Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  COINS AND CADAVERS

  MONDAY • FEBRUARY 23

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Monday, February 16

  Part Two

  Something tugged at my mouth. It hurt, but I didn’t bother opening my eyes. Didn’t care.

  “Katy. Open your eyes, Katy. You’re safe now.”

  Josh? I opened my eyes. Is this real?

  He worked the sticky duct tape from my mouth, then tenderly traced my raw lips.

  I drank in my Viking’s beautiful face, praying he was real and not a delirious, dying illusion. And then he faded away. Oh, God. It wasn’t real. I shut my eyes.

  A warm hand smoothed the hair away from my forehead like Mom did when I was a child. I opened my eyes again. She was crying.

  “Mama?”

  Daisy nosed Mom’s arm aside and kissed my face.

  “Daisy! Stop licking Katy’s sore face,” said Mom.

  This is real.

  “Who did this to you, baby?” Mom asked.

  “Erin.” But all that came out was a croak. I tried to swallow, but instead my throat constricted, like the sides were stuck together. “Water.”

  “Oh, honey, I can’t understand you.”

  “Katy?” said Josh. “Who’s the dead guy?”

  “What dead guy?” Mom glanced around the gloomy attic. When she caught sight of my rotting roommate tucked in the dark shadows, she shrieked. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

  She turned back to me, trying to act composed like she saw corpses every day. But her freaked out eyes were telling a different story. “Oh, my poor baby. Did he do this to you?” Her warm hand caressed my brow.

  Again, I tried to say, “Erin,” but I sounded like a dehydrated frog.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. Don’t try to talk,” said Mom, then snapped, “What is taking that ambulance so damned long?”

  “It’s only been a few minutes.” Josh leaned into my view. “I’m going to take the tape off your ankles, but I may hurt you if I do your arms. We’ll have to wait for the paramedics.”

  I must have faded out because the next thing I knew Mom was cradling my head and holding a water bottle to my mouth. She drizzled in a few drops. “Just a little bit, Katy. I don’t want to risk choking you.”

  My shriveled tongue felt like it was inflating. I opened and shut my mouth a few times, cautiously working my stiff, creaking jaw. “More, please.”

  Mom poured enough for one swallow. My parched throat was caught unaware, and the water slid down the wrong pipe, sending me into a wretched coughing spasm that hurt so, so bad. Like the worst case of strep throat, times ten.

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry,” said Mom. “I knew I shouldn’t give you more. I knew it. I knew it.”

  Daisy plunked herself along the length of my body, pressing close, giving me warmth. The coughing eased, and I sputtered, “More.”

  My next memory is lying on a gurney in the front yard with an I.V. poked into my arm. Not long ago, I was in another front yard on a gurney. I really need to get a new hobby.

  I tried to sit up, and Mom patted my shoulder, persuading me to relax. “You’re safe now. I called your father, and he’ll meet us at the hospital.” She shook her head with a wry smile. “You’ll be the death of us yet.”

  I glanced around as best I could from my prone position and saw several cops on the porch. Police cars blocked the street on either side of my house. Beyond the blockade were three TV news vans. I was grateful that a police officer was holding back the nosey reporters. My yard was decorated with yellow crime scene tape, and my redneck neighbors were lounging on the tattered sofa in their front yard, watching, “The Katy Show.”

  “Time to get you to the hospital, young lady,” said a clean-cut, good-looking EMT, as he and his partner hoisted my gurney into the ambulance.

  Mom climbed in and sat on a bench next to me. Before they closed the door, Josh said to her, “I’ll take Daisy to my house, and Nicole can watch her. I’ll catch up with you at the hospital, as soon as I can. I know I’m going to have to answer some questions before they’ll let me out of here. It would help if I had something to tell them.”

  I said in a raspy whisper that hurt like hell, “It was Erin, and the dead guy’s her boyfriend, Tyler.” I shut my mouth, not wanting to utter another painful sound.

  “Erin?” said Mom. “I can’t believe it. She seemed like such a nice, sweet girl. And her boyfriend? I thought she was hiding from him.”

  “Got a last name?” Josh asked.

  “Cranston,” said Mom. “Katy, do you know her boyfriend’s last name?”

  I shook my head.

  “He’ll probably have ID on him,” said Josh.

  During the ride to the hospital, Mom called Pop. Five minutes after they had me situated in a curtained cubicle, he rushed in, looking like he’d aged a hundred years. “Katy-did, are you all right?”

  “Hey, Pop.” My gravelly voice didn’t seem to convince him.

  He kissed my forehead. “Who the hell did this to you?”

  “It was Erin.” Mom popped another ice chip in my mouth. “And her boyfriend. The one who was supposedly abusing her.”

  Before Pop could ask questions, a familiar-looking doctor with a fringe of silver hair joined us at the foot of my bed. “Hello. I’m Dr. Prendergast. I don’t know if you remember me, Katy. I was on duty the day you came in with a gunshot wound. Your friend, Samantha Drummond was attending you and—”

  “Oh, good grief,” said Mom. “I better call her, or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “What about your mother?” said Pop.

  She thunked her head. “Talk about never hearing the end of it.”

  “Don’t feel bad. It’s not as if you’ve had much to think about.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You call Sam, and I’ll call Ruby.”

  They stepped out of the room, and the kindly-looking doctor moved to my side. “I don’t suppose you remember much about our last encounter.”

  “Not really.”

  “No surprise. You were high as a kite from pain meds. But I’ll never forget you. You propositioned this old grandfather. Made my day, let me tell you,” he said, chuckling. “My wife got a real kick out of it, too.” He glanced at the tablet he held. “All righty, then. We’re going to do some bloodwork, then take you upstairs for x-rays. How’s your pain level, on a scale of one to ten?”

  What would a ten be? Run over by a garbage truck? And a one would be cramps? Sometimes my cramps are more like a four–five, not counting the accompanying migraine. I felt way worse than that. “Seven–eight.” I wanted to say eleven, but I was trying to be positive.

  “We’ll get you something for that before we send you upstairs.”

  By the time Josh arrived, I was back in the curtained cubicle. Two police officers stood guard nearby. Mom was sitting in the only chair available, tucked between my I.V. pole and the blood pressure monitor, and Pop was perched on the end of the bed.

  My elevated feet were puffy from the constricting duct tape. My arms were scraped raw, and some of the oozing wounds looked infected. I hadn’t seen my face yet, but Mom said I was not a pretty sight. I’d already absorbed two bags of saline, and every cell in my body tingled with hydrated joy.

  “Katy.” Josh grasped my hand and lifted it toward his heart but saw me wince and stopped.

  “Why are those cops here?” I asked.

  “To keep you safe,” said Josh.

  That frightened me. “Do you think she’ll come back and try to—”

  “No, no. It’s just a precaution.” He paused, shaking his head, his blue eyes bright with welling tears. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I was right next door and had no idea. I could’ve lost you.”

  “I’m fine,” I murmured.

  “No, you are not fine,” said Mom in a sharp tone.

  Josh turned to Pop and extended his hand. “Hello. I’m Katy’s friend, Josh. I live next door to her.”


  “Good to meet you. I’m Kurt.”

  Dr. Prendergast pushed the cubicle curtain aside. “I’ve got good news and....”

  And bad news?

  He continued, oblivious to my negative thoughts. “...more good news. Your x-rays looked good. Vital signs are good. After you’ve finished this,” he tapped the saline bag hung by my bed, “and urinated, we can send you home. In the meantime, how about some gelatin?”

  Not a gelatin fan, but at that moment it sounded like ambrosia.

  “I’ll take that look as a yes. We’ll get you some apple juice, too.”

  A few minutes later, an aide set a tray on the table next to me, stabbed a straw into a juice box, and held it to my lips.

  “Here you go, hon,” said the rosy-cheeked woman with a warm gap-toothed smile.

  My first sip of the cold, refreshing, sweet nectar made every high-end wine I’ve ever tasted seem like pigswill in comparison.

  “Not too fast now,” she said. “How about we try some of that gelatin?”

  “I can do that.” Mom picked up the plastic container and dipped a spoon in.

  I tried to reach for it, but my arms weren’t having it. “Ow!” I slowly inched my hands to my lap and rested my head against the pillow. “I hurt.”

  “Honey. Let me help you.” Mom spooned the red gelatin into my mouth. “Mmm. Good, huh?” she said, like I was a toddler.

  After a few bites of yummy, rubbery cherry gelatin, I drained the carton of apple juice, wishing someone would bring me a gallon of the stuff.

  “Katy, you know you won’t be able to go home,” said Josh, looking grim.

  “What do you mean? The doctor said I could.” I searched his troubled eyes, and a chill quivered down my spine. Oh, my God. There’s something wrong with me, and now that they’ve got me high on gelatin and juice, they’re going to break it to me. “Is there something I should know?”

  A smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “Honey, your house is a crime scene. A forensics team will be there, and it could be days before they’re done. They haven’t even....” He hesitated, then plowed ahead. “Removed the body yet.”

  I struggled to sit up straighter but my decrepit body protested, and I leaned back against the pillows. “Why not?”

  “They can’t remove it until all the evidence is photographed and bagged. They have to go over the entire scene inch by inch, and it’s a slow, exacting process. It could be days before the body is removed.”

  “Days? Are you kidding? That’s disgusting.”

  “Bodies are never removed until the investigation of the crime scene is complete,” said Josh. “Inside or outside.”

  “But what if it’s raining or sweltering hot?” said Mom.

  “Then they try to hurry up the investigation,” said Josh. “Because the weather conditions can alter the evidence.”

  “What if the body is lying in the street where everyone can see it?” she said.

  Pop shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Still a crime scene. And unlike the TV shows, the body is never covered.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “It could contaminate the evidence,” said Josh.

  “That must be awful for the victim’s relatives,” said Mom.

  “It is, and they can get very hostile about it,” said Josh. “You’ve seen the riots on TV about this. People are shocked, hurt, grieving, angry, and they don’t understand that the procedure is the same for everyone regardless of who the victim is.”

  “So, Katy-did, until they finish at your house, you’ll be staying with us,” said Pop.

  Seems like every time I turn around, I’m back at the old folks’ home.

  “Kurt,” said Mom. “You haven’t seen the mess in her house. The walls have been torn down.”

  “Why in the hell would Erin do that?” he asked.

  “Searching for more money,” I said.

  “But why would she do that? She’s rich,” said Pop. “Didn’t she say her parents live in a mansion in the Bay Area? Atherton, right?”

  My throat was too raw for a lengthy, detailed explanation, so I went with, “No, she’s not.” And now she is because she has all my money.

  “So that’s what this was all about?” said Pop. “That girl left you for dead for the damned coins.”

  “What coins?” said Josh.

  I hadn’t told Josh about the money, and now it felt really awkward. Like I hadn’t trusted him.

  Pop saved me the uncomfortable explanation. “Katy found a boxful of valuable old coins in her attic. She was cautioned to tell absolutely,” his voice climbed a surly decibel, as he swung his eyes to me, “no one until they were removed from the house and put up for sale. That would’ve included Erin.”

  I shook my head, trying to keep my words to a minimum. “Mistake.” I gazed at Josh, trying to convey my regret with my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  He returned my look with a soft smile. “At least no one can accuse me of loving you for your money.”

  Love? He loves me? I gazed at him, feeling a dizzying fusion of joy, love, and desire bubble through me. Without thinking, I raised my arms to him and screamed, “Oh shit! Shit! Shit!” Josh took my hands and eased them back onto my lap as I whimpered, “Oh, oh, oh.”

  After I had myself under control, I noticed my parents staring at us, looking gobsmacked.

  I knew Mom was close to giving Josh the third degree, so I said, “My house—how bad?”

  “It’s an absolute shambles,” said Mom, still ogling Josh. No doubt she was sizing him up as future son-in-law material. He seemed unaware of her narrow-eyed appraisal. “The walls will need sheet rocking, paint. Probably some electrical work.”

  “Expensive,” I said.

  “That’s what your insurance is for,” said Pop. “Don’t worry about that now. I’ll get everything lined up. I want you to concentrate on recovering.”

  My headache was building momentum in spite of the pain meds. “More apple juice, please?”

  “I’ll go,” said Josh. At the room entrance, he stopped. “Detective Murphy is down the hall at the nurse’s station. Are you up to talking to her?”

  “Oh, that awful, cold woman,” said Mom. “She treated Katy like a common criminal. Practically accused her of shooting Chad. Completely heartless.”

  “The detective was only doing her job,” said Josh. “Spouses or ex-spouses are usually the first ones on the suspect list, and it didn’t help that Katy was at the scene when her ex was shot.”

  That comment did not sit well with Mom. She crossed her arms and said in her fiercest mama-bear tone, “As a victim, Josh.” She virtually spat out his name.

  He held his hands up in defense before she charged him. “I was only explaining how it goes. I’m sorry.”

  Pop draped his arm around Mom’s stiff shoulders. “She knows that, Josh. She’s just very upset.”

  Mom shook Pop’s arm away. “You don’t have to make excuses for me.” Then she noticed his hurt look and softened. “I’m sorry. It seems that every time we turn around, something bad is happening to Katy.” She expelled a labored sigh. “When I saw you next to her in the attic.” She pressed a hand to her lips, shaking her head. “I thought my baby was dead.” She snatched a tissue from the box by my bed and dabbed her eyes. “You can put that arm back now, Kurt.”

  He pulled her close, and she whimpered into his chest, “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

  Pop said to Josh, “Can you put the detective off until tomorrow?”

  “She won’t get past me.”

  I became aware of a ghastly aroma in the room. “It really stinks in here.”

  Mom’s grim countenance broke into a grin. “Sweetie. That stink would be you, my dear.”

  Chapter Thirty

  COINS AND CADAVERS

  TUESDAY • FEBRUARY 24

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Still catching up, but before I dive back into it, I need to get this off my chest. As my body and mind gradually mend,
I’m getting more and more pissed off about the money. Super pissed. And I hate the word “pissed.” But it’s the only word that comes close to describing my feelings.

  I used the thesaurus to find another word to describe my feelings and came up with words like:

  Annoyed—doesn’t even begin to cover it.

  Bitter—oh yeah, I’m bitter.

  Furious, outraged, seething, fuming, and hopping mad. I’m all that and totally pissed off, too.

  I had planned to pay off my parents’ mortgage. Set up college trust funds for Sam’s kids. Start a college scholarship for kids who aren’t super athletes or straight-A students. Kids who try hard all the time, are good citizens at school and in the community, always get an A for effort, and want to go to college but will never win a scholarship. Kids like I was.

  I was also going to have fun with it, too. New clothes, house renovations, new paint job and seat covers for Veronica. I have to laugh at the things I’d been dreaming about doing. They wouldn’t have made even a dent in the money.

  Tuesday, February 17

  I woke at dawn, freezing cold thanks to Daisy who’d rolled over on her back and taken the covers with her. I got up and peeked out the window. A police car was parked out front, watching the house. I knew for a fact that Erin was off the radar, living the good life in Costa Rica with my money. There wasn’t one good reason for her to stick around and risk getting caught, so why did I need protection? Plus, I was staying at my folks’ house and Pop’s a retired cop. With a gun. And an alarm system.

  The police department had held back on sharing information with the press, so the media had already lost interest. As far as they were concerned, the ambulance and cop cars at my house the day before were a non-story.

  Pop told me the cops want Erin to believe I’m dead for two reasons. The first is my safety. If she knows I’m alive she might decide to come back and finish the job. Like I already said—why would she risk getting caught? The other reason makes a lot of sense: I’m the only one who knows it was Erin. If she thinks I’m dead, she might get careless. Maybe even think it’s safe to stay in the States.