Coal Miner's Slaughter

by Elise Sax

  “I know that. But what’re we really looking for? A serial killer? Dead girls? How likely is it that I’m going to break a body part or drown?”

  “We’re just going for a walk,” I said. “And I’m the one wearing the high heels, so you shouldn’t complain.”

  “Here we are,” Boone said. The narrow street was lined with small, one-story houses. We had stopped in front of a white one with gray trim. “Bruce is next door.”

  “Okay. Stay here. I’m going to peek through the window.”

  “Why don’t we just ring the doorbell and talk to the resin guy?” Boone asked.

  “He might be a killer. We have to do this the smart way.”

  Boone slapped his forehead. “How silly of me. We have to do this the smart way. We’re tracking a killer.”

  “I guess we are,” I said, surprised. “But don’t tell anyone. Let’s keep this between us. I’ve been getting a reputation.”

  Boone crossed his heart and put two fingers up in the air. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  We tiptoed across the front yard, and I peeked into the window. “Nothing,” I whispered. “Just a living room. The television’s on to the news. I don’t see anyone.”

  It was a tidy living room, but the furniture was worn. A recliner faced the TV, and there was a TV tray in front of the chair with a meal on it. A man walked into the room and put a glass down on the TV tray. He was about to sit down when his head turned suddenly toward me. We locked eyes, and I dropped to the ground.

  “Hurry!” I whispered. “We’ve been found out. We’re made. Our cover is blown. Beat it!”

  “The jig’s up!” Boone whispered and started to run off.

  I tried to run, too, but my heels had sunk into the soft ground, and there was no way to get them out. “I’m stuck! I’m stuck!” I whispered as loud as I could into the night.

  My heels were wedged in. I yanked and pulled but didn’t budge. I could hear the resin man walk through his house on his way to the front door. I was going to be found peeping, and I was going to get shot or drowned in a bucket of resin. I was sure of it.

  Boone ran back to me and crouched down. “What’re you doing? We’re going to get shot or drowned in a bucket of resin. C’mon. Move it, Matilda.”

  “I’m stuck,” I hissed. “My heels buried themselves in fear. I can’t yank them out.”

  “Why didn’t you just slip out of the shoes?”

  “Are you kidding? I bought these full price at Macy’s.”

  “Oh, well excuse me,” Boone said.

  He grabbed hold of one of my heels and yanked. The shoe came out of the dirt with a loud sucking sound. I stood on my tip-toe while Boone pulled the other one out of the dirt.

  “You’re free,” he whispered. “Run, but run on your toes.”

  He took my hand, and we made it next door to Bruce’s house when the resin guy opened the front door of his house and waved a baseball bat into the night. Boone shut off his flashlight and then shut off mine. We hid with our backs smashed against the side of Bruce’s house.

  “Who’s out there?” the resin man shouted. “Who’s bothering me? If you come anywhere near my house, I’ll Ted Williams your head like a watermelon.”

  Boone shook his head. “He’s mixing his metaphors,” he whispered. “Very unliterary.”

  I shut my eyes tight. “Oh, please let him go back in. Please don’t let him find me and Ted Williams my watermelon.”

  “He’ll go back in. His dinner’s getting cold,” Boone assured me.

  But he was wrong. The resin guy walked down his front steps, and his bat was still in his hand.

  “Oh, geez,” I moaned. “Run. Beat it. Make like a tree and leave.”

  “You’re watching the classic movie channel too much,” Boone said.

  He grabbed my hand to run away, but I pulled back. “Do you hear that?” I whispered.

  “No. Let’s go. I don’t want to have to beat up a man in order to protect you.”

  I shushed him. “I heard it again. Don’t you hear it?” It was an odd noise, almost mechanical, and it was coming closer.

  “No…I…what was that?”

  Boone froze and looked up at the sky, as if he could find the noise there.

  “Maybe it’s a monster. A zombie. Something like that,” I said.

  The resin guy went back into his house and closed his door. I should have been relieved that my watermelon was safe, but now I was scared of the noise.

  “Let’s go,” Boone said, still looking up at the sky.

  “What about the monster?” I asked.

  “There’s no…what the hell is that over there?”

  I shined my flashlight. “It’s a…chicken.”

  Boone and I hugged each other and broke into laughter. “A chicken,” Boone laughed and wiped at his eyes. “Let’s go home. I’m done. I can’t believe you were scared of a chicken.”

  “Me? How about you?”

  “I wasn’t scared at all.” Boone screamed and jumped a foot off the ground. “It bit me!”

  “Chickens don’t bite. They peck.”

  “Ouch!”

  “Holy crap. There’s more coming this way,” I said.

  “Ouch! Help! I’m being chicken attacked!”

  “They’re lining up,” I said, shining the flashlight on the chickens. The chicken that was attacking Boone stopped and retreated to stand with the other chickens.

  “Holy shit. They’re in formation. Attack formation. Run for your life!” Boone yelled.

  I started to run, but my shoes got caught in the dirt again. The chickens were still in formation. The fattest one seemed to give an order, and the rest began to march toward me. “Boone, I’m stuck.”

  “Ditch the shoes. They mean business, Matilda.”

  “Save yourself!” I yelled as the chickens came after us. Boone rounded on them and deflected their attacks as best as he could. They were merciless, attacking him in a random sequence, keeping him off guard and helpless. I yanked at my shoes and finally got them out of the dirt.

  “I’m free!” I yelled.

  The door to Bruce’s house opened. “What the hell is going on out here?” he yelled.

  “Call off your chickens!” Boone yelled. He was on the ground, and the chickens had surrounded him.

  “What’re you doing to my chickens?” Bruce yelled.

  “It’s Apocalypse Now! It’s The Deer Hunter! Help!” Boone yelled.

  “Shoo! Shoo!” I said, waving my arms. “Shoo, you Vietnam movie chickens!”

  “They’re not reacting to shoo. You got any other ideas?” Boone asked. “Ow!”

  Bruce scooped up the fattest chicken, and the rest calmed down, breaking ranks.

  “What’s that?” Boone asked, pointing up at a tree.

  Bruce, the fat chicken, and I looked up. “What is that?” Bruce asked. “Is it a mailbox?”

  I shined my light on the tree. High up, balanced precariously on a thick branch, there was a large metal box.

  “No, it’s not a mailbox. It’s a Pooper Basket,” I said.

  I drove us home, since Boone had beak injuries. When we got to the courtyard of my house, Boone took me in his arms. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I’m going to ask you to go out with me again tomorrow.”

  “You are?”

  Even with chicken feathers in his hair, a significant beak injury over his right eye, and a pungent barnyard stink wafting off of him, he was still sexy as hell. It might have been the way he held me… like I was his. Or maybe it was the way he looked at me… like he was making love to me right then and there. Either way, he could take on Kilauea in the hot department. I tried to take a deep breath, but all the air had left my body. My arousal had pushed the oxygen out.

  “Yes,” Boone said. “Someplace romantic. Bring a bathing suit. I’m not going to kiss you good night because I have chicken shit on my face.”

  “Okay,” I breathed.

  Boone walked toward his door, but
he turned around halfway there. “I can’t believe I was attacked by a chicken army. Let’s not let this get around, okay?”

  I crossed my heart and stuck two fingers in the air. “My lips are sealed.”

  “You sure are pretty, Matilda Dare,” he said, studying my face. “I guess that makes up for all of my broken bones and chicken injuries since I met you. You know what? I have a sudden desire to eat KFC and get revenge.”

  He turned around. Reaching his door, he opened it.

  “You’re pretty too,” I said, but he didn’t hear me.

  I spent the night trying my hardest to get some sleep. I lit a lavender candle, played soft spa music, and forced myself to lie in bed with my eyes closed for hours. Nothing. Not a minute of sleep.

  So, I blew out the lavender candle, turned off the music, and turned onto my stomach and lay there for another couple hours, trying to sleep. Still nothing.

  I flipped onto my back and kicked the covers off the bed. The dogs were on a dog bed on the floor and they jumped up, hoping to be walked.

  “I haven’t given up,” I told them. “I’m going to lie in this bed until the sun comes up, no matter what. I’m a human being. Human beings sleep. So, eventually I’ll sleep.”

  Even I didn’t believe me. I turned on my side and looked out the window. I watched as the sun rose slowly, filling my bedroom with the diffused light of our early winter.

  I sat up and smiled. I had made it through to the morning in bed, just like a normal person, except that I hadn’t slept. I greeted the day with the optimism of a woman who had a romantic date later and a carpenter coming to historify her house and head off an evil organization of old biddies who took pleasure from throwing people out of their homes.

  Sure, I still had the Jack problem to deal with, and Klee would probably poison my coffee because she was still the paperboy, but life was going pretty well.

  As for poor Inga Mueller, I had decided not to get involved. Snooping on the resin guy had nearly gotten Boone chickened to death. Snooping on him wasn’t worth it. Inga wasn’t any of my business. It wasn’t up to me to find her killer. I was sure Amos could do that just fine.

  I had a house, a business, a boyfriend, two dogs, and a serial killer to worry about. That was enough.

  The phone rang in the kitchen, and I ran to pick it up before it woke Tilly.

  “Hello?” I answered, a little out of breath.

  “You’re not divorcing me. I won’t allow it,” the voice on the other line said. I knew that voice. I had married that voice, and that voice had tried to put me away in a nuthouse for the rest of my life.

  “How are you calling me? You’re not allowed to call me.” My voice wobbled.

  “I’m not much for rules, Matilda,” my husband the murderer said.

  A chill ran through me, and I hugged myself with one arm for warmth. “What do you want?”

  “We’re married, you and I. We’re married until I lock in my inheritance.”

  “You’re crazy. You’re in prison for the rest of your life. You can’t spend an inheritance. Leave me alone!”

  I hung up. I realized I was holding my breath, and I took a big gulp of air. Even though my husband had called me from San Quentin prison, I could feel his evil presence in the room. I dropped to my knees and checked under the table, just in case he was really there.

  “What’re you doing?” Tilly asked. From under the table, I could see her pink slippers shuffle toward me.

  “I’m checking for murderers,” I said.

  “Well, if anyone’s going to find a murderer, it’s you. You want eggs? I was about to make some.”

  “Nah. Just coffee for me this morning. I need to show up early at the paper to pull my weight and head off Klee before she lets me have it because she’s filling in for Jack.”

  “Good idea,” Tilly said. “I wouldn’t want her as my enemy.”

  I climbed out from under the table. Tilly’s presence had erased my husband’s presence, and I could almost breathe easily again. I made a pot of coffee, and poured myself a cup. After feeding the dogs and letting them out, I took the cup into my room and got dressed in jeans, a turtleneck, and a long cardigan.

  I poured myself a second cup of coffee and crossed the courtyard to the Gazette office. I was surprised to find that it was open already. Inside, Klee was sitting at her desk. Her head had fallen back, and her mouth was wide open. She was snoring softly.

  I tiptoed past her, careful not to wake her up. Sitting at my desk, I turned on my computer. Jack had sent me his article, along with a couple of others I hadn’t asked for. I forwarded them to Silas. I went through the assignment list for the day, and the only thing assigned to me was Inga’s death.

  So much for ignoring Inga’s murder.

  A few minutes later, Silas walked in with Amos Goodnight, Boone’s brother and the sheriff. He tipped his hat at me and took it off. Klee’s head snapped forward, and her eyes opened.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, startled.

  “I’m investigating a complaint,” Amos told her, even though I didn’t think she was talking to him. He brought a chair over and sat next to my desk. “Bruce Jenkins sent me. He said you attacked his chickens,” he told me.

  I gasped, and my mouth dropped open. “What?” I screeched. “His chickens attacked Boone and me. They were organized, like Napoleon’s army.”

  “I know. The complaints against those chickens are piling up. I think Bruce tried to head off another complaint by making one of his own. I mainly came over to give Boone a hard time. You know, keep him handcuffed for a few hours. I’m debating whether to Tase him, too.”

  The door opened, again, and the mayor walked in.

  “Oh, no,” I moaned. Visions of new, longer renovation lists flashed through my head.

  “Mr. Mayor, I hired a carpenter to satisfy HPA’s demands,” I told him.

  “I know. I saw Dick Boner on my way in,” he said.

  “You saw what?” Silas asked.

  “I’m not here about that,” the mayor continued. “I’m here about Inga Mueller’s death.” He pointed at Silas and scowled. “Off the record, Silas. None of this is for print.”

  “Damn it,” Silas said and tossed a pencil across his desk.

  “You did this,” the mayor said, looking at me.

  “I did what?”

  “Inga. It’s your fault.”

  Everyone looked at me, and Amos arched an eyebrow so high that it almost disappeared into his hairline. “I didn’t kill her,” I said. “I’ve never killed anyone.”

  “Folks are dropping like flies since you got here,” the mayor insisted. “You’re a Jonah. I heard that you’re possessed.”

  “That’s exaggerated,” I said.

  “She doesn’t have a death aura that provokes people into murder,” Silas told the mayor, but he didn’t sound all that convinced.

  The mayor threw up his hands in frustration and turned his attention to Amos. “Wrap the Inga thing up, and quickly. You don’t need to waste taxpayer money with an intensive investigation.”

  “I wouldn’t want to waste taxpayer money,” Amos said, slowly, like he was tasting the words in his mouth.

  “Just focus on the obvious case. Don’t get distracted by extraneous facts,” the mayor told Amos, not making eye contact.

  “Extraneous facts,” Amos repeated, staring at the mayor, as if he was memorizing every line in his face.

  “A quick, tidy investigation,” the mayor ordered. “Nothing more. Fast. You could probably wrap it up in a few hours.”

  The mayor called me Jonah again, and left. Then, Amos excused himself and left to torture his brother.

  “That went well,” I said to Silas after Amos and the mayor left. “He didn’t ask for more renovations.”

  Silas pointed at me. “Listen carefully. You’re going to drop everything in your life and focus on Inga Mueller’s murder.”

  “She might not have been murdered. She could have fallen into a buc
ket of resin,” I said. Silas and I stared at each other a few seconds. “Okay, fine. She was murdered.”

  “Doesn’t it strike you as interesting that Mayor Carlos Bowser of Goodnight wants an expedited investigation into the death of a local, destitute eccentric?”

  “Holy crap. You’re right. It’s interesting,” I said. Why did the mayor want an expedited investigation? Why didn’t he want Amos to dig too deep? What did the mayor have to do with Inga’s death?

  “Great. Now she’s only going to work on one story while we’re working ourselves to death?” Klee demanded.

  “Listen to my reporter’s gut, Klee,” Silas said. “This isn’t one story. This is the story.”

  Chapter 7

  I returned to my part of the house in order to change my shoes. If I was going to snoop in Inga’s life, I was pretty sure I needed work boots and not ballet flats. Tilly was still in the kitchen, but now she was sitting on a chair and staring into space.

  “What’re you doing? Did you have a stroke?” I asked, concerned.

  “I’m watching the new handyman work,” she whispered.

  “You’re watching him work? Is he that interesting?”

  Tilly nodded slowly and pointed behind me. I turned around.

  “Yeow!” I shouted. “What the…hello, Dick.”

  My carpenter was holding a hammer, and he was wearing a tool belt.

  That was it. He wasn’t wearing anything else.

  Dick Boner was out for everyone to see in all of his birthday suit glory.

  He was a naked carpenter.

  “Dick,” I repeated and started to laugh. I clamped my lips together and tried to think of sad things in order to stop laughing. “How’s work progressing?” I managed to ask and willed my eyes not to wander over the naked man’s body.

  “Just fine. Just fine. Some things on that list are sort of loopy. You gotta wonder if those people are in their right minds,” Dick said.

  “Some people are weird,” Tilly agreed, staring at Dick’s shlong.

  “Anything I can do to make you more comfortable? Is the temperature okay in the house?” I asked him.

  “I’m fine. Very comfortable.”

  “He’s very comfortable,” Tilly said.