The dog didn’t answer, but it did wedge its head between the seats to snuffle.
“We’ll have to stop somewhere and get you a collar and a leash and some food, too. I should have thought of that when we were at Robbie’s place. Although the sheriff probably wouldn’t have let me take anything out of there, even if it was just dog food. Can’t mess with the crime scene.”
And by now, there was nowhere to stop between here and the mansion. Nowhere that sold dog food and paraphernalia.
The dog licked my ear. It was wet and weird and made me jump. Not at all the same thing as when Rafe did it.
“OK. Don’t do that again. That’s strange.”
The dog subsided. Instead, it sat down in the backseat and panted.
“I’m sorry you had to wait,” I told it, as I turned the key in the ignition. “But this was important. These people are way too desperate to get their hands on that restaurant. There has to be something more going on. Maybe the land is worth money.”
It probably was, come to think of it. The cities are expanding all the time. Nashville south toward Columbia, and Columbia south toward Sweetwater. In fifty years, all of Middle Tennessee might look like Los Angeles. And a plot of land right on the Columbia Highway might be worth plenty.
“I should check with city planning,” I continued, as we pulled away from the curb, “and see if there’s anything being built in that area. Maybe that would account for it.”
The dog bobbed its head. It wasn’t a nod, but I decided to take it that way.
“I’m glad you agree. Here’s something else that bothers me. Digging up a dead relative is a pretty big deal. Even if it’s a relative you don’t like and have never been particularly close to.”
I thought for a second and added, “Hell—heck—digging up anybody is a big deal, whether it’s a relative or not!”
The dog bobbed its head.
“I keep thinking about that last thing she said. Mrs. Odom. That they’d prove Beulah was poisoned, and Yvonne wouldn’t get away with it. How can they be so sure she was poisoned? I mean... if someone killed her, it probably was with poison. That makes sense. The sheriff said there were no signs of foul play, and the police would have noticed if she’d been strangled or hit over the head. But there are drugs you can give people that look like natural death. Especially if they’re taking drugs anyway. And Beulah was taking insulin shots every day. What’s another puncture mark?”
Nothing anybody would notice, most likely. Not if she was giving herself shots once or twice a day anyway.
“So if she was murdered, she was most likely poisoned. But how would they know that?”
I looked at the dog in the mirror. It wagged its stub of a tail encouragingly. I felt like a slow student finally catching on.
“Unless....”
The dog barked. I fished out my phone and dialed Rafe.
Seventeen
“I dunno...” Rafe said. “That’s a pretty big leap, darlin’.”
“Not that big. You didn’t hear her. She said they’d prove that Beulah was poisoned, and you could tell she absolutely believed it.”
“That don’t mean they killed her,” Rafe said. “It could just be they think they know something they don’t.”
Of course it could. But... “You didn’t hear her. And anyway, it makes sense.”
“How’s that?”
“They want her restaurant. Maybe her house, too, although they can’t have that. I’m sure they don’t want to take on the Diabetes Association. But taking on Yvonne, that’s a different story.”
He had no answer to that, so I continued. “They probably figured that if Beulah died, they’d get it all. They may not have known about the will. They weren’t close, so she probably wouldn’t have told them, and it wasn’t at her house. The sheriff said he found it in the safe at the restaurant. So even if they looked for it in her house—sometime when she wasn’t there, maybe—they wouldn’t have found it.”
“So now you’ve got’em breaking and entering, too?”
“What’s a little B&E if you’re planning murder?”
He didn’t answer, so I went on. “They were the only family she had. It made sense for them to think, if she died, they’d inherit. And they might have needed money. Yvonne mentioned that it was Otis who made the money. When Otis died and the money stopped coming in, they may not have adjusted their lifestyle to account for it. So they were living high on the hog.”
“Yvonne says.”
“Yvonne knew Beulah,” I reminded him. “Beulah probably said so. And they thought, if Beulah died, they’d get the restaurant and the house. They could sell the house and get some cash that way, and they could keep running the restaurant. Or maybe the land is valuable. I have a hard time imagining them getting their hands dirty actually slinging hash at a meat’n three.”
Rafe grunted. It might have been agreement, or maybe just a noise to make me go on. I went on.
“Beulah was taking lots of medicines anyway. Pills and injections. Nobody would notice another injection mark. And there are lots of ways to kill someone.” As he himself had said not too long ago.
“I gotta agree with you there,” Rafe said dryly. “But if you can’t imagine them getting their hands dirty serving food at a meat’n three, can you really imagine them committing murder?”
There wasn’t much I’d put past Mrs. Odom, to be honest. But he had a point. “How about this? Remember when Yvonne said Darrell Skinner had hooked up with some woman in the Pour House up in Thompson Station?”
“Sure.”
“What if that woman was Ms. Odom? The daughter. Thompson Station is on the way to Franklin, and the Odoms live in Franklin. What if Ms. Odom was slumming and hooked up with Darrell? And talked Darrell into killing Beulah?”
“It’d take more than sex to get Darrell to commit murder,” Rafe said.
“Are you sure? They were growing pot and running dog fights. How principled could he be?”
Rafe sounded amused. “It ain’t about his principles, darlin’. He didn’t have none. It wasn’t the murder he’d object to. But he’d wanna get paid.”
Ah. “Well, then, maybe she paid him. Maybe that’s why she was there in the first place. To find someone willing to kill her aunt.”
There was a momentary pause. “I could see it,” Rafe admitted. “So what are you saying? That the Odom women killed all the Skinners to make sure nobody talked?”
“You tell me,” I retorted, as I pulled the Volvo into the driveway up to the mansion. The dog panted in the backseat. “If Darrell got paid for killing Beulah, would he have told his brothers?”
“Prob’ly. Not like they were gonna turn him in. Money’s money. And they weren’t too particular about how they got it.”
No, they hadn’t been. Between the dog fighting and the marijuana, it seemed like murder might not have been outside the realm of possibility.
“So whoever paid Darrell to kill Beulah, might have been worried enough to kill all the Skinners.” Or all the Skinners old enough to talk. The baby had been spared, since it knew nothing.
“Might could,” Rafe admitted. “If they weren’t willing to take care of Beulah their own selves, I can’t see’em executing seven people in cold blood, though. Can you?”
I couldn’t. “Maybe they have an accomplice. Someone else who killed the Skinners.” I pulled the car to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.
“Why didn’t that someone kill Beulah, then?”
No idea. But he was right. If the Odoms had an accomplice who’d be willing to kill all the Skinners, they wouldn’t have needed Darrell’s help in the first place.
“Can you at least think about it?”
Rafe told me he would.
“So how are you two doing?”
“Fine. We’re trying to find somebody to talk to. But nobody wants to talk to us. Can’t imagine why nobody’d wanna talk to a cop in uniform and a special agent. Can you?”
“Maybe you should ditc
h the squad car and uniform, and come borrow the Volvo.”
“I love you, darlin’,” my husband told me, “but your car’s no better than this one. If I had your mama’s Cadillac, that might make a difference.”
“You can ask her if you can use it. She’ll probably let you.”
“I appreciate the thought. But I’m not taking your mama’s car into places where it might get shot at.”
“You’re going to places you might get shot at?” I hadn’t realized places like that existed in Columbia.
“The car,” Rafe said. “Nobody’s gonna shoot at us.”
Sure. “You’re being careful, right?”
“Always.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m home now. I’m going to let the dog out of the car to pee, and then take it inside to meet my mother. I want to make sure it doesn’t pee on her rugs.”
I could hear the smile tugging at his mouth. “Sounds like a good plan.”
“Any idea when you’ll be home? Or back here?”
“Can’t tell you right now. But I don’t think it’ll be as late as last night. Don’t hold dinner, though, We’ll grab something while we’re out here.”
“Good luck,” I told him. He wished me the same, and I hung up. And went around the car to open the door for the dog. It bounded out and over to the grass, where it squatted. I was pretty sure that meant it was a girl dog, but I bent over as best I could to peer at its underside anyway. Just as mother opened the door.
“What are you doing?” Her voice changed. “What is that dog doing on my lawn?”
The word ‘dog’ carried the same inflection as if it had been ‘snake’ or maybe ‘weasel.’
“Peeing,” I said, straightening up and putting a hand to my lower back. Moving was getting harder and harder. “It’s my new dog. Its name is... um...”
Mother’s brows rose.
“Fine,” I said. “It’s so new it doesn’t have a name. Its previous owner didn’t name it. I guess he didn’t see it as worthy of having a name. It’s coming back to Nashville with me and Rafe. In the meantime, it’s going to have to stay here. It probably won’t be for more than a day or two. Rafe has some very good leads on the Skinner investigation.”
If I did say so myself.
Mother contemplated the dog, which was now nosing around the bushes in the flower bed. “Pearl.”
“Pearl?” Of all the names I might have thought she’d come up with, that hadn’t been on the list.
“I had a dog named Pearl when I was little,” Mother said. “She was a white Chihuahua.”
“Does that look like a Chihuahua to you?”
“It’s white,” Mother said.
“More gray.”
“Light gray. Dappled.” She shook her head. “You can call it anything you want.”
“Pearl is fine.” Not what I would have picked—I was leaning toward Killer or Xena, Warrior Princess—but if Mother was getting into the game and not telling me I couldn’t keep the dog, I was willing to give her the name she wanted. And give the dog my mother’s choice of name. “Is it OK if she comes inside? I can put her in the carriage house if you’d rather.”
“Of course she can come inside,” Mother said. Without a single demur. I wanted to ask who she was and what she’d done with my mother, but I decided it was better not to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth. Hopefully the dog—Pearl now—would behave inside, and so wouldn’t be banished to the carriage house later.
I got her attention and waved. “Come on, Pearl. Let’s go inside.”
I doubt the name made any difference, and she probably didn’t understand what I was saying, but she trotted up the stairs behind me. Her nails clicked on the hardwood floors in the foyer. Mother winced, and then straightened her face. “You might consider taking her to see a veterinarian. If she’s been living outside, she might need special care.”
She might, at that. “The clawfoot tub upstairs is pretty deep. Would it be OK if I gave her a bath?” If her nails needed trimming, the vet could do that tomorrow. But at least she’d be clean.
“Of course,” Mother said. “I’ll find some old towels for you.”
She clicked off down the hallway on her heels. The dog contemplated her, but didn’t follow. Instead it—she—looked up at me. “We’re going upstairs,” I said. “To take a bath.”
Her stub of a tail wagged.
“Do you know what a bath is? I hope so. If not, you’re in for a rude awakening.”
She didn’t say anything to that, but after I’d hung up my coat and taken my booties off, she trotted beside me up the stairs and down the hall to the bathroom.
I filled the tub with warm water and suds from the shampoo bottle. We didn’t have any dog shampoo, so human products would have to do. Hair is hair, I figured, so it would probably be all right, at least this once. Tomorrow, when we went to the vet, I’d find out. But it probably wouldn’t hurt the dog to be bathed with my mother’s Acqua de Parma shampoo for once.
The dog contemplated the tub and the water. I contemplated the dog. “I didn’t really think this thing through very well, did I?”
The dog probably weighed about as much as my mother. There was no way I could pick her up and put her in the tub. The dog or my mother. And there was definitely no way I should try, in my condition. A pity Robbie’s dog hadn’t been a Chihuahua like my mother’s.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to get in?” I asked Pearl. “The water’s nice and warm. And you’ve been living outside a long time. I’m sure you’d like to get clean.”
Pearl looked at me.
“I’m afraid I can’t get you in there. If you want to get in, you’re going to have to do it yourself. I can try to help.” Although she didn’t even have a collar I could hold on to. And it wasn’t like I could grab her by the ears or tail and guide her into the tub. “I should have thought of this. Maybe we should take a shower instead. Maybe that would be easier.”
I could get under the spray with the dog and wash her. The biggest danger would be her knocking me into the wall. Or biting, I suppose. But I wouldn’t be hurting the baby by trying to lift her.
The bathroom door opened, and Mother came in, bearing a stack of last year’s towels. She took in the standoff and tsked. She put the towels on the vanity and moved past the dog to the tub. “Come on. In.” She slapped the inside of the tub with her hand. Her wedding band clicked against the enameled cast iron of the old clawfoot.
The dog contemplated her with its head tilted.
“You can do it,” Mother told it. “Come on.”
The dog gathered itself. I could see the muscles in its hind quarters bunching. It jumped and landed in the tub with a splash that sent soapy water three feet in the air, splashing over the sides of the tub in a flood. Mother squealed as she got soaked. So did I.
Pearl stood in the middle of the carnage with water and bubbles up to her belly, wagging her tail. Every time she hit the bubbles, a few of them flew into the air.
“Good girl,” Mother choked out. “That’s a very good girl.”
Her hair was plastered to her skull and her eye makeup was smeared. I’m sure I didn’t look much better. Mother gave me a look. “She’s in the tub. Would you like to bathe her now?”
“I guess I’d better.” My voice was uneven, but I managed to keep from laughing outright. “Thanks for the towels.”
“Don’t mention it,” Mother said and stalked out. I could hear her heels clicking down the hallway in the direction of the master bedroom and bath, and her own, this-year, extra fluffy towels.
There was no point in me drying off since I was only going to get wetter, so I rolled up my sleeves and went about washing the dog. And while I won’t claim to have done a particularly stellar job—it was my first time—she smelled better coming out than she did when she went in. I rubbed her ears with suds, and did the best I could with the snout, and rinsed her off with the handheld shower. She must have enjoyed it, or at least not minded too much, b
ecause she stood still for all of it, aside from wagging her tail and panting. It looked almost like she was smiling.
I pulled the plug from the tub, and as the water level sank, I was faced with the same problem as before, in reverse: in this case, how to get the eighty-pound dog back out of the tub so I could towel her dry.
Or maybe it would be better to towel her dry inside the tub, so she wouldn’t track water everywhere...
No sooner had the thought crossed my mind, than Pearl leapt. She scrambled across the edge of the tub, skidded on the wet tile floor, and banged into the sink vanity. It took her a second to get her bearings after that, and then she shook. Water sprayed everywhere. It was like taking a shower.
I shrieked. Pearl took one look at me and headed for the door Mother had left cracked open.
“No! No!”
I threw myself at her—Pearl—with a towel. She evaded the first time, but eventually I got her tangled up in the towel, and proceeded to rub her dry while I crooned at her. “That’s a good girl. Just a little bit longer. We’ll take care of you. Once you’re clean and dry, you can come downstairs and find something to sleep on. Like a nice rug or a pillow or something. But first you have to be dry. My mother will kill me if you shake all over Great-Aunt Ida’s loveseat. She seems to like you—and I’ll admit I’m a bit surprised by that—but she would not be happy if you ruined the heirlooms.”
The dog stood still, tongue lolling, while I did my best to rub the water from her coat. As soon as I let go, she was out the door like a shot. I could hear her nails skidding on the floor, and then the sound of her paws bounding down the stairs. Then there was the same scramble on the floor of the foyer, and the bounding of paws toward the kitchen. I didn’t hear my mother scream, so the dog must have stopped short of running into her.
I hung the towels to dry and took myself off into my own room to put on dry clothes. Everything I had on, all the way down to my bra and panties, was wet.
By the time I got downstairs, the dog was sitting on the kitchen floor, its short stub of a tail brushing back and forth. Its eyes were fixed on my mother, who was standing at the stove stirring something in a pan. It smelled good, whatever it was. I peered in. And recoiled.
Bad Debt (Savannah Martin Mysteries Book 14) Page 19
