Yew to a Kill

by Kim Smith

  Carrie sat beside her father, and Mrs. Thames was on the opposite side of her. They each sobbed openly as the minister closed the ceremony and my suspicions about Carrie faded like one of the delicate flowers being nestled into the site.

  People began filing before the family, offering condolences and shaking hands.

  “Let’s do this,” I told Dwayne. He fell into step beside me. And it was a few moments before I realized he was terribly quiet. “You okay?”

  “No. This really sucks. I think my heart is broke.”

  Everyone dispersed to talk softly before they walked back to their cars lining the curved drive. Theo whispered to one of the gravediggers. Probably giving out instructions.

  I turned to Dwayne and gave him a thorough look. “Are you up for this, Dee? I mean, if you need to go, I’ll understand.”

  He sniffed and wiped his nose on a white hanky he pulled out of his pocket. “I’ll be fine. What’s on your mind?”

  I swallowed hard. I sure hoped I wasn’t asking more of him than he could do. That was the last thing I wanted. “I got our trap figured out,” I said.

  His face brightened. “I knew it. You always come through. What is it?”

  “We’re going to come back here and place the flowers on this grave like it’s expected of us.”

  “Aw, naw. I think the funeral home peeps are in charge of all that stuff.”

  I shook my head and peered at Jason and his cohorts. “It’s okay. He won’t care, and will more than likely appreciate the help. Once all the guests are gone, as soon as the gravedigger gets finished patting it all down, we’re good to go.”

  He looked skeptical. I went on. “After that, the family will be allowed back to make their final goodbyes alone. With any luck, we’ll get back to see someone acting damn happy to be saying goodbye to Bubba. If not, maybe we can catch someone hulking around waiting to steal something. At any rate, I expect this to be a good chance to earn our keep.”

  He nodded. “Right. I smell what you’re cookin’.”

  “We’ve got to hurry.” I jogged the rest of the way to the car, jumped in, and held on as he gunned it.

  ###

  We grabbed pots of aluminum plants, caladiums, and large stands with floral arrangements of carnations, snapdragons, and daisies on them. I searched each spray for sender’s cards hoping to be able to attach a name with a face, or maybe a killer to a card. They were all missing.

  “Dwayne, where are all the cards?” I hissed as we duck-walked to the florist van, carrying a huge arrangement of golden mums between us.

  “Somebody who works here already pulled them off and added them to the collection of service programs and stuff for the family.”

  He shoved his end into the back and helped with mine, then once we had it situated, slammed the door.

  “Well, there goes that idea,” I muttered. We climbed in.

  “You can get them from Carrie or her dad. Whoever is gonna be the lucky one to write out the thank-you cards. I bet she’ll be able to tell you which one is Cousin Billy Bob and which one is a neighbor and all.”

  I made a mental note to ask about the cards when I called Carrie. That would be an important lead if it panned out. We drove slowly around the winding drive toward the burial plot. A few mourners wandered among the somber gray tombstones looking for their own family members and friends.

  That was the good thing about living in a small town. You didn’t have to go anywhere else to pay respects or plant posies over someone. We were a one-stop town.

  While Dwayne ditched his suit coat, I gathered the flowers we’d brought and situated them nearby until the gravediggers finished their work and gave us instructions.

  One was dressed in a military blue jumpsuit, and had no personality at all. His people skills were lower than a comatose patient.

  “Just let us know when you want us to start decorating,” I said.

  He grunted and kept shoveling while someone positioned a small backhoe.

  I motioned to Dwayne to follow me back to the van. “Better not get too close to Mr. Friendly,” I said, making quote marks with my fingers. “He may bite.”

  Dwayne continued rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. It had warmed up considerably, and I took a long look at both of us.

  So much for nice clothes.

  He must have read my mind. “Lawd Jesus. I hate when you get us into this stuff. Can’t we ever have a job where all we do is sit quiet-like somewhere and don’t get dirty, and don’t get sweaty, and don’t fend off killers?”

  I ignored his snippy attitude, assuming it was from grief. After a while, his next words made me thankful I had.

  “These places just makes me glad.”

  I looked at him. “Huh?”

  “You know, glad to be on this side of the dirt.”

  “Oh. Yeah, me too.” I agreed. Being alive always beat being dead, in my book.

  “I was sure hoping Rafe would show up,” he muttered.

  I didn’t trust myself to point out the obvious difficulties such an act might cause, since Rafe was being sought by his shield-carrying cousin. There had to be a serious reason he was being looked for by Sal, and why he was missing from his former lover’s funeral. But I didn’t voice my thoughts.

  “For the record, I know I was skunked the other night, but after taking all this time to consider the possibilities, I meant what I said. I don’t believe Rafe killed Bubba. I really don’t think he would have. He could kill someone, I’m pretty sure, but not Bubba. But then again, he might know who did,” Dwayne continued.

  I digested the information and a new thought occurred to me. Sal was looking for his cousin before Bubba turned up dead. “Yeah, something in this recipe doesn’t make cookie dough. Our friend here was alive when Ramirez bumped into us at Rafe’s mama’s house. There’s something else. I just know it.”

  Dwayne nodded, but didn’t add his thoughts. Maybe he’d already put the two and two together.

  I resumed watching the others. Soon the grave was filled, and the guy in the jumpsuit motioned to me. We strolled over and watched as he and the backhoe driver tossed arrangements over the mound.

  Dwayne’s words ran around in my head. I was glad to be on this side of the dirt, too. The alternative left a great deal to be desired. I shrugged off the lonely feelings looming toward me. I really had seen a therapist for all the good it seemed to be doing. I needed a good old-fashioned shopping trip with my best friend, Katie, followed by three scoops of Deathly Chocolate ice cream.

  We tossed flowers for some time.

  Once we were finished, the others left us standing there, wiping dirt, mopping sweat, and cussing a blue streak. I wasn’t sure, but I thought the backhoe driver was laughing at us.

  “Guess they think it’s pretty damn funny to be working this hard while dressed this good,” Dwayne observed.

  “There just has to be an easier way to make a living,” I grumped, flicking a brown ball of mud off my skirt.

  Dwayne motioned for me to follow him back to the van. We got in just as a car with mourners drove up the narrow lane. We watched as they got out.

  It wasn’t Carrie and her family.

  A pretty woman with red hair, dressed in a long black skirt and flowing gray shirt, made her way to the gravesite. A younger man, dressed more casually in khakis and button down shirt, joined her. He took her hand and they walked together until they reached the new mound.

  As we watched from the van, my curiosity killed me. Who was she? Was she a relative who showed up late? Or maybe an old school chum from his college days?

  “This is interesting. Who’s the mystery lady?” I muttered, not really meaning for Dwayne to answer, but he did.

  “It’s Shelley. She works in Jason’s office.”

  My mouth fell open like a dog wanting water. “What is she? A receptionist or something? What the hell is she doing here?”

  He shrugged. “She’s technically a salesperson. Minds the casket sectio
n, helps the newly bereaved pick out the best burial box.”

  But her actions at the now flower-strewn mound told a totally different story. She stood, high-heels buried in the fresh turned earth, her face red and her fists clenched. I was not terribly surprised when she fell to her knees and started pummeling the dirt. Her mouth moved as her head dipped to the ground.

  She was pretty well pissed at old Bubba.

  Chapter Eight

  I motioned for Dwayne to drive away from the gravesite. We were sticking out like a gun on a hip.

  “Where to, Miss Daisy?” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as we coasted down a slope.

  “Let’s hang back where we were the other night. I can use the zoom on the camera and see the grave from there.”

  He maneuvered us to the Adams’ crypt and the angel welcomed us from its perch.

  “They’re leaving,” I noted as I lifted the camera to my eyes.

  “Well, I guess so. She did her deed. She came and pounded on his grave and called him names. My granny would snatch that wench bald-headed if she heard her do that. It’s some law or something. Can’t diss the dead.”

  I tried to stifle the giggles that erupted. He must have seen the camera move because he went on the defensive. “It is! Granny knows all about dead rituals. You ain’t supposed to talk bad about them, stomp around over their heads, or anything else that’s mean. They come back and haunt you if you do that shit.”

  I took my eyes away for a second to assure him. “Hey, I believe you. Your G-maw is the bomb. Think Bubba would mind if you talked bad about his suit?”

  That made him stop for a second and consider. “Damn right.” He lifted his eyes to Heaven. “I’m sorry, bro. Don’t be visitin’ me tonight.” Then, he rubbed his hands together. “You cold?”

  I stifled my laugh. “I could stand some heat. My feet are a little damp.”

  The sky had darkened somewhat and it seemed chilly now that we were not working our tails off flopping flowers on a grave. Dwayne flipped on the heater and soon warmth radiated throughout the vehicle.

  “I could put my suit coat back on, but then I’ll be hot again. I feel like a woman going through the change,” he muttered. “And by the way, why don’t you change out that card and put some new batteries in that camera. It’s been goin’ a long time. If something happens tonight, you don’t want to be dealin’ with a dead battery.”

  He had a point. I switched cards, tossed the old batteries into the bottom of a crumpled bag from a local eatery, and started fresh, taking in the grave that I wanted to watch through the viewfinder. After a long while, I cut it off and rubbed my eyes. If I saw a car approach, I could resume my surveillance then. It was hard to keep an eye trained and not get a headache.

  “What time is it?” I asked, settling the camera in my lap.

  “A little past six.”

  “No wonder it’s getting dark.”

  “I was going to the club tonight, too, hoping to score,” he mused, giving into the chill and replacing his suit coat over his bony shoulders.

  I fumbled the camera. “What? I don’t want to hear that stuff.”

  He laughed. “Chill. I ain’t talking about man-scorin’, although that would be nice. I’m talking about scoring some information on Bubba or maybe that damn contest.”

  “Oh.” I re-situated the camera on my lap and looked out the window.

  “Yeah. Oh. And speaking of scoring, you ain’t talking much about ole Salivate. I can’t believe how chicks keep all that good stuff to themselves. Dish, girl, dish.” He held his hands out in front of the vent. “I do like that man.”

  His fondness for our detective friend, who was as hetero as they came, was no news. He slobbered over Sal a lot.

  “Nothing to share,” I told him, holding the camera up again. Sal was not a good subject right then. Especially since he had Rafe’s address book, and I wanted it. Bad.

  “Uh huh,” he said, paused, then went on. “Whatever. I know you’re trying to hide behind that damn gizmo. You can hide, but you can’t run. You’ll tell me sooner or later.”

  I didn’t answer.

  When a reasonable pause had passed, he went on. “Anyway. I guess I’m going out there later on tonight. Mid-town clubs don’t really start rockin’ until after ten. You wanna tag along?”

  I took the camera away from my face and looked over at him. “Nah. I think I’ll hook the camera up to the computer and see who shows up on it from the funeral. I doubt I’ll be able to pick anyone suspicious out, but when the grieving committee leaves town in a few days, I’m asking Carrie to watch it. I also need to ask her about those cards that came with the flowers.”

  He nodded then jutted his chin at the rearview mirror. “You know that car?”

  I grabbed the mirror and twisted it until it gave me the same view it had given him. Partially obscured in the shadows, a dark sedan waited. I couldn’t tell if it was idling. “No. I don’t. Think we should go over and introduce ourselves?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. The occupants have already left the area. Three of them walked back in the woods where we heard the voices last time.”

  “What? Let’s go!”

  He grabbed my arm before I could propel myself out of the door. “Wait a minute, Gabby Greta. We lost them the other night. We need to be a little slicker this time.”

  “Okay then,” I agreed.

  He released me. “First, leave the camera. We didn’t catch nothin’ last time but a chill. We need our hands free. Second, we gotta be really quiet.”

  I shoved the camera into my tote on the floor. We eased our doors open on the count of three, and slowly closed them nearly to, making no noise. He pointed to the crypt and motioned with his fingers walking over his palm. I nodded. and followed close behind him, trying to be quiet. We listened as we crept along. Nothing. No voices. Dead silence.

  The last vestiges of the sun died, and it became shadowy dark under the trees. Unnerved, I stepped on his heels a few times. I kept expecting someone to come rushing out of the woods, panicked like the last time. No one did.

  Dwayne pulled branches back and showed them to me so I wouldn’t run into them. It reminded me of when I went squirrel hunting with one of Nancy’s boyfriends. You had to be quiet or the squirrels were never going to come scampering along. The voice of Elmer Fudd, my favorite cartoon character, floated through my mind. Be vewy, vewy quiet...

  I nearly rear-ended Dwayne, who came up sharply with a loud intake of breath.

  “Sheeeeeit.”

  I swiveled around him to see if I could make out what he saw in the gloom. I couldn’t imagine what was giving him the fits, but after squinting and trying adjust to the dim light, the sight that met my eyes made me realize we were not nearly protected enough.

  Three caskets, as high as Dwayne’s six-foot height, greeted us like a giant pile of kid’s Lincoln Logs. I tried to keep an open mind but the only thing to come out of my mouth sounded like my partner’s reference to bodily excrement.

  “Oh great granny’s goose,” I whispered, finally.

  The hulking giants blocked all view to what lay beyond and I was not entirely sure I wanted to go any farther.

  “Let’s go.” I pulled on Dwayne’s sleeve.

  “Hold up,” he whispered, putting one finger to his lips.

  In the deepening darkness and quiet, we could hear people moving around behind the area where the caskets were stacked. Muffled voices floated out to us. I scrunched down behind his back, and he sidestepped along the end of the row of caskets. We both leaned out a little to see what was behind them and found a fence with a nice sized hole cut out of it. Beyond it was a parking lot illuminated by a few lights.

  Five men in suits were gathered in the lot around two cars and a large truck with its doors flung open so that the company name didn’t show. I didn’t recognize any of them.

  “This is not good.” Dwayne’s voice was low, and worried.

  “Why? They could be jus
t hired hands, moving stuff for Jason,” I whispered.

  “If they got them fair and square, then why in hell are they haulin’ them through the woods out back and then through a fence with a hole in it?”

  “Guess you might be right after all.”

  “Let’s go before they discover us,” he said. Then, we heard the snap of a stick breaking behind us.

  “Well, what have we here?” a man’s voice asked softly. I turned to glance over my shoulder. Even in the darkness I could see the gun he held.

  I stiffened, but Dwayne didn’t even stop to think. He turned and threw himself at the guy’s knees to take him down. A shot pinged into a tree beside my head and although all the blood rushed from my brain to my heart, I managed to hit the ground. When I recovered enough to act, Dwayne was pounding the guy’s head against a rock.

  When our attacker quit resisting, Dwayne grabbed my arm and began pulling me away. “Get me outta here. I’m hurt.”

  The shot had been loud, and I knew the others would be on top of us in a hurry. We scrambled back to the car. I didn’t see the blood until we made it into the light illuminating the road. The bullet wound to his bicep was slowly coloring his suit coat and the side of his white dress shirt a brilliant crimson.

  “Oh my God!”

  He grimaced. “Don’t start now. Let’s go, go. Go!” The last “go” was almost a yell, and I realized the bad guys were quickly gaining on us from where they fled around the fence at the end of a row of hedges. I opened Dwayne’s door, shoved him in, snatched the keys from his outstretched palm, and raced around to the other side so fast a NASCAR driver would have been proud of my time.

  The first goon was just to the rear bumper when I roared off, leaving him in a cloud of exhaust. The Delicate Petal’s cargo van had pretty good acceleration, and I didn’t slow down until I was almost to Greenman Road. Then I drove like a maniac, with one hand on the wheel, one eye on Dwayne’s pained face, and one fast dialing thumb on my cell as I called Sal.

  “Ramirez,” he answered.