Starke Naked Dead (Starke Dead Mysteries Book 1)

by Conda V. Douglas

  “Lester, that’s not true.” I wished I could give him more than a denial. I wished I could show him how he’d always helped me, with long talks over cinnamon buns, fresher than the one I now munched.

  “Too busy taking care of Starke and now it’s too late.” Lester sat up and drew back his shoulders. “Well, at least now I can help my son find the son-of-a-bitch who killed my grandson.”

  My heart contracted. I tried to think of something to say to alleviate Lester’s suffering. We all suffer in life and some of us suffer so much. I couldn’t bring back his grandson, killed in a hit-and-run in Houston only a couple of years ago.

  I swallowed a bit of hard bun. I couldn’t save his grandson. Maybe I could save my father. “My father isn’t a criminal, no matter what this article says.” I flipped my hand at the monitor in a dismissive gesture. “Much less a major one. He’s just old Wild Rupert, a mountain recluse.”

  Lester gave me one of his signature “I know you’re playing hooky” looks. “Dora, I hauled you in here because you have to know Rupert is dangerous.”

  “Not to me.”

  “He’s a thief and a murderer.” Lester pointed a finger at my father’s photo as if he pointed a gun. “He stole and killed over a thing, a stupid bit of nothing.” The sheriff squeezed the trigger on his imaginary gun.

  I gulped. I wanted Lester to go to Mama Chin’s and buy us a fresh cinnamon roll. And while we sat and sipped cop coffee and split the roll, I wanted to tell him about the Noira necklace and my father and what little I knew and what I suspected. I wanted the heavy noose weight of the Noira off of my neck.

  “Dora, once a man starts killing…”

  “My father would never hurt me.” I swallowed again and almost choked.

  Rupert hurt me every time he stayed away. It wasn’t my father who saw I got to school. It was Aunt Maddie. It wasn’t Rupert who wiped away my tears when I fell. That was Maddie too. And it was Lester who taught me to stay in school and do the right thing and to shoot a gun.

  I remembered the article about Dog Mountain Ski Resort and the photo of the recluse artist, Wild Rupert. Godiva mentioned it. Had she spotted my father as the thief of the Noira and blackmailed him? Or Henry? Or even Aunt Maddie? Or Derek? Is that what got him killed?

  Dear Buddha, had my father lied to me? Had he really killed two men? My shoulders slumped. I shook my head. No, it couldn’t be true. I so didn’t want to believe it. But if Rupert stole the necklace, what else did he do? My father’s tin pin weighted my pocket and my soul.

  Tin. Tin that came from an old, old can.

  “Canned peaches,” I said. I now knew where Rupert hid, right under the noses of the law.

  “Peaches?” Lester blinked. “What have canned peaches got to do with anything?”

  “Nothing. I’m just hungry.” I ate another bite of cinnamon bun. I didn’t want Lester thinking about the old jail cell beneath our feet. My father might be there, listening.

  “You’re always hungry.” Lester’s words pulled me back to the present. “If you’d stop that Buddha nonsense and eat meat once in a while, you’d be fine.” He scooted his chair closer to mine so we sat knee to knee. “Dora, you found that man’s body in your father’s cabin. Why won’t you listen?”

  I held my breath as I remembered that my father had known who Derek was and had known he was dead. Was he lying about everything else? And yet…

  “He didn’t take his clothes off,” I said. Who had stripped the body? Who knew about the necklace besides Rupert and, I realized with a gulp, me?

  “What?” Lester asked.

  “My father, Rupert, he was startled when I asked him why Derek was naked. So he couldn’t have killed Derek.”

  Lester rubbed his hand over his face. “Dora, somebody else may have come by later and stripped the body.”

  “Who else would know about—” Oops, I almost said necklace again. I had rubies and platinum and an onyx woman on the brain. And now a black freshwater pearl.

  “Maybe Godiva found her brother and since they’re nudists she wanted him to be found…” Lester waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Or maybe somebody wanted to cast suspicion on Godiva.”

  Exactly what Godiva had said.

  “Why didn’t she call you, then?” I asked.

  “She did, remember? And maybe she didn’t want to be found with her brother’s body because she’d be the main suspect, as the closest relative.”

  I’d said the same to Godiva.

  “Rupert didn’t kill Derek and I’ll find out who did.” I realized as I spoke that I knew next to nothing about the victim. I needed to find out more.

  Lester crossed his arms over his chest. “I already know who killed that man.”

  Even with the leather elbow patches on his jacket, he looked every inch the sheriff. The sheriff who had already tried and condemned my father and would use what I told him as further evidence against Rupert.

  The last of the cinnamon roll tasted bitter in my mouth. How eager was Lester to close this, his last case and his first murder?

  “I’m leaving in four days, and no matter what I have to do,” —he touched the gun at his hip— “I’m not leaving an unsolved murder behind me.” His chin dropped to his chest. “Maybe I never was much of a sheriff, never really had to be.” His head came up. “Until now.”

  Ohm, eager didn’t begin to describe it. Lester sounded more than determined to find Rupert. He sounded obsessed.

  I hunched my shoulders. “Maybe you won’t find him.”

  Lester sat back in his chair and regarded me. “I will and when I do, what do you think Rupert will do?”

  “He’ll run. He always runs.” Or would he? I didn’t know anymore what my father might do.

  “Where will he run? To the mountains?” Lester gestured out at the window where smoky sunlight streamed in. “Into the fire? Or into a snowstorm?”

  The first of the winter storms could roll in tonight and the mountains would transform from a sanctuary to a death sentence.

  “He’s got no money to run anywhere else,” Lester continued.

  My stomach churned. Rupert could have plenty of money if I sold the necklace to Nance. Would that be the only way to save him?

  “What happens when he’s cornered?” Lester persisted. “He’s wild. What do wild animals do when cornered?”

  “Fight,” I whispered.

  Lester dropped his voice to match mine. “What happens if he fights?”

  I brought my chin up. “Will you kill him?”

  If my father died during capture, who would ever know if he were truly guilty or not? Who besides me would care? I remembered Godiva’s last words to me that she could save Rupert. Had that been a threat? Or an offer?

  Lester scooted his chair back.

  “Will you do whatever it takes to finish off your illustrious career, Sheriff?” I hated every word as I spoke them, but couldn’t help myself.

  “Dora.” Lester’s one word contained enough pain for both of us.

  I stood. “If that’s all, Sheriff, I’m going.”

  “You’re not going until I say.”

  “You can’t hold me here.”

  “Since you’re a material witness, I can.”

  I gasped. “You’d arrest me?”

  Lester stood.

  “Fine, go ahead and toss me in the old jail cell.” As I said it, I realized it might not be a good idea to open up Rupert’s hiding place. I stomped my foot in case Rupert hid below to warn him.

  Lester took a step toward me.

  “Maybe you’re right. You never were a good sheriff.” I had to get out and I had to get out now.

  Lester winced. Hurt showed in every seamed line of his face. Before he recovered, I walked to the door.

  “Dora, wait, please,” I heard behind me.

  I turned and shut the door on Lester’s sorrowful face.

  TWENTY

  I stopped on the sidewalk a couple of hundred feet from the Sun Dog Mall. I
f my father still hid in that mining shaft monstrosity maybe I could coax him out.

  Tony worked on the torn section of the fence. Next to him sat a heavy chain and sturdy new padlock for the gate.

  The mismatched quartet who stood outside the entrance ignored me. The Alpha Male and Alpha Female of the Dog Developers were shoulder to shoulder across from Mama Chin and Mrs. McGarrity. Alpha Female, rail thin, wore a gorgeous fitted suede coat with those hideous, fashionable one-ugly-leather-fits-all boots. Suede that would spot with the first snowflake and boots that would slither on ice. Not a native. A stranger.

  Used to be months between “stranger sightings” in Starke, save when Old George forgot to wear his pants. Not anymore.

  Mrs. McGarrity and Mama Chin stood boobs to face. Mama Chin and Mrs. McGarrity looked ready to go mano-y-mano or rather womano-y-womano, with the Dogs as referees. I backed away.

  I headed to the store. There I showered and put on the lesser of two evils, the less dirty black jeans and T-shirt, hoping that’d refresh and renew. No such luck. I righted and sat on the stool that Rupert had used. Had it only been an hour or so ago? I laid my head on my crossed arms on my workbench. I’d close my eyes for five minutes…

  Derek sat in the chair, naked and dead. He opened his mouth and said in Nance’s voice, “Dora, you always miss the obvious.”

  I awoke with a yelp and tumbled off the stool.

  Nance reached out and caught me.

  Nance. Here in Starke. Buddha help us all.

  As Nance propped me back up, I turned my head and stared at a huge red dot centered over her left nipple. I reared back and almost fell off the stool again.

  “Wake up and be in the moment,” Nance said.

  I hated it when she spoke in Buddhist clichés. I righted myself, rubbed my sleep-numbed face. I dared another glance at Nance and her huge red circles.

  She wore another one of her self-designed dresses. No matter the weather or circumstance, Nance always wore a dress.

  For all her skill in jewelry design, for all her deft salesmanship and extravagant creativity, her dress designs remained a disaster. This dress, in a red and white bull’s eye pattern, exacerbated Nance’s gawky height. She’d cut the material so that a bull’s eye centered over each breast and gave her enormous bright red nipples.

  “You need one-pointed attention.” Nance picked up my hot wire pen and touched the dog’s too long nose of my Dog Face Mountain wax pattern. “If you take away a twitch here,” she said and deftly removed the tiniest bit of wax, “and smooth this here,” —she drew the pen along his jaw line— “he’s not rabid anymore.”

  She’d transformed my Dog Face wax pattern into a friendly, tail-wagger of a dog with two touches. I hated how she could do that, or maybe how I couldn’t. What else was I missing?

  “Thanks, I guess.” I sounded petulant, even to myself.

  “You’re welcome, Dorky Dora,” Nance said, using one of her favorite nicknames for me.

  I shook my head to clear out the sleep cobwebs. A crick in my neck made me flinch. Sometime soon, I needed to sleep in a bed, preferably mine, if Aunt Maddie didn’t follow through on her threat to throw me out.

  Nance turned to the countertop. “Get your stool over here,” she commanded.

  I opened my mouth to protest her imperious tone. And closed it again. I knew Nance.

  “It took me forever to get up here,” Nance said. “First ditzing with the bank and then the highway was closed because of the fire.”

  Oh no, a closed highway meant people would change their minds and not come up for Starke’s, I mean Aurora’s, grand opening.

  “Who’s minding your gallery, Nance?” I asked. “What if they close the highway again? Don’t you think you’d better head home?” With each sentence, my voice rose with desperation.

  Nance opened the first of two paper bags on the counter.

  The aroma of Mama Chin’s burgers wafted toward me. I drooled.

  “Here’s breakfast.” She opened the second bag and the smell of fresh coffee followed close on the burger perfume.

  I pulled my stool to the counter, resisting the urge to snatch both bags from Nance. “Are those vegan burgers from Mama Chin’s?” I asked, instead of grabbing.

  “Silly woman didn’t want to cook them this early in the morning.” Nance pulled the burgers from the bag. “But I explained to her about customer service.”

  I winced. I’d been the butt of many of Nance’s explanations. I sometimes believed I’d become a Buddhist because Nance was. It was easier to surrender. Mama Chin must have felt the same way.

  “She fries her burgers in bear fat,” I said.

  “The Dalai Lama eats meat,” Nance said. Her response whenever she ate meat. “Besides, I’m sure it’s vegetable shortening. I tasted it while that lovely lady cooked the burgers.”

  “You stood next to Mama Chin while she cooked?”

  “Of course. I wanted to be certain she did the burgers right.”

  My mouth dropped open. If I’d done that, Mama Chin would have beaten me to death with her spatula. Nance never ceased to annoy, uh, amaze me. I filled my mouth with a bite of burger. Yum.

  Nance jumped off her stool, burger in hand. She always stayed in motion. Maybe that was how she also stayed stick thin.

  She trotted to my workbench and started pulling open drawers with her free hand.

  I raised my eyebrows at Nance’s new eccentricity. “What are you looking for?” I almost asked why she rummaged through my stuff, but was afraid to hear the answer. Bad enough she had invaded my world.

  Nance’s head jerked up from where she’d stuck it in my workbench’s bottom drawer. She waved her burger around. Bits of vegetable matter flew.

  “So after breakfast…” She took a big bite of burger and pointed at the counter where I sat. “You and I will move this counter,” she said as she chewed, “over to here,” she gestured across the room to in front of the picture window, “and see how it looks.”

  A muscle twitched under my left eye.

  “Then that case there needs to move over here.” Nance took another bite. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the toppled case.

  “Oh, Nance, no,” I said through masticated vegan burger. Since the eighteen months I’d worked for Nance, I’d managed to bury the memories of her moving fetish. Good thing Aunt Maddie wasn’t around or there might be another murder.

  Nance ignored me. She had spotted the trap door to the tunnels. “What’s in here?” Without waiting for an answer, she popped her last bite of burger into her mouth and then grabbed the door and yanked it up. “Eew,” she commented as she peered down into the cellar space below, “there’s all sorts of horrid trash down here.”

  I sighed and chewed. There went my dream of using the old tourist items as additional collateral for a loan from Nance.

  “Somebody’s been down there. I see footprints in the dust,” Nance muttered. She looked up and glanced around the store. “Now where did I see that flashlight?”

  A horrid suspicion, fueled by enough caffeine to wake up my brain, sprang into my mind. Nance mentioned the Noira when I called her, eons—a couple of nights—ago. I set my half-finished burger down and stood up. “When I called you, you knew it was the Noira just from my description.”

  Nance looked at me, her mouth half-open. Her teeth showed burger remnants. “What?”

  “Is that what you’re searching for?”

  She let go of the trap door. It slammed down, and. I jumped.

  With one hand Nance smoothed the fabric of her dress, which only drew attention to the bullseyes. “Shoot me here,” the dress seemed to say, “or here.”

  “The Noira’s unique.” She stepped to her old, now my new, laptop.

  “That computer you gave me doesn’t work,” I said. Like the kiln, I almost added.

  “Don’t be silly. I’d never give you anything broken.” She turned on the old monitor, and the desktop immediately appeared. Figured it would work for
Nance.

  I sighed and went to look over her shoulder.

  “Now where,” Nance said as she connected to the Internet, “did I find those articles about Wild…” The laptop died. She straightened up and placed her hand over one bullseye. “Never mind, I know it by heart. Attachment leads to suffering,” she began in a singsong voice.

  I groaned. I despised Nance in her favorite Buddhist sage mode. “I know—”

  She held her hand up, a Buddhist traffic cop. “Everyone who became attached to the Noira suffered death. Pietro, the twenty-three-year-old designer.”

  “Only twenty-three?” Admiration and envy warred in me. “He was that good that young?”

  Nance nodded. “The Noira was only his third master design. And his last.”

  My shoulders slumped. “I can’t even get a little pin right.” I gestured in the direction of my corrected-by-Nance Dog Face pin.

  Nance patted my shoulder. “You’ll get there. You’ve got talent.”

  I smiled.

  “You should be grateful you’re not a prodigy, a genius like Pietro.” Nance frowned at the computer screen as if remembering a personal tragedy. “He committed suicide hours after giving his ex-lover Noira the necklace.” Nance shook her head. “What a waste. And such bad karma.” She gave a wave. “Pietro cursed his famous actress ex-girlfriend Noira with the necklace. They say he knew Noira’s vanity would force her to wear the necklace where all could see the resemblance to Noira herself.”

  “So?” I said. Who wouldn’t want to resemble that beautiful onyx centerpiece?

  “Some people saw the African features in the face of the onyx woman, a slight exaggeration of Noira’s face.”

  I remembered the exquisite full lips of the black onyx woman.

  “In 1892, Noira could no longer pass for white. That was a death knell for Noira’s career,” Nance continued. “When her life lay in ruins, she followed her ex-lover and killed herself. The curse continued after Noira’s death and other suicides and murders followed.” She jerked her head away from the computer. “Oh, Dora, I read about Wild Rupert—”