The Corpse at the End of the Chapter

by Karen Hayes

  Which he did, just a few minutes later, after Dirk lit up a joint. Harve raised his eyebrows and Dirk said, “It’s legal in this state.”

  “It’s legal to be in possession of an ounce or less, and you can smoke that ounce in private. But smoking it in public is illegal.”

  “I’m in my private dressing room,” Dirk said, blowing a cloud of the sweet, pungent, skunky-smelling smoke in Harve’s direction. “So what are you gonna do, call the cops?”

  “I am a cop,” Harve said, and took out his badge.

  Dirk immediately snuffed out the joint and frowned at Cindy, annoyed. “You brought a cop here to bust me for a little marijuana?”

  “That’s all you use?” Harve asked.

  “Yeah, just a little weed. None of the hard stuff.”

  “Never?”

  “Well, I used to do a line of coke on occasion with my ex-old lady, Abby. But that was just on occasion. Once or twice maybe.”

  “Ex?” Cindy asked.

  “Yeah, the bitch dumped me, okay? Some old broad convinced her to go into rehab, get herself clean. It’d take a long time to get that one clean, let me tell you.”

  “Do you know what rehab center Abby went to?” the sheriff asked.

  “No. She wouldn’t tell me. Wanted to make a clean break, start all over, you know what I mean. Hey, is that what this is all about? It’s Abby you’re after, not me?”

  “Abby’s dead, Dirk,” Cindy said.

  The tears that sprang instantly to Dirk’s eyes at Cindy’s words told Sheriff Blodgett that this young man was not his killer. Dirk buried his face in his hands and shook his head. “Oh, shit,” he moaned. He looked up at the sheriff. “So what happened? Where’d she get the stuff? Someone sneak it into rehab?”

  “What do you mean?” Harve asked.

  “I don’t think they let drugs into rehab,” Dirk said. “So how’d she get it? You aren’t supposed to OD in rehab.” Dirk was really sobbing now, his grief manifested in salty streams that coursed down his face. “I mean, she was supposed to be getting clean, man. She wanted to get off the stuff.”

  “Well, they do use other drugs to wean an addict off their addiction. And I guess it’s possible to OD from those drugs. But Abby didn’t OD,” Harve said. “She was murdered.”

  The silence in the room was complete. All four boys were shocked.

  “I’m sorry, man,” Eddie said, putting a comforting hand on the shoulder of the stunned Dirk.

  “Yeah, man,” said Kenny, then turned to the sheriff. “Abby was one of us, you know. She sang with us sometimes. Sounded just like an angel, you know, even when she was so stoned she could hardly stand, which was a lot of the time.”

  “Her voice was clear as a bell,” Lee said. “Kind of like a modern-day Joan Baez, you know. We all had kind of hoped she’d come back to us, after she was clean. None of the rest of us use. We would have helped her stay off the stuff.”

  “None of you use at all?”

  “No,” Kenny said. “Dirk’s the only one who even smokes pot. And he doesn’t do that as often as he pretends.”

  Harve looked to Dirk. “Yeah,” Dirk said, in some embar-rassment. “I light up just maybe two or three times a week. But it’s part of my persona, you know. Most of my fans think I’m into the hard stuff.”

  “And you want them to think that?”

  “It turns the chicks on.” Dirk grinned, though his eyes were still watery.

  “So, what happened, Sheriff?” Kenny asked.

  “Someone bashed her head in up by a place called The Pond, in the hills above Misty Valley.”

  “It didn’t happen at the rehab place?” Dirk asked.

  Harve shook his head.

  “But I thought when you were there, you had to stay there.”

  “That’s only if it’s court-ordered. You go on your own, you can leave whenever you want.”

  “But how did she get there?” Lee asked. “To this pond place, I mean?”

  “Somebody took her there, I guess,” Harve said.

  “Poor Abby,” Eddie said.

  “So, you came here because you think maybe I did it?” Dirk asked.

  Harve shook his head. “We don’t have any suspects yet,” he said. “But you would certainly be considered a person of interest.”

  Dirk got to his feet and began to pace, his manner agitated, his voice distressed. “But I didn’t kill her,” he said. “I…I loved her. She was quite a bit older than me, but she didn’t seem like she was. She was young at heart and we really had good times together. Yeah, we’d split up, but I still loved her.” He turned a chair around backwards, straddled it, and rested his arms on the back. “You know, I was glad she was going to rehab. She really needed it. I never knew anyone who did drugs the way Abby did. Whatever drugs she could get hold of. She smoked pot, she snorted coke, she mainlined heroin. She was high 24/7, I swear. I tried to get her to cut down, but she said she’d hurt too much if she did.”

  “Hurt?” Harve asked. “Physically hurt?”

  “Yeah, I guess it had something to do with an illness or injury she’d had years ago. I don’t know what it was. She never wanted to talk about it.”

  “The ME will undoubtedly discover that in the autopsy, which she is probably doing while we speak.”

  “At this time of night?” Lee asked.

  “It was a busy day,” the sheriff explained. “We had a funeral for another murder victim.”

  “Another one?” Eddie asked. “How many murders have you had out there, anyway?”

  “This one was Cindy’s and Ron’s birth mother,” Kenny explained. “How close are you to getting that one solved, Sheriff?”

  “We’re getting there,” Harve said. “I’m actually putting a deputy on this one, so I can concentrate on the others. She might be contacting you at a later date if she needs more information. Now, I think you guys have another set coming up—and we have to get back home. You know, I have to tell you, you’re pretty good.”

  “Thanks,” Dirk said, still sniffling a bit. “Good luck in solving your cases.”

  The sheriff nodded. “We’ll need it, son. We’ll need it.

  TWENTY-ONE

  AT NINE-FORTY TUESDAY MORNING, COPPER WAS sitting in the Relax and Read section, enjoying a cup of coffee while reading an article in one of her favorite magazines. The Book Nook didn’t open until ten, so she could afford to relax a little before Monica got there. Eve Gardner had already been by with a selection of pastries that Copper could sell to hungry cus-tomers. She considered having one with her coffee, but decided against it. She’d already had some green tomato hash for breakfast. It was one of her daughter Nicole’s favorite recipes: a diced green tomato (from the Stafford’s garden), a bit of chopped ham, all scrambled up with a couple of eggs and sprinkled with some grated cheese—delicious. That was more than enough. Although the pastry would sure taste good.

  Her relaxation was interrupted by a tap at the window of the shop’s front door. She looked up and noticed the sheriff standing there.

  “Come on in, Harve. It’s not locked.”

  “Did I just see Eve leaving?” he asked as he came in and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Yes, she brought me some pastries to sell. They’re over there on the counter.”

  “Well, I overslept a bit this morning, so didn’t have breakfast. A nice Danish should do me.” He selected a pastry and took out his wallet to pay for it. Copper rang up the sale, gave Harve his change, and said, “Well?”

  Harve grabbed a napkin, took his pastry over to the Relax and Read section, sat down and took a big bite of the Danish before speaking. First things first.

  “Well,” he repeated, and took a sip of his coffee, testing the temperature. It was okay, so he took a larger sip. “The boyfriend didn’t do it.”

  “He has a rock solid alibi?”

  “Didn’t even ask him about an alibi since I don’t know the time of death yet.”

  “Dr. Frost hasn’t done her
autopsy?”

  “She was at Ruby’s funeral yesterday, then had patients to see, and last night it was parent-teacher night at the elementary school. That’s what happens when you’re a single mother, a practicing doctor, and a Medical Examiner as well. She’s working on Abby right now. I asked her to look specifically for something that might have been very painful physically, that Abby might have been so dependent on drugs to ease.”

  “You don’t think she just liked getting high?”

  “Well, it might have started that way. But young Dirk said he’d tried to get her to go off drugs, but she told him it would hurt too much if she did.”

  Harve said he had talked with Mrs. Taylor that morning to learn where Abby had enrolled in rehab. And he had asked her at the time if Abby had been in an accident or something when she was younger that would have left her in a lot of pain. She had told him no, not unless it was sometime between when she left Misty Valley with Bob Fields and when she reconnected with her mother some five years later. She had also told him she was sure Abby started doing drugs when she was still in middle school.

  “Toby’s out with the flu,” Harve said, “or I’d have him check it out, but maybe Louise could look it up, since she seems to be really good on the internet. Have her check all the hospitals in Portland and, if she can’t find anything there, in Alaska.”

  “In the whole state?”

  “Well, I don’t know where Bob and Abby went to in Alaska, although it was probably some out of the way place. Seventeen may be legal age in Alaska, but it’s still illegal for a man to take a girl who’s underage in one state to a state where she is legal for the purpose of sex, which I’m sure is what Bob Fields—and Abby—had in mind. So let’s hope Louise gets some results in Portland.”

  “But the boy, Harve—why are you so sure he didn’t do it?”

  “You know, he’s a bit cocky, and he puts on a tough-guy act, but he’s really just a kid, a kid who likes to play music. If you’d seen his face when Cindy said Abby was dead, well, there was grief and pain and shock all in one.”

  “Could have been an act.”

  “No one can bring on tears that fast. No, the boy was genuinely surprised—and angry, actually. He thought she’d OD’d and wondered how she got drugs in rehab. And, if Abby was killed sometime Friday night, he’d have been performing.”

  “Okay. I’ll call Louise.”

  “Great. I’m going to go see Lucy now. I thought it would be better for me to go to her, rather than have her bring little Billy into the sheriff’s office. The jail could scare him a bit, you know.”

  There were two jail cells in the sheriff’s office. The only time Copper could remember either of them being used was one time when someone from Pleasant View had a bit too much to drink at the Rainy Day and Harve locked him up to keep him from having an accident on the winding mountain road on his way home.

  “Of course,” Copper said, although secretly she thought Billy would be totally thrilled by a visit to a real jail.

  “Then Carol Roberts is coming over,” Harve continued. “I told her that since she had been Agatha’s best friend, she might be able to help me learn why she had been killed.” He sighed. “I hope it’s not her. I rather like that old lady. She was a very nice nurse when I was a kid. If I had to go in for a shot and was scared, she’d always calm me down and tell me stories and, before I knew it, she’d put that needle in me and I didn’t even know about it. Then I got one of those all-day suckers afterwards. Anyway, in the meantime, Fran is going into Portland.” He glanced at his watch. “She should be on her way by now. She’s going to the Greenwood Clinic, which is where Abby was a rehab patient. She’s going to see what she can find out there.”

  “Well, I wish you the best of luck with Lucy and Carol. We really need to get these cases solved.”

  * * *

  It was a short drive to Lucy Stafford’s house. Lucy lived in a pleasant neighborhood with lots of trees and well-kept yards. Lucy’s husband, William, was the pharmacist in Pleasant View and enjoyed gardening during his off hours. The front yard was luxuriant with flowering shrubs and long-season perennials. Harve knew that in the back yard was a tidy vegetable garden in raised beds. The Staffords were noted for sharing their garden’s largesse. Tomatoes of numerous kinds, zucchini, broccoli, cucumbers, lettuce, rhubarb, even potatoes. If you were out of something, call Bill Stafford and he probably had some he would give you. The back garden was lined with berries—raspberries, blackberries, marionberries, and in the middle of it all was a very large apple tree. Lucy made jams and jellies galore and apple sauce that won first place at the county fair nearly every year.

  Lucy welcomed the sheriff and offered him coffee and some homemade zucchini bread, which he gladly accepted.

  “I need to ask you about something I heard the other day,” Harve said. “It’s not something I like to ask, but, well, this is a murder investigation.”

  “Ask away,” Lucy said, “but I don’t know what I can add.”

  “You can tell me about your feud with Agatha Lafferty.”

  “Feud? What feud?”

  “Agatha banning Billy for life from the library because he tore up some books. I understand you were pretty angry about that.”

  Lucy laughed. “Tearing up some books? Sheriff, he tore up one magazine. He sees me at home tearing out articles or recipes from magazines I read, and he was just copying mommy. He’s three-years old, for heaven’s sake! Was I angry with Agatha? You bet I was. I offered to replace the magazine. I said I would go right at that moment and buy a new magazine at the supermarket. No problem. It was the current issue. It was readily available. But no, that wasn’t good enough for her. It was banned for life for this little boy. Of course, it wouldn’t really have been for life. I’m sure she would have relented in a month or so. Even if she didn’t, I figured Old Mrs. Lafferty would probably retire in a few years. She was way past retirement age anyway. And whoever took over after that would likely not keep up the ban. But still, it made me angry. To ban a child from the library for innocently copying his mother’s actions was to me the height of ridiculousness. But it’s certainly not something I would kill her about. Do you really suspect me?” She shook her head at the thought. “I really can’t believe you’d suspect me.”

  “Lucy, right now all I’m doing is looking at every angle possible. It’s been more than a week since Agatha was killed. And we are no closer to finding her killer than we were when you found her body. I’m baffled, Lucy. I don’t want to suspect anyone in this town. But somebody did it. She did not kill herself. I’m sorry. I don’t want to think you did it. I don’t think you did it. But I have to ask all these questions or I’ll never find out who did do it.”

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff. I realize this is just all part of your job. But I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill Agatha Lafferty.”

  “Thank you, Lucy. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think Agatha should have banned Billy from the library.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff. I appreciate that.”

  * * *

  The office seemed quiet without Toby, as the sheriff made notes on his conversation with Lucy and waited for Carol to arrive. She called about ten minutes after she was supposed to be there and reported that her car wouldn’t start and she didn’t think her arthritis would allow her to walk to his office. Would it be possible, she wondered, for him come to her? Harve said of course he would, and went back out to his car. The office would just have to be shut for a while.

  Dinty Moore stopped him as he was opening the car door.

  “Any comments on this new murder, Sheriff?” Dinty asked.

  “Not yet, Dinty,” Harve said. “Don’t even have the details from Dr. Frost yet. Although our initial observation told us death was likely from blunt force trauma, that has not been verified. We don’t even know the probable time of death yet.”

  “Yeah, that’s the same thing the ME told me. I was just hopin’ you had updated news. Somethin’ I can put in t
omorrow’s paper you know.”

  “If I hear anything before your deadline, I’ll let you know,” Harve said as he closed his car door and turned the key in the ignition. “Later, Dinty.” Dinty barely had time to jump back before the sheriff’s car took off up the street.

  Moments later, Harve pulled up in front of Carol Roberts’ tiny cottage. Carol also seemed to enjoy gardening, as her yard looked like a picture postcard. It was immaculate. He assumed she hired someone to keep her lawn mowed and the leaves raked. Carol herself was a small, almost bird-like woman, not quite shy, but not the life of the party, either—kind of as understated but neat and tidy as her yard.

  Carol apologized as she opened the door, seated Harve on the couch, and offered him tea and cookies that he recognized as being from Eve Gardner’s bakery. “I’m really sorry to make you come out here, Sheriff,” she said. “My car can be so temperamental sometimes. It’s old, and I guess I should get a new one, but sometimes you get so comfortable with things, you hate to trade them in for new. I called Vince and he’s going to stop over, tow it to his shop and see what the problem is .He was towing another car in from the road into the city when I called him, so it will be a few minutes before he gets here. Maybe one day soon I’ll drive into the city and get me a new one. Maybe one of those hybrid things they keep advertising. I understand they’re very economical on gas. I go into Portland quite often, you now. I really do need a more reliable vehicle. Under normal circumstances, I would have had Agatha go with me. But that’s rather out of the question now isn’t it?” She sniffled a little and reached for a handkerchief. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go all soggy on you. But I miss her, you know.”

  “You were friends for a long time.”

  “Since girlhood,” Carol admitted. “We did pretty much everything together our whole lives, played together, went to school together, ate lunch together, often shared our lunches, shared our clothes—we were the same size way back then, although Aggie was just a bit taller.”