Bad Debt (Savannah Martin Mysteries Book 14)

by Jenna Bennett

  More than once.

  Lupe Vasquez nodded. “We heard about it. This isn’t Hector Gonzales’s organization. It’s someone who moved into the vacancy after Hector’s organization blew up.”

  “Any connection?”

  She shrugged. “Could be. I doubt they swept up everyone who was involved. Especially on the lower levels.”

  Wonderful. A blast from the past. Just what we needed. Someone who knew Rafe and knew he’d been responsible for putting Hector in prison.

  I opened my mouth. He got in before me. Probably because he knew what I was thinking. “If it’s someone who used to work for Hector, chances are he’s gonna be pleased as punch he moved up in the world.”

  I closed my mouth again. Maybe so. “Can I at least come inside with you while we talk about the dog?”

  “Sure,” Rafe said magnanimously. He gestured me to go in front of him. I nudged Lupe Vasquez in front of me, and we headed up the steps in our little parade.

  We headed back out two minutes later. The woman we wanted to talk to, the one who had picked up the dogs from the crime scenes and who had told me about the dog fighting, wasn’t in the office. She was out in the car somewhere picking up someone else’s dog. A throwaway mention of dog fighting got us a blank stare from the guy behind the front desk. And nobody cared that I’d found Robbie Skinner’s dog. I’m not sure anyone knew it was missing. They certainly didn’t care that I wanted to keep it. I had expected to have to fill out paperwork, at least, but since the dog wasn’t in their possession to begin with—even if it had been, up until a few hours ago—there was nothing at all needed. All I had done, I was informed, was pick up a stray dog I had found in the woods, and I was welcome to keep it.

  So that was that. We went back outside, and congregated in the same spot between the two cars.

  “Sorry, darlin’,” Rafe told me.

  I shook my head. “No need to be sorry. I’m getting to keep the dog. And it didn’t even cost me anything. I just think the dog fighting angle needs to be looked into. That’s all.”

  “We’ll look into it.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “And the drug angle. Anything else you want me to look into while I’m at it?”

  “That’s probably enough. If I think of anything else, I’ll look into it myself.”

  That statement earned me a raised eyebrow, as I should have expected it would. Before he could respond, however, Lupe Vasquez opened her mouth. “That reminds me. After you left the police station, I found out from Detective Jarvis that the Odoms did talk to Chief Carter and suggest that Beulah Odom had been murdered by Yvonne McCoy.”

  I nodded. No surprise there. I’d been sure of it, especially after talking to Catherine and Yvonne over lunch. “It’s going to be hard to prove murder when the M.E. ruled natural causes, isn’t it?”

  “That’s why they’re digging her up to try again,” Lupe Vasquez said.

  My jaw dropped. “What?”

  “They’re...”

  I waved my hand. “Never mind. I heard you. They’re exhuming the body?”

  She nodded. “Chief Carter talked to a judge—not the same one who ruled on the competency question—and got a court order. Jarvis is headed to the cemetery at four this afternoon.”

  I glanced at my watch. It was almost that now. “Which cemetery?”

  She told me.

  “I have to go,” I said, making my way around the Volvo as I talked, my voice getting progressively louder the farther away from them I got. “Be careful when you’re talking to the drug dealers. Try not to get shot. I hope you discover something helpful.”

  I opened my car door.

  “Darlin’...” Rafe began.

  I waved at him. “Later. I have to call Catherine.”

  I started the car. He removed his posterior from the window. The last thing I saw as I zoomed out of the lot, was him wedging himself into the passenger side of the squad car. Apparently he was letting Lupe Vasquez do the driving. Good for her.

  And then I was on my way down the road toward Sweetwater while I fished for my phone. In the backseat, the dog snuffled questioningly.

  “Sorry,” I told it. “I was going to take you home and introduce you to my mother, but there’s something we have to do first.”

  Although, come to think of it, bringing a dog to an exhumation might not be the best idea. I tried to dislodge the mental image of the dog grabbing some leftover piece of Beulah in its jaws and taking off with it. As a result, I was grimacing when Catherine came on the line.

  “Savannah? What’s going on?”

  “They’re digging her up,” I said, as I steered the car with one hand and held the phone with the other. “They got a court order to exhume Beulah, and they’re digging her up at four.”

  “Four o’clock?” I imagined Catherine checking her watch. “Where are you?”

  I told her I was on my way back to Sweetwater from Columbia. “I can be at the cemetery in twenty minutes.” Just in time for the exhumation to start. “I know we can’t stop them, but I want them to know that we’re watching.”

  “Them?” Catherine said.

  “The Odoms. This is their idea. They’re trying to prove that it was murder, and they’re trying to pin it on Yvonne. We have to let them know that we’re on to them.”

  Catherine didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll call Yvonne and meet you there.”

  She was gone before I could say anything else. I dropped the phone on the seat next to me and floored the gas pedal.

  * * *

  For some reason—perhaps because she owned property in town—Beulah had chosen to be buried at the Oak Street Cemetery in Sweetwater, instead of somewhere in Columbia, where she lived.

  The cemetery on Oak is an old place, going back more than a hundred years. Several generations of Martins are buried there, while the generations before them—Caroline’s contemporaries and earlier—are in the private cemetery behind the mansion. Most recently, Dix’s late wife Sheila was interred at Oak Street, and a few years before that, our father was laid to rest here. It was also where Rafe’s mother LaDonna was buried last summer.

  I parked the car on the street and glanced into the backseat. The dog looked back at me, sort of hopefully.

  “I’m sorry,” I told it. “But I don’t think this would be a good stop for you.”

  I mean, I didn’t even have a leash for it. Or for that matter a collar. I’d have to find a store that sold those things. I suppose I could wrap a scarf around its neck and tie it, but Hermès would probably roll over in his grave if I did. So would my mother. And she wasn’t likely to be excited about the concept of the dog to begin with, Rafe had been right about that. If news reached her that my new dog had slipped out of its Hermès scarf and crashed an exhumation at the Oak Street Cemetery, I’d never live it down.

  No, much better to leave the dog in the car. Even though it could probably use a pitstop soon...

  Pitstop or no pitstop, I decided I couldn’t risk it. The dog would just have to hold it until we were done here. I couldn’t imagine it would take all that long. “I’ll try to be as quick as I can.”

  The dog whined, but didn’t try to clamber out of the car. I left the window cracked for it, and headed up the hill toward the newer part of the cemetery, the one farther away from the street.

  The Martin plot was quite near the street. There have been Martins in Sweetwater for more than hundred years, so we got first dibs when it was decided that everyone had to be buried in the public cemetery in town, instead of in the private one. I gave a nod to the family plot on my way past.

  The more recent burials were in the back, up and over the hill. I could hear the sound of heavy equipment as I climbed to the top, and once I got there, I could see a small backhoe digging into the ground.

  Catherine was standing halfway between me and the action. Yvonne must not have gotten here yet. She’d had farther to come than I had, so that wasn’t surprising.

  Closer to the backhoe stood a man
in a trench coat. He had dark hair, but that was all I could see. I didn’t recognize him. I did recognize the two women standing next to him. Mrs. Odom, in fur, and her daughter in cashmere. The latter’s high suede heels were sinking into the soft ground.

  “Detective Jarvis?” I asked Catherine when I reached her, indicating the man in the trench.

  She nodded. “Yvonne’s on her way. They didn’t waste any time.”

  No, they hadn’t. It was only a couple of minutes past four, and they had already reached the coffin. The backhoe drove to the side, and the guy inside grabbed a shovel and jumped down into the hole. He landed with a sort of hollow thud, and I winced.

  I’ve never been to an exhumation before. I’m probably not alone in that. And I’m not sure what I had expected—maybe something grisly, considering what was happening—but it was all very simple. The guy in the grave shoveled for a minute—clearing the rest of the dirt off the casket, I assume. They wouldn’t want to go too deep with the backhoe, for fear it might rip anything open.

  Then he handed the shovel up to a buddy, and the buddy reciprocated by handing down a couple of long straps. In a horror movie, they’d probably have been chains, but these didn’t rattle nor reflect the sunlight.

  The guy in the grave worked the straps under the coffin and then his buddy gave him a hand up. They arranged a metal frame around the grave, and attached the straps to it. And began winding the coffin up.

  By now Yvonne had joined us, clutching a soggy tissue. Her eyes were wet, and her lips trembled as she watched the casket come out of the ground. “This isn’t right. They shouldn’t be doing this.”

  No, they shouldn’t. I had a hard time wrapping my brain around how they’d gotten a judge to sign off on it under the circumstances, when there’d been absolutely no question of foul play.

  I didn’t say so, though. That would only make things worse. Instead, I put my arm around Yvonne from one side, while Catherine did the same from the other, and we watched the casket come into the sunshine before being loaded into a black hearse.

  The hearse drove away with Beulah inside, and the two guys got busy putting up a tent over the hole in the ground. There was no point in filling it in again, I guess, since they probably didn’t plan to keep Beulah out that long. Hopefully she’d be back in the ground sometime tomorrow, and wouldn’t be bothered anymore.

  The Odoms waited for the hearse to roll off down the hill, before they turned away from the grave. As soon as they did, they saw us, of course. Mrs. Odom’s face darkened, and she quickened her steps, stomping through the graves. She might even have stepped on a few. Next to me, Yvonne gulped.

  “What are you doing here?” She got all the way up to us, and leaned in, threateningly. It was kind of funny, considering that both Yvonne and I were taller than she was, and Catherine was at least as tall, and half her age.

  Yvonne opened her mouth to answer, and Catherine pinched her.

  “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t address my client directly,” Catherine said coldly. While she’s usually pretty easy-going, she’s our mother’s daughter, and can put on the lady of the manor act as well as the rest of us. “If you have anything to say, you can say it to me.”

  Mrs. Odom shot her a look that ought to have dropped her like a stone, but Catherine didn’t even flinch. Mrs. Odom changed from a full frontal attack on Yvonne to addressing all three of us. “You have no right to be here!”

  “It’s public property,” I pointed out. “My family is buried down there.” I gestured with my thumb over my shoulder. “And my mother-in-law is right over there.” I pointed in the other direction. LaDonna’s grave was visible from where we were standing.

  “It was a private occasion!”

  By now Detective Jarvis and Ms. Odom had reached us, as well. Ms. Odom took her mother’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Her mother twitched out of the grasp. “They shouldn’t be here! Can’t you arrest them?”

  This was addressed to Detective Jarvis, who turned out to be a stocky guy with slicked-back, black hair and a brown suit under the tan trench coat. He shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Odom. She’s right. It’s a public place.”

  “And we didn’t intrude,” Catherine added.

  “But we’re family! And they don’t have the right to be here. She—” Her eyes, small and brown like raisins, drilled into Yvonne, “killed my sister-in-law!”

  I could feel Yvonne flinch, as if from a blow.

  “Nobody killed Beulah,” I said calmly. “The M.E. already determined natural causes. Officers from the Columbia PD and the Maury County sheriff both saw the scene, and said there were no signs of foul play.”

  She didn’t respond to that, not that I had expected her to.

  “We all know what’s going on here,” Catherine added. “You lost the hearing yesterday, and with it your chance to get your hands on the restaurant. This is one more shot at that. And I have to say it’s a disgusting tactic. Not only to have your sister-in-law dug up, but to accuse an innocent person of having killed her.”

  Mrs. Odom bristled. “I don’t have to stand here and listen to this!”

  I’m sure we all looked relieved at that statement. Her daughter and the detective certainly did, and Ms. Odom went back to pulling on her mother’s arm.

  Mrs. Odom wasn’t willing to walk off without having had the last word, however. A couple of feet away, she turned and pointed her finger at Yvonne. It was tipped with a long, blood-red nail, and it shook, probably with anger. “They’ll discover that she was poisoned, mark my words. And then they’ll come for you. Don’t think you’re going to get away with this!”

  She whipped around and stalked off, fur flapping, only slightly hindered by the gravestones and the uneven, grassy ground. Her daughter hurried after her, and the detective held up the rear. He turned and gave us a long look before disappearing over the hill and out of sight.

  We stood in silence for a moment. I don’t know about the other two, but I needed a second to breathe. The vitriol that had pumped out of Mrs. Odom’s pores felt like it had poisoned the air around us. And anyway, as a conversation ender it was hard to top.

  “That’s not fair,” Yvonne said eventually, her voice uneven. “I was Beulah’s friend. They may have been family, but she didn’t like them, and they didn’t like her. They don’t have any more right to be here than I do.”

  “Of course not.” Catherine patted her arm.

  “She left me her restaurant. Not them!”

  “That’s right.” Catherine kept patting. She glanced at me.

  “They won’t get it,” I said. “Like Catherine said, this is just a desperate last ditch effort, since they lost at the hearing yesterday. And I think it’s horrible that they’re digging that poor woman up for no reason!”

  Yvonne’s eyes filled with tears.

  “I think it’s good that they are,” Catherine said. “This way, there won’t be any doubt. Let them check again. When the M.E. determines natural causes a second time, they won’t have a leg to stand on.”

  Maybe not. I suppose we might as well look at the bright side.

  Yvonne sniffed. “When do you think we’ll hear something?”

  “I don’t think we’ll hear anything at all,” Catherine said, and didn’t add, ‘unless they come to arrest you.’ Much better to leave that off. “I’ll have to find a source.”

  “Try Patrick Nolan.” She looked at me, and I added, “The Columbia cop Darcy likes. He and his partner picked up Yvonne this morning. And his partner just got attached to the Skinner homicides. She and Rafe are out there, talking to drug dealers. Nolan might be at loose ends, and be willing to talk.”

  Catherine arched her brows. “Maybe I’ll have Darcy give him a call.”

  “It couldn’t hurt.”

  “Meanwhile,” she turned to Yvonne, “just go on home and relax. I’m sure this will turn out to be absolutely nothing.”

  Yvonne nodded, but didn’t look convinc
ed.

  “I have to take the dog home to meet Mother,” I said, as we made our way over the hill and down toward Oak Street, “but let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  It would take my mind off Rafe and the possibility that he and Lupe Vasquez were running into holdouts from Hector Gonzales’s SATG.

  “Dog?”

  “Robbie Skinner’s dog. It ran away from Animal Control and came back to Robbie’s trailer. I found it there. Now I’m keeping it.”

  “What kind of dog? Not a purse pooch, I suppose?”

  Hardly. “I’m not sure exactly what it is. A pitbull, maybe? But no, it wouldn’t fit in a purse. It barely fits in the backseat.”

  “This should be good,” Catherine said.

  “Feel free to come home with me to see Mother’s reaction. I’m sure it’ll be worth the trip.”

  Catherine smiled, but shook her head. “I have a husband and three kids to get home to. Dinner to make and homework to help with. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She gave me a pat on the shoulder, and did the same for Yvonne, before she headed for the minivan parked in front of the Volvo. In the backseat of my car, the dog was pressing its nose to the crack at the top of the window. The glass was already streaked with what was either drool or snot.

  “Lovely,” I said.

  “What?” Yvonne answered.

  “Nothing.” The window could be cleaned. “I don’t suppose you know what Robbie called the dog?”

  Yvonne shook her head. “I don’t think he called it anything. It wasn’t a pet or anything. I’m not sure it had a name.”

  That figured. “I’ll find one,” I said. “Before I get to the mansion. I have to introduce it to my mother as something. And ‘Robbie’s dog’ just won’t cut it.”

  Yvonne smiled. At least I had accomplished that much. “Let me know if you hear anything. About the Skinners or about Beulah.”

  I said I would. And then Yvonne got into her little car and drove away, while I got into mine and greeted the dog. “I’m sorry. Not much longer now. I’ll let you do your business before I take you into the house to meet my mother. We want you to be on your best behavior when I do. Peeing on one of her antique rugs wouldn’t endear you to her.”