“Stop,” he said, putting his hand up. “You’re not under arrest. And I don’t want your answers until you’ve consulted an attorney. I figure it’s the least I can do. But if you saw Harry last night, that may very well make you the last person to see him before his hair got caught in that propeller and—”
“Propeller! What propeller? His boat propeller? Oh my God, poor Harry. I can’t—”
“Forget I said that. I wasn’t … never mind.” Grady ran a hand over his face.
“Okay, but why would I want to kill Harry? Dickie, maybe. Everybody has wanted to kill Dickie at some point, but not Harry. What would my motive be?”
Grady looked me in the eye.
“So help me God, Grady, if you say the social, I’ll—”
He held up his hand again. “I’m not saying anything. Some people think that maybe the social was your ‘pig’s blood on prom night’ moment, but I don’t think that.”
I put a hand to my forehead. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Look, believe it or not, Erica, I’m here to help you.” He moved to touch my arm then pulled away. “I’ve gotta go,” he said, taking a few steps back. “But listen, until we get this whole thing sorted out, I don’t want you talking to anyone.”
“Right,” I said more to myself than him. “Don’t talk to anyone.”
“Oh, and Erica?”
I looked over my shoulder to his departing form. He was pointing back to me. “Don’t leave town.”
Time stopped.
The next thing I remember somebody was shouting something about a rope.
* * *
“Well, the hospital called,” my mother said, walking into the common room. It was early evening. The women were once again in their jammies drinking tea. I sat in the middle of them like a guilty dog staring at its paws. “Lydia’s going to be fine. Maybe a little whiplash from the safety lock catching her the way it did, but fine. I’ve sent Red over to get her. She’ll be back within the hour.”
The women murmured relief in response.
Yup, I’d dropped Lydia Morgan.
I’d dropped the insurance agent who held my mother’s business in her hands.
Well, technically, I didn’t drop her. I’d just failed to catch her.
Apparently, she was stepping onto the platform just as Grady told me not to leave town. Startled, she missed her footing.
I picked at a loose thread of denim hanging from my shorts.
Maybe I was some sort of deranged killer and didn’t know it.
Did that happen?
A psychologist would know.
Maybe coming home had caused some sort of psychotic break. It all fit, really. I could already see my neighbors on the nightly news saying, She was quiet. Kept to herself. Bit of a loner. Then all of my fake friends on social media would be discovered. Yup, and it would only go downhill from there. She was raised by a single mother, they’d say, practicing alternative religions. And then they’d come up with names. I’d be known as the Earth Mother Executioner, the Raspberry Social Satanist, the Hippie Horror, the—
“Okay,” my mother said, clasping her hands together. “I know everyone is upset by the day’s events, but that’s life for you! Not every day is going to be perfect. This is a learning opportunity. I think what we need to do is have everyone gather around, and then we can talk about our feelings openly and honestly.”
I couldn’t help it. Before I even realized what was happening, I found my head shaking back and forth in my hands, and I was making the most peculiar sound—not quite sure what it was all muffled in my hands.
“Is she all right?” I heard one of the women whisper.
“No. No. No. No. NO!”
Oh, that’s what I was trying to say.
“Erica, darling?” my mother murmured with lots of warning.
Suddenly I was on my feet.
“No! I don’t want to talk about my feelings! And I don’t want to talk about your feelings!” I said, pointing at a random woman. She froze, teacup hovering mid-sip. “Or yours!” I said, turning on another. “I don’t want to talk about anything! Ever again!” Some rational part of my brain was sitting far up in the nosebleeds watching my crazy show unfold, but it was too far away to do any good. “Let’s try that therapy! Let’s all take a vow of silence! Every single one of us! You! You! And especially you!” My finger jumped from woman to woman. They were ducking, maybe a little worried my finger was loaded.
I felt my mother’s hands on my shoulders, guiding me away from the herd of frightened women.
“I think you need a break, sweetheart,” she said, leading me to the door.
“I don’t need a break! I haven’t even gotten started! You know how I know?” I asked, the roundness of my eyes matching my mother’s. She gave me the Why don’t you tell me, sweetheart? smile nurses give mentally ill patients. “Because we’re still talking!”
“Okay, now.” My mother pushed me out the front door. “You get yourself some fresh air, and I’ll check on you in a little bit.”
I whipped around to face her as the screen door banged shut between us. I saw her mouth the words, What is wrong with you? I would have answered, but she shut the wood door too.
“Gah!” I yelled before spinning around. I walked over to the railing, planted my hands, and took a few deep breaths of night air before I realized something was hissing at me.
Caesar.
How he managed to launch his massive body onto the bannister was beyond me, but there he was, a fur-covered beach ball stalking toward me.
“Oh, you want me to move?” I asked him.
He padded another paw forward, still hissing.
“Am I touching your cat space?”
He hissed again. This time some spittle landed on my hand.
“Oh, that’s it!” I grabbed the bannister and shook it with everything I had in me. The wood was well anchored, but I just needed a jiggle.
Then it happened.
Caesar’s eyes widened, and he tipped over the side, paws in the air, right down into the hydrangeas below.
I gasped and quickly looked over the edge. Caesar lay on his back, wiggling, in an attempt to flip over. Our eyes met. Sure, his were filled with hatred, but there was something else there. Something that had never been there before.
Respect.
Everything suddenly became very clear.
I whipped my phone out of my pocket, mumbling.
The phone rang twice then before I could say anything, Freddie’s voice sounded on the other end. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling and calling! I heard you went on a rampage at the retreat and killed eight people with an axe!”
“Never mind all that.”
“Never min—”
“Look, I need your help.”
“Why … with what?”
“With solving the murder of Dickie Morrison.”
Chapter Six
By seven the next morning, I was halfway across the lake to Freddie’s house. It didn’t take much convincing to get him on board. I guess he had a thirst for adventure that fortune-telling alone couldn’t satisfy. I had called my boss back in Chicago the night before asking for more time. She didn’t seem annoyed by all the rescheduling this would mean. In fact, she seemed really happy that I was, quote, working on my personal life.
I had avoided the women completely by climbing out of my bedroom window. I didn’t have time for any more distractions. I needed to get out of Otter Lake before I truly did lose my mind, and to do that, I needed to find out what happened to both Dickie and Harry. While the details were sketchy, I was sure that this whole mess could be wrapped up fairly easily. I had, after all, recorded dozens of murder trials, so it shouldn’t be too hard. Then, once I had unmasked the murderer, I could plunk a stack of conclusive evidence on Grady Forrester’s desk and tear out of this town, leaving it in a big cloud of dust.
Oh, and it all had to happen before the Raspberry Social.
Five da
ys. No problem.
I waited a minute after ringing the bell on Freddie’s door before I did it again.
Finally, it swung open.
“No.”
“What?” Freddie asked, all wide-eyed.
“You’re not wearing that.”
He stepped back and looked down at himself. “I thought, given the circumstances, this outfit was perfect.”
I gave him another once-over. The lower half was fine, albeit a little casual. He wore sandals, oversized Hawaiian shorts, and a worn Hooters shirt. It was the hat I was having a little trouble with.
“You can’t wear a Sherlock Holmes hat.”
“Why not?”
“How do I even begin to answer that question?”
Freddie planted his fists on his hips. “Do you want my help or not?”
I closed my eyes and sighed. “I don’t know anymore.”
He started to shut his door. I pushed it back open with my hand.
“Fine. You can keep the hat.”
“Excellent,” he said with a skip over the threshold. “So where are we going first?”
I had given this a lot of thought. “Laurie Day’s.”
“Why Laurie’s?”
I walked ahead, leading the way toward Freddie’s far superior boat. “Because she knows more than she’s saying.”
Suddenly I was the only one still walking.
I turned around to see that Freddie had stopped, annoyed look on his face.
“What?”
“You’re giving me grief about the hat, but you get to say stuff like that?”
“Like what?”
Freddie tucked his chin into his chest and deepened his voice. “‘She knows more than she’s saying.’”
“I see your point. I’ll stop.”
“No, don’t stop. That was awesome. Just don’t be greedy with the coolness.”
Twenty minutes later, we were stepping around rusted-out rabbit cages to knock on the door of Laurie’s trailer.
The sound of yipping dogs started up from the cabin behind us. It belonged to Grandpa Day, who had seemed about a hundred twenty years ago. I wondered briefly if we should go knock on his door next. The thought wasn’t exactly appealing. Grandpa Day was a bit eccentric.
“Either she’s not home, or she’s a heavy sleeper.”
“I’m going to look in the window,” Freddie said, flipping an old cinder block on its side by the edge of the trailer. He stepped up, and pressed his face against the grimy glass, Sherlock hat slipping back on his head. “Erica, you gotta see this.”
Freddie stepped down, giving me room. It was hard to see through the dirty glass. I cupped my hands by either side of my face to block out the sun.
“Is that a suitcase?” I asked.
“Sure looked like it to me,” Freddie replied. “Half packed too.”
“Hey! What are you two doing over there!” a voice shouted out.
“Uh-oh. Is that Laurie’s grandfather?” I asked, grabbing Freddie’s arm to jump down.
“Yeah,” Freddie replied, slowly leading me toward the back of the trailer. “And he’s armed.”
I jerked around to squint up at the cabin. Yup, Laurie’s grandfather holding a shotgun that was nearly as tall as he was.
“Who’s out there!” he called again.
“We’re friends of Laurie, Mr. Day!” I shouted back. Then I whispered to Freddie, “What are the odds he’ll actually shoot at us?”
“My guess?” Freddie squinted his eyes. “Near a hundred percent.”
I looked back at the cabin to see Grandpa Day raising his gun.
Freddie and I hurried our side-shuffle toward the back of the trailer.
“Laurie said to shoot anyone who came sniffing around her stuff!” Grandpa Day yelled, leveling his rifle in a shaky motion.
“Time to go!”
Freddie and I sprinted toward the dock.
BAM!
My hands flew to my head as my knees buckled.
I hit the ground.
Holy cow!
My fingers flew over my body. No holes … on me. But what about Freddie?
I spun to see Freddie cradling his hat in his arms.
“My hat!” Freddie yelled. “He shot my hat!”
“Freddie, come on!” I screamed, jumping to my feet. “Leave the hat!”
“Oh, it’s fine,” he said, sticking a finger through the hole in his deerstalker before jerking his head in a motion for me to look behind him. “Grandpa down.”
I looked up at the cabin. The shot had knocked Grandpa Day onto his back. He was wriggling around a little, much like Caesar from the night before.
Freddie got to his feet. “Come on.” He turned and began walking toward the cabin.
I stayed frozen to the spot. “What are you doing?”
“Well, we can’t just leave him there,” Freddie said, walking back into the range of fire. “I still have to live with these people, you know.”
“He tried to shoot you in the head!”
“Right. Like he could aim that thing,” Freddie replied with a huff. “Man, you have been gone a long time. It’s Otter Lake. What’s a single gunshot between neighbors?”
I ran and caught up to Freddie, making sure to use his body as cover.
Grandpa Day was still on his back when we got to the porch.
“Stay back!” he warned. “The first shot was a warning.”
“Here. Let me give you a hand,” Freddie said, kneeling down, carefully sliding the shotgun away with his foot.
“Hey, you’re that fat Asian kid with the rich parents.”
“Yes, yes, I am,” Freddie replied, raising Grandpa Day by the shoulders to a seated position.
“And you’re the Boobsie girl,” he said, pointing at me, “with the wing-nut mom.”
“That’s right.”
I sat on the top step of the porch. Despite the adrenaline pounding through my veins, I realized that Freddie was right to come back. This was starting to look like an opportunity.
“Sorry about shooting at you like that. If I had known it was you—”
I waved him off. “Mr. Day, did Laurie really tell you to shoot anyone who came by her trailer?”
“That she did, young lady,” he said, letting Freddie help him get to his feet. “She was real serious about it too.”
Freddie and I exchanged looks. “Did she tell you why?”
He scrunched his face in concentration, his features nearly disappearing into the folds of his wrinkles. “No, I don’t think she did.”
“You didn’t ask her?” I pressed.
He shrugged his thin shoulders.
Freddie and I exchanged another look before he added, “Do you know where she got off to this morning?”
“Nah, but she took the boat out real early. I didn’t even have my teeth in,” he said, scratching the white stubble poking out from his chin. “I would have thought she’d be at your place.”
“Maybe,” I said, but I knew that wasn’t the case. My mom handled breakfasts. She couldn’t afford to have Laurie do all three meals.
“Well, thanks, sir,” I said, grabbing Freddie by the arm. “We’ll let you get on with your day.”
“Thanks, kids. Sorry again about your hat.” He tipped his own John Deere cap.
“No problem,” Freddie mumbled halfheartedly, again poking at the hole with his finger.
“Do you think we should take his gun?” I whispered as we walked down the porch steps.
Freddie gave me a look that clearly said I was nuts. “Yeah, let’s take the old white man’s gun. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a visible minority … an endangered species in Otter Lake. Actually, I guess I can’t be endangered. My kind was never established in the first place. Although I probably share more DNA with Native—”
I groaned loudly.
“You never take a white man’s gun.” Freddie stepped into his boat.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I just thought he might—”
“Are you trying to get me killed?”
“All right! I get it,” I said, untying the mooring rope and tossing it into the boat.
Freddie revved the engine. “What, do you think you’re in freaking Canada?”
“All right already,” I shouted. “Enough!”
Freddie pulled away from the dock. “Hippie.”
* * *
I gorged myself on processed meat at Freddie’s before heading back to the retreat. During lunch, we tossed around a number of wild theories about Dickie’s death—none as crazy as my being a serial killer. Obviously, Laurie was somehow involved with all this mess. Maybe they had all gotten into something illegal and were now paying the price. At some point, I needed to see Tommy. There’s no way his two best friends would have been involved in something without him.
By the time my mom’s boat coughed and sputtered its way back to the retreat it was mid-afternoon. I would have stayed at Freddie’s all day, but I had to face the music at some point. I wanted to apologize to Lydia before I was consumed by the bitterness of the lawsuit I was pretty sure she would slap me with.
I took a steadying breath as I walked up the porch steps.
I could hear the women’s voices from inside.
I suddenly remembered my outburst from the night before. Maybe they’d give me a wide berth now. You know, the kind you give the apocalypse criers on the street.
“Erica!” my mom called out as I stepped in the door.
“There she is,” one of the women said, clutching her hands to her chest. “She’s back.”
I couldn’t remember her name, but her husband had spent their life savings on the Web site Naughty Robots!
A second later, all the women were on their feet, coming at me with open arms.
“What the—” My words were cut off by a group hug.
I froze. I once read that playing dead could ward off bear attacks. That advice seemed sound in this situation too.
Before I knew it, I was being ushered into the common room toward a couch with Lydia Morgan sitting on it. She wore a neck brace, my guilt painted all over it.
I tried to plant my feet, but the wave of women swept me forward.
Then Lydia did the strangest thing.
She patted the spot beside her on the couch.
My eyes flew in a panic to my mother. She flashed a reassuring smile, but it did not have its intended effect.
Skinny Dipping with Murder Page 8