Dead Body Language

by Penny Warner

  “I think he’s hot for you,” Dan said, holding a pair of lace panties I’d been missing for some time. I thought they’d been sacrificed to the Dryer God, the one who collects single socks. I could feel the heat fill my chest and neck as I ripped the panties from his fingers and stuffed them in my pocket.

  “Uh-uh-uh,” Dan said, wagging a finger. “Sheriff will need that for evidence.”

  He put out his hand. I slapped it.

  “Not a chance in hell,” I said.

  Dan drove us to the sheriff’s office by way of the late-night drugstore so I could patch myself together. There wasn’t much I could do with the clawed ankle except put some disinfectant on it, but my left earlobe required a major bandage where the whizzing scalpel had kissed it.

  Dan picked out some cartoon Band-Aids and stuck them all over me, everywhere he saw a mark, cut, or scratch. The box was empty in a matter of moments and I soon looked like a kid who’d sneaked into the medicine cabinet. The hurt from ripping them off later would probably exceed the good they were doing me now, but the attention was kind of nice.

  I waved to the sheriff, as we walked into his office. He was filling out paper work at his desk.

  “Can I see him?” I asked hesitantly.

  The sheriff gave a single nod. “But I want to talk with you, Connor. He’s confessed, but there are some holes I need filled. Deep holes.”

  Dan pulled up a chair from the sheriff’s desk and sat down. “You go ahead, Connor. I want to talk to the sheriff a few minutes.”

  I nodded and headed down the hall.

  Mickey sat in the cell at the back of the sheriff’s office, his head in his hands. When he saw me, he wiped his nose with the back of his uniform sleeve, stained dark red from the nosebleed I’d given him earlier.

  I sat down on the floor across from the bars so I could be at eye level. “Mickey, tell me why?”

  He didn’t look up.

  “Mickey, did you take Lacy’s keys when she dropped her purse that day in the café?”

  No answer.

  “Did you plan to kill everyone on that board of keys?”

  He finally looked up angrily. “I didn’t plan to kill anyone! I just wanted to see Lacy’s place, find out if she … had any secrets. Everybody has secrets, you know. Especially the ones who look so perfect.”

  “So you got her keys and …”

  “I figured I’d find something there if I looked hard enough. I borrowed her keys, made copies, then went back when I knew she wasn’t at home and had a look around.”

  “What did you expect to find?”

  He shrugged. “I’m a cop—it’s my business to know if people are breaking the law or up to no good. The police can’t do everything by the book, you know. Our hands are tied most of the time. I had to bend the rules now and then, for the good of the town.”

  “So you helped yourself to everyone’s keys to unlock their secrets.”

  Mickey swiped away something from under his eye. “Yeah. And I’m glad I did. That’s how I found out the Penryn brothers were growing smoke in their bathroom. And old man Cabrai was skimming off the accounts at the post office.”

  “But Lacy? She was always doing something good for the town. All those charities and benefits and—”

  “Ha! Those are the ones you never suspect, while they poison their renters for retirement checks and bury bodies in the backyard.”

  “What did you discover at Lacy’s?” I asked gently.

  He gave a sardonic smile. “Jewelry, lots of it. I figured she bought it from that flake, Wolf, but it got me thinking. I knew Wolf and Celeste were up to some kind of jewelry scam, because Celeste had a stash of gold necklaces and rings herself. I found them when I checked out her place. But I didn’t know how they were pulling it off, until I got the key to the mortuary. I thought maybe Lacy was in on it.”

  “But she wasn’t?”

  His body language spoke volumes while his lips said nothing. He rocked back and forth, shook his head rhythmically, and tapped his feet.

  “Why did you kill her?”

  “Because! Because she walked in on me while I was looking through her stuff. I’m usually real careful. I thought she was going to be gone for a while. She went out every night about the same time and met some guy that nobody knew about—except me, of course. But she came back early that night and caught me snooping around.”

  “So you killed her?”

  Mickey rocked a little harder.

  “I didn’t mean to kill her. I didn’t mean for anyone to die. Not even Reuben. It doesn’t make me a killer, does it, just because I was there and didn’t do anything?”

  So Mickey had been at the lake when Reuben had fallen over in the boat? Reuben had drowned and Mickey hadn’t done anything to save him. That’s why he knew so much about Reuben’s death.

  “What happened that night?” I asked.

  He opened and closed his knees, unable to keep them still. “Reuben was cheating on Lacy. He used that boat to meet other women. I was there—”

  “Spying on him?”

  Mickey glared at me. “I was watching him. I knew he was up to something. I was just waiting for him to make a mistake. He was drinking, not paying attention. He rammed the boat on a big rock, it began to sink, and he went under—” He paused, looking off to some far horizon only visible to Mickey from that cell. “I couldn’t do anything. I wasn’t even supposed to be there. The sheriff thought I was watching the high school football game.”

  “I still don’t understand what happened with Lacy.”

  He looked down at his restless feet, then at me.

  “When she caught me going through her stuff, she said she was going to tell the sheriff, like I was some kind of criminal or something. I … I couldn’t let her do that. Not after I’d worked so hard to be a good cop.”

  “So you stabbed her?”

  “No! No … I pushed her, you know, when she started to call the sheriff. She reached for her purse; I didn’t know what she was going to do next—maybe pull a gun …”

  Mickey checked to see if I was understanding what he was trying to say. I tried to look supportive. It wasn’t easy.

  “So I pushed her to the floor and got a knife from the table when she pulled out something from her purse. I tried to grab it away, but the knife kind of caught on her …”

  He stopped and hung his head.

  “What did you do then?”

  “I didn’t know what to do. I sat there for a while, trying to figure it out. I knew I hadn’t meant to do it, so it wasn’t really my fault. I thought maybe I could put the blame on someone who really deserved it. That’s when I got the idea about making it look like a phony suicide, to hide a murder that was supposedly perpetrated by Celeste. I thought it would make a good mystery, you know?”

  “Why Celeste? You said you knew about the jewelry scam? Why not just arrest her for that?” I asked.

  Mickey looked at me pleadingly. “I knew about the jewelry, but I couldn’t prove it. I figured she deserved to go to jail anyway, and while I was at it, I could give you a shot at putting your paper into the big-time with a real murder mystery to solve.”

  “Why the trocar?”

  He nodded repeatedly, like an autistic. “Like I said, I thought it would be a good puzzle. I liked working on those mysteries with you, Connor. It was something we had in common. I thought, if we worked together, we might become closer, you know. So I used the trocar to cover the knife wound.”

  He paused for a moment, then went quickly on, as if afraid to lose momentum.

  “No one seems to be able to do anything about crime any more—drug dealers, thieves, smart-ass teenagers—not even the police. Don’t you see? I had to do something!”

  “What about Sluice? Did you try to kill him too?”

  “No, he wasn’t a threat, really. I pushed him into the grave so he’d shut up for awhile, put him in the hospital, keep him out of the way. I had a feeling he had some jewelry in his backpack.
But I couldn’t find it. Then I spotted Wolf and had to get out of there.”

  “Why did you kill James Russell?”

  Mickey sat quietly for a few seconds before speaking.

  “I … followed Celeste that night. I thought she was going to see Wolf about the jewelry.”

  I watched him intently.

  “But Celeste went to the Mark Twain instead. She was acting real strange, kind of sneaking around, you know. And wearing these dark, manlike clothes. She went in through the window instead of the door. Tell me that’s not weird.”

  “That is strange,” I agreed.

  “I hung around outside, listening through the open window, but what I overheard wasn’t what I expected.”

  He looked at me for a reaction, but I knew what he was about to say. “It wasn’t the jewelry scam,” I said.

  Mickey laughed. “Hell, no. Celeste and this guy were conning rich old widows out of all their money. It was incredible!”

  “And they had to be stopped …” I suggested.

  Mickey rubbed his hands together feverishly. “After Celeste left, I climbed in the window. Shoot, was that guy surprised to see me. I told him I knew what he was up to. But he laughed and said I couldn’t prove anything. He was right. I didn’t have anything. But I couldn’t let him get away with it.”

  “So you took that old mining pick down from the wall and stabbed him with it.”

  Mickey’s eyes filled with tears.

  “Connor, don’t you get it yet? He was no good. And I couldn’t have done anything about it within the law. I’m a lawman, and it’s my duty to do the right thing. It seemed the only way.”

  “I guess I know how Celeste’s hairs and threads happened to be at the inn, but what about the fingerprints? Were they Dan’s?” I asked.

  Mickey tilted his head to one side.

  “I didn’t trust him, Connor. He was a stranger in town, always snooping around, taking up all of your time. Nobody knew much about him. I still don’t know what his game is, but I figure he’s into drugs or something like that.”

  “Did you kill his brother?”

  I didn’t think Mickey was going to respond, he paused so long. Finally he took a deep breath, scratched the rash on his arm, and began to answer.

  “Boone knew too much about my connection to Lacy Penzance. All that investigating he was doing was becoming a problem. He called from Rio Vista needing some information from the sheriff, but I took the call.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He said he knew something about Lacy’s death. But he wouldn’t say more.”

  “So you went to Rio Vista.”

  “I had to know what he’d found out. I drove down and met him at a bar. He’d been drinking again—he was pretty far gone. He had a few more shots in the car and was getting really drunk. Seemed really upset about something. I kept asking him about his investigation and he wouldn’t say anything, even as drunk as he was.”

  “Then why did you kill him?”

  He gave me another piercing look. It was alarming how quickly his moods changed. “Would you wait! I’m trying to tell you!” He took another deep breath, wiped his nose, and resumed his story, speaking calmly. “He wouldn’t say anything for the longest time. Finally he said he’d seen me go into Jilda’s house one night when she was at the café.”

  “So he figured out that you were entering illegally.”

  Mickey raised his eyebrows. “I tried to convince him he was wrong, but he just opened the car door to get out—and fell. He was so drunk. I rolled him into the water, you know, to sober him up. But he rolled in too far, you know? And, well, he drowned. Like Reuben; he just drowned.”

  “And you didn’t try to save him.”

  “I didn’t see the point,” Mickey said, completely devoid of expression.

  “How’re you doing?” Dan asked over a light beer in my diner kitchen. I chugged a couple of swallows before I answered, then set the pale ale down on the swirled Formica top.

  “God, he was here! In my home! Going through my things!” I visualized Mickey running his hands through my Miracle bras and bikini underwear. “He went into my drawers—he read my mail. He tried to find out all my secrets.”

  “Got any?” Dan asked.

  “Tons. But none that he’d ever discover. I don’t leave them lying around where just anyone can find them.”

  “Sheriff says he’s being transported to Calaveras County Jail tomorrow. There’s going to be a lot of publicity.”

  I nodded and rubbed my chest. It was itching. I pulled down the collar of my shirt and saw the red rash.

  “Poison oak?”

  “The patch on my arm is starting to dry up, but now it’s on my chest, and I can’t stop scratching it. Oh, well, poison oak isn’t all bad. It helped me figure out Mickey was Lacy’s killer.”

  “What? How?” Dan said, scratching his cheek. Uh-oh.

  “You getting it too?” I remembered the time we kissed. I touched his cheek, probably right after I scratched my arm. I could have spread it to him then.

  “Nah. My beard itches. I never get poison oak. I’m immune. So how did getting poison oak help you figure out Mickey was a killer? That’s quite a long shot.”

  “There were bunches of it in the older cemetery, where Reuben and Lacy’s gravestones are, remember? You almost sat in it. The stuff hadn’t been cleared away like it had in the newer section. When Mickey dragged Lacy’s body up there and spread it out on the gravestone, he got into the poison oak without knowing it. Mickey and I were both there the next day—that’s when I must have touched it. But he broke out at least eight hours before I did. I remember him scratching it early the next day.”

  “I don’t think it’s enough to convict him on.”

  I laughed. “Exhibit A: calamine lotion. Speaking of which, that’s what was missing from my medicine cabinet. It got me thinking about him. Anyway, there’s plenty of other evidence. The keys he copied, the stash of jewelry he’d hidden in his closet and drawers, Lacy’s earring, the journal. That scrapbook—with my half-finished mystery napkin taped inside. He must have picked it up that day he came to return Lacy’s keys. And the minty breath—I knew I smelled something besides that horrible stuff he put over my face. But I suppose his confession is the clincher.”

  “If it holds up. He knew his rights and he waived them, but these days the law seems to do everything it can to protect the criminal.”

  “I guess that’s why Mickey did all this,” I said. “He felt frustrated at the system and wanted to put the bad guys away himself—only he didn’t even know he was one of the bad guys, too. Just like this movie back-lot town. Mickey was a false front with a hidden interior that didn’t much resemble what he presented.”

  “These people aren’t all ‘bad,’ except in Mickey’s eyes,” Dan said. “He wanted to be Super Cop, adored by the public. And by you, especially,” Dan said.

  “That reminds me. How did you know those were my underpants at Mickey’s? They could have been anyone’s.”

  Dan smiled. “Because underneath that tough-gal facade of yours a very sexy woman is hiding.”

  I blushed, pulled a jar of cashews from the cupboard, and opened them into a bowl to distract myself from Dan.

  “How’s Celeste? What did the sheriff say is going to happen to her?”

  “She’s under house arrest at the hospital. She committed fraud, theft, and bigamy once removed. She won’t be dancing on anyone’s grave for awhile.”

  “And Wolf?”

  Dan shrugged one shoulder and ate a cashew. “I don’t know what they can prove. Celeste could implicate him, but to what degree there’s no telling. He’s a modern-day grave-robber. Hopefully he won’t get away with it. But proving it won’t be easy, without exhuming a few graves. That won’t be pleasant.”

  “Poor Sluice,” I said, with a mouthful of cashews. “Do you think he’ll take any blame for this?”

  “What?” Dan said. I chewed up the nuts and repeated t
he question.

  “I don’t know. Everyone seems to know his shirt is missing a few buttons.”

  “What?”

  “His pocket’s half empty. His shoes have no traction. His cortex is missing a few synapses. You know.”

  I giggled. “The sheriff said he probably aided Celeste and Wolf without really knowing what he was doing. He was just the go-between with the jewelry. The sheriff took him to a shelter tonight, over in Whiskey Slide. He needs someone to look after him. Poor, lonely old guy.”

  Dan filled his mouth with cashews, then tried to speak. All I saw were cashews. When he finished, he repeated his question. We were clearly going to have to give up eating if we wanted to communicate.

  “So your suspicions began when Mickey alluded to an inconsistency in Lacy’s wound?”

  “Not really. It was Lacy’s body language while she lay on the grave. It just spoke to me when I saw that snapshot of her dead body.”

  “When did you first suspect Mickey? An itchy arm isn’t much to go on.”

  “I was never really certain, not for a long time, just something in the back of my mind. He knew a lot more about Reuben’s drowning than any of the reports I had read. He seemed to know a lot about me, more than I ever told him. He was almost intuitive about what I liked to read and eat, and what I was interested in. I guess he researched me, but it was superficial. He said he loved the Little Lulu comics, but he knew nothing about Witch Hazel.”

  “I don’t know anything about Witch Hazel.”

  “But you don’t pretend to know anything about Little Lulu either.”

  “So who’s Witch Hazel?”

  “She’s a witch Lulu created to get Alvin to sleep at night.”

  “Who’s Alvin?”

  “I’ll let you read one later.”

  The light on the TTY flashed at the doorway that leads to the back part of the house. I had it placed there so I could see it from most areas in the diner. I picked it up; it was the sheriff—I could tell by his typing.

  “C.W. HOw you doing? GEtting a little R & R? GA.”