Deep-Fried Homicide (The Laurel Falls Mysteries Book 1) (10 page)

Rachel was rather short – only topping out at five-three – but she had done some Parkour with Rick for a while. Aside from that, her only hope of getting over the wall was to find a tree branch near enough to the fence that she could leap from it to the top of the wall.

She skirted the brick wall, keeping in the shadows and out of the wash of streetlamp light. It was a small town, most of which had come through her diner door more than once. If someone saw her and mentioned it to Rick…

About a hundred feet from the front corner of the wall stood an old oak tree. It had fat branches and a trunk that looked like dinosaurs had once sharpened their claws on it. She could not have asked for a better tree.

The lowest branch was about six feet off the ground and she gave a little test jump to see just how good a grip on it she could get. She almost squealed when the leap brought her eye-to-branch and she nearly forgot to reach out and grab the thing in all her excitement. Then it was a mere swing of her legs and she was sitting astride the thing, stifling a giggle at how silly she felt.

What in the heck are you doing, Rach? You must be crazy!

She tested the branch’s strength against her weight and finally gained her feet. There was another branch two feet to her right and several inches above her head. She grabbed onto it and used it to steady herself as she walked along the lower limb, keeping one eye on the other side of the wall. It wouldn’t do to drop over that wall straight onto someone.

As her courage and confidence grew, she stepped a little faster, finally letting go of the upper branch and jumping the last three feet to the top of the wall. She thanked her good genes for small feet as she landed soundly on the eight-inch width of the wall’s top. Then she merely hopped down, sticking the landing like a superhero and smiling to herself.

I give that one a ten. Definitely a ten.

She backed up against the wall, standing in the darkness and scanning her surroundings for signs of movement. She wanted to spy on the interlopers, not have them spy on her. The wall offered a deep shadow for her to stand in and she hugged it as she made her way toward the back of the cemetery.

The wall melted into the fence-and-stone affair and finally into the wrought-iron behemoth which had guarded the dead for over a hundred years. She heard voices then and froze in her tracks, listening and waiting. When the voices proved to be some distance away, she stepped quietly out of the shadows and made her way toward them.

There was laughter then and the sound of metal striking something not metal. Rachel slowed her steps and let her eyes sweep over the grounds as she went, trying to conceal herself behind trees and headstones whenever possible.

She came to a stop when finally she spotted the owners of the laughter and curse words. From behind a wide tree she could see them, four men and two trucks. One truck was dark and one was light, though she couldn’t tell what color they might be. The darkness was too pervasive to allow that. The men were mixed: two white, one black, one of Hispanic descent. The two trucks had been parked back bumper to back bumper, so she couldn’t read the license plates, if indeed they had plates.

She listened for a while, to the random and chaotic ramblings of the four men. She couldn’t hear everything they said, just a word here and there. She also couldn’t see behind the two trucks, couldn’t tell what they were doing or why.

She had already silenced her cell phone, but she pulled it out of her pocket now and turned on the video camera. The odds that she could catch even a blurry image of any of those men were slim. It was too dark and the most she could hope for was a few scant shadow-men. What she really wanted was to record what they were saying so she could play with it later. She turned on the video camera and let it record, playing with the zoom just in case she could come up with a workable image.

A quick breeze rustled the leaves above and ran an icy breath down the back of her shirt and over her spine. She shook it off and hunkered down, moving slowly and carefully forward. She wanted their faces in her camera.

She advanced to the next tree and then the next but she dared go no farther. If she was caught, she might never see the outside of the cemetery again.

“…tap a kidney, man,” were the first words she heard clearly and a quick glance up from the camera told her that she had heard them only because one of the men was headed straight for her.

She stopped the camera and ran…on her toes, just the way Rick had taught her. She was fast and quiet, though not completely silent.

“…the hell?” was the last thing she heard as she bolted through the graveyard, dodging trees and hurdling over headstones.

She didn’t stop even when she hit the place in the wall where she had come over. In her panic, she had failed to realize that she couldn’t rely on the tree to get her over the wall from inside the cemetery. Clearly, she would have to find another way.

Against the swell of fear in her chest, she held her breath and listened for the sound of pursuing footsteps. Hearing none, she calmed a bit, tried to force logic into her head in place of panic.

If there was a tree of the right proportions on the outside of the wall, it followed that there might well be one on the inside. She followed the wall to the front gates and then followed that section of wall to the next. Finding no tree, she went back to the gate and tested the chains to see if they would open at least wide enough that she might pass through.

They did not.

Her heart skipped a beat and she bit into her thumbnail, studying the problem. What she needed was a leg up. She needed something to step on. Hurriedly, she let her gaze travel around the graveyard, looking for a mausoleum, crypt, or tall headstone close enough to the fence to do her some good. Finding none, she chose the closest one she could find and ran at it.

No toes this time, her feet pounded the ground as she ran as fast as she could toward that tall headstone. Her timing had to be perfect or she would crash into it – or the wall – and probably break an ankle at the very least.

The headstone loomed, four feet off the ground and broader than the others. She leaped at the last second, landing a foot on the headstone and using her momentum to carry her into the air. She reached out desperately for the wall, wanting to grab onto it no matter how or where her body struck it.

As luck would have it, she arced toward the wall, reaching the apex about two feet shy of the wall. Her desperate scrabbling couldn’t put her fingertips on the top bricks, however, and she lost control, spinning her body at the last second so that her shoulder struck the wall with an echoing crunch. After that, she sort of slid down the wall until she hit the ground.

She sat there, rocking a bit and holding her shoulder. She bit back the cry that wanted so badly to break free and clamped her eyes shut. The resulting bruise would no doubt be impressive. She would need a good cover story for Rick when he saw it.

What she needed most right then was a way to get out of that cemetery. She just didn’t have the guts or the strength to try that leap again and she sure wasn’t going to make it through the narrow gap between the gates. Unless she wanted to call Macy and have her come down with a pair of bolt cutters and a whole lot of humiliation, there was only one thing to do.

R
achel watched from behind a headstone as the temporary caretaker unlocked the front gates. The sun had come almost an hour before and already the chill was leaving the air. Her clothes were damp from the humidity and dew and her shoulder hurt bad enough to make her wonder if it was dislocated.

Once he had unlocked the gates, the caretaker moved deeper into the cemetery, moving at a leisurely pace, his feet scuffing up leaves and slapping on the wet ground. Rachel changed her position so that the headstone would be between them as he moved, eyes ever watchful.

When finally the man had gone far enough that he wouldn’t see or hear her, she stepped out from behind the headstone and made for the gate. Thirty feet and she would be out, on her way to sweet freedom and hopefully a hot bath.

S
he had made good time getting home. Several hours spent in a cold, dark cemetery had made her grateful for quite a few things, not the least of which was indoor plumbing.

Once inside, she threw the lock on the front door and tossed her keys on the table next to it. From there, it was twenty feet to the sanctuary of her bathroom and she crossed that distance as fast as possible.

With a sigh of relief, she finished her ablutions and began peeling her clothes off and tossing them toward the laundry hamper. She missed with several pieces and didn’t even care, as she stood before the large mirror, turning this way and that so she could see the purple blossom on her shoulder.

She had landed against that wall with quite a bit of force but the size and depth of the mark left by that impact astounded her. Already, it had turned black over the bone and was spreading purple and yellow across part of her back and down her chest. Just to be on the safe side, she raised her arm to the side, then up to her head. She tested it again by raising it to the front and then the back. All seemed to be in order but then she was no doctor. She knew only that she would not be able to raise her arm or rotate it if she had broken or dislocated it.

Satisfied, she reached into the tub and put the stopper in, then turned on the hot water full force. For good measure, she dumped in some Epsom salts, hoping it might take some of the color out of the bruise and perhaps a bit of tomorrow’s discomfort away as well.

She had no plans aside from sinking into that delicious water and letting it soak her problems away. Then she would slide into her bed and try for some sleep, though she imagined that she would not have an easy time of that. Her head was spinning and she was keyed up, so much so that she let her mind wander over every possible outcome of her current discovery.

Halfway through the bath, she realized that she couldn’t safely predict which outcome would be the true one. She needed help on this one, more help than Rick could even offer. There was nothing to do but visit Sheriff Dooley and come clean about the whole thing. He had parts of the puzzle that she did not and now, thanks to her ill-spent night, she had pieces that he did not. They would have to share.

That decided, she stood up at once and wrapped a towel around herself. Rubbing gently to dry herself, she pulled the stopper with the toes of her right foot and then stepped onto the shaggy bath mat. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were puffy. Her only hope was to wear something presentable and hope for the best.

She hurried to the closet and dragged out a pair of jeans and a nice cashmere sweater, slipping both on with some degree of trouble. A brush was run through her hair and a spot of perfume applied, then she was on the hunt for her purse and shoes. The barefoot running shoes she had worn last night were still damp to the touch and so she put on some regular sneakers; mom shoes, she called them. White with slightly dirtied toes and bought for three bucks down at the superstore, they were serviceable and almost comfortable.

Then she was out the door, on a mission, focused. She would have to find a way to share her information – and, yes, her video – with the sheriff without admitting that she had broken into the cemetery. It would be a neat trick if she could pull it off.

The drive was quick. It was still early and even the working crowd had just begun to leave for work. By the time she wheeled into the parking lot of the sheriff’s station, she had just about figured out what she wanted to say.

Her feet pounded the pavement as she marched on the door, barely registering as the electric eye door opened whisper-quiet in order to let her pass. The desk was to her left and she wheeled toward it on one heel, smiling as she looked across the desk at the sergeant in charge.

“I need to speak to Sheriff Dooley,” she said smartly. “I have some information he might need on Horace’s murder.

“Your name?”

Irritated for a moment that he didn’t recognize her, then realizing that not everyone in town ate out, she answered, “Rachel Armstrong.”

The man picked up the phone and turned his back on her, as if that act alone would keep her from hearing what he was about to say. With a shake of her head, Rachel leaned on the counter and waited, listening as the sergeant explained the situation to the sheriff.

Then the door opposite her flew open, braced by the ham-hock hand of Sheriff Dooley himself. “Rachel! Why don’t you come on back?”

She smiled and started for the door, turning at the last second to grace the sergeant with her smile. “Thank you for your help, Sergeant.” Then she was through the door and trailing Dooley down the hall, he of the long legs and even longer stride.

He ushered her into his office and shut the door, then took up his appointed position behind the desk. He began rocking in his squeaky chair, fingers laced behind his head, his face dour and drooping. “Now, why don’t you tell me what it is you know, Miss…Rachel.”

“Well, I was very upset to hear of Horace’s murder and I figured there must be something going on out at that cemetery. I mean, Horace wasn’t murdered over nothing, you know. He must have seen something or known something…. So, I decided to go out and have a little look around. You know, just sort of watch the place for a while and see what turned up.”

“And you didn’t think I would have the place under surveillance?” His tone hadn’t changed but his eyes narrowed slightly and his jaw was set.

For a moment, Rachel thought the jig was up. Maybe his officers had been watching the place and maybe they saw her go over the wall and maybe he was just waiting for her to admit it so he could laugh at her. “Did you?” she asked, her own eyes narrowing, the corners of her mouth hinting at a grin.

“No.” Dooley sat forward and leaned his elbows on the desk, studying his fingers as he toyed with a pen. “So, you were out at the cemetery and…what did you see?”