“Hal, you don’t actually have a thing for Vaslilssa, do you?”
“Oh, honey, I couldn’t afford the food bill,” Hal said. He slung an arm around Sadie’s shoulders and they entered the store together.
Chapter 8
As they had in Atwood, the occupants of the store came to a standstill and stared at Sadie and Hal in silence.
“Can they smell Atwood on us or is this a customary greeting in Virginia?” Hal whispered.
Finally a cashier spoke. “Y’all reporters?”
Sadie opened her mouth to answer and closed it again. If she had her way, she would pretend to be a reporter and use it as an opening to question everyone. She had handed the reins to Hal, however. Even though she hadn’t intended him to take point for the entire case, Luke’s goading had worked to make her prove that she could give up control once in a while. She trusted Hal. Mostly.
“No, I’m the one who discovered the dead body,” he said.
There was another silence as people began creeping closer to hear his story. They looked more like employees than customers. As far as Sadie could tell, they were the only non-workers in the store.
“What’d it look like?” the cashier asked.
“Are you familiar with the lard rendering process?” Hal asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “No.”
“It’s best you remain that way,” Hal said.
“How’d you find it?” The man who asked the question wore a blood-soaked smock. Either he was a butcher, or he was a killer looking for trade secrets. Sadie hoped for the former.
“I was doing some investigative work in the area when I stumbled across it. I followed my nose. It was like the world’s worst Fruit Loops commercial,” Hal said.
“What kind of investigative work?” the cashier asked.
“I can’t say—professional ethics—let’s just say it was big, bigger than any case I’ve worked before. And now I have a murder to solve.” Hal was being uncharacteristically brash. Sadie wondered what his angle was before she remembered that she had told him the people here respected authority. Obviously he was setting himself up as the world’s greatest detective, and it was working. The group gathered tighter as if one of them might reach out and touch the hem of his coat soon.
“But they say Tom did it. I heard they arrested him,” the butcher said.
“Do you think he did it?” Hal asked. His head tipped to the side, expressing his earnest curiosity. The butcher puffed importantly and cast his eyes heavenward as he thought.
“Well, Tom’s got a mighty temper, and he’s the head of our local law. It’s possible he might have killed before. Lots of people have come up missing and everybody knows they was probably murdered.” “Everybody” came out sounding like “everbody.” Did people believe they were saving time by cutting syllables from words? Sadie wondered what they did with all the extra milliseconds mispronunciation bought them.
“Course, it could have been Fiona,” the butcher added. Around him, people began to shift their weight and glance off into the distance as if uncomfortable with the butcher’s pronouncement.
“Why Fiona?” Hal asked. This time Sadie was glad he was the one asking the questions. She wasn’t sure she would be able to keep the emotion out of her voice. Just because Fiona was large, did that make her a likely suspect? She liked her employer and didn’t appreciate anyone besmirching her.
“There’s bad blood between Fiona and Johnny’s grandma, Shirley,” the butcher said.
“Why?” Hal asked, but the butcher clammed up. He shrugged and now it was his turn to let his eyes wander, the universal signal for “I’ve said too much.”
Hal glanced at Sadie, silently asking where to go from here. She linked her arm through his and smiled at the assembled group. They were far more likely to blab one on one. She scanned their faces to see which had the most to say.
“We need to pick up some things, and I’m craving something sweet. Which way to the bakery?” she asked. The tiny crowd broke up, coming to attention as a unit as if they had suddenly remembered that they were supposed to be working.
“This way,” a woman spoke. Unlike the others, she was wearing a floury nametag that read, “Dusty.” She led them to a baked goods section. Sadie gave Hal’s arm a squeeze and let it go under the guise of inspecting the tiny bakery section. She wasn’t one for sweets, and she thought Fiona could probably out-bake anything the store had to offer, but she browsed the selection anyway, comparing blueberry and bran muffins as if it mattered which one she chose.
Hal started to talk. He was good at probing people, at getting them to open up and making them feel important. Not only did he ask a lot of questions, but he actually listened to the answers. After a few minutes of chatting, they had learned Dusty’s entire life story. She had lived in Bateman all her life, knew everyone, wanted to escape but never got away, had two kids immediately after high school, and was dumped by both their fathers, whom she called “no-good, down-low,” and a few other choice expletives.
The fathers of her children didn’t pay child support. Hal spent a few minutes sympathizing with the sorry state of family law for a while and then effortlessly transitioned the topic. “Did you know Johnny?” he asked.
“Everyone knows everyone here. There aren’t very many of us, and most of us have lived here since the Pilgrims. We’re bluebloods,” she added, cackling a little at the joke she had probably said hundreds of times. There was more than a trace of bitterness in her tone, as if she resented the fact that her family came over on the Mayflower and ended up in Bateman instead of Boston.
“What did you think of him?” Hal asked.
Dusty shrugged. “He was all right. He got away for a while, then he came back real uppity like. He had some fancy job for a while, but I guess he must have lost it if he came back. No one comes back to Bateman if things are going well.”
“Do you believe that Tom killed him?” Hal asked.
“Everyone knows Johnny and his gang robbed Tom’s place all them years ago. It would make sense if Tom finally got his revenge. I woulda thought he woulda hid it better, though.”
“What was that part about bad blood between Fiona and Johnny’s grandma?” Hal asked. His tone and smile were conspiratorial. Come on, we’re good buddies, and it’s just between us. He rested his elbow on the bakery counter to further the effect.
Dusty looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “There were rumors about Tom and Shirley. Shirley’s a waitress at the diner. They say that’s what broke up their marriage.”
Poor Fiona, Sadie thought. She had let Shirley sit in her living room, all the while wondering if the woman was having an affair with her husband. Hal glanced at Sadie to see if she had any more questions. Sadie settled on a container of blueberry muffins and smiled. “These look delicious. Do you know Bo? Tom’s worker?”
“Know him? I dream about him practically every night,” Dusty said with another cackle.
Sadie blinked at her. “You find Bo attractive?”
“Don’t you?” Dusty asked.
“I can’t tell what he looks like behind the beard,” Sadie said.
“The beard is part of the appeal. He’s mysterious and sexy.”
“Do you think it’s possible that he might have killed Johnny?” Sadie asked.
Dusty shrugged. “Maybe. Who cares? I’d still let him have a shot at being my third baby daddy.”
That piece of information gave Sadie a clearer perspective on why baby daddies one and two didn’t pay child support. Picking men was apparently not Dusty’s forte. “You said Johnny’s gang robbed Tom. Who was in the gang?”
Dusty pressed her lips together and darted another furtive glance. “You didn’t hear this from me, okay?” Hal and Sadie nodded. “It was Argus McGee, the sheriff’s son.”
Bateman had one bar, an outcast among the upstanding and family-friendly establishments. It sat at the end of the main street, which for some reason was not called
Main Street; it was Second Street, although Sadie never saw First or Third. “We need to go there tonight,” Sadie said.
“Absolutely,” Hal agreed. “Detecting is hard. Time to give it up and pickle our livers.”
“Not exactly,” Sadie said. “But it is time to turn over a few rocks and see what scurries out.”
“Speaking of which,” Hal said as Luke and Vaslilssa emerged from the cheese house. Under Luke’s arm was the largest wheel of cheese Sadie had ever seen. It spanned the length of his torso; he could barely contain it.
“That should be enough to last until you get back to Atwood,” Sadie said. “Maybe.”
“Can I catch a ride?” Hal asked. “I was thinking I should get my car in case I need to leave before Sadie is finished. I can make it back tonight before the rendezvous.”
Luke shifted the cheese to his left arm and settled a worried frown on Sadie. “I could stay until Hal gets back.”
“How would you get back to Atwood when Hal returns?” Sadie asked.
“I could stay here until you’re finished. I don’t like this,” Luke said. To his left, Vaslilssa began picking at the wax on the outside of the cheese.
“Luke, you should go,” Sadie said. “I’m fine, and I don’t want Abby to be alone.”
“Gideon is there,” Luke pointed out. “And my parents.”
“It’s not the same,” Sadie said. “I would feel better with you there to take care of her. And I’m fine, really. You should go.”
“Something doesn’t feel right,” he said.
“Could it be the fifty pounds of cheese dislocating your shoulder?” Hal guessed.
For once, Sadie was more touched than annoyed by his concern. Probably because he was leaving. “You might be the only scientist in the world who relies on gut instinct.” She leaned forward on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I’m fine.”
Vaslilssa shifted possessively, took the cheese, and cradled it close like a baby.
“You always say you’re fine, but you rarely are,” Luke said.
“I think she’s fine,” Hal said. “Better than fine. Practically a superhero.” He gave her shoulders a one-armed squeeze.
Luke shot him a look of annoyance but didn’t comment.
“My cheese is going to melting,” Vaslilssa announced.
“Let’s go,” Sadie said. She waved them toward the car. “You can drop me at Fiona’s and be on your way.”
Luke sighed, the same sigh he used whenever he capitulated and wasn’t happy about it.
After an argument over whether or not the cheese wheel deserved its own seatbelt, the ride to Fiona’s house was silent.
“I’ll be back as soon as I get my car,” Hal said. “Don’t go to you-know-where without me.”
“Why are you speaking in code?” Luke asked.
“You wouldn’t approve,” Hal said.
“How do you know?” Luke asked.
“Because you never approve,” Hal said. Sadie exited the car. They continued bickering as they drove away. Fiona’s car—an antiquated Ford pickup—wasn’t in the drive. Sadie let herself in with the key Fiona had given her that morning. Her skin prickled, alerting her to the fact that someone was in the house. There was no sound, no smell, no movement, but still she sensed that she wasn’t alone.
A slow scan of the quaint living room showed her no one was in there. Unless he was a leprechaun, no one would be able to fit behind Fiona’s wing chair, and the couch backed up to the wall. On the far side of the room was a closet. She crept to it, opened it, and peeked inside. It was empty except for a few coats, hats, and gloves.
Next she searched the kitchen, but it was similarly a tiny and poor hiding spot. That left the bathroom and three bedrooms at the end of the hall. She crept toward the bathroom, hugging the wall with her back. The small closet was filled with shelves and unsuitable for hiding. She skipped it and peeked behind the curtain in case the intruder was a Hitchcock fan. The shower was empty. Next she went to her room and stood on the threshold.
Someone had been in the room. Since finding out that Ben had repeatedly stalked her by sneaking into her room to watch her sleep and touch her things, Sadie had become adept at memorizing exactly where everything was when she left a space. Perhaps she was paranoid, but she had taken to setting little traps for any would-be peepers. This morning when she left, she had placed a nail file on the edge of her bag of toiletries. It was now on the dresser. She had also left an unused tissue draped over the edge of her suitcase, half in and half out. It was now crumpled in her suitcase, which was slightly askew, and off somehow. Whoever looked through her things had been careful and thorough in his or her attempt to put things back together. Maybe if she hadn’t learned to be so observant in recent weeks, she wouldn’t have noticed. As it was, she felt exposed, and that vulnerability made her angry.
That was why she didn’t sneak to the closet. She marched forward and flung it open. “You might as well come out,” she called, but no one was there. The closet was filled with a few of Fiona’s odds and ends and a tiny suit that looked like it probably belonged to either Tom or a ventriloquist’s dummy. She slammed the door with a huff. Whoever it was must have come and gone. Unless it was Fiona. Would she do that? Sadie hated to have such an unkind thought toward her employer, but the truth was that she barely knew the woman. That morning she had learned that Fiona had a reason to hurt Johnny. Had the whole thing been a ruse to frame Tom and get her revenge on Shirley in one fell swoop? Was Fiona that devious? That seemed far-fetched, but what did she really know about the woman other than that she loved pumpkins, cooking, and needlework? Maybe turnabout was fair play. Maybe a search of Fiona’s things was needed to allay any suspicion. Distasteful as it may be, it would rule her out as a suspect so Sadie could focus on other people. Like Bo and Argus McGee, the sheriff’s son. She hadn’t yet had time to digest that interesting tidbit, but she certainly intended to.
Her mind was intent on the question she would ask Argus when she stepped into the hall and was quickly barreled back again. A body landed on hers, flinging her hard against the floor. Her head bounced twice on the braided rug, but what bothered her more was the pinning of her arms and legs, cutting off all hope of escape.
Chapter 9
Bo peered down at her, his weight crushing her chest, his beard tickling her chin. She struggled, but to no avail. He was bigger, stronger, and already on top of her. The advantage was his in every way.
“What do you want?” she asked, but he didn’t answer. He simply stared at her, eyes narrowed on her face as if trying to read her. Sadie didn’t want him to see who she really was, so she did what she did best; she put on a show. She let her eyes fill with tears that overflowed. “You’re hurting me,” she mumbled, turning her head to the side as if embarrassed by her tears. He didn’t loosen his grip, at least not at first. And when he did, there was hardly any slack. Not that she tested the bonds. No, for now she needed to bide her time and build some trust.
“Who are you?” he asked at last, and Sadie’s tears almost became real as relief flooded through her, threatening to overwhelm. If he wanted answers, she would give them. Questions were a much better prospect than anything else.
“Sadie Cooper,” she said.
“Not your name. What are you doing here?”
“I came with my cousin. He was investigating Fiona’s pumpkins,” she said.
“Cut it,” Bo said. He tightened the hold on her wrists again and banged them painfully into the floor. “Tell me the truth.”
“Fine. Hal’s a doctor, and I’m an investigator,” Sadie said. She added a tremble and sniffle for effect and he loosened her wrists again.
“What are you investigating?”
She couldn’t stop herself from giving him a brief, defiant stare. “I told you. Fiona hired me to look into her pumpkins.”
He gave her the look again, the one that tried to read her soul. She didn’t look away because she had nothing to hide, at least not on this point
. The grip on her wrists slacked infinitesimally. She resisted the urge to wriggle. “You really came here to look into those stupid pumpkins,” he said.
“They’re not stupid to Fiona, and my business is new. I needed the work.”
He laughed, a humorless bark that was at odds with his serious, angry expression. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” she asked. Her pertinence earned another tightening of the wrists.
“I’ll ask the questions,” he said.
Sadie’s temper was boiling, her patience running out. Feeling little, vulnerable, and helpless tended to have that effect on her. Wait, just wait. Not yet, she warned herself. Afraid he would read her barely controlled temper, she closed her eyes and struggled for air. “I can’t breathe,” she said honestly. “You’re crushing me.”
“The human body can withstand much more than this,” he said. His tone held a thinly veiled threat and this time when Sadie trembled, she didn’t have to fake it. “How did you find the body?”
“Luck, I guess.”
“The truth,” he said, angry and impatient all over again. He put her hands together over her head and held them with one wrist, giving his right hand freedom. He used that freedom to press his thumb over her windpipe, not enough to cut off her air, but enough to let her know that he could.
“I’m telling you the truth,” she said, pushing panic into her voice. She wasn’t panicked yet, but she could be if she let herself. He wanted her to be afraid, though, so she gave him what he wanted. “We broke into the yard to look around for fun. Believe me, a dead body was the last thing we wanted to find.”
“Was there anything with the body when you found it, anything at all?” he asked. His thumb bit farther into her neck, making the struggle for air real. She shook her head hard and decided it was now or never. The gentle tears turned into wracking sobs. She shook, screamed, and pleaded for her life. Bo seemed at a loss as to what to do with her. For a moment he watched her, probably trying to figure out if her panic was real. Sadie made it real by remembering how afraid she had been a few weeks ago when she thought Ben was going to kill her. In a way, the fit was cathartic. She had needed to let some of it go for a while. It felt good to open the valve and get some things off her chest. The problem was that she was also wearing herself out. At long last, Bo decided she’d had enough. He opened his hands, released his grip on her wrists, and began to ease off her chest. Sadie sprang.
Salvaged to Death Page 9
