Smoke (6 page)

The pig cake was beautiful, shaped like one of Disney’s three little ones, with a cute snout and curly tail, frosted in pink, with Drew’s name, spelled correctly, scrawled on its round belly. Immy was climbing into the van, balancing the cake to put it onto the front passenger seat, when her cell phone startled her. She nearly let the cake fall to the pavement, but managed to dig her phone out of her purse. It was Mother.

“Imogene, I am in extreme distress.”

Now what?

“Would you be a dear daughter and swing by the apothecary for an anti-diarrheal drug? Maybe also an anti-emetic. If there is an all-inclusive medicine, that would be best.”

Stomach trouble? Mother? She never had stomach trouble. Her vast abdomen was capable of taking in, Immy was sure, a small vehicle.

“I may have been poisoned.”

Shit! Who would poison Hortense Duckworthy?

* * *

Mother really was sick. Immy had never seen her so ill. She found her hunched over the toilet bowl, retching. Had her overeating finally caught up with her? Hortense grabbed for the bottle of Kaopectate the druggist had recommended to Immy. Instead of reading the directions, Hortense swirled the cap off and glugged from the bottle.

“Mother, there’s only so much you should take,” said Immy, but Hortense had set the bottle on the sink counter. With her weight she could probably absorb a lot.

“Do you suppose,” Hortense groaned, “someone is out to get me?”

This was not a good sign. The largest word in that sentence was only seven letters. “Mother, maybe I’d better call the doctor.”

“No, call the police. I want the perpetrator apprehended.”

The Kaopectate must be working. “Perpetrator” was four syllables. Immy dutifully dialed the non-emergency number for the Saltlick police station. The front desk woman, Tabitha, answered.

“Tabitha, Mother wants me to—”

“State your name, please.”

“It’s me, Immy.”

“First and last, and spell them please.”

Immy ground her teeth. Tabitha could be such a bitch. They’d gone to high school together, but when she was getting all official, Tabitha acted like Immy was a complete stranger. Not that there were any real strangers in Saltlick, pop. 1234.

“Mother thinks she’s been poisoned so I guess you should send someone over.”

“That won’t be possible at this time.”

Tabitha was being impossible.

“And why not?”

“Both the chief and Ralph are sick. Throwing up all over the place.”

Cathy’s earlier words came to her. A health inspector had been at Jerry’s Jerky.

“Tabitha, do you know anything about an inspector at the Buckets’ jerky place?”

“Huh. I know they got inspected. Don’t know if they passed. Hey, Chief was eatin’ jerky yesterday. Do you suppose…?”

Ralph had chowed down on it, too. “Yeah, I do. I’ll bet they all have food poisoning. I wonder what Rusty did to his jerky.”

“Somethin’ bad, looks like. Glad I never touch the stuff.”

Immy did eat it occasionally, but hadn’t had a chance to get any of the last batch she’d brought home for Mother.

“Tabitha, is there any word on Gretchen?”

“Gretchen Newhouse? Somethin’ happened to her?”

“No, Gretchen, Tinnie’s pig that was shot by someone. Can you tell me who’s looking into it?”

There was a muffled sound on the phone, like someone strangling. “Hah! You think we’d investigate a dead pig? Only if someone got sick eatin’ it.” After a few peals of laughter, the connection cut off.

Immy called Louise Cotter after she hung up.

“Oh, Imogene, I’m so glad you called.” Immy had to hold the phone away from her ear slightly so Louise’s high-pitched screech didn’t damage her hearing. “I can’t get Amy JoBeth to come out of that damn shelter. She spent the night there. Could you go over there? Maybe bring her some more brownies?”

“I doubt that would work again, Louise. I don’t think I can get there today. Drew’s party is this afternoon and Mother is sick.”

“Your mother is
sick
? Hortense? Sick?” Louise evidently found it as amazing as Immy did.

“I think it’s something she ate. Some other people are ill, too.”

“You know, you’re right. Vern was here earlier. He looked awful. ’Course he’s lost his job again.”

“He got fired from the vet’s clinic?”

“Yes, and he said he was sick to his stomach.”

“Did he eat jerky from Jerry’s yesterday?” Immy asked.

“He finished what I had here. I didn’t eat much of it. Wasn’t too hungry.”

That wasn’t surprising. Louise had filled up on brownies.

Immy hung up and pondered. She’d done a good job of detecting! These people were all sick from Jerry’s Jerky. Well, Rusty’s jerky. She would swing by there before the party and see what was going on. Drew’s party was at two. It was now just after ten thirty. She had time to investigate.

Mother’s extra heft gave her super recovery powers. No longer vomiting, she left the bathroom floor to help Drew make up party favor bags and Immy set off to detect.

Now she was working on two cases at once: The Case of the Slaughtered Pig and The Case of the Poisoned Jerky Eaters. How exciting!

First stop, Dr. Fox’s vet office to question him in connection with Gretchen’s murder. She’d find out who told him the pig was dead. That might hold a clue as to the identity of the killer.

Dr. Fox was busy and she had to wait twenty minutes to see him. A front desk woman she didn’t know, much more subdued than Betsy, told her to sit and he’d be right with her, then rushed off to assist the doctor. It looked like both examining rooms were occupied and two more patients and their owners filled the wooden chairs in the waiting room.

It was probably practical to have all hard surfaces, tile floor, no curtains on the windows or artwork on the walls. But it made a loud room. The yaps of the Chihuahua beside her and the hoarse arf of the Akita beside him bounced around the room, pounding Immy’s eardrums.

The two cats and their owners in the exam rooms finally departed and the dogs entered, their barks muffled by the closed doors.

Dr. Fox raised his eyebrows at Immy and she said she had a quick question.

“Is Marshmallow having a problem already?”

“Oh no, it’s not Marshmallow. He’s doing great. Used the litter box and everything. I’m trying to find some answers about Gretchen for Amy JoBeth.”

Dr. Fox frowned, which made the slight furrows on his brow redden.

“Do you remember who called you to tell you Gretchen was dead?”

“No one called me. Someone, I don’t know who, called Betsy and Betsy left me a note. I saw it while you were here and thought I ought to warn you. I called over to the Buckets’ place before I talked to you, though, and got Tinnie. She was in a state.”

So she would have to ask Betsy who called. “Is Betsy sick today?” Maybe she’d eaten jerky, too.

“She’s taking a day off. Is that all? I have patients waiting.”

“Oh yes, thanks. That’s it for now. If I have more questions I’ll be back.”

Dr. Fox gave her an irritated look and opened the door to Room Number One. Immy glanced at her watch and decided she’d better move on to her second case, The Poisoned Jerky Eaters.

Jerry’s was dead when she drove up. Except for a car leaving, whose driver had the same hairdo as Betsy. Was Rusty carrying on with her at his own place? What a prick. He was screwing Betsy
and
Poppy. And Tinnie knew it, too. She’s mentioned Rusty’s “other whore”.

She had to get out of the van to read the note tacked to the door of the shop. It had been closed by the health department! As soon as she got home she’d call a doctor for Mother. She surely must have food poisoning.

On her way back to her car, Immy glanced at the smokehouse. The door stood open an inch or so. That was odd. She knew the door had to be closed when they smoked the jerky. Maybe the health department was airing it out. Maybe it had been left open by accident. Maybe she should close it.

She stole across the dirt parking lot and peeked inside. The tantalizing smell of smoked meat lingered, strong. It was dark, but the air didn’t seem smoky. The door must have been open for awhile. She tried to push it open farther to see inside, but the door was heavy. Even with the door ajar, the smokehouse was hot. And dark.

She hesitated. Maybe she should try to raise someone at the house. The back door was closest to the shop so Immy rapped on it. Little Zack opened the door.

“Is your Mommy or Daddy home?”

He shook his head. “Mommy’s sick. Daddy’s not here.” A tear squeezed out of his eye.

Oh dear. Maybe Tinnie was poisoned, too. “Can I see her? Maybe she needs some medicine.”

“She said she needs Daddy to be dead.”

Immy froze at the horror of those words. His mother must have spoken them to him. A four-year-old boy wouldn’t come up with that on his own. What was the matter with Tinnie that she would do that? Was everyone going crazy this week?

“I’d like to see her,” said Immy. She needed to make sure Tinnie wasn’t having a breakdown, like Amy JoBeth. She shook her head, amazed that so many people could get so emotional over a pig!

Tinnie lay on her back on a rumpled bed in a floral bedroom, more suitable for a single woman than a married couple, Immy thought. One arm covered her eyes. The other hand fingered the fringed edge of the spread. The blinds were drawn and the room was murky, even in the middle of the sunny day. The room felt cold. The AC must have been turned down low.

“Tinnie?” Immy spoke as softly as she could.

“What?” Tinnie moved her arm and opened her eyes. “Who’s there?”

“Can I do anything? Are you going to be all right?”

“No! You can’t do a damn thing and I’ll never be all right. Not until that bastard is dead.”

Zack was standing in the doorway. “Zack,” Immy said, “could you get a glass of water, pretty please?”

When he had gone she leaned close to Tinnie and whispered. “Do you see what you’re doing to your son? You need to straighten up and quit talking that way about Rusty in front of him. You hear me?” Her hushed words came out harsh, but that was okay. Tinnie needed some sense knocked into her.

“I don’t care. I can’t do it.” Tinnie sat up and started to wail. “And I don’t know where Rusty is and that damn Poppy has disappeared. I never want her here except today and now she’s, poof, gone in a damn puff of smoke.”

Immy blew out her cheeks. She wasn’t going to be able to make Tinnie come to her senses. She could at least shield Zack. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll take Zack to our place for a few days until you feel better. Would that be good?”

Tinnie fell silent and reached for a tissue on the nightstand. “Maybe that would be a good idea.” She nodded. “Yes, that would be good. I think I’ll go to Mom’s for awhile. A couple of days? We can probably get him then.”

Probably? She’d keep Zack as long as needed. He was a sweet kid, wouldn’t be a problem. “Drew’s party is today anyway. He was planning on coming, wasn’t he?”

“Oh god, yes. There’s a present on his dresser. It’s wrapped.” Tinnie collapsed onto the dented pillow, took a deep breath, then sat up on the side of the bed. “I suppose I can help him pack a few things.”

“Oh good.” Maybe Tinnie
would
come around.

“Why did you come in here, anyway?” Tinnie asked.

“I almost forgot. The door to the smokehouse is open and I wondered if that was how it’s supposed to be.”

Tinnie frowned. “No, Rusty is smoking pork today. I know the health nuts closed us down, but he ought to be able to open up tomorrow. One of the cutting blades wasn’t all the way clean, they said.”

Immy was glad she hadn’t looked inside to see a pig carcass smoking. “Some people are sick, you know. People that ate jerky yesterday.”

“Shit. It’s probably from that blade. That could do it.” She gave Immy a look of alarm. “You think we’ll get sued?”

Immy shrugged. “Not by us. Can’t speak for anyone else.”

“Shit.” Tinnie rose to her unsteady feet. “I’ll go get a duffel ready for Zack.” She turned at the door. “I appreciate this, Immy. I really do.”

“I’ll go close the smokehouse door.”

Tinnie nodded and left for Zack’s room.

The smokehouse door, still ajar, creaked in a slight breeze. Immy started to pull the door shut, but changed her mind. First, she’d see what it looked like. She’d never seen inside one. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. She put a tentative hand on the rough wooden door and pushed. It was surprisingly heavy. The light crept into the dark room, fragrant with mesquite smoke. Immy followed it in and let her eyes adjust.

The carcass of a pig lay against the side wall, the back half in a plastic garbage bag. Immy gasped. It wasn’t butchered, it was whole. She pushed it away from the wall to see it better. Something shiny and pink lay under the pig. Immy started to reach for it, then she realized that the animal was pure white, just like Marshmallow. Was this Gretchen? Was Rusty going to smoke Gretchen into jerky?

The door fell open wide enough that daylight illuminated the whole room. Sturdy hooks, screwed into the ceiling, held slabs of meat. All but one. That one held the owner of the establishment, Rusty Bucket. He looked smoky. He looked naked. And he looked dead.

Chapter 5

Drew’s party was merry for the children, Immy hoped. Zack was subdued until the kids were brought outside to the backyard. When he saw the piñata he broke into a grin. After Drew’s turn, since she was the birthday girl, Immy had Zack go next. Although she tied a bandana around his eyes, he could see perfectly fine when he tipped his head up. He gripped the broom handle and whacked the pig hard enough to split it in the exact spot of the dent Drew had made. The children squealed and dove for the candy, under a shower of metallic-pink pig confetti, miniature candy bars, and gum.

“Whew! It’s fortuitous she only celebrates her birth annually,” said Hortense later that evening, rocking in her rocker-recliner, sipping iced tea, and fanning herself. She turned the television on to a prime-time hospital drama. She liked those almost as much as daytime soaps. Hortense still looked ill and hadn’t eaten any birthday cake, but wouldn’t let Immy call the doctor. Being sick was a moral failure for Hortense.