Full Bodied Murder

by Christine E. Blum

  So somewhere in that Clairol-infused body there was a heart?

  Not so much. The bread was all scattered close to the opposite side of her yard, next to the motorcycle man’s driveway. I had learned from Vincent on my last visit that he was Italian, and did something with cars, but that’s about it. Walking Bardot gave me the perfect foil for spying on the guy, and she complied by going in for an extended sniff. There was a slipshod faux redwood fence around the outer perimeter, surrounding what was otherwise a very nice place with a highly manicured yard. The bike was gone and there was no sign of life coming from inside the house. In the driveway were two luxury model cars and several others were parked at the curb. I was starting to suspect that this was Marisol’s way of showing her discontent when I saw the bird crap splayed all over a new, plateless Mercedes. I wondered what he had done to deserve her wrath, and if I was in for similar treatment. A whirring sound distracted me and I looked up in the direction of the source. I noticed that a surveillance camera tucked into the eave of the roof was pointed directly at me. Bardot pulled me toward the base of a tree in front of his yard and the camera followed us. In fact, so did the cameras that were mounted all around the roof of the house. I had checked the crime reports before buying my house, and this was a really safe area.

  So what’s with the intense security? I assumed that the images they recorded were being posted somewhere for remote access. Was he maneuvering the cameras or were they doing this automatically? In either case, ew.

  I quickly moved on, feeling his stare once again, even through cyberspace. Deep inside of me a barely healed wound was giving way. Scrutiny was creeping in, and I was feeling like I was being controlled. I’d been at the intersection of “Aiming to Please” and “Losing my Identity” too many times with my ex-husband. In the end nothing I did was right to him and everything I did felt wrong and detached to me. I decided to ignore the cameras and the intrusion but do some further investigating on the neighborhood later for safety’s sake.

  Continuing on our walk, the view changed to something out of a bucolic Disney movie. A neighbor waved while picking grapefruit from a front yard tree, another loaded the kids into the family van and gave me a welcome smile. At a third doorstep I saw that someone had left a basket of garden fresh-looking squash and tomatoes on the threshold. Now this was more like it. Bardot was sniffing everything in sight and peeing like a camel that had just returned from the desert. She was in snout heaven.

  Peggy’s house was across the street and down from mine, and when I saw one with the door open I figured that was it. I had two bottles of wine in my arms and a taut leash, thus not afforded the freedom to look up the address on my phone.

  “Hellooo,” I said, walking in. “I come bearing wine and a lovable beast.”

  I let Bardot loose and headed inside. It was awfully quiet, there were supposed to be something like six winos, I mean women in this club, but I couldn’t hear any voices. The drapes were closed and I was so busy trying to catch up to Bardot at the dark end of the hall that I didn’t see the telephone table until my waist hit it, forcing me to slump across the top. When I reached the end, Bardot was scratching at the back door. It was locked from the inside with a deadbolt. I should know, every apartment door in NYC has at least three of them.

  Strange. Did they all come in through the driveway? Then why is the front door open?

  I turned the key and Bardot bolted out. When my eyes adjusted from the dark to the sunlight, I saw that she was anxiously circling a woman laying facedown on the grass. A large, professional-looking chef’s knife had been plunged into her back.

  Bardot let out a cry that I’d never heard before and I did a quick scan to make sure that we were alone in the yard. I ran to the woman to see how I could help. Of all the crazy things that I’d witnessed in New York City, I’d never seen this and I dropped to my knees in panic. My mind became a bowl of cotton balls and I couldn’t focus on what I should be doing. I looked at the knife and wondered if I should pull it, there was very little blood around the wound, maybe it was just superficial. Bardot stood over me and kept scanning the yard, ready for any intruder. It was starting to get dark and I would need to rely on her nose and ears.

  I decided that I should first check and see if she was breathing. I knelt down by her face, thinking that if I put my head down I would be able to hear her take a breath. But by just touching her cold cheek I could tell that she was dead.

  It was time to call 9-1-1.

  When I stood I felt something sticky on my hands and looked at them and then down to the body. That was when I registered the viscous, dark spreading circle. She had bled out through her nose and mouth.

  Definitely not in Kansas anymore....

  Chapter 3

  I must have gotten an hour’s sleep last night, if I was lucky. Just one day into my new life, it had been gruesomely tainted, and I didn’t know how I was going to rebound. Even Bardot was a little less exuberant this morning.

  I’d withstood three hours of questioning on site after the police arrived, and lost count of how many officers had asked me to “start at the beginning.” They sat me on a wooden chair in the middle of the front room so as not to contaminate any part of the crime scene. They told me that her name had been Rosa. I kept fighting with the mental image of the dead woman’s sweet family photos and mementos on the living room mantel versus her knifed body lying crumpled out back.

  Each time I retold the story, a group of officers would gather and watch me with blank expressions. It was clear that no one was on my side. Except maybe this one guy they called Augie. I noticed him carrying a bowl with water from the kitchen to his squad car where they had sequestered Bardot. I guess they figured that without opposable thumbs she really couldn’t wield a knife. Silly them, I’d seen her do the unimaginable with those paws.

  When they were satisfied that everyone had gotten their turn at trying to break me, I was taken to the station to be fingerprinted.

  They paraded me in front of the entire neighborhood into a police car, and I clearly felt the prying eyes of a group of ladies with travel cups. Not only had I undershot the Wine Club by two houses, but I would probably be the shortest-term member they’d ever had.

  How can they see me as a suspect? I’ve just moved here damn it!

  * * *

  As I sat sipping my morning tea that was doing little to revive me, I heard the hum of a car’s engine stopping outside. It sounded like a van, but the movers had deposited their last box days ago. I looked out the window and saw what was indeed the largest Suburban truck they must make. Out stepped a beefy man about six foot four, with a shaved head and nicely trimmed beard.

  This guy likes his razor.

  I watched with fascination as he opened the passenger side door and the largest black terrier-like dog I had ever seen hopped out and immediately sat, looking intently at his master for further instructions. Bardot, seeing this, started vertically scaling my picture window like a tree frog.

  It took me a moment to make the connection that I had been at Whole Foods to get some staples and had seen cards tacked on the community bulletin board advertising “The Well-Behaved Dog.” Well, Mother had always put manners next to godliness, so I grabbed one. What I was really looking for was someone to help me teach Bardot to swim and be safe in the pool.

  “Hi, I’m Jack,” said this amber-eyed redwood. “And this is my giant Schnauzer, Clarence.”

  The dog-statue sat rock still at my doorstep.

  “Um, hi.” I was not ready for this.

  “If you don’t mind, I want to leave the truck running; I have dogs in the back and they’ll need the air-conditioning. I understand you have a pup who needs a little guidance?”

  Bardot jumped off the window and peed.

  * * *

  I was about to suggest that we reschedule but then thought, if I explain that “discovering a dead body really puts a damper on my week,” I may send him away for good. Plus, the distraction might
be just what I needed.

  Jack stripped down to his swim trunks and was now in my pool. Clarence sat sphinx-like on the lawn. I explained to Jack that I had worked hard with Bardot on basic obedience, which needed explaining since she had clearly suffered amnesia while driving cross-country. He suggested a refresher course, but thought I was right for safety’s sake, to start with the pool.

  “She’s a Lab, so a natural swimmer, but she needs to learn where the steps are, and to not freak out the first few times she gets in water. Bardot, do you want to go swimming?” he asked in a higher tone that must be his “dog” voice.

  On cue, Bardot took a running leap, jumped on and skidded off Jack’s bald head, and belly flopped into the water. She popped up like a cork and propelled herself in circles, making jerky waves like a whisk in a bowl of scrambled eggs. Jack and I kept yelling and pointing to the steps, instructions she heard, but completely ignored. When she was finally ready to get out, she put her front paws on the side and kicked with her little back legs until she could shimmy out. She then did the customary shake, giving Clarence, who was still sitting rock still, a cool shower. His expression didn’t change but something in his eyes said that he was intrigued.

  * * *

  Satisfied that my dog was not going to drown anytime soon, Jack and I had a chance to talk; I sat in my shorts, dangling my legs in the pool and trying to remember if I’d shaved that morning. He stood bare-chested and waist-deep in the water, displaying an impressive six-pack that I didn’t think he got from housetraining a Pomeranian. And for a guy who spent his days speaking in one-syllable words to a variety of canines, he was astonishingly interesting and well spoken. And cute.

  Oh well.

  It was a hot day, and I wished I’d had the nerve to change into a suit and share the cool water with my first California friend.

  “No, Halsey,” I admonished myself.

  My mind slipped back to Rosa for a moment and I felt a bit ashamed that I was having such a good time just one day later.

  After an awkward silence when I was sure he was trying to figure out what I was thinking, he’s an animal behaviorist after all, he asked, “Mind if I do some laps? I have training sessions up until about ten tonight and could use a little stretch.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Catch my watch, it’s too heavy to swim with,” he said, and took off this monstrosity and tossed it to me.

  I was still staring at his nice abs and missed it completely. It sank down into the deep end of the pool and I turned redder than a German tourist after her first day at the beach.

  SPLASH! I saw a flash of yellow and realized that Bardot had dived in for it. I screamed and told Jack to go down after her. At the same time, I was pulling off my top, ready to dive in to help. Jack disappeared underwater, and for a terrifying moment I could see nothing but flat water.

  Then Bardot emerged, the watch in her mouth, and shimmied out. She took her find to a corner of the lawn for disembowelment. Jack emerged next, took a breath and quick look at me in my bra, and went back under. I didn’t have the heart to give him the good news/bad news about Bardot and his watch until about the fourth time up.

  * * *

  I walked Jack to his truck/ground zeppelin, and despite my repeated offers, he refused to let me pay for his watch. Bardot had indeed adopted the ways of her new laid-back home, and no longer had any use for time. When we were finally able to coax the watch out of her mouth with handfuls of treats, it looked more like something Salvador Dalí would wear.

  If I had been hoping to slip into Rose Avenue inconspicuously, then standing at the curb, talking to a giant man and his giant dog next to his giant truck was probably not the best approach. But I guess that ship had already sailed. No one was going to forget that I’d discovered a murder anytime soon.

  I tried to give Jack my undivided attention as he talked, but from behind my dark sunglasses, I was stealing glances at the neighbors and cars passing by. A few times I heard the light “tap-tap” of a car horn as someone waved “hello” to someone else. Not once did I hear, “Outta my way, I’m driving here!” Ah, tranquility. I tuned back to Jack. That was also when I spied a police car parked up at the corner but in direct view of my house. My stomach sank.

  “You’ve got quite a talented dog there, I know you don’t think so now but you do. Clarence and I are a certified dog search and rescue team with CARA, Canine Rescue Association. We’re on call 24/7, and so far we have assisted in eight successful rescues, people in all kinds of bad situations. I’m not suggesting you go out for this, but Bardot does have special skills.”

  I looked at him with the expression of dyed-in-the-wool skeptic. Eyelids at half-mast, head tilted to one side.

  “Regardless,” he ignored me and continued, “with a little bit of structure, she’ll be great, and you will have a lot of fun with her.”

  When he loaded Clarence into the truck, I noticed a ragged piece of paper stuck under his windshield wiper.

  “Is this some funky kind of California traffic ticket?” I asked, trying to sound casual, while a bit suspect and nervous.

  The questioning look on his face told me not. He grabbed it and read out loud:

  People live here, and they need peace and quiet, this thing does not belong here. We had problems before and don’t want them again.

  A quick flash of light hit my face as I turned to look at the houses on my side of the street. This was the second time that had happened to me in as many days.

  “I wonder who wrote this,” he said, actually looking hurt. “I want to apologize and explain. Maybe I should start knocking on doors until I find the person.”

  I had a good inkling of who the windshield wiper menace was, and I could just picture Marisol, if she even opened her door, sneering at this bald hulk and making him cry.

  “No, no, I am so sorry,” I said. “Let me check this out and make amends, I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding.”

  And I was going to make Miss understand. Jack really didn’t want to leave without making his own atonement to the neighbors, but I insisted. This was only my first week living on Rose Avenue and I’d already discovered a dead body, was probably a suspect, and had a neighbor who was poised to cite me with whichever malfeasance she deemed was a break in the code.

  As Bardot and I walked back to my house, I glanced over at Marisol’s neat bungalow. All was still but I knew that she was watching. Maybe I should have questioned the seller Vincent more about her as she was starting to give me the creeps. I was pretty sure that she was the author of that harsh note, but then again I didn’t know Jack, or anyone on this street at all.

  I needed a glass of wine and a plan for how to protect myself from the Matron of Rose Avenue and the cops. I wonder what pairs best with finding a murderer?

  A nice Chianti, perhaps?

  Chapter 4

  I was surprised, no make that shocked, when I was invited to an emergency Wine Club that afternoon. I figured that I had immediately become “ING,” imbiber non grata, what with discovering the first murder on Rose Avenue and all.

  I knew very little about the poor victim. Her name had been Rosa Sobel and she had lived here since childhood. There had been a battle between Rosa and her brother Ray for ownership of the house after her parents passed, but she prevailed. She had been married and divorced and was struggling to make ends meet on her own. All of which would more likely lead to a suicide than a murder.

  When I walked in, this time at the correct house, the voices of jocularity went silent for a moment until Sally said, “The cops let you go on good behavior? I bet you could use a glass of wine. Come meet the girls.”

  We were again convening at Peggy’s house. Peggy looks like everybody’s favorite Grandma. White-haired and fleeced, the eighty-seven-year-old who putters around her pristinely clean house with rosy cheeks and a loving nature. If I hadn’t seen the two cases at the curb brimming with empty wine bottles, I would have thought she spent her days baking
cookies and knitting booties for her grandbabies. I soon discovered that she liked to “taste wines.” She had white wooden shutters on her windows, which I noticed were strategically positioned so that she could see out, but we couldn’t see in. The house smelled of freshly baked banana bread and I decided right then that if I ever needed to borrow a cup of sugar, I would hit up Peggy.

  Sally had told me that the night Peggy became a widow, some twelve years ago, she and her husband were throwing a dinner party. Thankfully, he slumped over peacefully at the table and went to heaven. Everyone stayed while the coroner came and after, slowly started to leave.

  “Where’s everyone going?” Peggy asked. “Vern would never want to break up a party!”

  They drank until dawn telling story after story about him. A flag flies at Peggy’s house every day and comes inside at dusk, homage to Vern’s Air Force career.

  I remember at the time thinking that Peggy must have a strong constitution for death, especially after losing a loved one so suddenly in front of her. Me? Not so much.

  Peggy has four kids and ten grandkids, if the framed collage of photos on her wall is accurate and up-to-date. (I learned later that two more had joined the clan.) She still lives in the house she got married in on Rose Avenue.

  “You’re late,” she yelled out the window to the gardeners who had just pulled up. “And don’t use that damn blower, we’re havin’ an important meeting!”

  That split second, I stopped being concerned about Peggy living alone. She was a tough, take charge granny. I wasn’t sure what she meant by “damn blower,” but I promised to familiarize myself with all things in the landscaping trade later.

  She pulled her head back in and placed a dish of Jordon almonds on the coffee table next to me. I hadn’t seen those since my college roommate’s baby shower, which for me, had been the high point of the day. There was deliberateness to Peggy’s movements that surprised me for someone her age.