A Doom with a View

by Elise Sax

  Then, he was gone. I was sitting in the cold mud, and the wind was blowing. I figured that there was a seventy percent chance that Boone had abandoned me, and I was going to die alone in the middle of the wilderness. But dying of cold wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded, and after five minutes of waiting for Boone, I was praying that a bear would come and eat me fast to put me out of my misery.

  “Here I am,” Boone said, arriving with his arms piled high with wood. He dropped them on the ground and quickly arranged them in a pyramid. Then, he rubbed two sticks together, and presto chango, there was a large fire. I scooted closer to it. Boone sat down next to me and put his arm around me.

  “You’ll warm up in a minute,” he said.

  “You did that like a Boy Scout.”

  “Goodnight men learn how to make a fire before they learn to walk.”

  “What else do they learn to do?” I asked, and I could feel him tense. A rush of warmth went through my body, and it had nothing to do with the fire.

  “Do you want a list?” he asked.

  I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. “How was your trip?” I asked, deciding on a safer topic of conversation.

  “Fine. Uneventful.”

  He was Mr. Mysterious, and that made all my warning lights flash. My husband had a lot of secrets that I wasn’t aware of…like trying to put me away so he could get an inheritance.

  Boone picked up his wet shirt and wiped at my face. “You had snot all over your cheek,” he explained.

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve seen worse.”

  “Gee. Thanks.”

  The fire was big and crackled loudly. The heat felt wonderful. Finally, I stopped shivering.

  “Margaret Marshall fell off a cliff? She was way too mean to fall off a cliff,” Boone said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that it’s more likely that someone pushed that bitch.”

  My ears pricked up. “Do you know who?”

  “Well, her meanness was focused on one target in particular, but he’s the nicest person in the world. Still, it’s possible that he cracked finally.”

  “Who?”

  “Her oldest son. Bernard.”

  Wow. It was a free-for-all against mothers. “What about Adam Beatman? Do you think he could have killed his stepmother?”

  Boone rubbed his chin. “Oh, yeah. Adam was counting down to his retirement, and his father was going to fund it until he met that woman. Getting her out of the way was fundamental for him, so killing her would have been a no-brainer for Adam. But poisoned vaginal soap? Nuh-uh. Adam wouldn’t have gone near that.”

  “It was proven that he bought her vaginal soap as a present,” I pointed out.

  “There must be a story there. But no way did Adam poison her. Listen, Adam Beatman has hunted every piece of meat that has ever gone in his mouth. He can kill an animal with any kind of firearm, knife, or snare. He’s a hands-on kind of killer. He’s not going to poison a woman’s vagina.”

  I wasn’t so sure his argument was valid. Maybe it was easier to kill a deer than it was to kill his father’s wife. Maybe poisoning was a gentler way to go in Adam’s mind and that’s why he did it.

  There were so many dead people and so many suspects. One thing was certain, I needed to look deeper into each of the deaths and get to the truth before the killer or killers struck again.

  Chapter 8

  Once we were warmed up, Boone doused the fire, and we walked to his truck, which was parked deep in the woods. He wet a dirty towel and handed it to me to clean myself as best as I could. Then, he tossed me a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to wear.

  “Turn around,” I told him.

  “I’ve already seen your bra and panties. I’m seeing them right now.” He scanned my body, and I squirmed under his gaze.

  “I’m going to take them off. They’re wet, and wet panties can give me an infection.”

  “Like strep throat?”

  “Like a yeast infection. Like fungus.” Boone frowned, looked up at the sky, and sighed loudly. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing. I was hoping that that would turn me off, but I’m still attracted to you.”

  My body reacted, and I got a big dose of cotton mouth. “Turn around,” I croaked.

  He turned, and I quickly peeled off my bra and panties. “Giraffes are gentle giants, not monsters that have to be defeated,” I heard a woman plead. It was Fifi Swan. I would have recognized her squeaky, helium voice anywhere. She came into view, following Quint, who pulled a yellow barrel behind him with a thick rope. In a panic, I jumped into the sweatpants and held the t-shirt against my chest.

  “Have you seen any giraffes?” Fifi asked us.

  “Run for your lives, townspeople,” Quint growled. “There be man-eating giraffes out here. Lifeless eyes. Doll’s eyes.”

  “They’re beautiful beings!” Fifi whined, running after him into the forest.

  I put the t-shirt on and got in the truck. Boone got dressed too and slipped behind the steering wheel. “Do I want to know what that was about?” he asked me.

  “Probably not.”

  “That looked like the guy from Jaws.”

  “Thank you! I thought I was the only one who noticed that.”

  Boone looked me up and down. “Yep. You opened the portal to hell.”

  “Look, we really don’t have a lot of time to sit here and insult me. We have to interview the mean bitch’s abused son.”

  “We?”

  Even with all of my focus on saving my purse, I had lost my keys and my cell phone. They had fallen out somewhere and were probably at the bottom of the falls. So, we left my car in the woods. Boone drove, and soon we were on a road toward town. Wiping myself down with a wet towel hadn’t done a great job of removing all of the mud and sand. There was a bunch wedged in where I couldn’t get at it, and it was making a lot of friction in a bad way. I tried to adjust myself in my seat, but it was no use. Boy, was I going to have a rash. On the way to Margaret’s, I called Silas with Boone’s phone, which he had kept in his truck. Silas wasn’t thrilled with the quote, but he wasn’t surprised.

  Margaret lived high in the mountains, but her house was nothing like Jenny and Joyce’s. Where they lived in a mansion, her house was small and squat; one story that looked like it was built in the late sixties and was never updated.

  Boone parked in the driveway, next to an old Toyota Celica. “Don’t let the house fool you,” he told me. “It may look modest, but it’s attached to about thirty acres. Margaret was richer than Midas.”

  “That’s more reason for Bernard to have killed her,” I said.

  “Yes, but wait until you meet him.”

  Bernard opened the front door of the house. He was average height and doughy. His clothes were worn but clean, and he didn’t make eye contact. His hand flew to his face when he spoke, like he was trying to hide. “Hey there, Boone. My mom fell and died.”

  “I heard, Bernard. I’m so sorry. That’s why I’m here, to say I’m sorry.”

  “You have mud on your face.”

  “We fell in the river.”

  “Why’d you do that?”

  The conversation kept drifting. I could tell that Boone was trying to center Bernard, but it was difficult. Boone maneuvered us into the house, and Bernard invited us to sit on the couch in the living room. “How about you? You want to sit?” Boone asked Bernard as he hovered over us.

  “Mother says I’m not allowed to sit on the furniture. My butt makes marks on it. Except the one chair in the kitchen. I’m allowed to sit on that.”

  Boone flashed me a look, which said “I told you so. Meanest bitch in Goodnight.”

  “You want to bring the chair here so you can sit?” I asked Bernard. “Or we could all sit in the kitchen?”

  Bernard’s face brightened but then fell. “I’m not sure mother would like that. Remember the time in eighth grade, Boone?”

  “Bernard went on a field trip to San
ta Fe with us,” Boone explained to me. “And his mother came down on him hard because he was a worthless lowlife that didn’t deserve to go anywhere.”

  “She said that?” I asked.

  “No, I was toning it down,” Boone said. “She actually said he was a piece of shit that would never amount to anything, just like his father and then what did she do to you, Bernard? Lock you in the closet?”

  “She has a box under her bed. She put me in that.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  “Like a coffin,” Boone told me and arched an eyebrow.

  “She put you in a coffin?” I asked. Margaret was the meanest bitch in Goodnight. I was so happy she was dead. I wish I would have pushed her off the cliff myself. Poor Bernard. I needed a drink. “You don’t have anything to drink, do you?”

  “Like iced tea?” Bernard asked.

  “Okay.”

  “No, we don’t have any iced tea.”

  “Oh,” I said. “How about some chips?”

  “No, Mother didn’t let me snack.”

  “Even a peanut?” I asked. He shook his head. “Not one nut? Not a celery stalk with peanut butter? Not a cracker? Not even a saltine?” I asked.

  “You can have half of my ham sandwich, if you don’t mind partially stale bread,” Bernard offered. “You want to see where Mother fell?”

  “Not really,” Boone said at the same time I said, “Yes, that’s a good idea.”

  I passed on the ham sandwich, and we followed Bernard out back. The view was spectacular, but not quite as spectacular as the one from Jenny and Joyce’s mansion. There was no fence in the back, but there was a small ridge that acted as a barrier and protection from falling. I couldn’t see how a woman who lived here since the beginning of time would all of a sudden plunge to her death from her backyard.

  “Nice view,” Boone said.

  “The one where she fell is better,” Bernard said, as we followed him along the ridge past the house. “She fell at my special, private place.”

  I caught Boone’s eyes, and he shrugged.

  “Here we go,” Bernard said five minutes later. We had reached a precarious spot on top of the canyon. A perch so high up that it made me nervous, and I took a few steps back until I was standing behind Boone. “It was right here,” Bernard said, taking a couple steps to his left. He turned around so that his back was to the precipice, and his feet were balanced on a thin line of dirt that separated him from life and death. He was totally unconcerned about the height.

  “She just fell right down, and then she was dead,” Bernard continued. “They told me that all her bones were broken except for her toes. Her toes must have been stronger than usual. I think my toes are strong, too,” he said, looking at his shoes.

  “Did you see her fall?” I asked.

  Bernard shook his head and continued to look at his shoes. “I wasn’t here.”

  “But this is your special, secret place?” Boone asked. “Was it your mother’s special, secret place, too?”

  Bernard’s face shot up, and his expression was all about the lightning bolt, ah-ha moment. “No. She never came up here. Why was she here?”

  It was a good question.

  Boone and I argued the entire way to Jenny and Joyce’s. He wanted to go home, and I wanted to spy on the witches and find out if they were murderers.

  “I just need ten minutes at home,” he said.

  “This is on the way to home. It’s in this neighborhood. Why are you making this such a big deal?”

  “My balls, okay?”

  “Is that code?”

  “My balls. My balls,” he said, his voice rising.

  “What are you? LeBron James?”

  Boone’s jaw clenched. “Not basketballs. My balls are sandy. The friction is horrible.”

  “Oh, please. Your balls have nothing on my vagina. It’s like I’m carrying a pocketful of dirt between my legs.”

  The truck swerved, but Boone righted it, quickly. “You’re not a typical kind of woman, Matilda.”

  “I know, but I keep trying. Listen, the sisters must have a dozen bathrooms. I’m sure you could wash your balls in one of them.”

  “Perfect,” Boone grumbled. “Nice to meet you, I’m Boone Goodnight. May I wash my balls in your bathroom?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “A very simple solution.”

  When we arrived, Boone parked behind Nora’s car. He checked something in the back of his truck, which he was careful not to let me see, and then I went to the front door and rang the doorbell. It took a minute, but Nora answered the door in a full panic.

  “You’re here,” she said in a loud whisper. “Thank goodness.”

  Faye appeared behind her with her hammer held high. “Is it a killer? Someone cursed?” She was whispering loudly, too.

  “It’s me,” I whispered loudly back to them.

  Faye lowered her hammer. “Come in,” Nora urged, taking my hand. Boone and I followed her into a small side room. Faye closed the door with a soft click.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Nora said, quietly and then stopped when she seemed to notice Boone for the first time. “Boone Goodnight. What’re you doing here?” she asked while looking at me.

  “I have sandy balls,” he said and shrugged.

  “I’m so confused,” Faye said. “Did you get the wrong brother, Matilda? What happened with the question?”

  “What question?” Boone asked, suspiciously.

  “Nothing,” I said. “The question wasn’t an important question. And then I fell in the river, so that’s why Boone’s here.”

  Nora and Faye nodded slowly. “Are those your clothes?” Nora asked me.

  “No, they’re Boone’s clothes,” I said.

  “She didn’t want fungus in her vagina,” Boone explained and smirked.

  Nora nodded slowly, again. “I see. Are you wearing his underpants, too?”

  “No. I’m not wearing any underpants. But it’s not what you think,” I added when I caught their shocked expressions.

  “She has a pocketful of dirt between her legs,” Boone explained.

  I turned toward him. “Look, stop talking about my crotch.”

  “You started it. You talked about your crotch first.”

  “Yes, but I don’t want you spreading it around.”

  “Understood,” he said and smirked, again. “Don’t spread your crotch around.”

  “I’m so confused,” Faye complained. “What’s going on?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Nora said. “We have more important stuff to talk about, and we have to be quick. Jenny and Joyce are doing a reading, and they’ll be done in about fifteen minutes.”

  Nora took my hand again, and we went upstairs to a large bathroom. Nora pulled the shower curtain aside and grabbed a plastic bottle off the lip of the tub. “Look,” she said, handing me the bottle.

  “Vaginal soap,” I breathed.

  “The same one that Stella used,” Faye said.

  My brain worked overtime and came up with a half-dozen nefarious theories about Jenny and Joyce.

  “That’s not all,” Nora said. She put the vaginal soap back and ran us downstairs to her opulent office. She sat down at her computer and opened a drawer, pulling out some paper. “Look at this. They actually wanted me to put it in a file on the computer.”

  It was a list of names. Stella Hernandez. Tony Eddy. And further down on the paper: Margaret Marshall. At the very top of the paper was written Cursed.

  “You see?” Nora whispered. “Witches.”

  “Look at that, sister. Our atomic karma sister has returned.” It was Jenny with Joyce. They walked in, making the four of us jump in surprise. Faye lifted her hammer high, and Nora slapped the paper down on the desk.

  “Who’s this?” Joyce asked, taking Boone’s hand in hers. She closed her eyes, and Jenny’s eyes rolled back in her head.

  “Boone Goodnight, ma’am,” Boone said. For the first time, I saw his resemblance to Amos, beyond just phy
sical characteristics. Western, gentlemanly charm oozed from his pores, just like his brother. “Nice to meet you.”

  Joyce’s hands moved up his muscular arm until she was caressing his shoulder and his chest. “I’m sensing nakedness coming from you, Mr. Goodnight.”

  “I was hoping for a shower,” he said, smiling.

  “You can use mine,” Jenny offered, excitedly.

  “No, you’ll use mine,” Joyce said, firmly.

  “Mine is bigger. He’s big, sister. So big.”

  Jenny and Joyce were a few seconds away from drooling. It was the perfect time to both distract them and interrogate them at the same time. “I see dead people!” I shouted and walked out of the room like a zombie. The sisters followed me down the hall. When I turned into a room, I rounded on them. “I hear you can curse people,” I whispered.

  They leaned forward. “Oh, yes. Do you need someone cursed? Like Klee? We’ve been waiting for someone to ask to curse her,” Jenny said, hopefully.

  Joyce nodded in agreement. “She’s a real bitch.”

  “Have you cursed a lot of people?” I asked.

  The sisters exchanged a look. “We can’t say,” Joyce said. “Professional rules, you know.”

  Drat. “Have you had a lot of clients asking you to curse people?” I asked.

  “They’re not clients,” Jenny insisted. “They’re souls in need.”

  “And there’s souls in need confidentiality rules. So we can’t tell you,” Joyce said. “Are there dead people here now that you can see?”

  “No,” I said. “Once a day is enough for me. Have you seen any dead people lately? Any girls asking for help?”

  Jenny pointed at me. “The murdered girl. You talked to her. We heard about that. What did she say?”

  I sighed. I was hoping they were on the up and up and could give me more insight into the dead girls I had been talking to, but they were totally in the dark, and I had the sneaking suspicion they were gray-haired con artists who wore a lot of rings. The question was, were they murderer con artists?

  “Are you getting paid by the sheriff to talk to the dead girls?” Joyce asked me. They leaned in, waiting for my answer.