by Gale Borger
“At least now I know why that idiot came screaming up the drive like a bat out of Hell, wrecking my new truck. Speaking of old bats, don’t tell your mother about this yet, okay?” He looked beyond me to his truck. “Say, do you think I can buff this scratch out?” He bent over again, running his fingers lovingly over the truck door.
“Uh, Dad, did you just tell me to not to tell Mom about the dead body?”
“No, go ahead and tell her about that, just don’t tell her that the new truck is all scratched up–she’ll have a fit!”
My head spun trying to keep up and to focus my father on the more important situation at hand. “Dad, listen to me, you have a dead person in your back yard. The cops are going to want to know how it came to be under your house! What are you going to tell them?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Isn’t it the cop’s job to find out who he is? I didn’t put him there and your mother sure as hell didn’t, so what am I going to do about it now? Besides, that’s more up your alley anyway, Buzz. I figure you’ll look into it–that is what you do, isn’t it?”
“No, that is what I did. I’m retired, Dad. I don’t do that anymore.”
“You won’t be able to stay away Buzzi, and it will make your mother feel better about having a corpse under the house.”
“I suppose it would be kind of traumatic if she was the one to find it. Good thing Fred cheezed me into looking for that snake lamp, I guess.”
“I think I’d rather have a dead guy I don’t know under the house than that damn snake lamp next to my chair. You didn’t find the lamp, did you?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Geeez, every time I turned the lamp on that damn snake stared me right in the eye.” He shook his head, thinking back. “That damn lamp always did give me the willies. Do you think we could accidentally drag it behind the manure spreader or bury it in the garden? I hate that damn thing.” He rolled his shoulders and resumed his search for dings across the rear fender of his truck.
Just when I was about to scream, my third sister Mag strolled around the side of the house. “Yo, what-up Buzz? Mom called and said I’d better come over. Sounded like a royal summons–” She stopped dead in her tracks and fanned the air with her hand. “Man-o-man, what is that smell? You eat some bad burritos, girl, or were you letting that Bulldog of yours eat sauerkraut again?”
She turned to Fred and laughed at her own joke.
Fred burped. She still looked rather green. “Shut up, Maggot, Buzz and I found a dead body under the house.” She fish-eyed me and amended, “I mean, Buzz found the body; she thought it was that cowboy lamp of Mom’s.”
Mag looked at me. “Hah! Great detective work from the Sherlock Holmes of our generation–Buzz Miller. What kind of a moron mistakes a dead guy for a snake? Whew! The smell alone would knock a buzzard off a manure wagon! Let me give you a hint big sis. With very few exceptions, most people do not look like snakes.” She bent to get a closer look at the box. “You know, I think you might be losing it old girl, you might as well call old Dead Butts to investigate or someone equally stupid…wait, ha, ha, there isn’t anyone more stupid!”
Fred looked at the ground, still hyperventilating. “I already called him–he’s in the kitchen eating brownies.”
“You didn’t! And I thought Buzz was losing it. What were you thinking?”
I smiled. “Fred already lost it. It’s in the rose bushes behind you.”
Mag sighed and rolled her eyes. “Why, did she see a little spider?”
Circling the smelly box, Mag kept her nose pinched and her nasal commentary going. “And I had such high hopes for you, Freddie.” She sighed. “So, dead person in Mom’s back yard and Dead Butts is in the kitchen? Good place for him. He can’t find his ass in the dark, but he never misses his mouth.”
“I heard that,” Ted yelled from inside the house.
“Shhh–don’t piss him off Maggie,” Dad said shuffling past us on his way toward the house. “That might have spoiled my chance to get my truck fixed by the Township.”
He sighed and muttered to himself as he walked toward the house. “Guess I’ll go in before Butts gobbles up all the brownies. Maybe I can still get my truck fixed.”
He paused, looked back toward us, then scratching his head, continued on to the back door. “I sure hope she frosted those brownies this time. Maybe Andy, in town, can pull those dings out for me. I wonder who put a dead guy under the house. Chocolate frosting would be nice….” Mumbling to himself, Bill bustled through the kitchen door.
We all watched him walk away with varying degrees of awe, incredulousness, and resignation. I slowly shook my head, “You know, he gets more like Mom every day. Maybe dementia flows from both ends of the gene pool. Should we be afraid?”
“Afraid for whom, them, us, or our offspring?” Mag quipped.
“You don’t think it’s like, hereditary or anything, do you?” Fred looked worried.
I shook my head at Fred and looked at Mag. “Yep, you’d better be especially afraid, Fred.”
Mag whooped. Fred gave us both an injured look. “Was that a joke? I don’t get it. What did you mean? Are you guys laughing at me?”
By this time Mag and I were rolling. Gasping for breath, I said, “Yes!”
I looked at a teary-eyed Mag and signaled toward Fred with my head. “I can see Mom in the making…be very, very afraid!”
The roar of another car engine shifted our attention back toward the driveway. I groaned, watching a cloud of dust billow out from behind Al’s car as she raced up the drive.
“Awe crap, did Mom call the Queen Bitch too?” Fred ducked her head and hid behind Mag. I saw red. “Fred, have you ever thought about counting whales in Alaska?”
Both Fred and Mag looked confused. “What?”
“Never mind.” Following more sedately behind her was every county squad on day shift patrol–all three–plus the Sheriff and the Coroner.
Mag took in the scene and mused, “I wonder who is taking care of the county since everyone is at the Miller farm?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled, “But maybe the coroner will do a three-for-one deal after I kill Al and Fred.”
“A dead body in White Bass Lake is a big deal. Maybe Al called the newspaper.”
“Al being here is a big deal,” I said. “Don’t let her near me, okay?”
A sheepish looking Fred saluted me with one finger “Aye-Aye, Captain!”
Al minced her way across the driveway in her very inappropriate high heels and power suit. Mag began humming ‘Hail to the Chief’. Fred tried to sneak off before I murdered her for calling Al.
Fred is a featherbrain, but means well and can be tolerated for short periods of time. She’s a little wacky, but in a nice way–like Mom. Mag is mostly a bitch and proud of it, but great to have around in a crisis. We get along great. Al is just a plain pain in the ass. From the time we were kids she was a snot-nosed-Prima-Dona-tattling little shit. Baby of the family, she got away with murder and never failed to rub our noses in it. She had boyfriends do her homework when she was twice as smart as they were. She said it made them feel needed. She acts like a helpless wimp while she rules with an iron fist. She is well suited to her career choice as a Librarian. Not just any librarian, but the Librarian from Hell. That is, an anal-retentive bookworm with a Dewey Decimal obsession and a Wicked Witch of the West attitude. Both Mag and I mess with her any chance we get.
Being the diplomat I am, I hide my animosity well. I squared my shoulders and pasted a phony smile on my face. “Yo Big Al, does it take a dead body to bring you down to visit with us lesser beings, or did you hear about the opportunity for a photo op?”
Well, I guess I have to work on the ‘hide it well’ part.
She looked down her nose. “As usual, Buzz, your unprepossessing personality shines through in a moment of crisis.”
She almost minced past, but stopped and spun and shook her finger at Mag and me. “And don’t think I don’t know it was you and Mag who filed all of my
Presidential Debate videos under Fantasy and Fairy tales! It took me hours to straighten that mess out!”
I shook my finger right back at her, but not my index finger.
She sniffed. “Mature as always. I thought you might get past childhood since I’ve been out of your life for so long.”
Mag and I both smiled. Mag spoke out of the corner of her mouth, “Not long enough, evidently.”
Al flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder, raised her nose in the air, and sashayed closer to the body in the box. When the smell of the corpse hit her full in the face, she reeled, gagging. She teetered on those stupid stiletto heels of hers and started to windmill her arms, trying to keep her balance. The heels sank into the ground but Al continued her forward momentum. She suddenly pitched forward and rammed into Mag, who toppled like a domino into Fred. I jumped out of the way and Al grabbed empty air.
I twiddled my fingers in Al’s direction. “See you later, Queenie.”
She screamed and lost it, sending all three of them collapsing on top of the dead body box–a whoosh of fetid air exploded in all directions. I didn’t know whether to vomit or laugh, but it struck me as being funnier than it was sick. I grabbed my sides and roared with laughter. Mag scrambled off the box and we looked back at the floundering Al and Fred.
I looked at Mag and she looked back at me. We fell on the ground howling. While Al and Fred gagged, screamed, and clawed at each other, no less than four deputies careened around the side of the house to the rescue. Looking like a NASCAR photo finish, the deputies bumped and shoved each other. Each elbowed the other aside trying to be the first to assist Al.
Did I mention that although Al is a royal pain in the ass, she’s an absolutely gorgeous pain in the ass?
The unlucky deputy who got to Al first yanked her up and tried to steady her on her one remaining heel not quite sinking into the grass. She was still screeching and flailing her arms, knocked the glasses off the hapless deputy. She skewered another deputy’s foot with her stiletto. She backhanded the third and he lost his balance, tripped on the box and ended up beside poor Fred.
Fred was finally hauled off the box by the County Coroner, Mee-Me (Malcolm) Evans, a great guy and friend of the family. Mee-Me reached down, grabbed Fred’s wrist, and yanked. Fred flew through the air and landed with a whoomp against his stocky body. He held Fred about the waist and she threw her arms around his neck. She sobbed into his neck. He awkwardly patted her on the back. She incoherently blubbered out her story. Mee-me didn’t care. He just closed his eyes and smiled serenely while he continued to pat her on the back. When they realized where they were and what they were doing, they sprang apart and stared at each other. They both began to babble.
“Oh, Malcolm, I am so sorry.”
“Fred, are you okay?”
“Thank you so much for saving…”
“I didn’t mean to grab…”
An awkward silence prevailed. Mee-Me stubbed his toe in the ground. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, gee, Fred I h-hope you’re uh, are you okay?”
Fred took a deep breath and looked down at the box. She gulped in some air and looked at Mee-Me. “Yes, Malcolm, thank you. I’m okaaa-akkk!” and threw up on his shoes.
Malcolm looked at his shoes, then up at a horrified Fred. “Good, Fred, I’m glad you’re feeling better. Would you excuse me for a moment, please?” He walked stiff-legged over to Mom’s garden hose and calmly rinsed the puke off his shoes.
Mag elbowed me. “Poor Malcolm. It’s never easy being the Coroner.”
“Frankly, I was wondering where Fred came up with the stomach contents. She already unloaded once.”
Fred watched Mee-me. I thought about Malcolm for a minute. Mee-Me got his name the day we read a report about a body Mag had found down by the lake. He initialed, rather than signed, the report. Because his name is Malcolm Edward Evans, Medical Examiner, the initials were MEE, ME. Of course being the tasteful friends and consummate professionals we are, we never let him live it down, much to his despair.
Mee-Me has always been sweet on Fred, but being painfully shy, he has never pursued it. Fred knows about it too. However, she tries not to encourage him. She would never intentionally hurt his feelings, but I really don’t think she could take the heat if she was going out with the County Coroner.
With the trauma the box suffered under the onslaught of my sisters’ respective flying bodies, it was laid open and the entire length of the body inside was now exposed. I vaguely registered the fact Mag had ceased laughing, and now she, too, was throwing up behind me.
I stared numbly at the body, realizing that not only was the body female, but it was our neighbor and friend, Carole Graff.
As I said, dead bodies piss me off, but dead bodies of good people I know send me into a rage. At this point I’d had about enough of the theatrics of my lunatic sisters, and the bumbling of the Three Stooges, so I took off in search of the only sane person on the premises–Sheriff James J. Green.
I saw him coming out of the back door of my mom’s house, sporting brownie crumbs on his graying mustache. Dragging him over to the box, I said, “Yo, J.J., get rid of the brownie crumbs and look at this–we got trouble.”
“Hey, Buzz, what’s up? I gathered we had some trouble when I got the frantic 911 from your sister, and I understand that your Mom made brownies.”
I grabbed his shirt. “No, you don’t understand, J.J. It’s Carol Graff from down the road. She’s dead in the box.”
Hands on his hips, he stared at me. “As in Graff’s Garden Center Carol Graff?” He pushed his ball cap back and scratched at his forehead. “If that doesn’t beat all.” He rubbed the back of his neck looked down on the body. “Damn. Nice lady, too. Sometimes I hate my job. I’m going to have to be the one to go break the news to Glen and Rob.”
I felt that old sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I agree, my friend. I hated that part of your job too. That’s one of the reasons why I don’t do it anymore. If there’s anything I can do to help…”
“As a matter of fact, Buzz, you know, you can help me out here. I know you still look into things now and again. Moe is my only detective now since Brian got hit with the shrapnel when Paul Stewart’s still blew up last week.”
“Moe? Oh, you mean Phil.”
“Is that his name? I can only keep them straight as the Three Stooges.”
“But Phil isn’t a detective, even on a good day. Where’s Brian Adamson? Can’t he do the initial?”
“He’s off on Workman’s Comp and I’m left with the Three Stooges and Shemp over there for line staff. I’d almost be better off using that sawed-off excuse of a constable to investigate. Hell, I hope I’m never that desperate. Come on, Buzz, help me out here. Hey, I’ll even put you on the payroll–at Captain’s pay.”
“Captain’s pay! Forget it, J.J. I have my pride.”
Grinning, J.J. threw an arm over my shoulder. “No you don’t, Buzz–who are you trying to kid? How about it? I’ll also squeeze your expenses out of the training budget. Will that do it for you?”
I felt myself wavering, but I held my ground. “Plus an Unmarked for the duration?”
J.J. gave me an incredulous look. “You want an unmarked squad too? Why don’t you bleed me some more? How about a new grill and a year’s supply of beer to go with all that?”
Confident now, I crossed my arms over my chest. “No, my grill is just fine, thank you very much, but I could use a year’s supply of dog food. Just the squad and a free hand in the lab should do.”
Being an intelligent man, Sheriff Green knew when he’d been beaten. “I’ll go for the dog food, Buzz, but the only squad I have is mine, so forget it. Now let’s go and see what Malcolm has to say.” He grabbed me by the belt loops and yanked me against his side. I yelped and he noogied the heck out of the top of my head.
“Cut it out you moron, I said I’d help!” I jabbed him in the ribs with my fist.
He let out a whoosh of air and let me go. H
e shot me an injured look. I smiled, savoring my victory. It would have been cheaper for them to buy me a squad rather than to feed Wesley and Hilary for a year! We strolled back into the melee, where Mee-Me was gloved up and doing an initial examination of the body, ignoring the chaos still reigning around him. Moe, Larry, and Shemp strung police tape around the box, while Curly attempted to make time with Al.
Mee-Me looked up from his clipboard, reminding me somewhat of an adorable, near-sighted Bulldog. “Hey, Buzz, hey J.J. Too bad about Miz Carole, eh?” We both nodded.
J.J. rubbed the back of his neck. “I just can’t imagine who would want to kill her.”
Malcolm pointed to the body with his pen and said, “I don’t know who, but I have a hunch about how she died. Want to hear it?”
We both nodded and looked solemnly on while Mee-Me extrapolated in great medical detail about his initial examination. Our eyes began to cross and I elbowed J.J. When Mee-Me finally took a breath, J.J. interrupted him. “So in your professional opinion, Malcolm, what does all that mean?”
Mee-me shrugged and considered his notes for a few minutes. He sighed heavily and scratched his brow. “All that means, ladies and gentlemen, is that she is dead. Murdered, actually, and with great prejudice.”
3
J.J. expelled an exasperated breath. “Come on, Malcolm, a blind man could see she’s dead. Hell, he’d only have to take a whiff around here to know someone was dead! I’m thinking she didn’t crawl under there by herself and die of natural causes, so cut the crap. I meant what is your unofficial opinion? What’s your initial, unconfirmed best guess at what happened here?”
Malcolm became serious. He consulted his notes, checking off points. “Well, I see numerous contusions and lacerations on her arms and face. Doesn’t look like anything is broken–except maybe her nose. Her hands are in tough shape, however. She has been beaten, dragged, and if the bullet hole between her eyes is any indication, I’d say she was either shot by a very good marksman or executed. I can’t tell that until I do powder testing. Until I get her down to the cool room (Mee-me hated the word ‘morgue’), I cannot be any more specific than that.”