Johnnie Finds a Dead Body

by DS Whitaker

  “I want to know if it matters.” His arms were by his sides. He scanned her face for any clues.

  “Matters?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t think I do. Why don’t you just say what’s on your mind?” Her brows narrowed, one hand on her hip as she rose to face him.

  Did he dare? He had already stepped in it. “Money can change things…expectations. It affects people.”

  “Heaven’s sake.” She walked back to the dining table and pulled out two chairs. “Sit.”

  He held his breath and joined her at the table, clasping his hands together in front of him, staring at the gleaming wood grain.

  She placed her hand over his. “Cudlow, are you worried I only care about you because you have money? Because if that is what you think…” Her eyes misted. She took her hand away.

  “No! I mean, I hope not. But you understand why I could be concerned…”

  Her face turned ashen, but her voice was angry. “You hope?”

  “No. I meant…when I essentially gave control to Jackson, the rest of my family refused to talk to me. I’m simple, but not naïve. Money matters to people. Most people. Resentments build. But money corrupts, makes people insane—”

  “You think it matters to me?” She said this slowly, her body growing still like a statue.

  “You were the aggressor…I just need to know…” Hearing his own words, the forcefulness and bitterness in his tone stunned himself. Just talking about money made his mood shift, resembling that other person who lurked below.

  “Excuse me?” She crossed her arms.

  In a steadier tone, he said, “Your attraction to me…it took me by surprise. I’ve wondered why…” He couldn’t look at her. Were his innate fears ruining everything?

  She lowered her eyes. “I like you because you are sweet. Were sweet. Now…I don’t know.”

  Something was different. He’d never seen her sad. But it was more than that. And it occurred to him. Her aura was gone.

  In a soft voice, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…Gertie, I don’t know what to say.” He wrung his hands in his lap.

  “Cudlow, at our age, it’s not like we’ll ever get married. I thought we had a connection. And maybe other people have hurt you…” She turned her face away. “Look what you did. And we’re having company soon.”

  She wiped her face and took a deep breath. “I had everything I need in life. Long before you.” Gertie stood, her wet eyes meeting his. “Because I adore you, I’m going to try to forget you said these things.”

  Cud watched her go, his heart in a pit in his stomach. The back door slammed.

  That went as badly as possible.

  Never get married? That part stung. Maybe he had no right to be with a woman given his state of affairs. How could he be an equal partner in any relationship when he lived like a hobo?

  He wanted to crawl on all fours back to his beach—to give her space. But Johnnie was arriving soon and they needed a plan to deal with Mark.

  Being useful was the only course. He put out the plates and silverware, trying to remember which side the fork goes on. He’d always had servants to do this sort of thing and never paid attention. When he put down the plate in front of the chair Gertie had just left, a three-millimeter droplet seized his attention. One of her tears. He touched it gingerly, wondering if he’d lost her forever.

  His daze broke with the faint sound of Gertie singing in the garden. It was the Joan Baez folksong, “It Ain’t Me, Babe”. It was beautiful. He snuck a look out the back window. She was picking oranges. In the sunlight, he could see it. A lavender glow.

  Despite her sad song, her aura had returned.

  And he hoped she could forgive him.

  Chapter 19

  Johnnie walked through the front door behind Dottie. Gertie hugged Dot and the two began chattering about orange juice, brands of waffle-makers, and whether to heat some sausages as a side-dish.

  Cud was in the far corner of the living room, quiet, a frown on his face.

  Johnnie sat down next to him. “Hey, why the long face?”

  “Oh, nothing ol’ chap. I’ve put my foot right into it with Gertie, I say. I don’t know when to keep my trap shut.”

  “What happened?”

  “I told her about the money.”

  “What money?”

  “My money. See, this is why I hate the bloody stuff so much. Always causing issue. But we need to focus on your troubles. What happened to you today?”

  Gertie came over and handed a glass of orange juice to Johnnie. “Yes, what happened?”

  Johnnie glanced over to the kitchen. Dottie was mixing batter and bobbing her head to her own beat.

  “There’s a guy named Mark, or Smith, that wants something. He followed me to the hiking trail today. Pulled a gun and threatened Robin if I don’t give it to him.”

  Gertie said, “The thirty-million dollars?”

  Johnnie squinted, “What?”

  Cud said, “Sorry, Johnnie. I should have told you. The thumb drive contains the codes to thirty-million in Bitcoin.”

  “Wait, you knew what those letters and numbers meant the whole time? Why would you lie to me?”

  Cud put his hand on Johnnie’s knee. “I wanted to protect you. That amount of money spells danger. And I needed to put it in a safe place.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Close. Hidden.”

  “Why would the dead guy have that much money and why does Mark feel entitled to it?”

  Dottie chimed in over the sound of sizzling sausage. “I know why.”

  The three stared in her direction.

  Dot said, “You’ll have to wait until food is served.”

  The three groaned.

  Johnnie’s cell phone rang. It was Robin.

  “Hey, Robin, I’m kind of busy right now.”

  “I heard you had a run-in with Thomas Smith and he wants something from you? How do you know him?

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Great. I’m coming over.”

  “No! I mean…dang. I’ll take care of it.”

  “See you soon.” She hung up.

  “Shit.”

  Gertie said, “Don’t use that language here, please.”

  Dottie laughed. “Right, Gert. Like you never cursed. Remember that time you tripped at church? I thought lightning was going to strike the building.”

  Gertie smiled. “None of us are perfect.”

  Cud looked at Gertie. “I think you’re perfect.”

  Gertie put her hand on Cud’s shoulder. “Stop sucking up, dear. I’m not done punishing you.”

  “God would forgive me.”

  “Like I said, none of us are perfect.”

  Johnnie shook his head. “So, what? Now we wait for my sister? This is crazy.”

  Dottie said, “No, we eat first. I’m starving. Johnnie, help bring these plates over. We can dig in.”

  Soon, the table was filled with stacks of waffles and sausage links. They passed around the carafe of freshly squeezed orange juice. Gertie poured coffee into mismatched mugs and said grace.

  They largely ate in silence until Robin arrived.

  And then the revelations began.

  ***

  Robin pulled into the driveway, recognizing Johnnie’s scooter, Gertie’s blue ford sedan, and Dottie’s white pickup. The front light on John’s bike was cracked. He hadn’t replaced it as she insisted. It was a quarter past six and the sun was nearly set. Still wearing her suit and heels, she hadn’t wanted to delay a single second to find out what Dottie discovered about Thomas Smith and what it had to do with her brother.

  She knocked on Gertie’s door.

  Johnnie answered. “Did anyone follow you?” He tilted his head, looking toward the road.

  “What?” She stepped inside. The place smelled like sausage and the thought of food made her stomach dance.

  Johnnie closed the front door, turned the deadbolt, put the
chain across, and joined the party at the table.

  Around the dining table, Gertie, Dottie and Cudlow trained their eyes on her, glued to her in unison like kittens watching a string toy.

  Their steady stares instantly seemed suspicious. “What did I miss?”

  Dottie said, “Make a plate in the kitchen. I was just showing them the photo I took of Thomas Smith at the trailhead parking lot.”

  “Trail?” Robin went to the kitchen.

  Cudlow said, “It’s definitely Mark, the one with the black aura.”

  Robin placed two waffles and three links on a plate and sat at the empty place setting to the right of Johnnie. “Who’s Mark? Get me up to speed.” She cut a waffle with the edge of her fork and started to eat.

  Dottie cleared her throat. “Seems your brother met Smith a few days ago. Chief Tobias introduced them.”

  Robing gagged on a chunk. She involuntarily spat it out and it landed on Johnnie’s arm. “What?”

  Johnnie picked up the morsel with a paper napkin and folded it into a tight square. “Yeah, said he was Bob’s brother. I didn’t believe it for a second.”

  Robin took a sip of Johnnie’s orange juice. “Why? What did Smith want?”

  Her brother shrugged, “He was looking for something Bob had. Asked if I found anything.”

  Her mind raced ahead, then she punched John in the shoulder. “What the hell did you steal from Robert Taylor?”

  “Ow.”

  She hit him again.

  “Ow, a key chain.”

  She slammed her palms on the table. “So, you lied to me! Twice!” She raised her fist again to strike him, but Johnnie pushed back his chair and escaped.

  “I’m going to sit over there.” Johnnie pointed to the side chair in the living room, in the far corner.

  Cudlow raised his hand, like a school boy asking a teacher for permission. “Don’t blame him. It’s my fault also. I took the item from the bank box.”

  Robin pushed her plate away. She couldn’t eat under these circumstances. She held her head with both hands, staring into the table’s wood grain, her nostrils flaring. “All of you. Hand me a dollar.”

  Cudlow asked, “What?

  Stonily, without looking up, enunciating every word, Robin said, “HAND-ME-A-FUCKING-DOLLAR-AND-I-WON’T-HAVE-TO-TESTIFY-AS-YOUR-LAWYER!” She exhaled. “Shit. Someone get some paper and a pen.”

  Dottie rummaged in her handbag. “I only have a ten. Do you have change? Or do you take quarters…”

  Robin slammed her palm again on the table. “Just slide it the fuck over!”

  Dottie said, “Gertie asked us not to curse.”

  Gertie laughed, “No, it’s fine. She’s had a long day.”

  Robin looked up to see Cudlow slip some paper and a pen beside her. With a deep sigh, she set to work, hastily writing one of the worst letters of representation in world history that amounted to a paragraph with several run-on sentences. Robin shoved it over to Cudlow. “Now sign.”

  As she waited for them to pass it around and sign, she slipped out of her heels and walked to the kitchen. “Gertie, do you have any vodka?”

  “No dear, just wine. In the fridge, there’s an open half-bottle of white.”

  Robin grabbed the wine and shut the fridge. She screwed off the cap and guzzled straight from the bottle.

  Johnnie, still across the room, said, “Hey, slow down.”

  She pointed, “No! You slow down.”

  He responded, “That makes no sense.”

  Cudlow slid the paper back next to Robin’s plate. “It’s done.”

  Robin pointed, “John, too.” She took another swig, but it hit her pipes too fast and she gagged.

  Cudlow walked the pen and paper to Johnnie and waited while he signed it. “Now I know where he gets it.”

  Robin came back to the table with the bottle, “Gets what?”

  “His crazy temper.”

  Dottie laughed. “Ha, there was this time Robin got so mad, she threw her desk chair down the stairs. Milton didn’t get out of the way in time—”

  Robin shouted, “Stop! Everyone shut up.” She huffed. “If I point to you, you can speak. Now,” she pointed to Cudlow, “tell me about the bank.”

  For the next two minutes, he relayed the story about the bank manager and his not actually dead mother.

  Robin said, “Damn, he believed you? Okay, moving on. What was on the drive?”

  The interrogations went on for another half hour. The bottle of wine was empty. Finally, Robin was ready to ask Johnnie questions. She moved to the sofa, directly across from her brother. “Try to remember his exact words. You said Mark threatened to kill me?”

  Johnnie fiddled with his hands. “Not in those words, but something like that.”

  She stood. Her head felt light. Maybe waffles would have been a better choice than the wine. “You need to give it back.”

  Johnnie shook his head. “Dottie told me about what they’re planning. They’ll ruin the island. I only came to St. John for the peace and quiet…”

  “Listen to yourself. He KILLED TWO PEOPLE!”

  “But—”

  Robin bared her teeth. “I swear, John, if you don’t return it tonight, I’ll kill you with my own bare hands.”

  From the dining table, Dottie laughed. “He should definitely return it. But Robin, you can’t even kill a spider. One time,” she directed her voice to Gertie and Cud, “a cricket was bouncing around her office and she climbed on her desk and screamed so loud, people on the street heard her and called 9-1-1. Plus, she broke her monitor—”

  Cudlow raised his hand again, “I could give Smith the money. Jackson could wire it in seconds.”

  Dottie said, “I thought you gave up your money.”

  Gertie shook her head and raised both her hands over her head. “Cudlow will do NO SUCH THING! You saw what happened…throwing around millions only leads to more trouble.”

  Johnnie said, “I’ll do it. I’ll give back the thumb drive.”

  Robin’s head ached. All that wine wasn’t sitting well. She walked back to the dining table, dropped onto her chair, and noshed on a cold waffle.

  Dottie reached her hand across and rested it on Robin’s arm. “Are you okay, sweetie? I can drive you home.”

  It was true; she wasn’t feeling okay. A wave of nausea hit and she clasped her hand over her mouth. Bolting up, she raced for the kitchen sink. The first heave released a torrent of liquid into the stainless-steel vessel. Dottie came up behind her and held Robin’s hair and rubbed her back, “There, there.”

  Johnnie joined them. “Sis, I’m sorry…”

  Her throat burned, but after two more waves, her stomach felt better. The whole situation was so humiliating.

  Dottie handed her a paper towel. “Now can I drive you home?”

  Robin righted herself and took a step away from the sink; she ran the cold water to clean the mess. “I’m better. I can drive. Dottie, would you follow me home? Make sure I get there?”

  “Sure, honey.”

  Before Robin left with Dottie, she fixed her eyes on John. “Do it. Return it tonight. And don’t die.”

  He scratched the back of his head. “I will. Promise.”

  “Good.” She ran her hand along his head, next to his scar. “Butthead.” In a wave of sadness, she put her arms around him and hugged him tight.

  Johnnie hugged her back. “I’ll text you after.”

  “You’d better.” She gave a weak smile as she opened the door to leave. “Because if you die, I’m going to kill you.”

  Chapter 20

  Thomas lay on his hotel room bed, propped up by pillows, his eyes closed. Rest was necessary, because midnight kidnappings always made him tired, and he’d need all his energy to focus for the task ahead. The abandoned house at Chocolate Hole was ready and he stocked his SUV with snacks and water, although he hoped the operation would go smoothly.

  Still, his mind kept returning to his manuscript. Did he start the book w
ith enough bang? If he couldn’t grab the reader’s attention in the first three paragraphs, it would never become the bestseller he desired. Thomas also contemplated pen names. A strong name, but something memorable too. Clive Manly? Boris Ironstock? Or should he remain anonymous, allowing for a future sequel?

  He’d researched agents. Only the best would do. A New Yorker—someone connected. But instead of querying, he would use his innate talents of bribery and extortion. It didn’t matter who you knew. It only mattered what dirt he could find on his dream agent. Stalking on the internet made this easy, especially when they posted pictures of their kids and dogs, or tweeted what conferences they attended.

  Maybe he could turn his story into a graphic novel, with himself as a caped hero. And dingbats like Crosswell would meet their demise at his righteous hand. Thomas grinned and doodled himself as a Marvel character, with a tight costume that showcased his bulging groin and pecs.

  When all this was over and he received his final consulting fee for the bridge project, he could buy a brownstone in Brooklyn and enjoy his days writing. No more traveling for work, or lifting weights, drinking protein shakes, and pacifying obnoxious clients. The life he’d dreamt of back in college would be his. Settling down, going for long walks, learning to cook gourmet meals, attending concerts, and vacationing in the south of France. Hot chicks always liked sensitive writer types. He could learn to play the part.

  Or maybe after all this was over, he’d join that closeted gay militia in Arkansas for two weeks of recreation. Young guns with guns. What could be better? Thoughts of hefty bearded chonks holding their large bazookas always charged his weapon.

  His last fling, Renaldo, chided that he would basically hump anything with a pulse. Which was not exactly true; his tastes were simply varied and his libido was healthy. Admittedly, Renaldo was the closest he came to a relationship in his years of fixing, when he was stuck without a passport for three months in Cuba. But he continued to live by Rule Number 10, ‘falling in love is for pussies’.

  Smith unzipped his pants and daydreamed about Ren before falling into a deep slumber.

  ***

  After Robin and Dottie left, Johnnie patched and filled the tires on his scooter and removed the tracker Dottie pointed out.