Dumpster Dying

by Lesley A. Diehl

  Emily got out of her chair and picked the shreds of tissue off the floor, threw them in the kitchen wastebasket and returned to the living room with a box of Kleenex in her hand. “Here,” she said. She kept one for herself. “I’m thinking this story is going to be as ugly as that jagged cut on your chin. So I might need a tissue too.”

  Naomi touched her finger to the angry red mark and produced a smile that barely lifted the corners of her lips.

  “He’s been. . . he’s been beating me. At first a slap here and there, but in the past two weeks, he’s accused me of coming on to his pals at the station. He hit me hard enough that I had to go to the emergency room for stitches when I fell into the cupboard.”

  Emily’s eyes filled with rage, and she opened her mouth to speak.

  “And don’t tell me to go to the cops or to a shelter. He is a cop, and he knows where all the shelters in the area are located. And I can’t go home to Mom and Dad. He’ll come there and make trouble.”

  “I wasn’t going to say any of those things. I was going to suggest you could move in here. I’ll bet he doesn’t know about me, does he?” The words fell out of her mouth, surprising even her.

  “He knows I was adopted, but that’s all he knows. I didn’t come here to have you rescue me.” Naomi’s mouth formed a determined line across her face.

  “No, of course not. But then, I’m not the kind of person to give you away twice in your lifetime. Maybe once when I couldn’t take care of you, but not now when you need help.”

  “Thanks. Mom.” Naomi stumbled across the word, and frown lines creased her forehead.

  “The name’s Emily.”

  “Right.”

  “You need to be prepared for close quarters here. I’ve got another roommate, and he’s using the only spare bedroom, so it’s bunk with me in the king-sized bed or sleep on the couch. Oh, and, cops seem to wander in and out of here, something I’ll explain to you later. And sometimes stolen merchandise appears in my drive. I’m one of several suspects in a recent murder, I tend bar for a living, and one of my close friends is in jail.” Emily paused to catch a breath. “So there. I guess you’re all caught up on my life. If you still think moving in here constitutes some kind of refuge, you’re welcome. The pool and spa are across the street. Try to ignore any gossip about me you hear there. I’ve got to get some sleep. How about you?”

  Emily arose at six, in time to make pancakes for Darren. She eyed his torn sleeve and several scratches on his face. All the young people in this place were arriving damaged this morning.

  “What do you do at the factory?” she asked.

  He noticed her scrutiny of his face and shirt and laughed, a laugh she couldn’t quite believe. “Oh, this? I work the press that makes the depressions for folding the flaps on the boxes. I got my sleeve caught in the mechanism and scraped my face when I tried to pull it free. It’s nothing.”

  Maybe, but Hap should know about this. And about her newest live-in.

  “Can you keep her at the park?” asked Hap. Emily had called him on her way to work.

  “A lot of good that will do. Information in the park drifts out the gates like smoke from a sugar cane burn. Plus she looks like my twin sister. Well, she’s a lot younger, but you know what I mean.”

  “And you can’t send her back to her parents?”

  “It’s not safe, Hap. He’ll find her. She could use legal advice from you.”

  “She might be safer getting protection from a big, brawny cowboy or a cop like Lewis.”

  “Lewis?”

  “He might want to do you a favor,” Hap said. “Ask him.”

  “Is that a friend talking or are you giving me your legal expertise?”

  CHAPTER 11

  After her call to Hap, Emily increased her speed, hoping she wouldn’t run into traffic in town. She had spent too much time with Naomi and Darren at breakfast. After an initial shyness when they were introduced, the two began chattering over their pancakes about their favorite musicians and what movies they’d seen recently. Despite the age difference, they seemed comfortable with one another, like an older sister with her brother.

  Without revealing the details of her situation, Naomi asked Darren if there were any openings at the box factory. “I need a job, but I don’t have much experience.”

  “I’ll ask around this afternoon when I get back to the factory,” said Darren. “Most of the work there is pretty physical.”

  Naomi chuckled. “I know I’m small, but I’m stronger than I look. I work out.” She lifted her arm and made a muscle, a small, but obvious bicep. “I’ll arm wrestle you for the last pancake.”

  Until now Emily hadn’t realized what she had missed all these years—the feeling of family—and she wondered if Naomi, raised an only child, felt some of that too. Emily had been reluctant to leave the casual camaraderie, laughter and joking the two had established so easily. And now she was running late.

  When she turned into the parking area at the course, she spied Green’s truck with the boat and trailer attached. She figured he was reluctant to let his baby out of his sight.

  The bar was set up, and a few golfers sat on the stools shooting the breeze with Donald. He didn’t look like a golfer in Emily’s estimation, and she hadn’t asked how familiar he was with the sport because she’d been desperate to get someone to work the bar. But he was swapping tales with the two men about the fifth hole and telling them how his drive hit the water and bounced onto the green. Possible, unlikely, but she was thankful Green could entertain in several sports languages.

  “You did a nice job setting up,” Emily said.

  “It was that or be fired,” he replied. He grabbed a knife and began slicing lemons and limes.

  She decided to play the friendly boss, but not lose time getting information out of Donald. “Do you think the blood on your boat was human?” asked Emily.

  “Oh, probably. That happens a lot when you’re hauling around dead bodies.” Green held the knife in his hand and tested the blade on his thumb. “A little dull. Want me to sharpen it. I’m good with a sharpening stone.”

  Emily gulped. “Sure. Go right ahead.” She scurried out of the bar and into the kitchen, turning her head back toward him in time to see a tight smile on his face. Was that amusement at her awkward attempt to cross-examine him or pleasure at scaring her off?

  After conferring with the chef about the specials for lunch, Emily was about to reenter the bar when she heard a familiar voice. She peeked through the window from the kitchen to see Lucinda Davey perched on a bar stool gabbing with Donald. Now what could they be talking about? Since she had no interest in encountering her again, she decided to stay hidden in the kitchen and listen in on their conversation. She cracked the door open a bit to hear better.

  “Make me a pucker sour apple martini, sweetie?” asked Lucinda. She swung her right leg over her left and wiggled her pink and green Capri-clad butt around on the stool. “Oh, I hope I don’t fall off this thing and hit the floor. Would you catch me if I did?”

  Green gave one of his usual grim, unsmiling looks. “I’m the bartender here, Lucinda, not the bouncer.”

  “Oh, aren’t you the funny one,” she said.

  He placed the green concoction in front of her, and she took a sip. “Just sour enough,” she said.

  Emily wondered if she meant Green’s manner or the martini.

  “So I heard someone stole your boat,” Lucinda said between sips.

  “You didn’t come in here to ask about my boat. What do you want?”

  Emily thought their conversation had a note of a past connection to it. Were they ever involved? Could she find out?

  “No dearie, I didn’t come to talk about your damn boat. As if I cared about anything of yours. I have a golf lesson with Lenny.” That surprised Emily. Lucinda didn’t seem like the golf playing kind of gal. Her foundation and mascara would run by the second hole, and the smell of her hairspray and perfume could attract every fly and mosquito on
the course.

  “Good thing I went light on the vodka,” Donald said. He turned and caught sight of Emily’s head in the window of the kitchen door. Emily’s eavesdropping was over, yet she was reluctant to face Lucinda. Every time she was in the presence of that woman, she risked bodily harm.

  Donald busied himself around the bar, sending out cues that he wasn’t interested in further discussion with Lucinda. He jerked his head to one side signaling Emily he could use her help, and she did a thumbs down signal and hung back near the kitchen door, but close enough that she could spy on Lucinda.

  Lucinda turned around on her bar stool, sipping her martini and gazing out on the driving range. Lenny was giving another lesson to the young woman Emily had seen him instructing at least three times every week. The woman hit a drive that went over one hundred and fifty yards. Lenny, in his usual over-friendly way, grabbed her around the waist, and kissed her. The woman drew back, as if she wasn’t enjoying this kind of attention from her instructor, but she continued to smile.

  “That’s enough of that,” said Lucinda. She slammed her half-finished martini on the bar slopping green sticky liquid on the shiny wooden surface. For a gal carrying more than her share of necessary weight around the hip area, Lucinda was fast. By the time Emily pushed open the kitchen door to get a better look at what was happening, the Widow Davey was on the driving range standing over a surprised Lenny Sharples. His student grabbed her club and jumped into the golf cart, hitting the accelerator hard enough that the cart did a wheelie as she sped for the safety of the clubhouse.

  “What happened?” asked Emily. She and Donald stood at the windows of the bar, watching Lenny and Lucinda.

  “She decked him,” said Donald. He turned back to the bar, grabbed her martini glass, and began to wash it.

  “She may want the rest of that,” Emily said.

  “She may, but she shouldn’t,” said Green.

  “You seem to know Lucinda. Tell me about her and Marcus,” said Emily. She watched as Lucinda threw her arms over her head and gestured wildly. She looked like a human windmill. Lenny backed up to his golf cart while Lucinda advanced on him. Emily couldn’t hear what she was saying, but her mouth worked like a chute in a grain elevator, words flowing without stop, burying Lenny under their assault.

  Donald turned at Emily’s question and joined her at the window.

  “Like that,” Donald said. “She yelled some, cajoled some, managed him, and Marcus retreated.”

  “What I knew of Marcus Davey wasn’t someone who could be put off by a woman,” said Emily.

  “Maybe not by you,” he said, “but you’re not a southern woman. You’re a little bitty northern babe. No danger at all. But Lucinda? Lucinda’s another story. Rumor has it Marcus was dedicating himself to booze and Lucinda was managing the ranch.”

  “That had to have been difficult for him. Or didn’t he mind?”

  Donald thought for a minute before he answered. “As long as she let him believe he was the boss, no problem. And, like I said, Lucinda is a southern woman who knows how to manage her man. His problem was with his older brother.”

  “I heard about how he died. What was the problem?” She thought she could guess from what Clara had said, but she wanted to hear Donald’s view of the brothers.

  “Don’t know for sure, but folks around here suspect Marcus had a hand in the so-called accident. Couldn’t prove it, of course.” Again Donald paused and considered his words. If they got any slower in coming out, cobwebs would grow on his tongue.

  “Marcus wasn’t half the cowman his brother was,” he said.

  “Ah,” said Emily, “that explains a lot. He carried himself as if he was waiting for someone to insult him, to question his competence or status. Look how he reacted when I told him no to another drink. A drunk with a chip on his shoulder. But he’d have been as prickly without the booze. It made him less certain of himself, meaner maybe.”

  Donald turned to her with a look that she found unsettling, a look that almost said he had found respect for her. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “That’s quite an assessment. Aren’t you smarter than a confederate dressed in blue in a Yankee camp. And now you know why Detective Lewis has more suspects in the murder than this county has cattle.”

  She guessed Donald’s comments about her were meant as a compliment and one she wasn’t sure she welcomed. She hadn’t yet made up her mind about what kind of man Donald Green was.

  The next day her phone rang at six in the morning. Too early. She and Naomi had talked until two, catching each other up on their lives. Emily felt nauseous from lack of sleep.

  “If you can be ready in fifteen minutes, we can get ourselves a mess of specks. They’re biting fast and furious in the river near the state park.”

  “What the hell are you . . . Who is this?” Emily asked.

  “Donald. I thought you might like to see what folks here live like.”

  “I know what they live like. They kill each other on occasion, arrest their womenfolk, and steal one another’s boats. Besides I have company here.” The nerve of this guy.

  “Invite them along.”

  From the other side of the king-sized bed, Naomi yawned and her eyes opened. “What’s happening?” she asked.

  Emily turned her head and watched her daughter awaken. What an odd feeling, to be sharing a bed with a child she hadn’t seen in over thirty years. This would take some getting used to. Or perhaps Naomi wouldn’t stick around that long. Emily was shocked at how saddened she was to think her daughter might leave soon.

  “Want to go fishing?” asked Emily. After all, she was wide awake.

  “Fine with me. You got a boat?”

  “I got a . . . Well, I know someone who does,” Emily said.

  “I won’t get eaten by alligators, will I?”

  Emily covered the receiver. “No chance of that. This guy can scare off the biggest reptile by simply waving his arms. On the other hand, he may kill people.” Once the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. She shouldn’t frighten Naomi with suspicions that she herself didn’t quite believe.

  Naomi looked closely at Emily’s face. The weak morning light hid Emily’s facial expression from her daughter. Could Naomi see she wasn’t being serious about Donald? She wasn’t serious, was she? Naomi had to believe she was rational enough not to hang out with murderers. She hoped.

  “Great. I can be ready in five minutes, if we can stop at the convenience store and get coffee, real coffee not that decaf stuff you live on.”

  “I heard that,” said Green.

  What did he hear? The part about killing people or Naomi’s need for caffeine?

  “Naomi needs coffee first. Where do we meet?” Emily asked.

  “No, I mean I heard the part about killing people. Haven’t done that in a while,” he said.

  Emily assumed he had to be kidding, but just in case . . . “I’ll let Vicki know we’re going,” she said, “I mean, there might be an emergency at the course.” Or if the authorities want a lead on the killer should our bodies be found floating in the lake.

  Green laughed. “Meet me at the boat launch on the river in ten minutes. I already got coffee. We’ll be back in time to open the bar.”

  “You didn’t really mean that about his killing people, did you?” asked Naomi from the bathroom. Emily didn’t know how to answer her daughter’s question.

  Emily drove Stan the Sedan along the river road leading to the state park. The sleep was barely out of her eyes, and she wondered why she was doing this. She was going fishing with a possible murderer, she reminded herself, to help get her boss and friend out of jail. The next time she visited Clara she should ask her about Donald Green. Clara knew everyone in town, so she must have the scoop on him. And, Emily reminded herself, she had to tell Clara about Green’s boat being found in her drive.

  “So is this a boyfriend or what?” asked Naomi.

  Emily’s mouth dropped open at Naomi’s question. �
��Boyfriend? Oh, good God no. An employee, someone I need to talk with. And I hear he’s pretty good at fishing. Dinner for tonight,” Emily said.

  She steered the car into the parking area and saw Green’s boat positioned on the ramp ready to be launched.

  He beckoned her over after she parked the car.

  “A friend. Naomi,” she said introducing her daughter to Green.

  Not only a friend, but he didn’t need to know that. She watched Naomi’s face and thought she caught a hint of irritation there at the form of introduction. What was she to Emily after all these years? But most important, what did she want to be?

  “Donald Green, my employee,” said Emily. She watched his eyes snap at the designation. Emily had managed to annoy both her companions.

  He held out his hand. “Also a friend,” he said. He paused, looking from one of the women to the other, comparing the two. “You gals look. . .”

  “What?” asked Emily.

  “You look kinda small, both of you. Think one of you can handle backing this trailer down the ramp while I maneuver the boat off it?”

  “I’ll do it,” said Emily. After their first meeting, she was eager to show him she could handle the huge duelly truck. Short didn’t mean she was dumb or inept. It did mean she’d have a hard time reaching the pedals, however. She crammed her backpack behind her on the seat, shifted into reverse, and hit the accelerator with her toe. The truck shot backward.

  “Slowly!” yelled Green.

  She stuck her head out the window and looked back at him. “I thought you were in a hurry to get out on the river.” This time she applied less pressure.

  “Stop,” said Green. “I only want the boat in the water, not the truck.”

  Emily toed the brake.

  “That’s good,” he said. He backed the boat into the water. “She’s in. Park the truck and trailer, and I’ll come around to the dock.”

  Emily eased her toe onto the accelerator and drove the behemoth vehicle up the ramp and chose a parking place. Naomi was already at the dock accepting a cup of coffee from Donald. He offered one to Emily, but she shook her head when she inquired about a bathroom and Donald told her she’d have to use the tin can on board like everyone else.