Dumpster Dying

by Lesley A. Diehl

  and . . . ”

  “Okay, not so old. He fills in here sometimes when one of our bartenders gets sick. His name’s Donald Green.”

  “Got a number for him?”

  Randolph didn’t reply to her question. Instead he posed one of his own. “What’s the weather like? Wind blowing much?”

  “Uh, no. It’s sunny, a few clouds.” Emily sighed, thinking about the perfect weather outside. Not too hot, not too humid, but the kind of day she wouldn’t mind hitting drives into the pond on the first hole at the course, anything but sitting here in this dark cave of a bar and tracking down hired help. Emily straightened her shoulders and leaned forward.

  “Then you can find Donald down at the river. He has the fastest bass boat on the lake. Ask whoever you see there, and they’ll help you.”

  “Can’t you give me his number? I’ll leave a message for him. I don’t really have the time to sort him out from the other guys fishing.”

  “The only way I’ve ever contacted him was to send someone to the river if I needed him. But you can try looking him up in the book if you like.”

  No Donald Green listed in the white pages, and Emily had second thoughts about hiring him, but the other names Randolph gave her were employed elsewhere or weren’t interested in the work at the club. She knew all her mixology classmates already had other jobs too, so it was Donald Green. Or no one, if she couldn’t locate him.

  As she headed toward the local park where the river emptied into the lake, Emily tried to recall what she knew about Donald. She remembered him, and not for what he drank or his physical appearance, but for what he said to her after her run-in with Davey.

  That Saturday night the customers were three deep at her station. And then Davey approached her drunk and she refused to serve him. He grabbed her arm and almost pulled her onto the bar before Randolph rushed over with Sherry and pulled Davey away. “You’d better leave, Emily,” Randolph had said.

  “Pick up your check tomorrow afternoon,” Sherry said.

  Davey had humiliated her with his scene, and Sherry added to it by firing her in front of everyone. She grabbed her purse from under the bar and walked toward the door. Donald Green had stepped in front of her and uttered words all too similar to those Clara used. “There’s a man I wouldn’t mind killing.”

  At the boat launch area, Emily surveyed the large number of pick-ups with boat trailers. There had to be fifty or sixty trucks in the lot. The river and the mouth of the lake teemed with craft. If Green were out in his boat, how was Emily supposed to locate him, much less have a talk with him? She watched as a truck with trailer backed down the ramp. A man maneuvered a boat close and then drove it easily onto the half-submerged trailer. Neither the driver nor the one on the boat was Green, but she thought she might as well start asking for him. She began her search with the man exiting the pick-up.

  “Seen Donald Green around?” she asked.

  “Yep. Over there.” He pointed toward a boat anchored off-shore to the right of the launch. “The red one.”

  Emily followed his finger and recognized Green’s long ponytail. Today he was dressed in a tee-shirt, blue jeans, and wore a cap with a bill. She began to walk down the river toward the boat. Maybe she could yell loud enough to make herself heard.

  “Mr. Green,” she said. Green sat on a high seat in the front of the craft. He didn’t turn at her call.

  “Mr. Green.” She yelled louder. Still no response. I’ll give it one more try, she thought. If he’s deaf, he’s going to be a liability as my bartender anyway.

  “Mr. Green.”

  Not a muscle moved. Emily turned to walk back to the parking lot.

  “I heard you the first time you interrupted my fishing. C’mere, would ya?”

  She retraced her steps. Green now stood in the back of his boat. “Catch.”

  Emily reached out and grabbed a ring of keys which flew through the air toward her.

  “My truck’s the black Ford with the fancy grill. Start it up and back the trailer on down here. Or is that too much for a little gal like you to handle?”

  Why that arrogant SOB. Who does he think he is? Emily strode back to the parking lot and dumped the keys into the hands of the man who had given her directions to Green’s boat.

  “Green says for you to get his truck and pull him out of the water. Said he’d pay you twenty bucks for doing it.”

  Emily waited under the shade of a large palm tree at the river’s edge. Once Green’s boat was on the trailer, she smiled when she saw the man hold his hand out and say something to Green. The smile erupted into a chuckle as Green’s face took on a deep shade of red and he turned to look her way. He got into his pick-up and Emily was certain he was going to leave as he gunned the engine and headed for the entrance. Short of the turn onto the road, he stopped the truck, turned it around, and parked a few feet from Emily’s shady palm. She stood her ground as he slammed the door and moved toward her.

  “I guess you thought that was pretty funny,” he said.

  As he advanced on her, she retreated along the river, backing up and not taking her eyes off him.

  “Stop right there,” he said.

  Emily continued to retreat, but walking backward was far slower than the steps he took forward. Besides he had a good foot on her in height.

  She was about to turn and run, when he grabbed for her and caught her forearm in a steel-like grip. She looked up into his icy blue eyes and rued having played her little joke on him. He seemed not to have much of a sense of humor.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. She tried to wiggle her arm out of his grasp, but he held on tight. “I wanted to talk to you, but you’re so damn arrogant. You deserved what you got.” Wait a minute. Was she apologizing or goading him into greater fury? “I mean, I’m sorry you lost that money.”

  “I didn’t lose a nickel. I told him you were my ex-girlfriend and you were playing a joke on me. He wondered if he could ask you out, and I told him to go ahead. I was through with you. But I’m not done with you yet. We’ve got a score to settle here. No one drives my truck unless I give them permission. Same with my boat.”

  “You were going to let me drive your truck,” said Emily.

  “Nah. You wouldn’t know how, and I knew it. I was playing with you.” He smiled a bit, the anger lifting from his lined face. He also let up the pressure of his grasp, and Emily twisted away from him and ran along the river bank.

  “Oh, hey. I forgot to tell you. You’re making straight for a gator on the bank there. About twenty feet in front of you.”

  Emily stumbled in her attempt to make her feet stop moving. Sure enough, a fifteen foot gator sat in front of her, unmoving, eyes closed, but menacing all the same. Emily reversed direction, dashing back toward Green and throwing herself into his arms.

  “Save me,” she said.

  “Tell me why I’d want to do that.”

  “There’s a job in it for you. And twenty bucks,” she said. She inserted her hand in her pocket, fumbled around with the change she carried there, and withdrew a five.

  “A down payment.” She held the bill in front of his eyes.

  “Shoo,” he said to the gator.

  The next morning Emily was having a little talk with herself in the shower. When Fred used to hear her in one of her “self” conversations, he kidded her that she was sharing the bath with another guy. Now Fred was gone, and she missed him. But she had to admit to herself that each day she was alone got a little easier. When she shared this with Hap, he cautioned her not to develop mental health too quickly after Fred’s death.

  “The court wants to see grief and suffering, not a merry widow,” Hap reminded her.

  She tried to squeeze out a tear of loneliness, but she had too much on her mind. Even if she could produce a tear, how would she know with the water running down her face?

  She turned her attention back onto her new employee. The embarrassment of yesterday at the river flooded her thoughts. “Save me,” she’d sa
id, like she was a princess in a medieval castle. He had to think her an idiot. At least he’d let her know about that gator. Then he had the audacity to argue over the pay at the club. As if Emily had any say in what the hourly wage was. And he’d insisted on working nights so that he could get fishing in during the day. Emily was so desperate, she agreed. When am I going to get a little golf in?

  The water in the shower cut off abruptly. Again this week, thought Emily. And here I am with shampoo in my hair and a date to meet with my lawyer before I go to work. Someone knocked on her door.

  “Be there in a minute,” she said. She grabbed a towel, dried off, and wrapped her terry robe around here. A young man stood on her steps. His eyes took in her sudsy hair.

  “Oh, this,” she said. She lifted her hand to her head. “Water shut off. Say, I know you. I saw a picture of you and your mother on her dresser.”

  “Maybe that will make this easier,” he said. He handed her a note, which read,

  Emily,

  I know this is unfair, but I have no choice. Dad wanted to contact you, but I told him it was better if I did it. My son, Darren, needs a place to stay where it’s safe. He’ll explain everything to you.

  Clara

  “So I guess we’re roomies,” Darren said.

  As Emily gestured for him to come in, she spotted Mrs. Wattles and Mrs. Frey, the park’s insatiable gossips, driving by in their golf cart. They slowed and took a long look at Darren as he walked into the house. They then proceeded straight up the road. Funny, thought Emily, they usually turned right at the corner to go to the pool for nine o’clock water aerobics.

  CHAPTER 9

  Darren left almost as soon as he arrived, saying he needed to pick up a few more of his things still at Tod’s. Emily offered to drop him off when she went into town, but he said he’d take the bus outside the park’s entrance.

  “I’ll be back here in a few hours. I’ve got to get some sleep before my night shift at the box factory in town.”

  “Be careful. Your mom wants you out of sight,” said Emily. He’d promised his mother to fly beneath the radar by staying with Emily during the day and working at night. No hanging around with his old buddies.

  Well, hiding out lasted for less than an hour, thought Emily. But then, as she said to Vicki, twenty-year olds needed some social life, the kind that couldn’t be found in an over fifty-five community.

  She heard footsteps on her porch and saw the park manager through her front windows. Oh, crap. This can’t be good.

  “Could I have a few words with you?” asked Ralph Sturgis, a man as broad around the butt as he was tall.

  Emily gestured him up the steps. He waddled into the living room and eyed the backpack Darren had dumped on the floor.

  She didn’t offer Sturgis a seat. The man always made her feel uncomfortable even when Fred was alive, eyeing her from head to foot.

  “I hear you’ve got company,” he said.

  She didn’t reply to his implied question. Let him ask a real one, and she’d give him an answer.

  “Uh. I understand he’s a young man. Under the age limit here. Relative of yours?”

  “No. The son of a friend.”

  “How long will he be staying?” asked Sturgis.

  “Not long. Just until some things are straightened out in his family.”

  “No one would mind if he was a relative, but since he’s not, folks around here might think it odd you move in another man before Fred’s, how do you say, cold in the ground.”

  Emily wanted to rush at him, fists flying, but she suppressed the urge. With difficulty. And she kept her distance from him.

  “And you’re suggesting I do what?” she asked. Her voice was as cool as a block of ice.

  Ralph smiled one of his smarmy smiles, exposing two missing teeth. “Well, you might consider attending a little function with me tonight.”

  “What function?” Emily’s eyes darted around the room, looking for something she could use to prod him out the door. Like a broom. Or a mop. Better yet, a sword.

  “A small get-together in the Wildwood Hotel. Nothing formal or large. You and me. How about it?” He accompanied his obscene suggestion with an equally lewd grin.

  The toilet flushed.

  Ralph whirled on his feet in the direction of the bathroom. “Who’s that?” he asked. The smile was gone from his face, replaced by worry lines on his sweaty forehead.

  “It’s only me, Ralphie.” Vicki emerged from the bathroom and stood in the hallway to the kitchen and living area.

  “What did you . . ?”

  “Oh, I heard all of it. Interesting. There have been rumors going around the park you were hitting on the single women here. I guess they’re true. What must your wife think?” Vicki was almost dancing with glee as she jigged her way down the hall toward Ralph.

  “You wouldn’t tell my wife, would you?” he asked.

  “No, of course not. I’d prefer to tell the Condo Board of Directors,” Vicki said. She picked up a cookie off the plate she’d earlier carried over to Emily’s and set on the counter.

  “I’d lose my job,” said Ralph.

  Vicki was having way too much fun pushing his buttons. Emily wanted a piece of the man too. “Should’ve thought of that before you came in here and threatened me, but maybe we can work something out.” She had no intention of cutting any kind of deal with Ralph, but the way his face lit up at the suggestion made it difficult for her to suppress a chuckle at the ignorant hope in his eyes. “Meantime, get out. You interrupted my morning tea with my next door neighbor.”

  “Work what out?” asked Ralph. He rolled toward the door.

  “I’ll get back to you,” said Emily. She slammed the door. It caught his backside and shot him down her steps.

  “Now where were we?” asked Vicki.

  A tiny smile tugged at Emily’s mouth when she heard him muttering to himself as he pulled his golf cart out of her drive. Ralph remained a problem, but one she’d have to take care of another time. She turned her attention to a more immediate issue.

  “So Clara wants me to let Darren stay here for a while until she can think of some better place for him. How can I refuse her? She gave me a job when no one else would, and she’s in jail partly because she chose to stand up for me. She seems to think her son’s in danger, but she’s not telling me about what’s going on.”

  “You know very well what’s going on,” said Vicki. She bit into another cookie. “Don’t you think Darren was the one who used your cell at the club to call his mom? Clara thinks he killed Davey, and she’s hiding him from the authorities.”

  “But they arrested her for the murder,” said Emily.

  “Only because she’s their best bet for now. Detective Lewis will follow up on that phone call.”

  “Clara and Darren also think he’s in danger from someone other than the police. That doesn’t make sense if he’s the killer. And somehow I can’t see him as a murderer.”

  “But you told me he’s on probation for some crime.”

  “Smoking dope, and there’s a long way from toking on a joint to shooting someone.” Darren couldn’t be the killer. It didn’t fit. He told her a car was following him, and he sounded more frightened of that than he did the authorities. She was about to assure Vicki she was in no danger when the phone rang.

  “Hello,” said Emily. She listened for a moment, then said, “Yes, we should talk, but right now’s not a good time. I’ll get back to you.” She jotted down a number, dropped the phone back into the cradle, and stood at the counter motionless.

  “I sure didn’t handle that well,” she said.

  “Emily, what’s wrong? You’re white as an albino rabbit.”

  Emily took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She somehow knew this day would come, but she was surprised at how unprepared she was for it. “I was about to say that Vicki’s son is no danger to me, but apparently my daughter is.”

  “I didn’t know you had a daughter,” said Vicki
.

  Emily suppressed a moan and drew in a shaky breath. “It was merely a matter of time before she looked for me. I’ve known where she was for many years, but . . .”

  “Wait. Wait. Back up. Here. Sit down.”

  Emily shook her head as if gripping the counter would help her get back control of her life.

  “I got pregnant with her when I was in college. I didn’t want to marry the guy, didn’t know him well, but I did tell him about the pregnancy, and we agreed it would be best if I put her up for adoption.”

  She doodled on the notepad, her eyes avoiding contact with Vicki’s gaze.

  “You didn’t consider abortion?” asked Vicki.

  Emily frowned, remembering the difficulty of making the decision. “I did, but I was so conflicted about the pregnancy. Should I keep the baby, give it up for adoption, get an abortion? I couldn’t make up my mind, so time kind of did that for me. The adoption was a private arrangement, but at that time, we’re talking over thirty years ago, adoptive and birth parents didn’t share in the child’s life.”

  When she realized she had drawn hearts around her daughter’s number on the pad, she threw down her pencil. She scrubbed away the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes and let out the breath she had held for over three decades.

  “Timing’s lousy,” said Vicki.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The court better not hear about your daughter. A child born out of wedlock as they say. What would the judge think of that?”

  Hap told her what the court would say. “Woman lives with a guy for over ten years without getting hitched. Seems to be a pattern with her. She had a baby without being married.”

  Emily groaned. “Well, the good news is that no one knows about this except for Vicki. She can keep a secret.”

  Emily sat with Hap at the local ice cream parlor, watching him spoon a hot fudge sundae into his mouth. His current squeeze, Elmira Bonnet, was there too, indulging in a low fat, low sugar yogurt cone. Emily sipped a cup of coffee and thought about the phone call from her daughter. She wondered if the young woman would really come visit her as she’d said on the phone. Her feelings about the daughter she’d given to others to parent were confused: anxious delight at being able to see her, mixed with fear about what the young woman would say to the mother she’d never known. And then, there was the other thing. Vicki was right. The timing was lousy.