by V. M. Burns
“I wonder if ‘anything’ includes murder.” I looked around the table, but no one had an answer.
“Dallas must not have been too head over heels if he was fooling around with one of his employees right under her nose,” Monica Jill said. “That’s rude and disrespectful.”
“What’s disrespectful?” B.J. flopped down on one of the chairs.
Beau immediately rose. “What can I get you to drink?”
She asked for a beer, and he hurried to get her one.
“Sorry I’m late.” Red, clean and freshly shaven, came in.
I made introductions. Beau handed him a beer. Dixie handed him a grill apron we’d found at the grocery store. The apron was in camouflage with multiple pockets. We had stuffed the pockets with bottles of ketchup, mustard, a spray water bottle, and grill tools. There were six pockets that went diagonally across the top where we placed cans of beer and it came with an attached bottle opener. Across the top were the words Grill Sergeant.
Red laughed as he took the apron. He seemed slightly embarrassed by the attention, but he thanked us for the gift.
I decided to rescue him. “Okay now, we’re all hungry so get busy.”
He saluted and trotted over to the grill.
I went inside and got the meat, which had been marinating in the fridge, and brought it outside.
He thanked me again for the apron.
I handed him a platter with the steaks, burgers, kabobs, and chicken we’d arranged earlier. There were also several hot dogs, and he looked slightly surprised.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just wasn’t expecting hot dogs. I didn’t see buns in the kitchen. You may need to send Joe to the…”
I shook my head. “Those aren’t for us.”
He scowled. “Who are they for?”
I pointed. “Those are for the dogs.” I started to walk away but stopped when I heard him mumbling.
“I can’t believe I’m grilling hot dogs for dogs.”
I turned quickly. “Did you say something?”
“Nope.” He put the hot dogs on the grill. “Do you know how they want them cooked?”
“Well done.” I stuck out my tongue. I heard him laughing as I walked up to the deck.
I went inside and brought out a tray of hors d’oeuvres and set it on one of the nearby tables we’d arranged to hold the food before I sat down.
B.J. was engaged in a passionate discussion with Dr. Morgan about whether or not a woman of average height and strength could have been the murderer.
“I’m just saying, based on my experience as a coroner, women are more likely to commit crimes from a distance.” He turned to Joe. “Am I right, Officer?”
“Actually, he’s right. Studies show ninety-nine percent of people who reported as having been strangled are women who were strangled by men, usually an intimate partner. Typically, women steer away from murders that rely on physical strength, like strangling.” He held up a hand to forestall the objections he could see forming on B.J.’s lips. “I’m not saying women aren’t strong or that they can’t strangle a man or a woman. However, strangling someone with your bare hands takes a lot of strength. Not just to…” He looked around.
“Go ahead. We can take it, blue eyes.” B.J. took a swig from her beer, then leaned forward and batted her eyelashes at him playfully.
Joe looked around the table at the other women. Each one nodded. He took a breath. “It’s not just the strength needed to constrict the airflow to the brain or cause damage to the larynx or damage the…”
Dr. Morgan intervened. “Hyoid or other bones in the neck.”
Joe nodded. “It’s not just that, but being attacked releases endorphins. Unless the person has been drugged first to help subdue them, they’ll thrash about. They’ll claw and struggle and flop around.”
“The sensation…we call air hunger…is so terrifying, it can actually induce violent struggling.” Dr. Morgan shook his head. “It’s pretty horrible.” He took a sip of beer.
Joe continued, “In my opinion, unless a garrote of some type is used, strangulation is a form of dominance. It’s not just a way to murder someone. The killer is making a statement.”
“What kind of statement?” I asked.
“He’s saying, ‘I’m dominant. I have control over you. I control the very air you breathe.’” His voice was soft. “We see it a lot with domestic violence cases.”
We sat quietly for several minutes.
B.J. sat up. “Well, that’s a buzzkill.”
After a long pause, everyone laughed and the mood of heaviness lifted.
Monica Jill leaned forward. “Okay, so you think Dallas killed Heather and Keri Lynn.”
I nodded.
She glanced at Red. “The police don’t believe you?”
“It’s not that…I mean, the police need proof, and we don’t have anything except my word to go on.”
Monica Jill, Dixie, B.J., and Dr. Morgan all exchanged glances.
Whether by general consent or personality, Monica Jill acted as spokesperson. “That’s good enough for us.” She glanced at each of them again, and they all nodded in turn. “What do you need us to do?”
I looked at my new friends and was overwhelmed by emotion. These people barely knew me, yet they listened to me and trusted me. I blinked back tears. “Thank you.”
B.J. took a swig of her beer. “Do we get to wear tight black leather pants and cool black T-shirts?” She flipped her head back as though flipping her hair out of her face and then hopped up from her seat and struck a pose I recognized from the Charlie’s Angels posters. “I think I should be Lucy Liu.”
Unfortunately, Joe had just taken a sip of his beer and barely avoided spraying it all over Dr. Morgan. Instead, he spit it out over the deck rail and everyone laughed.
Eventually, Monica Jill gave B.J.’s butt a playful swat. “Will you sit your hiney down so we can find out what we need to do?”
When I was able to talk without laughing, I turned to B.J. “Did you say you live in the same subdivision as Dallas and Keri Lynn?”
B.J. nodded. “Yep. My house isn’t as grand as theirs, but I figure they’re bringing my property values up with that ten-thousand-square-foot monstrosity.”
“Ten thousand?” I nearly choked.
She nodded. “You bet. I snuck in when they were having it built and it’s ginormous.” She smiled. “So I sold them a fantastic rate on insurance if they bundled their home, auto, and the business.” She shook her head. “That was one of the biggest insurance policies I ever wrote. It’s not often you get to write a policy on a Tesla.”
“Tesla.” Joe sat up. “He has a Tesla?”
She shook her head. “Keri Lynn has a Tesla. Dallas has a lowly BMW.”
Based on the look of admiration that crossed the faces of David, Joe, Dr. Morgan, and Beau, I knew there must be something amazing about the Tesla. “What’s so special about that?” I asked.
You would have thought I’d asked if the earth was flat based on the looks I got. I glanced at Dixie, who merely shrugged.
David leaned forward in his seat. “Mom, you don’t know what a Tesla is?”
“I’m assuming it’s a car. It’s also the name of a famous inventor.” I shrugged. “What’s the big deal?”
I could tell by the look in my son’s eyes, I’d lost whatever cool mom points I had previously.
“Tesla is the name of a car manufacturer. They make energy-efficient electric cars.” Dixie read from her cell phone.
David shook his head. “It’s not just an electric car. It’s the most amazingly spectacular car ever.” His eyes glistened, and his face radiated as he extolled the virtues of the car.
Monica Jill snapped her fingers. “Didn’t I read something in the news about those cars? They drive themselves.”
&
nbsp; David nodded. “They have a self-driving car.” He looked like an excited kid. “You don’t have to do anything. You just get in the car and tell it where you want to go and it takes you there.” He threw his hands up in the air. “That’s so cool.”
I frowned. “Sounds dangerous to me.”
He dropped his head on the table.
“Sounds expensive to me,” Dixie said.
“It’s expensive.” B.J. nodded. “They start at a hundred grand.”
I whistled.
“Mr. Simpson used to brag about how much the car cost and how he got it specially modified for Keri Lynn because she was left-handed.” Madison sipped her wine.
“The article I saw in the news was about one of those self-driving cars that crashed.” Monica Jill glanced around the table.
I turned to Joe. “Do you think Keri Lynn’s crash could have had something to do with the self-driving feature of her car?”
He shrugged. “I doubt it.”
Beau had been very quiet, but he looked up. “I play golf with the guy who owns the Tesla dealership. I could probably ask a few questions.”
I looked at him. “That would be great. Maybe he could tell you when it was serviced last.” I paused for several moments to collect my thoughts. “Also, I would imagine a car that drives itself would have a lot of technology.”
He nodded.
“Maybe there’s some way to download that technology to see what happened.”
Beau nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
I thought for a few moments. “Dallas and Keri Lynn have fancy cars and a big house.”
“I’m still stuck back on ten thousand square feet,” Dixie said. “Do they have kids?”
B.J. shook her head. “Nope. It’s just the two of them. But what’s really weird is you’d expect them to have dogs. I mean, they own a pet resort, but they don’t have dogs.”
We all agreed that was definitely weird.
Dr. Morgan whistled. “I guess the pet resort business must be doing pretty well if they can afford a huge house like that.”
“Hmm…must not be doing too well.” B.J. took a sip of her beer. “Today I noticed there’s a For Sale sign in the yard.”
We were shocked. “Really? I wonder why they’re selling.” I stared at Monica Jill.
“I’m sure I can find out. The real estate community is pretty small.”
I nodded. “Great. Use your contacts and see what you can find out about why they’re selling.”
I looked at B.J. “You take Snowball to Pet Haven, right?”
“Snowball is scheduled for a mani-pedi,” B.J. responded.
I stared at her. “You’ve got to be joking?”
She smiled. “I’m terrible at clipping her nails. I cut the quick once and it took forever to stop the bleeding. Now she runs and hides when she sees me with a pair of nail clippers.” She sighed. “Anyway, it’s what they call it when they clip her nails. It sounds a lot more impressive than it really is.”
I shook my head. “Could you talk to the person who does her grooming and find out if they’ve heard anything about Heather and Dallas or Justin and Keri Lynn. Boy, he must be pretty broken up.” I stared at Madison.
“You should have seen him. He actually howled.” She shivered.
David nodded. “It was awful.”
I turned to B.J. “You’re going to need to be…subtle. You don’t want them to catch on.”
She twisted her lips. “I’ve got this. I can be subtle when I want to be.” She smiled. “My money is on Justin. I think he did her in. I’m going to talk to some folks and see what I can find out.”
I turned to Dr. Morgan. “How many coroners are there in the city?”
He smiled. “One.”
“So you’ll be performing the autopsy on Keri Lynn?”
He nodded. “Anything in particular you want me to look for?”
I glanced at Joe.
“Do you have a mass spectrometer?” Joe asked.
“I wish.” Dr. Morgan shook his head. “However, I have a friend in Nashville.”
“What’s a mass spectro—” Dixie asked.
B.J. bounced in her chair. “I know. They use that all the time on NCIS. It’s this huge machine that can analyze stuff for different chemicals. Abby uses it all the time.”
I looked to Dr. Morgan, who merely shrugged. “Basically, she’s right. It ionizes chemical samples by using—”
I held up a hand to stop the flow of words. “So it can tell if she was poisoned or drugged?”
Dr. Morgan nodded.
“Look for punctures and run a full toxicology report,” Joe added.
Dr. Morgan nodded.
“What about me?” Madison asked.
“Well…” I looked at David.
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” he asked.
She nodded. “I want to help too. After all, I knew Keri Lynn and Heather better than anyone else here. Keri Lynn was my boss. If she was murdered, I want to help put her killer behind bars.”
“Well, I don’t want to draw attention to you, but…well, the story Dallas spread around is that Heather had a family emergency. When you started, did you have to list an emergency contact?”
She nodded.
“It would be really helpful if you could check her employee file and find out her address and the name of her emergency contact.”
She looked pale, and her gaze darted around.
“If you’re not up to it—”
“No. No. I’ll be fine. I can do it.”
I stared at David.
He smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll watch out for her.”
I looked around. “I think that’s everybody.”
“What about me?” Dixie asked.
I smiled. “I have a special assignment for you that will be right up your alley.”
Before she could ask further questions, Red came up the stairs with the food.
“Dinner is ready!”
The food was delicious, and everyone seemed to genuinely enjoy themselves. We sat outside and ate, laughed, and drank.
Joe was the first to leave. He stretched. “I’ve got to hit the road early tomorrow.”
I hugged him. “I wish you weren’t leaving so soon.”
“Thank you, but I’m sure Stephanie and I will be back. She was so disappointed she couldn’t come along this time.”
Turbo stretched and yawned several times but eventually he followed Joe to the car.
Red was the last to leave. He cleaned the grill and helped me load the dishes into the dishwasher, put away the extra food, and get the house tidy. When we were done, I walked him to the door.
He looked into my eyes. “Look, I know you haven’t given up investigating.”
I started to talk, but he held up a hand to stop me.
“I also know there’s nothing I can do to stop you. You’re an adult, and you’re going to do whatever you want to do anyway.”
I smiled.
“However, you can’t stop me from worrying. I’ve seen too many murders, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
He took a finger and traced it down the side of my face, and I had to work hard to focus on what he was saying. “I may not be able to help with the investigation from an official standpoint, but I can try to keep an eye on you and work on things unofficially.”
“I appreciate that, but I don’t want you to get in any more trouble because of me.”
He held me. “Trouble is my middle name.”
We lingered over our good-byes until Aggie prompted us to move things along by standing on her hind legs and pushing Red in the back of his knees.
He laughed. “Okay, I’m leaving.” He gave Aggie a pat and left.
Aggie yawned and stretched.
>
“Okay, you’re very pushy when you’re tired.” I made sure all of the doors were locked and headed to bed. Aggie followed me until she saw I was finally heading to bed and then rushed to the bedroom, climbed the stairs I’d bought to allow her to get into my bed, and then plopped down on my pillow.
I let her stay until I finished my nightly routine and then shifted her over to her side of the bed.
Aggie was snoring before I got the lights out. However, sleep eluded me. I tossed and turned. I repositioned my pillow, tried sleeping with covers off and then covers on, but nothing worked. Eventually, Aggie must have gotten tired of my tossing and got off the bed and went into her dog bed in the crate I kept near the side of the bed.
I sat up and turned on the light. “Traitor.”
Aggie’s eyes fluttered, she stood up and turned in a circle, and finally settled down with her back to me.
I pulled out the notepad and pen I kept beside my bed and tried to make sense of everything. Why would Dallas murder both his wife and his girlfriend? I could easily come up with a motive for killing one or the other of them, but both…why? I tapped the pen. “I must be wrong. This doesn’t make any sense.”
I stared across at Aggie, but she ignored my late-night musings.
I flipped the page in my notebook. I wrote the Sherlock Holmes quote across the top. Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.
What was impossible? I thought about it and then wrote: It was impossible for Dallas Simpson to have killed the same woman twice. If he murdered Keri Lynn last Sunday, then she couldn’t have been in a gas station in Georgia today. He might have tampered with—her brakes or something underneath the car that could have caused an accident, but he certainly couldn’t have dressed up her dead body and manipulated it like a puppet. Or could he?
I was deeply engrossed in my notebook when Aggie sat up, growled, and then ran across the room barking. I sat very still and concentrated, cell phone in hand. I pressed 911 but stopped before pressing the button to initiate the call and listened. The barking stopped. After a few moments, there was a knock on the door, and I recognized David’s voice.
