Jay winced. "Poor bastard. Okay. And the bare facts. Dead at least five days. Single gunshot wound to the head."
"Shit, man, I could write a three column story from that with one hand tied behind my back."
"So what are you doing working for the county?" They grinned at each other, tight, sour little grins.
"Go home," Kevin said.
"Okay. You'd better relieve Dan Cowan, too." They walked slowly over to the shed, skirting a pile of cinders, and Jay came back alone fifteen minutes later, feet dragging.
I drove carefully, eyes on the road. There was no traffic. Jay leaned back. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't sleeping.
I stopped where the county road intersected with the state highway and turned onto it in the wake of a log truck. "Bill Huff collects guns. Mostly hunting rifles. I didn't look closely. I think he had a couple of handguns, though."
Jay grunted.
"And Domingo showed me a gun yesterday."
"Old Colt .45. He has a permit."
"Did Ted Peltz..."
"I don't think Peltz did it."
"Why not? He's vicious enough."
"Wrong kind of personality. Too direct. This killer likes embroidery."
I shifted down for the traffic light where the county highway crosses U.S. 99. "You mean embellishments?"
"Like the larkspur. And the trick with the refrigeration."
"Maybe that wasn't deliberate."
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe the killer left the engine running because he wanted you to think Miguel had been driving around a lot. And the refrigeration just happened to be on."
"The windows were open when he was killed."
I turned up Main Street, driving slow. A teenager not much younger than Miguel zoomed by me on the right, driving a low-rider. "Was Miguel trying to blackmail the murderer?"
"That's the logical conclusion."
"But he was a nice kid!"
Jay wriggled his shoulders. The seatbelt cut across his ribs. "He was facing unemployment, and he had a big family to feed back home in Baja."
"What will happen to them?"
"I suppose they'll get the legacy eventually."
I pulled into the lot behind the bank. It was seven fifteen. The town was already stirring, and I had to open the store at ten.
I fed us scrambled eggs. Jay took a pain pill and lay down. When I left he was asleep, and Kevin had not yet called.
Chapter XI
I left for the mall early enough to run laps at the health club. When I had showered and dressed I felt as if I might be able to handle the rest of the day without real sleep. I kept thinking about Miguel.
The news story broke around eleven, according to Ginger. She heard it on the car radio on her way to work. Wasn't it sad, but suicide was a kind of confession, wasn't it? I said um.
Ginger was dressed to the eyeteeth for the encounter with her future mother-in-law, and her mind was on that. Otherwise she would have grilled me. I had forgotten Denise. At noon I dashed home and changed into a dress and sandals. Jay was gone.
Ginger was fuming when I got back. "I called Denise. She said a friend was coming over for lunch and not to show up until two. Of all the nerve."
"Now, Ginger."
"Like I was trying to sell her Tupperware or something."
"You should be relieved."
"You're kidding. The sooner I get this over with the better. Will your mother mind waiting?"
"Oh God, Mother. I should have called her about Miguel. Did Denise say anything about the mur...about Miguel?"
"No. Geez." Ginger was still fuming and didn't catch my lapse.
I reached for the telephone. "Oops, too late." I could see Ma's rental car making its tentative way across the parking lot. She'd come to town early.
She was wearing the faille suit. I was touched that she had brought out the heavy armor on Ginger's behalf.
As Ma locked the car door and turned to cross the few yards of asphalt to the door of the shop, a radio reporter, mike in hand, materialized from a behind a Winnebago. I froze.
Ginger was muttering about Denise. I watched Ma. I could tell from her blank stillness that she had not heard the news. She said something quick and definite, and moved to the entrance with the reporter trailing her.
I unfroze, opened the door for her, and pulled her inside. The damned bonger bonged.
"My God, Lark, why didn't you call and warn me?"
"I should have." I whisked her behind the counter and into the back room as the reporter charged through the door, bonging. "I'm sorry."
"Then it's true?"
I nodded. "Let me get rid of the press. Be right back." Ma sat at my desk looking dazed.
I no-commented until the reporter gave up. A customer entered. I let Ginger show her the hiking maps and went back to Mother.
"I'm sorry," I repeated. "I wasn't thinking." And I gave her an edited account of the discovery of Miguel's body. "And I'm a little disoriented."
"You might have phoned me, all the same." She brooded. "Shouldn't we put Denise off?"
I explained Ginger's nerves. "Anyway Denise put us off--for an hour. We'd better do it today, before Ginger chickens out."
Ma thought. "You're probably right. You ought to close the store again, though. Until the press storm blows over."
I started to protest. I hated to do that to Annie and my real customers, but it made sense. "Today and tomorrow?"
"Yes. I'm surprised you opened at all, Lark. Bad taste." At least she didn't blame my misjudgment on Jay.
I took the criticism meekly and went out front. The customer was deliberating between the Pacific Crest Trail and Siskiyou Pathways, two of my better maps. I turned the Closed sign around while Ginger dealt with her. She finally left. I was explaining to Ginger when Ma came in.
"When does Annie show up?"
"Any time now."
"We'll take her to lunch. Where do you suggest, Ginger?"
Ginger was flattered to be consulted, and they deliberated over restaurants while I lettered a sign with felt marker on the back a promotional poster. "Larkspur Books will reopen Monday, July 15." What was it about July 15? Something. It wouldn't come. I was even groggier than I had thought I was.
Annie bounced in the back door and had to be comforted with the promise of compensatory hours the next week. She cheered up when Ma announced we were lunching at Wind Song, a posh place that overlooks Beale Creek. Annie had never eaten there.
Lunch was not jolly. Ginger poked at a salad. Ma was concerned for Domingo and worried about what a new wave of sightseers and souvenir hunters might do to the lodge. I kept thinking about Miguel. Annie ate a lot of manicotti.
We dropped her at her car and headed back out Beale Creek Road. Denise's small house lay about halfway between D'Angelo's apartment complex and the Huffs' rural enclave. A side road wound uphill and dead-ended in a paved turn-around. Three driveways gave on the cul-de-sac. One led to an unfinished cabin, one to a new executive palace, and the third, rather narrow and overhung with evergreens, to Denise's hideaway. I could hear the high whine of a power saw from the direction of the cabin, but otherwise there were no signs of life.
Denise had bought the house when it as just an isolated farmhouse. I think she had subdivided the property, though I'd heard her complain that her neighbors violated her solitude.
I parked in the driveway by her small garage, and we got out. She had had the good sense not to modernize the house. It was a classic frame structure with a wide, roofed porch. She had had the house painted an uncompromising and correct white with gray trim. Nasturtiums and snapdragons rioted along the walk. Baskets of fuchsias in full bloom hung from the roof of the porch.
Ginger wanted to lag. I made her go ahead of us and ring the doorbell. We stood. No answer. Ginger rang again. Silence.
Ginger's mouth quivered. "She's doing it on purpose!"
"Lydia Huff said something about a new gazebo around back. If Denise fed her friend lunch, maybe she
's there cleaning up."
There were tears in Ginger's eyes. Ma had drifted over to look at the porch swing.
"I'll go see if I can find her, Ginge. Cheer up. You don't want to let her see she's upset you."
Ginger sniffed.
"And ring the bell again. Lean on it."
"Okay."
I followed the porch around the side of the house. Steps led down from a side door to a flagged footpath. I walked on around the back.
The Chinese delphiniums caught my eye first. Denise had planted them in solid masses to hide the concrete base of the gazebo. The tips flared deep blue against the unweathered russet of the redwood structure.
"Denise?"
No answer.
A pure white cat stalked around the edge of the steps. The movement startled me. "Hello, puss. Who's here?"
The cat gave me a cold stare and stalked off.
I squinted into the folly. Denise had already trained a vine up the trellised side. I thought I saw a patch of the flowered fabric of her lounging pajamas. As I opened my mouth to call to her a tiny breeze puffed. I smelled something fetid.
I didn't know what was wrong but something was. My pulse hammered. "Denise..." I took the steps in a single stride.
She was lying behind the small redwood table at the center of the gazebo, an overturned chair beside her. I took another step and saw her face. It was dusky with suffused blood, and her tongue protruded. In the moment of death her body had voided. I caught the stench full force.
I took two cat steps backwards and bumped the trellis. My mind had gone so still I could not have screamed, and I think my heart stopped. Then it thudded into action, and the adrenalin started to flow.
I thought of the two women waiting for me on the porch. I did not want them to see this horror. And part of my concern was that the crumpled body violated everything Denise had been. It was obscenely graceless.
I backed down the stairs and stood on the flagged walk, breathing through my mouth. The white cat crossed intensely green lawn. A bee bumbled past. I walked, stone by stone, around the house, and I took the steps to the porch, leaning on the rail like an old woman.
"What is it?"
"She's there. Dead."
I remember their eyes--so wide they were rimmed white. I was still holding the rail and a good thing, too, because I almost passed out.
I breathed in, held it. Light returned. "Denise was strangled. It's ugly. Don't go back there!" That to Ma who rose from the swing. "Both of you stay right where you are. I'm going to have to call the sheriff's office." I hoped Jay was in.
Ma and Ginger exchanged looks. Ginger whimpered.
"But shouldn't we..." Ma started.
"No. Don't move. Maybe the door's unlocked." I tried it, and it opened easily. "I'm going to call."
Denise's salon--more than a living room--was superbly furnished in antiques, mostly rosewood, with a soft pale-blue rug on the polished hardwood floor. The phone sat on a whatnot table. I picked up the receiver, got a dial tone, and went blank. Finally my fingers poked 911, and I heard myself asking for the sheriff's office.
Beth, the dispatcher, recognized my voice. When I had croaked out an explanation, she agreed to transfer me to Jay while she sent a call for one of the patrol cars. Denise's house was deep in county territory, at least ten miles outside the city's jurisdiction. Jay answered on the third ring.
"It's Lark. Denise has been murdered."
"What...where are you?"
"At Denise's house. Beth's sending a car. Please come. I'm scared. I have Ginger and Ma with me."
"You're sure she's dead?"
"Oh, God, Jay, her face is purple." I swallowed hard. "And she stinks..."
"Don't touch anything, Lark. I'm on my way."
"Th-thanks." I hung up. I was going to cry or be sick, and neither would do Denise any good. I wondered if I was allowed to throw up in her bathroom and decided that if Jay didn't want me to touch anything I'd better not. When the nausea subsided I went back to the porch.
Ginger was sitting on the porch swing, crying on Ma's faille shoulder. Ma didn't look so good herself.
"He's coming?"
"Right away. The patrol car should get here first, though."
We stared at each other.
"The chauffeur didn't kill Dai, did he?"
I shook my head. "Miguel was murdered, too."
They gaped at me. Ma said, "She...Denise was shot?"
"Strangled with the scarf of her lounging outfit."
"Like Isadora Duncan. No, not exactly..."
"Jay says the killer embellishes."
"Jay's sharp, isn't he?" That was kind. Jay might be sharp, but he was going to feel stupid that he hadn't been able to prevent Denise's death. Stupid and sick.
Ginger sobbed and Ma patted her shoulders. I sat on the edge of the porch, dangling my legs in the snapdragons, and tried to think. The white cat nosed across the lawn. It was pursuing a butterfly.
The patrol car came within fifteen minutes. I didn't recognize the deputy, but he seemed to know who I was. He took my name for his incident report, and I introduced my mother and Ginger.
Ginger had gathered herself together. "Somebody ought to call Dennis."
"I'm sure they will, Ginge. Where is he?"
"Dennis?" the deputy asked.
"H-her son." I swallowed. "Dennis Fromm."
"He's at work." Ginger's mouth trembled, and she bit her lip. "He only has three more days."
"I'll call the number in when I've seen the victim," the deputy volunteered. He was blond, about my age, and wore glasses. "They'll send somebody to tell him."
Ginger thanked him. Mother patted her arm.
"Now, Miss Dailey..."
I led him around on the flagstone path, stood on the grass, and pointed. "She's in the gazebo behind the table. I'm not going any closer."
"You touch anything?"
"I brushed the inside of that trellis with my shoulder. I was dizzy. I didn't touch her...the body."
"You sure she's dead?"
Jay's question. "Go see for yourself," I snapped.
He set his jaw. I could tell that he was nerving himself to go up the redwood steps, and I was ashamed of my momentary annoyance. I didn't have to be told that cops were human, did I? Nothing would have compelled me to go back into the gazebo. I waited on the grass.
When the deputy came back to me he was green. "Okay, Miss Dailey. Now I guess I'd better fill in my report."
"Let's go around front. My mother..."
He shoved his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "I ought to stay here. Guard the body."
"Who's going to disturb her...it?"
He peered around. The yard was completely enclosed by a tall redwood fence, older than the gazebo and weathered. Climbing roses rioted on the boards, and salal and ornamental evergreens around the perimeter were relieved by carefully placed boulders. A towering cedar shaded the gazebo. In the northeast corner of the yard Denise had planted an herb garden. Everything was very still. Eerie.
I shivered. "Can't we go around front?"
"No!" His color had come back. "I ought to keep the stiff, er, the body in sight. I can take your statement here, though."
"She had to be alive around noon." My memory was starting to function. "She called Ginger...Ms. Gates. Said somebody was coming for lunch."
"Are you sure of the time?"
"No. It was after noon. Better ask Ginger."
The deputy and I stood on the flagstones while he took down the basic information. I went back to Ma and Ginger, and he went back to the gazebo to guard Denise's body from passing butterflies. There was no gate in the fence that surrounded the area. I supposed neighborhood kids, if there were any, could have climbed over, but it didn't seem likely.
Ten long minutes later Jay drove up in the Blazer trailed by another county car. He had a word with the evidence crew. Then he came straight to me. He held me, and I cried a little. Neither of us said anything. One of the depu
ties cleared his throat. Ahem.
"Where's the body?" Jay asked me.
"Around back. There's a garden house." I said into Jay's shirt, "I couldn't stand it back there."
Jay stroked my back. "Go get things started, Mike." Mike went.
I didn't want to move, but I knew I was being self-indulgent. I took a long breath and straightened.
Jay kept his hand where it was. "Mrs. Dailey, Ginger, I'm afraid you'll have to hang around for awhile. When I've had a look at the scene I'll want to talk to both of you. Lark, too. I've sent for Dennis, Ginger."
"Th-thanks. Can I use the bathroom?"
Jay hesitated. "If there's one upstairs."
"Denise had a guest coming for lunch," I interposed.
"That's what she told Ginger."
"Then the guest may have gone inside. Don't touch anything downstairs, Ginger."
Ma said, "I think I'll accompany her, if you don't mind."
When they went in Jay took me over to the porch swing and sat me down. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. I'm sorry to be such an idiot."
He bent and kissed me on the forehead. "Shock. Sit there and dredge up everything you can recall about this, starting with why you and your mother came with Ginger. I'll be back when I've had a look around." He rubbed his ribs.
"There's a maniac loose, isn't there?"
"Not in the usual sense of the word," he said slowly, "but yes, I think so. Madness or at least obsession. That's assuming the same person killed Llewellyn, Miguel, and Denise."
I stared up at him. The contusion had faded and slid down his cheek, and he was wearing sunglasses. I wanted to see his eyes. "Surely there's only one killer."
"I hope so."
"But who would kill...oh, no, not Dennis."
"Or Ginger."
"She couldn't have! She's been with me since eleven, and Denise called the store around twelve fifteen."
"Were you there when the call came?"
"No. I went home to change. For Godsake, Jay, that's too crazy. Ginger?"
"It's not very likely. I want you to remember that anyone can kill, given the right provocation. And Denise was being difficult about the marriage. Be careful who you confide in."
I gaped at him.
"Ted Peltz is clear on this one. He's still locked up."
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