by DK Herman
I picked up speed, heading for the highway. The sun shone brightly in the blue sky. It was going to be a beautiful day. The rain had made everything greener, and the grass seemed to have grown overnight. I was rolling down the window when I saw movement in the hedgerow. I slammed on my brakes when three whitetail deer, two does and a good-sized buck, ran in front of Chitty. I heard a big thump from behind me. Damn, I should have checked for anything loose before I drove. I wondered what fell. It sounded big, but I didn’t hear any glass break.
I brought the RV to a full stop. Turning around to look, I shrieked when someone touched my shoulder.
"George! Damn it, what are you doing?" I tried not to yell at him, it was like kicking a puppy.
"I ate a big breakfast then I came back to take a nap." He explained. "I woke up and realized I was moving. So, I stood up to see what was going on and went ass over tea kettle when you hit the brakes."
"Sorry, some deer ran out in front of me." I grumped. "Are you OK?"
"Yepper, I don’t break that easy. You going to town for your Gram? She wanted a few things from the market" He turned the passenger side, captain’s chair sideways, and climbed in.
While I waited for him to buckle up, I debated telling him about the body in the woods. He would hear about it sooner or later. But he beat me to bringing up the subject.
"The police were at the house this morning. They told us that you found a body in the woods last night," he said.
"Yes, I did." I was amazed, he was so calm. "Gram knows?"
"Sure, we were together on the front porch swing."
"That's why I'm going to town. The cops want me to give them a statement, but we can stop at the store afterwards. I started Chitty moving again. "Is Gram upset?"
"She seemed OK. Susie's tougher than you think." He smiled.
In town, I parked by the police station. George waited for me in the RV. Hank had already given his statement, so mine only took a few minutes. Also, I filled out the paperwork for my concealed carry permit. Andy said, he would take care of it. I went back out to George. He’d called Gram and had written down her list for the market.
At the supermarket, I parked in a back row. While George and I walked to the entrance, I noticed people were in a wonderful mood this morning. Laughter seemed to be everywhere. George filled a shopping basket with the items from Gram's list, and we checked out.
"Everybody must be smoking wacky weed today." George commented when loud cackles burst out near us, once again.
Outside, I stopped to get a soda from the vending machine. Rummaging through my purse for change, I looked up to ask George if he wanted one. He was several feet away, walking toward my RV. And the mystery of the laughter was solved.
At first glance, it looked like an applique of an animal head, on the back of George’s tee shirt. I thought it a mouse or a deranged elephant, something with big ears and a long nose. Then I realized what it was.
I sucked in my breath. What the hell. “George, wait up.”
There, stuck to the back of his light blue, tee shirt was my bright, red thong. I forgot about the clothes I had left on the bed in chitty. It must have stuck to his shirt when he laid on the bed. The magic of static cling kept it plastered to his back.
I abandoned my soda, and trotted the short distance to catch up with him. I tried to be sneaky and retrieve the thong, so George wouldn’t know that he was the cause of the laughter. But no such luck, he knew I was up to something and kept trying to turn around.
Finally, I just took his arm and stopped him. “Hold still," I said and peeled it off his back.
He turned and saw it in my hand.
"What's that?" He asked, blinking like an owl.
"A thong,” I answered stiffly and stuffed it into my pocket.
We were silent until we made it back inside Chitty.
"What’s a thong?” George asked, tilting his head just like the dogs when I spoke to them.
“A kind of women’s underpants,” I explained calmly. He had taught sex education to teenagers. That had to be worse than me explaining my underwear to my grandmother’s boyfriend.
“Can I see them?” George asked, holding out a hand.
"Why not." I handed it to him before starting Chitty.
"Which way do they go?” He held them up, turning them every which way.
“The string goes in your butt crack.” I hoped his curiosity was satisfied, and he would drop the subject.
“That can’t be comfortable.” He scratched his head.
“You get used to them." I laughed. I didn’t mention, I only wore them in the bedroom. I found them too damned uncomfortable for daily wear.
"How did it get on my shirt?" He blinked and scratched his head again.
I told him my theory.
He nodded. "Sorry, I laid on em." He held the thong up with both hands, stretching the elastic. After studying it for a few more minutes, he tried to hand them back to me.
"Throw them away." I said. "I didn't really want them."
George nonchalantly, tucked them into his pocket.
“Yikes,” I whispered to myself. I wonder if they’re going to be a gift for Gram.
Gram wanted to have lunch on the patio. To make things easier, we each fixed our plates in the kitchen before carrying them outside. Lebanon bologna sandwiches were another of my favorites. I had two, on homemade bread with cream cheese and sliced tomatoes.
I was finishing my glass of birch beer when Peter walked up to Gram. His nasty glare was fixed on George while informing Gram that he was going to his lodge. Gram told him to have fun. He grunted an unintelligible reply and stalked off.
Besides the glare and surly demeaner, Peter put out a bad vibe. He was always very private and secretive, and I knew very little about him. I watched him get in his truck, parked near his brick cabin and slam the door. He had his own driveway, connected to our lane. He pulled out with another glare in our direction.
"Could it have been him, yesterday by the pool?" I asked George.
"Coulda been, I guess." George said, chewing on the last of his sandwich.
"You’re right, concerning his attitude towards George." Gram took George's hand. "I'll speak to him about it tomorrow. But, I find it difficult to believe that he would try to kill anyone."
"How long does he stay at his lodge?" I had a plan to find out more about our groundskeeper.
"Several hours at least, sometimes he stays out all night,” Gram said.
"I'm going to borrow George for a little while." I told Gram.
"Certainly, but may I ask, what for?"
"I need a lookout." I got up and started into the house. "Be right back."
I returned a few minutes later with my lock pick set in my hand. I had plastic gloves, peeking from my pocket. "Ready?" I asked George.
"Ready." George grinned. He was obviously, very happy to help.
"I need you to watch for Peter while I look around in his cabin," I said. We started across the lawn.
"Will do,” George said with a small salute. "Anything, I can do to help. What's that in your hand?"
"A lock pick set."
"How do you use it?" George asked eagerly.
"It depends on the lock." I opened the case, exposing a variety of tools.
"I thought you gumshoes used a credit card to open doors."
"Only in the movies." At least, I never did.
We walked on in silence. When we were almost there, I whispered, "OK, George, try to be quiet. Stay there, by the window on this side of the cabin. If you see Peter coming back, knock on the window. I'll slip out the back door and meet you in the trees."
"Sounds like a plan,” He whispered back.
Peters cabin had an old door with a simple lock. I removed a tension wrench, a rake, and a pick out of my kit. I could hear George breathing over my shoulder as I bent down to work on the lock. The five pins popped in less than a minute and the door opened.
"Go watch." I shooed George toward
the side of the cabin. Then leaving the door ajar, I crept inside. The cabin was one large room with a kitchen area near the front door. I stopped, seeing Peter had an old newspaper on the floor along the front wall, a pair of muddy work boots on it. I picked one up and took a picture of the tread with my phone. I replaced the boot and snooped through the few cupboards in the kitchen area. He was well stocked with groceries, including cans of soup, chili, various canned meats, and almond butter. He owned good quality pots and pans, a microwave, and a set of new, delicately patterned plates and bowls. His fridge was stocked with everything from eggs, to fresh veggies. I was surprised and a little jealous, to see several bottles of good wine.
Two armchairs and a small table faced a brick fireplace in the middle of the south wall. I spotted two rifles, a .300 Winchester Magnum, and a .30-40 Krag, hung over the fireplace. On the table between the chairs was a bone and brass handled buck knife. I took it out of its sheath. The blade was clean, and it was very sharp. It wasn't as George had described, but I took a picture anyway.
A full sized brass bed, oak nightstand and dresser were arranged toward the back of the cabin. A .22 Winchester pump, leaned against the wall by the nightstand. I’ve seen him with this very rifle in his hand, several times over the years. Many a possum and groundhog had lost its life to it.
Three doors were along the back wall. One door obviously, led out the back. I could see outside through a small window, set high in the door. I moved to investigate the other two doors. The one closest to the bed, turned out to be a closet. Inside, jackets and flannel shirts were hung neatly. The closet shelf held a personal DVD player and two large boxes of DVD's. Peter had good taste, most of the DVD’s were classic movies. On the closet floor, was a worn but well-polished, pair of dress shoes. I glanced at the smooth bottoms and put them back. Then I picked up a plastic shopping bag, hidden in a back corner. Not sure what Peter would hide, I pulled it forward cautiously. It was full of worn magazines, magazines with pictures of naked men on the cover. There were naked men inside, too. Some were rather scrumptious looking, and I couldn't help but admire them for a moment. Then I turned another page and saw they were having sex with other men. Quickly, I put the magazines back, exactly as I found them. This was Peters secret. If he wanted people to know, he would tell them.
Closing the closet door, I peeked inside the night stand. The bottom drawer held boxes of shells for the various rifles. The top drawer was full of condoms and more DVDs. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Was it Peter? Where the hell was my lookout? I jumped when I saw someone outside the window. Then I realized it was George, his hands cupped around his eyes, watching me through the window. I should have explained in more detail that the role of the lookout, was to lookout. I made a shooing gesture and stomped my foot until George turned around.
Behind door number three, I switched on an overhead light. Inside was an old, chipped tub, an ancient pedestal sink, and a toilet. A look inside the battered medicine chest revealed the usual, over the counter pain relievers, heart burn remedies, and three prescription bottles. One was for an anti-depressant, and one for high blood pressure. The last was a popular, cholesterol medication.
I came out of the bathroom and took one more, quick look around. All I’d found out was Peter had high blood pressure, was depressed, got heartburn, and was probably gay. I felt bad because none of those things, were any of my business. There was nothing indicating, he could be guilty of trying to harm George. I slipped out the door, reaching back inside to relock it before I closed the door.
"Well?" George asked.
"This is the only knife I could find." I showed him the picture on my phone as we walked back to the house.
"Nope, that’s not it," George said, seeming disappointed. "Is that all you found?"
"Yep, that’s it.” Peters secrets were safe with me.
After George and I walked back to the house, I returned to my rooms. Retrieving my laptop from the closet, I bluetoothed the pictures from my phone onto it. I wanted to see the mud footprint from George's home, enlarged. After that, I realized I didn't have to compare it to the picture of the bottom of Peters work boot. The tread wasn't even close and Peter had obviously larger feet. The bottom of his boot was stamped, size eleven. The mud footprint from Georges kitchen was ten and a quarter inches long, which translated to a men's size nine.
I turned off my laptop and plugged it into the charger. I grabbed a cold drink from my sitting room fridge. Before I made it to my balcony, my cell rang. I smiled, seeing Doc's name on the caller ID.
"Hey, were ya been?" I asked.
"Having a bad couple of days." Doc sounded shaky, like she’d been crying.
"What's the matter, sweetie?" I stepped outside. Buddy and Princess were playing in the yard below me.
"I lost a patient," Doc said quietly. She always took the loss of a patient hard. "I'm glad we're going out tonight. I could really use a drink,” she added.
"I'm sorry, Doc. Was it anyone I know?" Jeez, how was I was going to get George locked into Chitty and still go out for a while. Poor Doc sounded like she needed it.
"I doubt it,” Doc answered with a small sob. My heart went out to her. "A teenager,” she whispered.
"Oh, no!" I had to go out with her. "I'm sure you did everything you could. Maybe it was just her time."
"I'd like to think so,” Doc sniffled. "I talked to Gabi, she's gonna drive. We'll pick you up at seven. OK?"
"Sure." I grimaced. Damn it. George wouldn't go to bed that early. I'd have to think of something.
We hung up, and I headed down to talk to Gram and George. I could suggest thathe doze on the couch until I get back. Not finding either of them, I headed for the kitchen. Liv might know where they went.
"George got a call on his cell phone, and they went out." Liv was cutting veggies into small pieces for soup. "He thinks his son is coming here. Susie asked me to tell Ryan that they went to a movie and out for supper."
"His son's coming here?" I helped myself to a piece of celery.
Liv nodded. "You wanna take care of it?"
"As a matter of fact, I do.” I grabbed a few pieces of carrot. "I'm going out on the front porch."
I settled myself on the porch swing, munching on carrots. George's car was gone. I was relieved he hadn't taken Chitty because you had to get used to driving her.
It wasn't long before a red minivan pulled into the driveway. I waited on the top step while a man with graying brown hair and a sour expression climbed out. His resembled George but a little taller and had a thicker build. He walked up to the porch, gaping at the house.
"Do you live here, young woman?" He asked rudely when he reached the porch.
"Yes, I do. I'm Hallie James." I didn't extend my hand. I wasn't intimidated, Ryan couldn't be more than ten years older than me. "Who are you, and what do you want?" I could out rude, anyone.
"I'm Ryan Murphy." He decided to extend his hand after all. "I'm George Murphy's son. I'm looking for my father."
"I shook his hand and offered him a chair near the swing. "They aren't here." I told him curtly. "George took my Grandmother to a movie, and they're going to supper."
"I've been very worried about Dad," he said.
"Yes, I've heard." I looked him in the eyes.
"I heard he almost blew himself up the other day." Ryan looked away. He was angry, but he wanted information.
"I believe that’s bullshit." I stared coldly at him.
Ryan narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by that?”
"I was with George when it happened and the next day. I was going into George's home when I smelled the gas."
"And," he said impatiently.
"And it’s my opinion that someone was there before us, and they turned on the gas."
"Why would you think that?" He looked incredulous, but he could be a good actor. Most sociopaths and assholes were.
"I found evidence that someone tampered with an outside light and climbed in the kitc
hen window."
"Are you a police officer?" He was starting to look nervous.
"Private Investigator. I was with Allen and Williams for fourteen years." I name dropped my old firm.
"I just don't know,” Ryan said, squirming in the chair. "Older people get dementia problems, especially after losing a spouse. He was depressed for a long time."
"He's not depressed anymore." I informed him. "He seems really happy now, and not confused at all."
"I always thought that he really loved my mother." Ryan looked down.
"He did,” I softened. Was Ryan being overly loyal to his dead mother? "He still does."
"But, he has a girlfriend,” Ryan said angrily.
"Your mother is gone, Ryan," I said gently. "Your father was lonely. Do you know what it's like to be lonely?" I looked him in the eyes again.
He shook his head. "Not really, I've been married for thirty-five years. She’s always home."
"Well, I recently got a taste of what it’s like to be alone. It's even more horrible than they say it is,” I assured him. "George and my Gram care about each other very much. Please, don't spoil it."
"He accused me of only wanting his money." Ryan looked down and shook his head sadly. "I was worried about him and wanted to help. Tell me, what do I do?"
"Talk to him, and get to know my grandmother.” I patted his hand. "You'll like her. She's a warm, wonderful woman. Gram doesn't want anything, except George's love. Take a good look around you. Do you think that she needs his money?"
He shook his head in reply. "Do you know how long, they’regoing to be?" He asked.
"A few hours." I looked at my watch. "Call him again, if you're in a hurry."
"He turned his cell off,” Ryan chuckled. "Maybe he does know what he's doing, yet." He stood up. "I'll try again when I get home. In case I don’t get to talk to him, please tell him that you and I spoke, and ask him to call me tomorrow."
