Molded 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  My mother gasped. “Depraved killer? Bodies?”

  “Herb’s exaggerating,” I said. “Aren’t you?”

  Suddenly it seemed as if the sirens were inches away from us. Then they stopped completely.

  “Oh no,” I said. “This can’t be happening. Not again.”

  My mother grabbed my wrist. “What? What’s happening?”

  I took a deep breath. “Remember the two deputy sheriffs who were called in to investigate the murder at the Stardust Theater?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Looks like they’re back for a repeat performance. Deputies Ranston and Bowman. I don’t know which one dislikes me more.”

  Well, maybe “dislike” wasn’t quite the word to describe how they felt about me. “Annoyed” might have summed it up better. Over a year ago, when my mother and her book club ladies were taking part in Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap at the Stardust Theater, someone was found dead on the catwalk. And even though I wasn’t a detective, only the accountant at Williams Investigations, I sort of did a bit of sleuthing on my own and might have stepped on their toes. What the hell. They’re big men. They needed to get over it.

  “Miss Kimball.” Deputy Ranston’s feet crunched on the yard gravel as he approached us from the side of my mother’s house. “I should have taken a closer look at the name when I read the nine-one-one report. Seems you’re the one who placed the call.”

  “Nice seeing you again, Deputy Ranston.” I turned to his counterpart and mumbled something similar before reintroducing my mother and Herb.

  “So, was it you who found the body?” Ranston asked.

  I honestly don’t know why but, for some reason, the man reminded me of a Sonoran Desert Toad. I kept expecting his tongue to roll out a full foot as he spoke.

  “Um, actually it was my mother’s dog. Streetman. He found the body.”

  Deputy Bowman cut in. “Just like that? Out of the blue?”

  My mother took a few steps forward until she was almost nose to nose with Bowman. “For your information, Streetman and I cut across the Galbraiths’ yard every day while they’re still in Canada. We keep an eye on the house for them. Usually the dog is more concerned with the quail and the rabbits that hide under the bushes. He never as much as made a move toward the grill. Until yesterday afternoon. That’s when he started whining to go over there. I thought a coyote might have marked it or left a deposit there.”

  “So you lifted the tarp up to check?” Bowman asked.

  “Of course not. The dog was on a retractable leash and got to the grill before I did. He nuzzled the tarp aside, and that’s when we saw the body.”

  Bowman gave his partner a sideways glance. “How big a dog is this Streetman that he could lift an entire tarp off a body?”

  “He’s less than ten pounds,” I said, “but very strong.”

  Bowman wasn’t buying it. “Look, Miss Kimball, I know you have a penchant for unsolved crimes and I’m more likely to believe it was you who lifted the tarp.”

  My mother responded before I could utter a word. “Only for a split second and only because she happened to see someone’s legs attached to the shoes that were beneath it. And she used a plastic bag so she wouldn’t get fingerprints on the material.”

  Then the deputies turned to Herb, and Ranston spoke. “Were you here as well when the ladies discovered the body, Mr. Garrett?”

  “No. Harriet called me after dialing nine-one-one.”

  “I see.”

  Ranston wrote something on a small notepad and looked up. “The nine-one-one dispatcher gave us the Plunkett address. Would any of you happen to know the Galbraiths’ address?”

  “Of course,” my mother said. “Something West Sentinel Drive. It’s the small cul-de-sac behind us.”

  I could hear both deputies groan as Bowman placed a call.

  “In a few minutes,” he said, “a forensic team will be arriving as well as the coroner. I suggest you all return to your houses and stay clear of this property until further notice.”

  “Will you at least tell us who it is?” Herb asked. “For all we know, it could be one of our neighbors. Or a cartel drug lord who was dropped off here.”

  “Here? In Sun City West? That’s what we have the desert for,” my mother said.

  Deputy Bowman forced a smile and repeated what he had told us a second ago. “Please go back to your houses. This is an official investigation.”

  “Will you be contacting the Galbraiths?” I asked.

  Bowman gave a nod. “Yes.”

  I tapped my mother on the elbow and pointed to her house. “He’s right.” Then I whispered, “If you hurry, you can call the Galbraiths first.”

  photo credit: Florine Duffield Photography

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  J.C. Eaton is the wife-and-husband team of Ann I. Goldfarb and James E. Clapp. Ann has published eight YA time travel mysteries. Visit their website at www.jceatonauthor.com.