Kilty Pack One

by Amy Vansant

  It felt as though they were drowning together. The three of them, father, Jessie and Cassidy. Jessie finally had to move. To escape.

  The talents she’d honed perfecting Cassidy Cowgirl’s makeup translated well to Hollywood.

  Until Teena fired Jessie for no good reason.

  Jessie had been hung over, thanks to Timmy and his drug parties. After Colin dumped her, she’d mentioned the affront to Timmy Grey and he’d suggested she come to one of his raves. Said it would pick up her spirits.

  She scowled at the memory.

  Party.

  It wasn’t a party.

  It was an orgy.

  Jessie had been so sad, so messed up. Timmy and his friend had taken advantage of her. Lured her to the bedroom and filled her with drugs until anything they suggested seemed like a good idea.

  Everything had seemed to her like a way to strike back at Colin.

  When she showed up at work the next day, her hand had been shaking so badly she poked Teena in the eye with an eyeliner pen. Not bad. She didn’t blind her. But the diva screamed, furious and fussing. Made a whole thing about it. Sent her away.

  A few hours later the call came from the studio and Jessie found herself fired.

  She still had her freelance gigs, working for less famous clients like Fiona Duffy. When she saw Fiona the next day, it was as if the woman could read her mind. She saw how upset she was. She commiserated until Jessie told her everything; how horrible Colin, Timmy and Teena had been to her.

  It had been a shock to be released from Fiona’s production the next day. Fired twice in two days—

  Cassidy cocked her head.

  Why?

  Why had Jessie been fired from Fiona’s show?

  She’d serviced several of the ladies on that set, but none of them had complained...

  Someone had to be responsible.

  Cassidy pulled her phone from the little pocket she’d sewn on the inside of her vest and called her contact number for Hell Hound Studios.

  “Hell Hound, how can I help you?” said a familiar voice on the other line.

  “Miss Shelly?”

  “Yes?”

  “Jessie Walker. Makeup?”

  “Right. I remember you.”

  Cassidy smiled.

  She thinks I’m still Jessie. Good.

  Cassidy continued, dropping the cowgirl twang from her accent. “You let me know my services would no longer be needed.”

  “Right.”

  “I was so upset, I forgot to ask why. Was it something I did? Or did they hire a fulltime person?”

  Shelly sighed. “Look, I liked you Jessie. I’ll give it to you straight. Fiona Duffy said she wasn’t happy with you.”

  “Fiona?”

  “She’s the biggest star we’ve got and what she says goes. Once she said she wouldn’t work with you anymore, it didn’t make sense to have you come in for the others when we had to find someone new for her anyways.”

  Cassidy stared at the wall, the voice on the other side of the line a low drone in her ear.

  “Jessie? Are you there?”

  She hung up.

  Fiona knew how upset she was. She’d been the one talking to her about how she’d been wronged. She had to know getting fired a second time—

  She hit Fiona’s speed-dial number on her phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Fiona? This is, uh, Jessie.”

  “Jessie who?”

  “Jessie Walker? Makeup?”

  “Oh right. What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to let you know I was fired.”

  Fiona gasped. “Fired? How can that be? That’s so wrong. You’re so talented. ”

  Cassidy’s eyes squinted.

  Liar.

  She did her best to lighten her tone and sound like the walked-on trash Jessie was. “Maybe you could tell them that and help me get my job back?”

  Fiona hummed. “Oh, you know, I would, but I left Hell Hound. I’m with Parasol now. You should see my trailer. It’s going to take me all day to redecorate. Super busy.”

  “But—”

  “I have to go. Lots to do here. Good luck with everything. You deserve so much better. Bye.”

  The phone clicked dead.

  Cassidy stared at the ground. She squeezed the head of the doll in her hand until the plastic cracked, and she felt the sharp bite of it slicing her palm. Dropping the doll, she raised the wound to her lips and pressed her tongue against the blood to stop it. Spit was a natural coagulant. Cowboy Walker told her that.

  “Jessie?”

  Cassidy turned at the sound of the voice. The roommate, Sandy stood at her doorway. The girl gasped, her hand rising to cover her mouth.

  “Why do you look like that?”

  “Look like what, partner?”

  Sandy offered a nervous giggle. “You’re crazy. Are you acting now?”

  Cassidy stood and began gathering her other dolls.

  Sandy continued. “Your sister was here looking for you.”

  Cassidy straightened. “Who?”

  “Your sister and her husband. The guy was gorgeous. He had this accent—”

  “I don’t have a sister.”

  Sandy scowled. “You don’t? I’m sure she said she was your sister. I wouldn’t have let her into your room otherwise.”

  “You let her into the room?”

  “Yes, I mean, no, not really. They tried the door and it was open.”

  “It wasn’t open, partner.”

  “They opened it. It took, like, two seconds. Though now that you mention it, it kinda made a popping sound...” She looked down and noticed the splintered wood. “Oh...”

  “What did they want?”

  Sandy shrugged. “They were looking for you. They were worried about you.”

  Cassidy took a deep breath. She wouldn’t be able to come back if people were stopping by. They had to have seen the shrine, but they didn’t call the police. Why?

  “Did they give you a name?”

  “His name was Broch. He was British or something, but not posh-like, like, manly... Ooh, Scotland. That’s right. I know you like those skinny, pretty boys like Colin, but this guy...”

  Sandy’s voice devolved into a drone in the back of Cassidy’s head. She scanned the room, searching for anything else she might need going forward. She grabbed a spare makeup case and sewing kit and threw them into a suitcase with the dolls. She didn’t need any other clothes. Cassidy Cowgirl always wore the same outfit. It was the best outfit for ropin’ and ridin’.

  “Are you moving out?” asked Sandy.

  Cassidy pushed past her and headed for the door.

  “Are you going to be back to pay next quarter’s rent?” called Sandy behind her.

  About to reach for the doorknob, Cassidy lowered her suitcase to the ground and turned.

  Sandy had been following, but she stopped at the end of the hall, touching the wall to steady herself.

  “Why are you looking at me like that? You’re kinda creeping me out.”

  Cassidy put one foot forward, shifting her weight there.

  Sandy was the only person who knew Jessie hadn’t been killed by her father.

  Launching forward, Cassidy ran at the girl.

  Sandy yelped, scrambling to run back down the hall to her own room, but Cassidy was on her like a mountain lion.

  Mountain lions and cougars are the same animal.

  Sandy probably doesn’t even know that.

  She grabbed the girl’s shirt and, spinning her, slammed her head against the wall. They fell together and Cassidy pinned Sandy, straddling her back, driving her head into the floorboards again and again.

  She spat the words in time with the sound of Sandy’s head striking the floor.

  “I—told—you—stay—out—of—my—room!”

  Panting, Cassidy rocked back on her knees. Blood had begun to pool beside Sandy’s head.

  Cassidy stood, watching Sandy for movement. Satisfied, she returned
to her suitcase and retrieved one of the finished dolls. One that had a dark line dropping from each corner of its mouth to the chin, just like Cassidy herself.

  She walked it to Sandy’s unmoving body and dropped the doll on her back.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Broch stared back towards the house. “Whaur dae ye think the bastard bolted?”

  Catriona shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m wondering why he would systematically hurt everyone who hurt Jessie, when clearly, he’s the one who hurt her the most.”

  “Mibbie he didn’t murdur her. Mibbie she died.”

  Catriona considered this. “That’s possible. Maybe she came home after losing her jobs and killed herself. Maybe he blames the people he thinks drove her to it.”

  Catriona pulled her phone from her pocket to call 911 and groaned.

  “No signal.” She glanced at the house. “I think I saw a landline inside. Lucky Sean’s such a dinosaur or I wouldn’t have known what it was.”

  Catriona walked towards the house watching her phone as she moved. As she neared the back door, a single connection bar appeared.

  “Nevermind. Got it.”

  She called 911 as Broch wandered around the yard and peered into the red car.

  When she hung up, she found Broch staring at the ground beside the house.

  “What’s up?”

  Broch twisted to look behind him. “Keek ’ere.”

  He pointed to the ground leading away from the back steps and toward the side of the house. A path had been smoothed in the dirt with two deeper lines running parallel inside the track.

  “Drag marks?” asked Catriona.

  “Aye. Someone dragged a body.”

  She pointed to the deeper grooves. “Heels?”

  “Aye. Whoever did the draggin’ wasn’t strang enough tae pull the body alang wi’ ainlie the heels touching, bit titch thay did. Ass, legs ’n‘ heels draggin’.”

  They followed the path around the corner of the house. Next to the spot the drag marks ended, the lattice that surrounded the foundation of the house had been cut. The heel marks led beneath the house.

  “This feels familiar,” said Catriona.

  Bracing herself for the worst, she turned on her phone’s flashlight and shined it beneath the house. The heel marks led a few feet inside, but she saw no body.

  She wiped her brow. “Nothing.”

  Broch had left her side, scanning the ground as he walked back toward the barn.

  “Where are you going now?”

  “More tracks.” He followed them to the barn and then turned to look back at her.

  “Someone changed thair mind. Thay fetched a wheelbarrow ’n‘ teuk the body tae the barn.”

  “So he killed her—or found her—in the house, panicked, considered hiding her under the house, and then decided to give her a ceremonial burial?”

  Broch shrugged. “Aye. Cuid be.” He squinted into the distance.

  Catriona put her hands on her hips. “What is it? You’ve got that staring across the moors thing you do when you’re thinking.”

  “Och. It’s just the person bein’ dragged wis heavy.”

  “How heavy?”

  “Ah dinnae ken. Heavy enough the person draggin’ hud tae lea the ass oan the ground.”

  “Jessie wasn’t very large.”

  “Na. That’s whit’s got me thinkin’.”

  His gaze turned to the barn and she followed suit.

  “You don’t think it’s her in the barn.”

  “Na. Ah dinnae.”

  Catriona strode to the barn with Broch alongside her. She stood over the skeleton, biting her lip, unsure how to proceed.

  “Okay, we don’t want to touch anything, but see if you see anything that says this was a man or a woman.”

  They hovered over the body, peering around the bones and ashes without disturbing the pile.

  Catriona huffed. “What is the difference between a male and female skeleton?”

  Broch grinned. “Female skeletons wear dresses.”

  “Very funny from the guy who practically lives in a skirt—Ooh, here.” Catriona tapped away a piece of debris with her finger to reveal a shattered timepiece.

  “It’s a big watch. It could be a man’s.”

  “Mibbee.”

  Catriona clucked her tongue. “But not necessarily. Girls like to wear big watches nowadays.”

  They heard sirens approaching.

  “Shoot. Step back a little. We don’t want them to think we were messing with the evidence.”

  A police officer rounded the side of the building with his gun drawn.

  “You in there,” he called to them.

  Catriona raised her hands and elbowed Broch to the side motioning to him to follow her lead.

  “I’m the one who called,” called Catriona.

  The officer walked forward, his gun lowering. “Is there anyone in the house?”

  “No. It’s just us here. And this.” She nodded her head toward the charred skeleton.

  EMTs’ appeared behind the officer, who holstered his gun and scanned the small barn.

  “It’s clear,” he told them before turning to Catriona and Broch. “Follow me out here and let them do their thing. I need to ask you some questions.”

  Catriona nodded. “I have a quick question for the EMT if you don’t mind.” She locked eyes with the first tech to enter, a stout man in his forties with gray lining his temples.

  “Can you tell if that’s a woman or a man?” she asked.

  He scowled. “Depends on what’s left. There really aren’t many differences and this body is pretty much dust but...it isn’t very large, which leans me towards female.”

  Catriona frowned and glanced at Broch. “I guess it is Jessie.”

  She was about to head to the officer when the EMT spoke.

  “Hold on. The pelvis is mostly intact and isn’t very wide—”

  Catriona spun on her heel to face him. “That’s important?”

  The man nodded. “Yeah. That’s really the main way to tell.” He scratched his head. “These bones are in bad shape, but if I had to put money on it, I’d say this is a man. A short man.”

  ~~~

  Catriona removed her holster and tossed it in the Jeep, before leaning against it to watch the police mill in and around the Walker house of horrors. The cops were done with them, but she’d wanted to wait before leaving, on the off-chance her EMT friend might have some additional information.

  She kicked the dirt, sick of looking at it all. “I should have held off calling the cops a bit longer. If I’d known we were looking for Jessie instead of her father, I might have seen things in the house a little differently.”

  Broch’s gaze swept the desert landscape. “Whit happened tae a’ the green in this place?”

  Catriona chuckled. “Kind of like looking at the corpse of Scotland, I imagine.” She lifted her phone and flipped through the photos she’d taken in the Walker house, zooming in on each item pinned to the bedroom wall.

  There were an unusual number of photos of a ventriloquist dressed in a cowboy outfit, complete with an oversized twenty-gallon hat, boots, and chaps with fringe. He sat with a large female dummy on his knee. The dummy’s outfit paralleled his, its shirt fringed and skirt ruffled, long dark hair sometimes loose, sometime in braids. A banner in the back of one of the photos identified the duo as Cowboy Walker and Cassidy.

  The photo reminded her of the dolls they’d found at Jessie’s house and the one on Timmy’s bed. Obviously, the doll meant something to them.

  Catriona couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. She’d never been a fan of dolls, but ventriloquist dummies took things to a whole other level.

  “Hey Kilty, check this out,” she said, tapping his arm. “Does anything about this photo hit you as odd?”

  He tossed a stone at a piece of scrub brush and glanced at the phone. “It’s a man with a girl on his lap.”

  “No, it’s a d
ummy. A sort of doll.”

  He looked again. “Nae. It’s a wee lassie.”

  Catriona zoomed in on the dummy’s face and gasped.

  “You’re right. It’s a girl made up to look like a ventriloquist dummy. Holy—they had an act—Jessie and her father had a fake ventriloquism act.”

  Broch threw another stone. “Whit’s the word ye blethered? Ventra-kissed?”

  “Ventriloquist. It’s a person who talks without moving their mouth, while moving the mouth of a puppet, so it looks like the doll is talking.”

  “Sae the fowk peepin’ think the doll is alive?”

  “That’s the effect, but no, they know the voice is really the man’s.”

  “It’s fae children?”

  “Not all the time. Adults watch them, too.”

  Broch scowled. “How come wid a body watch a grown man pretend a doll is blethering?”

  Catriona navigated to a clip of a well-known ventriloquist on her phone and let Broch watch the clip. As the man and the dummy bantered back and forth, Broch’s expression broadened.

  “Och. He tells jokes.”

  “Right.”

  Broch snorted. “Ye kin bether jokes wi’oot a doll.”

  Catriona gave up, confident the charms of ventriloquism were lost on the Highlander. Her attention drifted back to the house.

  She closed her eyes and pictured walking through Walker’s home. Nothing in the living room. She moved on to the memory board and studied the photos and clippings. One newspaper image caught her eye; a girl swinging a lasso over her head.

  Jessie Walker ‘circles the wagons’ as Cassidy was the caption.

  How did I miss that? Jessie was older in that photo. The ventriloquism act must have been over for years by then, but perhaps she’d revisited it for special occasions. ‘Circling the wagons’ must have been a lasso trick of hers.

  Catriona mentally walked into Walker’s kitchen. There was the moldy mayonnaise and the half-made sandwich covered in—