by Rose Beecham
Dr. Westmoreland took out her cell phone. “I assume they suspect homicide.”
“I’m not sure,” Agatha said. “There’s a big search-and-rescue operation today. Our K-9 was called in.”
Miss Harwood indicated one of the framed pictures on the wall. “Is that Detective Devine?”
Agatha took it down, happy that someone appreciated one of the small touches that made the station house less impersonal. She’d framed the photograph herself. It showed Detective Devine ready to ride out with the sheriff’s posse the previous summer. What a day that was. After three women hiking alone in the canyon area had almost been raped, they finally had a suspect and he’d made a run for it, trying to hike across state lines into Utah. The posse had run him to ground north of Dove Creek, and they brought him back to town the old-fashioned way, walking roped behind a horse. Detective Devine said it was the kind of thing that would never fly in Washington, D.C., which explained a lot about the state of the union, Agatha thought.
“She looks good in uniform,” Miss Harwood observed with a brittle edge.
Agatha instantly regretted her constant chatter. Celebrities had to listen to people like her all day every day. Miss Harwood probably came to this remote part of the country for anonymity and a break from playing the role of herself. Now she was being forced to admire snapshots of law enforcement officers.
Self-consciously, Agatha took the picture back and was about to hang it when Dr. Westmoreland strode over and said, “Let me see that.”
She swiped the picture from Agatha’s hands and stared down at it. Then, without a word, she gave it back, her face drawn. The wind chimes on the back stoop sounded like warning bells between rounds of boxing. Agatha clasped her hands so they wouldn’t shake. She sensed she’d aggravated the doctor somehow and was not sure what she’d done wrong.
“More coffee?” she offered anxiously.
“No, thanks, Miss Benham. We should get going.” Dr. Westmoreland helped her friend to her feet and handed the ebony cane to her.
Elspeth Harwood was several inches taller than the doctor, almost the same height as Detective Devine. Agatha was sorry again that her boss wasn’t here. She could have taken a photograph of the three women to add to their small gallery. In her mind’s eye, she composed the ideal portrait—the fair pathologist in the center because she was shorter, Detective Devine on one side with her dark hair and her square face, and Miss Harwood on the other in ethereal red-haired contrast. Quite the threesome.
“Are you driving down to Cortez?” she asked as Dr. Westmoreland straightened her beret and guided Miss Harwood down the steps.
“I think I should,” the pathologist replied. “I’m sure Detective Devine has all the excitement she can handle, but she’s always very good at exceeding limits.”
Agatha thought about that comment as her two breathtaking visitors got into the doctor’s crime-against-the-environment vehicle and drove shamelessly into the flurrying snow. Dr. Westmoreland was right. The detective had no idea what it meant to stop and smell the roses.
*
“You’re saying there was a dead body on the backseat of this truck?” Jude asked Tulley.
“The whining and the ear flapping…that’s his alert for residual scent.”
The deputy gave his bloodhound a liver treat and led him away from Wade Miller’s pickup. His expression was one of determined dignity and embarrassed pride, a look he wore when he wanted to wax lyrical about Smoke’m’s accomplishments but was worried he’d be mocked by the boys for his devotion to his dog. At such times he liked to display his grasp of impressive forensic terminology.
Lifting his voice so the officers a few yards away could make no mistake about his K-9 credentials, he told Jude, “That signal indicates preputrefaction essence, ma’am.”
“So we’re talking about what—a body less than twelve hours deceased?”
“Correct. In the event there was decomposing remains, he’d paw the ground and bark.” With a covert glance toward the crime scene technicians, he added, “He can tell the difference. That’s how come he was the champion cadaver hound and best in his year. Juries—they believe a dog like him.”
“I want that truck taken apart,” Jude told the forensic team. “Look under the paint if that’s what it takes. And get that hound on video making his signal. Can he do the same thing again?” she asked Tulley.
“Sure can.” With a smug expression, he walked Smoke’m back a few more yards and adjusted the dog’s working harness. “Soon as you’re ready with that video camera, I’ll set him loose.”
“You did fear-scent work with him on that last training course, didn’t you?” Jude asked once the video was rolling and Smoke’m was performing for the camera.
“I see what you’re getting at.” Tulley whistled and Smoke’m froze in position, standing on the backseat of the truck, a mournful whine rising from his flabby throat. “The problem is, we have to figure out what the fear is about. He can’t do that for us.”
“So, you could walk him by a suspect and he could detect adrenalin, but that could mean anything. The suspect could be innocent, and just stressed about being questioned?”
“Yes, ma’am. Only time I think the fear-scent detection is real useful is right after a crime is committed and the perpetrator is trying to make his getaway. A good dog can smell that fear and track him.” Tulley stared past Jude to the patient hound. “Only thing gets Smoke’m more excited is the smell of roses. Can’t say what that’s about. If he had to choose between going after human remains or shoving his nose in a bouquet, I sure wouldn’t want my money riding on the DOA.”
At that moment, Smoke’m lifted his head and sucked in the breeze. His tail wagged.
“Settle,” Tulley commanded, walking toward the truck. “Go to work.”
The dog seemed to be having a dilemma. He backed out of the truck and descended, staring eagerly toward the doorway. Tulley told him to sit and asked the guy with the video if he had all he needed. The whole time drool descended like icicles from Smoke’m’s dewlaps. Jude thought someone outside probably had a burger. The idea distracted her, too. She was starving, and she couldn’t face another slice of cold pepperoni pizza.
“I think we’re done here,” she told Tulley.
“Can I get back to the search now?”
“Yep.” Tulley had been trolling the banks of the Dolores since first light and wasn’t happy when Jude ordered him to the garage.
“The sheriff’s thinking the McPhee reservoir, right?” he asked.
“I’d say it’s a no-brainer. Miller’s truck was sighted in the vicinity, and he admitted to being in Cahone.”
Smoke’m howled. Tulley told him, “Quiet, boy.”
A crisp English voice cut across the room, “My God. Is that a genuine bloodhound?”
Jude wasn’t sure who looked more stupefied: she, Tulley, or Smoke’m. The dog immediately dropped to his belly and tracked the progress of the two women who entered the garage and carefully traversed the plastic-covered floor. The Brit who’d spoken was walking with a cane. Jude only needed a single glance to confirm her identity. Elspeth Harwood a.k.a. The Other Woman.
Tulley had the presence of mind to answer the actress’s question. “Yes ma’am. He’s purebred. A hundred million olfactory receptors. That’s a whole lot more than a salamander.”
Jude’s breathing grew hopelessly uneven. The sight of Mercy Westmoreland invariably made her gulp air like a stranded fish, and today the pathologist looked so hot Jude had trouble assembling a sentence.
“Doctor,” she said, conjuring the smell of rotting flesh so she wouldn’t blush.
Mercy looked her up and down and smiled the smile of a woman who knew the body beneath the clothes. Mischief flashed in her blue-denim eyes. “Detective Devine, I thought I should drive down in case you locate the missing child’s body.”
“He’s not presumed dead, yet,” Jude said coolly.
Mercy smiled. “You know as well as
I do that we’ll be lucky to find him rotting in a shallow grave.”
Jude detected a faint start in the glamorous redhead standing a foot away. Evidently Elspeth was accustomed to a gentler side of Dr. Westmoreland.
“Do you have a suspect in the disappearance?” Mercy asked, staying on point.
“We’re looking at the mother’s boyfriend.” Jude congratulated herself for keeping a straight face. The redhead was actually fidgeting, no doubt waiting to be the center of attention. Instead her work-obsessed girlfriend hadn’t even introduced her.
“Huge surprise,” Mercy responded. “What’s with the mother? She makes an appeal for her son looking like she’s auditioning for a porn movie?”
“Excited to be on TV, maybe,” Jude said blandly, loving that Mercy was displaying her judgmental side. The English girlfriend looked like she’d just found a snail in her salad.
Mercy chose that moment to make introductions. “Oh, by the way, this is Elspeth Harwood.”
Jude got the mandatory handshake out of the way like it was nothing to touch fingers that had been between Mercy’s legs. She even managed a polite remark about the weather. Beyond that, she didn’t have to worry about making nice. Tulley was all over it.
His ears turned cranberry as he shook Elspeth’s hand. “Ma’am. It’s a privilege. If you don’t mind my saying so, you were awesome in White Orphans. I’ve seen it six times.”
Jude called to mind a wooden film with gray skies up the ying yang and characters who never smiled. Tulley periodically insisted she would enjoy this foreign masterpiece if she concentrated on the plot and the symbolism instead of griping about the subtitles. She hadn’t even realized one of the stars was Elspeth Harwood. Who could tell with the weird white paint everyone had on their faces?
The actress looked thrilled. “Thank you. It’s such an underrated film. Really, I think the semiotics are lost on today’s audience. Nuance is wasted on some people.”
Tulley responded to this arcane pronouncement like he’d just found his soul mate. “World cinema’s my hobby,” he said happily. “I’ve got maybe three hundred foreign-language DVDs.”
It wasn’t a boast Jude would use to impress girls, but it seemed to go over big-time with Elspeth. She looked like she’d have kissed him if no one was around. Instead she draped a pale hand over his arm and said, “We simply must have coffee, darling. Tell me, who’s your favorite director of all time?”
Tulley pondered. “That’s hard. Sometimes I watch everything by Fritz Lang. Other times it has to be Kieslowski.”
They both sighed and, almost in unison, pronounced with mock swoons, “The Double Life of Veronique,” then laughed like they had just invented a secret language of their own.
Jude muttered, “Oh, Christ.”
Even Mercy seemed a little rattled. With a defensive edge, she told Jude, “It’s not like there’s anyone she can talk to around here once Telluride is over.”
“Us being such hicks, you mean?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Uh-huh.”
Jude could tell that Mercy wanted to slap her. Instead they both stared as the culturally deprived girlfriend stepped even closer to Tulley and touched his cheek with the air of an artist appraising a model.
“You know, you have an incredibly photogenic face, Deputy Tulley,” she said, patently appreciative of his black-Irish good looks. “Have you ever been screen tested?”
Jude almost gagged. Was her competition bisexual, too? She didn’t know whether to be disgusted or perversely pleased. Grimly, she drew Mercy aside and walked with her to the far end of the garage, leaving Tulley and the actress to their mutual lovefest.
“What were you thinking?” she demanded once they were out of earshot. “I haven’t seen you in a month and you come in here with her?”
“I didn’t plan it that way.” Mercy’s irritation showed. “We dropped by the schoolhouse and Miss Benham told me what was happening, so there didn’t seem much point driving back to Grand Junction.”
“Do you have any idea how much media we have in town? I thought your…guest was trying to keep a low profile.”
“Elspeth thought she might be able to help.”
“Help?” Jude laughed without humor. “Oh, yeah. I can see it now. The search party has to turn back because she’s worried about her hair.”
“She’s not like that at all.”
“I don’t want to know.” Jude stared past Mercy. The crime technicians had converged on Elspeth, forming an eager audience that hung on her every word. Jude wanted to yell Suckers! She’s a dyke!
“You have to get beyond this primitive jealousy,” Mercy hissed. “You can’t keep pretending she doesn’t exist. She’s bought property here. She’s going to be around much more.”
“Oh, that’s just perfect.”
“I was hoping the three of us could be friends.”
“Are you crazy?”
“I care for you, Jude.” Mercy struggled on. “I don’t think it’s healthy for you to be so angry about this.”
“I don’t think it’s healthy for you to have two girlfriends.”
“Let’s not play tit for tat. Elspeth was fine about coming here. She wanted to meet you.”
“Well, I didn’t want to meet her,” Jude said tersely. “But you didn’t bother to find that out. How did you expect I’d react to this…ambush? Don’t you know me at all?”
“I expected you to behave like an adult.” Mercy’s voice shook.
“Define adult. If it’s a passive butch plaything you want—and, for the record, that doesn’t seem to be the case when we’re fucking—then you picked the wrong person.”
“This is not about how we have sex.” Mercy’s face was a study in frustration. “And please keep your voice down. I’m not ready to take out a public notice about my love life just yet.”
“And I’m not ready to pretend this is okay with me just to make you comfortable.”
Mercy sighed. “I knew this was a mistake.”
“Then why come?”
“I don’t know. I guess I thought if you met her, you’d see how wonderful she is and you’d understand why I can’t just let her go.”
Jude felt like someone had just slammed a baseball bat into her gut. “Are you telling me you’re in love with her?” Not once had Mercy ever mentioned the L-word to her. Not even in the throes of passion. Jude thought she was allergic to it.
“I’m not sure.” Color rushed to Mercy’s cheeks. “She’s been so good to me. I had a hard time when my father died. It made all the difference knowing she was there for me.”
Was Mercy trying to hurt her? Jude was assailed with memories of her own futile attempts to offer support and consolation during that time of loss. Mercy had kept her at a distance, not once opening up. Jude had respected her privacy. Was she now condemned for that? A suspicion flashed across her mind: Mercy found Elspeth safe. Jude had long ago learned to respect these whisperings from the unconscious, so she gave the thought some room, and the anger drained away.
Trying to build some kind of bridge, she asked gently, “What do you want that I’m not giving you?”
Mercy’s face showed nothing, but her pupils gave her away. The question had hit home. She skirted around it, all the same. “Jude, you’re an excellent lover.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.” Jude moved closer, shielding Mercy from the room. She ran her fingertips over the inside of Mercy’s wrist. It was as close to a kiss as she dared in public. “Please talk to me.”
Mercy looked pointedly past her to the others in the room. “This is not the time or place. We both have work to do.”
Jude swallowed her frustration. There was never a time when Mercy was willing to discuss where their relationship was going. Every time Jude raised the topic, she found a way to avoid it. Yet, apparently she had the intimate, personal connection with Elspeth that she denied Jude.
It dawned on Jude that this was a form of fidelity. Mer
cy could be sexually intimate with two partners, but she was only emotionally intimate with one…with Elspeth. Something raw and hot rose from deep inside, and for several seconds she couldn’t breathe. She felt stricken. Blood rushed in her ears. Tears prickled and she looked down at her boots, humiliated and willing herself to get a grip. No one had hurt her like this for a long time.
“Let’s meet.” Mercy’s code for getting together to have sex.
Jude’s hands shook. She shoved them into her pockets and said casually, “That would be pleasant, but I don’t have the time right now.”
Mercy looked her dead in the eye. “I don’t desire anyone the way I desire you. Isn’t that enough?”
Jude wanted it to be enough. She let herself think about Mercy naked and slippery, rocking against her, begging for release. Her body immediately let its needs be known, flesh and skin at odds as a chill of desire spread goose bumps over the heat of her limbs. She wanted Mercy desperately. She ached for her, and she hated how it weakened her resolve. This yearning was like an illness. The more she tried to treat it by giving in, the more barren she felt every time they said good-bye. She loathed her helplessness. She hated that she’d allowed Mercy to dictate the terms of their relationship from day one. What was that about?
Angry at herself as much as Mercy, she said, “Whatever,” a response she knew infuriated her fickle lover.
Predictably, Mercy responded, “That’s not an answer!”
Jude shrugged. “As you said, this is not the time or place. We’re investigating a possible homicide, and Ms. Harwood is not authorized to be here. I need for you to escort her out.”
She started walking. Mercy kept pace with her.
“Don’t do this,” she implored in a harsh whisper.
