by Patricia Fry
“Bye, Mommy,” Lily chirped. “Bye-bye, Rags.”
Teddy waved one little hand. “Bye-bye.”
“Got your phone?” Michael asked.
She checked her pocket. “Sure do.”
“Good,” he said. “Use it if you need to.”
She smirked playfully at him and waved as she walked out the door with the cat.
****
The last passenger to be picked up was Marvin. He greeted Savannah, then glanced to see who else was in the car as he climbed into the backseat with Bev. After acknowledging her, he patted Dora on the shoulder and said in an eerie voice, “Is everyone ready to witness a murder tonight?”
Trying to ignore his attempt at scaring them, Dora said quietly, “We’re meeting Rich there, right?” She shuddered. “We don’t have to ride with him and his gun or knife or whatever he’s going to use, do we?”
Savannah grimaced. “Yes, we’re meeting him there.”
Bev asked, “Does anyone know who Rich plans to have commit the crime?”
“I imagine it’s his lead character,” Marvin said, “Lance. Isn’t that his name? He’s the one doing all that dangerous stuff. I wonder who’s going to die.”
“The reckless way he writes,” Bev said, “I’m pretty sure Rich will kill off more than one character, but he hasn’t even hinted at who’s going to get it tonight, has he?”
“I don’t think so,” Dora said. She grinned. “Although I believe I know who it is.”
“You do?” Savannah asked. “I thought maybe it would be a stranger—someone he picks up at a bar.” When no one else spoke, she explained, “That’s sort of his character’s style.”
Dora shook her head. “I think it’s that woman he has mentioned a couple of times, remember?”
“Yes,” Savannah said, “but who is she? I mean, he certainly hasn’t made her very important in the scheme of things, do you think? I’m not even sure she’s key to his story.”
“I agree,” Marvin said. “If he plans to develop that character, he should have done so by now, especially if she’s the one who’s going to be killed.”
“You’re right,” Bev said. “I’m not a bit curious about her yet. I don’t care even one iota about her.”
“But we—I mean as readers—might learn more about her after she dies,” Dora suggested quietly. “You see that a lot on those TV police and detective shows. A stranger dies and by the end of the program you know so much about him or her that you practically start to grieve.”
“So who do you think he’ll have play that part?” Bev asked. “…I mean the murder victim. One of us?”
“Good question,” Marvin said. “Any volunteers?” he asked in his eerie voice. Suddenly he jumped and let out a yelp. “What’s that?”
“Scared you, huh?” Bev said, laughing. She ran her hand over Rags’s fur as he stepped off her lap toward Marvin. “This is Rags.”
“A rag?” Marvin said. “Looks like a cat to me.”
“Yes, it’s a cat,” Bev said. “His name’s Rags.”
“Well, hello there, Rags,” Marvin said, reaching out to pet him. “This is your cat, right, Savannah? He’s the one you write about? I’ve been eager to meet him.”
“Yes, that’s him.” Savannah added, “Oh, that’s right, you have cats.”
Marvin nodded while he ran his hand over Rags’s fur. “A rascal of a cat who’s been with me for going on ten years, a formerly feral cat I started feeding and who managed to work her way into the house, and a couple of sweet siblings I rescued just last year when their mom left them to fend for themselves under my office building.”
“I remember that,” Dora said, “you wrote a short story about them at Christmastime. You really worked to get them healthy, didn’t you?”
“Yes, and I prayed a lot.” Marvin smiled. “They’re really wonderful company. They’re a laugh a minute.”
“Bless you for saving them,” Dora said. She frowned. “Charlotte and I are taking care of an abandoned litter as we speak. It was almost too late by the time they were found and brought to us, but I’m happy to say the little darlings are thriving.”
“Who’s watching over them this evening?” Savannah asked. “I mean, they’re pretty young still, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” Dora said. “Charlotte took them home this afternoon. She and Reba—you know, her mom—will care for them overnight.”
“Where’s Charlotte’s little sister? Isn’t she allergic to cats?” Savannah asked.
“To cats, yes, but she seems to do okay around kittens. She loves the kittens. You know she’s eight now and really wants to have a cat, so whenever we have kittens to care for, little Ruby usually helps us out. Reba just gives her an allergy pill and she does pretty well.”
Savannah smiled. “I’m glad to hear that Charlotte’s still helping you. How’s she doing?”
“Great,” Dora said. “She’s such a good help. I just love that girl.”
“She is special,” Savannah agreed.
“She’s quite a high-functioning Downs child,” Marvin said.
Dora turned to face him. “You know Charlotte?”
“Yes,” he said. “Reba and Charlotte come to me for chiropractic adjustments occasionally. She’s quite a remarkable young woman, actually.” He smiled. “She has told me of her love for cats and that she works at a cat shelter.” He smiled and put his hand on Dora’s shoulder. “I didn’t know that was your shelter, Dora.”
She nodded. “It’s not actually a shelter as shelters go. I manage my kitties inside my home and I do some fostering for rescue agencies. It’s all rather casual and helter-skelter, but…”
“Ohhh, Dora,” Bev moaned, “don’t use that term.”
When the others caught on to the meaning of Bev’s outburst, they chuckled nervously. Marvin said, “Now, that was one gruesome murder case.”
“This must be the place,” Savannah said, slowing the car.
“Yup,” Bev agreed. “There’s that old abandoned office building and the bar down the hill there.”
“I wonder where we should park,” Savannah said.
Dora looked around. “It’s dark out here.”
“All the better to commit a murder,” Marvin said eerily. He added in his normal voice, “Oh, there’s Rich. See him standing over there?”
“I wonder where he parked,” Savannah said.
“Maybe behind the building,” Bev suggested.
Savannah lowered her window and called out, “Hey Rich, where do you want me to park?”
When they noticed he wasn’t alone, Bev hissed, “He has someone with him. Maybe one of us won’t have to play the victim, after all.”
“You think she’s his target?” Marvin asked quietly. He chuckled. “Looks like the type of women he portrays in his stories.”
“She seems to be a tad giddy.” Dora noticed when Savannah’s headlights shined briefly on the couple.
“Yeah,” Bev said, “look at her. He’s doing his best to hold her up.”
“Well, she’s wearing high heels with those tight capri pants,” Savannah observed. “She’s probably having trouble walking on this uneven ground.” Once she’d parked and exited the car along with the two women and Rags, Savannah glanced back at Marvin. “Coming?” she called. She took a second look and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Um, yeah,” he said taking a breath and stepping out of the car.
“Hi, guys,” Rich greeted. “This is Angie.” He pointed. “Angie, meet Bev, Marv, Dora and…um…Savannah, right?”
Savannah nodded.
The forty-something woman giggled. “Hi,” she said, holding onto Rich as she seemed to try to focus.
“Are you ready?” Savannah asked. “What do you want us to do?”
“Yes, let me get my stuff together,” Rich said. He led the intoxicated woman away from the others to a stack of lumber and encouraged her to sit there. When he was convinced she would stay put, he started to walk around the side of the
building.
“Need help?” Bev called.
“Naw,” he said over his shoulder. “I left my stuff just around the corner here.”
Savannah glanced back at Marvin. He seemed to be deliberately approaching Angie, who had left her perch and was teetering. That’s odd, she thought. Does he know her or is he hitting on her? She laughed at herself. Oh, he’s probably just trying to keep her from falling over. She sure is tipsy.
Savannah gazed in the direction Rich had walked and saw that he was returning. She could see in the dim light from the lone light post behind the building that Rich carried a small duffle bag. He placed it near where the three women stood, and he removed a flashlight. He turned it on and laid it on the ground. He then pulled a tightly rolled piece of dark plastic from the bag and started to lay it out across the dirt. The women helped him smooth out the creases, all the while chattering among themselves on topics unrelated to what was about to occur.
Minutes later Rich looked around and demanded, “Where’d she go?”
“Who?” Bev asked.
“Angie. She’s my victim. Angie!” he called.
“I saw her stumbling back down to the bar,” Marvin said, joining the others.
“Well crap,” Rich complained. “Who’s going to be my victim? I need a victim.” He looked at Savannah. “You’re too tall and your hair’s the wrong color, but I guess you’ll have to do.”
“Oh, Rich,” Savannah complained, “I’d rather not. Besides, I have to look after the cat. What do you want him to do, anyway?”
Rich stared down at Rags. “I’m not sure. We’ll talk about that later.”
“I’ll be the victim,” Bev offered.
He thought for a moment, glanced at Dora, then said, “Okay. You’ll do.”
When Rich walked away from the others and toward the bar, Bev asked, “Now what’s he doing?”
“Probably looking for that girl,” Dora said.
Savannah nodded, then asked quietly, “Bev, are you sure you want to do this?”
The woman shrugged. “Yeah, I had a glass of wine before you picked me up, so I’m ready to toss caution to the wind, at least to a degree.” She looked wide-eyed at the others. “Hey, you guys won’t leave me here alone or anything, will you?” She grinned and added, “Anyway, this might actually be fun.”
Dora rolled her eyes for Savannah’s benefit.
When Rich returned to the group he said, “Now in the story, you see, my character…”
“Lance?” Dora asked. She addressed Marvin. “That’s who you think it is—Lance, right?”
Marvin glanced briefly in the direction of the bar and nodded. He looked down at the lightweight tarp, then turned and walked away, perching on the stack of wood.
“Hey, Marv,” Rich called, “come join the party.”
“I’m good,” Marvin said, glancing at the bar again.
What’s up with him? Savannah wondered. Does he have a drinking problem? Maybe he wants to sneak away and have a beer with Angie.
Rich drew Savannah’s attention back to the scene he was creating. “Okay, so yeah, you guys got it right,” he said. “I mean, who else in my story has the mindset to do something this outlandish?” He explained, “So Lance brings the woman—originally Angie, but now Bev—up here from the bar and, of course, no one notices because half the people down there are blotto drunk and the other half are crazed from listening to that hard-rock band. First I—I mean Lance will tie her hands behind her back so she can’t—you know, scratch him up and get evidence under her fingernails.”
“Does he rape me?” Bev asked, giggling.
Rich gazed at her for a moment, saying, “I don’t think he’d want to do that. Then there would be DNA involved. No. We don’t want any DNA the authorities can pick up on. That’s what’s going to make it a perfect crime.” He proceeded to tie her hands behind her back.
“Why would she let you—I mean Lance—do that?” Dora asked. “Is she going to just surrender?”
After thinking for a moment, Rich said, “Sure she will, because she thinks we’re just going to have kinky sex. Anyway, she’s pretty drunk, so she might even be passed out by now, especially if I decide I—I mean if Lance should drop some sort of knockout drug into her drink before walking her out of the bar.” He glanced around at the others. “So after he ties her hands, I’m thinking that’s when he should dress in the scrubs.” He reached into the canvas bag and removed a set of pale blue scrubs, complete with shoe covers, cap, gloves, and a surgical mask. He began putting on the outfit.
“Why such a light color?” Savannah asked. “That practically glows in the dark.”
“Right,” Bev said, laughing. “Do you want him to get caught?”
Rich pondered the question. “No, I want this to be the perfect crime. Unfortunately, the only color I could get online in these disposable scrubs is this light blue.”
“Well, you might want to have him either dye it or spring for a more expensive dark green or black set,” Bev suggested.
“I’ll think about that,” Rich said, sounding a little frustrated. He told his victim, “Okay, Bev, lay down there on your back.”
“Ouch,” she complained. “That’s not comfortable. Can’t you untie my hands?”
“No,” he insisted. “You can lay on your side if that’s better, but keep in mind that the victim will be on her back—she has to be on her back.”
“While she’s being attacked?” Savannah asked. “You might want to have her standing and then lay her down afterward.”
Rich stared at her for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I’ll think about that.”
“Why do you need the mask?” Dora asked. “She already knows who you are.”
“DNA,” Rich was quick to explain. “His hair is covered, his face is covered. You see, there’s nothing that will reveal Lance’s DNA or his identity. Smart, right?” he said, grinning. “When you write a murder scene you have to think of everything little stinkin’ detail.”
“You didn’t think of the light color of your scrubs showing up in the dark,” Bev reminded him.
“That’s why I invited you all out here tonight, to get input from other writers.” He called out to Marvin. “I wish you’d help me out here, buddy; you write stuff more like mine. Do you have any suggestions?”
Marvin shook his head. “I think the gals are doing a good job, there.”
Rich turned to Savannah. “Speaking of DNA, could I ask you a few questions?” He took off his gloves, picked up a flashlight, and walked toward Rags, who lay on the ground next to Savannah. He rubbed the cat’s fur and illuminated his hand with the flashlight. He then pinched Rags’s fur and tugged on it, removing a few strands. When Rags stood up and turned away from him, Rich said, “I guess he didn’t like that.”
“No, he didn’t. What are you doing?” Savannah insisted.
He glanced at the others, then said more quietly, “Savannah, can I talk to you private-like?”
“I guess,” she said, walking away with him.
“I’m just wondering about cat DNA,” Rich said, making sure the others couldn’t hear him. “Cats have DNA, don’t they? Is it different from cat to cat? I mean, can you identify a particular cat by testing the DNA?”
Savannah nodded. “Yes.”
“From their fur?”
“Yes. Saliva is your best source for a cat’s DNA, but most of the time fur works. Cats lick a lot, so there’s usually traces of saliva on their fur.”
“And cats shed, don’t they?” Rich asked. “You find fur all over the house where they’ve been sitting and on your clothes when they rub against you. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, why?”
Rich grinned. “You’ll find out when I get to that chapter in my book.” He turned toward the others. “Come on now, let’s finish up here.” Seeming a little giddy, he said, “We’re almost to the best part.”
When Savannah returned to the others, she raised her eyebrows for Dora’s benefit, then
looked back at Marvin, who remained seated on the lumber stack. He looks uncomfortable, she thought. I wonder what’s going through his head.
Meanwhile, Rich said to Bev as he slipped the glove back on, “I need an item of your clothing. Can I use your sweater or maybe you want to take off your t-shirt and button your sweater up.” When she scowled at him, he said, “I’ll turn my back. I need a piece of your clothing to strangle you with.”
Bev huffed, “How am I supposed to get undressed?”
“Oh, sorry,” Rich said. He untied her hands. “How about your bra?”
Bev crossed her arms in front of herself. “What about my bra?” She shook her head. “Uh-uh. No way. You can strangle me with my shirt. Turn your back,” she insisted. After buttoning her sweater around herself, she handed him her shirt, saying, “Now, when you start writing that story, you need to think of this before you have Lance tie her hands.”
Dora nodded. “Yes, things have to be spelled out in the right sequence or you’ll confuse and annoy your readers.”
Rich studied Dora for a few moments, a serious expression on his face, then he proceeded to tie Bev’s hands behind her back again. He picked up the shirt. “Lie back down. I’m going to strangle you then I—I mean my character takes out his pocket knife and carves something on her body.”
“What?” Bev shrieked.
“You can’t ask questions,” Rich said. “You’re dead.”
“Then I’ll ask,” Marvin said, joining the others. “Why would you have Lance cut her?”
“Good question,” Rich said, grinning at him. “I don’t know…for effect, I guess.” He reached inside the scrubs pants and into his jeans pocket to pull out a small knife wrapped in a red bandana. He opened the blade and held it over Bev’s body.
“Hey!” Bev shouted. “That’s close enough. Put that thing away, will you?”
Rich grinned down at her, pretended to wipe blood from the knife blade with the bandana, then slipped the knife back into his front jeans pocket and tucked the bandana into a back pocket. “I’m going to make my exit now,” he said, removing the scrubs, hat, and mask and wadding them into the duffle bag. “You notice I’m leaving the shoe covers on to keep from making well-defined footprints. I’ll stuff them into the bag when I get back to my car—which is parked about a block-and-a-half away in that residential tract. I’ll have Lance bury the scrubs and knife in a deep hole he dug secretly at a construction site where I—I mean where he works, and he’s off, scot-free.”
