by Cat Clayton
I turned down Farm to Market road 218. If memory served me correctly, cedar posts lined the entry of his gravel driveway, located only a few miles outside of town.
I am getting the willies, Chiquita.
“Nah,” I said to him, coasting at a safe speed. “We’ll have a look, and then, be on our way.”
If you say so.
“You worry too much,” I told him.
You do not worry enough.
“There it is!” I flipped on my blinker as soon as I spotted the cedar post entry. I pulled to the side of the road. What in the heck hung on the barbed wire fence? Were those... oh my! I counted eleven pairs of tighty whities strung along the fence. The sight gave new meaning to the phrase “airing your dirty laundry in public.”
I turned into the drive, jammed my foot into the clutch, killed the lights, and shifted into second gear. The car bumped along; the tires crunching gravel. Thankfully, the moon illuminated the driveway enough for me to see in front of the car and not run into the barbed wire fences running along the ditches.
Up ahead, I saw Buzz’s small cabin. A dim light glowed through the windows. Did he live out here now, or was he hiding out? Jackson had mentioned he’d stopped by Buzz’s place in town only to find him not there.
Halfway down the driveway, I pulled the Bug over to the side and switched the engine off.
“Do you want to go with me or stay in the car?” I asked Cuff.
He whined, his sickle-shaped tail wagging. That is a dumb question, Chiquita.
“You’re right, let’s go.” I unbuckled my seatbelt. When I opened the driver’s side door and the dome light came on, I panicked.
“Crap! Hurry and get out!”
Cuff jumped out, and I shut the door. I clenched my jaw as the light took forever to fade and finally switch off.
I hope he is inside and did not see the light.
“Me, too, little buddy. C’mon. Let’s see what we can find.” As I tip-toed along the gravel, I began to question my motive. What in the heck am I doing? What will I do if I see something suspicious? Or worse, what if we’re caught?
I think these questions should have crossed your mind earlier. Before we left the apartment. Just sayin’.
My pup had a point.
“We’re here. We might as well have a look around,” I whispered.
We stopped at the end of the driveway, about ten yards from the cabin. Nobody moved inside and no sounds came from the dwelling. An eerie, someone-is-watching-me feeling crept up my spine. The hair on the back of my neck prickled. I felt for my cell phone inside my pocket and located the rectangular shape tucked away, my imagination running wild.
Old farm equipment and junk littered the grounds. A stench filled the cool night air. I shivered. A branch snapped somewhere behind us. I peered into the inky black, imagining all kinds of monsters lurking.
Get ahold of yourself, Steely.
I smell dead things, Chiquita.
“Buzz is a hunter and a taxidermist. He probably caught something for dinner or he’s processing skins for the shop.”
But, what if it is something else, like a dead body?
“Don’t even mention a dead body. C’mon, follow me.”
Sprinting from tree to tree, we made our way across the front yard, avoiding scattered debris, careful not to trip and fall. The floodlight from the porch lit up the section of the grass where we were. Thankful for the concealment of the huge oaks, I peeked from behind the last one near the dilapidated front porch, peering into the window. A large stock pot sat on the stove, with a gas flame on high burning underneath. Steam rose from under the cracked lid.
An owl hooted from nearby, causing me to jump out of my skin. I gave into my fear and leaned my head against the scratchy bark.
Um, Chiquita... do not look...
Someone grabbed me from behind, one hand around my mouth, the other around my waist, pulling me into a rock-hard chest.
“Don’t scream,” a male voice said.
Jackson.
I melted against him in relief. What if it had been Buzz?
“I’m removing my hand, but be quiet. Okay?” Jackson whispered.
I nodded.
He released me and I turned to face him. His dark eyes were fierce, his jaw clenched.
“What in the hell are you doing out here?” he asked, glancing past me at the cabin.
I shrugged. “Having a look around?”
“Dammit, Lamarr,” he said, sighing. “What if Buzz had caught you?”
At the same moment, a flashlight beam hit us head-on.
“Put your hands where I can see them and nobody gets shot!” a gruff voice hollered. “Who’re you?”
“Officer Jackson, Pleasant Hills PD, don’t shoot!” Jackson said, raising his hands, inching away from the tree.
I followed suit, raised my hands and sidled up next to Jackson. Cuff followed me.
“Who’s there with you?” Buzz McCoy asked.
“It’s Steely Lamarr, sir!” My entire body trembled.
This does not look good, Chiquita.
I agreed. Although it could’ve been worse. Buzz could’ve caught us alone, without Jackson.
True that.
“You’re lucky, copper. I normally shoot first and ask questions later. I could’ve blown your head off,” Buzz said in a heavy smoker’s voice.
The flashlight switched off, and after my eyes adjusted, I saw a double barrel in his hands.
My knees buckled, and I grabbed onto Jackson so I wouldn’t crumble to the ground.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Uh huh,” I said in a shaky voice.
“Mr. McCoy, I came to ask you a few questions,” Jackson yelled out.
“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? I damn near killed you,” Buzz said. “Y’all come on up here to the porch where we can talk.”
Jackson frowned. “Well, since you’re here.” He gestured with his hand for me to lead the way.
I scooped up Cuff in case Buzz had an unfriendly canine in the house or on the porch.
Thanks, Chiquita.
Climbing the splintered wooden steps, I discovered the source of the foul smell. Several dead animals dangled from the porch rafters. One, I identified as a raccoon. The others I couldn’t bring myself to look at. Flies swarmed, buzzing around the rotting carcasses. I gagged at the smell.
“Yeah, I know. But you get kinda used to it after a while,” Buzz said. “Let’s go inside. The flies aren’t so bad in there.” Dressed in a red and black flannel and jeans, he set his shotgun down inside the doorway and motioned for us to step inside.
Vintage furnishings adorned the toasty, cluttered cabin, and a delicious aroma filled the air. Although, with what hung outside, I didn’t want to know what brewed in the pot, good-smelling or not.
“Mr. McCoy,” Jackson said. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about Petunia Jinks.”
“Please, son,” Buzz said. “Call me Buzz. And have a seat.” He pointed to a table and four chairs, pulling out a packet of cigarettes from the shirt pocket of his flannel. He lit one up.
Buzz had brown hair with flecks of silver, muddy brown eyes, a medium build, and not bad looking for a mid-fifty-year-old man, sans his scruffy facial hair. I gathered he didn’t shave when he hunted.
We sat down. Buzz reached into the fridge and retrieved a six-pack of beer and brought it to the table. He offered each of us one and sank into the chair across from Jackson.
Jackson and I both shook our heads in refusal. Cuff trembled in my lap.
I do not smell another dog, but to be safe, I will stay right here. I do not want to end up hanging from the porch.
I didn’t blame him. I didn’t either.
“Thanks for the beer offer, Buzz. But, I’m on duty,” Jackson said.
I noticed Jackson’s uniform. He had a good reason for being here; I didn’t. I might be able to get out of trouble with Buzz, but dealing with Jackson would be another story.
“Suit yourselves,” Buzz said, puffing on his cigarette. “Don’t mind if I do. Long day skinnin’ those critters.” He popped open a can of beer and took a long guzzle.
“Mister, I mean Buzz, were you acquainted with Petunia Jinks?” Jackson asked.
Buzz nodded. “Yes, sir, I am,” he said.
I fanned the smoke away from my face.
“Sorry, miss. I’ll put ‘er out,” Buzz said and smashed out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray.
I wrinkled my nose at the sight. “I appreciate that.”
“Can I ask about your relationship with Ms. Jinks?” Jackson asked.
“Not good, I tell ya. At least not these days. We met when we were kids. Went to school together. I also done some plumbing work for her at her house over the years. But recently, her and I had been on opposite sides of the fence. If you know what I mean,” Buzz said.
“No, I don’t know. Tell me,” Jackson said.
Compliments of the journal, I knew what Buzz would say before he said it.
His face turned fifty shades of red before he spit it out. “We’ve been fightin’ about animals. She says what I do, the taxidermy, and all, is animal cruelty. She’s been threatening me. Says she’ll sick the game warden on me.”
“Did this make you angry?” Jackson asked.
Buzz nodded. “Yeah, you’re damn straight it did,” he said, stabbing a hand through his messy hair. “It’s my livelihood. It’s how I put food on my table and pay for my daughter’s college tuition, aside from my plumbing jobs.”
“Did Petunia ever call the game warden out?” I asked. “And why do you have underwear hanging from your fence?” The last part was out of pure curiosity.
He shrugged, scrutinizing me. “You never said what you’re doing out here. You with him?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “I’m doing a ride along.”
“Hmm... I see.” Buzz scratched his chin. “A yuppy couple from Houston bought up some land and built a house. I don’t want to look out my front windows and see it. So, I gave them something to obstruct their view.”
“How neighborly of you,” I replied.
Jackson narrowed his eyes at me.
I offered him a sheepish grin.
His lower jaw shifted to the right, and I could tell he wanted to say something in opposition, but he kept his thoughts about me and my being here to himself.
Jackson resumed. “So, when’s the last time you saw Ms. Jinks?”
Buzz gulped the rest of his beer down, fidgeting in his chair. He looked up at the ceiling, tapping his fingers on the old, chipped Formica table.
Are you nervous, Buzz? I thought.
He let out a long exhale. “I guess a few days ago. Even though we’d been fightin’ over this animal thing, she called me over to the library to look at a broken pipe. But, I, uh... I had my hands full.” His eyes jumped around the kitchen, his hands fumbled with the now empty beer can. He crunched it with his bare hands and tossed it in the trashcan a few feet away.
“So, you didn’t go fix the broken pipe at the library?” Jackson asked.
“No,” Buzz said, reaching over and snagging another beer from the six-pack. He popped it open and took a long swig.
“No, you didn’t fix it, or no you didn’t go to the library,” Jackson clarified.
“What’s all this questioning about?” Buzz asked.
The tension in the room amplified.
Buzz blinked, refusing to make eye contact with Jackson or me. His fingers gripping the can trembled. Jackson’s line of questioning made Buzz nervous.
“Do I need to rephrase the question?” Jackson asked.
“No, I didn’t fix it. You’re confusing me,” Buzz said.
Could be all the beer his is drinking.
You got that right, little buddy. But I bet there’s more to his story. I patted Cuff on the top of his head and waited.
Jackson straightened up in his chair, shifting his weight. He appeared ready to conquer the world in his uniform, ready for whatever Buzz would throw his way.
“I’m not trying to confuse you. I’m trying to figure out who murdered Ms. Jinks,” Jackson said.
The look on Buzz’s face concerned me. His upper lip quivered and his eyes widened. He resembled a blinded deer in headlights.
“She’s dead?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“Yes,” Jackson said. “And we found your business card near the body. We need to find out if you were there or if you saw anything suspicious when you were there.”
“The body?” Buzz said, his hands shaking.
“Mr. McCoy, just answer his questions,” I said, butting in.
Jackson’s annoyance flared. “Steely, please.”
“He’s playing you. It’s a stall tactic!” I said.
Buzz growled. “Shut up!” He gripped the table and shoved his chair back, his arms flailing wildly, and then he sprung at me.
Chapter 16
In a split second, my life flashed before my eyes and I thought I was a goner.
Jackson tackled him to the floor. Buzz squirmed and grunted underneath the weight of Jackson. Cuffs were on Buzz’s wrists in record time.
I sucked in a breath, my heart pounding inside my chest. I leaned against the wall behind me. I hadn’t been aware of my body’s reaction to Buzz’s attack, but at some point, I’d risen from the chair and backed myself up against the far wall.
“Bad choice, Mr. McCoy,” Jackson said, digging his knee into Buzz’s back. Jackson reached down and in one swift motion, yanked the guy to his feet.
Buzz wavered. “I didn’t kill no one!” Spittle flew from his mouth.
“Mr. McCoy, you’re under arrest,” Jackson said, nodding at me to get the front door. “You have the right to be silent.”
As Jackson gave Buzz his rights, I dashed over and opened the door with Cuff bouncing in my arms. Jackson led him out to the front porch. He glanced back over his shoulder at me.
“Steely, please shut off whatever’s cooking on the stove,” he said.
Holy taco, Chiquita. Jackson is good.
You’re not kidding, little buddy.
I carried Cuff over to the stove and switched off the burner, grabbed Buzz’s keys from the counter, turned off the kitchen light, and locked and shut the front door behind me.
In a daze, I stumbled down the porch steps and followed behind Jackson, who led Buzz to the side of the cabin. He yanked open the back door of his police cruiser and guided Buzz inside. How had I missed his car when we walked up to the cabin?
He slammed the car door and spun around.
“Do you think he did it?” I asked.
For a few seconds, Jackson stared at me in silence, a fire burning in his eyes. And then, as if a switch flipped, his eyes softened.
“Steely, I want you to go home, please,” he said, stepping closer to me. “I need to take him down to the station and get to the bottom of whatever he’s hiding.” He peered down at me.
“He’s guilty of something.” I patted Cuff’s head. “But not killing Petunia.”
It didn’t fit. The killer had poisoned her. Buzz didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who’d poison someone’s coffee. Call it a gut feeling, but he’d be a blunt force or gun sort of killer.
Jackson rested a hand on my shoulder and squeezed.
“I’ll call you later,” he said and turned to get in his car.
On the drive back to town, I thought about Buzz. He was a strange one with dead animals hanging from his porch. He definitely had a grudge against Petunia. And he had an explosive temper.
As we passed Buzz’s taxidermy place, I slowed down to a crawl. I read the hand-painted wooden sign. You Snuff ‘em & We Stuff ‘em. Instead of continuing to the apartment, I swung a hard left off the road.
Chiquita?
“Yes?”
Tell me you are not breaking in that place.
“Okay, I won’t tell you.”
This is not a time for sarcasm.
/> “I have a plan,” I said and pulled up to the front of Buzz’s shop. I killed the engine. “Do you want to wait here or go in with me?”
That’s breaking and entering, Chiquita.
I reached in the front pocket of my jeans and withdrew the keys I’d taken from Buzz’s cabin. I’d meant to give them to Jackson to give to Buzz since I’d locked the front door, but I’d forgotten to hand them over.
“I have keys,” I said, jingling them.
How convenient. Cuff yipped at me. I am going.
I climbed out of the car and Cuff followed me to the front door of the shop. Moths flitted about a dim yellow light in the porch area. One by one, I began testing the keys. The fourth key worked.
“Ready?”
As I will ever be, Chiquita.
The main room, a jungle of animal mounts, rated high on my creep-o-meter. Some mounted animals adorned the walls, but most were on the floor or tables, positioned as if they were still in their natural habitats when they were alive. Coyotes, bobcats, raccoons, opossums, deer, hogs, snakes, ducks, rabbits, and the list went on. Unblinking, glass-like eyes met my gaze. A disturbing sensation scurried up my backbone.
Chiquita?
I jumped. “Jeez, you scared me.”
These animals are freaking me out. Pick me up.
I bent and scooped him up in my arms. “We’ll take a quick peek and be out of here.”
What are you looking for?
“I’m not sure yet,” I said, careful not to bump into anything.
The front counter was a disaster, papers strewn everywhere. I tried not to disturb too much as I sifted through them. Most of the paperwork consisted of orders from customers, receipts, unopened junk mail, and bills. Lots of bills. Next to an old-fashioned cash register sat a ceramic coffee mug, half-full of what appeared to be black coffee. Cigarette butts floated on the surface. I cringed.
On the wall, next to the register hung a corkboard with various business cards from around town. Smack dab in the middle of the cards was a piece of paper with a long hunter’s arrow stabbed dead center of the sheet. I peered closer and read the paper. I tried at least. The metal tip of the arrow had shredded a portion of it. A warning notice from the game warden’s office announced a fine for hunting off-season. By the look of the arrow straight through the middle, I’d say the letter angered Buzz.