Dooley Is Dead

by Kate Merrill

The wee hours…

  Matthew washed dishes and Diana dried. By the time they put all the leftovers away, let Ursie out for the last piddle of the night, and checked on Lissa, who was sleeping with one arm flung over her head like a little princess, Diana was exhausted. Mostly by Matthew’s relentless barrage of questions.

  He was both angry and worried about Ginny. Diana understood. As a mother of two, she remembered being most furious with her kids at precisely those moments when she was most frightened for them. Matthew wanted to know the nature of Ginny’s relationship with the dead girl, Lori Fowler, so eventually Diana broke down and told him he should be more concerned about her relationship to Lori’s fiancé, Trevor, who had once been Ginny’s boyfriend.

  “Trevor Dula?” Matthew shook his head. “That boy was nothin’ but trouble. Kid ran wild after his parents’ death.”

  “You’re kidding.” Diana interrupted. “Trevor’s last name is Dula? As in Tom Dula who got hanged?”

  But Matthew ignored her. “I’m afraid that young man was responsible for leading Ginny astray.”

  Astray? Such a quaint word, and Diana wondered if it included drugs, sex, rock n’ roll, or all the above? “Were they lovers?” she bluntly asked him.

  “Absolutely not. Ginny was too young for that stuff,” Matthew said.

  Wanna bet? Diana strongly suspected that like most fathers, Matthew was in deep denial regarding his daughter’s sexuality.

  “Do you think Trevor had something to do with the murder?” He frowned.

  “How should I know?” Diana folded her dishtowel and moved towards the master bedroom. “But since he was planning to marry Lori next week, I’d guess he wanted to kiss her, not kill her.”

  “I see your point.” Matthew turned off the lights, locked the door, and followed her. “So who was Ginny trying to call all day? Who’d she go to see?”

  “Don’t know, Matthew.” But Diana had her suspicions. She was also disturbed by that Jeep they’d seen in the dead girl’s driveway and felt she should inform the police.

  She showered, then stepped out onto the deck overlooking the lake, where the moon was a white sliver suspended above the far shore. And she realized, with a tiny twinge of regret, that she had always visualized this moment quite differently. She had fantasized each detail, seen herself in a sexy new nightgown. Maybe she and Matthew would have shared this romantic moment on the deck, and then he would have carried her across the threshold to the bed, where they would have begun the rest of their lives together.

  But that dream was not to be. When she returned to the room, Matthew was already tucked in, pretending to read a mystery novel. He smiled at her from above his reading glasses.

  “Ready for bed, honey?”

  She dropped her robe, he switched off the bed light, and moments later she was in his arms. She closed her eyes and let out an involuntary sigh as Matthew cupped her breasts. She loved the rough texture of his workingman’s hands as they gently caressed her. He lingered in the velvety softness between her thighs, igniting a primal longing locked deep inside, a desire that began the day they met, an enduring passion that never failed to lift her up and out of herself each time they made love.

  His mouth traveled down into her secret canyon, while her hands explored the hallowed valleys between his shoulders and the muscles in his back. Finally, she pulled his head up to meet her lips for an urgent, probing kiss. She tasted her future in his mouth.

  When they finally came together, her body was alive with need. And when he entered her wet, sacred stream, she cried out in joy. And as she floated into a deep, untroubled sleep, she dreamed she was Matthew’s private river.

  FIFTEEN

  Ginny…

  Ginny pulled herself together, backed out the driveway, and for old time’s sake, decided to follow Dula Road to its dead end. These hundred plus acres were what was left of the family’s farm. Before they died, Trev’s parents harvested corn and kept milk cows, while Trev’s uncle Maynard opened a construction company at his end of the lane.

  She noticed a new stretch of high chain link fence growing from the scrub brush on both sides of the road, marking the perimeters of Dula Construction. Stacks of new lumber, piles of rock, and cubes of concrete block lay sleeping beyond the fence, illuminated by the eerie yellow glow of security lampposts. And at the end of the street, Maynard’s basic brick ranch house had lights burning in every window.

  Ginny slowed to a crawl. Once upon a time, Maynard had been a good friend to her and Trev. Although he was Trev’s uncle, he was only fifteen years older and seemed more like an eccentric big brother. Many a night he had fed the orphaned Trev bowls of chili, and he never judged Trev and Ginny for screwing around and raising hell.

  At the same time, Ginny had always been a little spooked by Maynard’s loose lifestyle and strange gray eyes that always seemed to linger too long where they shouldn’t. But now Trev was in trouble, maybe he was hanging out at his uncle’s place, so Ginny made a quick decision. If the guy was up and about at that ungodly hour, then he could receive company.

  Without thinking too hard, she drove into his parking area, went up the short sidewalk bordered by neat flowerbeds, and rang the doorbell. Almost immediately the aluminum screen door, decorated with the scrolled letter “D”, swung open. But instead of Maynard, Ginny was greeted by an angry woman about her same age.

  “What do you want?” The woman was a tough blond, with thick hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail.

  “Is Maynard home?” Ginny was so surprised she could hardly speak. Never, not once in the whole year she and Trev had dated, had she known Maynard to entertain a lady friend---as if this person could be called a lady.

  “What the hell are you sellin’?” The woman was deeply suspicious. “Don’t you know what time it is?”

  “Is he home?” Ginny stared into the hard green eyes enhanced by smearing mascara and flaking eye shadow.

  “Who wants to know?” The woman crossed her arms under an ample bosom spilling from a skin-tight orange tank top. Her buff biceps indicated she either worked out a lot, or she was a female wrestler.

  “I’m Ginny Troutman, a friend of Trevor’s. Who are you?”

  The blonde’s harsh laugh implied years of cigarette smoking. “I am Mrs. Paula Dula, Maynard’s wife.”

  No way. Ginny’s jaw dropped so far open it took a conscious act of will to haul it shut. “Okay, can I speak to Maynard, then?”

  While Paula considered her options, the preferred one being to send Ginny packing, a large shadow appeared behind her and threw the door wide open. Before Ginny knew what was happening, the tall man pulled her inside and hugged her hard.

  He held her at arm’s length for inspection. “Good lord, it’s lil’ Jailbait, and she’s all growed up. Look at you, girl. Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

  Ginny caught her breath and smiled. Maynard had changed, too. His hair was now long and silver gray, pulled Hippie-style into a ponytail like his wife’s. He had a beard, moustache, and his body had thinned out so that his jeans and black tee shirt hung loose on his rangy frame.

  “Good to see you, Maynard.”

  “Likewise.” He turned to his wife. “Ginny here used to be Trevor’s main squeeze.”

  “Her and everyone else.” Paula snorted derisively.

  “So come on in and make yourself to home. I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.”

  He dragged Ginny through a cluttered living room dominated by a huge flat screen TV and countless roaming cats. The space smelled like cigarette smoke and dirty kitty litter. They went directly into the kitchen, dodging the nasty ribbons of hanging flypaper Ginny recalled from her teenage years, and then sat right down at the round, pink Formica table. Paula followed like an angry storm cloud.

  “Bring us some beers, Paula,” Maynard commanded.

  She clearly resented the order, but Maynard’s wife opened the refrigerator door and pulled out three bottlenecks. She plunked them down on the table. “Do yo
u want a glass, Ginny?” she sweetly asked.

  “Guess not.”

  “Well that’s good, because all the dishes are dirty.” Paula pulled up a chair and sat so possessively close to Maynard their shoulders brushed. “So what do you want?” she said.

  Maynard elbowed his wife. “Be nice, Paula.”

  Ginny took one long drink, and then another. She looked straight into Maynard’s strange gray eyes. “I’m worried about Trev. You know his fiancée, Lori Fowler, was murdered this morning?”

  The kitchen got so quiet Ginny heard the cats shuffling around in the living room and water dripping at the sink.

  Finally Maynard shook his head. “Horrible thing. We heard it on the evening news, and I need to tell you, Ginny, my nephew really loved that gal. After all his tomcattin’ around, I do believe Trevor had found him the right mate.”

  Somehow Maynard’s words wounded Ginny in a deep and secret place. She already knew Trev had moved on, but it was painful to hear the word “love,” a word Trev once reserved for her. “I’ve been trying to call him all day to see if he’s all right. He’s not here, is he?”

  “Nope, haven’t seen him since yesterday morning,” Maynard said.

  “What’s it to you?” Paula interrupted. “Every young girl in the county’s had her fling with Trevor, but they aren’t beatin’ down our door in the middle of the night.”

  Ginny glared at the woman and wondered if Paula had been one of the many girls who had shared Trev’s bed. From the level of hostility, Ginny figured something was going on.

  “We’re worried, too.” Maynard gave Paula a stern look. “I know Trevor must be real upset. I just hope he ain’t done nothin’ stupid.”

  “Like what?” Ginny asked.

  “Like it’s none of your business,” Paula snapped. “I’m the one upset, because Lori was my cousin, you know? After Maynard and me got married, I introduced the two of them. Worst mistake I ever made.”

  “Lori was your cousin?” Ginny couldn’t believe it. “Then I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Yeah, well…” Paula took a long gulp of beer. “We weren’t close, you know? Still, it’s shitty what happened to her. No one deserves to die that way.”

  “Amen to that.” Maynard sadly shook his head. He got up and brought more beers.

  As they sat drinking, it occurred to Ginny that Paula did not fit the profile of a grieving cousin. Indeed, the woman seemed mad at the world as she explained how she and Trev had been in the same graduating class at Statesville High. Her cousin, Lori, had been two years younger, same age as Ginny, so Trev never met Lori until Paula introduced them.

  Ginny’s head began to spin as the alcohol saturated her bloodstream. She had never known any of these kids because she had graduated from Mooresville High. She only met Trev by accident when he stopped into Trout’s store one fine day to buy a soda and smokes. The rest was history.

  “So is Trev hiding out somewhere?” Ginny asked.

  “Why should he be?” Paula said. “Trevor didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Paula staggered as she walked to the counter to fetch a framed photograph. Evidently the beers were affecting everyone present. She placed the photo in Ginny’s hands, and Ginny saw her beloved Trev staring back at her. But this man was shaved nearly bald and wore camouflage army fatigues. He held an evil-looking automatic weapon in his strong hands, and his blue eyes were cold and dead.

  “He’s changed,” Ginny murmured.

  “He’s a hero.” Paula bragged. “After two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan, of course he’s fuckin’ changed.”

  “Mind your mouth, Paula.” Maynard sighed.

  “I’m just sayin’…” Paula slurred. “Trevor is a war hero. He’s never done anything wrong.”

  Ginny’s eyes blurred as she placed the picture of the stranger back on the table. What in God’s name was she doing here where she didn’t belong? They opened more beers, and she tried to pay attention to the conversation, but she was mesmerized by the rhythm of Paula’s red fingernail casually twisting the gray hairs on Maynard’s arm.

  She listened to the couple’s many grievances. Maynard, now forty years old, was having trouble getting Paula pregnant, and Paula desperately wanted a child. Maynard complained how the economy had landed his construction company in the crapper, how his business was down the toilet, and how could a man justify starting a family when he didn’t have a pot to pee in?

  It all made Ginny so ill she feared she might throw up. She stared as Maynard fiddled with the turquoise-laden silver cross hung round his neck.

  “Look, you guys, I’m wasted,” she told them. “Do you mind if I crash on your couch?”

  In the end, she fell into a deep, drunken sleep with two felines on her chest, kneading her old yellow tee shirt.

  SIXTEEN

  A rude intrusion…

  “Where’s Mommy?”

  Diana felt little fingers playing with the neck of her nightgown as she swam to consciousness. She remembered awakening in the deep of night, being swept from her private river onto a shore of worry as she listened for Lissa to wake up and find out her mother was gone. She had listened into the wee hours for Ginny’s car to return, but it never did.

  She lifted her heavy lids and found herself looking into two enormous blue eyes. She heard the shower running in the master bath, ran her hand along the sheet beside her, and discovered Matthew was missing. Good, at least his granddaughter hadn’t caught them in bed together.

  “Happy birthday, Lissa.” Diana touched the tip of the child’s nose. It was pink with sunburn and beginning to peel.

  “Guess what? I’m six years old!” Lissa’s smile included that amazing gap between her two front teeth, but then the smile drooped. “When I woke up, I couldn’t find Mommy.”

  “I know, honey, but she’ll be back soon.”

  “But where did she go?”

  Diana knew she needed some very strong coffee to answer that question, or even to come up with a proper lie. “Maybe she went shopping for the birthday girl?”

  “Goody! Presents for me?”

  Diana wanted to bite her tongue. Now she had created unreasonable expectations. More likely Ginny would come dragging home empty-handed, and Lissa would be crushed. Diana’s anger at Ginny rekindled with a vengeance. She recalled the distressing news broadcast about the murder, followed by Ginny’s abrupt departure, and all the turmoil of the past two days came crashing back like a runaway train.

  It was Sunday morning. Was it possible that only two days ago, Friday afternoon Matthew and she had visited Whippoorwill Village? That day they had planned to quietly move in together, but instead Ursie had been attacked with pepper spray, Diana had been threatened with a starter pistol, and Ginny and Lissa had burst unexpectedly into their lives. Diana had drunk wine with Liz and rum with Ginny, she had been ping-ponged in and out of Matthew’s future, and most upsetting---she had somehow drifted into close proximity of a brutal murder. At the moment she felt like the damsel tied to the railroad track, and that runaway train was heading her way.

  “Can I snuggle in bed with you, Miss Diana?”

  Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely? To cuddle up with this sweet child, as she had nested with her own daughter, Mandy, and together they could sink into oblivion. But instead, Diana swung her legs out of bed and discovered she was deliciously stiff from lovemaking, but that was okay.

  “We’ll snuggle some other time, Lissa. But right now we better get dressed and go to the kitchen. Your grandpa will be out soon, and I bet he’ll make you some special birthday pancakes.”

  “Yummy, I love pancakes.”

  At least that prediction came true, but it had been a no-brainer. Matthew always made pancakes on the Sabbath, his holy communion in lieu of church. Today he added bacon, eggs, apple juice for Lissa, and blessedly strong coffee for the adults.

  The day was clear, windless, and sunny, so they set the table on the patio and lit candles on Lissa’s pancakes.


  “Shouldn’t we wait for Mommy?” Lissa’s eyes darted between the candles and the road, where she hoped to see Ginny’s green Subaru drive up any minute.

  “Go on and blow ’em out,” Matthew coached. “We’ll do it again when your mommy gets here.”

  “Don’t forget to make a wish,” Diana said.

  Lissa screwed up her eyes and blew hard, snuffing out six little flames. “Can I say what I wished for?”

  “Nope, it’s bad luck,” Matthew cautioned. “If you tell, then maybe the wish won’t come true.”

  “But don’t I get another wish when we light the candles with Mommy?”

  Matthew glanced at Diana, and Diana nodded.

  “Yes, Lissa, you’ll get a brand new wish,” he told her.

  “Okay, then I can tell you…” The child jumped up, spread her arms wide and twirled. Her gesture encompassed the lake, sky, trees---everything in her immediate universe. “I never want to go back to Nevada. I want to stay here forever.”

  Diana and Matthew gaped at one another. Clearly Lissa’s pronouncement had rendered him speechless, while Diana’s maternal instincts kicked into overdrive.

  “That’s a wonderful wish,” Diana said. “But you’ll have to ask your mommy about that.”

  “I will. I’ll ask her. But I know she’ll say yes.”

  Matthew pulled Lissa back to her seat. “No more talking, young lady. I want you to eat your breakfast, because Grandpa turns into a mean old black bear when children let their food get cold.”

  “It’s true, he does,” Diana confirmed.

  So they all ate quickly and with gusto. Diana kept her eye on the road. The plan was to give Lissa the gifts Matthew had stashed in the utility closet right after breakfast, with or without Ginny.

  The wind picked up, and while Lissa helped them carry the paper plates inside, Ursie pricked her ears and shifted her attention from the table scraps to a cloud of dust swirling down the road. Animals were always the first to know, but eventually all three humans heard the crunch of gravel under tires.