Pamela Frost Dennis - Murder Blog 01 - Dead Girls Don't Blog

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  Cornelius bowed and shook my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Katy.”

  “Universal Life, isn’t that an online thing?”

  “Actually, Katy, I received my ordination through the mail in 1967. I can perform weddings and—”

  “He did all three of mine,” said Wanda with a wink. “Too bad he can’t do divorces.”

  “—baptisms and funerals. Our motto is ‘do only that which is right.’” He tweaked his small, perfectly manicured, silver handlebar mustache. “That’s why I went into the vacuum sales and repair business.”

  I wasn’t making the connection but let it go.

  Cornelius eyed the dustpan. “Is that the remains of the dearly departed?”

  Wanda sniffed. “Yes.”

  I passed out tissues from the box on the counter and Cornelius began.

  “Master Dave was a good old chap. He would often visit me in the afternoons for a tea break. He was especially fond of Darjeeling and apricot scones.”

  Wanda’s voice cracked. “That would explain the diarrhea.”

  “I’m reminded of the time Dave and I were helping a customer in my shop and…”

  The service eventually ended and Wanda flipped the switch, blowing Dave ceiling-ward. His ashes sparkled in the sunbeams filtering through the grungy skylights and slowly descended to settle on all the newly upholstered pieces waiting for pick-up. Then Doris jumped down from the counter and leapt onto the nearest chair and curled into a purring, bony ball.

  I waited for someone other than me to break the hush. Wanda said, “That was a beautiful service, Cornelius. Dave would’ve approved.”

  He bowed. “Thank you, dear lady. It was an honor. And if you didn’t see the sign in my window, we are having a vacuum sale,” he paused and glanced around the shop, “in case you have a need.”

  Between the funeral and my throbbing snout and itchy, drizzling eyes—which Wanda mistook for emotion, I’d had enough of Acme.

  “Oh, darlin’, you poor thing.” She patted my back and handed me another tissue. “Dave’s in a happier place now.”

  Yeah, all over your customers’ reupholstered furniture. I waited a few moments, then broached the delicate subject of payment. “I have another appointment and I’ve got to get going, so if you have my check?”

  “I sure do. Hold on.”

  She went into the office, leaving me alone with Cornelius. He whipped out a card and presented it to me with a flourish. “If you ever need my services. Perhaps an upcoming wedding to your beau?”

  Wanda returned before I had to answer. “Here ya go.” I took a quick glance to make sure it was the right amount.

  “I can’t tell you how pleased I am with your work, Katy.” Wanda came around the counter and escorted me to the door. “I will be telling all my merchant friends. You’re going to be one busy gal.”

  “That’s very nice of you. I appreciate it.”

  As I was about to exit she handed me a card. “This is a little gift certificate for you. Fifty dollars off the reupholstering of an easy chair or loveseat. Anytime.”

  I was flattered, but that was not happening. I don’t want to be haunted by the future ashes of Doris.

  Out on the sidewalk, I checked my watch. I was way over the thirty minute parking time. I dashed to the car, hoping to beat another violation. Too late. The pink ticket was fluttering under Veronica’s windshield wiper. Thirty-five dollars again. Could I write off parking tickets as a business expense?

  I climbed into the car and inspected my nose in the rearview mirror. There were a couple of tiny puncture marks that looked like zits, which was amazing considering how few teeth Doris has left.

  After depositing my check at the bank drive-thru, I stopped at the drugstore for Neosporin and found a new mascara that promises to make my lashes look fake.

  At home, I checked my voicemail. Samantha had called. “Hey, girlfriend. Took the petition to the hospital and now we have them at every station. Practically everyone remembered the story and was more than happy to sign it. They think you’re a rock star.”

  It was early afternoon and if I were a responsible person, I would have cleaned house or pulled weeds, but I wasn’t feeling it. I’d distributed the petitions to everyone on my list, relieved the self-imposed obligation was out of the way, and I was solvent, so I thought it would be fun to treat Ruby to an afternoon matinee.

  We left Veronica in the parking structure across from the movie theater where the traitor couldn’t collect any more parking tickets, and with time to kill before the movie, we went into Starbucks for lattes. While waiting in line, it dawned on me this used to be PizzaShmizza where Lindsay had met those boys who had invited them to the frat party all those years ago. I wondered if they’d ever realized what their part in her death had been. They weren’t the ones who had hurt or killed Lindsay, but they had set the ball in motion. Fate.

  After the dizzying 3D extravaganza, we went to a nearby Italian bistro and over plates of butternut squash ravioli swimming in a brown butter sage sauce, Ruby grilled me about the Viking. Since there had been no new encounters, it should have been a ten-second conversation, but that didn’t stop her.

  “Why don’t you invite him over for dinner?” she asked.

  “I’d prefer a more casual first date, if there ever is a first date, that is. Like meeting for coffee.”

  “Boring.”

  “Asking him for dinner makes it sound like I want to jump his bones.”

  “Well, don’t you?”

  I took Ruby’s hand across the table. “I am so not comfortable talking about this kind of thing with you. It’s weird.”

  She put her other hand over mine. “Oh, pooh. You’re just scared to get out there, that’s all. By the way, I ran into Duke again, you know, the Dial-A-Ride guy?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I showed him your picture.”

  I pulled back my hand. “Which one?” I wondered why I cared. Vanity, I guess.

  “The one at your mother’s fiftieth birthday party. You had on your cute pink dress. I cut Chad out of the picture. He thinks you look kind of like Anne Hathaway.”

  I bet Anne’s grandma wasn’t pushing her to have sex with her neighbors or hook up with the Dial-A-Ride guy.

  “He really wants to meet you.”

  “Not yet, okay?” More like never.

  “Did I mention he has an English accent?”

  So? “No.”

  “English accents are very sexy, don’t you think?” She leaned over the table and squinted at me. “Good grief. What’s going on with your nose? Earlier, I thought it was hormonal pimples, but now it looks a little swollen.”

  “I got bit by a cat.” I touched my nose and it felt all right. “Do you have a mirror?”

  “I hope the cat had its shots. Your nose looks a little red.” She dug through her purse and handed me a compact. “Have you had a tetanus shot recently?”

  The dim lighting made it hard to see, so I used the flashlight app in my iPhone to illuminate my beak. It looked huge and sore. The two punctures now looked like major zits about to burst. I worked my jaw, opening wide and closing it, to make sure it wasn’t about to lock up from tetanus.

  Our waiter chose that moment to offer dessert menus. “You okay?” he asked, as he bent over the table to inspect my nose. “Whoa. That looks infected. Hope you don’t have blood poisoning. My brother had blood poisoning and almost had to have his arm amputated.”

  OMG! My rabid nose might have to be amputated? I snapped off the light, put down the mirror, and nonchalantly leaned my chin on my hand, covering my nose with my fingers. “I’m fine. Really.” I enunciated each word very slowly to keep my jaw flexible.

  He looked at me funny. “If you say so. Would you care for dessert?” He placed the dessert menus on the table. “Got a killer goat cheese and mango cheesecake.”

  “Sounds good. Just give us a moment.”

  “I’ll wrap your leftovers while you decide.”

&n
bsp; Ruby eyeballed him as he walked away. “He’s a hottie. Sure wish I was your age.”

  “He’s a kid. Twenty, twenty-one, tops.”

  “So you’ll be a cougar. It’s very popular now.”

  “At thirty-one, I am not ready to join the cougar club just yet.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to dip your toe in the water.” Ruby was like a dog with a bone. “Is it a crime for an old woman to want to see her granddaughter happy?” She shifted in her seat and groaned. “Maybe enjoy my last few miserable years on this wretched planet surrounded by great-grandchildren?”

  Ignoring her, I opened the menu. “Ooo. Chocolate tiramisu. Your favorite. Wanna share?”

  She looked miffed with me and said in a pouty tone, “No, I don’t want to share.”

  “You know too much sugar will keep you awake,” I warned her. “It makes your heart pound fast. Remember how you told me to always remind you?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and shot me a sulky glare. “I don’t care.”

  My grandmother had transformed into a petulant five-year-old who wanted great-grandchildren. Too funny.

  The waiter returned to our table and I ordered two tiramisus, still coyly hiding my nose.

  After dinner, I dropped off my cranky grandmother. As she made a big show of trying to pull her suddenly ancient, creaking bones out of my car, she said, “One last thing, and then I’ll never say another word again.”

  Like I believed that.

  “I may be getting old, but you’re not getting any younger.” She glowered at me. “Just think about that, little missy.”

  Ruby hadn’t called me “little missy” in years. She really was mad.

  “All right. You win.” My stiffening jaw was running ahead of my rabid-addled brain. “I will meet this Duke guy. There. Are you happy now?”

  “Yes, I am,” she answered with a smug grin. She lithely leaned over and pecked me on the cheek. “This will be so much fun. Maybe we can double date—that is, if I can dig up a date.”

  Ruby could have her pick of the men at Shady Acres if she wanted. She didn’t seem to want, so you’d think she’d understand how I felt.

  “How about that cute, retired mortician?” I said.

  “Very funny. You know perfectly well that Ronald’s gay. Actually, now that I think about it, it could be fun. We could go dancing. He does a mean tango. I’ll ask him.”

  I can’t think of anything more fun than a dancing double date with my grandma, a gay octogenarian mortician and Duke-the-Dial-A-Ride-Guy. Count me in!

  “And if you don’t like Duke, there’s this cute guy at the—”

  “One at a time, please,” I said, as she hopped out of the car.

  She got halfway to her door and called back, “I’ll call ya tomorrow. Toodles.”

  I drove home grousing aloud until the humor of the whole episode hit me and by the time I pulled into my driveway, I was hysterical.

  Daisy and Tabitha gave me a royal greeting, and I gave them a snack. In the bathroom, I inspected my nose with a 10x magnifying mirror. It definitely looked worse, so I slathered half a tube of Neosporin on it and taped a big gauze pad over it.

  I crawled into bed, turned on the white noise machine to forest sounds, and snuggled into my favorite sleeping position under my cozy down comforter. Ahhh. A minute later, Tabitha and Daisy bounded into the room and hopped onto the bed.

  “Wait a minute.” I sat up and switched on the light. “I thought we’d agreed that you guys sleep on the couch now.”

  Daisy ignored me and flopped on her side of the bed, then got up and revolved about six or seven times before flopping down again in the exact same position. Tabitha wedged in against her.

  I knew any further argument was useless, so I turned off the light and shifted into my sleeping position again, assuming I’d drift off momentarily, but instead I noticed I could hear my heart beating double-time in the ear pressed to the pillow. I rolled over on my back and stared at the ceiling. I felt yucky and then I heard my “dessert warning” to Ruby. You know too much sugar will keep you awake. It makes your heart pound. Then Ruby’s voice drifted into my reverie. You’re not getting any younger, you know.

  I was wide-awake and buzzing on a sugar high. Oh, no. I’m turning into my grandmother.

  “No way. I’m barely thirty-one, which is like the new twenty-one.” I switched on the lamp and checked my alarm clock. “Who goes to bed at 9:37 anyway? Old people, that’s who.”

  Daisy opened one eye, grumbled, and went back to sleep.

  I jumped out of bed and went to the living room to watch TV. I caught the last few minutes of a show about a woman almost buried alive by her hoarding habit, then got sucked into watching people with bizarre addictions. The first story was about a woman who eats curtains. Her husband complained because they had no privacy. Jeez! Get some mini-blinds, idiot! I could have changed the channel, but I found the show disturbingly fascinating, which led me to the next show about weird obsessions. Like the woman who loved pigs so much she transformed her entire house into a pig-sty. I’m talking the interior. She ought to get together with the hoarder lady. No wonder I usually only watch my recorded shows.

  At eleven-thirty-five, I woke up on the couch and dragged myself to bed. A more respectable bedtime for a young, active woman like me.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Tuesday, May 14

  1996

  Phil lounged on the family room sofa, struggling to keep his eyes focused on a dry, academic history of the Roman Empire when his cell phone rang. Since moving home, he’d ignored several calls from Erik, and deleted one long-winded drunken voicemail after listening to thirty seconds of slurred nonsense. Now it was Jake calling, so he set the heavy book on the coffee table and answered.

  He’d barely said hello when Jake blurted, “You need to get over here. The police are setting up interviews for this afternoon.”

  Phil’s felt his lower back muscles instantly knot up with tension. “What time?”

  “Four.”

  “Hold on a sec.” No one was home, but to be on the safe side, Phil went outside to the back of the yard to continue the conversation. “I’ll come over around three, so we can get our stories straight.” As soon as he said that he realized he sounded like the criminal he now was. “How are you holding up?”

  “Not good. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this without breaking. I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t study. They’re going to take one look at me and know I’m guilty.”

  “Same here,” Phil whispered, keeping an eye on the back door. “Remember Jake, we’re not the ones who killed her.”

  “I know, but we let it happen.”

  “No, we didn’t. We tried to save her. Erik’s the one who murdered her in cold blood.” Phil shuddered at the brutal memory.

  “You’re right.” Jake dropped to a whisper. “But we both did the other thing.”

  Phil had been so obsessed with Lindsay’s death, that he’d nearly pushed the rape out of his mind. It seemed almost inconsequential now when compared to murder. But the police wouldn’t think that way. At the very least, he and Jake would go down for the rape and the kidnapping.

  Phil entered his dark bedroom at the frat house and found Erik and Jake lying on their beds. For the last few days, neither had shaved or showered. The stale, airless room stank of body odor, boozy breath, and rotting takeout.

  “Whoa!” Phil plugged his nose, as he raised the mini blinds and opened the window. He stuck his head out and sucked in the fresh spring air, before turning to his roommates. “It reeks in here.”

  “We didn’t get to go home and have Mommy take care of us,” sneered Erik, covering his eyes against the sudden daylight flooding the messy room.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “Not this afternoon, but hey! It’s five o’clock somewhere, so…” He rolled on his side and stretched for the silver flask on his desk.

  Phil got to it first and held it aloft. “Do yo
u really think it’s a good idea to talk to the cops wasted?”

  Erik swung his bare, dirty feet to the floor. “Maybe not.” He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and scratched under his t-shirt.

  Phil set the flask on the windowsill, dumped the smelly takeout leftovers in a garbage can and placed it outside in the hall. “Have either of you looked in a mirror lately? You both look like homeless bums. The minute the cops see you, they’re going to suspect something’s off. You need to clean up.”

  Jake dragged himself off his bed. “He’s right.” He grabbed a towel off the back of his desk chair and left the room.

  Phil turned his attention to Erik. “Just keep up the drinking and you’ll put us all in prison.”

  Alpha Gamma had thirty-five undergrads living in the house. The older members lived elsewhere but were coming in for interviews. By 3:55, there were over seventy young men milling about in the main floor lounge. Detective Yaeger was there with two other officers. At 4:03, she addressed the group.

  “Thank you for coming. Has everyone checked his name off on the sign-in sheet in the dining room?”

  Several boys left to sign in. When they returned and everyone had settled on chairs and the floor, she began again. “I’m Detective Angela Yaeger, and this is Officer Robert Harris and Officer Joanne Yee,” she said.

  The officers nodded to the group.

  “You all know why we’re here. In the early hours of May 4th, Lindsay Moore was found near here. She’d been drugged, assaulted, and gang-raped at a party that we believe was held in a fraternity house; although, it could have been a sorority house, so we’ve been visiting the various chapters in the vicinity where our victim was found.” Yaeger’s eyes swept the room. Several boys glanced away or fidgeted in their seats while others boldly stared at her. Like every fraternity she’d already visited, they all looked guilty.

  “We know a party was held at this house on the night of the assault; however, there were a lot of parties that night. Go figure. Friday night? Frat houses? Mmmm. How ironic,” she softly chuckled. Her remark broke the ice and much of the nervous tension left the room as the boys snickered. She paused a moment to let them quiet down. “I’m sure most of you already know Lindsay went missing this past Friday afternoon. We believe she was abducted.”