Starke Naked Dead (Starke Dead Mysteries Book 1)

by Conda V. Douglas

  “Get out,” she said.

  “Aunt Maddie—”

  Aunt Maddie yanked out of Lester’s grasp. “If you’d only gone back to Boise when I told you, none of this would have happened.”

  “No…” A single tear rolled down the outside of my nose.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Get out.”

  I swiped at the traitorous tear. “Charles will return.” Take back your dreams, Aunt Maddie, I silently prayed.

  With her injured hand, she grabbed a length of framing that had fallen away from a painting. “And stay out.” She flung it at me.

  It smacked me in the chest and bounced off my apron.

  I gasped. Mallard gasped. The Widows Brigade gasped.

  “That’s enough of that.” Mallard grabbed my aunt’s arm. Lester, a few seconds behind, snatched Aunt Maddie’s other arm. They half-walked, half-dragged her toward Looney Jump Creek Bridge.

  “No, don’t. Aunt Maddie…” I ran behind. I reached toward her again.

  “That’s right. I’m your aunt, not your mother,” Aunt Maddie said over her shoulder. “Your mother’s long gone. There’s no one left.”

  Mrs. McGarrity gave a little wave. “We’re right here, Maddie.”

  Aunt Maddie stared back at her with that same dull expression. “I’m not.” She shrugged her shoulders and Lester and Mallard released her. She started walking toward the police car. “I’m already dead.”

  She walked to the car and got in, and never looked at me.

  I stood there as Mallard and Lester drove off. I stood there as Jeff and James rolled up the hose, gave me a last look of pity, and departed. I stood there as the Widows Brigade tut-tutted reassurances at me and then left to spread the word that the fire was out and we were all saved.

  I stood there as Mrs. McDay returned. She grasped my hand, hers only paper-thin skin and bird-bones. She squeezed tight, looked up into my face until I nodded and only then returned to the Brigade.

  I stood in the quiet with the taste of ashes in my mouth. A core of blood-hot anger started at my heart and spread throughout my limbs. “Enough,” I said into the silence.

  The pearl lay heavy in my apron pocket. If only Rupert had never come into the store and given me the Noira horror. I clutched the pearl and raised my hand up high. If only I had turned over the necklace to Lester at the first. I looked for a good place to throw the damned pearl.

  My arm, raised, paused. I had destroyed my aunt’s world with only my words. I lowered my arm. If I could give Aunt Maddie her dreams back then…if Rupert had enough money to escape then...if I sold the Noira to Nance then…

  I stuffed the pearl back into my pocket and set off to pass on the curse on to a friend.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  A sturdy piece of plywood blocked where Rupert made his last getaway through the front store window. No glass, no pieces of window frame, no destroyed Spuddy Buddies. Who did all that hard work—Tony?

  Across the street, he helped Maureen unload her father’s fire-panic-loaded truck. Tony spotted me looking at him. I pointed at the plywood and nodded my thanks. He gave me a thumbs up.

  I took out my key, bent to insert it in the lock, and stopped. A brand new brass doorknob, complete with a security bolt lock, gleamed.

  I swore, and not a nice pretend swear word, either.

  Nance. It had to be her interfering meddling officious usual self.

  Banging on the door, I yelled her name.

  Nothing.

  Last I saw of her, she’d been headed off with Henry, all lovey-dovey. I could see her ordering him to change the lock. Henry would be plenty eager to comply with any of Nance’s wishes. Money and those Escher hands wielded fast results.

  Never mind that Maddie’s and my possessions still remained in the store. And the possession of a dead man, the Noira necklace. We hadn’t been evicted, which made it illegal to lock us out. Nance never let little things like legality stop her.

  I stood on the sidewalk and seethed, while considering kicking the door down. I studied the bolt lock and thick planks of the old door and reconsidered.

  My fist pounded the plywood on the window. And then I shook my stinging hand. Tony had mounted the plywood with a profusion of thick, heavy-duty nails. That plywood might never come off. Now both Tony and Maureen stared at me. I gave a casual wave and waited until Tony, with a shrug, bent back to his task and Maureen followed.

  Was Nance still with Henry, planning who knew what other insanity?

  I slammed down the sidewalk and headed for Henry’s. The wood planks reverberated under my feet. I stopped short outside Mama Chin’s café.

  Parked skewed so it blocked two full places, was Nance’s Mini Cooper. Sunlight shone against the always-pristine front window of the café. I pressed against the glass and cupped my hands around my eyes. Inside sat Nance, perched on a box. With a plate of what looked like beef stroganoff on a bigger box in front of her.

  She noticed my nose squashed against the glass and lifted her fork laden with a cube of something that dripped brown gravy. My ex-boss saluted me with a come-hither gesture.

  How did Nance stay so thin? She never stopped eating. Of course she ate vegan, but it was her special version of vegan and included cinnamon rolls.

  I flung open the café door. The old booths had vanished, along with the old stools ranged along the counter. I wended my way through the towers of boxes. There seemed to be more boxes, more dishes, and more chaos.

  As I reached Nance’s table—er—box, Mama Chin bustled over. She pointed at Nance. “Make her leave.”

  “I’m not finished,” Nance said, all mild-mannered Buddhist.

  Mama Chin shook her finger and her whole body shook along. “Starke was burning down and she wouldn’t leave.”

  “One of the Widows Brigade said that was merely a lot of smoke,” Nance said.

  “You were the last to see him.” Mama Chin pointed a sugar-dusted finger at me. “Where’s Fat Freddy?”

  “In the tunnels where rats belong.” I pulled up another box across from Nance.

  Mama Chin crossed her arms over her chest. She stepped closer to me. “We’re closed.”

  I looked up at her.

  Mama Chin dropped her arms. “Dora?”

  I tossed my head in Nance’s direction. “I need to talk to this woman.”

  Nance paused, a forkful halfway to her mouth. She blinked and put her fork down.

  “But Dora,” Mama Chin said, “we’re closed.”

  “Now,” I said.

  She backpedaled and bumped into a stack of boxes, which swayed. She held out a hand to steady the boxes. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” Mama Chin fled.

  I turned to Nance.

  “This woman?” Nance said. “I’m ‘this woman’?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Nance straightened on her box. The Escher hands shifted. I’d never once seen Nance wear pants. What would she do when snow lay two feet thick on the ground? I supposed I’d find out if it ever snowed. I wondered if I still cared. Or if I’d be around.

  She flipped a dismissive hand over the remnants of her meal. “No matter. You’ve had a rough couple of days.”

  Ya think? I almost said.

  “As a Buddhist I’m trained to be forgiving, whatever the insult.” Nance pushed her plate aside. She reached out to pat my arm.

  I shrugged away.

  “Dora?”

  “You came here—”

  “I came here to create my flagship store.” Nance flung both arms wide. “Nance’s Innovations,” her voice rang out.

  The swinging door to the kitchen moved an inch. I caught sight of a small work-roughened, floury hand. Mama Chin.

  I leaned forward. “Bullshit.”

  Nance’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “You came here to commit a crime,” I said, my voice low.

  Nance clasped both hands to her bosom, perfectly over the other hands. “I don’t know—”

  “The Noira.”


  “The Noira,” Nance echoed.

  “You came sniffing around for the necklace.”

  Nance gave an insulted sniff. “In no way did I—”

  “I have the Noira.”

  Nance reared back on her box. The box creased beneath her. I guess she did weigh a bit, despite always looking as if she’d blow away in a winter wind.

  The swinging door opened wider.

  “I knew it. Rupert gave you the Noira,” Nance yelped.

  I thumped my lips with my index finger. “Shh.”

  Nance persisted. “He stole it and killed that old man—”

  “For once in your stupid life, shut up.”

  Nance’s mouth fell open. “Dora?” she asked again. Her lower lip trembled.

  “Mama Chin?” I called out.

  After a pause, the kitchen door opened a crack and Mama Chin peeked out. “What you want?” she said in a perfect imitation of a clichéd old style immigrant Chinese. One that had never attended Dartmouth and graduated with honors. “I no hear you from where I was, way, way in back.”

  I ignored Mama Chin’s humor and pointed at Nance’s plate. “Do you have any more of this?”

  Mama Chin snorted. “A bit. But it’s gone cold.”

  “Then you need to reheat it as I would like some.”

  Mama Chin opened her mouth, looked at my face, and closed it again. She nodded and closed the kitchen door. I waited until I heard the sounds of pots banging to grab the pearl in my pocket. I tossed it on the box Nance used as a table. It bounced.

  Nance jerked back. Her body settled farther into her box seat. I wondered what was in the box and if it were fragile.

  “There’s a taste.” I almost added, you might find it bitter.

  Nance snatched the pearl. “This is the pearl that was added to the Noira.”

  How long had she studied the necklace, to recognize the pearl right off? I imagined her bent toward her computer monitor screen for hour after hour, scrolling through Google pages.

  “You can have the necklace,” I said.

  “The necklace?” Nance looked at me, eyes wide. Perhaps she didn’t dare believe what she’d heard. “I can have it?” She patted her chest as if she checked the space where the Noira would rest.

  Her chest didn’t look big enough to carry the heavy, noxious weight of the necklace. That was her problem. Not mine.

  I noticed her long graceful fingers. She’d be far better off wearing gorgeous rings that highlighted those beautiful hands, than a necklace that emphasized her long, too thin, scrawny neck. I amazed myself that I paid attention to such nonsense now.

  “It’s mine?” A smile bloomed all over her face. She didn’t possess the necklace, not yet. She didn’t know the weight of it, not yet.

  The kitchen door swung open. Mama Chin stood there, a steaming plate in her hand. She stared. How much had she heard?

  “Is that my stroganoff?” I called out.

  Mama Chin brought the plate over. Nance placed both hands over the pearl, all innocent and demure.

  Mama Chin set the plate in front of me. “Doesn’t warrant the name of stroganoff. Not having a speck of meat.”

  “Thank you. That’ll be all,” I said.

  Mama Chin frowned.

  “Shut the door behind you,” I said.

  “Stolen?” Mama Chin said.

  I ran both my hands through my hair. “Mama Chin. Please.”

  She grimaced. “Okay.” She gave me a pat and left.

  Nance and I watched her head back to the kitchen. She shut the swinging door tight behind her.

  “How much can you hand over for a down payment?” Let it be enough, I prayed.

  “What?” Nance stared down at the suitcase-sized monstrosity at her feet.

  “I know you, Nance. I know you came to Starke with money. How much?”

  “Fifty thousand,” Nance said.

  “You thought you could buy the Noira for a measly fifty thousand?” Now my voice squealed outrage.

  “Like you said, Dora, it’s cursed and stolen. It’s not like you could sell the necklace on the open market. In fact, I think fifty thousand is too much—”

  “Fine.” I stood. The box wheezed as air rushed back into it. “I’ll turn the necklace over to the police—”

  “No, it’s mine.” Her hand gripped the pearl tight and became a bird of prey’s taloned foot around a bloodied dead prize. “I need it to be mine,” she said, her voice an echo of Godiva’s that made me shudder.

  “You want the damned horror?” I asked.

  The delicious aroma of the vegan stroganoff wafted around me. I wanted to puke. I wanted to toss it into Nance’s oblivious face.

  “Then pay for it and take it,” I said. “Maybe you won’t add your blood to all the other blood. Maybe you’re immune.”

  Nance gazed down at her hands as if she searched for telltale red. “Why are you so angry at me?” Her shoulders hitched once, twice. And then fell.

  I passed my hand over my eyes. The images of Noira with a slashed throat, of a woman with a bloody white dress, of an old man burning flashed in my dark. And then of Nance wearing the necklace, open-eyed and dead.

  “Don’t do it, Nance.” I grasped her hands and forced her to look at me. “Don’t take the Noira. Please.” I gave her hands a little shake.

  I didn’t know what I’d do if she didn’t give me the money. Maybe lose Maddie’s love forever. Maybe keep my soul.

  She blinked at me, puzzled.

  I squeezed her hands until she winced. “The Noira’s evil. Everyone who possesses it is destroyed.” I released my grip.

  Nance bit her lower lip. I watched her stroke, with one fine-fingered hand, the black pearl as if to reassure herself that it existed. Or as if it lived.

  She squeezed the pearl. Tears coursed down her cheeks. “Oh, Dora, I know I’m a fool. But I have to have the Noira. It needs to be mine. Mine.”

  My heart ached. I gritted my teeth until the pain in my jaw overwhelmed my heart. “Then you make your own narrow bed.” I stood and reached for her satchel. “Fifty thousand is enough.”

  “Not so fast.” Nance snatched the heavy carrier out of my reach. She stood and with the hand not holding the pearl, brushed at a stain on her dress. “When will I get the necklace?”

  I thought fast. “Tomorrow.” By then I’d have spent her money.

  “Tomorrow? Why tomorrow?”

  “When you give me the rest of the money.”

  Nance grasped her chest and destroyed the Escher design. “I don’t think I can get any more than a couple of hundred thousand—”

  “Fine. Get whatever you can.” I wanted Nance out of my way, not an easy thing to do with my furniture-moving friend. Money could be a big enough distraction. “This will do—for now.” I reached for Nance’s huge purse.

  Swift and sure, she kicked it away from my grasp. “I’ll get the necklace no matter how much of the rest I can come up with?”

  “I didn’t say that. You won’t get it unless you give me the fifty thousand right now.”

  Nance whimpered as I grappled her purse away from her guard.

  I unclasped the lion’s jaws. Inside, Nance’s wallet sat atop neatly bound sheaves of twenty-dollar bills. Underneath the money was a jumble of jeweler’s tools. I tossed her wallet on the table box, next to my untouched stroganoff.

  “Dora?”

  I hoisted the bag onto a shoulder and staggered to the front door.

  “Dora, wait, I—”

  I ignored Nance’s confused and plaintive tone. I had places to go and people to save.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The heavy bag shifted on my back and dug into a shoulder blade. I yelped. And then swore.

  I’d schlepped that sack-on-steroids the three blocks to Doc Byrne’s only to discover no Maddie. Doc Byrne, after scolding me for carrying such a heavy bag on one shoulder, replied with “don’t know” to my question of her whereabouts.

  I ducked my head as I turned on
to Main Street and passed by the front window of the sheriff’s office. My aunt huddled in the same chair I sat in not long ago. She cradled her burned hand, now mummy wrapped, in her crossed arms.

  The stupid bag banged on the doorframe as I entered. At the sight of Nance’s monster purse, Lester gave a small gasp. Aunt Maddie jumped at the sound. Mallard started sweating, or rather sweated more.

  “Relax,” I said to them, “it’s a purse.” Whose purse, I didn’t say.

  “A really, really big purse,” Mallard said from where he hunched at his desk. He looked from me to Aunt Maddie. He gave me a tiny nod of encouragement. Then he bent back over his keyboard.

  Lester sat across from my aunt. He glanced from me to the open trap door to the fruit cellar cell. Perhaps he considered tossing me into the tunnel. The only thing that stopped him was the yellow crime scene tape strung around the trap door.

  I couldn’t blame him. It must sting that while he and Mallard searched everywhere for Rupert, he was there, already jailed.

  The bag banged on my back with every step as I stomped across to Lester. I stopped and tried to loom over him. I’m too short for that to work.

  “Why is Aunt Maddie here?” I demanded.

  Lester gazed at me from under his gray, 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 and turned to Aunt Maddie. “In fact, Charles’s 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 but let it drop and 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, looking almost as dejected as Aunt Maddie. He sighed for a third time. “There’s the large problem of the ticket.”

  “Ticket?”