by Arlene Kay
Bascomb swiveled around and stared at me. “The paramedics need to check you out. Head injuries are nothing to fool with.”
I started to protest until a wave of nausea assailed me. This might be a case of better safe than sorry. Bascomb motioned to his subordinate who put her arm around me and led me from the room. The EMTs were waiting just outside the entryway. They quickly hoisted me on a stretcher and administered a battery of field tests.
“You got a whale of a bump but no blood. We can run you to the hospital for an MRI or contact your own doctor. Do you want to call someone to take you home?” one of the EMTs asked.
A sudden realization hit me with the force of a body blow: I had no one to call. Acquaintances yes, but other than Pruett, Babette was my only real friend. I thought of Poe, Keats, Thatcher and that damn pygmy goat at home. “My pets. I have to take care of my pets.”
“Don’t worry.” The detective was a twenty-something woman with a spindly frame and a kind face. “We’ll figure something out. Have you given your statement yet?”
I shook my head. A van with the emblem of the County Coroner blocked the driveway. Two forensic trucks had already arrived. I turned away in case they moved Ethel’s corpse out of the house. That was more than I could bear at the moment.
“I can take her home, Officer. I have my SUV parked around the corner, and I’ve already spoken to the lieutenant.” Pruett appeared from out of nowhere and beamed a media bright smile her way.
The cop ignored the charm offensive and turned to me. “I’ll tell the Lieutenant. Gotta warn you though he’ll want to interview you ASAP. Probably this afternoon. Go home and stay put until you hear from him.”
“My dogs…” Was that pathetic whine really coming from me?
Pruett reached down and helped me up. “No problem as long as they don’t chew my arm off.” He motioned to my truck where some brave soul had already corralled both Malinois. “Throw me your keys and I’ll drive you home. I like to know the terrain before I barge into a lady’s house, but I suppose you haven’t acquired some burly husband since last night.”
His wit was totally wasted on me. The dull throbbing ache in my temples was all I focused on. I shook my head and gingerly climbed the running board into my truck. “No worries.” I adjusted the GPS for “home” and leaned back in my seat. For once, I was happy to let someone else take charge.
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, Wing Pruett’s hands were on my shoulders gently shaking me awake. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”
I still felt a bit shaky, so I didn’t protest when he lifted me to the ground. Keats and Poe barked impatiently until I opened the hatch and freed them.
“What the hell is that?” Pruett pointed at the corral where Zeke hung his head over the fence glaring balefully at us. “He looks meaner than ever.”
“You know how he is. He’s harmless.”
“Hmm. People say that about me sometimes and they’re dead wrong.”
“He’s neutered. Makes males of any species more docile, or so I hear.”
That earned me another chuckle from Pruett, a man who was accustomed to women falling at his feet rather than taunting him. Handsome, brainy guys got used to that treatment. “Think of all the fun we’d miss if you neutered me,” he said. “Service with a smile, Ma’am.”
“Forget about that, I need some espresso. Interested?” I unlocked the door and deactivated my burglar alarm. “Watch out for Thatcher. You know what an escape artist she is.”
Pruett sighed. “You and your pets. No wonder Ella adores you.”
Pruett grew up without any pets, but he was slowly acclimating himself to my pet-centric household. His young daughter cheered him on in that effort.
He wrinkled his nose. At that moment, Thatcher appeared and with typical feline logic wrapped herself around his legs, purring loudly.
I waved Pruett toward the living room. “I’ll go get that coffee. Make yourself at home.” Both dogs escorted me into the kitchen and sat expectantly waiting for treats. Pruett was right behind them.
“Hey. Don’t bother with that. You still look shaky. I know how to make espresso. Take it easy. It’s not every day that you see a murder or get assaulted.”
I gladly sat down at the kitchen table and closed my eyes. “In the army, we saw our share of bodies. You kind of expect that during wartime; but today…”
Pruett moved his chair closer. “Did you know her well? Ethel, I mean.”
That impersonal Court TV approach annoyed me. “Yes, I knew her. We weren’t confidants or anything, but she seemed like a nice person.”
He held up his arms in mock surrender. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it. Everything is so nuanced in the media. Has to be. Sometimes it seeps into everyday stuff.”
I downed my espresso along with three Advil and tried reconstructing the terrible events of the day. What in the world was Ethel doing in Babette’s bed—half-naked no less! From everything I knew of the woman she was a no-nonsense, practical foil to her employer’s whimsical ways. Cavorting, whether naked or clothed, was simply contrary to everything she stood for. I’d never seen Ethel wear slacks, let alone her birthday suit!
Until Pruett spoke, I’d forgotten he was there. “You were lucky,” he said. “That guy who clobbered you was probably the murderer. Didn’t you recognize him?”
“No. I can’t even swear that it was a man. Just a tall figure in black.” I pointed to him. “Kind of like what you’re wearing.”
“Now wait a minute.” Pruett wagged his finger at me. “Don’t try to pin this on me. I was nowhere around there, and I hardly knew this McCall woman. Never really met her.”
“You spoke with her. She told me so.”
He deflected the tension with banter. “Perri, if I knocked off every woman I spoke to we’d have a damn epidemic. Give me a break, will you?”
Before I responded, someone pounded on the door and my dogs streaked forward barking wildly. Thatcher followed them emitting an angry yowl. I peered out the window at the black sedan with flashing lights. Time to face the law.
* * * *
Lieutenant Bascomb, the slightly paunchy white guy with an attitude and a rumpled suit, strolled into the room, flashed his badge and introduced himself once again. After a quick survey of my living room, he settled right in. “Let’s see: Persephone Morgan. Odd name, that. Can’t say that I’ve ever heard it before.”
“You must not be a fan of Greek mythology,” Pruett interjected. His cheeky remark earned him a scowl from the veteran cop who understood a put-down in any language when he heard one.
“Time for you to leave, Mr. Pruett. My sergeant will show you out.” Bascomb pointed toward the door. “We’ll be in touch. Boyfriends don’t count in a murder investigation unless they’re attached to the victim. I presume you and Ms. McCall weren’t an item, right?”
Pruett exited the room with a minimum of grace, leaving me to the clutches of a surly cop. Bascomb plopped down in the wing chair and turned on a lamp. “My sergeant got your name and address I see. You run your own business—a leather shop?” His tone and raised eyebrows suggested that my profession was something tawdry.
“Custom leather. Mostly collars, halters and leads for dogs and horses. A few other items for their owners.” I reached into my pocket and produced a weathered business card. “I can give you references if you like.”
He dismissed my offer with a shrug. “Says here you’re a military veteran. What branch?”
“Army.” I refused to elaborate and do his work for him.
Bascomb bared a set of uneven teeth in a faux smile. “Human Resources, I bet.”
“Not even close. Operations.”
He gave me a hard stare. Clearly Bascomb hadn’t expected that. “Quite a career change, wouldn’t you say? What’s your connection to Mrs. Croy?”
I launched into an explanation of the animal rights coalition and the controversy over Cavalry Farms. “Mrs. Croy is a local activist. She’s spearheading opposition to the removal petition.”
Bascomb folded his arms and smirked. “Now I remember. Didn’t she try something during the deer culling too? Got her face all over the local paper when we arrested her.”
I nodded. If Bascomb was trying to annoy me, he had succeeded. Political correctness and sensitivity were absent from his skillset, unless this display of boorishness was a deliberate tactic. I studied him carefully. Intelligence radiated from those pale blue eyes and a type of shrewdness I had missed before. His Sam Spade act was shop-worn but calculated. I’d bet my heavily mortgaged farm on that.
My head ached and that made me testy. “Are you always this rude, Lieutenant?”
Bascomb chuckled. “You served in the army, Ms. Morgan. A sergeant no less. Not going to get all girly on me, are you? We need to discuss the victim. Mrs. McCall.” He stared at my empty cup. “Any chance I could have some coffee? My sergeant can fetch it.”
In my world, canines do the fetching, not female subordinates. I snapped a leash on my temper and asked. “Does your sergeant have a name or only a title?” The woman had been kind to me after my trauma, and I found Bascomb’s manner offensive. Truth be told, everything about the man pushed my hot buttons.
Bascomb’s lips twitched into a semi-smile. “Well, well. Sometimes I forget my manners. May I present Sergeant Avis Stone?”
She shrugged and when Bascomb bent to tie his shoe, I caught her eye and winked. “Everything’s in there,” I said, pointing toward the kitchen. “Help yourself. Coffee capsules, sweetener and milk. Quick and easy.” I turned to Bascomb. “By the way, Lieutenant, it was Ms. McCall. Ethel never married.”
“I stand corrected. Have to be careful these days. No lawsuits for sexism.” He gripped the mug that Avis Stone brought and sipped cautiously. “Good. Much better than what we get at the station. So, tell me what you know about Ethel. She lived with Mrs. Croy I gather.”
“What are you suggesting? Ethel was her secretary and friend. Nothing more. She lived in the guest house.”
“Hmm. Pretty plush digs for a secretary. What about Mr. Croy? Calls himself Doctor.”
“Carleton? He’s got a PhD, so I guess he earned the title.”
He snorted at that. “Doctor or not, when a half-naked woman is murdered in her employer’s bedroom, I get curious. Is he the type to interfere with the help?”
I prayed for patience. Maybe then this pest would go away. “Don’t infer anything from that. Babette and Carleton are divorced and have separate rooms. Ethel held strong religious views that didn’t include involvement with her employer.”
The triumphant look on his face made me bite my tongue.
“Maybe you should explain that for me. Unless of course you need your boyfriend’s help.”
“Boyfriend?”
Another smirk by Bascomb. “Significant other, then.” He held up his hand in faux penitence. “I saw the way you two acted and I just assumed… After all, I am a detective.”
“Don’t assume anything about my personal life. Mr. Pruett is my friend.” I stood and managed to lie without showing any emotion. “If that’s all…”
Unfortunately, it wasn’t. Bascomb spent another thirty minutes reviewing every aspect of my day up to and including the assault. Despite repeated attempts to wheedle, bully, and cajole me, he finally admitted defeat. Try as I might, I could not identify my assailant except for a vague impression of a black clad figure.
“What about those other folks?” He studied a tattered notepad. Surely even a guy like Bascomb had joined the computer age. Smartphones or iPads were standard issue in the military. He narrowed his eyes as I relayed my meager store of knowledge. I knew Ken and Sheila, but the others were strangers to me.
Bascomb rose and signaled to his sergeant. “I’ll get back to you, Ms. Morgan. Maybe the forensic boys will get something. Call me if anything should pop into your mind.” He scowled. “This case is complicated, and I hate complications.”
Chapter 4
I curled up in my chair and leaned back against the headrest. What a nightmare! Babette’s plan to thwart animal cruelty had led to the ultimate abuse—murder. The image of that fire extinguisher and Ethel’s pitiful white foot pointed skyward continued to haunt me. Ethel was never vain, but she had always taken pride in her feet. Size six. Women like me with ungainly clodhoppers envied tiny toes that fit comfortably into sample shoes. Ethel always got the best deals because of that. Then it hit me—she’d had a pedicure! Her toes were painted a fashionable shade of red that was totally unlike her. Blood red. I reached for my cell phone and stopped. Bascomb would hee-haw all the way to Richmond if I shared that tidbit, but any woman would understand. Patterns. Someone like Ethel wouldn’t change her habits unless she had a damn good reason. Was that reason a rendezvous with some man?
“Feeling better?”
I leapt from my chair as Pruett sauntered toward me. Where the hell were my dogs? Some guardians they were. This was Pip’s special room and Pruett knew that. How like him to be strolling around if he owned the place.
“I thought Bascomb sent you packing. Your charm was totally wasted on him.”
Pruett pulled a hassock next to my chair and sat down. “I was worried about you. That cop gave you quite a workout.”
Most women would have reveled in the attention. After all, he was famous, a major hottie whose deep brown eyes brimmed with concern for little old me. Fortunately, I ignored his routine and focused on the glint of amusement he couldn’t quite conceal. This was the patented Pruett technique for coaxing confidences from gullible females. It explained how he got so many scoops.
“You’re wasting your time, Scribe Boy. I don’t know any more about the murder than you do.” I gave him my own version of a steely gaze, which he cheerfully ignored.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I say something wrong?” This time his concern seemed genuine.
“I’m not a source, Pruett, and this crime is a tragedy, not a news story. Remember. I know how you operate.”
“Forgive me. Reporters get accustomed to asking nosey questions. Crossing boundaries. Manners are a liability in my trade.” He showed a set of fetching dimples. “But you’re wrong, you know. Every crime is a potential story.”
Thatcher jumped into my lap, allowing me to bury my face in her thick fur. I stroked her, eliciting the same throaty purrs that had soothed Pip in his last days.
“What’s your angle in this case?” I asked. “Murders are pretty mundane fare for a guy like you.”
He pressed his fingertips into a steeple. “I expected a human-interest piece, you know, something light for the holidays. But this has all the hallmarks of a major scoop. Quite simply, since I’m on the scene, I intend to cover it before some hack from the Washington Post or, God forbid, 48 Hours muscles in.”
At least he was being honest. I think.
“Lieutenant Bascomb seems very competent. I’m sure he’ll solve the case rather quickly.”
Pruett raised his eyebrows. It was an eloquent gesture that spoke volumes and reflected my own misgivings. Bascomb appeared to be industrious and intelligent but he faced political pressures to close the case as soon as possible no matter what. Murders in tony towns like Great Marsh were an embarrassment. Anything that affected property values or prestige was anathema to the Powers That Be. There were plenty of power players in our little hamlet—far too many for my liking.
“I could help you,” Pruett said. His grin was an ingratiating display of almost perfect teeth—probably a practiced move to keep the ladies in thrall.
“Do what?”
“Investigate. Find the killer.” He tapped his foot on the floor as if dancing to some catchy melody. “After all, that’s our specialty, and we’ve done
it before. Got rather good at it if I do say so myself. We’re a team. Nick and Nora, Lord Peter and Harriet—you know.”
Between Bascomb and Pruett, I’d had my fill of overbearing males. “Listen, Pruett. You don’t get it, do you? I have a business to run, a livelihood to earn. I want to comfort my friend but that’s it. No snooping or detecting.”
He must have been used to rebuffs. Either that or he had a major hearing problem. Instead of reacting, he merely nodded pleasantly. “Can you honestly tell me you aren’t intrigued? Finding bodies—such a nasty habit but kind of fun.”
I considered a dozen crushing replies that would set him straight. Unfortunately, before I could speak, a text message interrupted me. It was a short and simple appeal from Babette. “Help me, Perri. I’m in trouble.”
I leapt to my feet and grabbed my purse. “Gotta go. See yourself out.”
My dogs thundered through the room heading straight for the front door. So did Pruett.
“I drove you here,” he said. “Remember? My car is at Babette’s.”
The man was a barnacle, so clingy that I could never dislodge him. “Fine. I’ll drop you off, but you can’t stay at Babette’s. She’s upset and a snoopy reporter, even one she adores, won’t help the situation.”
He tilted his head. “Maybe I can help. I’m good at soothing troubled waters. Plus, you probably shouldn’t be driving yet. Did it ever occur to you that Bascomb might tag you for the murder?”
“What? That’s absurd!”
Pruett crossed his arms. “You found the body and you knew the victim. That moves you to the top of Bascomb’s list automatically. Trust me. I know how cops think.”
“No need to worry. My conscience is clear. Besides this is a personal crisis that doesn’t concern me—or you.” I didn’t know for certain, but I suspected that Babette’s plea involved Carleton Croy prima donna supreme. Bascomb was fixated on Ethel’s putative lover and like it or not, Carleton fit the bill.
Poe and Keats leapt into the Suburban without missing a beat. Pruett hesitated then stepped on the running board and climbed aboard.