Murder Most Fermented

by Christine E. Blum

  “No! If you’re going to crash our recon, then you’re going to have to do it in the dark. How did you know that we’d planned to go tonight anyway?”

  “She must have seen me crossing over to your house, Halsey.”

  I looked at Marisol for confirmation and saw that her face was blank.

  “Possibly,” I said not buying it for an instant. She’d been dressed for a B and E. “But more likely she’s bugged my place and knew what we were planning.”

  “Did not! Are we going to stand here or are we going on our mission?”

  “Our mission?”

  Bardot seemed to agree with Marisol and was pulling me down the street.

  At this time of night Rose Avenue was really magical. The huge Chinese elm and bottlebrush trees that lined the street swayed gently in the ocean wind. Soft lighting shone on porches and front doors often broadcasting the season with appropriate wreaths or flags. In many yards, kids’ toys lay dropped in place when bedtime curfew rang.

  “So what’s the plan?” Peggy asked, bringing me back to the task at hand.

  “Well, I downloaded a special camera app so that I can take photos in very low light. I figured that we should do a perimeter search and work our way to the middle, looking for anything that seems odd or telling.”

  “I’m going to be looking for cigarette butts,” Marisol proclaimed.

  “What? Why on earth?” Peggy really didn’t speak “Marisol.”

  “It’ll keep her out of our hair,” I whispered to Peggy.

  “I heard that.”

  We turned the corner of Rose and could just make out the construction site by the moonlight. Bardot had gone into hunting and tracking mode, something that Jack had trained her to do when he took her on practice rescue missions for CARA. Basically he’d let her smell an article of clothing from a missing person and she’d use that to complete the rescue. In the event that a family member or friend couldn’t provide an item with the victim’s scent, he would have the dog follow a scent picked up at the victim’s last known whereabouts through dead ends and leads until they finally tracked down and rescued the person.

  I’d practiced this on drills with Bardot but somehow we’d always get sidetracked and start playing. I’d always hoped that in a real emergency she and I’d respect the seriousness of the situation and pull off the rescue.

  Tonight, even though she was walking with friends in her own neighborhood Bardot seemed to recognize that this was business, and she walked low to the ground focused primarily on scents. Several dogs from the houses we passed barked but Bardot paid absolutely no attention.

  When we reached the gate in the fence, we saw that a heavy chain secured the gate shut to the neighboring metal post. The padlock that held the chain together looked like one of those from the ads where they shoot at it and the bullet bounces off, demonstrating indestructibility. Peggy and I looked at each other weighing our options.

  “Over here,” Marisol called to us from around the side.

  I turned on a flashlight and we followed the sound of her voice. The property line backed up carefully manicured tall shrubbery that concealed a parking lot that was part of the Santa Monica airport. It was used to handle the heavy crowds that sometimes came to a giant hangar to see award shows, concerts and galas, and outlet clothing sales. In other words, there’d be no one there tonight to hear us prowling around.

  When we found Marisol, she was crouching at the very end of the fence that met the concrete wall of the parking lot. She seemed to have worked the bottom corner of the chain-link fencing up and away from the wall. There was an opening of about one and a half feet around. I looked around for bolt cutters or something else she must have used to pry this open.

  “How did you do this, it was you, right?” I looked at her and saw the gold-toothed grin.

  “I’m impressed,” Peggy said, “but surely you had help?”

  “Nope, but I’ve been working on it for a few days now. Once I got a little bit peeled back, then I could work on it easier with a heavy-duty pry bar.”

  “Where the hell did you get that?” I asked.

  “Borrowed it from one of the workmen.”

  “Did he ask why you needed such a robust tool?” Peggy was finally starting to speak a little “Marisol.”

  “Told him that I needed to take down a shelf in the garage, I also brought him some cheese enchiladas. He didn’t ask any more questions.”

  “How come you never bring me enchiladas?” I knew that I was walking right into it.

  “Don’t need anything from you, that’s why.”

  “Shall we, ladies,” Peggy suggested. “I’m not getting any younger.”

  * * *

  Once we squeezed through, we were amazed at how little had really been accomplished.

  “How long would you say that they’ve been at this?” I asked Peggy.

  “At least two, maybe three months. I’ve got no clue what they’ve been doing behind this fenced curtain, all I see is mud, garbage, and some really crude framing of only a part of the house.”

  “I wonder where this famous basement is going to be dug,” I said, taking in the small views of the site from the light of my flashlight.

  I saw Marisol disappear into the center wooden structure and let Bardot off her leash. I knew she’d keep Marisol from danger.

  “Did you ever see the movie The Producers?” Peggy asked me.

  “Hilarious, I remember that. Weren’t they putting on a ridiculous play titled, Springtime for Hitler?”

  “That’s the one. Max Bialystock was a washed-up Broadway producer who seduces elderly women in return for investing in his shows. When his accountant, the fabulous Gene Wilder, comes in to do his books, he discovers the money. The two join forces, knowing that they can make much more money if a play is a flop. If it is so bad that it closes after one performance, then they don’t have to pay back the investment money.”

  “Right, I remember, and they build a totally putrid show that is a runaway hit foiling their get rich quick scheme. So what are you thinking here, that Howard the developer is delaying progress to file an insurance claim?”

  “I don’t know exactly how those things work, but yes. Or he could be stalling in the hopes that he strikes oil and then will never have to finish the damn thing. He told us he had the mineral rights to that property and seemed to pooh-pooh their value. But perhaps he’s another one on the hunt for that deed.”

  Peggy really did know how to think like a criminal. Residue from her CIA days I suspect. Just then, I heard a series of barks from Bardot.

  “I’ve got to quiet her down and check on Marisol,” I said and ran to the wood framing. The closer I got the muddier the soil got, sucking hard on my shoes with each step. For a split second I thought about the oil that may be beneath the surface. As I entered the structure, it got very dark and I turned on my flashlight. Bardot was standing at the far end, her head down and whining. It was the same sound she’d made when she dug up Abigail Rose in the garden.

  “Bardot, stay,” I commanded in a loud whisper. “I’m coming.”

  I started running again, praying that I would not find Marisol injured and on the ground. And, of course, the batteries were dying in my flashlight. I took a big step forward and this time the earth successfully claimed my left shoe, sending me facedown in the mud and propelling me forward. The last thing I remember is the ground disappearing beneath me and then feeling a heavy, dull pain on my chest.

  * * *

  I felt something cold moving around my face and I opened my eyes. Big mistake. Whoever was the first to use “Here’s mud in your eye!” as a drinking toast had clearly never actually had mud in their eye. I turned over on my back and felt for a dry patch of sleeve to clean my face. This time I felt something warm, breath in and out next to my ear, and realized that it was Bardot. When I looked up, I was blinded by the aura of a bright light that had suddenly been turned on.

  “What are you two doing down there?”


  Marisol. Of course.

  “I thought I was coming to rescue you. Could you please shine that light away from my eyes?”

  “Your face don’t look so good,” Marisol said, redirecting the beam.

  “Oh dear, Halsey,” Peggy said. “Why would you go into this trench?”

  “Why does everybody think that I ended up here on purpose?”

  “Are you alright, should I call 9-1-1?”

  “I’m fine, Peggy, I just had the wind knocked out of me. But can you toss me down a flashlight? Also I’m looking at my phone and I don’t have any bars. I know it gets reception on the sidewalk. We need to find a way for me to send it up to you so you can call Jack. Hopefully we can still make it out of here unnoticed.”

  I picked up the flashlight Peggy had tossed and checked my immediate surroundings. I was standing in about two inches of water, and when I put some on fingers and looked closer, it was mixed with some black sludge. I took a whiff and could detect sulfur. Not pleasant.

  “How’s this?” I heard and shone the light up. Marisol had a length of rope and tied to the end of it was something white with an odd shaped cup.

  “That should work if the rope’s long enough. Send her down.”

  While I waited, I realized that Bardot was nowhere to be seen. At the very least, she was out of flashlight range. I called for her.

  I felt the rope land on my shoulder and swung around to catch it. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and in doing so tripped on the backlight of my home screen, illuminating the white pouch attached to the rope.

  “Is this a bra?” I shouted. “Yours, Marisol?”

  “Of course, what’d you think; this place isn’t Vicky’s Secret.”

  “Good one,” Peggy said, laughing.

  “Disgusting,” I said, securing the phone in her size 34 B cup, “you can pull the rope up now.”

  A moment later we all froze as Bardot let out a high-pitched, plaintive wail.

  “BARDOT!”

  I ran toward her while tapping my flashlight on my thigh to get the last bit of juice out of the batteries.

  “Yikes!” I screamed in horror.

  If you’ve ever seen a dog’s eyes catching light in otherwise total darkness, then you know that it is not a pretty sight. Bardot’s glowed a demonic green, making me think that she’d been possessed by a very evil Kermit the Frog. When I could make out the floppy ears, I calmed down a bit.

  “You guys okay?” Peggy called down, shining the light from my phone.

  I knew what I was going to find even before I saw it. Bardot had made that sound only once before. Then I caught sight of work boots attached to a big lifeless body.

  “Peggy? Now would be a really good time to call Jack . . .”

  Chapter 12

  The partially covered structure of the framed area provided only minuscule insulation from the cold night air. Jack had pulled me out of the wet ditch, but my sneakers were soaked through, and I was pretty sure that I was harboring a pound of mud under my shirt.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” I asked Marisol, tugging her back by her sleeve.

  “Home. This party’s over.”

  “Oh no you don’t, you’re as much a part of this as the rest of us. You are going to wait for Augie and then you are going to tell him exactly what happened. And how the killer could have been any one of us who found the body.”

  “Here, Marisol,” Jack said, bringing in a plastic chair from outside our refuge. She took a seat, beaming at the attention and respect.

  “You sure you’re not hurt?” he asked me tenderly.

  “I’ll let you know after Augie has been and gone.”

  “You did nothing wrong, honey, but we’ll need to explain away what we were doing here in the first place,” Peggy said, always thinking ahead.

  “We’ll say that we ran in after Bardot. Marisol, give Peggy your chair, she’s the one who’s eighty-seven!”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll find another one,” Jack said as we heard sirens approaching.

  It was going on eleven p.m. and the dampness of the site had seeped into my bones. Like Marisol, all I wanted to do was shower and get under the covers with Bardot and Jack, not necessarily in that order. The police cars triggered lights in the neighboring homes, and it wouldn’t be long before people came out to see what all the fuss was about.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later work lamps on stands lit up the space, making it no less eerie. The body of the man was facing away from us on his side, but what I could see of his face looked like the same guy who had stormed out during the argument we’d overheard on our first recon mission.

  “Thank you, Auntie,” I heard Augie say to Marisol. “I’ll have one of the officers drive you home right away.”

  Who died and made her queen?

  “I’m going to talk to Peggy next and then I will get to you, Halsey.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  Sweet Jack had brought a folding chair from his truck for me, and he and Bardot were crouched beside me. He’d even given me his jacket to throw over my shoulders. I really need to think seriously about keeping him.

  “You know, that’s two bodies in less than a month,” Jack whispered to me.

  “Don’t remind me, I’m sure that I’ll be getting an earful from Augie.”

  “Not you, Bardot. That’s two bodies that she’s found.”

  “So?”

  The team from the ME’s office arrived and immediately took over the scene. We were sitting in a far corner, so they left us alone.

  “So, that means that Bardot has the makings of an amazing cadaver dog,” Jack continued, petting her.

  “I’m afraid to ask . . .”

  “A cadaver dog is trained to recover human remains; they’re able to locate body parts, blood, any kind of decomposition. CARA is always in need of dogs with those skills.”

  “EW! I kiss that nose, no thank you.”

  “Just saying, Bardot is a pooch of many talents.”

  We watched Augie strut his way over to us, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “And now we come to Miss Halsey,” Augie said smugly.

  “Are you also sticking with the story that you all followed your dog onto the construction site?” Augie asked me.

  “Of course, because it’s true.”

  I would have loved to have let him know that dear, sweet Auntie Marisol had been working on getting that fence open for about a week, but it wouldn’t have helped with my cause.

  “And you just happened to run into my aunt and Mrs. Peggy while taking a late evening walk?”

  “Your aunt likes to spy on me and insisted on tagging along. Peggy and I had arranged earlier to meet now that the nights are getting warmer.”

  That shut him up, temporarily. We all watched as the body was raised from the ditch, and Augie stopped them once it was up so that I could take a shot at identifying him. His skin looked waxy and his face was contorted in a way that made it look like he’d died in mid choke. My stomach churned and I thought that I was going to be sick.

  “I only saw him for a minute that day, Augie, it might be the same guy from the argument with Howard, but I can’t be sure. In either case, he’s the one you should be interrogating, not me.”

  “We have a unit picking him up now and taking him to the station. While it does seem that you and your friends stumbled in on this, don’t think that I believe your story about how you got in here for one minute. I’ll be watching you very closely.”

  “Thanks, Augie, somehow I feel so much safer.”

  As we headed out to the gate in the fence, I noticed a jacket hanging on a peg of the wood frame that looked about Howard’s size. Behind it hung something made of straw.

  “We got the results back from Abigail Rose’s autopsy report,” Augie said, getting my undivided attention.

  “And?”

  “Asphyxiation. She died by asphyxiation, smothered by the dirt of her grave.”r />
  “She was buried alive?”

  Before I got my answer I fainted and kissed dirt for the second time that night.

  * * *

  I woke up to breakfast in bed.

  “Now this is more like it,” I said to Jack, accepting a tray of goodies. On it I saw and smelled the aroma of warm biscuits cradling melting butter, some peach jam, and a perfectly soft-boiled egg. Orange juice that I know was fresh squeezed completed the excellent repast. Bardot sat obediently by the side of the bed.

  “Nothing but the best for my sweetie,” he said, and I almost didn’t mind the corny term of endearment.

  “You’re dressed and you’ve got keys in your hand,” I said, giving Jack a good look over.

  “Afraid so, I have a training session in Malibu in less than an hour.”

  “Boo!”

  “You sure you’re feeling okay? I could have Marisol come over.”

  “God no!”

  “Alright,” Jack said, chuckling. “Got to boogie.” I got a kiss on the cheek.

  As soon as I heard the front door shut, Bardot was up on the bed. She must have been sitting in a springed crouch the entire time.

  I kept a laptop in my bedroom, I know, really bad habit. But today it happened to be a good idea because I could catch up on things while having breakfast.

  I skimmed through my emails until I came across one from Aimee. I remembered that I’d asked her that, if she had the time during shifts at her yogurt shop, could she do some online research on the history of Mar Vista. I was excited to see what she’d found out.

  Hi!

  I really, really miss you guys, but I am also learning so much in baking class! Yesterday Chef said that I made the best “Ile Flottante” she’d tasted in a long while!

  Anyhoo, I didn’t want to let you down on your case and I think I found something that you’ll find interesting. It is a draft of a paper that Paula’s husband Max had written and I guess he shared it with the guy who has it in an online archive. Don’t ask what search steps I took to find it, about halfway through the girls’ softball team came in from practice and each one had a special order.

  The paper’s attached; I’ll try to get back to this when I can. Hugs and kisses to all the girls and a special one to Bardot!