by Jana DeLeon
He nodded. “And he’s been dead a while. Long enough to be in and out of rigor, I would say, given the way the blood is congealing. And the cut is reasonably consistent. Probably made with a saw and not a hatchet.”
“What the hell, Carter? Does someone hate me so much they’d try to frame me for murder?”
“It probably has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the fact that this is the only display that involves beheading someone.”
“Lucky me.”
He sighed. “Yeah. Lucky you.”
Chapter Four
Needless to say, the headless party-crasher shut down the Halloween festivities. There was a lot of grumbling at first, even though Celia had run out of the maze blurting out everything. I figured most people thought someone had pulled a prank on her, especially when they all got a look at Gertie, the Half-Wrapped Mummy. But when Carter put up police tape around the maze and directed everyone to go home, the grumbling went from slightly amused to concerned. The majority of the concern surrounded who was the dead person in the maze. Gertie and Ida Belle had discreetly questioned some of the crowd, but no one was aware of anyone coming as Gene Simmons.
Ida Belle, Gertie, and I gave brief statements so Carter could document the basics. He said he’d call the next morning when he was ready for us to come into the sheriff’s department and give an official recounting, complete with recording and all the rest of the pomp and circumstance that went along with a murder investigation. Especially when you were in the pool of potential suspects due to opportunity. Motive was sketchier since no one knew who the dead guy was, but when the makeup came off it might yield a familiar face. If it didn’t, sooner or later, he’d be missed by someone who would send up the alarm.
So all we had to do was wait.
We decided to wait at my house. It wasn’t horribly late and no one was interested in sleep. Once we were collected at my breakfast table with drinks and a plate of cookies in front of us, we all looked at one another, no one seeming able to find a starting point for conversation.
“This one is weird,” Gertie said finally.
“But this is Sinful,” I said.
“This one is weird, even for Sinful,” Gertie said.
Ida Belle nodded. “I have to agree. We have an unknown victim, killed and decapitated, and posed in a festival maze. It’s…I don’t know how to explain it. Too dramatic, maybe?”
“It definitely has a flair to it that belies a basic murder,” I said. “But we have more questions than answers, and I’m really afraid this is going to be a huge problem for us. Me in particular.”
“It all rather conveniently points the finger,” Ida Belle agreed. “And while normally I’d peg troublemaking to our nemesis, I can’t see Celia killing someone to frame us, much less being capable of a beheading.”
“Or all the other planning that went along with it,” I said.
“With all that drama she caused,” Gertie said, “I’m not sure she’s capable of giving someone a paper cut.”
“What’s the word from the Sinful Ladies?” I asked. Ida Belle’s phone had been going off with text messages ever since Carter had cleared the scene.
“No one has a clue,” Ida Belle said. “Everyone who checked in was at the festival, but they didn’t see anyone dressed as Gene Simmons. And no one has heard from a relative or friend who’s missing a husband.”
“They wouldn’t have seen him at the festival,” I said. “He’d been dead for a while before he was placed there. The body had already been in and out of rigor.”
“You’re sure?” Ida Belle asked.
I nodded.
“Yeah, I don’t suppose it would have been the ideal place to coldcock someone, then chop off his head,” Gertie said.
“You realize it’s someone local, right?” I asked.
“Someone who knew about the festival and the props,” Gertie said.
“And the schedule, specifically the breaks,” I said. “But it goes beyond that even. That corpse was wearing the same clothes as the dummy.”
Ida Belle frowned. “I didn’t even notice, but I guess that was the point, right? That you weren’t supposed to notice until you chopped off a real head.”
Gertie sighed. “That doesn’t narrow things down any. We’ve been using that same prop for probably a decade, and there’s never been a reason for a wardrobe change. The schedule is the same every year unless there’s rain.”
“But the maze isn’t,” I said, a thought forming.
“No,” Ida Belle said. “But all someone had to do was go through it once we opened to locate your area. And with everyone in costume, it’s going to be hard to pin down who went through it in the first place.”
I leaned forward and looked at them. “Do you really think someone hauled a body through a crowd of people and into the maze during our break and no one saw it happen? No one noticed someone dragging a corpse or a huge tarp or pushing a wheelbarrow?”
“Maybe someone saw something and doesn’t realize yet that they did,” Gertie said.
“That’s possible,” Ida Belle said, “but I see where Fortune is going with this. It would be an enormous risk to try to get a body through the festival crowd and into the maze, even on break. Sometimes people loiter around the entrance, waiting for it to reopen.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Which means the body was there before the festival started.”
Gertie’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Think about it,” I said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Someone working the festival hauled the body into the maze today, hid it, then waited for the break to drag it out and position it. That’s why no one saw anything tonight. The body was already there.”
“But there were tons of people working setup in the park today,” Gertie said. “Someone still would have noticed a person dragging a body across the lawn.”
“Not if they were working on the maze setup,” I said. “It could have been hauled in with the rest of the props and hay.”
“But where was it hidden all that time?” Gertie asked.
I shrugged. “In a hay bale or a prop.”
“I think you’re onto something,” Ida Belle said.
“So it was someone working the festival,” Gertie said.
“Had to be,” I said. “How much does that narrow down the suspect pool?”
Ida Belle shook her head. “Not nearly as much as you’d like it to.”
“Even if it narrowed it down to one,” Gertie said, “it still wouldn’t answer the real question.”
I nodded. “Why?”
My cell phone ringing sent me bolting upright and scrambling for my gun. Then I realized that I’d fallen asleep on my couch and the nightstand I was reaching for was upstairs in my bedroom. It was still dark outside, so worry kicked in as I reached for my phone. It was Carter.
“Were you awake?” he asked.
“I am now.”
“Are you armed?”
“Not currently.”
“Good. Let me in. I’m on your front porch.”
I glanced at the time on my phone as I rose: 4:00 a.m. Carter sounded exhausted and as I opened the door to let him in, I saw that his appearance matched his voice. He walked into my living room and sank into the recliner, sighing as he dropped. He was still wearing the same clothes from the festival, so I could only assume he hadn’t been home yet.
“You just leaving work?” I asked.
He nodded.
“I’m not sure what protocol is for a 4:00 a.m. visit after processing a murder scene. Coffee? Beer? Shot of whiskey?”
“I wish I knew. None of those seem like good options. Coffee would keep me awake longer and I really need to get a couple hours sleep before I have to delve into this mess all over again. And one drink of alcohol would put me to sleep in this chair. Then I’d have a crick in my neck all day.”
“How about you head up to bed and I’ll put a bottled water on the nightstand?”
“Then
I’d have to walk up the stairs. And besides, I don’t want people talking about me being here overnight. You know how this town is.”
I laughed. “I think that cat is so far out of the bag that even the dead guy knows.”
“So you don’t care if people talk?”
“About me? Between being besties with Ida Belle and Gertie, always finding myself in the middle of crime, dating you, and being a former spook, I’m pretty sure my name comes off the lips of every single person in Sinful on a daily basis.”
He nodded and pushed the recliner all the way back. “Do you mind waking me up in a couple hours?”
He was already snoring before I could answer. I set the alarm on my phone and flopped back on the couch. Might as well get in a few more myself. I had a feeling the day was going to be long and excruciating. I was just nodding off to sleep when I realized I hadn’t even asked him if he knew who the victim was.
“Fortune,” Carter’s voice whispered in my ear. It must be a dream. But if so, it wasn’t a very good one. There wasn’t an island or fancy drinks with those little umbrellas in them, and both of us were wearing too many clothes.
I jolted awake and stared up at him, finally realizing that we were in my living room and the lump I was lying on was my couch, not a sparkling white sand dune.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, immediately reading his expression and body language.
“I’ve got to head in to work,” he said.
I glanced at the clock on the living room wall. “It’s barely past six. Are you having trouble sleeping?”
“No. The medical examiner called. He’s identified the victim.”
“Oh.” I paused. “I guess I’m not supposed to ask, right? But I don’t think I’m capable of not asking.”
“Anyone would ask. And I’m going to have to release the information anyway. There’s pressure coming from a state senator on this one. Apparently, his niece was at the festival and he’s more than a little disturbed that she could have seen you chop off a real head.”
I felt my back tighten. The last thing Carter needed was a politician sticking his nose in.
“So who was it?” I asked.
“Garrett Roth.”
I frowned. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place why. Then I remembered a clip I’d read in the church bulletin about a large donation to rebuild the baptismal. “Rich guy, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good. I mean, not good that someone killed him but good that he’s rich. Motive is usually easier to figure out with those circumstances.”
“You would think, except this one comes with a few problems.”
“Like what?”
“Garrett Roth died two days ago of natural causes. His body was in the morgue and was to be picked up by the funeral home tomorrow.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That makes two of us.”
Carter was barely out the door before I called Gertie and Ida Belle and told them to get to my place fast. Five minutes later, Ida Belle strolled in, already dressed, hair in place, and looking ready to tackle the world. I hated her just a little. Gertie made me feel better about myself. She rushed inside wearing her bathrobe and with curlers still in her hair. She hadn’t even bothered with shoes. I waved them to the kitchen where I’d been working on my first pot of coffee and poured them a cup.
Gertie looked Ida Belle up and down. “How do you get ready that fast? I mean, I know you wear the same thing every day so there’s no time wasted picking an outfit, and your hairdo is the easy-maintenance kind, but it still takes a little time to put that together.”
“I’ve been up for an hour already,” Ida Belle said. “How much time should I need to get ready?”
“About five minutes given your choices,” Gertie said. “What did you do during the other fifty-five minutes?”
“Cooked and ate breakfast, did two loads of laundry, prepped some fish that I intend to grill, weeded my flower beds, and changed the oil in my SUV,” Ida Belle said.
Gertie stared at her for a moment, then looked over at me.
“I brushed my teeth and made coffee,” I offered.
“There you go,” Gertie said. “A normal start to a morning. Instead, I’m grabbing a robe and running out the door like there’s a fire.”
“At least you grabbed a robe,” I said.
“I assume the daylight summons was for a good reason,” Ida Belle said. “I know Carter showed up here early this morning and left not too long ago. Can I presume you got some information out of him?”
I stared. “Do you have cameras in my driveway, or is there a rotation of people hiding in the bushes across the street?”
“Neither,” Ida Belle said. “One of the Sinful Ladies delivers the local newspaper. She doesn’t miss much.”
“Well, that explains the early-morning surveillance reports,” I said. “And yes, Carter showed up here late…or early as the case may be. He was exhausted and fell asleep in the recliner, then he got a call and split, but not before telling me who the victim is.”
“Oh goody!” Gertie started clapping.
I held up a finger. “But that information is not allowed past this room until he makes it public, which will happen later this morning.”
“I’m just happy he told you,” Ida Belle said. “And maybe a tiny bit stunned.”
“Well, don’t keep us waiting,” Gertie said. “Who is it?”
“Garrett Roth,” I said.
They both stared at me for a couple seconds, then looked at each other and frowned.
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Ida Belle said. “Garrett Roth died at home of a heart attack a couple days ago.”
I nodded. “And yet he made an appearance as Gene Simmons at the festival.”
“I told you this one was weird,” Gertie said. “And it’s not getting any less so.”
“No,” Ida Belle agreed. “This just took it up another ten notches. You’re saying someone stole Garrett’s body, dressed him in the same clothes as the prop, put makeup on him, cut off his head, and hauled him to the festival.”
“That is seriously twisted,” Gertie said.
“As well as pointless,” Ida Belle said. “Good Lord, what in the world were they hoping to accomplish?”
“One last hurrah?” I asked. “Did Garrett have some sort of love affair with Halloween or the festival?”
“You mean, like some buddies dressed him up and put him in the display so he could have one last celebration?” Ida Belle asked.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Gertie said. “Remember when Hector Breaux died right before the biggest fishing rodeo of the year? His buddies nabbed his body right from the funeral home and strapped him to the seat in his bass boat. They ran around with him half a day before Sheriff Lee caught up with them. Even poured a beer down him.”
“Of course they did,” I said. It was, after all, Sinful.
“It’s a novel theory,” Ida Belle said. “And kudos for coming up with something that would fit not only the situation but the location. But unfortunately, I don’t recall Garrett ever participating in the festival other than donating money, which was all he ever contributed, really.”
Gertie shook her head. “And I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but he was sort of a douche. I can’t imagine him having the kind of buddies that would take a risk like that just for him to have one last hurrah.”
“Not to mention that cutting off his head was a bit further than even the best of buddies would take the joke,” Ida Belle said. “His funeral is in two days. His wife and daughter are going to be horrified.”
“So give me the rundown on this guy,” I said. “Because all I know is that he had money.”
“Family money,” Gertie said. “Oil field originally. He was probably the richest person in Sinful.”
Ida Belle nodded. “A multimillionaire.”
“Really?” I asked. “And he’s always lived in Si
nful?”
“He has a condo in the French Quarter,” Gertie said. “He spends a lot of time in New Orleans for business, so I guess that’s more convenient than hotels. He has several interests there—restaurants, bars, and a clothing manufacturer, I think. But he’s never left the family home.”
“Which is where?” I asked.
“Just west of town going toward the place we shoot guns,” Ida Belle said. “Big Southern plantation house. You can’t miss it.”
“I remember,” I said. “Is it historical or just built to look that way?”
“It was a sugar plantation,” Gertie said. “Not a large one, but the house is definitely the real deal. It was built by his great-great-great-whatever. Way back, anyway.”
“So that’s why he stayed,” I said. “I get it. I guess. If you like having a bunch of old creaky stuff around.”
“I’ve had Gertie around for years,” Ida Belle said.
I laughed. “What about his wife? Kids? Who inherits Tara?”
“One of each,” Gertie said. “One wife. One daughter. The wife is not the daughter’s mother. His first wife died of juvenile diabetes in her late twenties. It was really sad. She was a nice woman.”
“You say that like the new wife isn’t,” I said.
“She was one of his wife’s nurse’s aides,” Ida Belle said. “And nineteen years old when he took up with her, just months after his wife died. Garrett was forty. Let’s just say people weren’t overly happy with either of them.”
“I imagine not,” I said. “I assume the unhappy included the daughter?”
“Meg was so young when it all happened,” Gertie said. “Only six when her mom passed. But she adored her mother, and her mother doted on her.”
“So that’s a yes,” I said, and shook my head. “I guess that’s something I should have thanked my father for—not bringing another woman into the house.”
“They seemed to get along all right,” Ida Belle said. “But Francesca was a child herself, really. I don’t know that she had the maturity to properly raise the girl, and Garrett had never been involved much. He spent most of his time working.”