Dooley Is Dead

by Kate Merrill

  So Paula and Maynard had access to Trev’s Jeep, but why would either one of them want to kill Lori? They were both kinda weird, especially Maynard. But she shared history with Trev’s uncle, and although he was eccentric, he’d always been kind to her. Paula was another story, the bitch. From the get-go, Ginny had sensed Paula had a thing for Trev.

  “Was Paula jealous of Lori?” she blurted it out.

  Sweat broke out on Trev’s brow. “What happened between Paula and me is past history,” he answered sheepishly.

  OMG. She should have known. Paula had said that every young girl in the county had a fling with Trev, so obviously Paula was on that list. “Jesus, did you have an affair with Paula before or after she married your uncle?”

  “Before, for Christ sake.” He blushed to his curly black roots. “It was a huge mistake. And to tell you the truth, I wish to god it never happened.”

  “I bet.” Ginny slumped in her seat. She knew all too well that Trev was a powerful narcotic, a hard habit to break. She’d been trying to kick her personal addiction for years. But even now, as they sat so close together, her ex lover’s allure was a heady drug. “Did Maynard know about you and Paula?”

  Trev nodded miserably. “Yeah, he knew. Paula still uses me to punish him. She’s always comparing the two of us. When she’s really pissed, she tells him I was better in bed. Makes him feel like a piece of shit. Makes me feel even worse.”

  “So I guess Maynard was thrilled you were marrying Lori. What about Paula?”

  Trev rolled his eyes. “Look, far as I know, they were both really happy for Lori and me. I’m sure neither one would ever hurt her.”

  Yeah, right. Ginny placed a mental bet on Paula as the killer, but she couldn’t imagine her motive. After all, killing Lori wouldn’t bring Trev back to Paula’s bed. She glanced at the man beside her and noticed his eyes were moist.

  “I’m sorry, Trev. Let’s change the subject.”

  He reached out and took her hand. “Okay, but first I need to ask you something. It’s been troubling me, and I want to know the truth. That morning when you went into Lori’s kitchen, did you see her body, Ginny?”

  The brutal memory gripped her gut and squeezed hard. Right after she’d borrowed the cold bottle of water from the fridge, she’d seen the dead woman lying on the floor--- long, tan legs contorted in an unnatural position, her crotch exposed. Twisted white terrycloth bathrobe, gaping open to feature the silver carving knife buried between her breasts, and all that blood soaking her soft brown hair. Worst of all---Lori’s terrified blue eyes had been frozen in disbelief, staring at the ceiling, her lips stretched open in a silent scream.

  “Well?” Trev pressed.

  Thus far Ginny hadn’t told a living soul what she’d witnessed that day. Maybe someday she’d have to tell a shrink, if the pain wouldn’t go away.

  “Yes, I saw her,” she confessed.

  “Please tell me…”

  “Lori looked peaceful,” Ginny lied, refusing to plant that seed of horror in Trev’s heart.

  “So how come you didn’t call the cops?”

  She stared into his stricken eyes. “Why do you think?”

  The question expanded between them in the humid air, sucking the available oxygen until Trev’s eyes expanded in understanding. “Good God, Ginny, you were trying to protect me!”

  “I saw your Jeep, so I thought you were in the house, maybe upstairs. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  He took both her hands into his and held them to his heart. “I am so sorry.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Trevor…

  After Ginny explained, he was relieved to be back on the road again, feeling the familiar shifting of gears, deciding when to go fast and when to slow down. And he was especially glad to be off the subject of his beloved fiancée---how she had died. Since Ginny told him Lori looked peaceful, he could breathe a little easier. Yet even when the killer was brought to justice---and Trevor was determined to see that happen---he knew he would never be completely at peace again.

  He glanced at Ginny’s strong profile and wished he could ease her pain. He hated how she had taken the heat for him, and he wouldn’t rest until she was acquitted of all charges. He should apologize for dragging her into his drama, but mostly, he wanted to forget all the unpleasantness for one blessed evening. Maybe the best way he could thank Ginny, was to show her a good time.

  “By the way, where are we going?” she asked from the far side of the front seat. “I hope no place fancy, because I feel like I’ve been dragged out from the bottom of a dirty clothes hamper.”

  He laughed. “You look great, and don’t worry, I don’t do ‘fancy.’ Remember the old Juke Joint?”

  “No way! Is that place still up and running? By rights the kudzu should have swallowed it up years ago.”

  Trevor felt a weight lift off his chest as he visualized the bar and grill he and his pals were renovating. Before Lori died, it had been his pet project---the first venture to capture his imagination since he returned from the war.

  “You won’t recognize it, Ginny. We’ve been fixin’ it up---new roof, new walls, even a stage and dance floor. We call it Buffalo Guys.”

  “We?” Her dark brows arched in a question.

  “Yeah, two other guys and me. I provide the money, they provide the elbow grease and design. I think you’ll approve. It’s all about the music.”

  Ginny’s soulful brown eyes expanded in surprise. “Live music? You’re kidding, right? That was always your dream, Trev.”

  “Your dream too, remember?” During his brief visits to the jail, she’d told him she’d kept up with her guitar---even played a few gigs in Vegas. He was curious to know if she was any good. “Tonight is Open Mic Friday,” he told her. “A chance for all the locals to strut their stuff. Maybe you could…”

  “Don’t even go there, Trev. You won’t get me up on that stage.”

  He turned onto Buffalo Crossing Road and drove towards the lake, while Ginny retreated into a place he could not enter. When he looked closer, he saw she had aged, yet she was even more beautiful in this new maturity. The lightness in his chest left him giddy with memories. They say you never forget your first love, and Ginny Troutman definitely held that dubious honor. He recalled those hours of obsessive, almost desperate lovemaking in his lonely farmhouse. Then the aftermath---lying in one another’s arms and listening to the radio---blues, rock, and star-crossed country ballads. Back then they were Ginny and Trevor against the world, a cruel world that took her mother, killed his parents, and left Ginny as his only sanctuary.

  But they had both moved on. As he pulled into the gravel parking lot, already crowded with everything from dirty pickups to expensive BMW’s and Lexus’, he experienced an unexpected tug of loss when he stared at Ginny. She had been married, given birth to a kid, yet she never talked about it. And he had been poised to get those same things for himself before some crazed killer stole them away.

  She turned to him, utterly defeated. “We’re different people now,” she said, reading his mind. But then she brightened and tried one of her famous smiles. “But hey, this place rocks!”

  Her gesture included the customers’ cars parked in the lot, the Tiki torches burning a path to the entrance door of the clapboard club, and even the rustic deck built out over the lake, the tables already filled with laughing diners.

  “Looks like you done real good, Trev.”

  “Hope you like it.” He was planning to open her door, like a proper escort, but she was out before the engine stopped and halfway up the path before he caught her. “Hey, wait up!”

  She slowed and tucked her hand in his arm as they entered the dim club, where a raspy-voiced blond woman in a cowboy hat was singing “Stand By Your Man,” causing Ginny to wrinkle her nose.

  “Oh, she’s a regular. We’ve got better talent comin’ as the night wears on,” he half apologized.

  “It’s not her, it’s the sawdust.” Ginny rubbed her shoe on the
floor. “Nice touch. Love the smell. You got peanuts in little tin buckets, too?”

  Trevor flushed with embarrassment. “’I’m afraid so. Those were Chip’s idea.”

  Right on cue, Charles “Chip-off-the-old-block” Hinson sashayed up to them and gave Trevor a big kiss on the cheek. He yanked Ginny into his muscular arms and planted a sloppy one on her mouth. “Oh, my god, it’s lil’ Ginny Troutman. Where you been keepin’ yourself, gal?”

  “Chippie? Is that you?” Ginny squealed with delight and danced Trevor’s manager around in a tight circle. “You’re still the handsomest man in Iredell County.”

  “Ginny’s a celebrity,” Trevor said. “She lives in Las Vegas now.”

  Trevor was grateful Chip hadn’t mentioned Ginny’s trouble with the law. Yesterday, when Trevor had confided he hoped to bring her to the club, Chip had made a joke about the two of them---felons’ night out. But in fact, Chip had been Trevor’s comfort and support throughout the whole sad affair. He was the best friend a man could want.

  Chip winked at Ginny. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Maybe my partner and I should get married in California, then honeymoon in Vegas. What do you think, doll?”

  Ginny laughed. “Your partner? I’d love to meet him.”

  “Stick around, and I’m sure you will.” Bypassing the woman at the reception stand, who flirted shamelessly with Trevor, Chip ushered them straight past the busy booths and dance floor, then out the back door to the deck. “Saved you the best seat in the house.” He seated them at a secluded table near the railing. It faced the lake, where the moon and first stars filled a cobalt sky.

  “So, I’ll leave you guys alone.” Chip signaled a waitress, then quietly left.

  “Chip was in my high school choir,” Ginny said. “Back then some of the kids gave him a hard time.”

  “Not anymore. They don’t call him Chip for nothing. Ever seen his daddy? That man could win the Tough Guy competition, and since Chip’s been working out, he can put the fear of God in any ignorant redneck looking for trouble.”

  After their waitress served them cold draft beers in iced Ball jars and took their dinner orders, Trevor began rambling on about the club---how it got started. He told Ginny how Chip came up with the design, their plans to expand, and how much he enjoyed fostering new musical talent. He explained how he had used his military pension to finance the place, and how he much preferred running a club to farming his land.

  In short, he talked about everything except what he really wanted to say---like how the stint in Iraq had made him crazy, about his crushing depression since Lori’s death. And most important, why was Ginny suddenly back in his life?

  She looked up from her catfish platter. “I hate to eat and run, Trev, but you know I promised to be home in time to tuck my daughter into bed.”

  He cursed himself for running off at the mouth, wasting precious time. She’d mentioned several times that she hoped to return to Vegas, providing she didn’t spend the rest of her natural life in prison for a crime she didn’t commit---a subject Trevor was emotionally unable to discuss. So he knew time was short. He sensed he would lose Ginny after tonight.

  “I know you have to get home, but can’t you stay for coffee? We’ll go inside and check out the talent.”

  “I need to tell you something, Trev.” Suddenly Ginny was dead serious and excessively nervous. Her long fingers trembled as she reached for her last sip of beer.

  Her tone frightened him, but he saw an opportunity. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. You can tell me whatever you want, but first I insist you perform.” He pushed his uneaten steak sandwich aside. “There’s a decent band up now, and they have both electric and acoustic guitars. I reckon you could borrow one. They’ll back you up, Ginny. Sing if you want, but I definitely want to hear you play.”

  “That’s blackmail, Trevor Dula.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He grinned. “But I hold the car keys.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Ginny…

  If she weren’t already nervous enough, Trev’s insistence that she perform turned her knees to jelly and set the butterflies knocking around in her belly like marbles in a pinball machine. If she hadn’t just been released from jail, wasn’t about to confess the darkest secret of her screwed-up young life, then maybe she could do this thing. Maybe even enjoy it.

  She felt his warm hand on the small of her back as he guided her inside the noisy barroom. They wove between tables filled with raucous drinkers who were not entirely attentive to the crossover band delivering a hyped-up version of James Taylor’s “Goin’ to Carolina in My Mind.” And Trev was right about one thing---the sweating musicians were giving a solid performance, yet they failed to capture the audience---not a good sign. With her luck, they’d throw peanut shells at her.

  “Is Ginny gonna play?” Chip fluttered to their side, if a big man like Chip could be said to flutter.

  Trev smiled and nodded, and as soon as the band finished their number, Chip put two fingers to his mouth and catcalled, startling the room to attention. Ginny’s throat went dry as Chip began an effusive introduction, billing her as a Vegas headliner. In the meantime, Trev approached the musicians gesturing, whispering, and pointing in her direction. Dear god in heaven, they were setting her up for failure. She wiped moist hands on her pants and practiced deep breathing.

  Because tonight failure was not an option. She’d faced worse crowds than this. In some of the dives in Vegas, she’d played to wild, drop-dead drunks falling off their stools. But these folks were her folks, fellow North Carolinians who’d likely give a hometown girl the benefit of the doubt---at least for the first stanza. So as she approached the small stage and greeted the musicians, she summoned her two muses--- Janis and Melissa--- and decided to go with “Bobby McGee,” a proven favorite, if she could pull it off.

  “What’s your pleasure, Miss Ginny?” The lead guitarist offered two instruments, and they were good ones. After a quick inspection, she decided to go unplugged and borrowed his acoustic Fender.

  She whispered her song choice, and the guy passed it on to the others, who grinned and jabbed their thumbs up. So far, so good. She sat on the edge of the stage, hunched over the instrument, and began tuning it. In the meantime, she saw Trev take a seat in the corner, while two excited waitresses in Buffalo Guys tee shirts hustled orders for fresh drinks.

  Ginny tuned them all out and went to her quiet place, closed her eyes and imagined Lissa sleeping with her thumb in her mouth. She listened to waves slowly rolling ashore. The waves hissed in, then sucked back out. As they got larger and stronger, their ebbing more powerful, Ginny stretched, stood up, and moved to center stage.

  She closed her eyes again, and with both arms, reached for the sky---left hand clenched in a fist, right one gripping the guitar. She felt the heat of the spotlight on her face, and once the crowd was totally quiet, she hugged the instrument in position against her body, tucked under her breasts like a lover, strummed a few chords, opened her eyes and made slow, intense contact with key corners of the room. She smiled, rolled her neck, and began.

  Soon she was lost in the famous road trip with Bobby McGee. As the rhythm built, Ginny strummed, plucked, slid on the strings, and tapped the soundboard. She was busted flat in Baton Rouge, waiting for the train, and while she never intended to sing, she felt her throat opening and heard the deep, slightly husky melody pouring from a voice she barely recognized as her own.

  Windshield wipers slapping time, and holding Bobby’s hand in mine---by the time the music rolled her all the way to New Orleans, Ginny knew she’d hit her sweet spot. She knew this not because she was aware of her fingers moving or her feet dancing, but because she heard clapping and shouting through the buzz in her ears. Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose, and by the time she lowered her instrument, she was exhausted, exhilarated, and knew she’d been good enough not only for her and Bobby, but for everyone else.

  And luckily, she felt Trev’s arm slide a
round her waist, supporting her in that moment when she always felt like collapsing---but never did. His hot breath tickled her ear.

  “You are smokin’, girl! Just listen to them. They want more. Give ’em an encore.”

  She blinked, licked a bead of sweat from her upper lip. “No can do, Trev. I’m done. And we made a deal, remember?”

  So she shook hands with the musicians and thanked them, lowered her head and hung onto the back of Trev’s belt as he pushed a path through the appreciative patrons and eventually shuffled them out to their original table by the lake.

  “Everyone wants a little piece of you,” he said once they were seated.

  “Well, I sure as hell do.” Chip appeared out of nowhere. “Let’s hire her, Trev. Think we’ll have good receipts tonight? Imagine if Ginny were on the ticket every weekend? Our profits would soar through the tin roof.”

  “Want a job?” Trev asked.

  She saw he was serious and recognized the old need in his eyes. Once upon a time, his offer would have sent her over the moon, but Ginny knew it was too late. It was like the dark water of the Catawba River flowing under the proverbial bridge just upstream. There were so many things she wanted to ask him, like why the hell had he enlisted in the damn army at a time when she needed him most?

  But back then, Trev didn’t know her issues. He was too busy dealing with his own. She had seen his restlessness and understood the crushing hopelessness of small town life, especially to those who had big dreams. And they both had super-sized dreams.

  She turned to Chip. “Thanks, I appreciate the offer, but once the courts find me not guilty, I’m outta here, back to Vegas.”

  Chip emitted an exaggerated sigh. “I hate that. Can’t you get her to change her mind, Trevor?”

  “Well, maybe I can if you leave us alone, give me some quality time with the lady.”

  “Okay, I can take a hint.” Chip winked at Ginny. “Catch you later.” And then he was gone.