Johnnie Finds a Dead Body

by DS Whitaker

  “What do you mean, investigate?”

  Johnnie motioned for Cud to follow him to the pavilion. They sat at a picnic table to discuss the plan. Cud was unconvinced about its success considering all the preparation needed. Ultimately, Johnnie said, “What else do you have to do that is more exciting?”

  Cud scratched his head. “I don’t like wearing shoes.”

  “It’s only for an hour. Aren’t you curious?”

  Cud relented. It would take a day or so to get Cud fixed up, but that could be an interesting part of the challenge.

  Yes, Johnnie thought, time for Cud’s extreme makeover.

  ***

  After work, Johnnie and Cud got on the Pig and headed east to Coral Bay to see Miss Sheila. Her rates were reasonable, and she took walk-ins. It was close to three when they arrived.

  Her place was small, with cracked wood siding, faded green paint and a roof with some shingles missing. But the yard was covered in bright flowers and fanciful metal garden sculptures, and you barely noticed the house for all the splendor. A hand-painted shingle, hung on a post in the front yard, read, “Sheila’s Place”. If you were a tourist, you wouldn’t know if it was a restaurant, a bed-and-breakfast, a boutique, a salon, or just the name of her house. The ambiguity was intentional. She didn’t like non-islanders. Which made it the best place for Johnnie and Cud to go.

  He parked his bike on her white-rock driveway and they walked around the path to the back. A woman’s voice shouted, “Oh, no you don’t.” The screen door flew open and Sheila stood there with her hands on her wide hips. “Johnnie, you know we all love Cud, but I can smell him from here.” She pointed to her outdoor shower. “No offense. There’s soap in the shower. I’ll get some towels.” She disappeared back into the house.

  Cud looked up at Johnnie. “I knew this was going to be a problem. Maybe we should reconsider.” He held up a swath of his long hair. “I don’t know if the fishing line will come out.”

  Cud bathed in the ocean every night. He wasn’t too scummy. But through the lens of Miss Sheila, Johnnie realized that perhaps Cud was an acquired taste. He looked Cud up and down. “You know, why don’t you shower at my place and you can borrow some of my clothes. It’s only another fifteen minutes down the road. Then we’ll come back.”

  “That is the wisest thing you’ve said all day.” Cud walked back towards the scooter.

  Johnnie called out, “Sheila, we’ll be back in an hour. We’ll fix…um, you’ll see.”

  ***

  On the drive to Johnnie’s place, Cud second guessed the whole crazy plan. He enjoyed living under the radar. His hair embodied his current life: wild, free and off-putting. Having normal hair again might snap him back into his old self, his small-minded, money-centric existence. When they arrived at Johnnie’s place, he had half a mind to say he wanted out of their deal. What was in it for him?

  Still, the mystery of the deposit box and a needed change of routine spurred him on. Would it kill him to cut his hair and play a part for a day? He was curious about whether he could pull off a normal demeanor after these ten years. And his friend seemed so obsessed with the box. Since Johnnie arrived four years ago, he didn’t feel so alone, so ostracized. And John was always looking out for him, like a son; but unlike his actual son, who had disowned him.

  Johnnie steered the scooter off the road into a stone driveway. The house in front was a one-story, ranch-style structure in a faded yellow color with more brightly colored patches where shutters should have been. The steel standing-seam roof was dark green, and the house appeared to have shiny new replacement vinyl windows. Notably, the property was situated on a flat plot; unique for its hillside location. The front of the house faced the ocean with an unobstructed, stunning panoramic view. Even in its diminished state of upkeep, it was intact. Other homesites they passed on the journey were rubble or mere foundations.

  He followed Johnnie to the white cinder-block garage, turned apartment, to the left of the main house. The front facade—where a double garage door should have been—was boarded up with painted plywood with a three-foot-wide vinyl window at the center. The entrance was on the right side. As he glanced around, a woman in a flowered housecoat was gathering something, some kind of green vegetables, in the backyard garden. The woman with the dark complexion and pulled-back hair waved and smiled.

  Cud asked, “Johnnie, who is that?”

  Johnnie inserted his key into the doorknob. “My landlady, Gertie. Come on.”

  Cud stopped and waved back. She had a striking aura about her. Since his change of lifestyle, he became adept at reading auras. At first, he thought he was going insane, seeing colors like that. After the first year of living off the land, he accepted his talent as normal and not the sun baking his brain. Still, he didn’t like to talk about auras. It sounded crazy. And people took him for crazy as it was, looking at him with pity or contempt.

  “Can you introduce me?” he said.

  Johnnie huffed. “Okay, but let’s be quick. We need to get to Sheila’s before she closes and I don’t know how long it will take to unravel that.” He pointed to Cud’s hair.

  They approached the sizable vegetable garden. “Gertie, I’d like you to meet Cud.”

  Gertie got up and dusted off her knees. She extended her hand. “Nice to meet you. Will you be staying for dinner?”

  No one had offered him dinner since he arrived at the island. Yes, the aura was strong in this woman. And she was beautiful. Curvaceous, copper brown skin, graceful, caramel eyes you could melt in. “I would love dinner. Everyone calls me Cud, but you, sweet lady, can call me Cudlow.” He reached for her hand and kissed the top of it.

  Gertie blushed. “Well, that settles it. I’ll open a bottle of wine. I can have dinner ready at six.”

  Johnnie said, “Thanks, Gertie. We have a few errands. Make it six-thirty?”

  She smiled. “Of course. See you boys later.”

  Cud grinned at being called a boy. And he liked how Gertie smiled at him. Her entire face lit up like a sunrise over the hillside. It felt like love at first sight. But perhaps he was just sentimental and lonely. He would need to take things slow. Because, now, he needed to cut his hair and shower properly to impress Gertie. Or at least make his best effort at normalcy and see where things went.

  Johnnie’s apartment was a square-ish studio. His clothes—including two extra park uniforms—hung on an open metal rack by the entrance. No rugs on the polished concrete floor except a mat at the front door.

  A double bed with navy blue linens against the far wall, a kitchen with a microwave, sink and a tall narrow refrigerator, a living area with a television and an old gray velvet sofa. It was orderly and clean, and would have been deemed minimalist except for the abundance of books. A dozen worn paperbacks rested on a leather trunk in front of the sofa. A thick photo album in a green felt cover lay on a side table next to a lumpy pink ceramic mug that looked like a five-year-old made it. Cud wondered about it. Did Johnnie have a kid? Or was it something from his own childhood?

  A black-framed photograph of Johnnie with Robin at a bar was displayed on his nightstand. More stacks of books, a sizable number, lay in a mound on the floor next to his bed. Had to be at least a hundred.

  The only decoration on the beige walls consisted of an Audubon calendar and a small watercolor painting of some palm trees and surf. The overall mood was like a cave occupied by a transient loner. Cud understood about being a loner, but this kind of depressing environment seemed intolerable.

  Johnnie took off his boots by the door and called out, “Alexa, playlist one.” Classical music, a piece Cud recognized as Largo al Factorum, played softly over small speakers on top of the refrigerator.

  “You surprise me. I never took you for a classical man.”

  “I used to like the Rolling Stones. Still like them. But my doctor said some classical music might be good for my brain.”

  “Oh, like babies in the womb?”

  “Something like that.
I don’t know if it helps, but I told my doc I’m up for anything, as long as it isn’t more medication.” Johnnie pointed to the back wall. “There’s the bathroom.”

  Cud opened the door and peered in. It was tiny with a three-foot, pre-fab stand-up shower. The walls were painted cinderblock with a two-foot wide awning window above the sink. A single bare bulb on the ceiling lit the dark space.

  Johnnie said, “I think our best course is to take some length off first. Let you get the shampoo in deep and Sheila can shape it later. Okay?” He retrieved a pair of child’s safety scissors from the vanity drawer.

  Cud held his hand out. “I’ll do it. You can wait outside.” This could be emotional and he didn’t need an audience. Not that Johnnie would tease him or be unsupportive. But, just in case he began to sob or break down, he didn’t want anyone’s pity. It was just hair to most people and they wouldn’t understand.

  He shut the door for privacy. Preparing for the first cut was the like standing on the edge of a rocky cliff and while deciding to jump thirty feet into a raging sea. He grit his teeth, braced his mind, and sheared off the first chunk. There. It was done. No going back.

  He decided shoulder length was the best compromise. The first section hung up on the fishing line and he had to trace it back to cut again. The mass fell to the floor, not in splinters, but in a tangled mass like a furry octopus. He picked it up and held it in his hands. Thoughts raced through his mind of wanting to bury it ceremoniously, like a dead cat. Instead, he took a small snippet and put it in his back shorts pocket as a memento.

  It got easier after that. Most of the fishing line became dislodged as he worked around the back of his head. He couldn’t rightly see what he was doing, and it was probably very uneven, but it was only the first phase. Sheila would do the rest.

  He turned on the hot water in the shower and waited for the temperature to rise. Johnnie had just one brown bath towel on the back of the door. He made a mental IOU to replace it with a new one later. Which would mean calling Jackson, his grandson and acting estate manager. Jackson was a good kid. Guilt coursed through him, realizing he should call the lad more often.

  Cud stood under the warm water lathering for five minutes. At first, the water swirling down the drain resembled dark bone broth. He looked at his arms. He discovered white skin he hadn’t seen in years. If he was under less time pressure, he would have spent more time scrubbing. But he needed to save time for the biggest battle, shampooing his hair.

  The first round of shampoo was a mere suggestion. His hair resisted and his fingers couldn’t get through to his scalp. He worked up from the bottom. A little more success there. With the second round of shampoo, he gained the upper hand. His fingers now touched his scalp, although the hair was coarse and still a little clumpy. The third application of shampoo was the charm. His wet hair laid down flatly against his head with no lumps. He jumped out of the shower through the mist and opened the bathroom door a crack, “Johnnie,” he yelled, “Do you have any conditioner?”

  Johnnie called back, “Under the sink.”

  Cud opened the vanity door and found a tube of hotel-sized conditioner. It would have to do.

  A few minutes later, Cud wrapped the brown towel around his hips and exited the bathroom. “Ta da!” He threw his hands in the air like a ringmaster.

  His host was sitting on the sofa, reading a paperback. The Ruslan and Ludmilla Overture danced playfully in the background. Johnnie looked up from his book. “Cud, you look…clean.”

  “Yes, I had dirt in places…well, best not to tell. And I’m sorry about your towel. Do you have clothes for me?”

  Johnnie inserted an embroidered bookmark into his novel, got up and crossed the room toward his clothing rack. A stack of neatly folded T-shirts—sorted by color and large earth tones—lay on the top metal shelf. He handed a bundle of clothes to Cud. “Keep the towel if you want. I have another on the clothes line. These should fit. Hey, thanks again for doing this. I know change can be difficult.” Johnnie reached into his pocket. “Here’s some cash for Sheila.”

  Cud appreciated Johnnie saying that. Sometimes his friend could be brusque and cool. Other times, he was caring and emotionally intelligent. Change was difficult. But perhaps Johnnie was talking about himself.

  A small circular mirror hung on the wall by the apartment entrance. He estimated it was eight inches in diameter. Cud pointed. “Thanks. Why don’t you have a mirror in the bathroom? How do you see yourself in this small thing?”

  “Who says I want to see myself?” Johnnie sat back down on the sofa and put his nose back into his book.

  He’d seen that look before. Johnnie was in a mood. Not an angry mood. He recognized those. But sullen and a touch withdrawn. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No. Kemper just called. Chief Tobias said Bob’s brother wants to meet me tomorrow. Jesus, I just found the guy. Why can’t everyone leave me alone?”

  “Does this change the plan?”

  “I don’t know. I guess not.”

  Cud sat down on the sofa next to Johnnie. “This is Bob’s safe deposit box key, isn’t it?” It came out as a declaration, not a question. “Maybe you should give the key back to the family.”

  “Cud, I can’t explain it. This whole situation is off. Like, there were times we’d be on patrol at night, and you just knew there were eyes on you. Eyes that wanted to hurt you. I felt the same way yesterday when I talked to the Chief. I don’t trust Tobias and something fishy is going on. We stick with the plan.”

  “What do you think is in the box?”

  Johnnie stood and went to the kitchen. He took a bottled water out of the fridge. Taking a sip, he cleared his throat and said, “Damn-it! I don’t want to steal anything. I just need to know what’s in it. You go, find out what’s in there and leave. That’s all.”

  “Man, don’t get testy with me. I’m your friend, but I don’t take people’s attitude. Now, settle down. Let’s get that haircut and have a nice dinner afterward, okay?”

  Johnnie closed his eyes, held the water bottle against his neck, and seemed to be counting to himself. After a moment, he put the bottle back in the fridge and said, “Sorry. I wasn’t mad at you. You know that, right? As my therapist says, I have trouble explaining myself. I don’t like it and get frustrated.”

  “Yes, I know.” He headed back to the bathroom with the clothes. “That conditioner has quite a pleasant fragrance. Can I keep the tube?”

  Johnnie smiled. “Sure, Cud. Now hurry. You won’t want to be late for Sheila or to Gertie’s dinner. It’s fried chicken Thursday.”

  No, he certainly did not want to be late to either. Having the attention of two fine women in one night, albeit platonic, was going to be a wonderful diversion from his routine.

  And he would enjoy the sweet scent of jasmine in his hair while doing so.

  Chapter 5

  Johnnie couldn’t believe his eyes. When Cud stepped out of Sheila’s salon, he was unrecognizable. About ten years younger looking with his smooth silver locks, catching the breeze like a celebrity in a shampoo commercial. Or maybe it was Cud’s smile. So broad it seemed his face could split apart. Visible now that his beard was gone.

  “Jolly good, mate, I’m starving. Let’s go.”

  Johnnie stood transfixed. “Cud, your hair…”

  “I know! Sheila is a doll. Really listened. Kept it long on top but a bit shorter in the back. She said I look like an older Hugh Grant. I can’t stop running my fingers through it. Oh my, we should have taken before and after pictures. But come on, I can’t wait to show your landlady, Gertie. Is that short for Gertrude? I knew a Gertrude once. A maths teacher at University. A real sour puss. But Gertie seems nothing like that battleax. So, tell me, was she ever married? Would it be rude to ask her? I want to know everything…”

  Cud sure was chatty. But all Johnnie could think about was the bank box and their scheme. He needed his friend to focus.

  Cud continued. “…Do you think we’ll have co
rnbread tonight? I miss it so. My wife, bless her, she used to make the best mince pie and always served it with corn bread. The stuff of the Gods…”

  Johnnie took a deep breath and yelled, “Cud! Stop! Just get on the damned scooter.”

  “Sheesh, man. You don’t have to yell. I’m determined to enjoy this miraculous evening.” Cud stared at him and crossed his arms. “I know what you need. You need to smile.”

  Johnnie shook his head. “Look, I’m not trying to be a jerk, but my head hurts.”

  “Smile or I walk home and forget your little heist.” Cud grinned.

  His cheek twitched—not much—but he felt it. “You’d walk in the dark all the way back across the island? And they say I’m nuts.”

  Cud pinched Johnnie’s cheeks, “Smile. Come on. You’ll feel better.” He released him, stepping back, gesturing him to try.

  Johnnie bared his teeth with exaggerated curled lips.

  “Oh, good Heavens, you look like a braying donkey. Forget it.” Cud shook his head, donned his helmet and got on the back of the Pig.

  ***

  Cud was excited to show Gertie his new hair. He walked behind Johnnie into Gertie’s place and surveyed the interior. The front door opened to a living area, with terracotta floors, white walls, and a vaulted ceiling with white-washed beams. A white rattan ceiling fan hung in the center of the open space. Small framed needlepoint scenes of flowers and birds hung on the front wall next to the picture window.

  To the rear was a u-shaped kitchen with countertops covered in two-inch square cobalt tiles. The appliances were a mix of black and stainless, and the cabinets were standard-looking with a light oak finish. Delicious smells wafted from the kitchen.

  The dining area was a zone to the right of the living space, demarcated by a sisal area rug. A delicate lace table cloth, tall candles, wine glasses and flower-patterned china plates adorned the table. Fresh flowers of yellow, pink and blue in a white ironstone pitcher completed the picture. The table looked like a feature spread in an expensive home and garden magazine.