Murder is Dicey

by Gail Oust

  Belatedly my conscience kicked in. I hesitated just as the walk curved toward the front porch. How rude of me to intrude on a private conversation. I hated nosy neighbors, and now I had become one.

  “Mr. Brubaker?” The sheriff’s voice carried loud and clear. “Your wife has been reported missin’.”

  Apparently I was out of sight, but not out of earshot. Should I go, or should I stay? My feet seemed encased in cement and unable to move of their own accord.

  “Missing? Rosalie’s not missing,” Earl replied, sounding irate. “She’s visiting the grandkids in upstate New York.”

  “Then you wouldn’t mind givin’ us a number where she can be reached.”

  “It’s none of your damn business.”

  “Sorry, sir, but I’m afraid we need to verify her whereabouts.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothin’, I hope. We have the body of an unidentified female in the morgue. We’re just tryin’ to account for women in the area who have been gone two weeks or longer.”

  “Well, it’s not my wife. Rosalie’s at our daughter’s in Poughkeepsie.”

  “If you could give us your daughter’s number, we could clear this matter up with a phone call.”

  “Fine.” Earl mumbled a number with an 845 area code. “Call her, you’ll see.”

  “’Preciate your cooperation. And, sir, one more thing. Would you be willin’ to give us somethin’ that belongs to your wife. For instance, a hairbrush or a toothbrush.”

  “What the hell you want that for?” Earl demanded.

  “No need to get riled,” Sheriff Wiggins soothed in that wonderful baritone of his. “Thing is, if we had an item we could use for DNA, it would help us exclude your wife as a possible victim—and eliminate you as a . . . person of interest.”

  “Me!” Earl squawked. “No frickin’ way! Surely you don’t think . . . ?”

  “Of course, I could ask Judge Blanchard to sign a search warrant, but I hope that won’t be necessary.”

  Could he really do that? I wondered. Wasn’t that against some constitutional amendment or other? But the Sheriff was a shrewd one. He could be bluffing. Have to admit, he had me going for a minute. Sure wish he’d let me hang out with him so I could study his technique.

  “Search warrants,” the sheriff continued smoothly, “tend to draw a heap of unwanted attention. You know how nosy folks can be.”

  Humph! Nosy? Was he talking about me?

  “Not that you have anythin’ to hide, but some folks might jump to the wrong conclusion.” The sheriff let the threat hang.

  Earl finally relented. “Why the heck not. What’ve I got to lose?”

  I could hear Earl’s footsteps recede, then grow louder again as he returned. I knew I should make my getaway, but those darn feet of mine didn’t want to budge.

  “Here’s her hairbrush. Take the darn thing. Now leave me alone.”

  The door slammed shut.

  Before I could duck into the bushes, Sheriff Wiggins rounded the walkway, nearly knocking me off my feet. “Whoa,” he said, catching my shoulders just before I toppled into the holly.

  “Sheriff . . . um . . . fancy meeting you here.”

  The grim set of his mouth signaled he wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Didn’t that man ever smile? Someone should tell him it takes fewer muscles to smile than it does to frown. But that someone wasn’t going to be me. At least not today.

  “I . . . ah . . .” I stammered. “I was bringing Earl a garden catalog.” I waved the Jackson & Perkins catalog under his nose to give my story credibility. “Did you know he grows orchids?”

  “I didn’t come here to discuss hobbies with Mr. Brubaker.”

  “I’m afraid I might have given you the wrong impression yesterday.”

  Sheriff Wiggins headed down the walk at a brisk pace. I practically had to run to keep up.

  “I never meant to imply that Earl is guilty of any wrongdoing. I just wanted you to be aware that Rosalie’s been gone a long time and no one’s heard from her. I thought you could make a few calls, confirm that she’s safe at her daughter’s and that she’d be returning all in one piece.”

  I winced at my choice of words. All in one piece?

  When he didn’t reply, I forged ahead. “Where friends are concerned, the Babes and I only want peace of mind.”

  I wanted to clap my hand over my mouth. There was that word again. Piece or peace, no matter which way you spell it, they both sound the same.

  As we rounded the walk, he made a beeline for his cruiser. Soon he’d be gone and once again I’d be floundering with unanswered questions. I took a deep breath and blurted, “I see you have Rosalie’s hairbrush. Is it true examiners can eliminate a person based on microspectrophotometry?”

  Well, that certainly got his attention. He stopped so abruptly he almost left skid marks. “How do y’all come up with these questions?”

  I shrugged, not wanting to brag. “I read.”

  “That Nancy woman again?”

  “Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “The Internet.”

  Hooking his thumbs in his belt, he glared down at me. “This is a murder investigation, ma’am. Best leave it to the professionals.”

  I have to admit, if he meant to intimidate me, it worked. But I didn’t want to let him see that. I countered by tilting my head back until I heard vertebrae in my neck crackle and stared him in the eye. “Earl isn’t a murderer.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I just do, that’s all.”

  The sheriff wagged his head and, heaving a sigh, continued toward his car. I hustled to keep up. No easy task for a woman who used to be five feet three before she started shrinking. I make sure to take plenty of calcium. Can’t afford to get any shorter.

  I caught up with him just as he slid into his cruiser and started the engine. “If Earl did harm Rosalie, I probably would have found something when I went through his trash.”

  “You what!” He looked as if he wanted to throttle me. “What were you thinkin’?” He didn’t wait for an answer, which turned out to be a good thing since I didn’t have one. “You know, don’t you, that I could arrest you for tamperin’ with evidence?”

  “Unless you want to consider a jar of spaghetti sauce evidence, there wasn’t any evidence to be found. Besides, it isn’t against the law to look through trash that’s been left out on the street. Lennie and Ed do it all the time.”

  Sheriff Wiggins pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lennie and Ed who?”

  “Detectives Lennie Briscoe and Ed Green. They’re partners on Law & Order.” There! I had gone and done it again. How could I ever expect the man to take me seriously if I kept spouting TV trivia?

  “Oh, yeah, right,” he sighed. “That Lennie and Ed. I suppose they’re best friends with the lady detective you talk about—Nancy somebody or other.” He shifted into reverse and backed down the drive.

  “You really ought to watch more TV,” I called after him. “You can learn a lot.”

  I don’t think he heard me. The man must think me a complete idiot. I swear my IQ drops to a new low each time we talk. At this rate, I’ll soon have no brain cells left.

  I stared after him until the patrol car disappeared from view. I swear that man made me so mad I wanted to stomp my foot like a two-year-old. It should be reassuring to know that by checking out Earl he was at least taking my concerns to heart. Small consolation, that. How hard could it be to track down three missing women? He had all sorts of resources at his command. He had SLED, for crying out loud. I bet I could do an equally good job with far less. And I had one resource he didn’t have—I had the Babes.

  Chapter 17

  Megan phoned early Tuesday morning. “Lucky for you, Kate, Dr. Baxter just had a cancellation. Naturally I called you right away.”

  “Naturally.” This is the kind of luck that keeps me from buying a lottery ticket.

  “Can you come in this afternoon at two thirty?” Megan sounded so pleased,
so proud. Poor girl, she probably harbored the delusion she was doing me a huge favor.

  I explored the evil tooth with the tip of my tongue and felt a zing. “Sure,” I replied, resigned to my fate. “Pencil me in.”

  “Great. We don’t get many cancellations. Turn this one down, you’ll have to wait till your scheduled appointment. If that tooth is bothering you, you really need to have the dentist look at it.”

  I groaned inwardly. Since when had sweet, precious Megan turned into my mother? Next, she’d be scolding me for eating too many sweets. “All right, all right, I’ll be there.”

  “Don’t be mad, Kate, but if you don’t take care of it, it could abscess.”

  “Sorry, hon, I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s not your fault I’m dental phobic.” I had assumed everyone was aware of my little idiosyncrasy. Conceited of me, I know, but I had done everything short of taking out an ad in the Serenity Sentinel to advertise the fact.

  “You’ll see, Kate,” Megan gushed. “All the ladies have a crush on him.”

  “I don’t want to fall in love, Megan. I just don’t want him to hurt me.” I knew I sounded childish, but didn’t care.

  Megan laughed, obviously not taking my fear seriously. “Dr. Baxter doesn’t believe in pain. You’ll like him, I promise. Now I’ve got to go, someone’s at the desk. See you this afternoon.”

  The rest of the morning, I took out my frustration on the kitchen floor, scrubbing the ceramic tile until it was antiseptically clean. Antiseptically clean? That phrase only reminded me of my looming appointment with the irresistible Dr. Baxter.

  I had just put away the mop when the phone rang again. I crossed my fingers, hoping it was Megan calling to say Dr. Baxter had been unexpectedly called to East Africa and wouldn’t be available to see me after all. No such luck.

  “Hey, Kate,” Diane greeted me. “I wanted to let you know that book you had me order by interlibrary loan just came in. Thought if you happened to be in town this afternoon, you might want to swing by and pick it up.”

  “Well, that was quick.” My appetite for forensics whetted, I’d asked Diane to see if she could find me a copy of a forensics text I’d seen advertised.

  “I m not sure why you want this. I leafed through it, and it looks kind of technical.”

  “Curious is all. If nothing else, it might help put me to sleep. Heaven knows the Sandman, the electronic marvel I paid good money for, hasn’t been much help.”

  “Book’s at the front desk. Just ask for it if I’m not here.”

  “Thanks, Diane. I’ll stop by after my dentist appointment.”

  “Sounds like a fun afternoon,” Diane chuckled. “Don’t worry, Dr. Baxter’s a dream. Everyone loves him.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  In spite of the ringing endorsements of my friends, I still had my doubts.

  • • •

  Megan, looking perky as can be in pink dental scrubs with dancing green toothbrushes, handed me a clipboard. With her long hair pulled back into a ponytail, she could have easily passed for sixteen instead of twenty. “Since you’re new here, Kate, would you mind filling these out?”

  I dutifully filled out the forms, then plopped down in the waiting room and leafed through a magazine to keep from fidgeting. I had to give Dr. Baxter credit. Unlike the sheriff’s, his office carried a huge variety of magazines that appealed to every taste and age group. And none more than a month old.

  Sheriff Wiggins could also learn a thing or two from the good doctor about décor. The entire waiting room was devoted to golf. Not just ordinary golf, but the big daddy of golf itself—the Master’s. As anyone in close proximity of Augusta, Georgia, knows, the Masters Tournament is the real deal. The first week of April, Augusta doesn’t just hum, it buzzes. We feel that buzz all the way up the road at Serenity Cove Estates. Friends and relatives, some of whom we haven’t heard from since kindergarten, converge in our homes and guest rooms looking for free room and board while scrambling for tickets.

  Even nongolfers ooh and aah over the banks of splashy pink azaleas and lacey white dogwood. It’s truly a sight to behold.

  An attractive young woman in scrubs identical to Megan’s appeared in the doorway and called my name. Megan gave me the thumbs-up as I passed the office area and followed the dental assistant, who introduced herself as Caitlin, down a hallway lined with exam rooms. After I was seated, the young woman clipped a paper bib around my neck and informed me Dr. Baxter would be with me shortly.

  Even the exam room carried out the golf motif. Mounted right next to a diagram depicting the ravages of gum disease was an autographed photo of Tiger Woods. Tiger’s picture revealed an awesome display of perfect white teeth. The ideal choice for a dentist’s office. Someone should tell Tiger that if he ever loses his golf endorsements, he’d make a fortune hawking dental floss. Along with his legendary golf prowess, the man looked blessed with cavity-free choppers. Some things just aren’t fair.

  At precisely two forty-five, I found the reason why ladies took one look and promptly fell in lust with Dr. Jeffrey Baxter. When good looks were handed out, he must have been at the front of the line. He put Brad Murphy’s to shame. Movie-star handsome, he reminded me of a youthful Rock Hudson, or the more contemporary Ben Affleck.

  “Afternoon, Mrs. McCall.” He offered his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  I wished I could say the same, but the sentiment stuck in my mouth like glue.

  “Megan said you’re a good friend of her mother and warned me to be on my best behavior.”

  His smile was dazzling. He could have been, hands down, the poster boy for every teeth-whitening product on the market. I returned the smile, and made a weak stab at witty repartee. “I see you’re a golfer.”

  “Love everything about golf. Unfortunately my game isn’t at a level to support the lifestyle to which I’ve grown accustomed. I still like to eat three squares a day and have a roof over my head.” He gave me a self-deprecatory smile as he snapped on latex gloves.

  A killer smile. And charm. A wicked combination.

  “Now, what brings you here when you could be out on the course?”

  I felt myself tense. Chitchat I could handle. What I didn’t like was this getting-down-to-business stuff. “I have a sensitive area in one of my lower molars. On the right.”

  “Well, let’s just take a look, shall we?” He slipped a mask in place and put on a pair of plastic goggles.

  I gripped the arms of the chair as I felt it recline. Now, this is the part where I get really tense. The part when I have to open my mouth. I watched him pick up a sharp, pointy instrument and steeled myself for the worst. The elusive name of the movie about the evil dentist popped into my mind: Marathon Man, in which a helpless Dustin Hoffman was tormented by a diabolical Sir Laurence Olivier.

  “Don’t be nervous. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  No sooner were the words spoken than I felt that familiar zing.

  “Sorry about that,” Dr. Ben-Affleck-Handsome apologized. He pulled down his mask, removed gloves and goggles. “Looks like you fractured an old filling. I’ll know more after Caitlin takes a few X-rays. Afterward I’ll be back to discuss a treatment plan.”

  I shot the photo of Tiger Woods a resentful glance, then settled back to await my fate.

  “How bad is it, Dr. Baxter?” I asked the second he returned carrying my X-rays.

  “Call me Jeff.” He gave me his megawatt smile. “Just as I suspected, you’re going to need a crown on that tooth. Good thing, though. If you waited any longer, you’d need a root canal. Have Megan set up an appointment for next week. We’ll get the prep work done and get you fitted for a crown.”

  “That sounds painful.” I sounded pitiful; I sounded whiny. I didn’t care. “I should’ve told you I’m dental phobic.”

  He patted my shoulder. “Promise you, it won’t hurt a bit.”

  “You’re sure?” I asked in a pathetic bid for reassurance.

  “Don’t wo
rry—do you mind if I call you Kate?—I’ll numb you up real good. If you like, I’ll give you a little gas just to help you relax.” He held out his hand again. “See you next week. In the meantime, if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call the office.”

  Good news. Bad news.

  Good news: I needed a crown. Bad news: I needed a crown. Maybe I hadn’t fallen head over heels in love, but at the promise of no pain in a dentist’s chair, I could be smitten.

  • • •

  At the library, Diane had my book waiting for me on a shelf behind the checkout counter. The flyleaf promised to tell me everything I ever wanted to know about DNA and then some. Wouldn’t Jim have been surprised to know my reading tastes have expanded beyond romance novels?

  I spotted Janine, who works as a volunteer, industriously shelving books and waved at her. She waved back. I checked out my book and was about to leave when Diane motioned me aside.

  “Have you heard the news?” she whispered.

  “What news?” I asked. “The only news I’ve heard is that I need a crown on my back molar.”

  “The sheriff called a press conference on the courthouse steps for four o’clock.”

  “Press conference?” My stomach clenched. This sounded serious. I’m not a betting person, but I’d bet the bank this was big news. First the grisly find at the recycling center, then Rosalie’s hairbrush. Two and two weren’t adding up to coincidence.

  “Think I’ll stick around. I don’t want to wait until news at six to find out what’s going on.”

  “Me either,” Diane agreed. “I’m off at four. Janine and I will meet you there.”

  I checked my watch. It was only three thirty. Plenty of time to drive from Serenity Cove to Brookdale. “I’ll call Pam.”