For Butter or Worse

by Saxon Bennett

  I feel my cheeks heat up. I turn my back to Travis and whisper into my phone, “I feel like I had a good workout at the gym and I can take the day off from my exercise program.”

  “I did good then,” London says.

  “You did really good.”

  “That’s enough sexy talk. We’ve got a murderess to catch,” Travis says.

  “Later,” I say. “Travis has ants in his pants.”

  “Later, Babe,” London says before clicking off.

  ***

  I head off to find Betty Butter. I need to ask her about getting a key to the butter barn for tonight. I contemplate telling her we think Caroline might be the murderess, then decide we don’t know that for certain and I don’t want to tip Caroline off that we’re on to her.

  According to Betty’s secretary, Betty is giving a tour of the butter cycle of life from start to finish. I follow my nose to the dairy cows. The fairgoers are in full force so I’m dodging strollers and people eating food on sticks. Then there are the people trying to walk and text at the same time. I swear, as a species, humans are going to evolve to have long narrow thumbs and humped backs with big heads and shrunken bodies. They’ll also be very pale and shapeless because no one ever goes outside or exercises. I finish my ruminations just as I enter the dairy barn.

  It smells earthy and poopy. I should bring Griffin in here. He’d love the cows. The cows have such loving eyes and soft noses and I know if I stay at the fair long enough, I’ll become a vegetarian. I spot Betty and her tour group down at the milking station. I’m so intent on getting across the large building I step in a cow pie. A large, super-sized cow pie. A nearby cowboy laughs at me. “Yeah, you gotta watch out for them cow pies.”

  “So I see,” I say, staring at the mess on the bottom of my shoe. “Got any suggestions on getting it off?”

  “Rub it on some hay, you know, like when you step in dog poop you wipe your shoe on the grass?”

  “Uh, okay.” I walk to the nearest empty stall and wipe my shoe on the hay. The big stuff comes off but there’s still a lot in the tread. I’ll have to hose it off when I get home. I sigh heavily. Guess who’s going to smell like cow poop all day?

  “There’s a hose outside. Follow me and I’ll give you a hand,” the cowboy offers.

  I stare at my shoe. I don’t to walk around all day like this. I take him up on his offer. “Sure.”

  I follow him outside to the hose. “Sit here,” he tells me, indicating an overturned wooden crate. I slip off my shoe. He takes it and turns the water on slow. He pulls out his bowie knife and works the tip between the treads.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I say.

  “It was my cow that shit in the middle of the floor. I was on my way to get the scooper when you stepped in it, so I feel responsible. My name’s Earl, by the way.”

  Earl is the real deal kind of cowboy. He’s wearing Wranglers, a belt buckle the size of a dinner plate, a blue shirt with white piping and scroll work, and scuffed boots.

  “I’m Jamie Bravo,” I say.

  “You’re that private detective looking for Lehane Noster, aren’t you?”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “I think he got himself killed and I know who did it,” he says as he scrapes shit off my shoes.

  I perk up. “Really? I’d love to hear your take on it.” I figure the more heads working on this the better. And who knows what he’s heard around the barns?

  “I think it’s that Caroline woman. She hates Lehane because he always wins. He’s the best, why shouldn’t he win every year? I trust them judges. They pride themselves on being non-partisan. You just look at the difference between Lehane and the others and you can see for yourself that he’s the best,” he says. “Lehane is the nicest guy you’d ever hope to meet. He told me himself that he was going to retire after this year’s competition. He’s a self-made millionaire from all that butter money. Damn right, he should be, too.”

  “Did you see her hanging around him a lot before he disappeared?”

  “Before he got himself murdered, you mean. Naw, they don’t talk. Lehane’s tried to be friendly to her, but she won’t have it. He done gave up.” He rinses my shoe off, examines his work, then pulls out a few remaining stragglers of cow poop with the knife.

  “You ever see Caroline around the butter barn when she shouldn’t be?”

  “I got my travel trailer out back, so I’m staying on the fairgrounds. I did see her here late one night. Both of us did.”

  I hope by both, he doesn’t mean his cow. “Who is the both of you?”

  “Me and Lehane. We were having a cold one sitting outside my trailer. He was the one that saw her. I remember him wondering why she was skulking around the butter barn after it was closed.”

  “What night was that?”

  “It would’ve been Sunday night. We was both tuckered out. Weekends are rough. Lots of folks passing through. He’d won the semis and came over to celebrate with me. That was the last time I saw him. I just figured he was busy because of the big competition on Saturday. I didn’t think much of it then. Maybe I should’ve.” He hands me back a clean shoe and shakes his head. “I should’ve known better and now he’s gone.”

  “It’s not your fault. I’m going to find out what happened. Don’t you worry.”

  “I liked Lehane. He was a good guy.”

  “He sounds like it.”

  “You look into that bitch… pardon my French… Caroline Swank. I’m telling you, I know it’s her. My big toe has been aching something fierce and that’s when I know something bad has happened.”

  “Keep your eyes peeled for anything untoward you see.”

  “I sure will.”

  I put my shoe on and thank him.

  “Watch your step,” he says.

  I get the distinct feeling he’s talking about more than cow pies. “I will, thanks.”

  Betty has just finished up with the tour group, so my timing is great. “Jamie! How are you?” she says.

  “I’ll be better when I solve this case.”

  “I know. I just know something horrid has happened.” Her bottom lip quivers. I hope she doesn’t cry. My shoulder hasn’t dried yet from Travis’s tears.

  “I think we should be prepared,” I say.

  She nods and straightens her shoulders. “You’re right.”

  “I need to have the key to the butter barn. I’ve got a forensic guy coming in to check…” I bite my lip not certain how to say the rest of what we both know. Everyone that’s watched a crime drama knows what I’m planning on doing and what we’re looking for.

  “I understand,” she says. “I’ll get you the key.”

  “I know you know this, but we have to keep this on the down-low. We don’t want to tip off anyone.”

  “It’s Caroline Swank, isn’t it?”

  “We need proof.”

  “Then please get it. Lehane was a good friend and a good man.”

  “I will avenge him,” I promise.

  She takes a key off a ring and hands it to me. “I know you will, dear. I have complete faith in you.”

  If only I had her confidence.

  ***

  It takes me half an hour of wandering around the parking lot to finally locate Silver. Again, she has been sandwiched between two large pickup trucks. “Oh, my god, there you are,” I say, gratefully patting her hood and climbing inside.

  I roll down the windows and turn on the air conditioning, waiting until it cools off before heading back into town. The streets shimmer from the heat.

  I hope that Del is home and she’s alone and awake. Is she really a narcoleptic or does she just not get enough sleep? I feel like I can’t trust Veronica about any part of this case. Not that she’s trustworthy on most things, but this case is weird, and I aim to find out why.

  I turn down the street that Del lives on. The Lamborghini is in the driveway. I park on the street a block away. I don’t want to tip her off by revealing my car in case I ha
ve to continue my surveillance. I walk the block and my back and butt are soaked with sweat. The back makes sense and is a usual sweaty place—the butt is a nervous tic I have. Whenever I get stressed my butt sweats. It’s an occupational hazard. I take a deep breath, pull my underwear out of my crack, and ring the bell. I wait. Maybe the red-haired mystery woman picked her up already for an afternoon tryst. I ring the bell again.

  Del opens the door. She’s wearing nothing but a towel. It barely covers anything. One of her nipples is peeping at me.

  “Didn’t get enough?” Del asks.

  She must not be able to see very well if she’s mistaking me for the redhead. “Uh, I’m pretty sure you’re not referring to me.”

  She giggles. “Oh, no, I’m not, but I could remedy that,” she says in a flirty voice.

  “Uh…” I say. I’m at a loss. Maybe she really is a nymphomaniac. It’s evident she’s already had nookie and now she’s flirting for more nookie? “Uh…” I try again.

  “What can I help you with? Are you selling vacuum cleaners, because I already have one. If you’re selling sex toys, I’m all about that.”

  “Uh, no. I’m not,” I manage to squeak out.

  “So?” she says, putting one hand on her hip and staring at me suggestively.

  “I’m working for your lawyer, Veronica, and I’d like to talk to you,” I say.

  “You’re a friend of Veronica’s! Well, why didn’t you say so?”

  “Uh…” I say. It’s all I keep managing to get out. An attractive woman in a too-short towel tends to fluster me.

  “Come on in,” Del says, opening the door wider. She doesn’t move back. I have to squeeze between her and the door, trying not to brush up against her. I have the feeling she’s disappointed.

  “Please have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the sofa, “while I slip into something comfortable.”

  “Sure,” I say and take a seat on the couch, then change my mind and choose the nearby chair. Couches can be danger zones if you get trapped by a woman like Del. I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. I was almost seduced by a Mafia wife once while on assignment. There’s a couple of things I’ve learned and one of them is you don’t sleep with anyone’s wife, especially a mobster’s. No more couches for me.

  I wait and try to formulate questions in my head. I should’ve written them down because now that I’m here they all seem to have flown away. I bite my lip and think. Before I get myself together, Del returns wearing booty shorts and a halter top. She looks like Daisy Duke. She has legs for miles and a lot of cleavage. Now I really can’t think.

  She plops down on the couch, crosses her legs, and stares at me suggestively. “What would you like…,” she pauses, “to drink.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Then what’s on your mind?”

  “Uh, well, uh…” I’m making a mess of this. I get a grip and blurt, “What is your relationship with Veronica? I mean, I know she’s your lawyer but is there more to it?” I figure that’s a good place to start. What does Veronica want me to find out about this woman? None of this makes any sense.

  “Sure there is, but it’s not what you’re thinking.” She uncrosses her legs and then re-crosses them.

  “What am I thinking?” I ask because I don’t honestly know what I’m thinking.

  “That it has to do with love,” Del says.

  I’m confused. “You’re in love with Veronica or you’re not in love with Veronica?”

  “No, it’s not love,” Del says. She laughs. “It’s so much more. It’s about power and control and trust. And play.”

  “Play?”

  “Role-play,” she corrects.

  Now I’m super-confused. Is this the secret that Veronica doesn’t want revealed in court? Would role-playing stain Del’s character? “What exactly is Veronica doing for you?”

  “Oh, lots of things.” She smiles suggestively.

  “Like what?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

  “I could show you if you’d like?”

  “Uh…” I say, uncertain. “Maybe some other time. What are you charged with? I mean why is Veronica representing you?”

  “She’s not. I already have an agent,” she says. She pats the couch next to her. “Why don’t you sit over here by me? It’ll be easier to talk.”

  “I’m fine here. What do you mean you have an agent?”

  “I need one to organize events and hook me up with clients. My agent does all the vetting. You wouldn’t believe the number of perverts and creeps out there.”

  “Where does Veronica fit into this?”

  “She’s one of my clients.”

  “Clients?”

  Del studies me. “Do you even know what I do?”

  “Not really.”

  “I’m a dominatrix and I do role-play if the client wants it. A lot of people do the role-play and some toys and others…well, you know.”

  I’m afraid to ask which one Veronica’s into. Del saves me by adding, “Veronica and I role-play. I take it she didn’t tell you about your part.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She wanted to be followed. That was her fantasy. You know motels and quick pickups. Something seedy. And a Private Investigator following her. It was a release for her to step away from her high-class self. She’s growing as a sexual being and I’m helping her.”

  I digest this information. “She wanted me to follow you guys?”

  “Of course. I assumed you knew. I wasn’t aware you were being left in the proverbial dark,” Del says. “I suppose that heightened the experience for her. I do not condone what she’s done and because I’m aware of the situation I will have to end our relationship. I have very strict rules.”

  Oh my, I think. Veronica’s going to be furious with me. “Can you let her down softly?”

  “I’m a professional. I’ll take care of it. I hope you’ll accept my apologies. I’d like to make it up to you. I could give you a coupon for your first visit if you’d like.” She smiles suggestively.

  “Maybe next time,” I say. “I should go.”

  She pulls her card from her ample cleavage. “Call anytime.”

  I almost trip over myself trying to get out of there.

  Chapter Eleven

  I should’ve known better than to go to my office. Veronica is there, and her displeasure is evident. She’s thrown away all my pens, broken all my pencils, dumped my spider plant all over the floor, and smashed its pot.

  “What the hell?” I ask, knowing the minute it comes out of my mouth that it was the wrong thing to say. I try to soften my approach by saying, “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” she yells, her voice shrill with fury. “What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. You’ve destroyed my sex life, that’s what. How could you do that? I should’ve known better than to hire you. I needed a professional, not someone like you who is playing at being a detective.” She stomps her feet like a two-year-old having a tantrum.

  She’s insulting me and my professionalism? She’s apparently forgotten that I rescued her from a murder rap. I feel my anger growing. I look around my destroyed office. The plant really pisses me off. What did the spider plant ever do to her? Not to mention that London gave me that plant.

  I readily admit what I am about to do is not mature, but in my defense, it is the only thing available....

  I pick up a handful of potting soil and throw it straight in her face. It hits the mark even better than I had planned. Veronica is still yelling at me. Her open mouth proves a perfect target. She sputters and tries to spit out the dirt. It sticks on her tongue. I can’t help myself. I laugh. Veronica spits more out. I’d offer her a glass of water, but it’ll only turn it to mud. Instead, I take the coward’s way out and run. I hear her scream what I assume is an obscenity—it’s hard to tell with all that dirt in her mouth.

  ***

  I’m exhausted when I get home. I decide to take a nap. It’s going to be a long night and I don’t want to yaw
n my way through it. London left a message on my phone that tonight’s forensics is all set. She and the forensic tech, Ben, will meet us at midnight at the butter barn. Veronica the cat sits on my chest until I fall asleep. I can’t tell if she’s trying to make me feel better or she just likes impeding my breathing.

  I sit straight up when my alarm goes off at six o’clock. Travis and Michael are in the kitchen giggling. They’ve both got the night off, so they can help with the butter barn caper. I’m not nearly as excited as they are.

  I rub my eyes and stumble into the kitchen. “Coffee,” I croak.

  “What the hell happened to you? You look like dog poop,” Travis says. “I’ll make coffee.”

  “Please and thank you,” I say and slump down in the kitchen chair.

  Michael rubs my shoulders. “Talk to Uncle Mikey. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I just had a really bad day,” I say, easing into the massage.

  Travis sets a mug of coffee in front of me. Then he sits down next to me. “Talking about it might help.”

  He’s pretending to be concerned, but I know he’s just being nosy. At this point I don’t care. I talk. “To start with, I stepped in a big glob of cow poop, then I found out Veronica is seeing a dominatrix, and I was part of the role-play unbeknownst to both Del the dominatrix and myself. Del fired Veronica as a client because she broke the rules. Then Veronica wrecked my office because she was furious and then I threw a handful of dirt right in her open mouth and ran away.”

  “Wow, that is a big day,” Michael says.

  “Points for hitting the target,” Travis says. “I wish I could’ve been there.” He pouts.

  “It was pretty impressive,” I say. “But luck had more to do with it.”

  “She deserved it. I cannot abide by the destruction of personal property,” Michael says. “But I would’ve liked to have seen it, too. I miss all the good stuff…” Michael stops. “Or not.” He stops rubbing my shoulders and races from the room.

  “What’s that about?” I ask Travis.

  He’s busy on his phone and doesn’t answer. “Oh, my. Oh my, my,” he mumbles, staring down at the phone’s screen. “Our Veronica has been a very naughty girl.”