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

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  Devin looked perplexed. “Why do I feel like I missed out on something here?”

  Christy said, “Mother.”

  Devin frowned and nodded. The love in his eyes for Christy touched me, and in that moment, I knew what I would be looking for in a man. Someday, when I finally see that love shining in a man’s eyes for me, I’ll be done looking.

  After my near-death experience at the hands of crazy Penny Hobart, I was too rattled to get behind the wheel, so Samantha took a break and drove me home.

  She settled me on the couch and while Daisy bestowed soothing kisses on my face, Sam fetched me a whopping glass of cabernet. I attempted a sip and sloshed half the glass down my shirt. “Guess I’m a little shaky.”

  Sam dashed to the kitchen for a towel as I tried to set the glass on the coffee table and wound up chipping the base. It was a super expensive Waterford crystal wedding gift, so no biggie. My post-war, I mean, post-marriage Pier One glasses are more my style.

  As she blotted my shirt, I thought about investing in a set of sippy cups for special occasions like this.

  “I really hate to leave you alone.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I spoke through chattering teeth. “It’s freezing in here.”

  “You’re a little shocky. Let me help you change.” She hustled me into my bedroom and I didn’t argue. Would have been a waste of energy, anyway. She got me into sweats and warm, woolly socks. I was still icy cold. “You’ll warm up when the shock wears off.” She plunked a knit beanie on my head.

  “I’ll throw the shirt in the wash before the wine sets, while you rest on the couch with Daisy and Tabitha.”

  I heard the washing machine filling and Sam called, “I might as well do a full load.”

  The lid thudded and a few minutes later she handed me a plastic cup—filled halfway with chardonnay. “We never had lunch, so I’ll get you a snack before I leave.”

  Daisy’s ears perked to attention at the magic word “snack” and Sam assured her there’d be something tasty for her, too.

  I leaned into the cushions and sipped my wine, though swallowing was painful. That was okay. The pain meant I was alive.

  “This’ll go down easy.” Sam set a bowl of yogurt and sliced bananas on the table, and gave Daisy a dog cookie. “You don’t have any ice cream, so you’ll have to make do. Do you want soup?”

  “No, I’m fine. You need to get back to work.”

  She covered the kids and me with the comforter from my bed and handed me the TV remote. “Knowing you, you have an old movie recorded.”

  “Sam. I’ll be okay. Go back to work.”

  Her big blue eyes reddened and brimmed with tears. “It’s starting to hit me, how close I came to losing my best friend. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

  I choked up (bad choice of words) and shared a good, grateful cry with my dear BFF.

  I always keep a few favorites recorded on the DVR for rainy days, and though it was a sunny, cloudless day, I sure felt dismal. I had a choice between Rebecca—an old Alfred Hitchcock movie, Bridget Jones’s Diary, and Roman Holiday with Audrey Hepburn.

  Rebecca won. It is a gloomy, romantic mystery set on the rocky coast of England. I have watched it countless times and can practically recite the dialog line for line.

  “Tabitha, you’re in for a treat, huh, Daisy?”

  Daisy gave me a patient look and settled her chin on her paws with a long sigh, while Tabitha burrowed her noggin into my thigh and purred. I pressed play and settled back to relax.

  During the opening credits, the doorbell rang and Daisy went ballistic, leaping off the couch and tearing to the door like Santa Claus was on the porch. Tabitha followed at a more dignified “who cares” pace.

  I hit pause, grumbling about being interrupted, and then had an unnerving thought. What if it’s Penny Hobart and she’s come to finish me off?

  I stood at the door wishing I had a peephole and too afraid to look out the shuttered side window when Mom shouted, “Hey, honey. It’s Mom and Grandma.”

  Relief washed through me as I opened the door and burst into tears. “Mommy. Gramma.”

  “Samantha called us.” Mom set a grocery bag on the entry table before group-hugging me with Ruby. Daisy and Tabitha did their best to scrunch in between our legs for the love-fest.

  Mom pulled back and inspected my wounded neck. There wasn’t much to see since Samantha had bandaged it, but a rainbow of bruises was blooming on the exposed skin. “My poor baby.”

  “That bitch could have killed you,” said Ruby. “Did you report this to the police?”

  “No,” I sniffled. Should I have?

  “Why the hell not?”

  “She was extremely upset about the petition and her daughter just had a baby.” I spoke in a whisper, touching my tender neck. “It was in the heat of the moment, and I’m sure she didn’t actually mean to hurt me.”

  “In the heat of the moment is how most people get murdered,” said Ruby. “It’s called manslaughter.”

  “Your grandmother’s right. I don’t care how upset she was, she had no right to attack you,” said Mom. “I’ve been upset many times in my life, but I’ve never choked anyone.”

  “There were times when I wanted to strangle Bert. The way that no-good bastard treated you, Marybeth, I would’ve gladly—”

  Mom cut her off. “Mom—not in front of Katy. Bert’s her father.”

  I wiped my snotty, sore nose on my sweatshirt sleeve. “I’m not a child anymore, Mom, so you don’t have to protect me. Besides, Kurt’s my dad, not Bert. He’s always been too busy racking up trophy wives to care about me. In fact, the only communication I’ve had with him in months is a Facebook friend request, which I turned down. So as far as I’m concerned, he probably deserved to be strangled.”

  “Amen to that,” said Ruby. “Thank goodness, you’re all right, sweetie. We could be at a funeral home right now, picking out your casket.” She was really worked up.

  “Maybe you should get a restraining order,” said Mom.

  “Oh the hell with that! How’s a piece of paper going to protect Katy? She should get a shotgun!”

  They were really freaking me out. “She doesn’t know where I live, but if anything else happens, I promise to report her. And remember, I have a security alarm system that Pop insisted I get when I moved in here. State of the art. So I’ll be fine.”

  “Is it set now?” asked Mom.

  “No. But when you leave I promise, cross my heart, I will set it.” I needed to change the subject. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Goodies.” Mom looked past me into the living room. “Looks like you got yourself all set up in there. What’s Daisy doing?”

  She was guarding my bowl against any would-be “yogurt thieves” that might be lurking. My guess would be Tabitha.

  “I was about to watch an old movie. Rebecca. Want to join me?”

  “Ahhh…Lawrence Olivier and Joan Fontaine. One of my favorites,” said Ruby. “I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched it and it never gets old.”

  Mom led us into the kitchen. “Ruby, how about pouring some wine, while I unload this bag and set up a tray. I don’t want the ice cream to melt.”

  I looked hopefully at her.

  “Mint-chip for you and chocolate for us. Today, my iPhone told me the meaning of life is chocolate, so we’ve got plenty, and dark chocolate pairs well with cab.”

  “Shaky hands do not pair well with cabernet, so I’ll stick to chardonnay.” I was feeling weak-kneed again and leaned against the counter for support.

  “Come on, kiddo.” Ruby guided me to the couch, then went for the wine bottles and glasses.

  After we settled in, we raised our glasses, and I squeaked out a simple, heartfelt toast. “I love you guys.”

  “I love you too, honey.” Mom turned to Grandma. “I love you, Mom.”

  “Right back at ya both. Bottom’s up.” She flicked a stray tear away and said, “Now start the movie already.”<
br />
  I pressed play and we all recited the opening line together. “Last night, I dreamt I went to Manderley again…”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Tuesday, May 21

  1996

  After an intimate midnight conversation with his fiancée, Jake had turned off his phone and then overslept, barely making his 11:00 class. Afterward, he grabbed a cheeseburger at a café on campus and parked himself under a shady tree to enjoy it.

  A surge of pure joy flowed through him. Erik was dead, and he was free to move on with his life. Yes, his parents would be disappointed if he didn’t finish college, but they’d get over it when they held their first grandchild. He decided to call Heidi and ask her what she thought about a fall wedding.

  He grinned, anticipating his sweetheart’s warm, sexy voice as he turned on his cell phone. Before hitting her speed dial number, he checked his voicemail. He had messages from his mother, Heidi, and Phil.

  “Why’s Phil calling?” he muttered aloud, feeling a pang of anxiety. He listened to the message. “Jake, it’s Phil. Listen, man, I’m really sorry about this, but I’m going to tell my parents. I can’t live a lie anymore. I’m so sorry.”

  “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Jake slammed his forehead repeatedly with the closed flip phone.

  Students nearby stopped talking and watched his meltdown.

  “Sounds like you got bad news,” said a boy, sitting with a group of friends.

  Jake scrambled to his feet and set off at a dead run to his car.

  “Dude!” shouted the kid. “You forgot your backpack.”

  Jake kept running. He was reacting with no plan in mind. When he got to his dusty green Nissan, he fumbled with his keys, dropping them three times before getting the car door open. Inside the hot, airless car, he leaned his head against the steering wheel and tried to think.

  Phil had called over two hours ago. He’d be confessing by now. What next? They’d come to the frat house looking for him, so he couldn’t go there. What next? Phil would take them to Lindsay’s body.

  He leaned back against the leather seat, not feeling the searing heat burn through his thin t-shirt. “Think, you stupid fuck!” He pounded on the steering wheel.

  His mind raced. What to do? The minute they find her body it’s all over. But what if there is no body? He forced himself to concentrate on that thought. No body. No crime.

  He checked his watch. He still had a chance. Slim, but better than none. He hadn’t come this far to give up now. He started the car and tore out of the campus parking lot. A few minutes later he was on U.S. 101, driving north.

  Once he topped the long grade going north out of Santa Lucia, it was only a few miles to the Santa Sicomoro exit. Like that other day, he was mindful of the speed limit. This was his last chance. If he blew it now because of a stupid speeding ticket, he would have to run for it.

  Jake glanced in his rearview mirror. No cops. A few more miles and he passed the general store and then the saloon where they had called the tow truck. He realized he’d missed the turn and drove past the saloon again and turned at the first road on the left.

  He’d been sitting in the backseat the last time he was on this road. What if I can’t remember? The pavement gave out to dirt and he pressed on. Ahead was a shallow creek bed. As the car dipped through it and began to ascend the other side, everything felt familiar. Jake could hear Lindsay’s voice in his head. “Please tell me what you want from me.”

  The hill was steep and he drove slow to avoid sliding out of control like the last time. “Gun it and get up this hill!” Erik ordered from beyond. Jake slowed instead. He crested the hill and remembered Phil stopping there, refusing to continue. As usual, Erik had controlled the decision and Phil had knuckled under.

  Jake saw the bend up ahead. “It’s just around that bend,” Jake whispered Erik’s words and felt a chill. He was sure he was close to the crash site. Halfway through the sharp curve, he pulled over, got out, and walked along the road, searching for flattened bushes and tire tracks. When he found the break, he listened for approaching cars. He went back to his car and drove half a mile past the break and parked out of sight.

  Staying alert to oncoming cars, he jogged back to the bushes and slid down the hill to the boulders that had halted Phil’s careening SUV.

  The grove was twenty or thirty yards from the rocks. He ducked behind the granite boulders and again listened. When he felt safe, he dashed for the trees. Near the edge of the forest, he crouched in a clump of sage to gain his bearings.

  “God, where is she?” Jake said, visually searching the area. He looked back to the boulders and mentally drew a line. “There.”

  He stepped out into the open and sprinted to the point of entry into the grove, then zigzagged through the dry leaves. He worried that if anyone were approaching from the road, they’d hear the crunch and snap of the dry woodland clutter under his feet from as far away as the boulders. And then he heard flies buzzing and his heart shifted to warp speed. He eased towards the sound and he picked up a rank odor mingled with the cloying, medicinal aroma of the eucalyptus. He recognized the sick-sweet smell from when he’d found a rotting cow carcass in a gully back home on the farm. He batted at the swarming flies as he bent and cleared the debris.

  Flies attacked his exposed skin and the fetor of decaying human flesh sickened him as he fought back involuntary gags. “I can’t do this!” He clamped a hand over his mouth. Hot vomit spewed through his fingers and dribbled down his forearms.

  He straightened and glanced wildly around. No one was coming. “I don’t have a choice.” He resumed the horrifying task.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” Lindsay murmured in his ear.

  “I’m so sorry. Never meant for this, Lindsay. I swear to God.”

  The red and yellow plaid blanket peeked through the leaves and the reek overwhelmed him. His stomach reeled and bucked, but he didn’t stop. He cleared the area around her body and saw the blanket had been chewed through in several spots. Her exposed feet had lost several toes to hungry woodland creatures. He shut his eyes and fought to regain control.

  It would be impossible to drag her body through the leaves, so he would have to carry her. Breathing through clenched teeth, nervous sweat stinging his eyes, he knelt beside her and slid his arms under her shrouded body. The jostling caused her fragile bloated corpse to sigh gaseous sounds as the skin split under the blanket. Wet, noxious body fluids seeped onto his bare arms. The blanket fell away from her once pretty face, now consumed by flesh-eating maggots.

  “Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!” he screamed over and over, as he jerked his arms away and fell backwards, clamoring away from the remains.

  Slimy, plump maggots squirmed over his arms and pants. Trembling violently and sputtering convulsive gasps, he swept them off while tiny, ravenous flies attacked his sticky flesh, digging at his eyes and crawling up his nostrils. His stomach shot its contents until he could no longer stand.

  “I have to do this. Please, please God, give me the strength to do this. It’s my last chance.”

  He crawled back to Lindsay.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Tuesday, May 21

  1996

  Following Phil’s confession, Officer Yee escorted him to a police car where they waited for Detective Yaeger. Several minutes later, she joined them, sitting in the passenger seat. Another squad car followed as they drove out of the station parking lot.

  Phil had already told them the route during his confession, so they rode in silence, occasionally broken by radio dispatches. He looked out the window, remembering the last ride north on 101 and wished he could go back in time and make different choices. If only he’d stood up to Erik and Jake the moment he saw them grabbing Lindsay at the school flagpole, he wouldn’t be leading the police to her corpse now.

  They took the Santa Sicomoro exit, and at the east end of the small town the county coroner’s van and two county deputies in a four-wheel drive SUV waited along the roadside. They pulled out as the squa
d cars passed by.

  Finally Angela said, “Up ahead is the Rusty Spur Saloon. Where do we turn?”

  Phil peered through the barrier separating him from the front seat. “Slow down. It’s just before the saloon, on the right.”

  “How far is it now?” Yee asked after making the turn.

  “We still got a ways to go.” Phil shuddered, realizing he was echoing Erik’s words.

  The asphalt ended, and they were driving on dirt. A few miles further, they passed through the creek bed.

  “We’re getting closer,” said Phil. “Keep going.”

  “This road’s in terrible shape.” Yee gripped the wheel. “Sure wish I was driving a four-wheeler like those deputies.”

  They reached the crest and Phil heard Erik’s voice in his memory. It should be just around that next bend up ahead. “There’s the bend in the road up ahead. Be careful,” Phil warned Yee, “it’s a really sharp turn.”

  She eased into the 180 degree turn. Angela found herself holding her breath, as she gazed fearfully over the edge into the steep ravine.

  Less than a minute later, he said, “I think we’re pretty close to where my car slid off the road.”

  Yee pulled to the side, and both women breathed a sigh of relief. They got out, leaving Phil locked in the car. The other vehicles parked and the Santa Lucia police officers joined them. Angela told them to find the location where Phil’s car had gone down. The two deputies from the county sheriff’s office, and the coroner and deputy coroner were approaching Angela when an officer called out. “Over here!” Approximately thirty feet away, a young male rookie stood pointing beyond the roadside. “All the bushes here have been crushed. I see tire marks in the dirt.”

  Angela told Yee to fetch Phil. When he was at her side, she walked him to the break in the bushes. “Is this the spot?”

  He answered through pressed, trembling lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Okay, everybody. Let’s go, but please take a wide berth and be mindful not to disturb the tire tracks,” said Angela.

  The coroner, Janet MacDonald, stepped close. “Steve and I will get our gear and meet you down there.”