Dumpster Dying

by Lesley A. Diehl

  He got out of his car and approached their vehicle. “I’d like to talk to Clara alone.”

  “You can say what you need to in front of Emily.”

  Emily thought the expression on his face puzzling, a combination of the look of police business coupled with something like compassion.

  “Well?” said Clara.

  “The body in the river? It was in bad enough shape that we had some trouble identifying it, but the wallet in his pocket contained a driver’s license—your husband’s.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Emily ran hot water into the tub for Clara and searched through her bathroom cabinets for something to scent it. She found a bottle of bubble bath and emptied half into the tub. There. That should remove any lingering odor of imprisonment.

  She stuck her head around the bathroom door and called down the hall to Clara. “Madam, your bath awaits. It’ll be good for removing jailhouse grime and for relaxing. I poured you a glass of chardonnay. It’s on the edge of the tub.”

  “I’ll make it a short soak. I have a lot of things to arrange. I’ve got to call some of Eddie’s friends and relatives, what few he has . . . had, I mean. Did you call Hap?” asked Clara. She stood in hallway clad only in her bra and panties. “I probably should burn these. I’ll never get the stink of jail out of them. Oh God, I forgot. I’ve got to get a hold of Darren and tell him about . . .”

  Emily had never seen her friend so disoriented and confused, but then the death of a husband was a shock. Emily could relate to that. She took Clara by the hand and led her into the bathroom. “Your address book is in the desk in the hallway, right?” Clara nodded her head. “Then I’ll make the necessary calls. You get yourself together.”

  She shut the door behind her, hoping that the scent of lavender bubbles and a sip of cold wine would put things right. Might help me too. She poured wine into another glass, extracted the address book from the drawer, and slid onto the couch in the living room.

  Clara’s head peeked out from the bathroom doorway. “Your daughter . . .”

  “I’m calling her right now, then Hap, and then Darren. Don’t worry. I won’t say anything. I’ll call the factory and tell them to have Darren call you as soon as he gets the message. Go soak.”

  There was no answer at her house. It was after five in the afternoon. She guessed Naomi was napping and not answering the phone, or she’d gone to the hot tub and pool for a swim. When she called Darren’s employer, he informed her that Darren had not shown up for work. Both children not available? Emily began to worry. She got Hap on the phone and told him about Eddie.

  “I’ll be right over,” he said. “I’ll get a ride from one of my lady friends here.”

  “Could you swing by my place on your way and see if you can rouse Naomi? She may be napping or at the pool. I couldn’t get her on the phone. And it seems Darren never showed at the box factory today. I don’t want to say anything to Clara right now, but Darren looked as if he’d been in a fight. He said it was an injury from work, but . . . He called me earlier today saying that a strange car kept going by the house.”

  “What don’t you want to tell me right now?” asked Clara. She wore a towel wrapped around her and held the wine glass, now nearly empty, in her hand.

  “Talk to you soon,” Emily said. She hung up the phone. “That was Hap.”

  “Uh, huh. What are the two of you keeping from me? I walk out of jail to a dead ex and whispering between you and Dad. What’s up?”

  Emily looked up at her friend and saw that the old in-charge Clara seemed to be back. “Guess lavender and wine are some kind of miracle cure.”

  “No, I think it was having a bathroom to myself and looking down and seeing smooth legs.” She poured herself another glass of wine, refilled Emily’s, and joined her on the couch.

  “Okay. I can’t get in touch with my daughter, and Darren didn’t go to work today. He also was worried about a car that drove by my house several times. I’m concerned it could be Naomi’s husband. Maybe he found her.”

  “Then I think you need to go home and take care of her. I’m fine. Hap can help me out here.”

  “No, no. I want to stay. Hap’s checking my house now.”

  “My dear Emily, you’ve been more than an employee. You’re a true friend. But you’ve done enough. Now skedaddle on home and check on your daughter. Dad and I will worry about Darren.”

  Hap, driven by yet another of the blue-haired ladies from the center, pulled up to the curb as Emily exited Clara’s. After introducing his chauffer as Sadie, he said, “Found your daughter poolside chattering with some young ladies down from Michigan visiting their grandparents. I told her about Clara and Eddie and said you’d be home soon.”

  “Thank God she’s safe. And thanks for looking in on her.”

  “You’re like Clara. You worry too much about your grown kids. Must be an occupational hazard of motherhood.” Hap waved goodbye to Sadie who laid rubber as she pulled out in front of another car. “She’s a little reckless in the driver’s seat. And in other ways, too.” Hap chuckled and waggled his bushy white eyebrows. “How’s my little girl doing?”

  Emily knew he wasn’t asking after her. Now who’s worrying. “Clara worked through the shock of dead Eddie in the bathroom.”

  “I never knew her to be one for throwing up,” Hap said.

  “Not that. She took a bath and drank a glass of wine in record time. She’s fine, I think. She tossed me out, so I’m on my way home. Or do you think I should stay for a while?”

  Clara opened the front door, took her father’s arm, and drew him inside. “Go home and see how your own little chickadee is doing.”

  “Hap says she’s at the pool.”

  “She may need sunscreen. Emily, I’m fine. Go. Go.” Clara made shooing motions at her.

  “If you need anything . . .”

  Clara closed the door. Emily felt so useless. Shouldn’t she be doing something for Clara? The woman had just gotten out of jail and now had to deal with the death of her ex. Emily thought of chicken soup, but in the ninety degree heat, that seemed silly. Clara stuck her head back out the front door.

  “There is one thing, however,” she said.

  Emily turned back toward the house with lightness in her step and eagerness to help written on her face. “Yes?”

  “Who’s taking care of the bar?”

  “Donald’s there now. I told him to close up tonight.”

  “You’ll go back and check on him, right?”

  “Sure.” That wasn’t her intention, but, of course she could do that, if Clara thought it was necessary.

  “I’ll see you there later, then.”

  “You don’t need to come in,” Emily assured her.

  “Oh, yes I do. For my sanity, yes I do.”

  Naomi returned from the pool, sunburned, hair hanging in tangles, and a look on her face that said she’d had an afternoon of fun.

  “Make some friends?” asked Emily. She stood at the sink washing up breakfast dishes. It sure looked as if her daughter could overlook messes someone Emily’s age would not.

  Naomi halted inside the door. “Oh, I should have done those before I went out. I’m sorry.”

  So revise that assessment. She’s slow to see the mess.

  “How’s your friend Clara? Hap told me about her husband.” Naomi threw her beach towel toward the couch. It fell short and landed on the floor. As Emily was about to ask her to pick it up, Naomi said, “Sorry about that,” and grabbed the towel. She glanced around the room with a questioning look.

  “Oh, hang it out back over one of the chairs.” Emily gestured with her head toward the backyard.

  “Right.”

  Several minutes passed and, when Naomi didn’t return, Emily dried her hands and followed her daughter out the door. Emily stood motionless on the patio facing the water. A mare and her foal, burnished bronze by the sun nearing the horizon, turned their heads toward the house and examined Naomi from the safety of their pasture
across the canal. When Emily appeared by her daughter’s side, the foal nudged his head between the mare’s legs and began nursing. With a flick of her ears, the mare dropped her head and fed again on the stubby grass.

  “They know you,” said Naomi.

  “I usually have my coffee out here on those mornings when I have the time. And they have their breakfast across from me. So, yeh, I guess you could say we’re acquainted.”

  “It’s beautiful here. So quiet and peaceful. I can understand why you want to stay even though Fred is gone.”

  Naomi’s comments jerked Emily away from the pastoral scene before her and back to her predicament. Her case would come before the judge soon, and she had been so distracted by recent events that she had forgotten how tenuous her hold on this property was.

  “Did I say something wrong?” asked Naomi. “Your expression changed from contentment to depression in a second.”

  “Oh, no, honey. I was reminding myself I have to get to the club and worrying you’ll be bored here by yourself. I could drop you at the mall to shop and then you could walk to the cinema if you’d like.” Emily thought there was no point in telling Naomi her troubles, not with an abusive husband breathing down her daughter’s back. And that reminded her. “So that I can keep an eye out for that no good husband of yours, not that it’s likely he’d find you here, what kind of car does he drive?”

  “A blue Ford Explorer. Is there something wrong?” Fear crept across Naomi’s features.

  “No, honey. I wanted to keep my eyes open for his car, that’s all.” Dumb, Emily. You almost scared your daughter to death. “So how about it? Want me to drop you at the mall?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got an invitation to go to the coast with my new friends this evening. There’s a Thai restaurant there they want to try. Unless you’d prefer I stay here.”

  Emily wouldn’t admit it, but she wanted Naomi near her and considered taking her along to the club. But Naomi wasn’t a child.

  “You go ahead and have fun.” She stopped herself short of giving Naomi a curfew for when she was to be home.

  Clara stood looking out the windows of the bar. Emily wondered what she could see out there. The lights in the bar remained on, but it was pitch black outside. There were no lights on the driving range. Mike had closed the clubhouse an hour ago, leaving the grounds dark with the exception of the sensor light which lit when Donald left by the back door several minutes before.

  Emily sat with her elbows propped on the bar watching Clara at the window.

  “This certainly has been some day for the club. And for you,” said Clara. Before Mike closed the course, he and Emily had let Clara know about Lenny’s drunkenness.

  “Do you think it had something to do with Lucinda’s visit yesterday?” asked Emily. If Clara wanted to talk shop, and it took her mind off her husband and son, Emily didn’t mind.

  Clara continued to stare out the window, as if sheer concentration would be enough to light up the subtropical night. “You’ve had your run-ins with Lucinda.”

  “The woman is crazy,” said Emily.

  Clara faced Emily, her mouth set in a grim line. “No, she’s not. Don’t be taken in by her woman-trapped-in-the-sixties appearance. She uses the tacky look and a cheaply made up face to detract from what’s under her teased hair—a sharp mind. Don’t underestimate her. She’s dangerous.”

  “You know something about her you’re not telling me. What is it?”

  “Nothing you need to know about, but be wary of her. Lucinda is not a silly woman.”

  “Do you think she’s involved in her husband’s death?” asked Emily.

  Clara faced the window and began scanning the darkness once more. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m sure she’ll be able to make it work for her somehow. If she knew what I have planned for her, she’d . . .”

  A chill ran down Emily’s spine. She didn’t want her friend in any more trouble, and Clara’s tone of voice said “revenge” although she couldn’t imagine for what. “What are you planning?” asked Emily.

  “You can’t keep secrets forever.”

  “Me? I’m not. I never tried to keep Naomi a secret.” Emily’s voice sounded defensive to her own ears and no wonder. Why was Clara accusing her of keeping secrets?

  “Not you. I meant me. It’s time to give up what I haven’t admitted all these years.” Clara turned from the window to face Emily across the dim bar. As she opened her mouth to speak, the window behind her exploded. Shards of glass flew across the room showering Clara and Emily like sleet. The noise of the window blowing inward was accompanied by another, a loud pop or bark.

  “Get down,” said Clara. “Someone’s firing a rifle at us.”

  Both she and Emily dove for the floor. They laid there for a minute in silence. Then Clara shimmied on her belly across the room and quickly jumped up to hit the light switch. The room was bathed in comforting blackness.

  “That’s why you kept looking out the window,” said Emily.

  “I thought I saw car lights coming up the club road. Then nothing. Someone had to have turned them off. And I wondered why.”

  “I guess we know why now,” said Emily. She began to prop herself up on her elbows. “Ouch. Damn. There’s glass all over the floor. I jabbed some into my arm.” Aside from the unreality of being shot at and the glee at being alive that followed, Emily took comfort in there being no follow-up shot. She shakily began to get up.

  “No. Stay down. They could still be out there,” said Clara. She reached out and placed a restraining arm on Emily’s shoulder. The two women continued to lie on the floor for several moments, but the first shot was an orphan.

  “You okay?” asked Clara.

  “You were closer to the windows. How about you?”

  “Scratches from the glass shattering. I think I’m going to need another bath though.”

  “That much blood?” asked Emily.

  “It’s a bar floor, for God’s sake. It smells like beer, booze, and the fifth green.”

  Joking, Clara was joking, so Emily figured they had to be okay, and she wasn’t hiccupping, a very good sign.

  Lights from a car hit the broken window. Okay, so she was wrong. They weren’t okay.

  “I’m calling the cops,” Emily said. She flipped open her cell and made the call.

  “Too late,” said Clara. The rumble of a heavy engine drew closer, and the vehicle stopped within inches of the window. The two women watched as boots appeared when their wearer opened the driver side door and approached the building. A big man stepped over the sill, crunched through the broken glass, and walked to the other side of the bar. He flipped on the wall switch.

  Clara stood up and faced him. “Donald. What the hell are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER 14

  Rifle in hand, Donald stood among the shattered pieces of the plate glass window. “You ladies sure have a real mess here, now don’t you?”

  His eyes swept the barroom and came to rest on Clara and Emily who had risen off the floor and were shoulder to shoulder. Drops of blood from flying glass dotted their faces and arms, and they stood amid larger shards covering the barroom floor. Closer to the window when the shot hit, Clara was bleeding profusely from her shoulder.

  “The cops will be coming down the club road in a few minutes.” Emily hoped that letting Donald know the authorities would be on him any minute would encourage him to put aside his weapon and not shoot the two of them.

  “I don’t think the club road is the fastest way out of here. Any four-wheel drive truck can cut across the field and come out north of here on Swamp Road.”

  “That what you have in mind, Donald?” asked Clara.

  “What? No way. Take a wrong turn past the field there and you’d end up in some real swampy country, bad enough that even a four-wheel drive wouldn’t help. I’ll stay here.”

  Clara looked puzzled for a moment, then reached out her hand. “Let me see your rifle.” Donald handed it to her. She sniffed the ba
rrel. “Hasn’t even been fired,” she said, and gave it back to him.

  Green produced a bark that passed for his version of a laugh. “You thought I was responsible for this? Hell no. I had turned onto the highway when I met a truck coming toward me. After he went by, I watched him in my rearview mirror, and he turned onto Club Road. I thought that was peculiar since no one was here except for you two, so I turned around first chance I got and followed him back here.” Donald ran his hand across the back of his neck.

  “Then I lost him. I figured he must have turned off his lights so you wouldn’t see him coming.”

  The sound of sirens and lights from police vehicles turned his attention away from Emily and Clara. Clara let out a low moan. “I’ve got to sit down a minute.”

  Emily turned toward her friend and got a good look at her in the light. Glass shards in her hair glistened like stars, but what might have been the romantic effect of diamonds nestled among red curls ended with blood spatters dotting her face and arms and a larger stain seeping through the sleeve of her blouse. She helped Clara onto a bar stool. “This can’t all be from the glass. I think the shot grazed your shoulder.”

  Detective Lewis stepped through what was left of the windows. “Why am I not surprised to see the three of you at this scene?”

  Emily gritted her teeth, but couldn’t keep herself from letting go at Lewis. “Before you say another snarky word about us, could you call an ambulance? Clara’s been hit.”

  Detective Lewis crossed the room in two long strides and stood in front of Clara.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “Right here,” said Emily. She pointed to Clara’s blood-stained blouse. Clara turned her head to look at her shoulder, blanched white, and fainted into Lewis” arms.

  ***

  An ambulance prepared to transport a protesting Clara off to the hospital. “I’m fine, fine. It was that damn jailhouse food that got to me. A delayed reaction, that’s all. A bit of food poisoning, gratis of the county.”