by Amy Vansant
She needed to go. She was pushing her luck lingering so long. Seamus would lose his mind wondering if she’d made it to safety. Who knew how long he could continue his charade? She knew his Irish charm had limits. Even a Leprechaun could only distract someone for so long.
She crept to the door and peeked outside. No one was in the hall.
Scurrying to the steps, she did her best to avoid the creaky spots and peered downstairs.
Seamus stood in the foyer below. He spotted her and motioned to the front door.
She nodded and ducked back out of sight.
Seamus’ voice soon reached her ears, sounding farther away than where she’d seen him standing. Charlotte reasoned he’d sneaked to the foyer to look for her and then returned to his place in the living room. It sounded as if he and Julia were watching television.
Seeing her chance, she bolted down the stairs as fast as she could without sounding like a herd of cattle and slipped out the front door.
On the porch she ran half way down the stairs and then jogged back up again. She pulled the key from her pocket and slipped it into the door lock.
It fit.
She tried to turn it.
Nothing.
It wasn’t the key to their front door.
That narrowed it down a million possibilities.
Chapter Seventeen
Gritting her teeth against the cold, Charlotte pulled off her socks and circled to the back of the Elder Care-o-lina, freezing mud squishing between her toes.
She found her shoes still stuffed in the corner of the porch where she’d left them. She slipped into them and glanced through the glass into the house. Seamus and Julia were on the sofa, watching a movie she recognized.
The Notebook.
That explained a little.
Something about Julia’s sitting position caught her attention and she stood on her toes to get a better view.
Julia’s hand was resting on Seamus’ knee.
Okaaay.
It was definitely time to go. She wasn’t sure how committed Seamus was to their plan and she didn’t want to know.
She ran back to the vacation house and, after throwing out her makeshift jacket and rinsing her feet in the bathroom sink, rejoined the party.
Declan seemed relieved to see her.
“You’re back,” he said, as she grabbed a deviled egg.
“I am.”
“I think they’re getting ready to leave. I was starting to panic.” He eyed her from head to toe. “You’re wet.”
“It’s raining.”
“True. That’ll do it. Did you find anything?”
“Maybe. I’ll tell you in a bit.”
“Where’s Seamus?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say taking one for the team.”
Charlotte reached for a cream cheese celery. She stared at the treat in her hand, recalling her time beneath Grace’s bed. Glancing to see if anyone was watching, she put the celery back on the plate.
Her plan had been to stuff her face and then probe Emmitt and Dinah for more information on Mr. Marino. As she set down the celery, Dinah stood and began her goodbyes.
Darn. Her lust for cream cheese had lost her the chance to interrogate the guests.
But more importantly, were they going to take back the uneaten deviled eggs?
“I’ll clean your dishes and bring them back to you,” said Mariska to Dinah.
Charlotte smiled. Mariska always had a ready excuse for keeping food. Offering to clean the guests’ dishes ensured that the eggs would stay with them.
Dinah and Emmett left amid a flurry of goodbyes and hugs. Most of the hugs came from Emmitt, who seemed extremely friendly and a little unsteady on his feet after his time visiting with the Bourbon Club.
“Where did you go?” asked Darla, poking Charlotte on the shoulder after the guests had left. With her other hand, she snatched a deviled egg from Mariska as she walked by with the platter.
Charlotte put her own hand on her midsection. “Had a little stomach issue.”
Darla arched an eyebrow as she bit into the egg. “I wonder why? I can’t believe there are any of these left.”
“I didn’t have that many deviled eggs. And please, my body is just dying for something not in the meat group at this point.”
“I think eggs are in the meat group,” said Declan.
Charlotte scowled. “I had celery, too.”
A wind whipped through the house and all heads turned as Seamus entered through the backdoor. He shook out his jacket, hung it on a peg and slipped out of his boots.
“Where were you?” asked Darla, carrying used cups into the kitchen.
“Went for a walk,” he said, without a moment’s hesitation.
“In this weather?”
He nodded and thumped himself on the chest with his fist. “Brisk. Reminds me of Ireland.”
He moved to Charlotte and Declan. “Hey. How’d it go?”
“Why do you look like you’ve been crying?” asked Declan.
Seamus sniffed. “Damn Notebook. Ending gets me every time.”
“You really have to find yourself some male friends,” said Charlotte.
Declan frowned. “What am I?”
“I mean besides his nephew.”
Seamus shrugged. “I can’t help it. I love the ladies.”
Charlotte smirked. “Looked like she loved you, too.”
“It was totally innocent. Sweet Julia just needed a little attention. A little human touch.”
Declan’s lip curled. “Ew.” He turned to Charlotte. “Can you say what you found now?”
“And change the subject?”
“Exactly.”
Charlotte fished for her phone as she told them how Emmitt was receiving checks for Mr. Marino, and that she felt sure he’d been dead for some time.
“So those body parts are his,” said Declan.
“Likely.” Charlotte manifested the photo of Mr. Marino on the beach and zoomed in on his tattoo. She moved to the butter-dish coffin, which had been artfully hidden from the guests behind a loaf of bread and a dishtowel. She compared the letters in the photo to those on the blob.
“It’s hard to tell. They’re so wrinkly. They seem pretty close...”
“Which are wrinkly? The letters on the blob or the ones on the old man’s chest?” asked Seamus, elbowing Declan in the ribs.
“Ow. Cut it out.”
“What are you three up to?” asked Carolina as she passed, carrying an empty plate to the sink. “Besides not helping to clean up.”
Charlotte closed the butter dish. “Nothing.”
Carolina glowered at them. “You’re up to something. You and your detecting.”
“What could they be detecting here?” asked Mariska, following close behind her sister with the remainder of the celery.
Carolina pointed. “There’s a dang finger in the butter dish, Mariska. That would be a good place to start detecting.”
“Did you happen to show our guests the butter coffin?” asked Charlotte.
“Oh lordy, no,” said Darla, chuckling. “I’m pretty sure Martha Stewart’s handbook has a whole chapter on never showing body parts to your guests.”
“Dead or alive,” mumbled Declan.
Charlotte covered the dish. “I’m sorry. Do you need help cleaning up?”
Carolina huffed a laugh. “The last time I pulled a fork from your kitchen drawer there was a piece of dried lettuce stuck to one of the prongs. I think we can handle this.”
Charlotte’s nose wrinkled. “Well, that’s embarrassing.”
Carolina winked at her and Charlotte left the kitchen on the off-chance they reconsidered her offer to help.
Declan and Seamus were sitting in the living room and she joined them.
“So what do we do now?” asked Declan.
“We don’t have proof that Marino is actually dead,” said Seamus.
“Unless you count a finger, an ear and a chunk of chest,” said Charlotte.
Seamus shook his head. “We don’t know that’s him and wouldn’t you know I forgot to bring my DNA test kit.”
“I think when people go missing and people parts start appearing, there’s a pretty good chance those things are related,” said Declan.
Seamus shrugged. “Maybe. From what you said, Marino might not be the only one, either. Or it could be the partner, James. They say he’s gone but maybe missing is more like it.
Charlotte nodded. Something about the resident’s rooms had struck her as odd. She hadn’t seen any personal items on the residents’ doors or on their nightstands—no drawings from grandkids or other things that implied someone might miss that person after they died.
“They might specialize in veterans who don’t have families, in order to more easily claim their benefits,” she suggested.
“That would be the way to do it,” agreed Seamus.
“Once the storm ends, the cops can DNA test the ear. Then we’ll know,” said Declan.
Seamus nodded. “In theory. But if Marino doesn’t have anyone missing him, they’d have nothing to compare the test to. No kids, no grandkids—”
“No hairs from his hairbrush. I’m sure all his stuff is long gone,” added Charlotte.
“Probably. Which means unless he was a criminal in his twilight years and already in the database, they’ll be out of luck.”
Declan frowned. “How can people be forgotten like this? Doesn’t the government check on people?”
Seamus shook his head. “Only family cares where you are when you’re old.”
“Sad.”
“Depressing,” agreed Charlotte. She slapped her hand to her pocket. “I almost forgot. I found this in Emmitt’s desk, tucked in a hidden compartment.”
She pulled out the key and held it out for the others to see.
“What do you think that’s for?” asked Declan.
“I don’t know. Not their front or back door. I tried.”
Seamus sat back in his seat, interlacing his fingers and resting his hands on his chest. “There’s another thing that’s eatin’ at me.”
“What’s that?” asked Charlotte.
“You found the finger in our trash. I found that tooth in our drain.”
“Cats didn’t do that,” said Declan.
“No. Which means—”
Charlotte finished his thought. “They’re using this house to cut up the bodies before ditching them somewhere?”
“Sweet dreams,” mumbled Declan.
Seamus sat forward again and plucked the key from her fingers. He stood and walked toward the front door.
“Come with me.”
Declan and Charlotte followed him into the foyer. Seamus went outside and shut the door behind him.
“Lock it,” he called back to them.
Declan locked the door. They heard the doorknob rattle and then the door swung open as Seamus reentered.
“It’s the key to this house,” said Charlotte.
“When no one was renting, this was the perfect place to cut up the body,” said Declan.
Seamus handed her the key. “This means they could have come here and chopped us up in our sleep at any time.”
Charlotte bit her lip. “Whatever you do, don’t tell the others; we’ll have a mutiny on our hands. They’ll be building escape boats out of the walls.”
“Is Emmitt going to miss that key?” asked Declan.
“I don’t know, but they’re not getting it back,” said Charlotte.
Seamus closed and locked the door as Charlotte’s gaze settled on the stairs. “I need to get that ear out of my bedroom and move it down here with the rest of the bits. Darla will kill me if she finds it up there.”
Seamus nodded and pulled the tooth he’d found from his pocket, still wrapped in its baggie.
“We’re going to need a bigger butter dish.”
Chapter Eighteen
Seamus lay in his little boy bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t stop thinking about the tooth he’d found in the sink. No one simply lost a tooth with that much gum tissue on it. Now that Charlotte showed him the key, he felt more certain than ever that their house had been used to dismember a body or two.
How hard could it be to prove it?
The neatest person in the world would have a hard time chopping up a corpse without leaving evidence behind.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bunk bed, Seamus dropped to the ground. He started out of the room and then stopped.
Should probably put on some pants.
Back at Declan’s house he had a tendency to walk around in his boxers, but there were ladies present here. He didn’t want to drive them all mad with desire.
Seamus donned a pair of sweatpants and trotted down two flights of stairs to the utility room. Upon reaching the bottom stair of the lower level, he flipped on the light.
A squirrel sat on its haunches in the middle of the room, staring at him. He held something small and fleshy in his little paws.
Seamus put his hands on his hips, happy he’d pushed off blocking the hole to the outside. He’d hoped something might sneak in again and give them the chance to follow it back to the body.
“So it’s you. You’ve been giving the cats a bad rap.”
The squirrel blinked.
Seamus bent forward. “What are you trying to hide in here today?”
The squirrel turned and bolted behind the water heater. Seamus ran after it, unsure what he would do if he caught it. He imagined catching a squirrel was like tackling a living food processor, buck teeth tearing at everything within reach.
By the time he reached the hole in the wall, the furry rodent was gone.
Thank goodness.
He didn’t really need to catch it. He needed to follow it.
Spinning a hundred and eighty degrees, Seamus snatched a flashlight from the workbench and bolted outside into the rain. The home’s outdoor lighting illuminated the back yard, most of which lay beneath several inches of standing water. The only dry area was near the house, so he scanned that area, suspecting the squirrel would avoid the water if it could.
He caught a flash of movement at the far side of the patio area beneath the second story porch and bolted in that direction.
Reaching the edge of the house, he found the area between their house and the Elder Care-o-lina spotted with sizeable puddles. In the ambient light cast by the security lamps, he watched the squirrel leap from island to island.
Seamus braced himself and jumped on to the nearest dry island, hoping the squirrel would lead him to its dead body buffet.
The rodent shot beneath an outdoor shower and disappeared. Seamus leapt forward, mud squishing between his toes. His right foot landed, but as he dragged his left beside it, he realized the first had continued to slide without his permission.
He felt his center of balance tilting backward, past the point of no return.
Shite.
He hit the ground hard on his back, muddy water splashing around and over him like a damp fireworks display. Panting in shallow breaths, he lay there as the rain pelted his face.
His first attempt to rise elicited a painful twinge in his back. He yipped and settled back to the ground.
A strange calm washed over him. Lying flat and still in a mud puddle in the rain was much like meditating, but for the throbbing pain in his back.
Tilting his head to the side, he raised his flashlight and shone it under the outdoor shower. He could see where the wood had been chewed away on the opposite side, creating a makeshift door that lead directly into the Elder Care-o-lina.
The squirrel hadn’t led him to the body. He’d led him to his other hiding spot.
He switched off the flashlight and lay in the dark, thinking.
Unless...
Unless the body was in the Elder Care-o-lina.
With a cacophony of grunting and groaning, he struggled to his feet and hobbled back to the house. In their own outdoor shower, he rinsed off,
gritting his teeth to keep from screaming at the cold. The water felt like ice pellets striking his naked torso and he released a string of profanities beneath his breath—some familiar, some invented—all carrying the proper import.
With stiff, freezing fingers he wrung out his shirt and re-tied his wet sweats as they fought to drop to his ankles. Having hips or a butt would’ve come in handy for keeping his soggy drawers around his waist, but he hadn’t had either of those things in a long time.
Wiping his eyes and face he went inside. The wet sweats clung to his legs, their clammy death grip making it difficult to move. Unable to bear the feel of them a moment longer, he untied them and let them drop to the ground with a wet slap. His boxer shorts traveled along with the sweats.
He noticed someone had brought the box of contractor bags downstairs. Grabbing one, he ripped a hole into the sealed bottom and poked his head through it.
The “hem” of his makeshift dress came to the middle of his thigh.
He shrugged.
Short hemlines are in this season.
He found an old hand cloth and dried the flashlight as he clomped to the main level. The flashlight had been the object of his desire all along, before he’d been distracted by fuzzy rats.
Flipping on the light in the kitchen, he moved to the computer hutch and opened a drawer to retrieve a roll of clear packaging tape he’d noticed there earlier. He tore away a piece with his teeth and pasted it over the head of the flashlight. Taking a blue Sharpie pen from the desk drawer, he colored the tape. He repeated the process with another piece and another after that.
He switched on the flashlight to be sure he hadn’t missed any spots and then turned off the lights.
Walking to the sink, he shone the blue light on the floor and counters. The white of the cabinets glowed beneath the beam.
Uh oh.
“What are you doing?” said someone.
Seamus turned the flashlight in the direction of the voice. Declan stood at the edge of the kitchen, eyeing his uncle’s trash bag dress.
“What the heck are you wearing?”
Seamus lifted the flashlight to his face, knowing his makeshift UV light would make his teeth and eyes glow.
“You’ve officially lost your mind,” said Declan, flipping on the lights.
