Death on Torrid Ave.

by Patricia McLinn

  “Oh? Who are his close friends?”

  “I don’t know names.” Or didn’t remember them, I suspected. “Never took a list or anything like that. He’s a grown man. But he’d come home from that dog park and say what this one or that one learned from him about how to keep a dog doing what it’s supposed to be doing.” Her eyes went unfocused for a moment.

  I opened my mouth, but Clara made a small wait gesture with her hand so I shut it.

  “Amy. Amy what works at the library. She’s somebody he mentioned that I remember. She’s spoken to me about Dwight being real smart with dogs. Said so last time I was in the library. Don’t get to the library anymore. They bring books to us, which is okay, I suppose, but it’s not the same as getting to look up and down the rows. Used to like to get magazines a lot. All those pictures and didn’t have to spend a dime. Now I can’t hardly see the pictures anyway.”

  She waved to a framed group photograph on the dresser. “Can’t tell light from dark, dark to light anymore. You remember, Clara. Remember how I could see a bird a mile away?”

  “You could. And a little girl getting ready to step into the creek in her Sunday best. You called out and I was sure it was the voice of God…”

  While they reminisced, I looked closer at the family photo. The Yagos clan has some strong genes, because the resemblances were strong. I was pretty sure I picked out Dwight in the back row until I saw a guy on the right side. Two young women, one with dyed blonde hair, another with deepest black could be identical twins.

  Can’t tell light from dark, dark to light anymore.

  If Mrs. Yagos meant telling those two apart, I didn’t blame her.

  “…but we’re talking your friend’s attention right away,” Mrs. Yagos said.

  “I’m enjoying hearing about when you lived in that house and before Clara’s grandmother … left.”

  Mrs. Yagos gave a cackle. “Wish I’d left for the same reason Trudy did. Got a note from her a few weeks ago with such photos. Was showing them to Dwight…”

  Clara frowned at me. “Gran went to Belize with her boyfriend.”

  Oops. I’d jumped to a conclusion, thinking Clara’s grandmother no longer occupied that house because she’d died. Shame on me.

  Our hostess snorted. “Eighty-year-old boyfriend. Like they’re teenagers. That fella doesn’t know how a grown man should act.”

  Trying to repair my standing with the woman, I said, “But Dwight does.”

  “Yes, he does. He’s a good boy, Dwight is. Not like the rest of them.”

  “You have other grandchildren?” It seemed likely from that photo, and it might be a good topic to get her talking more openly about Dwight.

  “If you can call them that. Never around. Never remember my birthday. Never remember Mother’s Day. Never remember nothing except what they want from me, which right now is to die. But they’ll find out soon enough that won’t get them anything, either. Not them and not my son and not my daughter. Only one who’ll get anything is Dwight. Because he’s the only one who’s given anything. All this balderdash about him going off somewhere and nobody knowing where is nonsense — Dwight wouldn’t do that. He’d tell me if he was going somewhere.”

  “They’ve been looking for him,” I said gently.

  “Then they’re not looking in the right places. And that’s fine with me, because Dwight must not want them to find him.”

  “It’s important he talks to the authorities,” I started cautiously. “The sheriff’s department would like to talk to Dwight about a man named Bob Coble, a man Dwight didn’t get along with.”

  “I know who Bob Coble is. Heard enough about him. And don’t go pussyfooting around with me, young lady. I know he was killed. All that mush mouth about wanting to talk to Dwight is just being afraid of saying they think he killed that Bob Coble. Not so. Absolutely not so. Anybody who thinks so is an idiot. And I’ll tell them to their face that exact thing, anybody here—”

  The sting to those words made me guess somebody had said something. And likely regretted it after Mrs. Yagos finished with them.

  “—or anyplace else who wants to say such a thing. Dwight is a good boy. That Bob Coble gave him plenty of trouble over plenty of years. All sorts of nasty things said, but Dwight took it like a saint. Why, I’d tell him give the guy a fist and that would end it. Bob Coble would have run off like one of those dogs with his tail tucked between his legs. But Dwight wouldn’t hear of it. Even when he was most aggravated, at the end of all, he’d say, But to give the man his credit, he does like dogs. When a boy like Dwight says something like that about another man, he’s not going to turn around and murder the fella.”

  “If Dwight were to hide someplace do you have any idea where it might be? Did he have a special place?”

  “No special place, but my Dwight and his cousin explored every inch of that creek runs behind my place as boys. Goes from one end of the county to the other.”

  A perfunctory knock, then Mrs. Yagos’ door swung open to a brisk woman followed by two uniformed aides.

  The woman in the lead stopped dramatically, pretending to be surprised to see us. “Who are you?”

  I bridled on behalf of Dwight’s grandmother’s. This brisk woman with Geraldine on her name tag acted as if the older woman weren’t even here.

  “They’re my business and none of yours,” she said, proving she didn’t need any bridling on her behalf. She could do it quite effectively on her own. “Go away.”

  “It’s time for your treatment.”

  “Oh, bother. And it’s not a treatment, it’s a shower. For heaven’s sake, call it what it is.”

  One of the aides giggled. Brisk Geraldine glared. The giggle ended. The other aide simply looked weary.

  “C’mon, Mrs. Y,” said the giggler with a warm enthusiasm that made me like her. “I’ve got new smelly stuff for you to try.”

  “All right,” the old woman conceded, but with a brightening interest that made me suspect she looked forward to trying new smelly stuff.

  Clara hugged Mrs. Yagos and I shook hands with her before the aides led her into the bathroom.

  Geraldine demanded again, “Who are you?”

  Before Clara could answer, I said, “It should be clear to you from Mrs. Yagos’ reaction that she knew and welcomed us.”

  “We have to look out for our residents. Not all of them have good judgment.”

  “Mrs. Yagos does.”

  “That’s so, Clara,” came Mrs. Yagos’ shout from the other room.

  Geraldine — clearly an administrator of some kind — couldn’t argue that Mrs. Yagos didn’t know us after she called Clara by name. She retrenched. “We’ve had reporters — and worse — trying to get in to see Mrs. Yagos since this distasteful business at that place they call a park.”

  “The Torrid Avenue Dog Park.” I said it because I thought it would bug her.

  She wrinkled her nose like she might have gotten a whiff of poop from the dog park miles and miles away. “We’re trying to prevent her being annoyed at this difficult time.”

  “She didn’t take care of the reporters herself?”

  “I sure did,” came the shout. “I like that one, too. That friend of Clara’s.”

  The aide’s giggle followed again. I might have been inclined to join in, except Geraldine’s expression killed the desire to giggle.

  Geraldine held the outer door open for us in command — brisk command.

  Once she closed it with all of us on the hallway side of it, she herded us toward a glass-enclosed office. “Come in here.”

  “No, thank you.” I put a guiding hand under Clara’s elbow and encouraged her to keep moving past the doorway. “We’ll see you later.”

  “You’re not—”

  “When we come back to visit Mrs. Yagos again.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  But outside the building, I slowed Clara.

  “Let’s go around by the staff entrance. I spotted today’s staff schedule on
Geraldine’s office door and it showed two of the aides getting off in a few minutes. If one of them’s the giggler, we might be in luck.”

  We were.

  * * * *

  We spotted her as soon as she came out, but it took us a minute to get out of the SUV. She’d almost reached her car when I called out.

  “Hi, Carolyn?”

  She spun around. “Oh, you startled me. I thought you’d left.”

  “We’re on our way out,” I said as we caught up with her. “We hoped to have a word with you. You are so good with Mrs. Yagos and that makes us both feel better, knowing she’s well cared for.”

  “She’s a great lady and you two did her a world of good. I don’t care what Geraldine says.” She giggled again. “Don’t tell anyone, but some of us wait until she goes home at night and then we do all the fun things with our people. They love to sing their old songs and dance. Sometimes we go pretty late. Geraldine comes in the next day and she can’t figure out why everyone is tired.” Another giggle. “It makes it so working days with her is like a punishment compared to the fun nights.” She released a little sigh. “At least visitors come during the day, so that breaks it up for our people.”

  “We were concerned. Clara, here, is a long-time friend of the family, as you could tell. She’s known Dwight forever.” I fudged that last bit a little.

  Clara gave me a look that would have signaled her surprise to someone watching closely. But she managed a nod.

  “We heard Dwight hasn’t been here for a few days and hasn’t even called his grandmother,” Clara said, “so we wanted to check on her, see how she was doing. From seeing you all upstairs we knew you would be the one who would tell us the truth.”

  She looked at us for a long moment. “You two are the ones who found that man at the dog park, aren’t you?”

  Clara hesitated.

  Having a good feeling about Carolyn, I damned the torpedoes and went full-speed ahead. “Yes, we are.”

  “Some people are saying Dwight might have done that, but I don’t believe it.”

  “Neither of us believe it, either.”

  Another bit of a stretch. Because if the choice came down to believing Dwight killed Bob and other people thinking I had, I was all for picking Dwight. But if cops could lie to get information, couldn’t amateurs, too?

  “Mrs. Y is worried. Really worried. He’s always here most every day. Rarely skips one. I’ve never known him to skip two. And now it’s been days and days. Mrs. Y is a little confused about time, but she’s deeply worried, though she will not admit it.

  “A deputy came and tried to talk to her. He upset her, not like you two. He was saying things about Dwight being a suspect in a murder. Geraldine came in and kicked him out, said he had to have a warrant or subpoena or something. He said he’d come back, but he hasn’t. Not yet anyway.”

  Geraldine had redeeming qualities after all.

  On the other hand, it was good to know Deputy Eckles was looking at people beyond me.

  “When was the last time Dwight came to visit his grandmother?” Clara asked.

  “Wednesday.”

  The day of his confrontation with Bob. The day before we found Bob’s body.

  “Anything unusual that day?”

  Carolyn stared over my shoulder, clearly thinking back.

  “Dwight didn’t seem like himself. He’s usually cheerful with his grandmother. Sometimes you could see him steeling himself to be cheerful, like he hadn’t had the best day. But that day, he didn’t say hi to any of us, didn’t ask us how she’d been. Went right in and they stayed in her room. That was different. He usually makes sure she comes out and socializes. Even if she’s not real open to it some days, he can get her to come around. Like I said, they enjoyed — enjoy…”

  She came to a stop. I wasn’t sure I was the one to nudge her. After all I didn’t know the family. Sure, Mrs. Yagos liked me, but that was only on our first acquaintance.

  “What was Mrs. Yagos like after he left that day?” Clara asked.

  I almost cheered.

  “She didn’t say anything specific. She was talking about her family, like she often does. She doesn’t like her children or the other grandchildren. She was saying Dwight was the only one worth anything and most of the rest were worth less than nothing. She talks about that, a lot.” Clara nodded agreement. Carolyn continued, “They used to be after her all the time. Calls, letters, once in a long while a visit. But it was all to try to get something from her. They’d start all smiles and loving, because they wanted her to fork over. She wouldn’t. And then came the shouting. And those people could shout.

  “While back, she said she’d had enough. She was too old to deal with them. She told Dwight she wanted him to have power of attorney, to take control. He didn’t want to. She insisted. And it finally happened.”

  “When was that?”

  “Week or two ago. She also wanted to sign a new will, giving everything to him. He did hold her off on that. Said she might change her mind. And seems he was right about that. Because when he brought it up Wednesday, she was the one saying not yet, not yet, when she’d been all gung-ho before. But maybe the power of attorney thing has done the trick. From what I know, she hasn’t heard a peep out of those others.” A mini-giggle. “But that didn’t stop her talking trash about them. So, that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.”

  Watching her carefully, I saw worry squelch another giggle.

  “But something was out of the ordinary? What?”

  “He didn’t stay as long as usual and she was real down after he left. Like maybe she was feeling bad for Dwight about whatever was bothering him.”

  “Any idea what was bothering him?”

  Surprisingly, she giggled full out. “Probably that Kentucky lost a basketball game.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “What did you think, Clara?”

  “I think I should have been visiting Mrs. Yagos all along. I feel so guilty. I’m going to go home and call Gran. Not only to say hello, because it’s been too long, but to be sure she’s been in touch with Mrs. Yagos.”

  “All good things, I’m sure. I’m going to call my great-aunt Kit, too.” Though I doubted Clara’s Gran consulted on murder inquiries. “I meant what did you think of what Carolyn said.”

  “Oh, about Dwight? It didn’t surprise me. It’s what I would have expected to hear about him and how he is with his grandmother.”

  “Yes, it matches what you said about him. That makes me wonder even more if he would have disappeared on his own. Even if he killed Bob, would he have deserted his grandmother?”

  “Or Skeeter. And I say, no.”

  I nodded. “But if he didn’t disappear, what happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know if we don’t leave now, I won’t have time to get home, give Ned dinner, and be at yoga.”

  * * * *

  Sunday night yin yoga was supposed to be an hour of stretching and relaxation to let us all decompress before the beginning of another busy week, going into Monday morning with a good attitude.

  I felt like a fraud, since my Monday morning would be like all my other mornings. That didn’t stop me from going. I liked the stretches and time alone with my thoughts.

  Though, right now, my thoughts were about murder.

  I felt the disturbance of air beside me as Clara placed her mat next to mine, but didn’t open my eyes.

  “Have you heard?” Clara asked in an urgent whisper.

  The whisper was because the other dozen-and-a-half people in the room were stretching or already stretched out on their mats, awaiting the start of class. There was no rule against talking, but it was understood this was a time to sink into mellowness.

  “Heard what?” I whispered back.

  “Dwight is dead.”

  I popped up to a sitting position. Heads whipped around toward us. So much for decompressing. Much less zen.

  “How? When? What happened? How did you hear this?”r />
  “They found him a little while ago out by the railroad tracks. They’re saying a probable suicide. I don’t believe it. He would not commit suicide. I’m positive he wouldn’t. Especially with Deputy Eckles saying it was all premeditated — killing Bob, then planning to run away, but losing his nerve and killing himself instead.”

  “Premeditated? Why does he think—? No, wait.” I think I knew the answer. The wad of cash Leo had seen Dwight withdraw from the bank the day before we found Bob. “Answer the other questions first. How did he commit suicide? When? Did he leave a note?”

  “I don’t know any of that. Like I said, they just found him. His neighbor called me. Not the one you met, the one on the other side who has Skeeter. But I can tell you why I don’t think he killed himself. Mrs. Y. Skeeter. He wouldn’t. I don’t care what Deputy Eckles says—”

  “Good evening, everyone,” came the voice of our instructor. “Welcome to yin yoga.”

  “Good evening,” most of the people chorused back, a few giving our corner of the open room distressed or disapproving or dirty looks.

  “—he wouldn’t have left Skeeter or his grandmother.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  I was a lost yoga cause.

  I usually am, but that class was particularly bad.

  The instructor often talks about bringing mind and body together on the space of the mat, thinking of nothing beyond it.

  My body was there.

  My mind was on suicide.

  Possible suicide.

  And murder.

  If they’d just found Dwight, had he committed suicide recently — as in after Bob Coble’s murder. Remorse? Horror at what he’d done? In other words, an admission of guilt?

  It all fit.

  I had to admit, I spent most of the ten minutes of sleeping swan — four minutes or so each side, plus the time to get into the position — projecting pictures where the North Bend County Sheriff’s Department determined the evidence proved that scenario.