Dumpster Dying

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “Leave it alone, Dad. I’m going to serve as my own lawyer.”

  “So I’ll arrange for bail.”

  “I’ll take care of that,” Clara said. “If the charge is murder one, there won’t be any bail, you know. So don’t get your hopes up.”

  Hap kicked into lawyer mode. “Premeditated. Why? And you’re no flight risk. You’ve got family here.”

  Clara cut her eyes to Emily, and Hap shut up. There was something the two of them did not want her to know.

  “I could leave if you’d like to talk alone,” Emily said.

  “No, no. It’s fine. But this isn’t your problem, and I hate involving you,” Clara said.

  “But it is my problem. Marcus Davey came into the bar and picked a fight with me, and you intervened. Now they think you killed him because of that altercation.”

  “No, they don’t,” said Hap. “Better tell her. It’ll come out at trial anyway.”

  Clara got up, ran her fingers through her hair, and paced the length of the small space.

  “The authorities think I killed Davey because I believe he murdered his brother. The problem is, I do think he was involved in his brother’s death. I don’t know how.”

  “A lot of people believe that, honey,” said Hap. “If that’s all they’ve got, well . . .”

  “They’ve got more than that. They have the murder weapon—one of the guns they confiscated from my house.”

  “Your fingerprints on it?” asked Hap.

  “Of course they are. It was my gun. The forty-five you gave me for my sixteenth birthday.”

  “That was supposed to be for target practice and an occasional critter like a rat or pesky snake in the hen house. Not for doing away with people, not even slime like Davey,” Hap said.

  Clara said nothing.

  “Why do you think Davey was involved in his brother’s death? I thought that was an accident,” said Emily.

  “A very convenient accident. Marcus was the younger brother, but by only one year. With Morton out of the way, Marcus took over the ranch,” said Clara.

  “But . . .”

  “I went to school with the Davey brothers. Instead of looking up to his older brother, Marcus competed with him, tried to do everything he did better.”

  “Brothers often do that. It hardly makes him a killer.”

  “It’s how he competed that bothered me. Got Morton thrown off the football team by telling the coach he was smoking. And he moved in on one of Morton’s girlfriends by leading her to believe Morton had gotten another girl pregnant. He was charming but scurvy in the way he manipulated people to make himself look better than his brother. Then before the big basketball game with our closest rival in senior year, he cut the brake lining on Morton’s truck. That landed Morton in the hospital.”

  Clara slammed the palm of her hand on the desk, making Emily jump at the blast of sound and Clara’s fury. “I was so mad at Morton for protecting his brother. He told the authorities that he must have clipped it by accident when he was working on the truck earlier that day.”

  Hap reached out and touched Clara’s shoulder. “It could have been true, honey. You don’t know for sure.”

  “I do know. Marcus was as bad as Morton was good. Everyone around here knew it too. They were too cowed by the Davey money and too scared of Marcus. And that included the police.”

  “Keep up this single-minded focus on Morton’s death and you’ll make the DA’s case,” said Hap.

  “I told Emily I preferred he die a long painful death, not one taking seconds at most. Besides, as much as I hate practicing law, I still am a lawyer and an officer of the court. It’s my duty to uphold the law, not carry out private vendettas.”

  “How do you think the killer got your gun? And how did he put it back in your house?” asked Emily.

  “I don’t know.”

  “And I think you do know,” said Hap. “You’re covering for him, as you always did.”

  Emily looked at Hap and then at Clara. The two of them were glaring at one another.

  “Look here,” said Emily, “if you don’t want me to leave, then I’d better hear the whole story, not bits and pieces. What aren’t you telling me?”

  Hap pounded his cane on the floor, his face reddening with anger. “She’s trying to protect that no good ex-husband of hers. Fat Eddie.”

  “Fast Eddie?” Emily asked.

  “No way he’s fast,” said Hap. “He must weigh near three hundred pounds.”

  Clara smiled and shook her head. “Dad never liked my choice of husband. Ed’s weight problem was years ago before he did time. He’s a lot thinner now, but still not fast. He worked out while behind bars and slimmed down. Replaced the fat with muscle and a few tattoos. I couldn’t care less about protecting him. If he did in Davey, I’d thank him for his service to humanity and then be happy to see his ass back in jail.”

  A knock at the door was followed by Detective Lewis’ entrance. He couldn’t seem to meet Emily’s eyes.

  “Captain’s about due back and he wouldn’t like me letting you all use my office. Sorry, Clara. I’ve got to get you back in a cell.”

  Clara nodded, hugged her father and Emily, and walked out of the room in the custody of a uniformed officer.

  “This is a mistake, young man,” said Hap.

  “Probably, but the DA liked the evidence. It’s not my call,” said Lewis.

  Hap picked up his cane and waggled it at him. “Who is the damn DA now anyway? I think I need to have a talk with him.”

  “Her. Charlene Miller.”

  “Married, is she?” asked Hap. He grinned and let out a small cackle of glee when Lewis shook his head. “See you, then.” Hap patted Emily’s cheek and walked off with a spring in his step, handling the cane as if he were a debonair river gambler.

  Emily tried to follow him out of the office, but Lewis planted himself in front of the door.

  “Look, we need to talk.”

  “I’m busy right now. I’ve got to get Clara a few things, then I’ve got to open the bar at the club, and . . .”

  “Us. I said ‘us’ and I think you misinterpreted what I meant.”

  “How could I? It’s a simple enough word. It means you and me.” Emily tried to get around Lewis’ body but whatever direction she moved, so did he.

  “See, here’s the thing. I think we got off on the wrong foot. I mean, we seem to clash with one another whenever we talk, and I wanted to say I. . . “

  “Never mind. I know what you’re going to say. You must think I’m stupid or something. I know you’re doing your job.” Emily feinted right, then ducked to the left and out the door.

  “I’m apologizing for aggravating you, don’t you understand?”

  She continued to walk down the hall.

  “I could arrest you,” he said. “You like that better?”

  Emily stopped and turned. “For what?”

  “Speeding.”

  “I’ll file sexual harassment charges against you then.” She could see her remarks hit home as his mouth dropped open. His response gave her a moment of satisfaction, enough to encourage her to follow with another barb. “Don’t think I can’t figure out your game. Now you want to be my friend to try and pump me for information about Clara. It won’t work. Stay away from me.”

  In Clara’s bedroom, Emily slid open several bureau drawers searching for underwear. She pulled out a lacy pink bra and several pairs of thong panties. I wonder where she keeps her everyday undies, or does she wear this stuff all the time? Emily thought of her utilitarian white cotton briefs, comfy, cheap, and boring. But then, what difference did it make? She wasn’t trying to impress any man now, was she? Her thoughts wandered to Detective Lewis’ broad shoulders. Forget it, Emily. You’re a recent ersatz widow and the world is watching you. Behave yourself. Besides, he’s trying to use you.

  As insistent as she was that Clara and Hap tell her what was going on with Clara’s arrest, Emily knew they were still keeping something from
her. A no good ex-husband wasn’t the only thing Clara tried to hide. Hap said a number of people thought Marcus was involved in his brother’s death, but what particular interest did Clara have in it? Clara was more entangled with the Davey family than either she or Hap admitted.

  As she shut the drawer and turned to throw the items into the overnight bag she’d pulled from the closet, her sleeve caught the corner of a picture on the dresser top. It fell with a crash and broke apart, scattering the pieces across the carpet.

  Clumsy me. Emily stooped to pick up the frame and the picture, a photo of Clara and a younger man. A friend? Her son? She’d never mentioned him, but Hap said there was family, and she had been married to Eddie, fat or fast.

  She spotted another photo peeking out from the backing still lying on the carpet. She reached out for it. This one was of a man with dark hair and grey eyes. The photographer, probably Clara, had caught him grinning, the smile intimate, sexy and obviously meant only for the one snapping the picture. Eddie, and not fat at all. He looked familiar to her and she wondered where she might have encountered him. Perhaps the one night she worked as a bartender at the Burnt Biscuit. It was so crowded that she barely registered the faces of customers crowding around the bar.

  Clara didn’t seem keen to keep Eddie out on display. The boy with Clara certainly looked like his father, the same dark hair and strong chin. Emily inserted the photo back into the frame and tucked Eddie’s face behind it. Thank goodness the glass didn’t break.

  The arraignment outcome shocked both Hap and Emily. No bail for Clara. The DA decided she was a flight risk, arguing that manager of a bar and restaurant wasn’t a stable enough occupation to merit looking at her as an upstanding citizen. Hap’s attempt to woo the DA hadn’t helped, although he continued to wink at her throughout the proceedings.

  What puzzled Emily was the equanimity with which Clara handled the outcome, as if she both expected and welcomed the arrest and her nine-by-twelve cell. Emily looked around the courtroom expecting she would see Clara’s son and ex-husband there, but the room filled with reporters, some police, and a few other spectators Emily couldn’t identity. Except for Palatier, her ex-lawyer. He slipped past the guards and whispered something in Clara’s ear as they led her away. Emily watched Clara toss her head back with a laugh, her bright curls bobbing in defiance. She waved off the ambulance chaser. His face reddening at the rebuff, Palatier looked around the courtroom. Emily caught his eye and smiled innocently. The red deepened. He wiped sweat off his upper lip and retreated out the courtroom door.

  “What did he want?” asked Hap. The three of them, Hap, Emily, and Clara sat in the visitation area after the arraignment.

  “He thought I needed representation,” said Clara.

  “Honey, maybe he’s right. How many murder cases did you take on when you were actively practicing?” asked Hap. “Maybe I should take over.”

  “You’ve got all you can handle with Emily.”

  “That’s a breeze now that the focus is off her as the killer.”

  Emily’s mouth dropped open at Hap’s insensitivity.

  “It’s okay. Dad’s right. This takes the pressure off you.”

  “How does putting it on you, also innocent, help anyone? The killer is still out there,” Emily said. “You need your dad.”

  “I know what I’m doing. Now get out of here, both of you and accomplish something useful.”

  Emily’s “useful” assignment was to find another bartender for the club. Clara had called the head of the country club’s board and convinced him that Emily should take over as manager of the dining and bar areas. She had tried to tell Clara she knew nothing about handling the restaurant, but Clara insisted Emily would do fine.

  “It’s all in the computer,” Clara had said, “ordering, billing, inventory, and menus too. The cook knows the routine. You schedule and supervise the two waitresses and report to the board weekly. No problem.” And then Clara played her last card. “I’ve got no one else. Please. Save my job for me.” Clara’s comments gave Emily hope she would work her way out of jail soon.

  Emily turned in to the Burnt Biscuit Bar and Restaurant around five, early enough that there wouldn’t be a crowd in the dining room nor in the bar. She knew Randolph Whitney arrived in the early evening and she wanted to talk with him.

  Randolph looked up from one of the back tables when she entered the dimly lit bar area. He waved her over. Randolph was small and slender, his facial features delicate, almost feminine in appearance. His apparent youthfulness, un-ironed white shirt and baggy black pants might have marked him as a waiter, or a poet, anything but the part owner and manager of the Burnt Biscuit.

  “I hear you’re the bartender at the country club,” he said. He shoved out a chair with his foot and signaled her to sit. “How do you like it?” He didn’t wait for Emily to reply, but rushed on. “Sorry you didn’t work out here, but my partner felt Davey’s squeeze on her. We decided it was in everyone’s best interest to let you go.”

  “You probably did me a favor. It’s great working at the country club,” said Emily. Or was it? Now she had her hands full managing both the bar and the restaurant, positions for which she had no training or experience.

  “Say, I don’t mean to be crude, but since Davey’s no longer in the picture, you could come back here if you wanted.”

  Emily thought back to the one night she had worked at the Burnt Biscuit when Marcus Davey entered, drunk, and insisted she serve him. At the time she had no inkling he would repeat this performance at the country club. The outcome was different, Emily admitted to herself. Clara defended her while Randolph and his partner, Sherry, had fired her. Both of them, but particularly Sherry, acted frightened of what Davey could do if they didn’t get rid of her.

  The waitress arrived at the table with a large steak on her tray. She set it down in front of Randolph and asked Emily if she’d like something.

  “No thanks,” said Emily. “And I appreciate the offer, Randolph, but I’m happy at the country club. In fact, I’ve taken on additional responsibilities, and I’m wondering if I could pick your brain for some information.”

  Randolph looked down at his steak. His nostrils contracted as he drew in the grilled aroma, and a satisfied look settled on his face. Then he did what Emily had seen him do the night she tended bar at the Biscuit. He reached into his pocket and extracted a switch blade, which he opened with a squeeze of his thumb.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Clara, you’ve got a visitor,” said the guard.

  Assuming it was Emily with some additional items Clara wanted from home, she followed the guard to the visitation area.

  “Darren! What are you doing here?” asked Clara. “I told you to stay away from me, at least until I’ve sorted out everything.”

  Her twenty-year old son took a seat across the table from her, folding his lanky frame onto the wooden chair.

  “You need a haircut,” she said. He swept his dark hair off his forehead and shrugged.

  “How can you figure out anything from in here?” he asked. “Maybe I should tell the cops about that night.”

  “No! Stay away from the cops for now. You shouldn’t have come here. Someone might see you. Where are you staying?”

  “At my friend Tod’s, but I don’t feel safe there. The other night I saw the same black SUV driving past the house several times.”

  Clara knew that wasn’t good. He had to get out of there, but go where? He couldn’t stay with Dad in the retirement home, and she knew her house would be under surveillance by either the cops or the people responsible for Davey’s murder. The killers had to know they weren’t in the clear yet. And Darren’s other friends were unreliable, most of them druggies from his high school days. On probation for smoking dope, the last thing he needed was to hang out with people who were dealing or still into weed.

  “I’ve got an idea, but it’ll take me some time to work it out. I’ll get a message to you through Grampa this afternoon. Now
get out of here.”

  She got up from the table and signaled to the guard.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t love Darren, but for now she wanted him as far from her as possible. The authorities were still building the case against her, and they must be wondering about that call on Emily’s cell to Clara the night of the murder. Detective Lewis was like a blood hound when tracking down loose ends. He’d convince the DA that call was important and soon he’d find out who made it. Clara hated to bring Emily into this but it was a matter of family now. She’d have to manipulate her emerging friendship with Emily once again.

  Emily smiled as Randolph cut into his steak with the switchblade.

  “Maybe you should spring for new steak knives,” said Emily.

  Randolph looked up at her, shoved a large chunk of beef into his mouth, and chewed. “The knives here are fine for the customers. I like the feeling of my knife cutting through a steak like a spoon through pudding. You should try it.” He held out the switchblade to her and nodded toward his steak.

  “No thanks. But you might give me little help with a problem I have.” Randolph poked his fork at the baked potato, but returned to the meat.

  “Anything I can do. I have to admit I’m a little embarrassed Sherry and I caved so easily with Davey.”

  “Never mind,” said Emily. “I don’t think this setting would have been right for me anyway. But here’s the thing. While Clara’s in jail, I’m taking over her duties as manager so I need another part-time bartender at the club. Any suggestions?”

  Randolph swallowed and propped his elbow on the table. His hand still held the knife which he twirled around as a look of concentration crossed his face.

  “Do you remember the old dude who came in here the night you were working? Had a long ponytail, drank Smirnoff’s Silver.”

  Emily had a vague memory of someone dressed all in black at the end of the bar. But old? The guy was about her age. She shot Randolph a skeptical look. “Old, my ass. The guy was definitely cool looking