by Amy Vansant
Charlotte took a step back to better focus. Declan smelled like mint and expensive aftershave. It was not unpleasant.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“You called me. Then you sort of phased out.”
Watching him approach outside, she’d guessed Declan to be about six feet tall. Now, to scale with the other things in her home, including herself, she decided he might be closer to six-three. She wondered if he liked being that tall or if it made life difficult. Sitting in plane seats was probably uncomfortable, his knees pressed against the seat in front of him; but on the other hand, he had full access to high cabinet shelves, where most people could keep things only rarely used…
“You did it again,” said Declan.
Charlotte refocused.
“What? I did what? Called you or phased out?”
“Phased out.”
“I did not.”
“Did not, what? Call me or phase out?”
“Either.”
“Yes, you did. Both. The phasing bit you did twice.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Declan opened his mouth and then shut it. He took a deep breath.
“Let’s take this from the top. You just came in the front door, right?”
Charlotte looked back at her front door and then crossed her arms across her chest. She added a slight head tilt and twisted her lips, adopting what she would call “the disapproving parent” stare. This con man was not about to convince her that she had called him to her house. Who did he think he was? Who did he think she was, that she would fall for such a scam?
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Answer me first. You just walked in, right?”
She thought about her answer, concerned it was a trap. She couldn’t find the harm in responding.
“Yes.”
“And you said ‘Declan’ right?”
Charlotte’s scowl released like a spring trap, her mouth forming into a small ‘o.’
“Oh, you mean I called you…”
“You called me. Right. By name. See? Unless I’m not Declan anymore and, well I can check my driver’s license…” he twisted his body, pretending to reach for his wallet.
“No, no. I see what you’re saying. I did say your name.”
“Told you.”
“I thought you were saying I called you to this house. Like on the phone.”
He stopped pantomiming the move for his wallet and grinned.
“No worries,” he said, leaning forward and lightly tapping her shoulder.
She instinctively jerked away from his touch. Declan registered her flinch and pulled back his hand, smile failing for a nanosecond. He ran his shoulder-tapping hand through his hair.
“How did you get in here?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean why did the officer let you in here?”
“I told her I was I was a consultant.”
“A consultant of what?”
“She didn’t ask.”
Charlotte scowled, remembering the officer’s giggle. Abby wasn’t the only crappy watchdog.
“Anyway…” he said, drawing out the word to fill the awkward silence. “I know you didn’t call me here. This was a false alarm. I figured when I saw the crime tape, but I thought I’d double check.”
“False alarm?”
“Oh, sorry.” He held out his hand to shake. “I’m Declan, as you know. I own the Hock-o-Bell Pawnshop in town.”
Charlotte shook his hand.
“Did you say the Hock-o-Bell?”
Declan adopted a serious countenance, so serious, it bordered on sadness.
“It’s named after my dear, departed mother, the Belle of Swansea.”
Charlotte squinted. “Really?”
“No. Just kidding. It’s a play on the restaurant. I just moved the shop to an abandoned Taco Bell.”
Declan pulled his wallet from his back pocket and retrieved a business card. He handed it to her.
She studied it and then put it on her counter, mumbling, “Make a run for the hoarder.”
She smiled at the look of surprise that leapt to his face. It was if he’d just noticed her standing there. She felt like she’d been in a movie starring Declan, until she’d diverted him from his scripted lines. He seemed lost.
“That’s funny,” he said. “Make a run for the hoarder. Can I steal that?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure it’s me you need to clear it with.”
Declan replaced his wallet and thrust his hands in his pockets, still grinning and staring at her. Charlotte found it unnerving. Her eyes darted to Abby, who lay at his feet, her chin resting on his toes.
Traitor.
“Anyway, false alarm,” said Declan. “I come around when the, uh, residents…you know…move on. But this fellow apparently passed a long time ago. Just as well.”
“What do you mean, just as well?”
Declan made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “There isn’t anything of value here. It’s practically barren. It looks like a dorm room. Like some kind of crazy professor off his meds lives here.”
“Hm,” said Charlotte, following his gaze as it swept her home. She’d never noticed how empty it was. Stacks of books leaned against the walls and against each other. Two short sofas with different patterns, a table, and a rickety dining room chair were the only pieces of furniture. She made a mental note to write decorate on her chalkboard wall.
She looked at the strapping gentleman insulting her abode. She could feel a scowl creeping down her forehead, but was powerless to stop it.
“So you swoop in when old people die to buy their worldly possessions for your shop.”
Declan winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I actually pay good money for good items. There are vultures around here who do try to steal what they can, but I always try to be fair. That’s why they call me Fair Declan!”
“They do?”
“No. But they could.”
“But they wouldn’t because it isn’t very catchy.”
“No, not really.”
He stared at her again. His head tilted to the right.
“Wait. How did you get in here? Are you visiting your grandparents? Oh no…is this their house?”
Charlotte shook her head.
“Whew,” he said, putting his hand on his chest. “Thought I might have put my foot in my mouth there for a second.”
She said nothing as he awaited his answer.
“So… What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I live here.”
“In the area?”
“In the house,” she said sweeping her arm towards the living room. “Home, sweet dorm room.”
Declan screwed his eyes shut as if in pain.
“You live here? You can’t possibly be over fifty-five.”
“No, I grew up here. I’ve been grandfathered in, so to speak.”
“Are you a professor?”
“No. I just like to read.”
“Are you off your meds?”
Charlotte glowered at him.
“Sorry. Kidding. Jeeze. I really am sorry. I didn’t—I mean, it’s a nice house. Uncluttered. Furniture is over-rated.”
“Uh huh.”
“I apologize for any and all misunderstandings,” he said, clapping his hands together. “I feel as though I’ve overstayed my welcome and I’ll be on my way.”
He thrust out his hand to shake again. “Nice to meet you.”
Charlotte was trying to decide whether to shake his hand or flip him off when one of the officers from the backyard dig entered and allowed her to keep her lady-like air.
“Hey Declan, you’re still here,” said the deputy, smiling and wiping his sweaty brown on his sleeve. He gave his belt a hard yank to pull it over his belly.
“Yeah, Daniel, I was just heading out.”
Charlotte looked at the deputy and then back at Declan, her hand now enveloped in his. E
veryone seemed to know the handsome pawnbroker. Maybe Deputy Daniel tipped him about deaths in the neighborhood. Declan probably had dinner with the ambulance drivers every Thursday. He was a ghoul. He made his living from the death of her friends.
“We were just saying we had something for you,” said the deputy, holding aloft a plastic evidence bag.
“Oh yeah?”
He gave Charlotte’s hand one last short shake before releasing.
“I mean, if it wasn’t evidence,” said Daniel. “We pulled a necklace from the bone pile.”
The officer held up the bag for Declan to see. Inside, Charlotte saw a sunflower, attached to a gold chain. Even with dirt caked to the delicate petals, the bright yellow and orange enamel glowed in the sun streaming through her front window.
“Think it’s worth anything?” asked Daniel.
Charlotte’s lip curled.
“Daniel, really,” she said, but the deputy didn’t acknowledge her statement. He didn’t shift his stare from Declan.
“What is it?” he asked. “Declan? Are you okay?”
Charlotte followed his gaze and saw the blood had drained from the pawnbroker’s face. Declan swallowed and took a step forward, his arm lifting to touch the bottom of the evidence bag. Daniel released the sealed bag into his open palm. Declan stood, staring at the necklace, his thumb moving the bag against the flower to remove more dirt from the petals inside.
Pale, he looked at the deputy.
“I know who she is,” he said.
“You recognize the necklace?” Charlotte asked.
Declan nodded, his eyes never leaving the bag.
“I gave it to her.”
Chapter Four
“You look like you’re going to fall over,” said Charlotte.
“I have to see,” Declan said, pushing past the deputy and walking towards the back of the house. She followed, with Daniel close behind.
Declan open the backdoor and the three of them filed out onto the screened-in porch.
“Whoa whoa,” said another deputy. “Declan, I told you, you can’t come down here. You’ll contaminate the area.”
“Dick, I think that’s my mother,” said Declan.
Charlotte gasped.
“They said the bones were ten years old,” said Charlotte. “Your mother died when you were…”
“Twelve. Fifteen years ago. And she didn’t die. She disappeared. We never knew what happened.”
“Well, you can’t come down here right now, Declan,” said the officer. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing to identify, just bones. You’ll have to go to the station and then you can tell us everything you know. What makes you think it’s your mom?”
“The necklace,” he said, holding up the bag. “I gave my mother this necklace for her birthday, not long before she went missing.”
“What are you doing with the bag?” Dick shot Daniel a dirty look and snatched the bag from Declan.
“Sorry,” said Daniel. “I had to give it to him. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.”
“Where is Sheriff Marshall?” asked Charlotte.
She hoped Frank might let Declan closer to the body if she asked. After all, she’d given him a coffee mug beer and mowed his tiny patch of lawn for years as a teen. Without her, who would point out on a daily basis that Sherriff Marshall was ridiculous and clearly he should have become Marshal Marshall? He’d stolen from her the boundless joy of greeting him with “Marshal Marshall Marshall!” in her best Jan Brady imitation. He owed her a favor or two.
“He left, ma’am, and I’m in charge,” said the reedy officer. He had a humorless disposition. Charlotte wondered if the female officer in her front yard was his sister.
Declan craned his neck from the porch, doing his best to gain a bird’s eye view of the excavation. Most of the bones still lay half-buried in the dirt. The body lay flat on its back, head missing. Nearby, the skull sat in a clear plastic bag. The jawbone was in the bag as well. Katie had lost all her trophies.
Dick opened the door to the porch and ushered Declan and Charlotte back into the house. Daniel followed them.
“I want them out of the house,” said Dick to his partner. He looked at Charlotte and Declan. “Go get a cup of coffee or something.”
“It’s my house!” said Charlotte, feeling Dick was trying too hard to live up to his name. She’d met him when he was a brand new deputy, green as the sexiest M&M. She’d watched him drop his gun while trying to spin it on his finger like a gunfighter. He had a lot of nerve pretending he was large and in charge now.
“This house wasn’t even built when she was buried. There aren’t any clues in here.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to have to keep an eye out for you.”
“Fine, Deputy Dick,” said Charlotte. “We’ll go. Just don’t try and do any fancy tricks with your gun while we’re gone. I don’t want holes in my walls.”
Dick pressed his lips into a hard white line and pointed towards her front door.
That’s right. You remember now. I saw.
Declan’s face was still ashen; his eyes seemed vacant.
“Declan,” she said, softly touching his arm. “Let’s go. We can go to Mariska’s. She’s like my mother. Okay?”
Declan nodded and allowed himself to be led from the house. Charlotte paused to clip a leash on Abby and then navigated them past the female officer. She wasn’t surprised to find the ladies still gathered near her gate. Charlotte caught Mariska’s eye and motioned to her. Mariska nodded and waddled in fourth gear to catch up to them. She had bad legs, so at that pace she looked like a hyperkinetic penguin racing after the last mackerel.
“They kick you out, dear?” asked Mariska as she grew near. “I don’t know who they think they are. Was it Dick? He’s not the sharpest cheese in the refrigerator, that one. They don’t think you have something to do with the body, do they?”
“No, nothing like that. They just want the house clear while they finish up.”
“You didn’t kill that lady who cut your car off the other day, did you?” asked Darla, chuckling as she, too, arrived at Charlotte’s side.
Declan looked at her.
“I think it’s my mother.”
“Oh,” said Darla, covering he mouth with her hand. “Oh, my. Oh, I am so sorry. I should know better than to joke about something like this. Oh, I feel terrible.”
“Declan, this is Mariska and Darla,” said Charlotte stopping to point to each in turn.
He shook their hands. “Declan Bingham.”
“Is your door unlocked?” Charlotte asked. “I think he should sit down for a bit.”
“Yes, yes.” said Mariska hurrying to open the door.
They went inside. Mariska’s pound mutt, Izzy, ran up to greet them and Charlotte had to scramble to unclip Abby’s leash before they all became entangled and fell to the ground like hog-tied calves. Released, the two dogs raced around the house together, narrowly missing furniture and knees. Part Dalmatian, part rat terrier and part wildly over-fed, Izzy looked like a black-speckled body pillow with radar dishes for ears.
Charlotte walked past the kitchen counter to the living room and motioned for Declan to sit in a large, cushy La-Z-Boy chair. Every house in Pineapple Port had running water, electricity and a La-Z-Boy with the shape of the man of the house worn into it.
“Can I get you something Declan?” asked Mariska, tight on their heels. “Water? Milk? Soda? Tea?”
“No, thank you,” he said.
“Juice?”
“No.”
“Do you have any coffee left?” asked Darla.
“I do. Let me brew you a fresh pot. Declan, I have coffee and some milk. It’s two percent…or creamer…I have hazelnut creamer.”
“No, thank you.”
“What about a donut? I have donuts. Oh! I have some wonderful muffins from Publix. Do you want a muffin? Blueberry?”
“Have you tried their pineapple coconut muffins?”’ asked Darla. “They are to die. Simply to
die.”
“I haven’t! I’ll have to get some. That sounds wonderful.”
“No, nothing, thank you,” said Declan.
“Or corn muffins…I might have corn. No… No, I think Bob ate the corn muffins with the chili last night… Oh! Cinnamon apple! I do have a cinnamon apple…”
“No, thank you.”
“I could cut a banana. Or I—”
“Mariska!” said Charlotte. “He doesn’t want anything!”
“Okay.” Mariska looked around her kitchen. “I have some leftover chicken…”
Charlotte shot her a look and she shrugged.
“Well, I do,” she mumbled.
Mariska went to the coffee pot and dumped that morning’s remains into the sink to start afresh. She didn’t like to drink coffee more than three minutes old, and she didn’t expect her guests to have to put up with nonsense like that either.
Charlotte removed a fake cat from a nearby chair and sat down. The cat was black and white and curled in a ball as if sleeping. Declan looked the cat as she set it on the floor.
“That is terrifying,” he mumbled.
“I know. I can’t tell you how long I’ve begged her to get rid of it. Used to give me nightmares.”
Declan offered a half smile and rubbed his face with his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m acting crazy. It was just a shock.”
“I can’t imagine! Did you—never mind.”
Charlotte shook her head and waved her hands to say she was dropping the question.
“What?”
“Nothing, I…I was going to ask if you’d thought she was still alive. Before today.”
Declan sighed. “I don’t know. I guess part of me thought she was. Honestly, now I’m not sure if this is better or worse. It hurt to think she ran out on us. Now I know she didn’t leave on purpose, but she’s dead. Part of me hoped she was living a happy life somewhere.”
Mariska slipped a small plate on the table next to Declan’s chair.
“It’s sharp cheese and pepperoni and crackers,” she whispered.
Charlotte growled.
