I gingerly stepped closer, watching where I placed my feet. The last thing I needed was to step on a rusty nail and die of tetanus, but then again, that was probably the last thing most people needed.
As I got closer, I could see that the cover of the well was gone. Wait, not gone, smashed through.
Could a tree branch do that?
Maybe, if the wood had rotted through.
Unease rippled down my body. I couldn’t put my finger on any one thing, but something about this whole scene didn’t just look wrong, it felt wrong.
Then I saw it.
A man’s running shoe lying on the ground right by the edge of the abandoned well.
A new running shoe.
I crept closer. I wanted to be able to look into the well without getting too close. I didn’t know how secure the ground was around it.
I stopped a few feet back and stretched up on my tiptoes. I still couldn’t see all the way down.
Frick.
I got to my hands and knees and edged close enough to the well to plant my palms on the old stone opening.
I closed my eyes, and I took a long deep breath.
On some level, I knew … I just knew I was going to see something bad.
And as it turned out, I was right.
Crumpled at the bottom of the well, face half visible, lay Dickie Morrison … dead … impaled by a weenie skewer.
Chapter Three
“So tell me again what happened to your face?”
I stared at the thick-bodied, redheaded cop in front of me, trying to figure out if she was serious.
“I had an allergic reaction to some homemade face cream.”
She scratched the back of her scalp with her pen. “Right. Right. You said that. But what about the scrape?” She whipped the pen back around to point at my cheek.
I fought the urge to duck. “Rhonda, do you really think I had something to do with … this?”
“I’ll decide what I think when I think it.”
I sighed and leaned back against a tall pine tree. Never in a million years could I have imagined this scenario. Back in high school, Grady and Rhonda could have tied each other for the title “Least Likely to Go into Law Enforcement.” Rhonda had always been a little intense. I once witnessed her punch a tree repeatedly with her bare fists when it stopped the other team’s ball from going out in a pickup volleyball game. Another year, she painted her face for school every day of the Stanley Cup playoffs. The principal finally made her stop after she pantsed a kid for wearing the other team’s jersey.
That being said, I had always liked Rhonda … we were both part of the outcast club. I just never imagined her as a cop, especially not as a cop questioning me about the death of Dickie Morrison.
“Now, according to your statement Ms.… I’m sorry Ms.?”
“Rhonda, you know my name.”
“It’s for the record,” she whispered conspiratorially.
I looked around. Nobody was within at least forty feet of us.
“Erica. Erica Bloom.”
“Ms. Bloom. Right. Got it. Now according to your statement, Ms. Bloom, the victim was impaled by a…”
“Weenie skewer.”
“Right. A weenie skewer. Are you sure?”
I nodded.
“Interesting.”
I pushed myself off the tree. “Rhonda, what is going on here? Isn’t this an accident? I mean I saw Dickie yesterday afternoon, and he was already drinking. He said it was nonalcoholic, but I knew I should have called the … well, you guys. So I’m kind of assuming he tripped and fell after having a few too many.”
“So you saw the victim yesterday afternoon?” she asked knowingly, pen hovering over her notepad. “How would you describe your relationship with the victim?”
“Nonexistent.”
“Really … interesting.”
“Rhonda, you know I haven’t lived in Otter Lake for a really long time.”
“I know,” she said, resuming her whisper. “We should totally catch up over beers at the Salty Dawg.”
My mouth fell open, but no words came out. I stole a brief look over to Grady. As luck would have it, he was looking at me, the barest of grins on his face.
I still hadn’t actually talked to him. Granted, there may have been some incoherent screaming and frantic pointing on my part as I ran from the well back to the lodge. But he then went into the trees to check it out, and before I knew it, what looked like every law enforcement official from here to three lakes over had swarmed the retreat … which amounted to about eight people.
An officer handed Grady a coffee, breaking our eye contact.
Wasn’t that always the way. People just did things for Grady. He never even had to ask. They probably just made him sheriff so he’d smile for the press release.
Rhonda asked me something. I nodded without looking at her.
He looked even better, manlier.
And here I was, looking like I had just lost a cage match with a balsam fir.
“Ah, Ms. Bloom?”
I redirected my gaze back to Rhonda.
“You said that you have no relationship with Dickie Morrison?”
I nodded again.
“Are you aware of the Otter Lake Raspberry Social?” She handed me a folded piece of paper. I opened it. Another flyer.
“I—” The strangest noise came out of Rhonda’s mouth, cutting me off. I paused, then asked, “Did you just make the duhn duhn sound from Law and Order?”
“No,” Rhonda said, scoffing. Her face flushed the color of her hair. “Focus. You’re in enough trouble already, young lady.”
“We’re the same age, Rhonda.”
“In years,” she shot back. “Now answer the question.”
I took a moment to roll my jaw, loosening the muscles. “Yes, I am aware of the Otter Lake Raspberry Social.”
“Are you aware that eight years ago, a bizarre incident took place involving one…” She stopped to flip through her notes. “Erica Bloom, that’s you. And one…” She began flipping again. “Dickie Morrison … among others … and Otter Lake’s beloved Betsy? God rest her soul.”
“Okay, for the record, I am so over what happened at the social. Really, it wasn’t that bad. It—”
Her eyes widened. “Well, it certainly wasn’t good.”
“Rhonda, I like you a lot, and I really would like to meet up for beers, but I think you should know, I’m about to take that notepad and shove it—”
She put a hand up to my face, cutting me off. “Boy, some things never change,” she muttered, looking up at me from underneath her eyebrows. She clicked her pen. “Upon questioning, witness displayed an unusual degree of hostility.”
“You’re going to write that? I … I was just kidding!”
“Erica, I have to do my job. I haven’t forgotten what you did for me, but—”
I scrunched my face. “What I did for you?”
“Remember when the Three Fu—” She stopped herself and rolled her eyes. “Guys made lime Jell-O in my canoe that fall? When we got that cold snap? Filled it all the way up?”
“Yeah, but—”
She held up a hand. “I was so stunned. I couldn’t do anything, and they were taking pictures of my reaction?”
I paused a moment while the memory came into view. “Oh, yeah.”
“You remember what you did?” she asked.
“I threw Tommy’s camera in the lake.” I smiled. It had been a good throw too.
“Yeah, you did. So I haven’t forgotten.” She straightened her shoulders abruptly. “But I’ll still take you down.”
Grady suddenly called out Rhonda’s name and waved her over.
“That will be all for now, Ms. Bloom.” She snapped her notebook shut and turned toward the group of officers chatting with Grady.
“Great.”
She swiveled back toward me, big smile on her face. “Don’t forget. Beers at the Dawg. Any night this week.” She quickly jabbed a thumbs-up into t
he air before turning again and walking away.
I thumped the back of my skull against the tree and looked up through the branches at the baby-blue sky. I had brought this on myself. That’s what was going on here. If I had visited more often, the craziness would have been spread out. Instead, the universe was giving it to me all in one shot.
An angry yell yanked me out of my pity party. I watched a woman emerge at the top of the stairs from the lake and run full-out toward the lodge. Grady moved like a flash to intercept her, grabbing her gently, but firmly, by the arms. A few words were exchanged, then she pushed Grady hard on the chest with both hands.
It took me a second to place her.
Laurie Day.
Laurie did most of the cooking for the retreat, so it wasn’t surprising she was here. It also wasn’t surprising that she was upset. Laurie and Dickie had dated back in high school … if you could call it that. Laurie dated Dickie, and Dickie did whatever and whomever he wanted. It was funny too, because Laurie wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet—she never let anyone so much as look at her sideways—but when it came to Dickie, she always let him get away with murder. Judging by her current state, I could only guess they had still been dating.
The awfulness of the situation suddenly hit me.
I mean, it wasn’t like Dickie was some great guy, and I would be hard-pressed to say I even liked him, but nobody deserved to die that way. And I had a bad feeling the mental snapshot of his dead body wouldn’t be leaving me anytime soon.
“Erica!”
I looked over to my mom waving at me from the lodge’s porch. I walked toward her, eyes still on Laurie, now being led to a picnic table by Rhonda. Hopefully, this would be cleared up soon. Intake was today. Nothing said peaceful retreat like a bunch of police officers and yellow tape, and my mom’s business already felt precarious enough.
As I picked my way over the uneven ground, still barefoot, the masochist in me couldn’t help but take one more look at Grady. Again, as luck would have it, he was looking at me. Our eyes met, and he gave me a brief nod then looked away.
A nod. So that’s how things stood. Well, okay then.
Lost in the moment, I didn’t notice the tree root that was about to collide with my foot … until it collided with my foot. I pitched forward—but recovered quickly. Maybe so quickly, I thought, that no one noticed. I glanced over my shoulder. There stood Grady chuckling, shaking his head.
Well, that proved it.
You really can go home again.
* * *
Five hours later, a swarm of divorcees descended on the retreat. Thankfully, the police had left about an hour prior, and the crime scene tape was far enough into the bushes that I doubted anyone would spot it.
I always had found intake days funny, in the same way it must be funny to be an obgyn. Within minutes of meeting a complete stranger, I would know some of the most intimate parts of her being … whether I wanted to or not. My guess was that most guests had already worn out every friend, relative, and casual acquaintance with their stories and were ready to pounce on the first available pair of fresh ears. Today that pair belonged to me.
“Twenty-eight years I was married to that bastard.”
I slowly raised my clipboard a little higher in front of my face to create some space between me and the woman standing before me. “Twenty-eight years! Can you believe it?” A hard swoop of black bangs shuddered over her one eye. “You’ve got a nice place here, by the way. And now he’s dating a twenty-two-year-old! Twenty-two!”
I didn’t say anything.
I didn’t have to.
“She worked for me. Can you believe that? Cupcake apprentice. Fabulous at icing.” She swatted a heavily manicured hand at the sheet of hair. “It will be easier to find a new husband than a baker who can ice like that. I should get a younger one too. Husband, I mean. One who can perform without the little blue pill. You know?”
I stared blankly back at her then said, “I just found a dead body.”
The woman’s highly glossed lips froze.
Uh-oh. Did I say that out loud?
“I’m sorry Ms.… Ms.?”
“Franelli. Maria Franelli,” she replied, pinning me with her heavily shadowed eyes.
“I was making a joke … you know … all the cheating bastards should be dead.” I shook my head a little too frantically. “It’s not really funny in hindsight.”
Maria Franelli gave me a look in return that spoke to her suspicions regarding my sanity. “Anyway, I hope you people can help me; otherwise I’ll show him my twenty-two. You know what I mean?”
I nodded again, made a phantom check on my clipboard, and looked around her to the next in line. I needed to get through these women as quickly as possible. I thought I could act normally, but apparently, my brain had decided finding a dead body was traumaworthy after all. I wasn’t much of a crier, but I could maybe give it a shot. Or better yet, maybe Kit Kat and Tweety left some gin.
The next woman stepped forward wearing a short-sleeved cardigan with pearl buttons and pleated shorts. “Hello, my name is Susan Anderson, and I have cried every day for the last six months.”
I pressed my lips together and gave her my best sad-eyebrows nod.
“He’s not worth it, you know? I know he’s not worth it,” she continued, pausing to blow her nose with gusto. “I have a full life. I have my bookstore and my cats. Would you like to see a picture?” she asked, reaching for the purse lying against her hip. Something in my face stilled her hand. “No? Okay. And yet every time I think about him, I just start to … I just can’t…”
I pulled out one of the three minipacks of tissues from my back pocket and passed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, looking at me with her big wet eyes. “It’s just—”
Before she could finish, I gave her the sad-eyebrows nod again, put my hand on her shoulder, and ever so gently pushed her in the direction of the others. I didn’t feel good about it, but who knew what would come out of my mouth next.
I raised my eyes to the next in line.
“Hello, my name is Lydia Morgan. I’m here for the retreat.”
I gave the woman before me a good once-over. No tears. No trembling bottom lip. Clothes conspicuously free of cat hair. In fact, she looked quite normal in her outdoorsy little T-shirt and khaki shorts.
“You must be Erica,” she said, extending her hand. “Your mother has told me all about you.”
Confusion quickly gave way. I took her hand. “You must be from the insurance company?”
“That’s right. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience it must have caused for you to drop everything to help your mom jump through our silly hoops,” she said with a friendly smile.
“Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about that.” I did my best to return the smile. “You see—”
“I know. I know. It seems ridiculous. But policy is policy.”
“Right. Policy. I had a few questions—”
“Oh, sure, no problem. But there’s no need to worry.” She laid her hand on my arm. “I love your mom. You know, I’m not normally the type of woman who goes to nature retreats to get in touch with her inner … whatever, but your mom. She’s so … so … authentic. And honest.”
I allowed myself a brief glare over to my mother. She had Maria Franelli’s face cupped in her hands, so she could peer intently into her eyes with her overly large ones. “Yeah, that’s my mom. Superhonest.” I gripped my pen to stop my fingers from pinching the bridge of my nose.
“And I’m not sure if she told you, but I just got out of a twenty-five-year marriage. He had been lying to me the entire time.” Suddenly her voice jumped an octave. “Secret family in Reno. It’s ridiculous to say. Secret family in Reno!” Her hands fluttered above her head, but she caught them quickly and brought them back down to her sides. Her calm smile returned to her face. “That’s why I bonded so quickly with your mother. There’s not enough honesty in the world.”
“There certa
inly is not.”
Why don’t you visit more often? my mom says. You never come home to see me, she says.
My eyes scanned the room. My mother had moved on from Maria Franelli and was gliding around the room, her arms waving dramatically underneath her filmy white caftan. She didn’t even have the decency to look the slightest bit stressed.
“You know what his excuse was?” Lydia said, bringing me back to the conversation. “I’m too boring. He lies to me for twenty-five years because I’m boring! You know, I don’t think I could take one more person lying to me.”
“Of course you couldn’t,” I said to my clipboard, trying not to audibly grind my teeth.
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh, I mean, that’s completely understandable.”
My mother floated in our direction, sweeping up Lydia into a hug. “Welcome! Welcome! You must be Lydia,” she said. “Why don’t you start showing everyone to their cabins, Erica? I’ll take care of this one.”
I took a deep breath and forced another smile to my face. “Well, actually, I was hoping to have a talk with Lydia. You know, go over the finer parts of your policy,” I said, lightly gripping Lydia’s elbow.
“Nonsense!” My mother wrapped her arm tightly around Lydia’s shoulder. “She’s here for healing.”
I further snaked my arm around Lydia’s. “And for truth. We were just talking about the importance of—”
“I don’t remember the last time I felt so popular,” Lydia said, smiling. “But Erica, I know you doctor types are such sticklers for details, but really, there’s nothing to worry about.”
Doctor? Oh, right, I had forgotten I was a doctor. Funny that.
“See, Erica? Nothing to worry about. Now why don’t you start showing the other guests their cabins,” my mother said, leading Lydia away. “I’m always telling her to relax. For a psychologist you’d think she’d know better.”
A sudden rumbling filled my ears from behind. I turned to see a group of ladies, huddled over Caesar, stroking his massive body. His deafening purrs reverberated over the floorboards. He flicked me a lazy look of contempt.
Skinny Dipping with Murder Page 3