by June Shaw
I drew back. What made that noise? And the radiance?
I waited. Took a breath. Peeked through the slim opening of the door.
Stevie lay on the carpet. Wearing a white gauzy gown, she prostrated herself in the center of a circle of lit candles. Their flames danced. But no fan stirred the air to give them movement. My cousin was humming. No, no rhythm came from the sounds in her throat. With nuances of their own, they sounded like utterances that still remained trapped deep within her body.
Trembling inside, I tiptoed away, leaving Stevie to say her prayers or make amends or whatever she was doing with possible otherworld spirits. My main concern was that, later during the night, those spirits wouldn’t come to investigate me.
I needed to learn who this person was that I thought I’d known all my life. And hurry away from her.
Chapter 4
The second half of the night brought little sleep. Suppose Stevie dozed off on that floor, and the candles set the house on fire? What could I learn about the man who died outside, the one whose legs left an imprinted feel against my shins?
I dragged myself from the bed, then remembered the noise that seemed to come from the window. I dashed there and yanked the curtains aside.
Sunlight brightened most of the yard and the part of April’s house that I could see. Her house was fairly close, her curtains apparently sheer. Trees and shrubs made shadows on the tall grass. No tree or shrub grew close to my room. The wooden fence stood about five feet toward the back, partitioning the backyard but not this part of the house containing my bedroom. Anyone could have walked from the street in front and come near my window.
Oh, come on, Cealie, who’d want to peek at you in bed?
I shook my head to get rid of ridiculous thoughts and walked to the bright kitchen, wondering what Stevie I might find today.
She seemed especially cheerful. “Hey-Cea-lie,” she said like three chirps. She flitted around the stove, which gave off tempting sausage smells. She wore a long-sleeved muumuu, similar to what she wore yesterday but with geometric shapes in different colors. “I slept great. How about you?”
“I went to sleep right away.” Without mentioning the restless balance of my night, I considered what she ordinarily did in the wee hours. “Did you go and work out at your gym at two a.m.?” I dropped to a chair and wondered if she’d volunteer an explanation about the candlelit ceremony.
She set a filled mug in front of me. “Not last night. I hope you like your coffee.”
Rich and creamy. “This is good.”
Stevie cackled. “Your breakfast is ready.” Before I could say I usually ate later, she set sausages, an omelet, and buttered toast in front of me.
Who could resist? Not moi.
“There’s nothing in the paper about that man who died here,” she said and rushed out of the room. I was eating my last bite when she returned. Her expression looked guarded, indicating she didn’t want to discuss that man anymore.
I stared at all the dirty dishes and pots. “Why don’t we go shopping now?” I said. “I’d like to get pretty paper plates and toss-away cutlery. And we’ll find some nice casserole dishes to use in the microwave.”
“We can shop if you’d like, but I love my silver and dishes. They’re like part of my family.”
Family. The blessed people we run to. Or away from. I’d resumed my journey to relinquish the need to cling to family members when I stopped here. Then Stevie made me want to avoid relatives even more. But this morning she was making me feel almost at home.
“Okay, you wash, I’ll dry,” I said. We did our tasks rapidly, and this time I knew where to pick up most dishes. “Now let’s not have anymore cooking, except in there.” I pointed to her microwave.
“But for lunch,” she said, “I planned on making you shrimp fettuccini.”
Yum.
I shifted my butt. Feared it would spread more and wobble behind me by the time I left.
“What about the police?” I asked. “How about calling to see if they’ve learned anything about Pierce Trottier?”
Her demeanor closed. Constant movement shut down. Smile disappeared.
“Don’t you want to know what happened?” I asked.
“Of course.” She grabbed the phone and called. Asked questions and soon hung up. “They can’t tell us anything yet.”
Her hands swept around in jittery motions. Her expression was tense. Probably now, after a meal, she wanted a cigarette.
I retrieved the material I’d carried in from her car. “You might look over these papers. Ish said they’d help, I guess to get rid of desires.”
My mind replayed a quick flash of my own desires. They involved Gil. I’d entertained them right before I’d fallen asleep. Probably another reason I slept so well for a while.
Stevie eyed the papers I held. “Ish can say anything he wants. He doesn’t know.”
I laid the papers aside. “Where’s a phone book?” I asked, and she pointed to a drawer. I grabbed the book. Looked up Trottier, Pierce. No name even came close.
I didn’t want to stay near Stevie with her vacillating emotions any longer than I needed to. I prodded my mind about what I might do. “I’m going to make a call,” I said. “I’ll use my cell phone.”
“You can use mine right there.”
“Thanks, but I’m calling out of state. I have unlimited hours.”
My excuse worked. I rushed to my bedroom. Shut the door, connected with a gynecologist’s office in New England. “I need to speak to Dr. Marie,” I told the receptionist. “I’m her patient Cealie Gunther. I’m in Gatlinburg now.”
“She’s with patients. I’ll give her the message. She’ll probably return your call right before we close at noon. Saturday hours,” she said.
Clatters of pots told me Stevie was already cooking.
“Isn’t it early to fix lunch?” I asked, reentering the kitchen.
She plunked pots on the stove, reached in overhead cabinets for bowls, grabbed ingredients from the fridge and pantry. “Not for me.”
Without enthusiasm, I said, “Can I help?”
“I’d rather be alone when I cook.”
“Oh well then.” I walked near Minnie cactus and winked. She’d understand my good luck. “I’ll go and take a shower,” I told Stevie.
“Let me know if you need anything.”
I gathered my clothes and hoped I wouldn’t find anything weird behind the shower curtain with its odd symbols similar to the ones on Stevie’s caftan.
To my relief, I discovered only soap, shampoo, and conditioner. I took a quick shower and ran my fingers through my waves so they’d dry on their own. I dressed and then stopped in the hall. The door to the room I’d seen Stevie in last night was shut. Candle scents lingered. Were the candles still lit? In their midst, would some item sit, possibly a burnt offering? A stuffed doll resembling the man I’d found outside?
Come on, you don’t really believe Stevie would harm anyone.
But she’d been in that trancelike state during the night. I loved my cousin, although I hadn’t always liked her. I knew she wouldn’t hurt another person when she was alert. Who knew what might happen when she went into that otherworldly state?
Clack-clack-clack sounded from the kitchen. A metal spoon hit the sides of a pot being stirred.
I grabbed the doorknob to the psychic room.
Found the door was locked.
Surprised to find my hand sweaty, I noted my heart pumping faster. What was my cousin hiding in that room?
“Finding what you want?” she asked right behind me.
Glad my hand had slipped off that forbidden doorknob, I turned. She towered above me in our narrow space. “Finding…?” I asked.
“Towels. Soap.” She chuckled. “Oh Cealie, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I moved ahead of her toward the kitchen. “That’s silly. I’m sure there are no ghosts in this house.” I glanced back. “Right?”
Her laughter, dotted wit
h gasps, gave me little reassurance that there weren’t.
Enticing aromas swelled in her kitchen. She’d already said she didn’t want my help there. “Suppose I go check out the people who pass by? Maybe we can find a killer,” I said.
“Help yourself.” She took food out of the fridge.
I grabbed my cell phone and went toward the back door. A sudden image slammed into mind—suppose Stevie was the person who was supposed to be lying facedown in her grass? What if she was the intended victim? “I don’t guess you ever come through the back gate? I imagine you always park in your garage.”
“I do.” She dumped things into a pot. “But sometimes when I’m visiting April and we’re in her backyard, I’ll come around through my gate in back.”
“You don’t keep your gate locked?”
“Usually, but sometimes I’m on the porch and hear her and Cherish, so I walk over. I leave the gate open to come back.”
“Ah.” I walked outside. A chill remained in the midmorning air. I shivered, especially when I saw the grass where a man’s body had lain. I looked away and surveyed the yard.
Trees clustered. Bushes filled many other spaces. I stooped behind an extra large bush. A person could have hidden here in waiting. For whom? The man we found? How would anyone know he’d come back here?
Suppose a person had hidden, actually wanting Stevie to come through that gate?
I stared at the house. Through the open door I could see Stevie fluttering around the florescent-lit kitchen.
The gate was shut now. I walked a distance from the fence and eyed various sections of it, trying to see through slits between boards. By focusing, I noticed vehicular motion on the street behind only one patch of the fence, a three-foot section to my right. The other boards were set too tightly for me to notice anything.
What if a killer waited here for Stevie to come back from April’s yard? Would he know her from anyone else? Had he noticed a person reaching the gate, seen it open, and then—
Pop sounded from the fence. I shrieked and ducked. A gunshot?
“Hey, the gate’s locked. How about letting me in?” April’s voice was followed by another pop I now recognized as her smacking bubble gum.
I struggled with the bolt. “Good morning, April. Hi, Cherish.”
The child passed by without looking at me. April paused.
“The gate’s not always locked?” I asked her.
“Not when Stevie knows we’ll be coming over.”
“Right. And what about the yellow tape out there?”
“We ducked under it.” A pink bubble expanded and backed into her mouth. “Did y’all find out anything from the cops?”
I shook my head, glanced to see Cherish beating on the screen door. Stevie happily let her inside. April went to the house.
I left the gate open a bit and set up my chair on the porch where I could see the road.
Fewer cars and trucks passed than yesterday, maybe because it was a weekend. Probably not one killer among them. But who knew? A yellow dog trotted alongside the road. I mused over last night’s events. Stevie acted so strangely in that extra bedroom that she’d since locked. She hadn’t wanted to tell me about it. I considered all the people from her group. I’d read many mystery novels. Often a culprit was someone the victim knew well.
Laughter resounded from Stevie’s house. April’s shrill tone. I peered inside the kitchen. April stood at the stove, staring into the pot Stevie was stirring. No sign of Cherish. She’d probably insisted on cartoons, and Stevie probably turned them on.
Da-dunk da-dunk da-dunk played from my waist. “The Mexican Hat Dance” on my cell phone. Not feeling like dancing, I just answered.
“How’s my friend Cealie?” Dr. Marie asked. “Are you having a problem?”
“Yes, but not physical. Can you tell me how you could kill a person without leaving any wounds?”
Her bubbly laughter resounded. “Did you want to do away with anyone in particular?”
Stevie’s raucous hilarity came from the kitchen, the same guffawing she’d often do right after she made me cry.
“I might, but I’d never get away with it. You know me and my big mouth. I’d blab.” Dr. Marie chuckled, and I stepped away from the porch. I walked farther into the yard and explained to my gynecologist in Cape Cod what happened here yesterday. “I’d like to know your ideas,” I said.
“Are you sure there weren’t any wounds?”
“No. I just didn’t see any.”
“He certainly could have died from natural causes, even though you said he looked younger than you.”
That thought didn’t make me feel much better. It made me tell myself I needed to start exercising and watching my diet. Starting fairly soon.
“But,” she said, “it’s certainly possible that someone killed him without leaving wounds. The most likely way might be various poisons that could be slipped into his food or drink.”
“I thought so. And even some poisons that could be gotten legally, right?”
“Absolutely. Or maybe too much of a certain prescription. Do you know if he was taking any medications?”
“I know nothing about him, except he supposedly attended a small stop-smoking group that my cousin also belonged to. And I tripped over him. He was dead at the time. And he smelled of vomit.”
“Some people get nauseated and vomit when they have a heart attack. Many poisons also cause that. I’m sure the medical examiner will discover what killed him, and you’ll find out. Let me know how that goes, will you?”
“I will.” Something I hadn’t wanted to consider popped up. I felt foolish saying it. “Dr. Marie, curses couldn’t possibly kill a person, right? You know, like voodoo or having a psychic cast a spell?”
She chuckled. “Many people, even in the medical community, believe that’s possible.”
“But some people believe anything.”
“True.”
I spoke more quietly. “My legs…I still feel his legs against mine. The part of my shins that lay across him. It’s like he’s part of me. I can’t shake that feeling.”
She didn’t say anything. Softly exhaled. “It’ll go away. Maybe not until after someone discovers how he died. I hope that happens soon.”
“Me, too.” I took a breath, needing a lighter mood. “Another annoying thing took place with that incident. My hand landed in dog poop.” I heard her giggle and then added, “At least it was dry poop, probably from a medium-sized dog. Where that came from is another mystery.”
“Sounds like there are many mysteries to solve, Cealie. I’m sure everything will work out.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you in the fall.”
“I’ll look forward to your visit.”
We hung up. Now I had a new consideration. Had Pierce Trottier been on medication?
“Lunch is ready,” Stevie yelled, but I could have sworn we’d eaten breakfast a few minutes ago. Stevie stuck her head out the screen door. Her eyes sparkled. Surely they could keep someone mesmerized.
That’s stupid, Cealie. Stop it! “Coming,” I said, aware of goose flesh sprouting on my arms.
No, my cousin couldn’t be a killer. She might be annoying and mentally off a little, but a blood relative of mine wouldn’t harbor any killer genes.
But surely genes didn’t pass on to create murderers. Maybe instincts?
I shook my head, trying to toss out the concept that my cousin would kill, if only by accident. A spell gone awry.
Someone else killed that man, if he was murdered. Who knew what prescriptions he might be on? Stevie swore she hadn’t known him, but others in her stop-smoking group did. Maybe if I went to another meeting, I could learn more.
“Cea-lie!” my unsettling cousin screamed from the porch.
I remembered the gate and went to lock it. A robust man came walking close. Without looking at Stevie’s gate, he appeared to be heading straight for it. He was reaching the cops’ yellow tape when he glanced up and saw me. A hulking perso
n, he wore a navy sweat suit. His shaved head leaned forward on a thick neck, and dark eyes met my stare.
I opened my mouth to say something—what? Hi? Or scream for him to get away?
But he swiveled around and strode on. Following close on his heels was a mid-sized brown Lab.
The dog made me realize this was the same man who’d come close before. He’d worn a cap then but not this time. And he’d been heading for this yard.
Maybe this was our killer. I rushed inside to tell Stevie.
Chapter 5
“Where’s April?” I entered Stevie’s kitchen and wanted to tell her what happened, but not in front of her neighbor.
“She and Cherish left.” Stevie set silverware at our places.
“A man with a dog just came toward your gate. But he saw me and hurried off.”
Her face tightened. She gave a one-shouldered shrug and poured our drinks. “We’ll go out to eat tonight.” She served two mounds of buttery cheese-saturated fettuccini on her plate. “We’ll try that new Cajun place.”
My hand jerked. I forced it calm. “Maybe we could go someplace else.”
“You don’t like Cajun?”
Yep, food and men. One particular Cajun man. “Well…yes, I do.”
I did not like the prospect of running into Gil. I’d resisted the temptation of going to bed with him back in Chicago, at least for a while. And darn it, I didn’t want Stevie to know anything about him and me. Just because we were related by blood didn’t mean we had to be close. And she didn’t need to know about my personal life. As soon as Pierce Trottier’s death was solved, I would leave. I doubted I would connect with Stevie much again.
And I wasn’t sure I could resist Gil’s attraction.
Yes, of course I could. I breathed deeply, cloaking myself in my mantra: I am woman. I can do anything—alone!
That was the problem with Gil. He confused me. The man always made me temporarily forget my life’s current mission—rediscovering myself. I’d married Freddie and been happy as his wife for many years, then felt lost after he died. I didn’t know myself anymore. I became half of a couple, a broken half that could no longer function, even in the copyediting business he and I had struggled to build. Then the magazine article “Change Your Inner Underwear” made me determine the need to change mine. I tossed bulky bras and bought sexy ones, and took off to rediscover what I was like. Then I met Gil, who almost made me forget my quest. But I couldn’t become half a couple again. Not so soon.
