by Cy Wyss
That, naturally, made him laugh even harder. The guffaws meant he could hardly breathe and barely made any sounds; his whole body was wracked with convulsions. PJ couldn’t help it; she also had to laugh uproariously, also trying to suppress it so she wouldn’t fill the house with screeching hyena-like cries.
The siblings shook together with laughter in the corner for several moments, but then a plate shattered, stopping their antics short.
“—enough of you people!” a woman yelled.
Both Robert and PJ got up quickly and stepped back through the archway dividing the reading nook and the kitchen. They saw Doc Fred and his wife, Minerva, restraining an old woman. The woman’s dark face was nearly purple, and her eyes bugged out.
“You’re all against us. You’re all against him! The malpractice insurance is killing us! Killing us! You come at night to kill us in our sleep! You come from the water to kill us!”
The group around the old woman was silent and dismayed. Doc Fred and his wife dragged her toward the exit. Her screams degenerated into profanity, and PJ could hear her yelling all the way through the foyer out into the front yard. Out the front window, she watched Doc Fred and Minerva pile the woman into their car and drive away. The rest of the party started up again, as if in unspoken agreement to pretend nothing had happened.
Robert stood beside PJ, watching the Nortons’ car drive away. “Who was that?” PJ asked.
“I think that was Doc Fred’s mother,” he answered.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Dementia, seems like. At least that’s what I’d think, given how old she looked.”
“Poor Doc Fred.”
Robert looked meaningfully at PJ. “He’s a psychiatrist, not a miracle worker. Some things just can’t be cured.”
PJ realized he was alluding to her as well as the old woman. She stared at the floor. What could she say? There was nothing to say. She had her story now, and she would need to stick to it. She remained silent for several moments before rejoining the party with a subdued demeanor for the rest of the afternoon.
— 10 —
Funeral
Chip Greene’s funeral was held the following day, a brilliantly sunny Sunday. The air was crisp but held the promise of summer to come. PJ wasn’t invited, but she read in the paper when it was planned for, so she walked out to the cemetery to see if she could catch the interment. Mayhap’s Memorial Cemetery was only a mile and a half from Stoker Hills, along Mayhap Road, past the bridge where Chip’s body was found and around a long bend.
When PJ got to the cemetery, she saw some activity in the eastern quarter up a hill. She took up a place at a discrete distance and watched the scene. So far, only the gravediggers were there, preparing the hole for Chip’s casket. After a few minutes, a familiar person joined her.
“Hello, Robert.”
Her brother nodded. “They’re done at the church. They should be coming here shortly.”
“Were you at the service?”
“No. It was private. Only Phil and a couple of Chip’s drinking buddies seemed to be in attendance.”
PJ turned to Robert. He was wearing a dark suit with a light blue shirt and tie. He had on mirrored sunglasses that reflected the big pink flowers of a nearby magnolia. A gentle breeze stirred the tree, and the flowers waved at them as if to say hello.
“Will they mind that we’re here for the interment?” PJ asked.
“It’s a free country. They can’t close the cemetery to the viewing public.”
PJ and Robert were silent for a few moments. The gravestones arrayed before them were somber and still in the afternoon sun.
PJ said, “Have there been any developments? Did you figure out who the shoe Nanci found belongs to?”
“It’s Sunday, PJ. Things are slow. We’ll just have to be patient.”
PJ considered everything she knew about the fateful night when Chip was washed away in the raging water. She had far more questions than answers. “I just don’t get it,” she mused aloud.
“What don’t you get?”
“For starters, I don’t get why Detective Tipton thinks Alex pushed Chip.”
“There was a healthy amount of mud around the scene, PJ. The footprints seemed to tell that story.”
“What about the pistol you guys found in the water? Chip’s pellet gun? At the most, I’d say Alex was probably defending himself.”
“The pellet gun was inconclusive. There was no ammunition inside, but we couldn’t tell if it had been recently fired since it was in the water.”
“What about the shot everyone heard?”
“You were there. Did you see Chip shoot the gun?”
“From where I was, it didn’t look like anyone had a gun. And the shot seemed to come from behind me, in the trailer park, not the ravine.”
“A loud noise is often hard to pinpoint, especially with echoes.”
“I’m not even sure it wasn’t a tree branch breaking.”
“Two of your neighbors called 911 about it. They seemed pretty sure it was a shot.”
“Well, maybe someone else was there, shooting at Chip and Alex.”
Robert frowned. “Someone else? Do you have any basis to think that?”
PJ remembered Mutt smelling cigarette smoke. Mutt had been sure it belonged to the short boy from the thefts. “I think I smelled cigarette smoke. From the direction of the Hills.”
Robert rubbed his forehead. “Now you smelled smoke. PJ, why does your story constantly change? How can anyone believe you?”
“Well, it was all a jumble. And I did take a turn through the water. Maybe I hit my head. It’s coming back to me in pieces.”
“All right, so you smelled cigarette smoke. It could have been anyone. Perhaps one of the neighbors who called 911 was out in his yard smoking.”
“Who’s the second boy?”
“What?”
“In the video of the break-in, I saw Trent Tate and another boy. Who is he?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Oh, come on, Robert. How am I supposed to piece things together if you won’t help me?”
Robert was silent.
“Fine,” PJ said. “But every time I see them, they’re smoking. What if they were there?”
“That’s quite a leap.”
“Well, when people are asking them questions about the thefts, I think they should also be asked if they were there Saturday night when Chip went in the water.”
Robert stared at PJ. His mirrored eyes were opaque in the sunlight.
“And anyway,” PJ said, “why haven’t I heard back on the thefts? Surely the video gave enough evidence to arrest Trent, or at least search his trailer or something.”
“Or something.”
“What does that mean?”
“PJ, it’s not that simple. For starters, Detective Tipton has been distracted by the whole Greene business. For finishers, I don’t know why he hasn’t moved on the thefts.”
“Great. Meanwhile, either Trent or that short boy are pawning Dad’s ring somewhere.”
At the entrance to the cemetery, cars started to arrive, led by the hearse. The procession was short, only four cars total, and wound its way toward the open grave that had been prepared.
“So have you thought of anything else?” Robert asked.
PJ stared at the nearest headstone. A beetle was making its way up the side. “The shoe bothers me,” she said.
“Back to that darn shoe.”
“Well, Nanci said she found it about a hundred paces north from where Bridget found me the next morning. That’s about where I fell in.”
“You know this how? Have you been poking around back there?”
“Well of course I have.”
Robert huffed. “Of course you have. And what bothers you about that shoe so much?”
The cars stopped at the top of the hill, and Chip’s friends got out of their cars. The back of the hearse opened, and PJ could make out the casket, Chip’s
final carriage.
“Well, I think I saw Chip.”
“You mean in the water?”
“No, on the side. Before I slid into the water, I think I saw him across from me.”
“That makes no sense, PJ. How long was it between when you saw him fall in and when you fell in?”
“I was stumbling around for a while, nearly blinded by the light goggles.”
“And your story changes once again. Damn it, PJ.”
“Well, I can’t help what I saw. I could swear Chip was on the other bank from me when I fell in. And I thought he moved. So he was still alive.”
“This is big, PJ. This is huge. If he washed up between when he went in and where he was found, then how did he get back in the water? Was the creek raging so much that it would have dragged him from the side?”
“No, if Chip was where I think he was, he would have needed help to get back in the water.”
“You realize what you’re saying, PJ.”
“I’m saying that Alex didn’t do it.”
Robert sighed heavily. Meanwhile, up on the hill, Chip’s ragtag group of drinking buddies carried his casket uncertainly to the grave. PJ saw Phil Greene, dressed in full Scottish formal, kilt and everything. His plaid was navy with green lines, and he carried a bagpipe.
“Wow, look at that,” PJ said.
Robert turned to face the interment. Both of them watched as Phil took a couple of puffs on the bagpipe. After a moment, the sound of the warming-up pipes came to them as a series of broken wheezes. Shortly Phil’s expertise took over, and “Amazing Grace” floated toward them on the chilly air. Both Robert and PJ listened in silence. PJ always wondered how anyone could make it through “Amazing Grace” on the bagpipes without crying. She couldn’t. Tears streaked down her cheeks. Robert glanced her way, no evidence of grief across his face.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
PJ wiped her eyes with her fingers. “Funerals always remind me of Mom and Dad.”
“I know. Me too.”
“Then why aren’t you crying?”
Robert didn’t answer. As the last refrain from the pipes died away, PJ saw Chip’s casket had been lowered into the grave. Chip’s friends split off from the pastor and wandered back to their cars, looking a little dazed from the whole thing. Phil stayed behind to talk to the pastor.
“I guess that’s it,” PJ said.
Robert looked around the area. “How did you get here, PJ? I didn’t see your car.”
“I walked.”
“Want a ride back home?”
“No, you go on. I want to be by myself.”
— 11 —
Arrested
Sunday night PJ and Mutt prowled the ravine behind the Hills. They carefully sniffed around the area where Nanci had set up her electrical tape.
I wonder who is in that house up there, PJ mused, nosing toward the row of houses on top of the ravine. The nearest one had blue siding and a large screened-in back porch.
Mutt sniffed the air. Humans, definitely.
Well, duh, you big dummy. Were you expecting giraffes or elephants?
Not really.
The rest of the night passed similarly as the animals sniffed their way up and down the ravine without finding any additional clues. Monday morning PJ returned twenty minutes before sunup and pushed her way into her trailer through the cat door she’d had cut into her front door. She had just transformed and changed into pajamas and was about to lie down when someone pounded on her door. She opened it to find Maija Tate frantic and flushed.
“PJ, come quick! They’re taking Alex. You have to help him!”
“What?”
“Get ahold of Liam and tell him to meet us at the municipal building.”
PJ followed Maija in a rush back to her trailer. It was a single-wide with an addition built at right angles off the back for Trent’s bedroom.
Mutt was on their heels, barking.
“Mutt, hush,” PJ said.
Mutt sat and waited several feet away from the marked SUV in front of the Tates’ trailer. PJ’s heart sank when she saw who had come to arrest Alex—it was Jake. He stood with two other uniformed officers in front of a patrol car. Alex was sitting in the back seat, head bowed. PJ thought she heard soft bleating coming from him through one of the cruiser’s open windows.
PJ cornered Detective Tipton near his SUV. “Jake, what happened? What are you doing?”
“Hey, PJ.”
Mutt had inched closer to the SUV and was now a paw’s length from Henry, who was shut in the back. They exchanged barks and growls.
“Mutt, heel,” PJ said.
“Heinrich, platz!” Jake said.
“What’s that?” PJ asked.
“Oh,” Jake said. “It’s German. That’s what Henry—or rather Heinrich, actually—understands.”
“Oh, nice.”
“Uh-huh. My pronounciation is pretty bad, but I don’t think Heinrich cares.”
“Well, you’re his master.”
“Yep.”
The two officers standing nearby got into their cruiser and started it. Maija followed them out of the area in her red pickup, sending up a spray of gravel in her wake.
“Where are they taking him?” PJ asked Jake.
“Booking.”
“I’ll need to call Liam and get him to meet Alex and Maija there.”
“Hm. Better get on that.”
“I can’t believe you actually arrested Alex. How can the DA possibly think there’s enough evidence to try this? It’s crazy.”
Jake looked at his watch. “CSI should be here soon so we can search the trailer. We can kill two birds with one stone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, our warrant includes the entire trailer. We can search for stolen goods as well. Perhaps Alex’s brother, Trent, left some of his goodies lying around as evidence. Like your dad’s ring, for example.”
“Oh. That would be great. When would I get it back?”
“It would probably be a while. We’d have to use it as evidence in any case against Trent.”
“Why are you just now getting to Trent?”
“We didn’t get a warrant on your video evidence alone.”
“What? How can that be?”
Jack shifted from foot to foot. “Well, Trent dropped the cat statue. And, frankly, it looked like a setup.”
PJ’s scalp crawled with fear and indignation. “A setup? What does that mean?”
“It looked as if the boys were enticed to go into your trailer. Especially since on the video you can’t tell if they got away with anything. You can’t see the ring, PJ.”
“Yes you can, if you look closely.”
“Well, the judge looked closely and disagreed.”
PJ was saddened by Jake’s matter-of-factness. Had she said or done something to put him off? He’d been warm at the cookout but now seemed made of ice. She bit her lip in lieu of snarking at him.
Jake watched PJ debate with herself. He checked his watch again. “Are you doing anything for lunch, PJ?”
PJ’s eyes widened. Was he asking her out? “Uh, no. No, not at the moment.”
“How about meeting me? I’d like to talk to you some more.”
“Sure. Where?”
“The Village Grille? It’s right on Main Street.”
“I know where it is. That’s one of my favorite places.”
“Okay, good. See you there at twelve-thirty then.”
* * *
After she left Jake, PJ went to her trailer and called Liam. He was at home in Mayhap, so it wouldn’t take him long to get to the municipal building and meet Maija and Alex. PJ was mollified that at least she could call Liam to help, even if she couldn’t do anything for Alex herself.
Afterward, PJ applied herself to the problem of her waterlogged camera. She figured since it had been a full week, its interior should be sufficiently dry by now to try to retrieve its contents. She carefully put it together and hooke
d it up to her computer. At first, she couldn’t get the camera’s internal flash drive to work at all. But after several minutes of trying different settings and carefully readjusting the connection, she managed to get a couple of files off her camera. It seemed so testy, though, that she knew she’d have to get rid of it. She had a back-up camera, but it was bigger and more bulky, so she didn’t like to wear it. She’d just have to order a new and improved model, even smaller and thinner than the one that was now broken.
The files she retrieved weren’t much help. She had been running when the camera was filming, so the images were jerky and nearly unrecognizable. She did see Alex and Chip standing together at the edge of the water. The next shot that was presentable was Chip flailing around in the water and Alex reaching for him. Alex’s heavy tote bag unbalanced him, and he splashed into the water’s edge. Then the clip ended. The only other footage that seemed intact consisted of a couple of frames of night sky through the branches of the trees as PJ tried to cross the river toward Chip. She was howling on the clip, and the effect was particularly eerie. She supposed she could save the video for Halloween, but other than that it was useless.
She sat back and sighed heavily. She knew her footage wouldn’t help Alex. When the boy stumbled into the river, he had his arms out, and if you were already of that opinion, you might say Alex was pushing Chip. PJ knew what she had seen that night, though. It didn’t happen that way. She decided it was best to keep the footage she did have to herself.
Before she closed the encrypted directory where she kept her videos, she decided to watch the video she’d taken of Trent and the short boy breaking into her trailer. She couldn’t tell which of them had picked the lock on her front door, but it went so fast that whoever did it was surely well practiced. It almost looked as though the boys had a key to her trailer. The video cut out, and PJ opened the second half. In it, the boys emerged from her trailer, Trent clearly holding the cat figurine and the short boy holding his hand out boasting about the ring on his finger. PJ paused the recording and enlarged the short boy’s hand. A fuzzy block on the second-to-last finger of his right hand was all she could make out. Yet she knew she had seen the class ring clearly the night of the theft. Apparently her cat eyes were better than the camera. She could see why the judge had opted to give the boys the benefit of the doubt. After Mutt scared them and Trent dropped the figurine, it looked as if the boys had gotten away with nothing. Yet something about the video was making PJ’s cat-sense tingle. She had to watch the part where Mutt chased the boys three more times before she realized what it meant.