Neighing with Fire: A Mystery (Colleen McCabe Series) (2 page)

Her eyes narrowed to slits. She tapped Sparky on his rump to get his attention and pointed to her SUV. “Go to the car.”

Sparky cocked his head, gazed longingly at Denny’s plate of food, and then did as commanded and flopped in the sand next to the vehicle.

Denny popped the meat into his own mouth and grinned at her while chewing.

“You find it amusing to tease animals?” she asked with an edge to her voice.

Denny wiped the back of his neck with a towel, then studied her while taking a long sip of tea. “Why are you really here?”

Before she could answer, a familiar pickup slowed and stopped at the end of the long driveway. Sparky hopped up, barked, and then, recognizing the driver, wagged his tail. Oh no, Colleen thought, and glanced at Denny squinting at the new arrival and reaching for his glasses.

“It appears that person might be lost. I’ll see if I can help,” she said and tried to appear nonchalant as she hurried away.

As she approached the pickup, her pupils widened. Sitting in the front seat was Myrtle Crepe poorly disguised as a rather eccentric man. Her former teacher sported fake sideburns, the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the 1970s, and a dark, thick wig that Colleen suspected came from an Elvis Halloween costume. To complete her ensemble, Myrtle wore a bright orange man’s bowling shirt several sizes too large with what appeared to be a pillow stuffed underneath for a belly.

“What are you doing here, Myrtle? And why are you dressed like that?” Colleen asked, irritated that Myrtle’s presence might blow her cover. Her brows furrowed. Myrtle’s nose was growing longer in the June heat. “What’s happening to your nose?”

“Rich taught me last summer how to apply derma wax to make moles and stuff. Pretty good, if I do say so myself,” Myrtle said.

Rich Bailey had been the mortician at Bailey and Sons Funeral Services and the community theater’s makeup artist until his untimely death last summer. She was certain Rich wouldn’t have been impressed with his pupil’s skills.

“You’re a master of disguise. Are you sure you did it right?” She watched Myrtle’s fake nose slowly melting over her upper lip.

“I had to use gelatin, but it works just as well.”

“Maybe,” Colleen said, pressing on the end of the Silly Putty-like nose to keep it from falling off of Myrtle’s face.

“Stop that,” Myrtle said, swatting at her hand. Myrtle checked her nose in the rearview mirror. “Now look what you’ve done.”

Colleen glanced at Denny as Myrtle worked on fixing her misshapen snout. Denny squinted at them through his glasses. She positioned herself near the window to block as much of Denny’s view of Myrtle as possible. “I thought we agreed you’d stay away,” she whispered.

“That’s before I remembered how good I am at masquerading. Remember when I was your Uncle Mitch and—”

“Stop!” She didn’t need to reexperience the time when Myrtle had shown up at the station in disguise and pretending to be Colleen’s uncle. Living through it once had been bad enough. “Listen. You need to get out of here. Denny’s shrewd. He’ll see through your getup in a second. He already thinks I’m here spying for Pinky.”

“Pinky Salvatore? What’s he got to do with anything?”

“I was about to find out when you showed up. Now go. You’ve been here too long as it is. I’ll call you if I find anything out.”

“I tell you, if he’s been hurting the horses—”

“Myrtle!” Colleen said and slammed her hand against the pickup.

“Okay okay. I’m going. But mark my words: if someone doesn’t do something about that man, I will.” And with that Myrtle hit the gas.

Myrtle disappeared behind a dune. Given how long she had spent with Myrtle, it would be hard to convince Denny that her conversation with the “man” in the pickup had been about directions. Colleen made her way back, unsure of what story would fool him. She had never been good at lying.

“Boyfriend trouble?” he asked with a smirk when she reached him.

“What? No.” Clearly Denny was in need of an updated prescription on his glasses. “He was searching for … the access road. You know how lost people can get up here.”

Denny removed his spectacles and raised a brow. “You and I both know that fella wasn’t in need of directions.”

Great, she thought. Way to blow my cover, Myrtle.

“I’ve seen that pickup a lot lately,” he added.

“You have?” she asked, concerned.

“Don’t you worry. I’m not afraid of some stalker. Probably one of Salvatore’s guys. Speaking of which … I’m still waiting to hear the real reason for your visit.” He folded his arms over his massive chest and waited.

Maybe she was tired of the charade or maybe she was plain tired, but she figured she might as well ask him directly if he had been interfering with the wild horses. “It’s about the—”

Sparky woofed. She turned to see Raymond, the famous lone mule in Carova, with three mares. Years ago Raymond had appeared with the herd and attracted his own harem of admirers. He was known to get into scuffles with the larger stallions over territory. Despite the construction noise and Sparky barking and nipping at his heels, Raymond plodded up the driveway toward the property. One of the workers on the second floor of the house whistled and, in violation of the ordinance against feeding the horses, threw an apple down. The mule startled and Sparky growled at the apple as it rolled to a stop. One member of the crew, likely the perpetrator of the apple-tossing crime, laughed at the animals’ reactions but the rest shook their heads and resumed working.

“Sparky heel!” Colleen called.

The dog lowered the front half of his body in true Border collie herding mode and stood his ground.

“Sparky,” she said again, this time in a stern warning tone, and the dog came running with his tail wagging. She rubbed her canine buddy’s side and watched with concern as Raymond retrieved the apple and then withdrew with his harem.

“Stupid fella,” Denny said as the mule departed. “Although you gotta admire his way with the ladies.”

Her cheeks flushed red with anger. “You know it’s against the law to interfere with the horses.”

“I’ll do what I want—to anything or anyone who comes on my property.” He locked eyes with her.

Colleen’s heart rate quickened. Was he threatening her?

He heaved his body from the metal folding chair that had sunk into the sand under his weight and pushed his thumbs into the belt loops of his pants. She couldn’t help notice Denny’s large belt buckle of the smiling Porky Pig Looney Tunes cartoon surrounded by the words
THAT’S ALL FOLKS!
shining in the sunlight.

“You like what you see?” he said, proudly thrusting his midsection in her direction.

She shuddered slightly in disgust. One thing was abundantly clear … Denny lacked any of the chivalry of his rival.

His smile faded to a scowl. “You tell Salvatore I’m not giving up on that property, and he better surrender his claim to it if he knows what’s good for him.”

What was Denny talking about? She wasn’t aware of any property dispute between the two developers. She studied his face. Perspiration beaded on his upper lip and the left side of his mouth twitched slightly.

“Will there be anything else?” he asked through clenched teeth. “Some of us have work.”

She took a slow, deep breath. She had done as Myrtle had asked. She had checked on Denny’s construction site and the horses. There was no point getting into an altercation.

“No,” she said. “But I suggest you keep an eye on your properties.”

“Don’t you go worrying your pretty little head about me,” he said and held up a fist. “I know this land and the people who live here like the back of my own hand. If something was amiss, I’d catch wind of it.”

“Then I won’t need to speak with you further.” She touched Sparky’s neck and turned away.

“Tell Salvatore that if he wants to spy on me he shouldn’t send a girl to do his dirty work,” he called after her.

She contemplated laying into the man, but instead marched to her SUV, opened the door, hopped in after Sparky, and slammed the door closed. It wouldn’t do for her to be Denny’s enemy … although he had just become hers.

She backed onto the sandy road. It would be good to get away from Denny and the noise of the construction site. The visit had given her a headache. A horn blew signaling the crew that it was time for their lunch break. The hammering, sawing, and drilling ceased. It was then that they all heard it—a woman’s high-pitched scream.

She slammed on the brakes. Two workers on the second floor hurried to the edge of what would soon be a balcony and pointed to a house a short distance beyond several dunes. She hit the gas, sending sand flying, and sped toward the spot.

Two high dunes marked the driveway entrance and made it difficult to see anything but the roof of the house. She parked on the shoulder in case emergency vehicles needed access to the driveway and sprinted toward the sounds of yelling coming from the ocean side. Sparky took the lead and disappeared behind the house.

She rounded a corner and was surprised to find the back area deserted. The sea breeze carried with it excited voices from the beach. She dashed to a flight of stairs that led to the ocean and took the sagging wooden steps two at a time, slipping in the sand that now covered them.

“Stop!” came a voice from below when she reached the top.

She slid to a halt and grabbed the railing to keep from falling. Sparky barked from below and circled a man and woman in their forties and their golden retriever. With one hand the man held the woman’s torso in a protective gesture and with the other the golden retriever’s collar. The woman stared with her hands to her mouth at the space under the steps.

“Sparky, stay,” Colleen said. The dog whimpered but stopped circling and sat next to the golden retriever. “What’s going on?” she called to the man and woman.

“It’s a body!” the woman blurted out, then covered her mouth again.

“Or what’s left of it,” said the man.

Had a dolphin or some other sea creature washed ashore in last night’s storm? She inched to the end of the walkway, peered over the railing, and tilted her head. Wooden boards from the original walkway were scattered over the sand but she couldn’t see anything that resembled a body. Colleen clutched the railing, leaned over it to get a better look, and then saw what had grabbed the couple’s attention. Protruding from the area beneath the double walkways was no dolphin or shark but the outstretched fingers of a shriveled and ashen human hand.

Chapter 2

As Colleen helped
Bill Dorman, the Currituck County Sheriff with whom she shared a nascent romantic relationship, she couldn’t help think that if not for the unusually long-reaching waves of Tropical Storm Ana, the body might have remained safely entombed under the walkway forever. She and Bill tied tarps to metal stakes hammered into the wet beach sand as Bill’s deputy, Rodney Warren, finished roping off the perimeter of the wooden stairs. With any luck, their work would protect the body and scene from the weather and prying eyes of vacationers until the medical examiner’s team arrived. She gazed at the shoulder, arm, and hand poking out from the sand. Though she was no forensics expert, she guessed that the body had been buried for some time.

“Wonder how long it’s been under there,” Rodney said softly so as not to be heard by Martin and Laurie Templeton, the couple who had discovered the body.

“The ME should be able to tell us once he’s done some testing,” Bill replied, also keeping his voice low.

“How long until he gets here?” she asked, and peered at the sun that had broken through the dissipating storm clouds. She wondered what the June heat and humidity would do to the body now that it had been uncovered.

“Let’s hope soon, before this draws too much unwanted attention,” Bill said, eyeing the observant couple and their curious golden retriever.

“Howdy, folks,” came a voice from around a nearby dune.

“Speaking of unwelcome attention,” Colleen muttered under her breath, protectively leashing Sparky.

Bill and Rodney looked at her with raised brows. Denny Custis lumbered toward them with one of his goons in tow.

“I’ll handle this,” Bill said and moved away.

Rodney stepped closer to her as Bill shook hands with Denny. “I take it you don’t like Mr. Custis much.”

“Is it that obvious?” She had never been good at hiding her emotions.

“Between you and me, I don’t have much use for Custis myself.”

She was about to ask him why but Bill and Denny were coming their way. Denny’s man remained behind and surveyed the beach.

“Good to see you, Rodney,” Denny said. Rodney forced a nod. Denny turned to Colleen and added, “Miss.”

She folded her arms and squeezed Sparky’s lead tight in her hands. Once she had a bad opinion of someone, it took a lot to change it. The fact that Rodney apparently shared her feelings only served to strengthen them.

“I heard the commotion earlier when chatting with the lady here. Came to check out what all the fuss was about.”

“You didn’t tell me you were talking to Denny,” Bill said to her.

“With an arsonist floating around the county, I wanted to make sure he’s keeping an eye on his abandoned properties. Isn’t that right, Mr. Custis?”

“Whatever you say, darling,” Denny said, all oozy, sweaty charm. He peered through a gap between two tarps. “Woowee, seems someone took a dirt nap. That’s one nasty carcass.”

She studied Denny. Could he really see the body without his glasses? If so, how had his vision improved so quickly from their earlier meeting?

“Any idea what happened?” Denny asked.

“No,” Bill said and rubbed his forearm.

The gesture was a sign Bill was uncomfortable with the conversation. Good, she thought. Maybe Bill will get the man to leave.

“How long do you think the fella’s been there?”

“How do you know it’s a man?” she asked, studying Denny intently.

“I just figured. Not often you find ladies ending up dead like that.”

“Not often you find gentlemen either,” she said.

“Good point,” Rodney said, and stepped a little behind Colleen as if backing her up for a fight.