by John Clement
I glanced down at Charlie. “Stay.”
I knelt down and touched my thumb and forefinger to the man’s narrow wrist, then, as calmly as possible, I pulled the door shut and locked it. I walked Charlie down to the Bronco, put him in on the passenger side, and then walked around the back, glancing across the street. Mr. Scotland had disappeared. I got behind the wheel and put my backpack down on the floorboard, and then I reached for the car keys in the cup holder between the seats. I started the car and backed about four feet down the driveway.
Where the hell are you going?
I shook my head as I cut the engine and sighed. I had no idea. All I knew was that I wanted to be as far away from there as possible. I got out and walked back up to the porch so Charlie wouldn’t hear, and then I pulled out my cell phone.
“911, what is your emergency?”
The operator’s voice seemed eerily close, almost as if he was standing right over my shoulder.
I said, “My name is Dixie Hemingway. I’m at Caroline Greaver’s house on Old Vineyard Lane.”
“Old Vineyard Lane?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what’s the problem?”
I took a deep breath.
The human body is an extraordinary machine, armed with all kinds of survival systems that automatically kick in when it senses danger. The moment there’s any kind of injury, every cell in the body jumps into action, flooding the bloodstream with hormones and pain relievers, stopping digestion, opening the lungs’ airways, narrowing vessels, conserving body temperature, and slowing blood flow to all the major muscle groups. It’s a finely tuned orchestration of events designed to preserve the body’s strength, giving it the best possible chance of survival.
But the man lying in Caroline’s front hall … there wasn’t a doubt in my mind. He was beyond resuscitation. I knew he’d been dead for at least twenty-four hours. It was the temperature of his skin. It was ice cold, and there was a stillness around him that seemed thick and impenetrable, as if some small invisible amount of energy had been permanently sucked out of the universe.
I said, “I’m the cat sitter. There’s been a murder.”
5
This may or may not come as a surprise to you, but I’ve encountered a dead body before—and we’re not talking about anything that happened during my career as an officer of the law. We’re talking about after. Being a pet sitter, I’m in and out of people’s houses all day long, every day of the week, and there’s barely a neighborhood on the Key that I don’t cross through at least once on my rounds. Not that there’s a lot of crime around here. But when there is, the chances are pretty good I’m nearby, which means I’ve stumbled upon more than my fair share of crime scenes.
Like, way more.
Immediately after I hung up with the emergency operator, I dialed Caroline’s cell phone. I knew it was only a matter of time before news of a murder on the Key got around, and I didn’t want her finding out where it had happened before I got a chance to talk to her. Also, I was hoping if I described the man’s clothing, she might know who he was.
The phone rang once, and as I was trying to figure out the most gentle way to tell her what had happened, a tiny shock rippled up my spine. At that point, I think my instincts must have kicked in and snuffed out any of the panic I was feeling, because suddenly there was room in my addled brain for what I should have been thinking all along …
Gigi!
I ended the call before the second ring and dropped the phone down in the side pocket of my cargo shorts. Charlie was sitting behind the wheel watching me, and as soon as I opened the back door, he hopped up between the seats and wagged his tail excitedly.
“Sorry, buddy,” I said as I rolled the back windows down a bit. “But not a chance. Trust me, I wish I could take you with me, but I just can’t. You’ll have to stay put and guard the premises.”
Immediately the thought popped into my head that whoever was responsible for what had happened to the man in the foyer could still be inside the house, but I told myself only a complete madman would murder somebody in cold blood and then hang around to find out what happened next. Of course, only a complete madman would murder somebody in the first place, but I decided to leave that out of the equation.
By now the sun had sunk down behind the trees. At this time of evening, there’d be hard-core sun-tanners coming in from a long day at the beach, fairer-skinned folks gathering to watch the sun sink into the ocean, and gaggles of teenagers tooling up and down the boulevard, in and out of souvenir huts and ice cream shops, veering around elderly couples walking hand in hand, out for a spell under the stars before an early dinner. For a brief guilty moment, I wished Charlie and I could be there with them, strolling along, completely unaware of what was happening here.
Instead, I shook my head and looked up at Caroline’s front door.
The only good thing about the whole situation was that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Caroline’s cat would be safe. At the first sign of an intruder, I knew Franklin would’ve bolted straight to one of his hiding places. He was more than likely secreted away in the back of Caroline’s closet or under one of the beds in an upstairs guest room.
I pulled my chatelaine out with shaking hands and was just about to put the key in the door when I stopped myself.
I whispered, “This is insane.”
I knew I’d already compromised things enough by putting my hands all over the doorknob, not to mention disturbing the mail on the floor around the body when I pushed the door open. I knew it would only make gathering evidence that much worse if I went sneaking around inside the house now, so I just stood there, one foot firmly planted on the ground and the other just barely pointed in the direction of the Bronco. Every cell in my body was telling me to get in the car and drive around the block until the police arrived, but I just couldn’t.
Not without checking on Gigi first.
I went back to the car and got Charlie, which was probably not the smartest decision in the world, but I didn’t want to leave him alone where I couldn’t see him. I wrapped his leash several times around my wrist to shorten it, and then together we walked up the driveway. At the top, just before the turn to the front door, we headed to the right and slowly made our way along the side of the house.
As we passed the portico, the walkway narrowed to a pebbled path, hemmed in with a dense hedge of camellias so lush their glossy leaves brushed the side of the house, forming a darkened tunnel all the way back.
I could feel the blood pounding in my veins, and I think Charlie must have sensed it, because he stayed right at my side, quiet as a mouse. At the first window, the curtains were closed so I couldn’t see in, but I was pretty sure it was the master bedroom. We continued on to the next window, and this time the curtains were held open with tassels, so I had a view inside. It was another small bedroom, probably originally meant to be a nursery. There was a small bed with a baby-blue comforter and a collection of stuffed animals piled up on the pillows, and opposite that was an antique walnut dresser with a giant, gilt-framed mirror mounted on the wall above it.
I was about to move on when I realized if I positioned myself just right, I could see out the doorway and down the open hall in the mirror’s reflection. I inched a little bit closer to the window as the entrance to the family room came into view.
I had a clear line of sight through the doorway to Gigi’s cage. I could see his red front door and the two miniature brass lamps on either side of it. I could see the yellow mounds of his bedding, and I could see his glass water bottle perched at the top of the stairway on the second level … but there was no sign of Gigi at all.
Even as I told myself to stay calm, I felt a scream forming at the base of my throat, and then the next thing I knew I was racing through the camellias toward the back of the house with the branches slapping my face and Charlie announcing our presence with a string of frantic, high-pitched barks. Now, whatever cover we’d had was completely blown, and if I
happened to be right and there was somebody still inside, things were about to get very complicated.
Just as we came around the corner, I slid to a stop and gasped.
Gigi was sitting under one of the lime trees. Luckily, I had the presence of mind to remember the screen door to the lanai. I slid my hand down into the side pocket of my cargo shorts and felt around for one of the carrot sticks I’d brought, thinking I could use it to coax him out.
Unfortunately, Gigi had other plans.
As soon as he saw me, every bunny nerve in his bunny survival system must have kicked in, because he darted across the lanai and disappeared like a flash through the raceway to his cage.
Charlie was still barking at the top of his lungs trying to figure out what the heck was going on, and I was frantically trying to shush him when there was a faint click from above and the entire lanai filled with blinding white light from the security lamp. I felt like I was caught in a searchlight, and then, as if to confirm it, there came a faint crunching sound from behind, and I realized with a jolt that it was growing closer.
Somebody was moving down the pebbled path, headed straight for me.
Without even thinking, I pulled Charlie close, and in the instant it took to turn around and see the metal glint of a gun pointed at my face, all the options I would have had as a sheriff’s deputy flashed before my eyes: my two-way radio, my canister of high-pressure mace, my baton, my .38 caliber pistol …
Instead, I screamed bloody murder.
6
It’s funny what a scream can do for you when you’re in grave danger.
First, if you do it right, your eyes clamp shut and everything goes dark. Next, your body shrinks into a tight little ball, like a turtle pulling into its shell, and then your mind goes completely and utterly blank. The result is pure oblivion: you can’t see a thing, and all you can hear is the sweet high-pitched singing of your vocal chords in all their stunning glory. You become the literal embodiment of the Three Wise Monkeys—hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil.
I don’t know how long I was in that state of bliss—probably just a few milliseconds—and I wasn’t sure whether I’d heard a gunshot or not, but luckily when I opened my eyes I didn’t find God waiting for me at the pearly gates or angels floating around on clouds and playing harps, nor did I see a fork-tongued demon welcoming me to the underground. Instead, I found myself looking straight down the barrel of a 9 mm Sig Sauer handgun, which I recognized immediately as the standard-issue firearm for all deputies with the Sarasota Sheriff’s Department.
The man standing in front of me had piercing blue eyes, one of which was lined up with the trigger of his pistol, the other squinted half-shut. He had blond hair cut close to his scalp, with a sharp nose and high cheekbones that in the harsh light of the security lamp appeared to be chiseled out of concrete. A single diamond stud twinkled from the lobe of his left ear.
His eyes widened. “What the…?”
I said, “Morgan?”
“Jesus, Dixie, you nearly scared me to death!”
I tried to speak, but my throat felt like I’d swallowed glass, and that, combined with the fact that there were dogs barking in the distance from every direction, told me that I must have screamed loud enough to terrify the entire Key.
I bent over and put my hands on my knees to steady myself. “Sorry. You scared me too.”
Deputy Jesse Morgan. He had joined the department not long after I left, but, given my talent for discovering crime scenes, we had met on several occasions since.
He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Dixie, what in hell’s name are you doing? You have any idea how dangerous it is to be sneaking around out here?”
I nodded. I knew exactly how dangerous it was, and I felt a lot safer now that Charlie and I weren’t alone. Deputy Morgan is one of the Key’s only sworn officers, meaning he’s trained and licensed to carry a gun. He’s slimly built but muscled and tall, with broad shoulders and a sharp mind—exactly the type of guy you’d want around if there were any murderers hiding nearby.
He hissed, “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”
“I know.”
Given how much noise we’d made already, it seemed pointless to go on whispering, but I kept my voice down just in case. “I didn’t have a choice. I was trying to check on the animals. If I can just get in there and…”
He held up one hand. “Hold on: 911 said you discovered a body.”
“Yeah. He’s just on the other side of the door. He’s wearing a light blue suit, and he’s got a scarf over his face, so I have no idea who he is.”
“A scarf?”
“Yeah. Silk. It’s lying flat across his face.” I wanted to add, like a death shroud, but I figured he got the picture.
“And where’s the homeowner?”
“She’s on vacation in the Keys. I’m not sure yet when she’s coming back, a week or so, but I’m taking care of her pets until then, and the thing is—they’re still inside.”
“Who’s inside?”
“Her pets.”
That didn’t seem to faze him one bit. “What’s the homeowner’s name?”
“Greaver. Caroline Greaver.”
“She live alone?”
“Yeah. She’s only been gone for two days. I was just here yesterday and everything was totally fine—nothing suspicious or out of place or anything—but then the second I got here today, something seemed weird.”
“Which door is he at?”
“The front door. Caroline didn’t say she’d have any visitors or anything. As far as I know, I’m the only one authorized to be here.”
Morgan’s pistol was at his side, pointed at the ground, but now he slipped it into its holster. “Okay.”
I said, “You know what? I’d keep that handy if I were you. There might still be somebody in there, and if there is, I have to get…”
He stopped me. “Wait. When you called 911, you said the body had been there for at least twenty-four hours…”
“It’s a guess. There’s no pulse and his wrist is cold as ice. But when I opened the door … I don’t know. Something didn’t seem right. I just had a really weird feeling somebody was still in there…”
“But did you see anybody?”
I shook my head silently.
“Anyone on the street when you arrived?”
“No, not that I noticed.”
He lowered his chin to his chest but kept his eyes locked on mine. After a quick moment, he motioned me to follow.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
He turned and headed back down the walkway, talking under his breath the entire way. “First, let’s get you out of here until I can get some backup on the scene. If there’s somebody in there, I don’t want you anywhere near this house. After that, I can do a search of the premises and make certain it’s secure. You can leave your car where it is…”
His voice trailed away as he stopped and turned around.
I was about twenty feet back, still standing at the corner of the house with one hand raised limply in front of me, pointing in the direction of the lanai.
“Dixie, what are you doing?”
I whispered, “I can’t leave.”
“Why the hell not?”
“There’s a rabbit.”
“A what?”
“Gigi. Caroline’s rabbit. I told you. He’s still in there. He was just out by the pool, but when he saw me he ran back inside. There’s a pet door that leads to his cage. Franklin’s probably hiding, but I can’t leave Gigi in there all by himself.”
He frowned. “Franklin?”
“Caroline’s cat.”
He put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to one side. Without even looking at the pained expression on his face, I knew he was thinking I was a complete idiot. I also knew there was no way he was letting me inside that house until he knew it was safe. Not to mention the fact that every square foot of the property and every single thing inside was potential evidence—includi
ng, unfortunately, Gigi and Franklin—and I knew Morgan didn’t want me disturbing anything until an investigator was on the scene.
He took a deep breath. “Listen, I guarantee you the moment we determine it’s okay, you can go in and get your animals, but for now you’re coming with me … by force if necessary.”
I frowned. There was certainly no need for that kind of attitude, but then again anybody who knows me knows I can be a little stubborn when I want to. Charlie was standing at my feet, panting, and I realized I must have scared the poor guy to death when I screamed. He’d been searching my face for answers, but now he glanced over at Morgan and whimpered.
I said, “Okay. Let’s go.”
I picked Charlie up and followed Morgan alongside the house and down the driveway. When we got to the sidewalk, I paused, expecting him to turn right and lead me down the block to wait around the corner, but instead he stopped at his green-and-white police cruiser and opened up the back passenger door.
I said, “No, it’s okay. I’ll just take Charlie and go down the street until backup arrives.”
“Like hell you will. Get in.”
I’d probably spent thousands of hours inside a squad car just like Morgan’s, but always in the driver’s seat, never in the back, trapped behind the steel mesh and bulletproof glass like a caged animal. The thought occurred to me that anyone watching from one of the neighboring houses would think I’d been arrested.
Morgan cleared his throat. “Dixie. Get in the car. Now.”
I held Charlie tight as I got in, and as soon as Morgan shut the door and looked up at the house, I knew what he was thinking. I’d been through the same six-week deputy training program he had, although probably a decade earlier, but I knew the basic rules couldn’t have changed that much. Standard protocol dictates that in the event of a possible homicide, as long as there’s no imminent danger or pressing reason to search the premises, all first-responding officers should wait on-scene until an investigative team arrives. It’s a safety measure, but it also minimizes the very real risk of contaminating evidence.
