Paula K. Perrin - Small Town Deadly

by Paula K. Perrin

  Sybil pushed the door open, turned to glare at Gene, then slammed the door shut behind her

  Gene threw the door open so violently it hit the wall with a crash.

  Millay and Jankowski popped out of their rooms.

  “You okay?” Jankowski asked.

  “Peachy.” Gene glared at me. “Dammit, Liz, get in here.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  As I crossed the stage my footsteps thumped hollowly. I mounted the steps toward the computer room. Gene loomed larger and larger. My heart pounded. Not having Sybil’s prestige, I lacked that advantage in dealing with him, but I had another. Our mothers were distant cousins. Over the years they’d compared notes. Hard to hold a man in awe when you know how difficult he’d been to potty-train.

  He stood aside to let me enter the room and indicated a grey secretarial chair beside a student work station. I sat. He straightened some papers and set them face down on the table. His hands trembled slightly. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I wouldn’t have noticed. Operating under a full head of steam, as Mother would say.

  I’d had a Clouseau kind of detective in mind when I wrote the play, but someone cast Gene to be himself, the chief of police, innocently attending a variety show when a murder is discovered.

  He’d loosened his tie. The top button of his shirt was undone, his sleeves rolled up. The red-gold hair on his arms glistened.

  Jankowski walked down to get Meg. I tensed. After her trouble with the police back east this winter, I was afraid she’d be hostile, but as she passed, I saw her calm face, mouth gently curved. Angelic.

  She began to chat with the policeman. What if she said something that implicated her in the murder? Should I demand a lawyer for her?

  Gene cleared his throat, startling me. I turned and saw his denim-blue eyes examining me.

  I stared down at my lapis lazuli and gold bracelet. I ran my finger over a cracked stone as I decided any protective action on my part would make Meg suspect.

  Gene said, “Okay, I want you to tell me how you discovered the body. Every detail. Start with when you left Kirk at the checkout counter. Tell me everything you noticed.”

  “I’m not sure I noticed anything—I was having trouble with my lines—I only had today and—”

  “Yeah, yeah, Annamaria getting sick,” he said. “I know that part. Tell me about finding Andre.”

  “Well, the hall lights were dimmer than I’d expected, and the spotlight in the closet was off. I could barely see—” My hands began to do some shaking of their own. I felt sick as I relived finding him. I told Gene everything up to encountering Kirk, Fran, and Meg on the ramp except about the lipstick and about throwing up.

  He said, “So Meg ran into the library to get me. Did Kirk and Fran stay with you or did they go to the body?”

  “They stayed with me.”

  “And after I went to look at the body?”

  “Kirk stayed with me until we heard sirens. Then he went to show your people the way. You know—Lofty, he was only a year or two ahead of Jared and Meg in school. He’s awfully young, must be inexperienced, isn’t he?”

  “He’ll learn. You were going to tell me about Fran.”

  “Oh, yes. She said she had to call Max.” I’d been slumping in my seat with my arms crossed over my chest. Now I sat up straight. “Are you sure you shouldn’t call in the Sheriff’s Office? You’ve never handled a murder case before, and I’ll bet—”

  “Ain’t gonna work, Liz. Tell me where Fran went.”

  “She wasn’t feeling well. She was looking for a restroom. I told you that.”

  “So even though a murder had just been committed, she went wandering around alone in the dark,” he said, his voice expressionless. “And you let her go.”

  “Fran’s brave as a lion, you know that.”

  “Yeah.” His gaze was steady. “Okay, Liz, hold on a minute while I make some notes.”

  I sat quietly while he wrote in a large, bold hand. He wrote on and on. I couldn’t believe I’d said that much.

  His head still bent over the paper he said, “Did you observe anything unusual among the people here tonight?”

  “Unusual?”

  “Did anyone act in ways you wouldn’t expect?”

  “No.”

  “Was anyone angry?”

  I hesitated.

  “What?”

  “It was nothing.”

  “Let me judge that, okay?”

  “I met Alisz here an hour early so we could go over the set and practice. Kirk came to set up chairs. Victor got here a little before seven—Alisz was irritated because he’d been supposed to get here earlier to help. Fran arrived next, changed in the restroom, and when Alisz saw her in costume, she hit the roof.”

  “Why was that?”

  As if he hadn’t noticed. “The blouse.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Did they argue?”

  “I don’t think they would have, but Victor ratcheted it up by complaining Fran’s jacket covered all the good parts. Alisz started screaming about the play being a community event and Fran’s lack of moral fiber. I haven’t seen her like that since we were kids.”

  “What did Fran do?”

  “She said this was theater, after all. Finally Kirk suggested Fran wear a teddy under the blouse for the performances.”

  “Was Fran okay with that?”

  “She wasn’t happy, but she let it go. And Alisz agreed. But I don’t see what that has to do with Andre, he wasn’t even here yet.”

  “What time did he get here?”

  “I don’t know. I was working with Victor on the blocking. It seemed like one minute there were just a few of us, and the next everyone was here—” The words hung in the air. Both Meg and Jared, and for that matter, Gene himself, had been late and rehearsal delayed, though Meg had been the latest.

  Gene ignored my hesitation and asked, “When was the last time you saw Andre alive?”

  I thought. “At the end of the second scene Kirk and Jared and Andre were standing together. I think that’s the last time—” Tears stung my eyes.

  “Take it easy.” He ran his hands through his hair. “What was your relationship to the deceased?”

  “He was an acquaintance.”

  Gene’s eyes met mine. “I heard you were dating him.”

  I rubbed at my bracelet. “Yes, for awhile.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Any strong feelings left over?”

  I stood up. “Gene Cudworthy, you can’t think I did it!”

  “I can’t rule it out without some facts, and if you’re going to cover up for your pal Fran, I’ve got to think there’s something going on.” He stood.

  I wished I had Fran’s height. I was looking up almost twelve inches. I said, “How dare you accuse me of lying!”

  “The manure fell off my shoes a long time ago.”

  “How charming.”

  “You’ve always been an awful snob, Liz.”

  I glared at him.

  He ran his fingers through his hair again. “My temper got me after all.” He sighed. “Look, I need to know if you had a motive to kill Andre.”

  I took a deep breath. “I was—unhappy for a while after we stopped dating, but who could hold a grudge against Andre? I haven’t talked with him since Barry’s funeral.”

  Gene sighed. “Okay.” He looked down at the paper he’d been writing on. He walked over to the table heaped with clothes, rummaged around, and pulled my tooled leather purse out. “All right to look inside?” he asked.

  I nodded, grateful I hadn’t hidden the lipstick there after all.

  His search over, he opened the door for me. “You’ll need to come into the station tomorrow morning to be fingerprinted.”

  I passed him without a word. I approached Lofty. “Has Meg gone home?”

  His shoulder hunched and he glanced at Gene. “She’s gone, Ms. Macrae.”

  “Thanks.”

  I looked down at the empty rows of chairs. I walked outsi
de, my footsteps loud in the covered walkway. I took a deep, trembling breath of the fresh, cool air. A light spring rain drifted down, just enough to mist windshields and make the pavement glisten in the glare of the parking lot lights.

  The police cars were still helter-skelter in the south parking lot.

  As I passed between my red station wagon and the car next to it, a movement inside the other car startled me. I whirled to face it.

  “Oh! Little Bunny Foo Foo, you scared me,” I said to the sleepy beige poodle who’d stood up on the front seat.

  I turned my back on him and opened my door. I started to get in. “Oh, heck,” I said. I looked back at the dog. He’d put his front feet on the arm rest and was fogging the window with his breath.

  “What’s to become of you?” I asked.

  He whined softly. He had belonged to Barry Kemp who’d been Andre’s assistant for years. After Barry’s death a few months ago, Andre had kept the dog as he had promised he would. Little Bunny Foo Foo had a pedigree that went back to Charlemagne and a little red bow stuck in his top knot.

  “You’ll be okay,” I said and got in my car. I put my key in the ignition.

  The dog watched me, head cocked to the side.

  “I hate poodles.”

  He dropped back onto the seat and out of sight.

  I rubbed my forehead. I’d lied to Gene. I’d been extremely angry at Andre. Looking back, I could see I’d had no reason to believe that while he was with me, he’d eschew other women, but that hadn’t stopped it from hurting.

  But there’d been the good side, memories that lingered and made me smile: afternoons in the walnut sleigh bed, green and burgundy sheets rumpled, Andre and me lying there together, not quite asleep, Little Bunny Foo Foo yapping somewhere outside, Barry’s cajoling voice barely heard.

  Andre had always been an elegant man. I thought of his crushed head, the horrible mess. It wasn’t fair. My chest ached with grief.

  A knock on my window made me yelp. Little Bunny Foo Foo barked ferociously. I rubbed the tears out of my eyes with the back of my hand.

  Kirk said, “I’m sorry, Liz. Didn’t mean to frighten you. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  I opened my car door and stepped out. “Quiet!” I said to the poodle. He barked once more, then subsided.

  “It just hit me all over again.”

  Kirk patted my shoulder.

  “I don’t know what to do about Little Bunny Foo Foo. It was so important to Andre to take good care of him, and I feel—” my throat closed up.

  “I suppose the police will be in charge of him, don’t you?”

  “But, Kirk, what will they do with him?”

  “Let’s go ask.”

  Together we walked back to the library, Kirk a solid presence at my side. The door was locked. Through the glass doors of the lobby, I saw the cops standing together.

  Kirk knocked.

  The men turned to look at us. Gene said something, and Lofty came over and unlocked the door.

  We followed him in.

  Kirk said, “Andre’s dog is out in his car. Can you tell us what you’ll do with him?”

  “We’ll call animal control,” Officer Jankowski said.

  “Wouldn’t one of you like to keep him?”

  Lofty shook his head. “Nah. He’s a poodle, isn’t he?”

  The tough cop said, “Good for target practice.”

  A little sound of protest escaped my throat. The tough cop grinned. “Can’t someone take him?” I asked.

  “Sure. You want to?” Millay said.

  “I can’t.” I looked at Kirk.

  Kirk’s ruddy skin grew redder. “I can’t, Liz, you know the rules at the rectory.”

  I looked around.

  Millay said, “Divorce city if I look at another stray.”

  “He wouldn’t survive Oscar,” Gene said.

  “He has a pedigree, you know,” I said.

  “You want us to bury it with him?” asked Toughie.

  “You don’t think they’ll put him to sleep at the pound, do you?” I asked.

  “They’ll keep an appealing, friendly dog as long as they can, and like you say, he’s a pedigreed poodle, so that gives him pretty good odds,” Millay said.

  I sighed with relief.

  “Of course adult dogs don’t have as good a chance as puppies,” he added.

  I looked around the circle of implacable male faces. I sighed. “Mother’s going to kill me,” I said.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lofty’s skill with a slim jim was awesome. The poodle barked himself into a frenzy trying to keep the Mercedes safe despite my pleas for him to be a good dog.

  When the lock popped, Lofty stood back and said, “It’s all yours.”

  Gene said, “Touch as little as you can. We’ll dust inside the car.”

  Little Bunny Foo Foo showed surprisingly big teeth.

  I hesitated.

  Gene reached for the door handle saying, “I’ll get him.”

  “No!” I said, grabbing his wrist.

  He stopped, but tension vibrated through him as he snarled, “What now?”

  “It’s just that his biggest sin is running off if you don’t have a leash on him. He’s a real escape artist.”

  Gene sighed. “What do you suggest? He looks ready to bite.”

  “It’d help if you all get away from the car.”

  They retreated to the roofed walkway.

  “Now, Little Bunny Foo Foo, I’m going to open the door. You remember me, don’t you?” I said.

  He was quiet, though he didn’t back away from the door.

  I touched the handle, and he barked again. “Look, this is your only chance to escape the dog catcher.” I said what Andre had always said as he got in the car, “Now get back. Back, back, back.”

  He turned and hopped onto the passenger seat, but as I opened the door and slid in, he yipped.

  “You know, dog catchers are nasty fellows,” I said.

  Little Bunny Foo Foo cocked his head.

  I looked on the passenger side’s floor. “Now where’s your leash? Andre never took you anywhere without it.”

  I leaned over and felt under the passenger seat. Little Bunny Foo Foo growled.

  I twisted and looked in the back. No leash.

  The poodle’s cold nose touched my hand where I’d absentmindedly rested it on the steering wheel.

  I leaned over and felt under the driver’s seat. My middle finger encountered something small and dry just as my ring finger touched the leash. I pulled both objects out. Besides the leash, I held a skinny, crumpled, half-smoked cigarette. I supposed it was marijuana.

  Little Bunny Foo Foo growled. Right outside the window, Gene’s voice said, “What’s taking so long?”

  I jumped, and the cigarette sprang out of my fingers. I left it for the police.

  I leashed the dog, and he hopped out and stayed at my heels as if he never would have considered a wild dash anywhere.

  He settled onto the passenger seat of the station wagon as I drove out of the parking lot. Kirk, in his old VW bug, was right behind me. It was after eleven. Most houses were dark. I passed two cars on Main Street, their headlights shining on the wet pavement. After a few blocks, when I turned left onto Macrae Avenue at the corner where the Episcopal church stood, the bug turned into the rectory’s driveway.

  I said, “He could have taken you. Every time there’s something he doesn’t want to do, he cites the rules and regulations of the church. As if we’d kick him out of the rectory for having a dog! That was lame.”

  Fran’s new black Mustang was parked in front of our house. I pulled around the corner and into our driveway, my heart sinking when I saw Meg’s car wasn’t there.

  I walked Little Bunny Foo Foo around to the front. Our house was a northwest bungalow built by my grandfather in 1923 as a country getaway. I’d lived in it all my life. “Act as if you belong,” I said to the poodle as we passed the rose bushes and mounted the steps
to the porch.

  The light from the porch fixture gleamed on the dark green paint of the porch’s floor. At Mother’s request, Meg and I had painted the house last summer. Mother wanted it white. Again. We’d given in on that, but when it had come to the steps and the floor of the porch, we refused to repaint them grey.

  Too much of the house had become grey over the years, Mother’s bedroom, the parlor, the hallway. When I was little, those rooms had been painted yellow and peach.

  I peered through the etched-glass panel before I opened the door. The poodle’s nails clicked on the hardwood floor of the dark, narrow hall.

  The kitchen had retained its yellow paint because its one small window faced north and the room was always dim. Little Bunny Foo Foo sniffed at the worn linoleum floor.

  Mother and Fran sat at the round oak table, bone china cups of tea and plates of gingerbread before them. Tendrils of steam rose from the teapot’s spout.

  “Where did you go?” I demanded.

  “I had an errand,” Fran said, one green eye closing in a wink.

  Mother caught the gesture but did not react. Tonight she wore her long hair up in the same Gibson-girl style as Fran, piled softly on her head. Only Fran’s hair was golden, Mother’s iron grey; Fran’s face flawless, Mother’s so lined with years of pain and anger that the dimple on her right cheek had been engulfed by creases.

  Little Bunny Foo Foo sniffed Mother’s orthopedic shoes.

  Fran’s gaze shifted quickly from me and my companion to Mother.

  Mother disappointed her. “Get yourself a cup and join us,” she said.

  I crossed to the glass-fronted cupboards, the poodle clicking along beside me, and chose a mug. I helped myself to a square of gingerbread from the pan on the counter and crowned it with whipped cream from a blue bowl.

  When I sat at the table, Little Bunny Foo Foo sat at my feet.

  Mother glanced at the mug disapprovingly as I poured my tea. It was her belief that tea belonged in proper teacups. “Where’s Meg?” she asked.

  “I expected her to be here.”

  “That girl! Since she’s come home, you never know where she’s going to be, day or night.”

  I nodded.