Confound It

by Maggie Toussaint

  “Hold on a minute while I turn around,” Wayne said. “I’m about ten minutes away from you.”

  “What were you doing this far out of town?”

  “Business.”

  Business. Oh yeah. He’d had lunch with the new outlet mall manager.

  While I waited for him to come back on the line, I rooted through my glove compartment. A dental-floss container. Gum. Four ink pens. A spare leash. Beretta. Score! I grabbed my handgun and watched seconds of my life tick by. Surely that was enough time for Mayes to get Dixon settled. I eased the truck toward Dixon’s concrete-block house, phone snugged against my ear.

  “You there?” the sheriff asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I notified dispatch through my onboard computer system. Virg and Ronnie are on the way.”

  “I don’t understand the situation with Dixon and his wife.”

  Wayne sighed, like he’d never take another breath. “Domestic violence is about sex, control, or money. Sounds like at least the first two are possibilities in Dixon’s case.”

  “You think he’s been holding her prisoner?’

  “I’ll dig into Dixon’s background. He could be a child molester living under a false identity, for all we know. Once we secure the weapon and the wife, I want you in that house, looking at and touching everything. Until then, you stay the hell out of the way.”

  “He’s got hounds in there.”

  “I can do him one better. I’ve got a Dreamwalker.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I parked my truck a safe distance beyond the oak where Mayes and Ricky Dixon stood in Dixon’s yard. While the men in my life were trying to protect me, I had my own dreamwalker protection plan. Both the front pockets of my jeans bulged with crystals. My moldavite necklace held a full charge. And the Beretta I’d pulled from the glove box and tucked in my waistband was none too shabby.

  There was one more weapon I had in my arsenal: Oliver, the Great Dane spirit that had attached itself to me a few months ago in the swamp. I’d rescued the ghost dog from the chains it had been tangled in for nearly a century, and Oliver, in his gratitude, now followed me everywhere. Urging him to find a companion on the Other Side to follow hadn’t swayed his devotion to me.

  But with hunting dogs in the Dixon house, a phantom dog might come in handy. I softened my gaze slightly, engaged my other senses, and summoned Oliver. He came to me on the spiritual plane, all bouncy and tail-waggy. I lavished affection on him, petting him and cooing, and asked him to stay close. As I transitioned back to my normal senses, I felt the chill of Oliver’s presence beside my legs.

  Just another day at work. A crazy woman with a gun. An irate, drunken husband. A psychic with a ghost dog. And soon there’d be a half dozen cops running around here on two-hundred-proof testosterone.

  Oliver and I walked over to where Mayes and Dixon stood. Both men were sweating from the heat of the day, but Oliver’s ghostly chill kept me cool.

  Bartow Road was a long ways from anywhere, but I heard the faint warble of a siren. Wayne would be here soon. A nod from Mayes showed he’d also heard. I could talk to him telepathically, but I’d rather not encourage too much of that. Mayes already thought we fit together like peanut butter and jelly.

  Another shot rang out inside the house, and we ducked. I heard dogs barking.

  “She’s gonna shoot my dogs,” Dixon yowled. “We’ve gotta get that gun.”

  “How much ammo you got for that twelve gauge?” Mayes asked.

  “Plenty. We cain’t wait that long. My hounds are worth a fortune, I tell you. They’s the best hunting dogs I ever had. If you ain’t goin’ after ’em, I will.”

  Mayes grabbed Dixon’s arm. “You’re not going anywhere. We’re gathering information before we go inside. Tell us about your wife. What’s her name?”

  “I call her Tip.”

  “How mobile is Tip?”

  “She can get around iffen she wants to. Mostly she don’t wanna do nothin’. But today she woke up in a twist. Her medicine run out, and I cain’t buy more until the disability check comes in.”

  “What kind of medicine?”

  “For her head. It ain’t on straight.”

  “How so?”

  “Tip says she’s someone else. Calls herself by these other names. Sometimes even changes the sound of her voice.”

  Dixon had told a big fat lie. It flared all around him in little shock waves. My entire body recoiled. Mayes noticed my reaction, and his eyes narrowed. We’d caught Dixon in a lie, but which statement was a lie? Was his wife ill or was something more sinister going on?

  “A personality disorder?” Mayes asked.

  “Somepin’ like that. I forget the doctor’s name for it. When her meds run out, I keep her liquored up, but she grabbed my gun after she went to the bathroom this morning. She shot off my little toe last time this happened, so I didn’t wrestle her for my gun. I’m smarter than your average bear.”

  With each passing syllable, I liked Dixon less and less. Seeing as how I’d had reservations about him from the start, I pretty much didn’t even want to look at him.

  The wail of the approaching siren finally registered in Dixon’s ears. He turned on me and tried to punch me, forgetting Mayes had hold of his arm. “You witch!” Dixon yelled. “You shouldn’t have called the cops.”

  Mayes gave Dixon’s arm another shake. “I am a cop, and you have a dangerous situation inside your home. In the interest of everyone’s safety, we have to follow certain guidelines.”

  “I changed my mind,” Dixon said, eyes wide. “Go away. She’ll kill me anyway. I’m so dead. Just go away. She’ll pass out sooner or later, then I’ll get my gun back.”

  “No can do. We heard shots fired in a residence. For public-safety reasons, we must investigate, and if necessary, secure the weapon.”

  Dixon struggled in a frenzy of arms and legs. “That’s my shotgun. You can’t have it.”

  Mayes held fast.

  First to arrive from the sheriff ’s office was Virg and Ronnie’s cruiser. I couldn’t remember when I’d ever been so glad to see them. Virg cut the siren, but the blue lights kept flashing. Odd how that sight was now so comforting amidst all the noise of dogs barking.

  Virg stepped out of the car, hand on his Taser. Ronnie dashed around the car to join his partner. “Where are we?” Virg asked Mayes.

  “An armed woman inside, randomly firing off rounds from a twelve-gauge shotgun is the main complaint,” Mayes said, still physically holding onto Dixon. “The complainant says she’s had a lot to drink. Her name is Tip Dixon. Mr. Dixon is displaying signs of drunk and disorderly conduct.”

  “I’m not drunk,” Dixon yelled. “She is. She’s ruined my life.”

  Ronnie snapped a set of cuffs on Dixon, patted him down, then stashed the loudmouth in the back of their cruiser. “Now what?” Ronnie said.

  “I could go in,” I offered. “She might be receptive to a woman.”

  “No way,” Mayes said. “If she’s half as loco as her husband suggested, she wouldn’t think twice about shooting you. I’ll go in the front door while Virg and Ronnie circle around back. If we have to take her down, I’d rather subdue her with a Taser than a bullet.”

  “We should wait for the sheriff,” Virg said.

  Another shot rang out from the house, right through the roof. I hit the ground at the percussive sound, and so did my companions.

  “That woman’s crazy all right,” Virg said, his eyes sparkling with challenge. “Let’s git her.”

  “Glad you see it my way,” Mayes said. “Got a spare vest in your car?”

  “I carry the sheriff ’s extra vest with me.”

  “Perfect. I’d like to borrow it.”

  While amazed that Virg followed Mayes’ directions, I could see that natural authority radiated from Mayes. He was born to command.

  “Bax, stand behind the truck until I give the all clear. You’re the second wave, as Wayne suggested previously. We need yo
u to figure out what’s going on in that house.”

  A protest lodged in my throat as the guys shrugged into bulletproof vests. I hoped they were shotgun-proof. Minutes later, all three cops melted away. I ignored Dixon’s hollering from the cruiser and waited.

  Mayes knocked on the door and asked Mrs. Dixon to show herself. I couldn’t make out what she yelled back at him, but he kicked open the door. Another shotgun blast flung roof shingles in the air. Mayes called out again. Silence. Then Virg came to the door from inside. “Got her.”

  Mayes followed him inside. Moments later, he stood in the threshold, shotgun in his gloved hand. He waved me forward. “Your turn.”

  I hurried to the house. “What’s the rush?”

  “Lots of flammables on the back porch. We need to remove Mrs. Dixon and call the fire department. It’s a wonder this place didn’t ignite already. I want you to do a quick run-through, and I mean quick.”

  “What about the dogs?” I asked.

  “Locked in a pen in the backyard. They were safe all along. Another lie from Dixon.”

  “We can’t believe anything he told us.”

  Dixon’s home reeked of cigarette smoke, hound dog, body odor, and stale beer. A recliner sat empty in the living room. Surrounding it were open trash bags of empty beer cans and four overflowing ashtrays.

  I shuddered. “Don’t see anything I want to touch.”

  Mayes showed me around the two-bedroom place. Besides the tiny living room, there was an even tinier kitchen, a closet-sized bathroom, and two small bedrooms. The first bedroom seemed to be a computer graveyard. A skeletally thin woman lay on the floor of the second bedroom.

  Tip Dixon looked like she’d recently escaped from a concentration camp. It made my heart hurt to see her every bone outlined by flesh. Her gray hair had been cropped short, but no stylist had touched these ragged locks. Dark circles rimmed her vacant brown eyes.

  I wanted to wrap her in my arms and transport her to the ER. But I wasn’t willing to deal with my supernatural guide from the Other Side who could make that happen. Tip was alive. Her hand twitched after being Tasered. She wasn’t at death’s door from our actions, though she appeared grossly malnourished.

  Tip wore a moss-green nightgown and not much else. Both her bony wrists had raw, abraded skin, as did one of her knobby ankles. She’d been physically restrained.

  I gasped. “My God. The rumors are true. She’s a prisoner in her own home. Her husband is a monster.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Mayes guided me from the bedroom into the narrow hall. “Dixon’s story isn’t clear. We know he’s a liar. By all accounts, he’s a grumpy old guy complaining about everything. He doesn’t get along with his neighbors, and he has an abusive relationship with his wife.”

  “‘Abusive’ seems too light a word for her starvation and two black eyes. Isn’t Tip’s emaciated condition enough to send him away for life?”

  “Not always. Judges tend to be lenient about domestic abuse the first few times. When we first ID’ed him as a suspect, we ran his name through the system, and he had no outstanding warrants. His only interaction with the law stemmed from the incident with the neighbor’s pigs.”

  “So, the fact that he’s a horrible person doesn’t count? We have to find a crime he’s committed?”

  “That would work. We need an indication of illegal activity before we can search beyond what’s in plain sight.”

  “It sucks. Majorly. I want to deck him, and I’m not a violent person.”

  “Drunk and disorderly conduct and domestic abuse aren’t grounds for us to search his computers. Find us something useful, fast.”

  “Where should I start? With the computer mouse, doorknobs, sink handles, TV remote, the wife?”

  “Start with the woman. You may not get another chance alone with her once the EMTs arrive. Find out her story.”

  “I’ll do my best.” I padded back to the bedroom and sat down on the floor beside Tip Dixon. Mayes watched from the doorway; Virg and Ronnie were talking in the kitchen. With a sense of time zipping through the hourglass, I gripped the unconscious woman’s arm. Oliver leaned against my leg, chilling it.

  Light bent and stretched out into a starburst. It coalesced into a Plexiglas window station, much like the visitation window we had at our Sinclair County Jail. The young woman’s face reflected back at me was unrecognizable. When she smiled, I noticed that the tips of her front teeth overlapped.

  “Not too much longer, babe. My lawyer said the release papers is goin’ through the system,” the young man who sat on the other side of the window said. He was beanpole-thin. Wiry even. It could be Dixon, but I wasn’t sure.

  “I’ve been getting stuff pulled together like you asked,” the woman said. “And my buddy. What’d he say?”

  “Said we were good.”

  They were quiet for a moment, then the woman continued, “I wish we could take the kids.”

  “They’re better off in the system. Livin’ on the run ain’t no life for a kid.”

  She smacked her palm on the counter. “Still. Missouri got no right to say I’m unfit for anything.”

  “The state’s got every right. You can hang around here and pine for the runts, or we can start fresh. You don’t wanna come, just say so.”

  “I wanna come.”

  The vision ended abruptly. Oliver and I were alone in the twilight. I knelt and said goodbye to my ghost dog. “Looks like I won’t need you for this situation. Go and have a good romp.” After a few more pets and licks, Oliver bounded off into the fog.

  I dreamwalked back to reality. Two brown eyes with wide pupils drilled into me. “Who the hell are you?” the woman said, wrenching her arm away. Her two front teeth overlapped at the bottom. “Why are you in my house?”

  “I can explain, Mrs. Dixon,” I began slowly. The overlapping teeth of my dreamwalk made sense now. Years ago, Tip and Ricky lived elsewhere and had a different life. He’d been in jail. To make a fresh start, they’d left their children behind. “My name is Baxley Powell, and I sometimes help the police. I’m here to keep you company.”

  The woman’s guarded expression didn’t change. “Name’s Tip.”

  The rotten stench of her alcohol-laced breath hit me like a load of manure. I tried shallow breaths to keep from flinching. “Did your husband strike you in the face?”

  She didn’t respond. I tried another line of questioning. “Why’d you shoot the ceiling twice?”

  “To punish that SOB, that’s why.”

  “For what?”

  Tip shook her head, her eyes widening as she stuffed part of a fist in her mouth. I could almost see gears whirring slowly in her head.

  “You’re safe now,” I said. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  She scooched up so that she was sitting on the floor and leaning against the frame of the bed. “You don’t get it.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I got nobody else. Just him and me.”

  “The world’s a big place, full of friendly people.”

  “People hate us.”

  “Why do you say that? Did someone else hurt you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Recently?”

  “Nah. But I learned. I’m smart that way. You don’t haveta beat the same lesson into me twice.”

  Looked like Dixon had been beating the same lesson into her for years. I needed another angle, some way to get her to open up. “What’s your favorite food?”

  “Vodka.”

  “I mean solid food, like bacon and eggs, salad, hamburgers.” “Vodka.”

  “Do you eat anything besides vodka?”

  “Nope. And Dickhead won’t go to the store. I need my vodka. You got any on ya?”

  “Sorry. Fresh out.”

  Tip grumbled under her breath, wrung her hands together.

  “Mrs. Dixon, you’re going to the hospital for a checkup. When’s the last time you saw a doctor?”

  “Dickhead!” Tip yelled. “Ge
t in here.”

  Ricky Dixon wouldn’t be coming. “A doctor will evaluate your condition.”

  She shrank away from me. “I ain’t going nowhere. Dickhead! Where are you?”

  Steeling my senses, I patted Tip’s bony shoulder to offer her comfort. “Your husband has been detained, ma’am. He’s under arrest. You’re safe now. How long have you been with him?”

  “Going on thirty years. What’s it to ya?”

  “Did you know your neighbor, Mandy Patterson?”

  “Who?”

  I repeated the name. Tip shook her head. “Other than the dogs, I haven’t seen anyone since we moved here. I don’t leave the house.”

  “He won’t let you leave, or you don’t want to go?”

  “I’m not saying another word until I see Dickhead.”

  “He’s not coming.”

  “He has to. I need him. I need my vodka.”

  Sheriff Wayne Thompson came to the door and caught my eye. “A word. Virg will keep an eye on Mrs. Dixon.”

  At the sight of Virg’s Taser, Tip shrieked and buried her face in her hands.

  “Coming,” I said. I scrambled up on all fours, then rose to my feet.

  Wayne ushered me out the back door. The hunting dogs were locked nearby in a pen, barking nonstop. “You got something?”

  I filled him in on my dreamwalk. Wayne nodded. “Good job. I’ll run Dixon’s prints through Missouri and find out who he really is. We’ll lock this place down as soon as the fire people clear the flammables and the EMTs cart the woman away.”

  “Mayes and I might have a lead.”

  He raised a hand. “About the Patterson case?”

  “Yeah. Not sure how it ties in,” I said. “But it involves a recent dreamwalker client. We think the palm reader might be connected to the case. Mayes doesn’t believe in the coincidental timing of her appointment with me.”

  “The Marsden woman can wait. I need Mayes to help me work this scene while Virg and Ronnie get Dixon processed. I’ll run him home when we’re done. Get Dixon’s dogs out of here so I can think. Better that you keep them than they go to the shelter.”

  “But I didn’t touch-test anything. Mayes thinks I should do that.”

  “Mayes isn’t running this investigation. If Dixon’s got a criminal history, we’ll have enough to hold him. Your assignment is to get the dogs out of here. Do you have a problem with that?”