Starke Naked Dead

by Conda V. Douglas

  Lester gazed at me from under his grey, bushy eyebrows.

  I told my body to not take a step back. It obeyed.

  “She set a fire,” Lester said.

  “Which promptly went out, like all her other fires.” I put my hands on my hips. “Didn’t do a bit of damage.” My body tilted over, toward the bag.

  “Yes, but—”

  I struggled to straighten. I turned to Aunt Maddie. “In fact, Charles’ paintings are all the better for being a bit singe—altered.”

  She responded by shrinking deeper into her old coat.

  I reached out a hand to her and then let it drop. I turned back to Lester. “Aunt Maddie also made sure the fire wouldn’t spread. You saw the trench.”

  “Fire jumps.”

  “It didn’t this time.” I pointed at my aunt. “So why is she here?”

  Lester rubbed his jaw. He looked almost as dejected as Aunt Maddie. He sighed for a third time. “There’s the large problem of the ticket.”

  “Ticket?”

  “The citation for violating the fire ban,” Lester said.

  I stared at him open-mouthed.

  He shrugged. “New requirement by the new council run by those new doggy residents.” He looked over at the computer-altered photo of his grandson. “I’ll be glad when I’m out of this Podunk town. I’ll be glad to be tracking down the killer of my grandson, instead of a pathetic fool recluse who kills old men over broken bits of jewelry, with missing pearls.”

  Mallard looked up from his monitor. “We’re doing the paperwork to issue the ticket. First one we’ve ever done.”

  Lester tipped his head toward my aunt. “Maddie, since you don’t have a dime to pay—”

  “How much?” I asked.

  “How much?” Lester echoed.

  “How much is the ticket?”

  “A lot,” he said, “Fifteen hundred bucks.”

  “Gaak,” I gargled.

  “The whole town could have burned down,” Mallard said.

  I opened my mouth to ream out Mallard. But he was right. So was the Dog Developer Town Council, dammit.

  “Wait.” With a relieved sigh, I slid the bag off my shoulder. I undid the lion’s jaws and reached inside, blocking the bag so no one could see the bills inside. I counted fifteen hundred. Then I paused, the money in the bag clutched tight.

  What if Aunt Maddie didn’t believe my bogus “enormous, vast, huge loan from Nance” story? I considered my glum aunt. No way would she believe.

  The more she questioned, the more Lester or Mallard would ask where I came up with so much money. They might demand to see in the bag. They wouldn’t believe me, either, I’d bet. Cops, nothing but trouble.

  I looked over my shoulder. Lester loomed over me. He could loom.

  I crammed the bills back out of sight and snapped the jaws shut. “Oops, sorry. I thought I had enough from selling Nance a design, but nope.” Wasn’t a lie. I had sold Nance a design. Not my design. The Noira design.

  “You don’t know how much money she gave you?” Mallard asked.

  What did I just say? Cops. And somewhere along the way in the past couple of days, Mallard had joined their ranks, big time.

  Aunt Maddie sat up and shot me a look of suspicion.

  Lester reached for the purse clasp. I gave the bag a kick. “Nance gave me all the cash she had, ’cause she forgot her checkbook,” I babbled, “and she gave me this bag as collateral until she could give me the rest and I forgot to count how much she gave me and—” I stopped and took a deep breath.

  Police and aunt stared at me.

  I grappled the bag back onto my shoulder. “What happens to Aunt Maddie now?” I asked.

  Lester ran a hand through his hair. “She can’t pay the ticket.”

  Mallard spoke. “We’ll hold her in a holding cell until…” He trailed off.

  As one, Lester, Mallard and I looked at the fruit cellar hole.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said.

  “Why don’t you take her home?” Lester said.

  “No,” Aunt Maddie muttered, her chin tucked tight into her coat collar.

  “Aunt Maddie, I—” I started to insist she come with me when a realization smacked me harder than the bag on my back.

  I’d thought to have her accompany me to Henry’s, where I’d pay off the back rent with a flourish. If she saw me pay Henry, she’d demand to know where I got the money. And once again not believe my “Nance loan” story. Heck, I didn’t believe my “Nance loan” story.

  She’d already almost burned down Starke, what would she try next?

  “No, I won’t take Aunt Maddie home. She stays in custody,” I said.

  Now I had everybody’s attention.

  “Why?” Lester asked the obvious and reasonable question.

  “Because—” I shifted the bag from one aching shoulder to another to gain time. I amazed myself by coming up with an idea. Maybe sleep deprivation made my brain work. Or maybe desperation did. “Because she’s a suicide risk.”

  Aunt Maddie’s face jerked out of her coat. “Am not.”

  “Maddie? Suicide?” Lester said.

  “Don’t you remember how she acted at the fire?”

  “I remember,” Mallard said. He stood. “Dora’s right.”

  I am? I almost said. “I can’t be responsible for her actions. You’re the police, it’s your job.”

  “Dora’s right,” Mallard said. Amazing.

  “But—where do we put her?” Lester said in a confused old man’s voice.

  “We could take her back to Dr. Byrne’s clinic,” Mallard said.

  “I’m right here.” Aunt Maddie shot me a look that said she’d make me pay for my allegation.

  Once I’d paid off Henry and gotten Rupert gone, it’d all be a fait accompli. Then my aunt the loose cannon could be loose. After— Wait. She’d be gone from Doc Byrne’s in five minutes.

  “Have the Widows Brigade take care of her,” I said.

  “I’m not killing myself,” Aunt Maddie said, her tone making it clear whom she intended murdering.

  “They’ll be thrilled,” I said. Or not. It wouldn’t be for long, either way.

  “I suppose—” Lester began.

  “Good, that’s settled,” I said.

  The bag and I banged out the door to a chorus of, “Dora?”

  THIRTY-SIX

  My back humped as an old woman’s, I moved as fast as possible away from the police station. Money sure weighed me down. I hesitated, huffing. I needed a safe place to dump Nance’s baggage. But where? The store was locked; the homestead was too far, the car—the car.

  I heaved the bag into the back of the old station wagon. I tossed the car blanket over the top, contemplated the lump for a moment, then slammed the door closed and smacked my hands together.

  Good, now—I turned around and bumped into Godiva. Or rather Godiva’s breasts. She stood on the sidewalk, several inches above me. Even encased in a bra, all that boob made for a soft smack. She wore another sweatsuit, this one snow white.

  A definite improvement from her nudity at the Castle. I shuddered at the memory.

  “Give over, bitch, or I’ll tell the cops where Rupert is hiding,” she said.

  Heat flooded into my face. I stepped onto the sidewalk. We stood to nose to nose. “First, I’ll see you burning in hell.”

  Uncle, may he burn forever. Her words came to me in a rush. “You burned down your uncle’s mansion. You killed him.”

  Godiva cocked her head to one side. “Oh no, everyone believes—knows—Rupert killed my uncle.” She gave a tiny, angelic smile that went with her outfit. “And if you don’t give me the necklace and the money, I’ll tell them Rupert tried to rape and then kill me,” she said in a breathy little girl voice. Her breath smelled of rancid fried meat.

  My nose wrinkled. “Lester wouldn’t believe—”

  “Where your precious toothless father is hiding, I can make certain he’s killed during his capture.” Godi
va crossed her arms beneath her huge breasts. They jutted out and pointed at me.

  My hand itched to smack her smug naked face until she cracked. If Rupert died, he’d be blamed for everything. Even if he survived, there’d still be no proof Godiva killed her own uncle and brother.

  The sound of my aunt hollering drew our attention from each other’s nose.

  Outside the police station, the Widows Brigade was hauling Aunt Maddie off. Under her vociferous protest. While Lester and Mallard watched. Mrs. McGarrity and Mrs. McChin each had hold of one of Aunt Maddie’s arms, with Mrs. McDay bringing up the rear guard. Tough old birds.

  Lester spotted us looking. Even from that distance, I could see his frown.

  “Your time’s up,” Godiva said.

  “So’s yours.” I realized with a flash of desperate inspiration why I spoke the truth. If my new plan worked—I wouldn’t need to find Rupert. If it worked, I could save him without giving him money and him running away, perhaps forever. If it worked I could save them all, even myself.

  My appetite came back with a vengeance. I wished I’d eaten that stroganoff.

  “Your father’s funeral.” Godiva gave a little wave at Lester.

  He took a step back, shook his head and then headed down the sidewalk toward us.

  “No wait.” I put a cadging whine into my voice. “All right. I’ll give you the necklace and the money.”

  “Now,” Godiva said as if I’d pull both out of an apron pocket.

  “I haven’t got either with me.”

  Godiva’s lips drew back. “What?” she said through her teeth.

  “Nance has the necklace. I’ll get it back for you.” I tried to sound as pitiful as possible.

  “Now,” Godiva said. A world of threat echoed in that one word.

  Lester had almost reached us.

  “I need a couple of hours to find Nance. She might have put it someplace and—”

  “One hour. In your aunt’s stupid store.”

  I managed to keep the grin off my face.

  “Or else.” With that last statement, the cliché of villains everywhere, Godiva gave Lester another little wave, a dismissing one, and sauntered to her Cadillac.

  As soon as she left, I let the grin spread all over my face. I skipped the last few steps to Lester and flung my arms around him.

  He gave a small gasp, almost a sob.

  “I’m going to fix everything,” my voice rang out.

  “Oh, Dora, my silly girl.” Lester squeezed me tight and then released me. He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Dora—that money—at the station—you need to know—” A shadow passed over his face.

  I looked up and gasped.

  Black storm clouds roiled over Dog Face Mountain, moving fast and furious.

  A brisk cold, but-warm-enough-to-snow, wind whistled down the street. It tore away the smoke wisps. I breathed deep of the sweet heavy perfume of the coming storm. “Snow. Thank you, Buddha. Everything’s on the right path at last.”

  Lester looked up, too. “No.” He ran his hand over his mouth. An old man’s querulous gesture. “Whatever you’re thinking of Dora. Don’t do it.” In the dimming light, he appeared grey, washed-out, a ghost of himself.

  “I’m going to—” I stopped. I couldn’t tell Lester my plan to have him catch Godiva in the store, clutching the Noira red-handed. A great sheriff, he wouldn’t go along with my plan for entrapment. He’d demand the necklace, now.

  “Meet me in Mad Maddie’s in an hour.”

  Lester gave me a little shake. “Dora, for once, listen—”

  I pulled out of his grasp. “Gotta go. An hour. Promise.” I didn’t wait for his reply, but heard his voice ride the high wind as I ran toward Cam’s Auto.

  “This is one thing you can’t fix.”

  I turned back to argue but as I turned I caught a glimpse of a figure on top of Cam’s Auto. Oh, no, not now, not again. I ran.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Henry sat on the false front cap. His legs hung over the edge. He stared off at Dog Face Mountain where the clouds, now a solid wall of dark, flowed over the dog’s face.

  I stood on the flat roof about ten feet away. I didn’t think he’d heard me climb up the attic ladder. I closed my hand around Great-grandpa’s gun in my apron pocket. I brought it out and loaded it with quick jerks of my fingers.

  What would I do, save Henry by shooting his gun out of his hand? I stepped closer. Both Henry’s hands held the cap tight. Where would he hold a gun? I re-pocketed the gun and stepped across the tarpaper roof.

  “I don’t think you’d die if you jumped off, just break a bone. Or two.” I came up to Henry.

  His upper body twisted around, fast. He started to topple. I grabbed his arms and yanked hard. He clambered back onto the roof.

  “That’s twice I’ve saved your life.” I peered over the edge to the sidewalk below. “Of course, if you broke a neck bone like Great-grandpa Starke, you might die.”

  “Dora—”

  “But you might linger. As I recall, Great-grandpa hung around for weeks. He never did do anything half—”

  “Dork.”

  “—rear ended,” I finished. “What?”

  “I’m not jumping off.”

  “Not now, you’re not.” I gave his arm a little shake for emphasis.

  “Let go.” He tugged at my grasp. “You’re going to make me fall.”

  “Aren’t you up here to kill yourself, again?”

  Henry snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He smoothed his hand down his shirt.

  Rumpled as ever. But he’d changed into a pair jeans and an old high school sweatshirt, stained and torn. I couldn’t remember when I’d last seen Henry wear comfortable clothes instead of those nasty realtor suits.

  I wiped both hands over my face. I didn’t have time to play with Henry. “Hand over the new key to Mad Maddie’s.”

  “But Nance—”

  “I’ve got plenty of money to pay the back rent.”

  “You do?” Henry swayed.

  I grabbed his arm again to steady him.

  He stepped off the cap. He gave himself a little shake or maybe a shiver, for the wind blew ice cold, a presage to the snow. “Doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

  “What?” Was lack of sleep making me hallucinate?

  “I’m a lousy realtor. I hate being one. I suck.”

  “You’re not so awful. Not that bad.”

  Henry raised an eyebrow at me. “I depended on rent from your aunt’s store to save my business? Your aunt’s store?”

  “Okay, but—”

  “I’m selling out.”

  I gulped. “You don’t have to do that, Henry.” I laid my hand on his shoulder and crouched down next to him. “I’ve got enough money—”

  “No, no.” Henry shook his head. “You don’t understand, Dora. I want to do this.” Henry chuckled. I couldn’t remember the last time I heard him laugh so deep in his chest. “I love fixing cars. I’m the best mechanic I know.”

  My mind gave a skip trying to keep up.

  “There used to be one and only one mechanic, a great one, in Starke. Me. Then there was none.”

  I rubbed my cold nose. “Too true.”

  Henry grinned with his whole face, his eyes wide. “Now there is one great one again. Me.”

  “Oh, Henry.” I grinned back. I loved seeing him so happy.

  Henry stood up. “You’re the one who taught me to follow my own path. If I sell to the Sun Dogs— ”

  My grin fell. “What about Mad Maddie’s?”

  “I’m sure Nance’s Innovations—”

  “No, no, not Nance.” I looked over at the store and saw a tall, stork figure open the door. “Nance.”

  “I need the key to the store. Now, Henry.” I had to get Nance out of there and fast. “The key, the key.” I flapped both hands at Henry in a gimme gesture. “For Buddha’s sake, give me Mad Maddie’s key.”

  Henry took a step back. “But Nance said—”

 
; His words made me glance at the store again. I froze. Lester leaned against the store’s door.

  “Oh great Bodhi Tree, let Nance have locked the door behind her,” I said.

  “Bodhi Tree?” Henry took another step away.

  Lester cracked open the door. He tilted his head.

  Great, wonderful, tremendous. Now both Lester and Nance would be in the store before Godiva. Terrible timing.

  With his free hand, Lester pulled his pistol from the holster. I gasped. Lester crashed inside the store as fast as the first snowflakes now streaking down. He slammed the door behind him.

  I ran.

  “Where are you going?” Henry called behind me.

  I ran faster.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  I skidded to a halt outside Mad Maddie’s door. A high-pitched scream sounded inside.

  “I’m coming!” I hollered.

  A crash answered, followed by a man yelling.

  Another scream echoed from the store. What made me believe I could save everyone with my silly plan? Whose death would I be responsible for this time?

  I banged the door open. It bounced shut as I stormed inside.

  “Dora, down!” Lester yelled at me.

  A shot whizzed over my head and took out one last remaining spuddy buddy in the front window display. I crouched onto all fours. A piece of glass cut into my hand. I whimpered. I couldn’t hear myself in the reverberation from the gunfire.

  When I looked up I saw devastation.

  Cordite smoke hung in the air. Below it, the jewelry tree lay fallen over in the aisle, its branches crushed. Scattered pieces of glass from a shattered display case were all over the floor. The big oak table lay overturned in the center of the aisle.

  Lester crouched behind the oak table, his gun drawn. His left arm dangled. Blood poured from a wound on his upper arm.

  “Lester, you’re hurt,” I cried.

  Lester shook his head in warning before he turned his attention back to the shooter at the other far end of the aisle, close to my workbench. Who was the shooter?

  “Back off, Dora,” Godiva shouted and answered my question, “or I’ll kill your little friend.”

  Little friend? Could she mean Nance?

  “Dora, run,” Nance called and answered that question.