Small Town Trouble

by Jean Erhardt

  “Something like that,” I said.

  “Doesn’t this mean you’ll have to reopen the investigation?” Amy said.

  “So far, all this means is that I’ve got a dead stripper on my hands.” Chief Cokie said, staring down again at the lifeless body. “Shit. Guess I’d better get some backup out here.” She pulled out her portable radio.

  “Uh, excuse me, Chief,” I said, “That wouldn’t be backup as in Officer Mike, would it?”

  “Actually,” she said turning to me, “he’s got the night off. What’s it to you anyway?”

  “Did you happen know that he was dating her?” I said, pointing down at the corpse.

  A sickly look came over Chief Cokie’s face. Slowly, she lowered her radio. “Her?”

  Amy and I nodded.

  “How do you know that?” We told her.

  “Keep talkin,” she said and we did until she’d heard everything we knew.

  “Shit,” she said again, and sighed heavily.

  Then she called for backup, minus Officer Mike, and reholstered her radio.

  “I’m gonna lock you two in the back of cruiser while the boys and I have a look around,” Chief Cokie said.

  “Are we under arrest?” Amy said.

  “No, you’re gonna be locked in back of the cruiser,” she said as she practically shoved us into the rear of her car. “Think of it as a safe little cocoon,” she said, and slammed the car door on us.

  The cops combed the area, and because we had no choice, we cooled our jets in the back of Chief Cokie’s police car. The backup boys had brought a dog along, but he seemed more interested in peeing on the tires of Amy’s Lexus than looking for bad guys.

  “They’re not going to find squat,” Amy said, slumped in the seat next to me.

  Unfortunately, it looked like Amy might be right.

  The coroner came and went. We watched them load the gruesome body bag into the meat wagon. We watched the police dog pee on the meat wagon before it pulled out.

  “I wish I had a cigarette,” Amy said.

  “I wish I had a poison pill.”

  It was after two AM when Chief Cokie finally came back to the squad car. She swung open the door on my side.

  “Everybody happy?” she said.

  God, she was a stitch.

  “Ecstatic,” I said.

  “Did you find anything?” Amy said.

  “Yeah, a lot of nothin’.”

  “Big surprise,” Amy mumbled.

  “Did you say something, Mrs. Smith?” Chief Cokie said. Amy made a snotty face.

  “Are we free to go now?” I said.

  “Make me a little promise first?” said Chief Cokie. Reluctantly and somewhat petulantly, we nodded like school kids who’d been called to the principal’s office.

  “Promise me that you two will go straight home and then first thing tomorrow, you’ll hurry down to the station. I’m sure I’ll have a few more questions for you by then.”

  Questions. Everyone had them, but nobody had answers.

  Chapter 41

  Amy and I piled into the Lexus and got the heck out of there before Chief Cokie changed her mind and carted us downtown to spend the night with Rick Rod. “Would you think I was a big baby if asked you to stay with me tonight?” Amy said.

  “Of course not.” I’d practically been reduced to thumb sucking myself. Besides, spending the night, or more accurately, what was left of it, with Amy didn’t exactly sound like torture. “In fact, it’s a good idea.”

  We ran by my mother’s house first. I wanted to make sure that everything was A-OK at Tara, that Evelyn was safely tucked in and locked up for the night. I also wanted my toothbrush and my teddy bear.

  I left Amy in the car. I let myself in, crept upstairs and peeked in on my mother and found her and Bunky in bed snoring up a storm. All was one at Tara.

  I left a note on the kitchen table saying that I’d be spending the night at Amy’s, and I’d call in the morning. Before leaving, I checked to make sure that all of the doors and windows were secure and I locked the front door behind me.

  “This really is sweet of you,” Amy said, killing the engine.

  “Listen, any night I don’t have to sleep with a foul-smelling Pekingese is my good fortune.” Could I sweet talk or what?

  “It’s nice to know I rate over a stinky dog.”

  “Well, you know what I mean.”

  The Tudor was lit up for nighttime and it glowed like a show home in a glossy magazine. I was glad I wasn’t paying the electric bill, or the mortgage.

  “What are the chances that Dr. Smith might make a house call tonight?” I’d already had about all of the excitement I could handle for one evening.

  “If he does, I’ll shoot him,” Amy said as she unlocked the front door.

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  We stepped inside and Amy punched in the alarm code, disarming the system. The little blinking light went from red to green.

  “I don’t think I’m quite ready for sleep yet,” Amy said. “How about a drink?”

  “Excellent idea. Maybe something medicinal, like whiskey and a glass?”

  Amy grinned a weary, beautiful grin. “Perfect.”

  She showed me into the well-appointed living room and said, “Make yourself comfortable.”

  I took a seat on the lovely floral print couch, and she went to the antique mahogany bar and got two glasses and a bottle of Maker’s Mark. I could see that Amy’s bar was a lot more impressive than A.C.‘s. Of course, the bar at the bowling alley was more impressive than A.C.’s.

  She dropped a couple of ice cubes in each glass and poured two healthy drinks and carried them over. She handed me mine, kicked off her shoes and took a seat next to me on the couch. There was probably no appropriate toast for an occasion like the one we had on our hands, so we just went ahead and drank our late-night libation.

  The Maker’s Mark went down warm and smooth like the fine Kentucky whiskey it was and it was medicine. In no time at all I was feeling almost human again. I was actually starting to relax a little and it looked like Amy was, too. She was stretched out on the couch with her feet in my lap. She had cute little painted toenails and a very nice pair of legs which were scratched here and there from our woods romp the night before.

  “This is some house,” I said, and it was. The furnishings and ambience were a well-conceived blend of modern and traditional, kind of like Amy. Every room I could see was adorned with fresh flowers and real art. The house reeked of money and taste, an all-too-rare combination. Nancy Merit would go apeshit over this place.

  Amy yawned. “It’s okay,” she said, like she was bored with the house. Probably sharing it with the dentist had taken some out of the thrill out of it. He could probably ruin living in the White House.

  If Amy thought this joint was just all right, I’d hate to think how she’d rate my mobile home, but it didn’t really matter. I liked my doublewide, and that’s was all that counted. Lately, I’d been feeling a little lonesome for the trailer and I knew I’d feel a lot better once I was parked safely back inside of it, God willing.

  Amy yawned again. “What’s your place like?”

  “Well, it’s nothing like this, of course, but it’s nice and roomy, sort of a blend of modern and traditional.”

  “It does sound nice.”

  “Did I mention that it’s a doublewide trailer?”

  Amy leaned up and stared at me. “You’re making that up.”

  I just smiled back at her. This was as good of a place as any to change the subject. It was obvious that I wasn’t going to impress her with my custom floor plan.

  I had Amy’s cute little naked feet in my lap and I was all warm inside from the whiskey and just starting to fantasize about the as yet unannounced sleeping arrangements, when, abruptly, Amy sat straight up.

  “Did you hear something?” she said.

  “No.”

  “I thought I heard something.”

  “Like what?”
/>
  “Shhh. Listen.” I did, intently, but I didn’t hear a thing except the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the mantel. We sat there in the uneasy quiet, exchanging only eye contact. Finally, Amy leaned back. “Guess I’m hearing things.” She picked up what was left of her drink and finished it off. Then she set her glass back down on the table.

  “Maybe it’s bedtime,” she said.

  “Maybe so.”

  “Well, you’ve got two choices.” Amy swung her feet to floor. “You can sleep in my bed, or not.” She was certainly direct. I admired that. More people should try it.

  But before I had a chance to fully admire Amy’s directness and mull over my bedtime choices, we both heard a distinct crashing sound coming from somewhere in the house.

  “Shit,” Amy said, scrambling to her feet. “Where’s my purse?”

  I hopped up from the couch, and we both looked around frantically, but her purse was nowhere in sight.

  “Where is it?” Amy said, tossing couch cushions. Then she dashed into the adjoining dining room and kept up her frenzied search.

  I sprinted to the foyer. Maybe she’d put it down on our way in. I quickly scanned the entry, but came up empty-handed. This was bad time to be coming up empty-handed.

  The crash sounded like it had come from the basement. I knew that the best plan was for us to stop hunting for a missing gun and hit the door full-speed, vacate the Tudor pronto. I had my hand on the front door, but I couldn’t go without Amy.

  “Amy!” I shouted. “Let’s get out here. Now!” I waited a beat, but no Amy. “Damn it, Amy! Come on!”

  Still, no Amy. Obviously, she was totally focused on getting her hands on that damn gun.

  Fear and frustration went head-to-head, wrestling like black angels inside of me, but I didn’t have time for fear or frustration. We had to go. I was sure that there was little or no discretionary time left. We had to leave the house now.

  “I’ll drag you out of here if I have to!” I spun on my heels, hot to make good on my threat.

  “Good evening, Ms. Claypoole.”

  I’d been hoping that I’d never hear that voice again as long as I lived, but unless I was hallucinating, I was most assuredly hearing it again and it was coming from somewhere uncomfortably close, as in right behind me. I finally knew what it meant to feel your blood run cold. In my case, it was running ice cold.

  Slowly, I turned all the way around.

  Chapter 42

  It was hard to believe that things could go downhill from there, but they did. In fact, they went way downhill.

  Amy’s eyes were about the size of small planets. Maybe it had something to do with the butcher knife at her throat.

  “Or should I say good morning?”

  He was dressed in all black. He wore black gloves and a black ski mask with those hideous little holes for the eyes and mouth. I wasn’t positive, but he looked about Officer Mike-size.

  “Run, Kim!” Amy cried suddenly. Then Amy started to scream, but he quickly covered her mouth with his gloved hand.

  “You run, I cut her throat.” I couldn’t help but notice that he’d dropped the Nightmare on Elm Street voice, but in any voice, I never would have doubted his intentions for a minute.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”‘

  “What a good friend you are.” He seemed to relax some. “Now, why don’t we all go into the living room and get comfortable?”

  Amy squirmed bravely, but he shook her hard, like a rag doll. His rough handling left a bloody cut on Amy’s neck. Freddy Kruger had nothing on this guy. He motioned for me to go ahead of them and I complied. With his free hand he shoved me into a wing chair next to the fireplace, and he pulled Amy down on the couch next to him. It was real comfy all right.

  “Darn it,” he said. “I didn’t wanna have to kill you girls, too, but you didn’t listen to me, did you?”

  I said nothing and Amy didn’t have a choice. He still had his black glove over her mouth and I could tell that she was having trouble breathing.

  “The others, they had to die, but not you and Cutie Puss here, but I can’t feel too bad about this. You brought it on yourselves, now didn’t you?”

  We had nothing to lose at this point. It was desperate measures time. I thought I’d play a quick round of Twenty Questions with him and any other party game I could think of, anything to stall the inevitable. Hell, it might even make for a nice diversion until he made us both into Hooker-Handy Funeral Home material.

  “So, why’d you kill Jimmy Jacobs?”

  “I already told you. I had to.”

  “Why? What did he do to you?”

  “Well, if you must know, Jimmy Jacobs tried to blackmail me. Fuckin’ greaseball wanted in on my action.”

  His action? What action?

  “Go on, I’m a great listener.”

  Apparently, he needed a great listener. He went on. “You see, darling Charlene told Jimmy Jacobs a little too much, but, hey. That was my fault. I got sloppy with the pillow talk.” He shook his head. “Happens to the best of us. Ask JFK.”

  Amy squirmed and he shook her again. “Feeling feisty, are we?”

  “Go on.” I desperately wanted to get his attention off Amy.

  “You see, Ms. Claypoole, I was misled. I really thought I meant something to Charlene, but I was a dirty trick, just like all the rest of ‘em. Oh well,” he shrugged. “She got hers.” She certainly had.

  “What about my cousin Abbott?”

  “Ah, I feel a little bad about that, but I was still hurtin’ over Charlene dumpin’ me like she did, then I see her out with Abbott one night and for all I know, she’s blabbed to him, too, and well, I guess I just lost my head.”

  I wasn’t ready to bring up the missing dicks quite yet. So I took a left turn.

  “Who’s Larry White?”

  He chuckled like the demented party clown he was.

  “You’re a smart girl, aren’t you? You got all the right questions.”

  Amy’s eyes rolled around in her head. She gasped for breath.

  “You think you could give her some air?”

  “Oh,” he said, taking his hand away, “I’m so sorry. Was I suffocating you?” Then he laughed again like a sick hyena while Amy gulped for air. “Now, keep your fuckin’ mouth shut and you’ll get to breathe a little while longer,” he said. Then his eyes shifted back over at me. “I’m sorry. Where were we?”

  “Larry White and the land deal. What’s the angle?”

  “You think I’m gonna tell you everything?”

  I shrugged. “Why not? You’re gonna kill us anyway.” Amy shot me hostile look. I guess I didn’t really need to remind him.

  “You know what? I think it’s time we got down to business.” Then he yanked the knife up under Amy’s chin. “Don’t you think so, Cutie Puss?”

  It was up to me. I had to do something fast, but what?

  Keep distracting him, said the voice in my head.

  “I guess you’re the boss,” I said to him, “but first, why don’t you stop acting like a chickenshit?”

  “A chickenshit?”

  “Gee, it’s no wonder Charlene dumped you.”

  “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Look at you. What’s with the mask? Why don’t you stop hiding? Be a real man for once in your life.”

  “Listen, bitch,” he said, pointing the knife at me. “I am a real man.”

  “Then prove it, Officer Mike.”

  It was morosely quiet. Not one of us moved a fraction of an inch. I was sure that I’d shoved him over the line. It was all over now. It was curtain time for Amy and then I’d get my turn, but he started to laugh. He laughed and he laughed until I didn’t think I could stand it any longer.

  “What so fucking funny?”

  “Sorry! That guess is incorrect, but thank you for being such a good contestant,” he said like a deranged game show host. Then he yanked off his mask.

  Chapter 43

  You could have
knocked me over with a finch feather.

  It certainly wasn’t Officer Mike. It was Mayor Scotty Mink.

  “Surprised?” he said, a grotesquely goofy, psychotic grin on his face.

  But Amy was trying to catch my eye. She was trying desperately to tell me something. Something about my feet?

  “Scotty Mink! Wow! How’d you do that?” I was trying to kill more time.

  Keep distracting him.

  What the hell was Amy trying to tell me anyway? She kept frantically eyeing my feet. Was she trying one last time to get me to make a run for it?

  Scotty Mink ran his gloved hand through his hideous pile of oily hair. “You know, before I kill you girls, I think I’ll just show you what a real man I am.”

  He moved the knife to the front of Amy’s shirt and started to slice it down the middle. Desperately, futilely, Amy tried to squirm away.

  Adrenaline spoke louder than logic. I sprang to my feet and started to go for him, but just as I did, I felt the heel of my shoe hit something at the edge of my chair. Then it hit me. Quickly, I reached down and grabbed for Amy’s purse. There it was. I’d been practically sitting on it all along.

  “Hey,” Scotty said, pointing the knife my way. “Sit tight over there.”

  But it was too late. I’d already worked the gun out of the purse. I let the handbag fall to the floor.

  “Drop the knife, Scotty. Let her go,” but he just grinned at me like a full-tilt maniac.

  “Afraid not.” He put the knife back to Amy’s throat. “You drop the gun or say good-bye.”

  It was now or never. Like Amy had said, you pull the trigger.

  I did.

  I’d never done much target shooting, so I wasn’t sure if I was any good at it, but I knew that I’d hit Scotty Mink and I’d missed Amy, and that was good enough for me. The bullet ripped into his shoulder, knocking him backwards. The butcher knife went spinning and skidding across the hardwood floor. Scotty grabbed for his nasty wound and howled with pain. I figured his right shoulder now looked like an unattractive cut of beef. Amy scrambled out of his reach and dove for the knife. He cursed and made a lunge for her, spilling the coffee table and sending our drink glasses flying. I fired again, but missed and hit the coffee table instead.