hot enough or sweet enough, took a second sip, then squeezed the cup between his thighs. Maybe it was a form of male birth control.
Finally, the questioning began. What time did I arrive? Which I had already pretty much answered. I’ve discovered that the police are big on redundancy.
“Did you see or hear anything?”
“No. Nothing. I mean, not really.”
“No.” Jerry snatched the cap from his head and waved it madly at the nocturnal insects buzzing around us. “I do not know what you mean by ‘not really.’ How about spelling it out?”
I tightened my fingers over my knee to control my anger. “I heard bugs, creatures of the night—”
“For crying out loud, Simms. Don’t tell me you believe in all this Lord of Death business, too!”
“I’m talking deer and raccoons, Jerry. Not hobgoblins.”
“So you didn’t see anybody prowling around?”
“No. I’d have said so if I had.”
“What about out on the main road?”
I thought a moment. “Just cars and trucks.”
“No hitchhikers?”
I twisted to face him. “What’s going on, Jerry?”
“A woman has been shot, and I’m trying to clue out who the killer is,” Jerry said evasively. He twisted his cap back on his head and drank some more coffee. “This stuff’s almost as bad as the stuff you make,” he spat. “Did Ms. Rice seem scared? Anxious?”
“Do you mean earlier or when I called her to say I forgot my purse?”
“Take your pick. Both.”
“Again, no. Both times. Yvonne sounded perfectly normal.”
Jerry nodded. “Dan said as much. He said she appeared completely at ease over dinner. He said you played some silly game of Ouija.”
“That’s right. What about fingerprints, footprints, tire tracks?”
“Who are you, Mrs. Columbo? Be quiet and let me think.” Jerry banged his fist against his temple.
I balled my free hand into a fist, tempted to help him with a few well-placed jabs to jump-start his brain cells.
“We know our jobs, Amy. We’ll check everything out. It’s all part of the routine. I don’t expect much good will come of it,” he said with an accompanying sigh. “Ms. Rice had just hosted a housewarming party. The doorknobs are bound to be covered in fingerprints, including yours. Not to mention footprints of every person and every critter that was out and about tonight.”
He stood and flicked a freeloading moth from his trousers.
I followed him to the busted front door.
“You say both doors were locked from the outside when you arrived, Dan?” he hollered.
“Yes, sir. Amy can confirm it. And all the windows are locked.”
“There’s no dead bolt. Only a simple lock,” I noted. “The killer could have turned the lock on their way out.”
“Who would do that?” snapped Jerry. “Why bother?”
“To throw the police off the track. And that’s just what they’ve done.”
Jerry huffed and started pacing. “I don’t believe it.”
“There’s more, Jerry.”
He turned and glared. “With you, there’s always more, Simms.”
“Do you want to hear it?”
Jerry worked his jawbones from side to side before answering. “Tell me.”
“Where’s her cell phone?”
Jerry turned to Dan and Larry. “You guys turn up a cell phone?”
Both shook their heads in the negative.
“What about inside her truck?” Jerry asked.
That was a good question. I hadn’t thought of that.
“I’ll check it out.” Larry Reynolds methodically searched Yvonne’s truck. “No phone there either, Chief.” He placed his hand down on the hood. “Plus, this vehicle hasn’t been driven for hours. The engine is cold.”
Larry’s a good guy. A bit on the quiet side. He is a shade above six feet tall, with thinning blond hair and a pinkish complexion. He’s in his midforties and never been married. Other than that, I didn’t know much about his personal life.
Somehow, Larry’s brown uniform always looked far more rumpled than those of his comrades.
“So her cell phone is gone, and there is no landline,” I said. “Not that I’ve seen.”
“In the bedroom maybe,” Jerry said, sounding none too impressed with my observational skills.
Dan poked his head in Yvonne’s bedroom. “Nothing. No phone there, sir.”
“What’s her number?” growled Jerry, aiming his a
nger at me.
I pulled out my phone and read the numbers.
“Dial it,” Jerry ordered.
I held my tongue and did so. I put it on speaker. We held our breaths and listened. The call rang twice, then went to voice mail.
Dan stepped to the front porch and waved his flashlight around. “I don’t hear anything.”
I ended the call. “So that begs the question,” I said to my now keen audience. “Where is her cell phone? She answered my call not ten minutes before I arrived.” And sometime between that call and my arrival, she had been shot to death.
“That’s easy,” the chief said after thinking a moment. “The killer took it. And that killer is Alan Spenner.”
“Alan Spenner?” How had he pulled that name out of the hat? “Who is Alan Spenner?”
“A nasty customer,” Dan interrupted. “He escaped from Craggy Mount CC.”
“CC?”
“Correctional Center,” Larry said. “He went missing the day before yesterday.”
“And he’s been rumored to have been seen in this vicinity,” said Jerry, taking back center stage. “If I were you, I’d keep my doors and windows locked, Simms.”
I raised an eyebrow in the direction the shroud-covered corpse had gone. “That doesn’t seem to have done Yvonne much good.”
“The young lady lived alone in the woods and had a two-bit lock.”
“You say that as if getting killed was her own fault,” I said angrily. “She’s the victim, Jerry. Not a criminal.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know that. Don’t get your shorts in a knot, Simms. It always makes you walk funny.”
“You’re hilarious, Jerry. Your sense of humor hasn’t changed since high school.”
Officer Larry Reynolds chuckled. Dan Sutton and Al Pratt knew better, so it was Larry whom Jerry ordered to go trundling through the dense woods and rouse the neighbors to see if anyone had seen or heard anything unusual.
Me he ordered home.
6
The next morning, I was downstairs early. With my mother gone, the apartment was too quiet. And I did not feel like being alone.
