Dead Man's Carve (A Tickled to Death Mystery Book 1)

by Kym Roberts

  I laughed, praying they hadn’t heard, or that at least my dad hadn’t put his hearing aids in yet. “Just once a couple days ago. We bumped into one another.” More like she ground her crotch into my hips and rubbed her large breasts across my ribs.

  I suddenly wondered if her bazookas were the models for the sign above the business. They had that same ohhh effect in her yellow body-glove, long sleeve tee. The scoop neck on me would be no big deal. But on her? Well, I couldn’t help but wonder how a woman of her stature held those things up.

  “That was Ms. Rilee’s first time in the club. She ain’t the type to come to Woody’s.” Tommy whispered to Brandy Kay. His voice was at a respectful volume so the other customers couldn’t hear, but his girl wasn’t too happy with him as he grinned and winked in my direction. I suddenly saw a woman scorned and tried to rephrase Tommy’s blunder.

  “Not because I’m too good for Woody’s, I just don’t go out. I like to stay at home. You were very good, from what I saw the other night.” The compliment came out as lame as it sounded in my head.

  “Come on, Brandy Kay, I’ll take you back to meet the others.” Tommy cluelessly winked at me for the third time before heading to the workshop.

  Any other time his winks would mean nothing. But they clearly meant something to the woman I’d been waiting several days to meet, and for some reason Tommy seem to be deliberately trying to make her jealous. How the heck was I going to win her over with him acting like that?

  I took a deep breath and walked into the classroom just in time to hear Myrtle whisper, “You went out with who?”

  Betty bopped her on the rear with her canvas tool bag, scooting Myrtle forward toward my dad’s end of the table.

  “Rilee, it’s so good to see you again.” I could have sworn Betty emphasized my name just a tad louder than her normal megaphone volume.

  “Hello ladies. I was worried transportation was going to be an issue for you and you wouldn’t make it.”

  Dressed for painting, in jeans and a pink sweatshirt with what could only be her grandkids handprints all over it, Myrtle jumped in before Betty had a chance. “No, my car was fixed by Friday night, thanks to that wonderful tow service you called for me. Betty, on the other hand, almost made us late this morning by trying on four outfits before she decided on this one.” Myrtle’s head to toe glance at her friend said exactly what she thought of Betty’s choice for clothing.

  “Oh, stop your fussing.” Betty pulled her white t-shirt down over her rail-thin form.

  Tommy’s voice carried over the other conversations as he greeted the two women, complimenting Myrtle on how a woman, as young as she was, could not have that many grandchildren to decorate her sweatshirt, before he fawned over Ms. Betty’s black velvet pants.

  With Tommy flirting with everything that didn’t have a penis, and me wearing a t-shirt that spoke to the male libido, I suspected Brandy Kay was not going to be a happy camper. Grabbing a leather work apron that made my figure similar to that of a bovine, I prayed my dad would give me the playful greeting he had ever since he bought me the shapeless piece of safety equipment. He didn’t disappoint.

  “How now, brown cow?” Dad asked as I headed toward the opposite end of the table as he did. I smiled at my septuagenarian father, who knew how to make me feel good even if I had the appearance of a side of beef. By now, Brandy Kay had been introduced throughout the group, and was enjoying the attention she was getting from our male members as Tommy scooted in her chair for her. I suspect the newlywed bride on the opposite side of the table had her fingers dug into her groom’s upper thigh, he was wincing like only a man could.

  “Ms. Rilee could never be mistaken for a creature off the farm, Mr. Dust.” Tommy stated as he rushed over to pull my seat out for me.

  What had gotten into that man’s brain? Couldn’t he see Brandy Kay was spittin’ mad? I turned my head and gave him a wide-eyed get-back-over-there look I hoped was imperceptible to everyone else.

  Of course he flashed a smile like I’d given him a different kind of message.

  My eye began to twitch as I pulled the basket of Santa spoons out from under the table. Paints were already out on the long butcher block table in front of everyone. I pulled out the carving tools from my apron and set the rolled-up canvas tool belt on the end of the table. I wouldn’t need them today, but I certainly didn’t want them jabbing me in the gut either.

  “May I show Brandy Kay your tools?” Tommy asked.

  “Of course, help yourself.” Men always liked to admire the different knives. Because of their cost, I recommended a kit of five to our beginners, and used my extensive collection to entice them to purchase more once they learned what cut each tool was capable of creating.

  Tommy carefully rolled out the tools, his large hands surprisingly nimble as he pulled each knife out of its own pocket.

  “Wow. May I?” Brandy Kay ask as she indicated she wanted to hold the tools.

  I nodded for her to go ahead, and she pulled out the different knives and examined each one.

  “My body’s the only tool I need to do my job.” The coy smile she gave each of the members made Tommy cringe.

  Brendan, standing on her other side, sneaked a look at her, uhm, tool, and slipped with his carving knife. Instead of gouging the wood of his new project, he cut his palm, and a small spot of blood appeared. I had little sympathy, considering I’d told him numerous times to wear his safety glove.

  The groom’s jaw was clenched from some unknown source of pain as his bride’s head turned at a weird angle, sporting a very unnatural smile. I was pretty sure she’d be spitting up green slime any moment as the jealousy demon took over her body.

  “My tools are far less dangerous than yours,” I blurted, in a poor attempt to compliment Brandy Kay. All I got was an eye roll from Dad and a snort from Betty and Brendan in unison. But more importantly, I achieved an air kiss from Brandy Kay, and my hope of getting her to talk about Ryan began to return.

  I heard the back door of the shop bounce open and before I could get up to find out what happened, Mr. Bogart padded his way into the room. Head at table height, his body wiggled with excitement at seeing everyone.

  “What is that?” Brandy Kay’s high-pitched squeak lost its sex-kitten appeal. Her eyes bulged in fear and like a cartoon character, she scooted toward Tommy for protection.

  But her screech had already worked its magic. Bogart was completely intrigued by the noise as he cocked his head to the side and made a beeline for the one person who wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. From the slobber hanging off his bottom lip, I was pretty sure Brandy Kay was just as luscious to my dog, as she was to the rest of the male population.

  Brandy Kay crawled on Tommy’s lap and began screaming like a banshee before anyone else looked up. Dad grabbed at my wayward dog, but missed. I jumped up and grabbed his collar mid-lunge, pulling him away from Tommy’s date, who continued making God-awful noises. Bogart’s slobber, however, continued with his momentum and hit Tommy’s shoulder — right in front of Brandy Kay’s face.

  The blood curdling scream that followed hit the sensitive spot in my dad’s hearing aid, and he tore it out of his ear. Brandy Kay, who had been doing everything she could to become one with Tommy, now launched herself up on the table.

  I really could have kicked myself for not having a better plan.

  “Bad dog,” I scolded my confused canine. With ears plastered down and sad eyes apologizing for a crime he had no idea he committed, I led Bogart back to the house.

  “I don’t know how you opened that door, but you need to stay home.” To say it was a lecture wouldn’t really be true. If I’d been scolding the dog for his behavior, I wouldn’t have been hugging his neck and receiving kisses as we walked into our home, and up the stairs. Bogart began to crawl slowly onto the bed and I helped him with a final push to his behind. “Stay.”

  I patted the shell-shocked beast on the head, kissed his cheek and retreated to the shop. This t
ime I locked the door to prevent any further interrupts.

  “When did you acquire that thing?” Brendan asked as soon as I returned to the classroom.

  “Mr. Bogart showed up at my door a few days ago. I’ve searched for his owner, but can’t find one.” I turned toward our guest who still hadn’t gotten down off the table. “I’m so sorry, Brandy Kay. I have no idea how he opened that door. He’s somehow figured out how to turn the door handle. I hope he didn’t frighten you too badly.”

  “She was mauled by two large dogs as a small child. She lost her little toe in the attack,” Tommy explained while wiping his shirt with my father’s handkerchief.

  With his explanation, the female members of the group ‘awwwed,’and Brandy Kay was suddenly human in their eyes.

  My dad helped Tommy pull a reluctant Brandy Kay down off the table, and Brendan got her a cup of coffee. Others cleaned up spilled drinks and knocked over paints. A few minutes later, Brandy Kay was back in her class chair, although she was sitting close enough to Tommy to be in his lap, while he twisted in an awkward position to massage her neck and shoulders with a surprising expertise.

  Betty was the first to inquire. “You look like you have a God-given talent with your hands.”

  Brandy Kay’s eyes were closed in ecstasy, her body loosening to his strong hands. Tommy’s smile was pure male cockiness. “I’m almost done with my certification. Soon I’ll be a licensed massage therapist.”

  “His hands are his tools.” Brandy Kay whispered.

  Betty couldn’t resist, “I hope he’s got a bigger and better tool to get the job done in the bedroom.”

  Brandy Kay’s sultry smile returned. “Yes, he most certainly knows how to drive it home.”

  Betty snickered, while Brendan’s happy snort sounded a little sarcastic. Myrtle’s cheeks looked like candied apples, and my dad pretended not to hear. Tommy, on the other hand, stopped his ministering’s to Brandy Kay’s body with an unexpected frown. Considering most men love the topic of their sexual prowess, I was surprised by Tommy’s reaction.

  I proceeded to explain our current project to Brandy Kay, as other class members reset the plates of paints and dispensed new bowls of water. I passed out the Santas that the class had begun the previous week. After soaking them in alkali, I’d given each one its own flare and formed candy-cane style hooks with their carved handles. Both the grain of the wood and the carvers’ cuts gave the pieces their own unique shapes. A couple of the carvers, including Brendan, brought their spoons in, completed and ready to sell in the section I dedicated for their work.

  Tommy showed Brandy Kay which tool created the different cuts on his own ornament, and she actually seemed impressed with his work. Dad seemed to be getting cozy with Betty, and Myrtle distracted the bride with talk of grandchildren, leaving a grateful groom to study his own work.

  “How many different techniques are there?” Brandy Kay asked with genuine interest.

  “With your tool, you don’t have to worry about technique.” Eyes alight with mischief, Betty was making sure she stirred up what I’d fought hard to simmer down.

  “On the contrary,” Brandy Kay slowly licked the front of her snow-white teeth, “it’s all about how you use your tool.”

  The whole table stopped and stared at the pink tip of her tongue teasing her mouth.

  Betty was the first to move. Her tongue slid out of her mouth and slurped at wrinkled lips as she lisped, “Like thith?”

  Silence filled the air. Then the table erupted in laughter. All except my dad, who hid his smile behind a pursed brow. To anyone who hadn’t grown up with his masked expression of amusement, Dad appeared to be concentrating on the piece of wood in his hand.

  I knew better. Every ounce of his being was centered on not laughing.

  Betty looked around the table and threw down the challenge. “Put up or shut up. If you can do better, let’s see it.”

  A couple of the guys tried in earnest before Brendan began wagging his tongue and panting at everyone. Our normally conservative pharmacist was cutting up like I’d never seen before. He actually made a better dog than Bogart.

  Myrtle shook her head, “And you wonder why women are always saying men are a bunch of dogs.”

  “What is the proper technique, Brandy Kay?” Asked the bride who apparently wanted to please her man.

  “There’s actually a couple different ways to do it.”

  “Only a couple? I’m sure I’ve done it in more positions than that.” Betty added.

  Dad turned beet red.

  The stripper smiled at Betty, “I have no doubt you could teach everyone a thing or two.”

  “Darn tootin’.” Betty agreed.

  “But in my job I use my tongue a couple of different ways.”

  Carving knives dropped to the table. Paint brushes rested in bowls of water. Our class turned into a class in the art of seduction.

  “The first way, is just to get a man’s attention when you’re talking to him. With just the tip of your tongue, you graze it across the front two or four teeth top teeth.” She demonstrated for her students. “You don’t want anything but the very tip of your tongue showing to entice him.”

  Betty and the bride were practicing with their teacher. My dad kept his head down, but the rest of the men were watching the show. I had to admit my own tongue was following the demonstration — behind a closed mouth. I suspected Myrtle was doing the same.

  “The next way is to close your eyes. Tilt your head back, exposing your neck just a little bit, and then lick your teeth.” Her second demonstration had several of the men on the verge of heart attacks. My dad was slipping glances at Betty to see if she mastered the technique, and the groom looked like he was ready to run off with his bride as she displayed a natural talent for seduction.

  “With that technique, men believe you’re having such dirty thoughts about them, that you’re on the verge orgasm right there.” Brandy Kay explained. “The third technique...”

  “That’s enough, Brandy Kay.”

  No one, including myself, had noticed Tommy, who apparently wasn’t enjoying the class as much as the rest of us. His arms were crossed and his eyes were dark. Happy-go-lucky Tommy was feeling anything but joy. “You don’t see Ms. Rilee using her body to get attention.”

  The love of Tommy’s life visibly started. Tommy’s words pricked everyone, but mostly Brandy Kay.

  “I was just...”

  “You were just making a spectacle of yourself in front of good decent people,” Tommy cut in.

  “Actually, it was good clean fun.” Betty added. “We need to lighten up about our sexuality, not take things so seriously.” She nudged my dad, forcing him out of his silence. “Right, Galvin?”

  For a moment I saw panic in my dad’s eyes. Sex was not something he talked about. He caught innuendos, but ignored them. He hadn’t said one word about the video of me on the news. I knew he’d seen it, but that wasn’t a conversation we were ever likely to have.

  Dad recovered quickly and agreed with Betty. “Yes, we all enjoyed the conversation.”

  Dad was lying; he’d been extremely uncomfortable with the direction the class had taken, but I also knew he’d do anything to bring peace to the table.

  Brandy Kay’s face crumpled. Her flawless forehead scrunched up, and blotches began appearing on her cheeks as her eyes filled with tears. Again the class was mesmerized. In none of our sessions had we ever experienced this range of emotions. No one knew how to react.

  We weren’t dramatic people. The thought of someone dumping so many feelings on the rest of us was simply not done. Not even with death did we cry to each other. Yet Brandy Kay sat, pouring out her soul for all of us to see — and Tommy, the biggest gentleman I knew, was the source of it all. Yet he looked completely immune as he fumbled with his carving. Finally, with an exasperated breath, he slammed the ornament on the table, breaking off the delicate hook of his jolly buccaneer Santa’s cap and stalked out of the room.

&
nbsp; Being the opportunist that I’d become when Brandy Kay burst into tears, I put my arm around her and walked her back to my house, where I offered her a glass of water and a box of tissues. My lack of a plan was somehow working. Brandy Kay and I were alone. And neither one of us were leaving until I found out what happened the night Ryan died.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “He asked me to marry him.” Brandy Kay sobbed into her tissue.

  “Tommy?” Yesterday I would have believed it. Today, the Tommy I’d seen didn’t seem capable.

  “I turned him down.” She blew her nose and pulled another couple tissues from the box in front of her.

  “Why?” With Tommy’s looks and the way he put women on a pedestal (most of the time), I couldn’t imagine a woman like Brandy Kay turning him down.

  “Because there’s no future in it. He’s a bouncer.”

  I wanted to say, “YOU’RE A STRIPPER,” but I bit my tongue and let her continue.

  “If he’d made it as an ultimate fighter, things would have been so different. I love Tommy, but I need more than this.” She waved her hand around my cabin, and I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood.

  I nodded in agreement, hoping she’d pour her soul out to me. A loud thump on the second floor announced Bogart’s decision to join us, and Brandy Kay froze. Her tears stopped and her body became rigid.

  The speed in which she could turn off those tears made me wonder how many possible techniques women used while crying. The chin quiver and watery eyes filled with sorrow was one of my favorite scenes on the big screen. Angry tears brushed away in defiance always made a good scene in a book. And the quiet sobbing of a woman, her head tucked into dainty small hands as her heart broke into tiny small pieces, always played out well on the stage.

  Brandy Kay on the other hand, cried like me. And there was nothing pretty about it. Snot running, eyes swollen and blood shot, we were at our worst and our most vulnerable when the tears flowed. And afterward we were a mess.

  “Is someone else here?” Her voice quivered.