by Gail Oust
“I think so, but what if only a little jolt is enough to make a person pass out, sink under the water, and drown? Or make their heart go all wonky?”
Reba Mae paled at the thought. Bending, she carefully picked the hair dryer off the floor and placed it almost gently back where she’d found it. “We’ve been here long enough. I want out.”
“Me, too.”
I forgot all about my plan to dispose of perishables in Shirley’s fridge. All I wanted was “out.” In my eagerness to leave, I’d nearly forgotten the reason we were here. Midway down the stairs, I remembered.
“Wait up!” I cried. Turning, I raced to the bedroom and retrieved the dress and shoes chosen for the viewing.
Once out on the front walk, I drew in a deep breath to steady my nerves. My relief was short-lived. As we started toward my VW, a squad car turned into the drive blocking our retreat. Reba Mae skidded to a halt at seeing it. After her recent experience as a “person of interest” in a murder investigation, she’d grown downright skittish when confronted with law enforcement.
The driver’s window powered down. “Mind if I ask what you ladies are up to?” Officer Gary Moyer asked.
Reba Mae instantly mounted a defense. “Can’t be breakin’ and enterin’ seein’ how we have a key, can it?”
“Where are you going with the vic’s clothes?” Officer Moyer nodded at the navy blue dress draped over my arm.
“We’re here on official business,” I explained. “Besides, who’d be crazy enough to believe I’d steal a dress not my size. Everyone who knows me will attest navy blue’s not my best color.”
“She’s right,” Reba Mae volunteered on my behalf. “Navy blue doesn’t complement her skin tone.”
“Thanks for the fashion advice, but you still haven’t explained what you were doing in Shirley Randolph’s house?”
“Mr. Strickland at the Eternal Rest asked Ned Feeney to bring him something for Shirley to wear at a private viewing. Ned didn’t feel comfortable doing it, so he asked our help.”
“So, you two are doing a good deed like grown-up Girl Scouts?”
“Yep, scout’s honor, that’s us.” Reba Mae inched closer to the VW.
“Well, in that case, I better continue my rounds. By the way, Piper,” he said as though it was an afterthought, “you might be interested to know the crime scene techs went over Shirley’s vehicle with a fine-tooth comb. Only thing they came across was a single strand of dark hair in the trunk presumed to be Shirley’s. Of course, in and of itself, that’s not significant since it was her car.”
“Interesting, too, that there were no prints found—since it was her car.” I smoothed Shirley’s dress, the fabric silky beneath my touch. “One might suspect a person, or persons, had gone to a great deal of trouble to remove all trace evidence.”
“That’s certainly a conclusion one might draw.” Officer Moyer shifted into reverse. “Rumor has it a heat wave’s heading this way right quick. Be sure to mention that to the chief should you happen to run into him.”
“I’ll be sure to do that—should I see him.”
“What’s with the weather forecast?” Reba Mae asked as we climbed into my Beetle. “Moyer plannin’ to become a meteorologist?”
Heat wave? That had an ominous sound. From the rearview mirror, I watched the patrol car back down the drive and disappear from sight. “I think it was a warning of some sort meant for McBride. It’s a nice night. How about we take a ride in the country?”
Reba Mae’s face split into a wide grin. “I’m always up for sight-seein’—especially if that sight happens to be tall, dark, and handsome.”
Neither of us noticed the nondescript sedan that followed us.
CHAPTER 15
WE LEFT BRANDYWINE Creek behind and turned onto Route 78. The sun had set, and it was growing dark. Reba Mae and I were unusually quiet on the drive to McBride’s, both trying to digest everything we’d discovered at Shirley Randolph’s. What were the chances of Shirley being electrocuted while taking a bath? Probably almost nil. When it came to Murder 101, guns and knives headed the list of the most popular ways to do a person in. I didn’t know this for fact, but I’d guess murder by electrocution was rare. The doohickeys Reba Mae had referred to earlier were designed to prevent accidental death by small electrical gadgets. Yet Shirley’s house was old, really old, and the bathroom hadn’t been renovated. The wiring might never have been updated.
Finally, I happened to glance into the rearview mirror and was surprised to notice a car behind us. Years of living in a sparsely populated area had spoiled me. Oftentimes I had the roads to myself and, when I didn’t, the other vehicle would soon disappear down a drive or side road. The driver of the car following us was careful to maintain a discreet distance. A little too careful, a little too discreet, for my peace of mind.
“Don’t look now,” I warned Reba Mae, “but we’re being followed.”
“What’s the big deal, hon? This is a public road. News flash, you’re not the only person allowed to use it.”
“You’re right,” I sighed. “I’m just a little on edge.”
“Your imagination’s workin’ overtime. Besides, why would anyone follow us?” Reba Mae pawed through her purse for a tube of lipstick. “I’ve never been inside Wyatt’s house before, but Clay’s always talkin’ about it. Says it’s really comin’ along.”
I shot another look in the mirror. The mystery car was still behind us, the beam of its headlights trained low and unthreatening. Reba Mae thought I was overreacting and maybe I was. But then again, maybe I wasn’t.
Reba Mae pulled down the visor and applied fresh lipstick. “Clay raves about Wyatt’s new kitchen. Says it’s the bomb. Nowadays, when he’s not at the community college or workin’ as an auxiliary cop, Clay’s been helpin’ Wyatt build a deck. Seems Wyatt’s got his eye on a fancy barbecue grill.”
“That means he’s getting ready to retire his trusty George Foreman.” I signaled my turn, slowed, and headed down McBride’s gravel drive. I blew out a breath when the car behind me kept going.
“Cute as a bug’s ear!” Reba Mae exclaimed as McBride’s home came into view. “Nestled all snug in the woods like that, it could be the house where Little Red Riding Hood’s grandma lived.”
“And where she met the Big Bad Wolf.”
No sooner were the words out of my mouth when the porch light flickered on and McBride appeared. A sheep in wolves’ clothing or a wolf in sheep’s clothing? I was never quite sure how I felt about the man. He kept me off balance.
“I see you brought along a bodyguard,” he said when he saw who it was.
“Think I need a bodyguard, McBride?” I countered.
He shrugged but didn’t smile. “Some folks might think that wise with a murderer on the prowl—and me a suspect.”
“You’re forgetting the self-defense course Reba Mae and I aced. Remember? We were your star pupils.”
“Hey, Wyatt.” Reba Mae waved. “How do you know we didn’t come prepared for emergencies? What makes you so sure I’m not packin’?”
“Reba Mae, darlin’, the thing you pack best is a good lunch. Last I checked, a person didn’t need a carry permit for a ham and cheese sandwich.”
“Got me there.” Reba Mae sauntered toward the porch steps. “So, Wyatt, you gonna keep jawin’ or are you gonna invite us in? Didn’t your momma tell you this was no way to treat company?”
“Sorry, I’m not feelin’ very hospitable,” he said. “Must’ve snoozed through Momma’s lecture on good manners.” In spite of his obvious reluctance, he swung the door wide and stepped aside for us to enter.
“Nice digs,” Reba Mae commented. “I like your recliner and flat-screen TV, but furniture might add some ambiance.”
“So I’ve been told.” He shot me a meaningful look.
Figures on the TV screen were frozen in awkward poses thanks to the PAUSE feature on the remote. An opened bottle of beer stood on a metal TV tray, aka end table, next to the recl
iner.
“Before I get another lecture about my deplorable lack of manners, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you ladies something cold to drink? Beer, Diet Coke, Dr Pepper?”
We placed our drink orders—Diet Coke for me and Dr Pepper for my bestie—before McBride’s hospitality expired and he demanded we vacant the premises. While he attended to beverages, Reba Mae and I settled into the mismatched chairs at the drop-leaf table in the dining area, which afforded an unobstructed view of the big-screen television.
Reba Mae’s head swiveled, taking in the sights like a first-time visitor to Times Square. “Love the hardwood floors!” she gushed. “And the countertops. And the stainless-steel appliances. When I hit the jackpot, first thing I’m gonna do is get me a kitchen just like this.
“Those the bedrooms?” she asked, nodding at the two rooms that opened off the living space.
“Yep, but they’re not part of the tour.” McBride placed our sodas on the table, retrieved his beer from the TV stand, and slumped down on the lone stool at the breakfast bar.
“Gotcha.” Reba Mae jerked at a loud meow directly behind her.
The head of a sleek black feline with one tattered ear poked her head out of a partially opened bedroom door. The cat looked dressed for a night at the opera in a white bib and tucker.
“You’ve just met Fraidy,” I said. “She’s a stray who took pity on McBride and moved in without waiting for a formal invitation. But don’t expect Fraidy to roll out the red carpet. She doesn’t like strangers.”
As if to prove me wrong, Fraidy paraded over to Reba Mae and rubbed against her leg. Not waiting for further encouragement, Fraidy leaped into her lap and waited to be petted.
Reba Mae stroked the cat’s head, making her purr with satisfaction. “Don’t seem like that to me. Fraidy’s actin’ real friendly.”
I caught the smirk on McBride’s face before he hid it.
“Hey, Piper”—Reba Mae continued to pet the cat, who showed no sign of budging from her resting place—“Fraidy’s eyes are the same color as yours.” she teased. “Did you notice that, too, Wyatt?”
“Nope.” He took a long pull from his bottle. “Never noticed.”
Reba Mae snorted. “Yeah, I bet.”
I felt blood rush to my cheeks at my friend’s lame attempt as matchmaker. The conversation was making me uncomfortable, so I shifted to a safer topic. “Hey, McBride, what were you watching on TV?”
“A movie.”
So this was how it was going to play. Every word, every syllable, had to be dragged out of him. “I don’t suppose this movie you’re watching has a title.”
“The Usual Suspects.”
“I think I might’ve seen it years ago.” I took a dainty sip of Diet Coke. “Good plot. Lots of twists and turns.”
“Yeah, I know the one.” Reba Mae’s dangly earrings bobbed in agreement. “Butch took me to see it before the twins were born. Wasn’t Alec Baldwin one of the stars?”
“I don’t think it was Alec,” I said. “Maybe one of his brothers. Daniel or William?”
“None of the above,” McBride said, sounding a trifle smug. “The Baldwin brother in question happens to be Stephen.”
I nodded. “That’s right; now I remember. Kevin Spacey was in it, too, and I think Javier Bardem was one of the bad guys.”
“Isn’t he married to Salma Hayek?” Reba Mae took a swig of Dr Pepper.
“Nope,” I said decisively. “I think you have her confused with Penélope Cruz.”
“Ladies, ladies.” McBride held up his hand for us to cease. “I don’t know who’s married to whom, but Javier Bardem isn’t in the cast. You’re thinking of Benicio del Toro.”
Reba Mae ruffled the cat’s black fur. “I liked the cute Irish guy best.”
“Pierce Brosnan?” I supplied, naming my favorite Agent 007.
”Hmm…?” Reba Mae frowned. “That doesn’t sound right. You have him mixed up with Liam Neeson.”
McBride set his empty bottle on the breakfast bar with a thud. “You’re both mistaken. It’s Gabriel Byrne.”
Reba Mae’s brow puckered in concentration. “And he was once married to … Ellen Burstyn? Or was it Ellen Barkin?”
“Enough!” McBride growled. “If you two are here for Trivial Pursuit, you picked the wrong night. Now, care to tell me the real reason you’re here?”
Reba Mae prudently kept silent and waited for me to take the plunge. I cleared my throat and hedged, “Um, Reba Mae and I just came from Shirley Randolph’s.”
“First of all, what were you doing in a dead woman’s house? Don’t you know there are laws against breaking and entering?”
“It’s not breakin’ and enterin’ if you have a key,” Reba Mae explained helpfully. “Ned asked us to find something fittin’ for Shirley to be wearin’ when her brother gets into town. Naturally, we agreed to help ’im.”
“Naturally.” McBride pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, then rose and helped himself to another beer. “So.…”
“So, we know how Shirley died,” Reba Mae blurted.
“Well, at least, we think we do. We came up with a theory.” I wiped palms that had suddenly grown sweaty along the sides of my jeans. “We wanted to run it by you. Get your professional opinion.”
“Feel free to tell us we’re crazy,” Reba Mae offered. “It won’t hurt our feelin’s none. It’s nothin’ we haven’t heard before.”
McBride twisted off the bottle cap, pitched it into a nearby trash can, and took a swig of his beer. “Go ahead; I’m all ears.”
I explained my findings in Shirley’s bedroom. He didn’t seem at all surprised at my mention of a man’s robe in her closet or condoms in her nightstand.
“Shirley was an attractive woman. It’s not unlikely she’d have a lover,” McBride said, parroting Hoyt’s remarks.
“But that’s not all.” I could barely contain my excitement. “It wasn’t until we searched her bathroom that we made our biggest discovery.”
“What were you hoping to find in her bathroom of all places? Deodorant? Toothpaste? Hair spray? Jimmy Buffett’s lost shaker of salt?”
“Reba Mae knows for a fact that Shirley had a fancy hair dryer, one of those ionic ceramic kinds—”
“—with two diffusers,” Reba Mae interjected, “guaranteed to decrease frizzies.”
“To make a long story short, her expensive hair dryer was missing and a cheaper one substituted. Then to top it off, I found what first looked like a stain along the inside of the bathtub. But…” I paused a beat for maximum effect. “—on closer inspection, it turned out to be a burn scar that went straight through the porcelain.”
McBride paced back and forth, his beer forgotten. “Are you implying what I think you are? That Shirley was killed in her own bathroom? Electrocuted?”
Our theory didn’t sound quite as plausible when he said it. I shifted my weight. The chair I sat on had become increasingly uncomfortable. Reba Mae stared at the fixed image on the TV screen while continuing to pet Fraidy, who dozed on her lap.
McBride ceased pacing and leveled his laser blues at me. “Small electrical appliances are required by law to have circuit interrupters to avoid such happenings.”
“I already thought of that. Isn’t it possible some people might still suffer a small jolt of electricity before the circuit interrupter thingamajig kicks on? That might be all it takes to knock them unconscious—or dead.”
McBride raised and lowered the beer bottle without taking a sip. “Your scenario would explain why the ME found a fresh burn mark on the palm of Shirley’s hand as though warding off a blow—or an object being tossed in the tub.”
“And why Shirley was naked,” Reba Mae offered.
Reba Mae was on to something. I’d have to remember to thank her later. “The perp realized it was too difficult to dress a dead woman. So instead he planted her clothes nearby to make it appear she died where the body was found.”
“Staged?”
>
I nodded, both surprised and relieved that McBride didn’t dismiss the idea. “Officer Moyer told us Shirley’s car had been wiped clean. The only trace evidence was a single hair. I bet her car was used for transportation and her body dumped.”
“There’s a flaw in your theory,” he said at length, resuming his pacing. “It’s no easy task to lift and move a body—it’s all deadweight, pardon the pun. The killer would have to be strong, most likely a man, to lift her from the bathtub, transport her in her vehicle, then dump her body in my pond.”
I sat up straight as a sudden thought struck me. “What if more than one person was involved?”
McBride’s brows knit together. “You mean, what if the killer had an accomplice?”
“More like an accessory after the fact,” Reba Mae piped, then glared at each of us in turn. “Don’t give me those funny looks. I saw this show once on the Lifetime channel. I know how these stories go.”
“So,” I said slowly, “if that’s the case, we’re talking about possibly two men? And what about a man and a woman? Husband and wife? Or wife and husband?”
McBride nodded grimly.
My mind immediately went to Elaine and Kirby Dixon. And what about Shirley’s lover? Could he have also been the killer and his wife the accessory? The plot thickened.
I finished my drink and got to my feet. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Officer Moyer said if I saw you, I should tell you a heat wave’s coming.”
As if things weren’t hot enough already.
CHAPTER 16
MY DAY WAS just beginning when Vicki Lamont, who could’ve been the cover girl for dress for success in a dark business suit and pristine white silk blouse, came through Spice It Up!’s door. “Good morning, Piper.”
“Good morning. You’re up bright and early.”
“I wanted to get a head start on the day. I’m finding the real estate business is a lot more work and a lot less glamour than I imagined.” She settled her squishy leather handbag on the counter. “I was hoping to catch you before you got busy.”
“Sure,” I said. Close up, I noticed dark circles under her eyes that makeup couldn’t quite conceal. “You look tired, Vicki. Haven’t you been sleeping well?”