Yew to a Kill

by Kim Smith

  The serious woman anchor person had a 1950s hair style and buck teeth. She told me in her monotone voice that Bradley “Bubba” Thames’ death had been ruled a homicide and South Lake detectives were searching for a motive for the supposed robbery gone bad. Apparently, some ridiculously small amount of money had been taken. It was not reported that Bubba had been poisoned.

  That set me to thinking. If Bubba had been killed in an attempted robbery, why was he poisoned? Why not shot? Or bludgeoned? Poison took longer to act than the usual robber wanted to hang out and wait for. Unless the poison was a fast-acting kind. That gave me pause. What kind of poison was it, anyway? SLPD knew. They had to. I wondered why the reporters weren’t digging around in Sal’s back pocket over that wiggly little fact. Maybe they were working together to keep certain facts out of the spotlight. They had done so on other occasions.

  I took my empty plastic yogurt container back to the kitchen and tossed the spoon in the dishwasher along with an odd cup and plate left from a meal I didn’t remember. Tired from the day’s activities, I wanted a nap. If I didn’t get one, a long night of watching Theo’s apartment wouldn’t happen. I dozed off sometime between Entertainment Tonight and The Wheel of Fortune and woke again about seven-fifteen, late for my visit to Carrie’s house.

  I would have to hurry.

  Washing the sleep from my face, I grabbed my little .38 and a cheap pair of binoculars. I shoved them into my tote bag along with the special key from Dwayne, and a small hammer. Then as an afterthought, I added a couple of Slim Fast bars. You never know when hunger will become a major problem. Pulling out the gift card with Carrie’s number on it, I dialed while making my way to the car.

  She answered on the third ring.

  “I’m sorry I’m running late,” I told her. “Can I still butt in and get a look at those cards?”

  “Sure! Come on over. We’re just finishing up the dinner dishes.”

  I remembered her military, precise father and wondered if he ever stuck his hands in dishwater. Somehow I doubted it. He was more the type to let the women do it.

  Carrie lived in a small bungalow in an older section of South Lake on a quiet, tree-lined street. I called it the church district because in the small square block around her house there were probably four.

  I knocked on the front door and admired a wrought iron table with flowers sitting on the small stoop. Mr. Thames answered the door and ushered me in. His cologne even smelled severe if that were possible.

  “Follow me,” he said, leading the way. We walked into a small living room with quaint furnishings. He sat down in the only recliner in the room and waved toward the dining room adjacent to where we were. “They’re off in there somewhere. Carrie!”

  I heard her yell back and he told me to go on in so I walked through the dining room, past the small maple table, and through another doorway that led into the kitchen. Carrie and her mother were seated with the cards spread out in front of them.

  “Hi,” I said, pulling out a chair.

  “Hey! Come on and sit down with us. We’re just getting started.”

  I pulled a few of the cards over to me.

  “Most of those are friends,” Carrie told me pointing at the stack I had drawn from. “Mama has the ones from family.”

  I nodded and gazed at the names. Flowers had been sent to the funeral from several people I recognized, even my own aunts, who had signed their card jointly. It didn’t take long to realize the flowers in this bunch were from local florists, mainly Pearl’s Petunias and South Lake Florist.

  Flowers, Inc. had sent a few from their place and I remembered Flowerman’s face. It floated before my eyes like a dreamy apparition. A really unwanted one.

  “This place,” I said, waving a card at Carrie. “The people who were so nasty. What’s their story?”

  She took it from me and handed it back. “I don’t know. They’ve always been okay that I know of. The flowers that came from there were all from employees. In fact, all of the flower shops sent something.” She indicated some other cards from other florists.

  “So, most of the employees at those places knew Bubba?” I asked.

  “I think that’s right. He used to go out for drinks sometimes with some of them.”

  Everett the bartender’s puffy dude came back to my mind. Maybe the fellow at Pearl’s Petunias was the man who Bubba had been seen with? He’d said he didn’t like Rafe. Were he and Bubba more than just friends?

  Mr. Thames entered the dining room and peered over his wife’s shoulder at the work laid before us. “Seems like a lot of work just to thank people for doing something they are expected to do.”

  “Don’t you think that we should show our appreciation of their kindness?” she asked, looking back at him.

  “Nah. Won’t bring Brad back.” He stalked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. “So unlike his brother.”

  “Pop, don’t start,” Carrie warned.

  “Just stating the facts,” he said over his shoulder as he disappeared the way he’d come.

  Her face turned bright red. “Please ignore him. He’s just depressed.”

  I nodded, but now I really wondered about the poisoned man and his relationship to his family.

  ###

  I drove to Theo’s apartment complex and spent a few moments trying to decide where to park. Luckily for me it was early on a Friday night and Theo’s neighbors were out. I backed into the slot for the neighbor’s car, and slid down low in the seat. If Theo had friends round his table, I would be in perfect viewing range.

  No car was in Theo’s slot, so I assumed he was still out. Remembering my squeaky driver’s side door, I slid out of the passenger side and barely shut it behind me. Quickly pulling the tote bag snugly around my middle, I snuck across the street and eased open the gate. If anyone was in Theo’s apartment, they would see me for sure now.

  I tensed, tippy-toeing to the side of the building, trying to get out of view of anyone looking through the glass patio door. No one came out and squawked at me about why I was there, so I leaned out and peered through the glass into a part of the kitchen. Nobody moved around in there and nothing seemed amiss. I didn’t see anyone in the living room area that was off the kitchen, either. So much the better.

  I took the bump key out, stuck it partway into the lock, took out the small hammer, and bumped it. With a little finagling, I got the tumblers moving as Dwayne had instructed. His fear of being caught hit me. I knew this was totally breaking and entering, and I wanted to feel bad about it. The problem remained with me. My mind was terminally criminal because I believed, once again, if Theo was up to no good, he deserved to be found out. Just like when I had done similar at Rafe’s trailer.

  I figured breaking into these places was just speeding up the process of elimination for the cops. Not that I cared to share any of my activities—especially the illegal kind—with them.

  Slowly sliding the door back, I prayed it wouldn’t make loud noises. As soon as a suitable opening was made, I slithered inside. With no idea of what I would find, I searched each room.

  The only bedroom hosted shiny black enameled furniture adorned with bright red linens. I fingered the gold-and-watery-green accented threads running through the comforter and assessed the thread count. Way higher than any I owned. Obviously, Theo loved this genre of design. It showed in his home décor as much as at the funeral home. He was pretty good with it, too, I had to admit, marveling once again at how some men got design better than women.

  I stealthily moved to the drawers of the dresser and on drawer number three, found drugs. Not a connoisseur on the matter by a long shot, I still knew what needles looked like and I knew what pills looked like. No mistaking the row of needles and the baggies of pills before me.

  What did a user stash, anyway? I was unsure, but would be willing to bet they didn’t keep their paraphernalia this built up and neat. It seemed far too much for single use, and the orderliness bothered me. This guy was a neat
freak.

  I recoiled, looking around the whole place with a new eye. Obsessively neat and clean. Dirt would make him bonkers. I would be willing to bet he was a bit OCD. Feeling like I had a decent impression of the man, I decided to nose around in his closet. I remembered searching my former boyfriend’s closet. Men hid things from the world in their closets.

  I flipped some shirts around. He had great taste in clothes and many of the higher priced labels appeared in the ton of suits in his closet. He also had expensive shoes, nicely polished and arranged by color. His ties were non-exclusive and indistinct, which spoke volumes to me, as I hated men who wore ties too loud.

  I lifted the hem of the bathrobe hanging last on the pole, closest to the door, and found a box with a nice looking Ruger SR9 in it. I knew this because for the longest time I had convinced myself I just had to have one. Some women wanted fancy high-heels. Some wanted firearms. Go figure.

  Ammo was neatly tucked away as well. No assistant to a funeral home director could possibly make this kind of money doing what he was known to do. Nosing through his bathroom, I stopped to smell his cologne. One of them could definitely be the masked man’s brand, I thought, and memorized the name.

  Likely Leather.

  Memorizing the name, I glanced at bedside clock and marveled at the quick passage of time. I’d been snooping way too long. I beat a hasty retreat back the way I had come, pausing in the living room. Usual furnishings, no trophies, no magazines. He was pretty low-profile.

  A quick perusal of his kitchen, unveiled nothing earth-shattering either. No left over dishes, no food out where ants or rodents would find it. Plants sat on newspaper near his back door. One, some kind of a spring flower with shiny leaves and dainty white flowers, caught my eye. I didn’t know what it was called but it was sort of pretty. I couldn’t imagine a man with murder in his blood tending plants so carefully that he produced winners like these.

  He was an enigma.

  I shook my head and eased out of the patio door, turned the knob to lock it, and hustled back across the street. Once in my car, I let out breath I think I’d been holding since entering the apartment.

  Theo Makamushi had risen to the top of my possible criminal list like fat on top of refrigerated chicken broth. After such an enlightening experience wading through his personal domain, I felt as though I knew him better.

  I settled back into the car seat and waited for someone to show up. I turned the car on once or twice and let it run the heat to keep my feet warm as I waited. At about eleven o’clock, a black Mercedes pulled in and parked. My whole body tensed. Why hadn’t I thought of that? The Mercedes man!

  Someone, I assumed Theo, climbed from the car and lugged something out of the back seat. It was in a plastic bag. I squinted to make out the name on the bag, but he was too fast and too far away. The parcel appeared too heavy to be take-away pizza.

  For a long time, the kitchen remained dark. A soft light illuminated the room but it seemed to be coming from the living room off the kitchen, like he’d flipped on the front hall light and hadn’t made it to the living room or kitchen yet. It was pretty dim, though, and I almost wondered if it was a mood lamp or something.

  My eyes began playing tricks on me and I saw blobs and streaks of color pass before them as I stared through the binoculars into the square space that was his patio door. I saw all manner of movement everywhere on the patio until I realized after a while that it was the heat coming off of Betsy’s hood morphing into heat rays coming into my view.

  I took the binoculars away for a little while to give my eyes a rest. If he came into the kitchen and flipped on the overhead, I would see it with my naked eye. To keep awake and alert, I dug into my tote bag for a Slim Fast bar, hoping the chocolate had revved up amounts of caffeine in it.

  At eleven-twenty, the kitchen light came on and the unmistakable slim figure of Mr. Makamushi appeared. He worked on something placed on his table, and whatever it was, it kept him rapt for a long time.

  I reached overhead to flip my dome light to off to be sure it wouldn’t light up as soon as I opened a door and scooted back over to the passenger side to ease it open. At the last minute, I paused and considered taking my gun. But my sweats had no pocket to put it in and I didn’t want to risk the tote getting in the way of running if it became necessary.

  I’d glance at what was keeping him so busy then back to the car I would hustle, I assured myself as I only partially shut the door. It would give me a quicker re-entry. Squatting a little, I slithered across the street, and crouched in the shadows to look through the gate for a better view.

  Theo, donning bright yellow Playtex gloves, busily separated plants into small bundles and planted them in a pot. I shrugged deciding this was nothing sinister, and turned to go back, momentarily blinded as headlights beamed onto the street.

  My heart nearly stopped beating when Theo opened his patio door and stepped out into the cool of the evening. I just knew he had seen me eyeballing him from the other side.

  I held my breath.

  Scraping sounds, a grunt, and then the noises moved inside. He was moving his plants indoors.

  Relieved, I exhaled. The car that had approached stopped in front of my car. If my bad luck was in its usual swing, that car would be the neighbors, returning from a late-night party.

  I swore and scampered across the street, slammed my passenger side door and threw myself in the other side. If Theo looked out all he would see was his neighbor impatiently waiting to get in his parking spot, since he was now blocking any view of me.

  I breathed deeply a few times, then signaled that I was about to pull out.

  Theo’s neighbor backed up a couple of feet, and let me out, quickly whipping into the slot I vacated. I drove down and turned off the street, went around a few other lanes in that section, and then returned.

  The kitchen at Theo’s house was now dark and I was out of places to park, so I rolled out of the complex and headed for home. I thought about calling Sal and telling him that Jason’s number one man had a black Mercedes, but knew from past experience all that would get me was a grumbled reply that lots of people with money had black Mercedes cars.

  Sal had an excellent track record. He already knew about the car. He’d followed it with Rafe in it, hadn’t he? He’d call in the license number to the station and find out everything he could.

  Suddenly, a chill of fear tiptoed over me. If Theo was involved in the casket caper, he probably did stab the disc with that sword. And if he used the sword on the tape, he was sending us all a message. He had access to a lot of information through Scott’s Funeral Home.

  He could probably find my address, and he could easily find my apartment.

  He would have no trouble finding Dwayne, either. Especially since Rafe was involved, either on purpose or not. Theo could send Rafe to visit either one of us and keep his hands clean.

  My pulse accelerated with Betsy’s speedometer. I headed to Dwayne’s. He was injured and alone and even if he was armed, he was vulnerable.

  I panicked as I raced through a red light. If anything happened to him, I would never forgive myself. He’d said he’d almost opened the window and called out to Rafe. He still didn’t know Rafe had been given a healthy dose of heroin to make him behave.

  What if the bad guys decided to make me behave by doing the same thing to Dwayne? He would open the door to Rafe if they sent him as bait. The bastards.

  I dug my phone out with one hand and swiped it open. Dwayne’s number rang four times with no answer. I listened to his voice mail telling me that he was away from the phone. The electronic voice made me grit my teeth in frustration.

  I threw the phone toward my purse and raced toward his trailer.

  Something was wrong. He wouldn’t ignore me after all that had happened recently.

  And in reality, Dwayne slept with his phone. He never left it, unless it was to shower. I think he even took it in the bathroom. It was sort of like a security blanket. He w
ould never not answer, unless someone prevented him from it.

  Uh-oh.

  I hit every traffic light just right and made the Oasis Trailer Park in record time. Hoping for stealth, I turned off my lights and swung onto his street, coasting along until I got close to his trailer. No cars in his drive other than his Mustang. All the lights were on.

  Uh-oh.

  I threw it into park and jogged to the door. Rapping on the door, I tried to see around the curtain of the front window.

  No good.

  I leaned out more, hoping to see anything through the crack. Nothing. I knocked again and called out to him. No answer.

  When there was no movement, I jogged around the trailer to the back, climbed up the steep steps leading to his small back deck. The area was all window with only a sheer curtain over it. I knocked as loud as I could and waited. No answer.

  My heart was in my throat. Something was very wrong.

  Chapter Twenty

  I returned to my car, grabbed the bump key, and tried to use it on Dwayne’s lock. Either the lock was bump-key-proof, or I was shaking too badly. I couldn’t manage it. Tears started rolling down my cheeks as I hurried back to the car to pull an old, raggedy tan quilt from the trunk. It had been used for impromptu picnics last summer. Around the front porch were a few bricks used for flower bed edging, and I picked up one on the return trip to the back deck.

  Once there, all those glass panes gleamed at me.

  I wrapped my hand with the quilt as thickly as possible and tucked the brick into the wadding, pulling the edges over my forearm. Closing my eyes, I turned my head away and shoved the brick through one of the panes as hard as I could.

  Mission accomplished.

  I pulled out the jagged glass, and screamed for Dwayne. He didn’t come to investigate, and he didn’t answer back.

  The stillness within rattled my nerves even more.

  Using the quilt, I kept shattering glass, moving the curtains out of the way as I went. I finally made it inside. Dwayne wasn’t in the kitchen.