Dumpster Dying

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “And I can’t say I was happy about Clara having Darren move in with you.”

  Emily brought her attention back to what Hap was saying. “Hmmm? Oh, he’ll be no trouble.” She hoped. While she was divulging information about her personal life, she thought she would also tell Hap about the park manager’s visit.

  “How’d he find out about Darren?” asked Hap.

  “I think the rumor patrol saw Darren arrive.” She explained about Mrs. Wattles and Mrs. Frey and their drive-by in the golf cart.

  “Cripes,” Hap said. He scraped his spoon around the bottom of the sundae dish. “You have less privacy in that place than I have in the retirement facility, and we live under one roof! Right, Elvira?” He put his arm around his companion and squeezed so hard that she giggled and burped. “Sorry, honey.”

  “Listen, I’ve got to go. I have to open the bar, and set up for lunch and dinner at the club. And I’ve got a new bartender to break in.” She wondered if Donald Green could be broken in any easier than a wild mustang to a saddle. Not likely.

  “Here’s some good and bad news together. We’ve been assigned a court date for challenging the will. I’ve got all the records from you about the years you and Fred lived together and shared expenses, but I need you to generate a list of people who will serve as character witnesses. As long as Clara is in jail, we can’t use her, so dredge up some of those folks out at your condo park.”

  Emily grabbed her purse off the chair and waved goodbye at the door, then stuck her head back in. “I could have Mrs. Wattles and Mrs. Frey testify to my generosity in sharing my house with a twenty-year old hunk.” She chuckled at the look of horror that crossed Hap’s face. “Just kidding.”

  Emily piloted Stan the Sedan along the highway, careful to keep her speed under the limit, but chafing at the slowness of the drivers ahead of her. She hoped to be able to get things in order at the club and also play nine holes of golf this afternoon. Vicki arranged a replacement on the golf league earlier in the week, so she’d missed her usual play time. The waitresses, the cook and kitchen staff would do their jobs as usual, but Donald Green as the bartender gave her concern. She had the uneasy feeling it was a mistake to hire the man. Too cantankerous and single-minded, a man who probably didn’t take directions from a woman well.

  She’d find out, and soon. He stood with his hands on his hips waiting for her outside the side entrance to the club as she turned into the parking lot.

  “You said eleven. It’s five past.” He looked at his watch, then shook his head at Emily. “I thought you’d be here before me to handle opening. You said bartender. I didn’t think I’d have to do setup too.”

  Emily wondered if anyone could see the thin plume of steam rising out of the top of her head. Lately it seemed as if she was learning the fine art of how to hold your temper around difficult men. And to make things even harder for her, Detective Lewis stood at the door of the bar as she and Donald came around the corner. The two men eyed each other. Emily should have made introductions, but she didn’t feel like it. Let them figure out who the other was.

  “Donald,” said Lewis.

  “Detective,” said Green.

  Of course. How could she be so stupid? The two of them knew each other. Probably played together in the sandbox at preschool.

  She unlocked the door, gestured for Donald to go ahead, then turned to Detective Lewis.

  “You’ll have to excuse us, but Mr. Green is one of my new employees, and I’m training him today.”

  Lewis barked out a laugh. “You’re training him? To do what?”

  “Bartend. Here. What’s so funny about that?” she asked.

  With his hands in his pockets, Green lounged against the wall next to the open doorway to the bar and said nothing.

  “Well, that’ll have to wait for a while. You go on ahead and do what you need to do. Mr. Green and I have business.”

  “What business?” she asked.

  Green finally stepped forward and placed himself between her and the detective.

  “You find it yet?” Green asked.

  “No, but we’re working on it. Anyplace we can talk around here?”

  “Let me ask my boss.” Green turned to Emily.

  “Oh, go ahead in. I don’t expect anyone will be itching for a beer until the league that’s playing the back nine finishes. I’ll get things going here, and I’ll catch you up when you’re finished.”

  Whatever the “business” was between these two men, Emily was curious. Not that it was any of her concern, but having their discussion in her barroom gave her access to whatever was going on.

  The snatches of the conversation she caught as she moved in and out of the bar gave her all the scoop she needed. Someone had stolen Green’s bass boat. Maybe that was why he was so testy over her being five minutes late today. More likely it was his personality.

  He’d called the theft in early this morning when he decided to take the boat out for speck fishing. The truck was still in the drive, he told Lewis, but the boat and trailer, parked down near his barn, were gone. When he reported it to the police, he informed the station he would be at the club the remainder of the day.

  Lewis asked Green if he had any enemies and then laughed. “Okay. I’ll rephrase that. Got any friends that might want to play a joke on you?”

  Green lowered his voice in reply. Both men looked up at Emily, then laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Donald was just telling me about how the two of you met. He figures you might be upset you missed a golden opportunity to run off with his boat and came back to pick it up.”

  “Ha,” Emily said. She walked into the kitchen. When she reemerged, Lewis was on his cell and giving her one of those police looks.

  He finished, stood up, and walked over to her. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

  “Me? What?” she asked.

  “We found Green’s boat parked in your driveway.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Vicki flitted around Emily’s kitchen, setting up the coffee, placing cookies on a plate, and taking out mugs from the cupboard. Emily was plain exhausted and sunk down onto the couch, content to let her friend take over playing hostess.

  “I don’t know anything about that boat, except someone backed it into your carport, and then left with their truck. I saw them as I was returning from the pool. By the time I got to your house, they were pulling out,” said Vicki. Her eyes danced up and down. Emily could tell she was thrilled to be part of the investigation.

  “And you didn’t get a good look at the person driving the truck?” asked Detective Lewis.

  “The windows were tinted too dark.”

  “Describe the truck.”

  “It was huge. And dark,” said Vicki. She gave him an embarrassed smile. “I’m not good with trucks. They all look the same to me.”

  It was after ten that night. The boat and trailer still sat in Emily’s carport. Donald’s truck was pulled in behind them, while Emily’s car, and Detective Lewis’ police-issued cruiser were parked in Vicki’s drive. It looked like the beginnings of a block party with neighbors walking or driving by or standing around on the street, craning their necks to see what was happening. The gathering was inside, and the atmosphere was anything but festive.

  “I should set up a satellite police station here,” said Emily. She wanted everyone to go away.

  “Coffee’s a whole lot better in this place though,” said Lewis.

  Green had entered her living room only moments earlier, after he’d gone over his boat inch by inch looking for any damage the thieves might have done. His examination of the craft rivaled the meticulousness of the police investigators who had collected evidence from it earlier.

  “I don’t think the fingerprint analysis is going to get us much. They wore gloves. But we did find something we’re following up on,” Lewis said. He took another cookie offered him by Vicki.

  Emily arched her eyebrows at Vicki
in a look of disgust. “I’m not running a tea room here, you know,” she said.

  “What’s that?” asked Green. He slid into the leather lounger.

  “A tea room . . .,” said Vicki. She stood in front of the chair, the plate of cookies n her hand.

  Green flapped his hand at Vicki as if chasing off an annoying gnat. “What did you find in my boat?” he asked Lewis. He grabbed the recliner’s handle, maneuvered it backward, and relaxed into the leather comfort.

  “That’s Fred’s . . .” said Emily. She was about to say the chair was Fred’s favorite. Green shot her a look that said she was beginning to annoy him too. Such a sensitive man.

  “Blood on one of the seats. Looked like transfer from something or someone,” said Lewis.

  “Likely mine or belonged to one of those speck I pulled from the lake yesterday,” Green said.

  Lewis nodded. “Well, we’ll check it out anyway.” His eyes shifted to Emily. “What I don’t get is why someone dumped the boat at your place. You seem to be the center of a lot of criminal activity in this town lately.”

  “You explain it. You’re supposed to be the detective,” Emily said. Go away. She was exhausted and sleeping was the only activity she yearned for right now.

  “Cookie?” asked Vicki. She offered the plate to Green.

  He again performed his dismissive wave. “So can I have my boat back?” he asked. He was looking at Emily.

  “Don’t ask me. I’m going to bed. You all lock up when you’re done with your café klatch.” She headed toward the bedroom, hoping everyone would take the hint and hit the road. And that included Vicki whose hostess acts were beginning to irritate her. Before she closed her bedroom door, she called down the hall to Green. “I didn’t steal your boat. And that’s that. Don’t forget. Tomorrow you open at ten. Set up. And if you’re late or don’t show, you’re fired.” She slammed the door, but continued to listen from her bedroom.

  “We’re releasing your boat,” Detective Lewis said.

  She laid down on her bed and let her thoughts drift to the call from her daughter.

  Green nodded to Lewis, tipped his hat to Vicki, and left. Lewis followed, and Vicki could hear the two of them talking in the carport. She moved closer to the door to eavesdrop, but the voices faded off into the night as the two men retreated further down the driveway to get their vehicles. She soon heard the roar of Green’s truck engine as he hooked up the trailer and drove off with the boat.

  Vicki turned back toward the kitchen and decided to wash the cups. She knew Emily was bone weary from everything happening in her life. The least Vicki could do was get rid of the cookie crumbs and prevent the ever-present ants from setting up housekeeping on Emily’s kitchen counter. As much as she enjoyed Florida, heading north for Michigan in April felt like returning to civilization or at least a place where fire ants couldn’t devour your foot in five seconds.

  “Vicki? You still here?” She heard Emily’s voice drift down the hallway.

  “Yeah. In the kitchen.”

  “C’mere. But be quiet.”

  Vicki entered the darkened bedroom and could make out Emily’s silhouette backlit by illumination coming in the window from the streetlight.

  “I think I fell asleep for a few minutes, but I woke up when I heard a phone. Listen,” Emily said.

  Both women could hear Detective Lewis talking on his cell phone as he leaned against his cruiser.

  “That blood on the boat? I want you to check it. I think it’s human. If it is, compare it against Marcus Davey’s blood. If they’re a match, we may have found out where he was killed before someone moved his body into the dumpster.” The detective flipped the phone closed and turned to look in the direction of the house. Emily ducked down below the window and pulled Vicki onto the floor with her, not that he had much chance of seeing them in the darkened bedroom, but Emily didn’t want him to know they’d been spying. Of the two difficult men in her life, Lewis was on the right side of the law, but she still didn’t trust him. As for Green, Emily now had another reason to suspect him of being a murderer.

  As if reading her mind, Vicki whispered, “And you hired the man. You’ll be working with him every day.”

  How better to get at the truth about Green’s role in the murder and help get Clara out of jail? Emily was delighted, a feeling she knew better than to share with Vicki.

  Instead, she and Vicki finished a pint of Haagen Daas and the remainder of the cookies. Vicki argued that playing detective at work with Green was too dangerous, and Emily listened, but she knew it was an opportunity to get to the bottom of the murder. She wasn’t passing it up.

  When she reentered her bedroom and gazed lovingly at the bed she had spent far too few hours in of late, it was two in the morning. In a few hours, Darren would be coming home from his night shift at work, and he deserved a hearty breakfast.

  ***

  Someone hammered on her front door. Emily turned her head to look through the windows onto the front porch, but it was still dark outside, and all she could see was a figure silhouetted by the streetlight. Her bedside clock read four am, too early for Darren to be returning from work. Besides, she’d given him a key. It better not be an impromptu visit from the park manager or, the hell with trying to protect his wife, she’d march over to his place, dragging the letch by his feet, and wake up the entire park.

  She shrugged into her robe and grabbed the broom as she walked by the washing machine. She’d give him such a whack . . . She’d give a whack to anyone standing out there interfering with her sleep.

  Everyone except the person standing on her steps. Emily recognized her at once. How could she not? It was like looking into the mirror twenty years ago. Long, sun-washed hair, blue eyes, a few inches taller than Emily. And she seemed to have the same habit of biting her full lower lip. Her daughter. She wasn’t shocked, yet surprised was too mild a description for the feeling that jolted through her body. She knew someday this would happen. Why hadn’t she prepared herself? But what was the right thing to say or do when confronted with a daughter she’d never laid on eyes except for the thirty seconds after her birth?

  The young woman broke the silence. “You never got back to me, so I thought I’d drop by. I figured if I was here, you couldn’t very well ignore me.” The hands on her hips and the pugnacious look on her face said what the matter-of-fact nature of her words did not: she was here and not leaving.

  She’s right. And all she needed was a clone of herself sitting waif-like on her front steps for all of the park to ride by and see.

  She tried to match her daughter’s blasé tone, but her voice broke and her heart raced wildly. “You might as well come in. Ah, hum. I suppose you’ll want coffee.”

  She had a lousy sense of timing. Emily remembered her own sense of entitlement with her parents when she was in college, often appearing on their doorstep with a wayward friend who needed food and a place to crash for the night or leaving them with a stray cat she found along the road. That’s what parents did. They went out of their way for their children. I suppose that feeling I can’t quite label has to be something like maternal love, thought Emily. It both frightened and pleased her, and she hoped she wouldn’t break down and cry in front of her offspring.

  “I stopped by the all night coffee shop in town. I’m caffeined out.”

  Emily nodded and gestured toward the couch while she sat on the edge of Fred’s recliner.

  “Oh, by the way. My name’s Naomi.”

  “I know.”

  “You do? Oh, of course, Mom and Dad must have told you. And my call to you? Didn’t you want to know what I wanted. Weren’t you even a little curious after all these years why I was contacting you?”

  This was what Emily had expected. The accusing tone, the questions about why she abandoned her child. She knew this was coming, and yet she still wasn’t ready for it, nor had she gotten together any explanation that would be acceptable to a rejected child. Anything she might say would sound defens
ive, but she had to try.

  “Yes. I am curious, but you contacted me, and I thought it was your move whether to pursue it further. All this time I thought I had provided you with the best home possible. Was I wrong?”

  “Oh, no. Mom and Dad were great. Are great.” Naomi’s attitude had shifted from that of accuser to one of explorer. “I wanted to find my roots. That’s all.”

  “You sound like a hippie from the seventies,” Emily said. This is so weird. Her voice is mine. And for some reason, she’s lying to me.

  “My favorite part of history. And you lived it. Right?”

  “I remember it. It wasn’t glamorous, I can tell you. People were dying in Viet Nam, and the war split the country.”

  “Like now.” The perky Naomi disappeared and sadness colored her voice.

  “Like now.” Emily cleared her throat, but didn’t speak.

  “I guess you’re not too happy to see me.”

  “That’s not it at all. I suspected you might show up in my life one day. I didn’t think it would be now.”

  “Timing’s not good, right?”

  Emily nodded, but smiled. “But you’re here, and I can’t deny how happy I am to finally meet you.”

  Naomi hesitated. “Did you know I was married?” Ah, thought Emily, now we get to the real reason she’s here.

  “No. When did this happen?” Emily asked.

  “Several months ago. Mom and Dad warned me he would be a problem, but I was in love. He’s a cop, but that’s not the issue.” Naomi extracted a tissue from her pocket, blew her nose, then began to tear it to shreds as she continued talking.

  “He was possessive and jealous when we were dating. Mom said it would lead to trouble, and it did.”