Casket Case (30 page)

“What are you doing?” I demanded. “How did you get in here?”

“I’m running fresh water for your dog. You shouldn’t leave his bowl empty, even when you take him off with you. You might forget to fill it when you come home.” He reached down and patted Big Boy on the head.

“He’s a friendly fellow, especially to people who bring him hamburger.” George set Big Boy’s water bowl on the floor. “I came in through the bathroom window. Someone will have to replace the glass, but it won’t be you.” George walked from the kitchen area into the living room. “Your face looks terrible,” he said, “but it won’t matter.”

“Why are you here?” I backed against the door.

“So you can tell me exactly what you told Pearl. You’ve upset her tremendously. As a matter of fact, Pearl was so disturbed that she’s drunk. I left her passed out on our bed. She kept saying your name and crying. What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t
do
anything. She just knows what I learned about you.”

“How’d you learn anything about me?”

“Surely you know that it’s as easy to check a person’s background on the Internet as it is to create a new persona and scam poor widow ladies out of their property and life’s savings.”

“You don’t understand. I really love Pearl.” His tone was sincere, but the smile on his face wasn’t.

“If you love Pearl so much, why’d you beat Ms. Lucas to death to stop the sale of Pearl’s home and beachfront property?”

“What makes you think I killed Ms. Lucas?”

“It’s pretty obvious. You’re strong enough, no one knows where you were that morning, and you telling Pearl you didn’t want her money was nothing but lies. You never counted on her deciding to liquidate everything and give the money to charity. When you couldn’t stop Pearl from selling, you stopped Ms. Lucas from buying.”

“And now I have to stop you from talking. I have to stop you and convince Pearl that nothing you told her was true.” George had gradually walked over to me, close enough that we were so face-to-face that I could feel and smell his breath as he spoke. “I’m lucky my lady love has a taste for alcohol. It makes her easier to manipulate and makes a future possible accident more believable. I felt blessed when she acknowledged her alcoholism and I convinced her that her drinking problem had been due to unhappiness. She could have a little drink now that she was going to live happily ever after. It didn’t take but one to knock her slap off the wagon.” He grinned. “But you know too much. I have to silence you.”

“What if my brother knows what I learned?”

“Then I’ll have to stop him, too.”

I realized then that bringing Frank into the picture wouldn’t save me. It was more likely to end up with both of us dead.

“I haven’t really told him anything, and I don’t have to let anyone else know about you,” I lied. “I can deny to Pearl that I ever said anything. She was drinking. You’re right. She can be convinced that it never happened.”

He laughed. Not the pleasant, charming sound I’d heard from him before. This was maniacal. “All I have to do is decide how to make your death look like an accident.”

George looked around. Big Boy finished lapping up water, walked to me, and lay down on the floor beside me in front of the door.

“Put your dog outside unless you want him dead, too.”

“He never goes out without his leash. I leave him in the bathroom sometimes. Can I put him there?”

“Just do it. I don’t want that big hound jumping me. I don’t have any more hamburger in my pocket.” That previously charming man looked and sounded meaner than anyone I’d ever encountered. More than mean. Wicked and evil.

I took Big Boy by his collar and led him to the bathroom. There’s something weird about me. Well, some folks would say I have lots of strange characteristics. The one that took over right then was my habit of throwing up when I’m frightened. Puh-leeze. If I could control it, I would.

It seemed a better idea to heave in the bathroom instead of all over my kitchen or living room. I was hugged over the toilet like a college freshman at a frat party when two strong hands pulled me upright.

“What are you doing? Why are you making yourself do that? I didn’t poison you.”

“You just scare me. I barf when I’m frightened.”

“Oh.” He wet a washcloth and wiped my face. That sounds gentle, but it wasn’t. He hurt my bruises then pulled my hair as he grabbed it and dragged me backward to the living room.

“Why’d you come poking around, watching me? Why’d you try to run me off the road?” I asked.

“I haven’t had time to follow you and watch you. Between Pearl and Dorcas Lucas, I’ve had my hands full. I was lucky to run into Dorcas and get her to agree to go with me to your friend’s place. I’m still expecting that local yokel sheriff to blame Dorcas’s death on your blind buddy.”

He jerked me tighter against him with one arm and used his other hand to pull a gun from his pocket. A tiny snub-nosed revolver.

“No one will believe I died accidentally of a gunshot wound,” I said. “I’ve been around guns my whole life.”

“Then it will have to be suicide.” He pointed the weapon at me and said, “Get some paper and a pen.”

He followed me into the kitchen, where I took down my magnet grocery list pad and pencil that hung on the refrigerator. We sat at the table, and he moved in closer, pressing the gun against my cheek. He dictated. I wrote:

 
“Is that your legal name?” George asked.

“Not really.”

“Then sign it with your legal name.”

That didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. It’s not like the note was a will or anything legal, but I was in no position to argue. I drew a line through the signature and signed “Calamine Lotion Parrish” beneath it.

That suicide note was as bad as the original part of the perfect country song. The song that didn’t say anything about rain or trains or Mama. That note didn’t say anything about love or caring. Nothing about Jane, Daddy, or my brothers, and it didn’t say who would take care of Big Boy with me gone. Anyone who knew me well would know those weren’t my words when they read it.
Duh.
What difference did that make after I was already dead?

That little snub-nosed H&R revolver might be a sissy gun, but with nine shots of .22 bullets at close range, I was sure it would work. But then, who could empty nine shots into their own skull? Would Carter shoot and wait to see if it killed me before firing again?

Forensics can tell everything nowadays, including what shot was fired first and what shot killed the victim. Couldn’t be suicide if all nine shots were fired and the second one was deadly. My family would never believe I’d committed suicide anyway, and even if they did, they definitely wouldn’t think I’d used that gun instead of one of my own. Well, actually one I’d borrowed from Daddy.

All these thoughts of not only dying, but suffering between shots made my stomach rumble again. To be polite about it, I regurgitated on my suicide note.

“What the . . . ?” Carter said and jumped back. He yanked me into a headlock and a little bit of vomit dribbled onto his sleeve. He looked at it and scowled in disgust, then he placed the gun against my temple. My heart pounded. I closed my eyes.

The gun went off.

Amazing!

I didn’t feel a thing.

I opened my eyes. George had been yanked away from me. The bullet smashed through my kitchen window. The gun clattered to the floor. George and another man struggled from the kitchen into the living room. I dared not follow and wished again that I had a door to the outside from the kitchen. I complained about that every time I had to take my trash out the front door. Now I needed another exit not for trash, but to let me escape the apartment without going through that fight.

Picking up the revolver, I peeked around the kitchen door. For an instant, I’d imagined that Levi Pinckney had rescued me, but George’s assailant was much bigger than Levi. The ponytail and beard identified Dennis Sharpe. I wanted to get a clear shot at George, but I didn’t want to kill him or harm Dennis.

I had the gun sighted, waiting for the perfect opportunity, when Dennis pulled out a great big hunting knife. He rammed it into George’s belly and yanked it straight up to his chin. I turned away and dropped the revolver.

George Carter was scum. He’d killed women before. Preyed on older, widowed ladies, the loneliest people in society. He would have murdered both Pearl and me. I see corpses every day at work, but I couldn’t look at George Carter’s gutted body lying on the floor with a pool of dark red soaking through my old avocado green shag carpet. The coppery smell of blood seeped through the other death odors.

“I
was just in time,” Dennis Sharpe said, wiping the blade of his hunting knife with a tea towel he’d pulled from a rack over the kitchen sink. “That man would have killed you, ruined that pretty face and your perfect body.” He put the knife into the holder attached to the belt loop on his brown cargo pants. He wasn’t wearing a belt, just those leather suspenders over a gray T-shirt.

“He was going to murder me!” I gasped.

“I heard him,” Dennis said and tossed the dishcloth into the sink. “Looks like you got banged up pretty bad in that car wreck.”

“I did.”

“You’re still beautiful and got that great body.”

Reaching for the telephone, I said, “I’ll dial 911.”

“No!” His tone wasn’t pleasant now.

“You stabbed him in defense of me. I’ll tell them what happened.”

“No, I don’t want the law over here. Just leave him where he is. I’ll take you to my place. You’ll be safe.”

“I’m safe here now. You stopped George from hurting me.” The man had saved my life, but deep inside, instead of appreciation, I felt fear.

“You run around getting into too much trouble. I liked your looks when I saw you at the beach with your red-haired friend. I shot your watermelon just to scare the two of you and watch you jump around like you did. When I went to talk to Mr. Middleton about freeze-drying and recognized you as the beautiful blonde from the beach, I knew you’d be perfect for me. I wanted you to be mine, but you barely even glanced at me.”

He smiled, but it was a crazy, wicked expression. “I still want you forever even if you did change your hair. I want to protect you from getting into trouble again, but I have to make a living, can’t spend my days and nights following you around to take care of you.”

Gut instinct took over. Dennis Sharpe was a few crayons short of a pack, missing the red in his Crayolas. He’d just saved my life, but I had no intention of going over to his place. At that moment, I wanted Daddy, all my brothers, and Sheriff Harmon to rush in and protect me. The wish didn’t come true. I tried talking my way out of what I knew was a bad situation. Maybe even a deadly one.

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” I said in as sweet a tone as I could muster. “Why don’t we go out sometime? Maybe see a movie.” If I hadn’t been so scared, I’d have gagged at the sugary sweetness of my voice. My stomach was already retching with fear.

“That won’t solve anything. I think about you all the time. Why do you think I showed up when I did? I’ve been following you, watching you. I was looking through the side window when Carter threatened you. If he killed Ms. Lucas like you said, he would have killed you, too.”

“I know. That’s why we need to call the sheriff and let him know you saved me. You’re a hero.” I swear that last word was as close as I’ve ever gotten to being a Magnolia Mouth.

“No, I’m taking you with me. When they find Carter in here and you gone, they’ll never think of me.”

I stepped away from him, easing closer to the front door, but he snatched my arm and yanked me tight against him. With his other hand, he pulled the freshly wiped knife from its case and held it up in front of me. I saw “D S” carved into the handle before he pressed the blade to my neck.

“I’ve got my van out front. Don’t make me hurt you. I don’t want to mess up your perfect body.”

The tip of the knife scratched against my throat.

Sometimes I’m a smart aleck, flippant, and I minimize things, but I was scared out of my mind and don’t mind admitting it. I’d always felt weird around Dennis Sharpe, and he was freaking me out. He’d killed George Carter in my defense, but I felt as threatened by him as I had by George.

Looking around the room frantically, my gaze settled on the squirrels Otis had made me bring home from the mortuary. Mother and baby mounted forever on the tree branch by Dennis Sharpe. Carefree Pets.

“Oh, Dennis, let’s take the squirrels with us. It was your first present to me. I want them.” I forced myself to lightly touch his arm, and it was all I could do not to flinch, but my touch made him drop the knife.