One of the boys cocked his head. “Hey, did you hear something? Sounded like knocking.”
I listened, but noise drifted from the hallway. I shook my head. “Nope.”
He stayed motionless, listening, until his friend lightly punched his shoulder. “What, you hoping for the ghost of Jacob Marley?”
Their bantered exchange lightened my lingering worry over Little Dick and his machinations. I had been too busy tonight to think about his and Patricia’s argument a few weeks ago, until Ginger mentioned Shorter. Patricia wouldn’t have confronted Shorter unless she had the goods on him, but still. The whole situation felt ugly.
I was surprised when the bell ending the tour sounded. From past experience, I knew Patricia’s friends were invited for a post tour party, but my gig had ended. I could go home, consider the corset option and wait for Dirk.
Ginger stopped at the doorway. “Thank God. I’m ready for champagne.” She smiled. “Sorry, guys, none for you.”
They looked more like the beer type to me, but who knows. Standing, they shook hands with Ginger after she assured them they could go, and then left.
She rubbed her hands together. “I should probably drink something warm, like wassail, but I can’t stand the stuff.” She grinned. “I stashed a bottle of champagne outside at the back door just for us. Be right back.”
“I’ll come along.”
Shutting the library door, I followed her to the kitchen. My back was to her as I reached into a cabinet for glasses, but I could hear her grunt.
“What the heck? Did we have an ice storm? I can’t get the door open. It’s stuck.”
Winslow House is old but perfectly maintained. Jammed doors aren’t allowed.
“Let me help you. Maybe someone set some boxes too close.” I lent my strength to Ginger’s, and we pushed the door open. We heard rustling and a muted clunk.
Visible in the kitchen light were a set of shiny black boots. We widened the door opening. Striped trousers topped the boots.
Ginger’s scream didn’t surprise me, but my own did. She bit off her cry and, keeping her head, told me to call nine-one-one. I was already dialing when her words sounded in my ear.
Crap. We’d found another body, though this person may not yet be dead. Dirk would be all over me, and not in a good way. I hated when he was right. More than that, I’d seen enough to know that Little Dick was the potential dead, or at least gravely ill or injured man. This couldn’t be good.
Chapter Four
After I dialed, I walked back to the door, the line kept open as the operator requested. Ginger knelt next to Dick Shorter, her fingers against the pulse point at his neck. She looked at me and shook her head.
The scene held an eerie flavor. Besides the kitchen glow lighting the area, colored and white twinkle lights lent illumination. I could smell pine from the extra boughs cut off the trees and stored in water buckets as replacements for dried greens later in the season.
Shorter lay sprawled across the steps where he’d been pushed by our determined effort to open the door. Originally he must have landed face down given his creased forehead. His hands were clutching his jacket at heart level. I didn’t see blood, stab wounds, or gunshot holes, though murder couldn’t be ruled out. I’d learned that the hard way.
The man’s body looked cold but not stiff, as if he’d been lying lifeless for more than a few minutes but not long. If my hunch was right, he’d expired right after leaving the house about a half hour ago. I shivered as I remembered the football player asking if we’d heard knocking. He may have been the last person to hear Dick Shorter alive. Poor kid. I knew he’d be playing the “what if” game tonight and for some time to come. I would, too.
I debated telling the emergency operator there were no signs of life when two paramedics hustled around the corner. As they knelt next to the body, one of the EMTs told us to move away.
Ginger and I walked inside. She still held the forgotten bottle of wine in one hand. I pulled it from her and stashed it in the refrigerator. Then I started water boiling for tea, knowing she’d need the stimulant sooner than later.
We sat quietly, without conscious notice of time passing. Dirk’s partner, Matt Pulaski, entered, put his hand on the back of Ginger’s chair briefly, then exited through the door.
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but knew a crowd of people had gathered. Patricia entered the kitchen, asked questions we couldn’t answer, then left with a tray of cookies and a pitcher of wassail. We ignored the brewed tea, choked down a cookie each, and took turns looking out the steamed-up window. We couldn’t see much but the action made us feel better.
Sometime later, the door opened, letting in a blast of frigid air. Dirk and Matt had entered, and neither man looked happy. Dirk’s muttering caught my ear.
“Nothing will happen, she said. I’ll be safe at Winslow House, she promised.”
Unsure whether I should ignore him, or point out that the scene indicated a natural death rather than homicide, I kept quiet.
Matt squatted in front of Ginger’s chair. He took her hands in his. “How are you? Can I get you something?”
My eyebrows rose as I caught Dirk’s gaze. He nodded then frowned. Apparently, my lover knew more about this situation than I did. Ginger and her husband, Rob Howe, had recently decided on a trial separation, but she’d been keeping mum about Matt. Not that I hadn’t seen their mutual attraction growing over the past months, but still.
Dirk cleared his throat. Matt’s face pinked and he stood, releasing Ginger’s hands. He removed a notebook and pen from his pocket. My lover moved to face Ginger. “You found the body, right? Are you ready to answer some questions?”
Ginger nodded and gave her statement. I added my two bits’ worth.
Dirk and Matt looked tired and cold. I hated that he’d been called in, but figured he’d rather be here than out working security detail. They left the kitchen to speak with Patricia, her visitors, and the high school kids. At least, that’s what I figured. Sometime later, they returned.
“Do you want to add to your statements?” Dirk asked. “Anything else come to mind? Details you’ve remembered and forgot to mention earlier?”
“It was a heart attack, right?”
Dirk shook his head. “You know I can’t comment.” After a moment, he relented, probably in answer to my pointed glare. “Mr. Shorter, as everyone here seems to know, had a history of heart trouble.”
He ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture I knew signaled frustration. I’d seen the earlier parade of doyennes and their escorts and knew he’d been besieged with Patricia’s friends. Not that she needed help. Once we’d exchanged notes, Ginger and I agreed Shorter looked like he’d had a heart attack. At least that’s what we hoped.
“Prelim is a heart attack.” Dirk stretched his arms. “We’re packing it in for tonight. You can go home, now.” He and Matt exchanged cop looks and left the kitchen.
The clock read nine-thirty, which seemed way too early to reflect our night’s experiences. My body, adrenaline wired, didn’t accept the evidence that only little more than an hour had passed since we’d found Shorter. It’d seemed much later. I’d never fall asleep without assistance, and Dirk was busy.
A depressant seemed in order. I pulled the champagne bottle from the fridge and popped the cork using a towel to muffle what should be a celebratory sound. I poured two glasses and handed one to Ginger. Alcohol wouldn’t dissolve the shocking scene burned on our retinas. But a little wine might halt our mental and physical shivers and shakes.
Her hollowed gaze caught mine. “Maybe we should stop being friends.”
My hand stopped with the wine glass halfway to my mouth. “What? Why?”
“We keep finding dead bodies. That can’t be good for a friendship. Even ours.”
I giggled. I can’t help it. Sometimes I laugh when I’m scared or nervous. What with finding a dead body and the stress of herding a hundred people through the house in two hours, I te
etered on overload. Ginger’s emotion was the last straw.
I groped for the appropriate words, but was interrupted before voicing them.
“Celebrating? What poor taste you have, but then, I’m not surprised.” The words were followed with a loud sniff. A derisive sound I recognized and detested. Mrs. Rose had somehow entered without our knowing. I hated that she’d pulled that ninja trick a second time.
“Poor Richard’s body barely cold and here you are, drinking wine and laughing. You’re disgusting.”
Ginger put her hand over mine, effectively silencing me. “No, Mrs. Rose, you’re the disgusting one. You have no idea how we feel.” Ginger swallowed. Her voice strengthened as she continued. “We do not enjoy finding dead bodies on our doorstep. Nor do we like people sneaking in while we’re having a private conversation.” She threw back her shoulders. “You seem to have a nasty habit of doing that, don’t you?”
That last wasn’t a question, and all of us knew it.
“I suggest that you leave. Now.” Ginger’s channeling of her mother did her justice. Mrs. Rose had paled. Her chin quivered.
“I just...I couldn’t believe...I wanted to see—” Her face fell. “He seemed so healthy. It doesn’t make sense.”
Silence descended. We weren’t insensible to her grief, even though we didn’t share it. Richard Shorter had been a piece of work, but he deserved to be missed by someone. I felt sorry for Madeline Rose. Who knew what motivated her?
I didn’t know how to bring this uncomfortable scene to an end. Emotions and social niceties are not my forte, though I’m trying to change. Unlike Ginger, who can and has handled everything from social gaffes—mine—to finding dead bodies. Not mine.
She placed her hand on Mrs. Rose’s arm and gently turned her toward the door. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Mrs. Rose didn’t respond, not even to deny the supposition. Her body drooped. “I still can’t believe it.”
The door closed behind her. Ginger leaned against the wall. She raised her head and caught my gaze. “I’m so sick of finding bodies.”
I rose and we hugged. After a few moments, we took our seats at the table and sipped our drinks. We didn’t speak. We didn’t have to. Our hatred of finding dead bodies is shared.
After finishing off the bottle of wine with Ginger, I knew I shouldn’t drive then remembered that wasn’t an option. Dirk had dropped me off earlier in the evening. Patricia arranged for one of her friends to take me home, and I walked into an empty house. I turned on the gas fireplace and sank into the couch.
I must have fallen asleep because sometime later, Dirk’s kisses woke me. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, back at you. Move over.”
I slid to the side, and he slumped onto the sofa, letting out a sigh. His tie was loosened, so I slid it from around his nape and threw it onto the table. “How’re you doing?”
He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “Better.”
I figured I should get him a beer or a warm drink and moved to stand.
“Never mind that. Just let me hold you for a while.”
His ability to read my mind never failed to surprise. His body, now in close proximity to a fire rather than the chilly outdoors, began radiating heat.
I squinted but couldn’t make out the clock. “What time is it? Feels late.”
“Late.”
I cricked my head to catch his gaze. “Late, late? Why?”
He grunted. After yawning, he explained. “The mayor insisted on an immediate autopsy. Said he wanted a cause of death to allay the fears of the public.”
Dirk wouldn’t use air quotes, but I envisioned them stressing the last six words. Allay the public’s fears, my ass. Madeline Rose had something to do with the demands on the medical examiner. I opened my mouth to relay my observation, but Dirk had fallen asleep.
I eased out from under his now slack arm, made sure he was lying comfortably then covered him with a blanket and supported his head with a pillow. Now wide-awake, I wondered what the ME had found that warranted Dirk remaining at the station until late, late. I tipped the mantel clock toward the light. Two o’clock in the morning?
A shudder ran down my spine. The nervous quiver told me I wouldn’t like the answer.
I sat on the floor next to Dirk. My fingers lightly pushed his dark hair back from his forehead. Light from the fireplace highlighted frown lines that I smoothed. He gave a soft sigh, and I saw his face muscles relax. His long eyelashes fluttered, but he remained out.
I moved to a chair and contemplated the fire. Much as I disliked the thought of taking on a traditional homemaker role—I really hated cleaning for one, and couldn’t reheat leftovers without burning them—I wanted to soothe this man. My man.
A gentle shake woke me. Somehow I’d ended up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket cocoon. “Huh? What?”
Hot coffee fumes and a masculine thumb wiping drool from the corner of my mouth brought me around to consciousness. I drank the dark ambrosia he offered.
Dirk kissed my cheek. “Why didn’t you wake me up? Better yet, why didn’t you crawl onto the couch with me? I would’ve moved over.”
His low morning growl lit up my girl parts. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. “I meant to. Guess I fell asleep in front of the fire.” I’d been so out of it, I hadn’t woken when he moved me from the chair to the sofa. “Thanks for tucking me in. I’ll move over now.”
“Sorry. Gotta head to work.”
Enough caffeine had hit my system that I now opened my eyes fully and saw he was dressed and ready to leave. My fantasy of morning sex on the leather couch in front of the fire crashed and burned.
“Already?” I looked out the window. “It’s still dark. Unless it’s cloudy.”
“It’s seven thirty and cloudy.”
I sipped coffee, and my brain came to life, along with memories of last night’s events. “Why are you leaving now? Nothing starts until ten.” I stretched, watching him watch me. “Go in late. I’m not on the home tour until noon. We can cuddle.”
He mumbled and turned away.
“What was that?”
Dirk turned back toward me. “I may as well tell you. You’ll hear the news by the end of the day, anyway. Though the mayor doesn’t want the word to get out until after the event ends. He thinks the publicity will adversely affect attendance.” He sighed. “Like that’s a possibility. All the crazies will be out in force.”
He snagged my coffee cup and took a sip. “Dick Shorter didn’t die of natural causes. I’m off parking lot security and back on homicide.”
His face brightened. He was the last person who’d wish someone dead, but a senior detective patrolling the event parking lots was a serious waste of talent. Not to mention, it stunk of payback, Madeline Rose style. Which reminded me.
“You know that the mayor’s wife was probably having an affair with Little Dick, right?”
He stilled in the act of putting on his overcoat, a cashmere number I’d found at a local thrift store. He looked so yummy in the gray wool I lost my train of thought.
“She what?” He inhaled through his nose. “Damn. How do you know this stuff?” He held up his hand. “Never mind. Just tell me where you heard the story. I’ll check it out, myself.”
“Mona at the Chocolate Fix.”
He looked at the ceiling, likely for inspiration. I’d seen him check out the crown molding before while we had discussions.
“Of course she’s the busiest person in town this weekend.” Dirk rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll have to stop by her shop on Monday.”
I spoke without thinking, an occurrence I blamed on too little coffee. Though Ginger would tell you I often speak first and think later. Sometimes having a life-long friend can be embarrassing. “Be sure to ask Mona about the ring-bling guy.”
He took two steps toward me then stopped. “Do you know anything else? Like who Shorter’s enemies were and why they killed him?” He raised his eyebrows. “O
r should I just check with Mona?”
“There’s no need for sarcasm. I thought you’d like to know the rumors.”
Dirk sat beside me on the couch, though this time I didn’t offer to move over for him. He cupped my face, his thumbs rubbing over my lips before he swooped in to lay a hot kiss on me.
“Thanks for the gossip. You’re a big-time help.”
He licked his lips and dove in again, leaving me no time to inhale fully. My head spun when he pulled away.
His hold tightened on my upper arms. “But just because I appreciate your ear for gossip doesn’t mean I want you getting involved.”
“What. I don’t have any reason to stick my nose into Shorter’s death. I don’t even know how he was killed, and I’m pretty sure I’m not friends with anyone who’d kill him.” I sniffed. “Besides, he’d made so many enemies over this year’s Dickens Days, you should have no problem finding suspects. The line is probably as long as the one outside the Chocolate Fix will be at noon today.”
His green eyes narrowed. My brown ones narrowed back. It was one of our regular exercises, so it didn’t take much pre-coffee effort.
“I mean it, Katie.”
“So you don’t want to hear any more rumors?”
He shook his head and rose to leave without answering.
“Mona will be at work. She’s always in early on event weekends.”
Dirk bent and laid another kiss on me. His warm breath fanned across my cheek. “Thanks.”
He left without reminding me to keep my nose clean, so I figured that meant I could keep my ears open and trade stories with the best of them the rest of the day. Besides, I probably didn’t know the murderer, so staying away wouldn’t be an issue. Especially with the rest of the Dickens Days weekend ahead of me.
Chapter Five
Dirk had been wrong. Only noon and already the details about Richard Shorter’s death were making the rounds.
Dickens of a Death Page 3