Pamela Frost Dennis - Murder Blog 01 - Dead Girls Don't Blog

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  Phil, sickened by this person who had been his friend, said, “Don’t you even care what you’ve done?”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, I do care,” he said. “I just saved our bacon.”

  “What happens when they find her body?” asked Jake.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Jake. They’re not going to find her because we’re going to get rid—”

  Phil gasped. “NO. No way in hell. Don’t listen to him, Jake. This will get you and me in more trouble. We’re not the ones who committed murder.” He pointed at Erik. “He is. Let him burn.”

  “We’ll all burn and you know it. Now we’re going to do the only sane thing left to do. Bury her and go home. End of story.” Erik chuckled with cold mirth. “And they all lived happily ever after.” He flicked a glance at Lindsay’s corpse. “Well, almost all.”

  Jake exhaled a slow, defeated breath. “He’s probably right, Phil.”

  “About living happily ever after? He’s a fucking psychopath, Jake.”

  Erik laughed. “You may be right about that, but you might want to listen to Jake, because it’s your blood that’s all over her, not mine. How’re you going to explain that?”

  “I was trying to save her and you know it.”

  “Yeah, because you felt real bad after you bashed her head against the rock.” He put his hands on his hips and frowned with reproach. “I was shocked when you did that.”

  “You bastard.” Phil struggled to stand and Erik put his hand on his shoulder and easily pressed him back down.

  “I’ll tell the police you did it!” Jake screamed, scrambling to his feet.

  Erik leaned into Jake and jabbed his index finger into his chest. “Now that I think about it, maybe it was you who did it, Jakey. I had no idea what a nasty temper you have. No wonder you got a wrestling scholarship.” He saw Jake’s fists balling and moved several steps away. “No matter what, we’ll all go to prison, but it’ll be one of you who’ll be the last to get out, if ever. Not me. My folks can get the best lawyers money can buy, and they’ll make sure you guys go down for this, not me. In fact, the more I think about it, I’ll probably get off scot-free. I’ll be the next O.J. while you two…” He shrugged with an angelic smile. “Think about it… Jake, your family owns a small dairy farm in the middle of nowhere and Phil, you’ve got an accountant for a daddy and your mommy’s a police dispatcher. Bottom line? Defending you will bankrupt your families. In all good conscience, how can you do that to them? They’re innocent in all of this. The knowledge that their darling boys could do anything this terrible will be enough to destroy them, but you want to bankrupt them, too? What kind of sons are you?”

  Phil gaped at him for a few moments, trying to process the terrible scenario that Erik had painted, then hauled himself to his feet, stumbled to Lindsay’s body and crouched beside her.

  “I am so, so sorry,” he whispered, tenderly stroking her matted blonde hair back from her forehead, his tears mingling with the ones drying on her cheeks. “I promise you, I will make my life count for something good to help make up for taking yours. I will be the best person I can be. I promise.”

  Erik and Jake watched, unable to hear Phil’s words, and then, while still gazing at Lindsay’s face, he said, “Okay, you win, Erik.” He wobbled back to the boulders and slumped down against them, completely spent. “There’s a blanket in the back of the car. You can use it to wrap her body.”

  While Erik went to the car to retrieve the blanket, Jake frantically whispered to Phil. “Are you sure about this, Phil? Everything’s happened so fast. Maybe we should turn ourselves in and be done with it.”

  “You heard him. He’s crazy, but he’s right about this destroying our families. And I’m afraid he might harm them. You heard what he said to Lindsay about her mother. We have to protect them.”

  Erik returned with the plaid blanket. “You two done talking about me?” He spread the blanket on the ground and roughly rolled Lindsay onto it. “A little help, please?”

  Jake wrapped the blanket around Lindsay’s warm body and tucked it securely.

  “Don’t suppose you got a shovel in your car?” Erik asked.

  “No,” snapped Phil, looking away.

  “Hey, you’re the Boy Scout, so I thought, you know…always prepared?”

  “You’re lucky I’m not, or I’d use it to bash your head in right now.”

  “You need to watch that temper of yours,” said Erik. “Someone might take it the wrong way and get their feelings hurt, and who knows what might happen.”

  Erik and Jake carried Lindsay’s shrouded corpse to the eucalyptus grove. It was after six and though the days were long, the sun was ducking behind the steep hills casting deep shadows. The dusky gloom in the woods offered little light to see by as the two worked their way to the cleared spot where she had concealed herself less than thirty minutes ago.

  Before they covered her body, Erik bent down briefly and said to her, “Sorry, Lindsay. No hard feelings, okay?”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Saturday, May 11

  1996

  The morning after Lindsay’s death, Adam Hobart was enjoying his morning coffee in his leather recliner while reading the paper and watching the Golf Channel, when Phil entered the room shortly after eight a.m.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  Adam nearly jumped out of his skin, sloshing coffee on his plaid, flannel robe. “Holy crap! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He twisted in his chair to see his son. “What the hell happened to your face? Did somebody beat you up?”

  “I wish.” Phil moved around the recliner and slowly lowered his aching body to the end of the sofa nearest his dad’s chair. He was reluctant to tell his father about the car accident, but plunged ahead, anxious to get it over. “I crashed the car and my head hit the window.” He shifted to get more comfortable and stifled a groan. “I’m sorry, Dad. It was really stupid.”

  “Are you okay?” Adam muted the TV, set his coffee and paper down and moved to Phil’s side to inspect his wounds.

  “Just a little stiff, that’s all.” He settled back into the cushions, wincing with pain. “Or a lot stiff.”

  “Were you drinking?”

  “No, Dad.”

  “How’d you get here?”

  “Took a cab.”

  “You should have called. So what happened?”

  “First, I need to take something for the aches.”

  Adam got up. “I’ll get you some ibuprofen. Want some coffee?”

  “Sounds good. Thanks.” Phil had never lied to his father before. Yes, he’d told a few little fibs, maybe omitted a pertinent detail here and there, but never an out-and-out lie. But he truly feared the threats Erik had made the day before about his parents being financially wiped out if they went to trial. He also feared that if he crossed Erik, he might cause harm to his family, just like he’d threatened Lindsay. Phil believed he was dealing with an unstable psychopath and he had to protect his family.

  His father stuck his head out of the kitchen entry. “Two percent milk okay? We’re out of half and half.”

  “That’s fine.”

  A moment later, Adam returned with three ibuprofen, a glass of water, and placed a steaming mug of coffee on the glass coffee table. Phil washed down the pills and then picked up his coffee with shaky hands. Adam settled back in his recliner and watched his son expectantly.

  Phil swallowed a few reviving sips and set it on the table. He inhaled deeply and began his fabricated tale. “Jake, Erik, and I were exploring some back roads and a squirrel ran across the road and I lost control of the car and it slid and crashed into some rocks.”

  “Where’s the car now?”

  “I had it towed to a body shop. They said it might take a few weeks. The back end was crunched pretty good.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  He shook his head. “Didn’t see any reason to. It was just us and that damn squirrel, out on a quiet country road.”

  Penny entered
the room. “I thought I heard your voice, Phil.” She walked around the couch to see him. “Honey! Your face!” She rushed to his side and threw her arms around him. “What happened?”

  “He crashed his car,” Adam answered bluntly.

  “My poor baby.” She pulled back and looked at him. “Your beautiful face.” She tenderly touched his wounds. “You need to see a doctor.”

  “I’m fine. It looks worse than it is. There’s nothing a doctor could do.” Phil disentangled himself from her grasp and forced his stiff body up, biting his lip to suppress a groan. He picked up his mug and went to the kitchen on the pretense of topping it off but really it was to gather his thoughts.

  “You want some coffee, Mom?” he called as he poured his.

  “I’ll get it.” She scurried into the kitchen and removed a cup from the cabinet. “You go sit and put up your feet. Wait, hold on.” She pulled a bag of peas out of the freezer and wrapped it in a dish towel. “Put this on your face. It’ll help the swelling. Do you want an ibuprofen?”

  “Already took some. It’ll kick in a minute.”

  Phil returned to the couch where his father waited to question him further. His mother rejoined them, sitting close to Phil. He recapped what he’d told his dad.

  “Why were you exploring country roads?” asked Adam.

  “Adam, leave the poor kid alone. Can’t you see he’s all done in?”

  “He crashed his car, Penny. The car we gave him. He could have killed himself. I think I have a right to ask a few questions.”

  “I’m all right, Mom, and Dad’s right.” He continued with the story the boys had concocted the night before. “Erik wanted to show us a good camping site where we might go sometime in the summer. He said there’s a stream with trout in it so we could fish, too, but we crashed before we got there. I’m really sorry about the car.”

  Adam’s tone softened. “The important thing is you’re all right. But why didn’t you call us? We would have come and got you.”

  “The cell phone didn’t work out there, so we walked to an old saloon—”

  “The Rusty Spur?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No wonder there was no cell coverage.”

  “Anyway,” Phil continued, “there was a pay phone at the saloon, so we called a tow truck. I wanted to handle it myself and not bother you.”

  Penny patted his arm. “You’re never a bother to us, Phil. We love you.” She got up and set a sofa pillow behind his back. “I’m going to make some breakfast, and then after you eat, you should take a nap.”

  As soon as she left the room, Phil yanked the pillow out and tossed it to the end of the sofa. “Let your mother fuss over you, okay? In the long run, it will be easier on you than trying to convince her you don’t need it. Trust me, I know. And I think we’d both feel better if you got a checkup. Make sure you don’t have any internal injuries.”

  “I look worse than I feel, Dad.”

  “All right. But if you start to feel funny, we’re going to the ER. Understood?”

  “Okay.”

  “Are the other boys okay?”

  “They’re fine. But there’s something else I want to talk to you about.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Would it be okay if I came home for a little while? I really need some peace and quiet. The term’s ending and I need to concentrate on school without all the frat house distractions.”

  “Fine with me, if that’s really what you want,” Adam answered. “Your education is the top priority. But you aren’t going to drop out of the fraternity are you? Those affiliations can be very helpful in your future professional life, you know.”

  “No. I just need a break. Things have been a little out of control lately, and I need to get myself back in line.”

  “You’re a lot smarter than I was at your age,” said Adam. “I’m proud of you, son. Maybe this summer you and I can go check out that stream and do a little fishing.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Dave – R.I.P.

  By Katy McKenna on Wednesday, April 17

  Is two days an appropriate length of time to wait before attempting to collect payment from someone who is mourning the loss of their dearly departed cat? After checking emilypost.com and finding no definitive answer there, I decided it was or I’d be dipping into my nest egg again.

  I called Wanda and asked as delicately as I could if she were in the mood to accept her Acme logo and cut me a check. Evidently she was because she told me to come anytime. “Anytime” was good for me, so I said adios to my coworkers, Daisy and Tabitha, and headed over.

  After driving up one street and down another hunting for the elusive empty parking spot, I wound up three blocks away in a thirty-minute green-curbed zone. Loaded with my purse and portfolio, I sprinted to the shop.

  A black wreath hung on the entrance door, and inside I found Doris-the-cat perched on the laminate counter next to a pewter urn that I assumed held the remains of her son, Dave.

  “Hey, Doris,” I said. “How’re you doing?” I tentatively reached out to pet her and she hissed as I stroked her back but no bites. “I’m so sorry about your loss.”

  Her hisses became a low, rattling purr. We had bonded!

  “Looks like you’ve made a new friend,” said Wanda, as she came out from the office.

  “Yes, we have, haven’t we, Doris-sweetie-poopsie-pie?” I said in that annoying “oogy-woogy” voice that people use with babies, puppies, and ancient cats, while nuzzling her face.

  And then she bit my nose.

  “Ouch!” I jerked back and touched my nose. It hurt a little and so did my feelings.

  Wanda chuckled. “You were doing good for a minute there, but she hates baby-talk.” She inspected my nose. “That shouldn’t leave a scar.”

  What?

  She gave me a tissue from the box on the counter. I delicately dabbed my schnoz and found a tiny trace of blood on the tissue.

  “Don’t worry, Katy, I’m pretty sure she’s up to date on her shots.”

  OMG. Rabies? If I get rabies in my nose, I am suing.

  Wanda moved Dave’s urn to the far end of the counter and placed the pissed-off cat next to it. “I’m excited to see how the logo turned out.” She rubbed her hands together.

  I laid the red portfolio case on the counter and pulled out her job. I hadn’t looked at it for a couple of days and in spite of my pulsating nose, I found myself taken aback by the magnificence of the erupting volcano.

  Wanda spoke in a hushed, reverent voice. “This, indeed, is a thing of beauty.”

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling all glowy and wonderful. I had put my career on hold to support Chad’s bookstore dream, and starting over was scary, but Wanda’s praise meant I was back on track. Woo-hoo!

  “Darn it,” said Wanda, snapping me out of my reverie.

  “What do you mean?” Was she going to weasel out of paying me?

  “I planned to have this logo put on a new sign out front and on our truck, along with new letterhead, business cards, and what-have-you, but it’s so darned classy that now I need to spruce up the whole place to go with it.” She surveyed the large shop. “I am suddenly seeing this place with new eyes, and it’s a mess. Come to think of it, it’s probably been this way since my folks opened the business back in 1962, although it would’ve been a lot cleaner,” she chuckled with a wink. “I came along a few years later and this is all I remember.”

  I glanced around and had to agree. Fluorescent lights flickered a dismal, gray-green light over countless bolts of fabric lining the unfinished walls, some so out of date that soon the 70’s brown and gold plaid herculon would be trendy again. The concrete floors were littered with scraps and sawdust. Furniture skeletons awaited their new lives among the finished pieces ready to go home. Near the front counter was a long, scarred, plywood plank resting on sawhorses and covered with messy stacks of sample swatches.

  “See what I mean?” She smacked her hand on the counter. “Darn it.”
<
br />   Big mistake. When she hit the counter, it spooked Doris, and she knocked Dave’s urn over, spilling his ashes over the counter and the floor, creating a cloud that hit me full face and set off a sneezing attack, which further blew the ashes into a dust swirl.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I sputtered between sneezes.

  As the dust settled, an ironic smile lit Wanda’s face. “You know, I was planning on scattering Dave’s ashes in all the places he loved. The dumpster out back, the fence he liked to sit on in the alley, the hood of my car, but you know what?”

  “No.” I sniffed back a wad of snot and swabbed my poor, slightly bloody nose, wondering if I would need plastic surgery.

  “This,” Wanda flung up her arms and spun around, “this is the place he loved most. Hold on.” She dashed into the office and came out with a broom and dustpan. “You hold the pan, and I’ll sweep him up.”

  How could I say no after sneezing Dave all over the place? Maybe if I’d received my check already, but I hadn’t, so between more sneezes, we got the old guy tidied into a neat little pile in the pan. Then she angled the portable electric fan on the counter toward the ceiling and picked up the pan. Just as she was about to turn on the fan, I hollered, “Stop!”

  “Why?”

  “Perhaps we should say a few words before you blow him away, don’t you think?”

  “You’re right.” She set the dustpan down. “Wait here.” She ran out the front entrance to the vacuum sales and repair shop next door, leaving Doris and me to glare at each other. A few minutes later, she returned with a dapper, bow-tied, elderly man in tow. “Katy, this is Cornelius Hembry. He’s a Universal Life Church minister. He’s going to say a few words before we scatter Dave to kingdom come.”