A Second Helping of Murder and Recipes: A Hot Dish Heaven Mystery

by Jeanne Cooney

  I wasn’t sure if I believed him. “Why would he do that? How could you trust that he wouldn’t come back for more money?”

  The clown chuckled. “Well, girlie, I have friends in high places. They could cause him a lot of trouble. And after our little talk, he understood that. I also reminded him we could exclude him from future ‘social gatherings.’ We only allowed him in because he had easy access to good drugs. But I assured him we could get them elsewhere without too much trouble.” He paused. “What’s more, if I had wanted him dead, I would have had it done far away from here.”

  I still wasn’t sure what to think. This guy was full of bluster now, but at the poker game, he’d been so uncomfortable he couldn’t concentrate and ended up losing $10,000. He’d also been uncharacteristically quiet in the field. Was it simply because he hadn’t yet reached an “understanding” with Raleigh? Or was he feeding me a line of bull now? And if that was the case, why?

  “So if you didn’t kill Raleigh Cummings, who did?” Sure I wanted an answer. But more than that, I was stalling for time to come up with an escape plan.

  “How the hell should I know?” His sour breath was hot on my face, his little bird eyes seemingly telling me he’d enjoy pecking me to death. “The sheriff arrested Buddy Johnson. So . . .”

  I summoned enough courage to draw myself up to my full height. “I don’t believe he did it. And you’re a smart man, so I doubt you do either.” I’d come up with a plan, praying it was better than my previous ones. And I hoped God would cooperate, even if I didn’t make it to church very often.

  My idea was to play to his ego. Kill him with kindness. Or if not kill him, at least knock him out long enough to get away. “I hear you’re an extremely talented gambler. So who would you put your money on? Who’s the killer?”

  He sniffed. “Yeah, well, I am pretty good.” His features spelled arrogance, but the ruffled collar and polka-dot jumpsuit still said clown. “And I’d bet on Hunter Carlson.”

  “Why?”

  He chuckled. “He’s not like the rest of us. He doesn’t have money to lose. And he was positive Raleigh was cheating, which he probably was. But it drove Hunter crazy. Then to add insult to injury, Raleigh called him a ‘little man.’ And little men hate being called what they are.” He edged a little closer to me. “Just so you know, girlie, I’m not little at all.”

  My stomach churned, and I threw up a bit in my mouth.

  He laughed at my obvious nervousness. “Raleigh also convinced Hunter’s so-called girlfriend to shack up with him for a few days. And that had to push Hunter over the edge.” He shifted his feet. “But enough about that. Let’s get back to you. I want you gone. As I said, gone for good.”

  “But wait, I don’t understand why you’re so concerned about me being here?”

  The clown sighed. “Because you cause problems. You’re a black cat, a bad penny, a broken mirror, spilled salt, the number thirteen, a—”

  “Enough!” I shouted. “I get the idea.”

  “Last time you were here, you interfered just when I was getting closer to Vivian. And now you’re interfering again. I don’t need that.” He pressed my shoulder against the wall with one hand while easing a pouch from a strap on his shoulder with the other.

  This was it. He was going to shoot me. Or, a little voice inside my head said, he has one of those never-ending scarves, and he’s going to strangle you with it. No, yet another yelled, it’s a water-squirting lapel flower, and he’s going to squirt you to death.

  The voices were cracking each other up. But I didn’t find them one bit funny. Although I wasn’t surprised to hear from them. Whenever I was scared beyond belief, they were there with their smart-ass comments.

  “So how much will it take for you to leave and never come back?” He pulled his hand from the pouch and waved a wad of cash in front of my face.

  “What?”

  His features tightened with resolve. “I’m a very determined man. But I’m also a very rich man. So I’m sure we can reach an understanding. Just like Raleigh and I did.”

  That freaked me out. Raleigh was dead. So reaching the same kind of understanding he had didn’t seem like a healthy proposition. “I don’t want your money!” I hollered. “I don’t want anything from you!”

  With those words, I shoved him backward as hard as I could. He fell against the potting table, and because of his unwieldy shoes, he had a rough time getting up. I grabbed a large bag of fertilizer and threw it at him. It caught him in the chest, and he fell again, this time cracking his head against the shelf beneath the table. I threw another bag. It hit the table and split open, fertilizer pouring over him. At the same time, a big clay flower pot rattled off the table, landing on his head. He seemed to be unconscious. But I didn’t wait around to find out for sure.

  I shoved my way out of the shed, making a mental note never to step inside of it again, no matter what. I barreled down the path, hell bent on running to the “V” and, with the help of my good friend Captain Morgan, forgetting all about this investigation.

  I was just about to round the side of the building that housed the café on one end and the “V” on the other when I spied something that prompted me to jump back.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I peeked over my shoulder. No sign of the President. At least not yet. So I stepped forward and slowly leaned my head around the corner. I pulled back, only to look again. It was Hunter Carlson, the hockey goalie. He was now in jeans and his jersey, his jacket open. He stood alone in the parking lot, not far from the café’s back door. He was forcing something into the bed of a pickup. It may have been his truck, but the vanity license plate read “BINGO,” so I assumed it belonged to Janice.

  As I said, there was just enough light to see that the pickup’s tail gate was down, the topper flap was up, and Hunter was struggling with something that resembled a big roll of carpeting. He stopped and looked around, his shoulders rising and falling as he breathed heavily. Then he wrestled with it some more. Another break. This time he leaned against the tail gate and coughed. I stood perfectly still, hidden by the edge of the building, as he once more worked against the bundle. It was just about there. All the way in the truck. That roll of carpeting wrapped in a blue tarp.

  I swallowed hard, the sound thudding in my ears. A lumpy roll of carpeting in a blue tarp? At a Halloween party at the “V”? That didn’t make sense at all. No sense at . . . My pulsed quickened. And despite the cold, nervous sweat formed at the nape of my neck. It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t be.

  I closed my eyes, willing myself to avoid seeing anything sinister. Begging my imagination to keep from going wild. Still, a picture was quickly drawn in my mind’s eye. A picture of a body. And no matter how tightly I squeezed my eyes or wished for it to go away, I couldn’t erase it.

  If it was a body. Whose? Surely not Raleigh’s. His was in a morgue somewhere. But if it wasn’t him? Perhaps it was one of the other poker players. But not the President. I’d just left him in the shed. Then what about Dinky? Absolutely not. This wasn’t a king-sized tarp.

  Wait. That only left Wally. And it couldn’t be him. He was at home with his new family. He was dealing with the aftermath of what he had done. Wally was . . . No. It couldn’t be.

  I had to go inside. I needed to get help. At least I thought I needed help. But how could I make that happen? I didn’t want Hunter to leave while I was gone. Although the police would surely know where to find him. But what about the body—if there was a body? Would he have time to get rid of it before they got to him? If so, it would be his word against mine. And no body.

  Maybe if I hurried. He wouldn’t leave yet anyhow, would he? No. Not without Janice. She was in on this with him. She was his accomplice. She had to be. It was her truck after all. And she was furious at Raleigh for two-timing her. For laughing at her. For calling her an old ha
g. But she was angry with Hunter too. Or was she? I scratched at my thoughts as if searching for something in the snow. Oh, yes, pretending to be estranged was an excellent way to deflect suspicion for a crime no one thought either could commit alone.

  My breath quickened as it all came together. One or both of them had killed Raleigh Cummings, and together they had covered it up.

  Hunter raised the tail gate and dropped the topper flap. But Janice still hadn’t shown up. He lifted his hockey jersey and checked the pockets of his jeans. He didn’t find what he was looking for, so he raised the topper flap and glanced around the interior of the truck. After that, he checked the ground. Only then did he hit his head with the heel of his hand. Keys! He was obviously searching for keys. He dropped the topper flap and headed back to the bar.

  As soon as he was gone, I rushed to the truck. I needed to see what—or who—was in that tarp. If necessary, I’d go for help. If carpeting, I’d amble back into the “V” and have a drink. Something mind numbing.

  I pushed the long sleeves of my parka up above my elbows and turned the latch on the topper flap. Of course it wasn’t locked. Hunter had no keys. I dropped the tail gate. Slowly. Oh so slowly. And there it was. A six-foot long lumpy roll of something. Wrapped in a blue plastic tarp. Secured by gray duct tape.

  I peeled back a small piece of the tarp, my hands trembling. Another tug on the tape, and I swore I saw the roll move. I jumped back. Then nothing. So I unwrapped a little more. And a little more. Until I saw . . . yes . . . skin. I closed my eyes, praying it wasn’t Wally. Not Wally with his new family. Not Wally, Margie’s kin. I peeked out from behind my wary lids. The tarp moved again. And I may have heard a whine. I forced my eyes open and tugged at the edges. Faster. More frantic now. Tugging with all my might. Until I gasped.

  My heart jumped into my throat, but I assured myself that was okay. There was plenty of room since my voice was no longer there. In fact, it wasn’t anywhere to be found. It had vanished. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t speak. And Janice Ferguson stared back at me, her eyes filled with fear.

  Her mouth was duct taped. And with a mere nod of my head I asked if she was ready. She blinked. I yanked the tape. And she let forth a strangled sob. “He did it. Hunter killed Raleigh.” She began to cry. “He d-did it because of me. Because of w-what I did.” The cries came from deep within her, and they racked her body. “And b-because he humiliated Hunter. And cheated at cards. And now he’s going to k-kill me because I w-wouldn’t let him back into the house. He said I had to because he did this for us and—” Janice stopped, her eyes fixed on something behind me.

  I shivered. But it wasn’t from the cold. I knew better than that. My body was damp with sweat. I attempted a deep breath. But I didn’t even come close.

  I slowly circled around. Sure enough, there he was. Hunter. He held Janice’s shoulder bag in one hand and a set of keys in the other. “I was going to lock the topper to stop anyone from poking around inside,” he said. “Too late I guess.” He dropped both the keys and the purse and picked up a curling broom from where it was lying next to Janice. “Sorry, honey.” His eyes were crazed. “I realize you just bought this. And you want to break it in yourself. But I have to use it.” He raised the broom, Janice screamed, and I crossed my arms in front of my face, the parka’s long sleeves dangling from my hands like dead fish on a line.

  * * *

  Other sounds began to filter in. First distantly. Then much closer. I slowly opened my eyes, working to get them to focus. The background was dark. But in the foreground, I saw shapes. Those shapes slowly transforming into people.

  Buford was there, minus his cowboy hat. He was kneeling beside me, with Ed, the deputy, right next to him. Guy and Jarod, still in drag, were standing behind them.

  Wonder Woman was there too. She was kneeling on my opposite side. And Margie and John Deere were behind her. Along with two guys dressed as BCA agents.

  “Don’t move,” Margie ordered, “the ambulance is on the way.”

  Thoughts of Shitty, the plumber with the butt crack, flashed through my mind, and I’m not positive, but I think I might have giggled.

  “Yep,” Margie said, “she’s definitely out of it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  It was early Sunday morning, and Margie and Barbie and I were in the café. Ed and his wife, Sandy, were there with us. Not surprisingly we were sitting around a table, talking about the night before. They had just finished informing me for the third or fourth time how lucky I was Janice screamed at the same time Guy stepped outside for a cigarette. Sure, Hunter still hit me. But Janice’s hollering distracted him enough to throw his aim off, leaving me with only a bruised arm. A bruise the doctor said would have been a lot worse if not for the padding provided by Margie’s parka.

  I don’t remember what happened next. I passed out. I guess I had a tendency to do that. But from what I understand, Guy came running as fast as he could in his high heels and jumped Hunter, bitch slapping him into submission. It was around then that the rest of the “V” emptied out into the parking lot.

  Now, here in Hot Dish Heaven, Ed was filling us in on what they’d learned from Hunter after his arrest. As he spoke, we drank coffee and ate Blueberry Bars and something Margie called Super Rhubarb Bars. Margie didn’t want to cook because she was afraid she’d miss part of the story. But it didn’t take her long to convince us that since both of these bars contained fruit, they made fine breakfast food.

  “On the night of the murder,” Ed began, “around one in the morning, Raleigh drove out to the twins’ farmstead, looking for Buddy. He was pretty drunk. That’s probably why he went to the house rather than the field. I guess he wanted Buddy to let him work or pay him for the work he’d already done. But, of course, Buddy wasn’t around. And after pounding on the front door and checking the garage, Raleigh stumbled into the shop.”

  Ed sipped his coffee. “Hunter saw it all because he was in the shop, grabbing a scraper. He’d forgotten to pick one up before leaving John Deere’s place, and he didn’t want to go all the way back there. He was on his way to the piler, carrying a full load. And since the twins’ farm was on the way, he stopped there. He didn’t think they’d mind him borrowing a scraper.”

  Another sip of coffee. “I guess Raleigh couldn’t resist making cracks to him about his . . . umm . . . tryst with Janice, which made Hunter bonkers. But because of some kind of lung issue, he couldn’t do much to stop him. So Raleigh just kept taunting him. And Hunter just kept getting madder and madder.”

  Ed glanced around the table and chuckled. We were hanging on his every word like a bunch of Girl Scouts listening to ghost stories around a campfire. “When Raleigh finally left,” he said, “Hunter followed him outside and hit him on the back of the head with the blunt side of the metal scraper he had in his hand. He says he hardly remembers doing it. Can’t even recall throwing it in the ditch.”

  Ed took time out to eat a Blueberry Bar, which he accomplished in two bites. “These are good, Margie,” he said with a bob of his head when he was done. “You should teach Sandy to make them.” He winked at Sandy.

  She gave him the finger while explaining to the rest of us, “He knows damn well I don’t cook or bake.”

  Ed chuckled. “Anyhow, Hunter found a tarp in the shop. I guess the twins keep a bunch of them ’cause you never know when you’ll need a tarp. And sure enough, Hunter needed one.

  “He wrapped Raleigh in it and rolled him into the ditch. He then hid Raleigh’s pickup in the grove before driving his beet truck to the piler. When he was done there, he went back to the field at John Deere’s place, telling John he needed to go to the shop to get a part for the truck. That wasn’t unusual, so John didn’t think anything of it. But instead of going to John’s shop, he drove back to the twins’ place in his own pickup.”

  “That’s amazin’” Margie shook her head. />
  “See,” Barbie added, “I told you guys he was a strange duck.”

  Ed sipped some more coffee. “He told us that lifting Raleigh’s body into the bed of his pickup was really hard and took quite a while. So once he finally had him in there, he decided that’s where he’d stay until he could figure out a good place to dump him permanently.”

  “Eww!” Barbie squealed. “He drove around in his pickup with dead Raleigh?”

  Ed grinned. “Only for twenty-four hours or so. But since it’s been cold, he didn’t stink too bad.”

  We all shuddered.

  Ed’s grin morphed into laughter. “Anyhow, when the piler shut down, he got the notion that the scale pit would be the best place to bury him.”

  “But with his lung problems,” Margie said, “he couldn’t have pulled—”

  “He had help.”

  “Who?” we all shouted like a tree full of owls.

  “Not who,” Ed replied. “What. He used a creeper.”

  “Huh?”

  He rocked his chair back. “One of those little carts mechanics lay on to wheel themselves under vehicles. They’re called creepers.”

  “And?” I wanted details.

  “He backed his pickup close to the opening of the scale pit, eased Raleigh’s body down inside, then slid the creeper under him and pushed him to the far back corner. There he unwrapped him because he didn’t want anyone figuring out where the tarp came from. And that was that.”

  “What about the IOUs.”

  “Hunter said that on Wednesday afternoon—the day before he buried him in the pit—he parked outside of Kennedy and walked to Raleigh’s house, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and a jacket no one would recognize. He used a crow bar to break in through the back door. From what he said, he first tried to check the pockets of Raleigh’s pants for house keys, but gave up because he didn’t want the tarp to come loose.”