Skinny Dipping with Murder

by Auralee Wallace

  Caesar was the closest thing I had to a sibling … a sibling I never wanted and would have happily drowned at birth given half a chance. I sighed. Years back I had added Caesar to the list of things I would not discuss with my mother. Also on that list were the quality of my bowel movements and the importance of the female orgasm.

  The main door swung open.

  “There you are!” My mother rushed through the threshold, arms flung wide.

  I couldn’t stop the smile from erupting on my face. “Are you talking to me or the cat?”

  My mother’s eyes darted about the porch until they landed on the fur-leviathan mounting the final stair. “Caesar, how did you get outside? You know you aren’t supposed to be out here after dark.”

  The giant beast rubbed against my mom’s leg, nearly toppling her.

  “I know. You’re a good boy.”

  Caesar croaked at her in return. He always had sounded like a fifty-year-old with a bad smoking habit.

  “Still here, Mom.”

  “Erica,” my mother said, gliding down the steps in her flowing sundress. “My wonderful girl.” Then I was in her arms, face smothered by her masses of hair.

  “Hi,” I said through the thick aroma of lemon grass, mint, and mom.

  She rocked me back and forth. “I sensed you coming. Just now when I was doing my evening gratitude prayer.”

  Suddenly a new voice called out. “Hah! Too bad she didn’t sense you on the dock!”

  I looked over to a dark spot on the porch to spy the women I knew were there.

  “Oh, no,” my mother said, leaning back and covering her mouth with the tips of her fingers. “The dock!”

  “Hi, Kit Kat,” I called out to the darkness. “Hi, Tweety.” I could barely make out their white permed curls shuddering with laughter.

  Kit Kat and Tweety were identical twins, who had to be in their early seventies by now. They lived in the only other cottage on our almost thirty-acre island and were built like wrestlers. They smoked, drank, and lived by the belief that if you didn’t have to kill it, why would you want to eat it? They also found everything my mother did hilarious. They never got tired of it. One of my earliest memories is an image of the two of them rocking with laughter, arms crossed over their bellies.

  “Let me look at you.” My mom’s eyes moved over my face, taking in every inch. The eight-year punch of guilt got me in the stomach. “You look tired.”

  “It was a long trip.”

  “Well, come inside. I’ve got a new blend of tea that will fix you right up. Your room is exactly the same.”

  She led me by the arm toward the steps.

  “That sounds great, but I thought we could have a little chat first.”

  My mother turned to me, eyebrows lifted. “About what?”

  “About why I’m here … exactly.”

  Chapter Two

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re so upset.” My mother always used a baby voice when she thought she was in trouble, but now its pitch was reaching a level of innocence that even a newborn couldn’t live up to.

  I half growled, half sighed. “You don’t understand why I’m upset. You don’t understand why I’m upset?” I hadn’t realized how tightly I was gripping my mug until Tweety leaned across the harvest table and splashed a shot of gin from her flask into it. “Well, Mom, let me help you understand. For starters, insurance fraud is illegal.”

  “Fraud? Who said anything about fraud?”

  “You did. Just now,” I said, leaning in and jabbing my finger on the table. “Mom. I’m a stenographer. I’ve seen people go away twenty years for less.”

  “I’m sure you’re exaggerating. And Erica, honey, I hope you don’t get this upset over every little thing. It isn’t good for you. Let’s take a break and do some stretches.” She grabbed her ankle and pulled her leg to the sky. “Or a swim! When’s the last time you skinny-dipped?”

  “Mom, put your leg down. You know I hate it when you stretch in the middle of a conversation. And, no, I don’t want to go skinny-dipping with you.” Both Tweety and Kit Kat started snorting from across the table. I shot them death glares.

  “Baby. I didn’t know what else to do. Marla left without giving me any notice. How was I to know the insurance group required me to have a licensed mental health professional to supervise every therapy session?”

  “Um, because it’s your business to know.”

  “I don’t think I like your tone.” Her hand flew to her chest to cover her heart while she leaned forward. “And this is not a business. This is the jour—”

  “—ney of your life. I know. I know.” I thunked my forehead against the surface of the table then rocked my head from side to side. It wasn’t lost on me that I was an almost twenty-seven-year-old acting like a child, but I couldn’t seem to stop my behavior any more than my mom could stop hers. “I’m not a licensed professional, Mom.”

  “What’s that, sweetheart?”

  I flung my head back up. “I am not a licensed professional.”

  “You took that psychology course. I remember.”

  Don’t scream. Don’t scream. You look like the crazy one if you scream.

  “One course. Online,” I said carefully, jaw tight. “I’m pretty sure that’s not going to satisfy your insurance company.”

  “Well, you’re smart enough to be a psychologist.”

  I threw my hands in the air and shook them. “That’s not the same thi—”

  “And don’t worry,” she said, shaking her head, mounds of hair quavering about her face. “I’ve already told them all about you.”

  I pressed my lips together then pulled them apart with a loud smacking sound. “You told them I’m a stenographer?”

  “I told them you worked for the Justice Department.”

  I paused a beat before answering. “They think I’m a court-appointed psychologist, don’t they?”

  “Well,” my mother said, smoothing her fingertips over her forehead, “I’m a bit clairvoyant, but I’m no psychic.”

  Laughter puffed out of the geriatric twins’ lips.

  “Great. That’s just great, Mom.”

  “You’re overreacting. It’s only for a week. Two at most. I already have a great list of potential replacements. It will be fine.”

  “One week. I’m staying one week. And if the whole thing is just one big lie, why do I even need to be here? Why not just pretend I’m here?”

  “Well, you are my daughter. I miss you, and I wanted to see you,” she replied, giving me puppy-dog eyes.

  “No.” I pointed a finger at her. “Don’t do that.”

  “And,” she said, drawing the word out. “We’ll have witnesses to prove you were here if they ask.”

  “That … that makes a frightening amount of sense.” I rubbed my forehead with one hand and took a long drag of the gin-filled tea from the mug I held in the other. I then exhaled noisily through my mouth.

  She smiled sweetly.

  “I’m not saying I’m going to do this,” I said, ignoring the part of my brain that was screaming in protest, “but I suppose you’re not a big concern to the insurance company.” I wasn’t sure where I was going with this, but the guilt was pushing me to at least explore the idea. “I mean, it’s not like they’re going to take the time to send someone out here to check up on us.”

  “Well—”

  “Mom!”

  “Erica, the agent I was speaking to was so friendly,” she said quickly. “And she’s going through a tough time. Recently divorced. So I thought it might be nice for her to come to this week’s retreat.” She fanned out her hands as though reading an invisible marquee. “I’m calling it, ‘We hath mo’ healing for the woman scorned.’”

  Pinpoints of light exploded at the back of my eyes. I looked over at Kit Kat and Tweety. They both shook with silent laughter, arms folded across their bellies. I took a second to silently wish hernias on the two of them.

>   “Erica, honey, are you okay? You seem really stressed.”

  Noisy guffaws finally sprang out from the twins’ mouths.

  “You know, I am a little stressed.” I slammed both hands on the table and pushed my chair back. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

  “Okay, honey.”

  I walked toward the darkened hallway ignoring my mom’s whispered voice asking, “Do you think she’s mad?”

  * * *

  I didn’t exactly dream that night. It was more like I was trapped in a dark room with a tinny soundtrack of old women laughing. At some point that laughter turned into the caw of a blue jay, and I knew I was awake.

  I blinked open my eyes to find Caesar staring at me from the floor.

  That was new.

  Our entire lives, Caesar and I had fought over this bed. A few times when I was younger, I slept on the living room couch because he wouldn’t move, and I liked the skin on my arms too much to make him. He would never give up this easily.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, throwing my feet over the side of the mattress to the floor. “You’re too fat to get on the bed, aren’t you?”

  He said nothing, but I knew by the look in his beady little cat eyes that he was imagining eating my entrails.

  “You should see a vet about that.”

  I padded barefoot down the hall to the kitchen in my tank top and boxers. I froze in the doorway, staring at the wooden cupboards, as the first horrible realization of the day hit me.

  Coffee.

  My mother didn’t drink coffee. Wouldn’t even allow the guests to have it. She said caffeine stunted the free expression of emotion. I couldn’t help but agree. It certainly stopped me from wanting to murder people first thing in the morning.

  How could I have forgotten?

  I moved to the sink and brushed aside the gauzy curtain hanging above to look in the direction of the twins’ place. I was tempted to walk over, but they were probably still laughing, and it was wrong to beat on the elderly.

  I would not be defeated so easily.

  I launched myself toward the cupboards. I didn’t have much chance of finding any dairy or meat, at least not until the guests arrived. She made some exceptions for them. But vegan or not, my mother still liked her food.

  Bingo!

  Muffins.

  I grabbed one of the greasy mounds of walnut pieces, carob chips, and rice flour and shoved it into my mouth. I then closed my eyes, allowing the flavor to sink in.

  The taste of vegan goddess muffin put a lot of things into perspective for me.

  Okay, last night had thrown me for a loop, but I could still maybe turn this thing around. First, I needed to call the insurance company. I mean, my mother—insurance fraud schemes aside—was a good client. She always paid on time. At least, I thought she did. My brow furrowed. Okay, well, I might not play that angle, but surely there had to be some wiggle room in the policy—like sessions she could do without a licensed professional.

  Yeah, I thought, taking another bite. Or if worse came to worst, she would just have to cancel the next couple of retreats until she found someone. I wasn’t going to lose my job over this, or, worse yet, go to jail. My jaw froze mid-chew. Oh my God! What if they put me in a cell with my mother! They wouldn’t do that, would they? No. They couldn’t. I slowly resumed my chewing. Either way, I wasn’t going to take the chance.

  I popped the last hunk of muffin into my mouth and slapped my hands together over the sink, brushing off the crumbs.

  I turned and leaned my lower back against the counter’s edge. More settled, I allowed my eyes to drift around the kitchen to really see it for the first time since I had been back.

  Not much had changed here either.

  The same dried herbs and flowers hung from the ceiling. The same patterned china from my childhood looked back at me from behind the glass of the buffet. And the same sad cuckoo bird was still flopped over his perch sticking out from the broken clock hung on the wall.

  There were, however, a lot of new tins and glass pots huddled on the counter to my right. Homemade beauty lotions and creams. I picked up one labeled Facial, twisted off the lid, and gave it a smell. Hmm, pepperminty. I scooped out a big glob and smeared it over my face.

  Yeah. This could still work out, I thought while rubbing the lotion over my cheeks. So I ran into the three fluffateers. I had handled it. So my mom was still an irresponsible wing nut. Had I really expected anything less? I could do this thing. I wasn’t the same Erica who blew up over every little bump in the road. I was a mature adult.

  Suddenly my cheeks felt very hot. I grabbed a tea towel off the counter and began wiping my face.

  My mom was right about one thing though. All this stress wasn’t good for me. I needed to start looking on the bright side of my situation. Caesar, for example, was now too fat to kill me in my sleep. That was good. Also, the guilt I had over not visiting was resetting itself to zero. That was excellent. Plus, I did need a break from working all the time. Maybe this would get me out of my rut. Maybe when I got back home, I would do things a little differently. Like maybe I could return the smile that cute assistant district attorney was always giving me. Yeah. Everything was all right. In fact, it was all good.

  Except for my face. My face was getting hotter.

  I leaned over the sink to splash cold water over my cheeks when I spotted, through the window, a police officer coming up over the stairs leading to the lake.

  I froze, face dripping.

  Why on earth would a police officer be visiting the retreat first thing in the morning?

  My heart sped up a beat while the word Fraud! flashed in my head.

  Wait, what did I have to be afraid of? Our insurance fraud scheme hadn’t even gotten off the ground.

  The officer took long strides up the last few steps. His sheriff’s hat covered his face, but he cut a pretty nice form in that uniform. I absentmindedly wiped the water from my face as I watched him walk up the path to the lodge. He looked even better close up. Hey! Maybe a stripper cop got shipwrecked on our island. That might make this trip more interesting.

  I smoothed my hair back, ignoring its oily feel. I probably looked terrible. The thought occurred to me that I should go and try to do something with myself before he got to the door, but it was too hard to look away. When he got halfway up the path, his head slowly began to tilt up. I found myself nodding. Yup, let’s get a look at that fac—

  No. No. NO!

  Grady Forrester!

  This could not be happening.

  Grady wasn’t a cop! Grady was a lifeguard at the Wakatinga State Park … eight years ago.

  Okay, so he probably wasn’t still a lifeguard. But he couldn’t be a cop! In what universe was that fair? No. Just no. Grady was a scamp. A Dennis the Menace. Grady was one of those guys who was hot in high school, who was then supposed to amount to pretty much nothing, so that all the girls he wronged back in the day could look him up online and feel better about themselves.

  Grady was not a cop!

  Except he was a cop … and he was walking up the front steps to the lodge.

  He turned his head in my direction.

  I hit the floor.

  Okay, time for fast thinking. I checked my reflection in the door of the oven. My hair straggled down in oily strips—I never did get to shower after last night’s surprise criminal summit—and while it was hard to really be sure, it looked as though my cheeks were on fire.

  Again, this could not be happening.

  I had imagined running into Grady hundreds, maybe thousands of times. And in every single one of those daydreams, I looked fabulous—like airbrushed within an inch of my life fabulous. Answering the door was not an option.

  I heard my mother’s voice call from the front foyer.

  “Sheriff,” she said. “What brings you out here?”

  Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod.

  I couldn’t make out what Grady said in return, but I did hear footsteps land in the front ha
ll.

  I needed to get out of here.

  I frantically looked around the kitchen, hoping a doorway that didn’t lead right past the front hall would appear. No such luck.

  I looked at the window.

  No, I wasn’t that desperate.

  “Erica, honey. Can you come to the door? Someone is here to see you.”

  Oh, I was that desperate.

  I jumped onto the counter, hiked up the window, and dove through headfirst.

  I braced my fall with my hands, but apparently my bicep curls were not enough to stop my cheek from scraping against the wood beams.

  No time for pain.

  I popped back up and took a few furtive, ninja-type glances around my surroundings.

  I wasn’t safe here.

  I scampered toward the side of the lodge. Just as I turned the corner, I heard the front door open.

  “Erica?”

  I jumped off the porch and hobbled barefoot over pinecones for the cover of the trees. This could work, I thought, ignoring a red squirrel chattering angrily at me. I’d tell my mom I went for an early-morning swim. It sounded like something I’d do, or at least something someone would do.

  No problem.

  I looked over my shoulder. I could still see the lodge, which meant they could still see me if they turned the corner.

  I needed to go farther into the bush.

  I pushed back thin tree branches to make my way into the denser part of the forest. Mosquitoes and black flies took the opportunity to swarm en masse. After a minute or two, I had to stop. I needed to get my bearings. My heart hammered in my chest as I tried to still my breath. That’s when I noticed the small clearing up ahead.

  Huh. There wasn’t supposed to be anything there.

  And something about it looked … off.

  Wait! The old well.

  My mother always worried I’d somehow fall into it as a kid—it was only partially filled—so she made me stay away from this part of the forest. But even though I wasn’t familiar with the spot, something about it still seemed wrong.

  Tree branches, snapped in odd places, hung in a circle around where I thought the opening must be. I brushed aside any concerns, and I pushed my way toward it. The branches were too crowded anywhere else to be comfortable, so weird or not, the clearing seemed like my best bet for a hideout until Grady left.