"Also, they're a little unusual," he continued. "My sisters have always been together, and by that, I mean they've never spent one night apart in their entire lives. They dress alike, have the same haircut, and even eat all the same foods. Now they've moved here."
"Why move here? For work?"
"I guess so…"
"What do they do? And if you stall any longer I'm going to get my pliers and car battery with jumper cables."
He looked off into space, weighing his options before giving in. "They're taxidermists. I'm not sure why Who's There seemed like a better option, but before that they lived in What Cheer."
Iowa had a strange history for naming towns. Back in the 1950s, the game show Truth or Consequences announced a prize for the first city to take the show's title as their name. A town in New Mexico beat Peterstown, Iowa to it. So the city officials decided to make their own good fortune by naming themselves after another TV show—Who's There?—in hopes that the game show would shower us with honors. Unfortunately, the game show got cancelled instead (and had shown no interest whatsoever, anyway), and our name stuck. You'd be hard pressed to find anyone who remembered why we even had this stupid name.
"How did you find out they'd moved here?"
"Officer Dooley pulled Ronni over for speeding. When he submitted the paperwork, I wondered if it was my sister. A little surveillance told me they're hanging out their shingle for taxidermy right here, in town."
Again with Kevin Dooley, the mouth-breather who went to high school with me. He ended up being my lab partner a couple of times, which, in fact, lowered my GPA, probably by osmosis. It was interesting to think of him doing something other than eating junk food or staring blankly into space.
"I don't know which surprises me most," I whistled. "That your sisters moved here or that Kevin handed out an actual ticket and did the paperwork follow-up."
Rex sighed. "You need to cut Officer Dooley some slack."
"You didn't see him eat paste back in the day."
"Kids do that all the time," Rex protested.
"Not in high school." I scooped up my keys. "So, let's go see the twins!"
"I can't." Rex set down his glass. "Another day." He got to his feet and kissed me on the cheek. "I'd better get to work."
He fled my house as if I'd just set the aforementioned car battery and pliers on the table. Of course, I wouldn't do that. They're in the basement—it would take a while to find them.
I grabbed my cell and launched a search for Randi and Ronni Ferguson and taxidermy. Huh. They were working out of the old Peters house across town.
If Who's There had a lame equivalent to the Kennedy family, it was the Peters. In the 1800s, Theobald Peters and his bride Euphemia started this small town with a lumber mill and tavern that quickly became the largest businesses in the county. That's where the similarity to the Kennedys ends.
Dozens had flocked to Peterstown to work in the mill and drink in the tavern. Turns out, a lumber mill and tavern weren't exactly compatible. And since Theobald was a bit of a drinker, the men who worked at the mill usually had "liquid" breakfast at the tavern first. Within a year, we had the largest number of accidental amputees in the whole Midwest.
Euphemia saved the day by taking over the tavern and opening it only after five at night, offering lard sandwiches and charging only half price for the drinks—unofficially creating the first Happy Hour (an important morale booster since half the town had hooks for hands). She also was rumored to have invented a rather unpopular drink called the Cat's Tongue, which consisted of coffee grounds, lard (Euphemia liked lard), and a lot of gin. No one drank this. Ever.
With their success, the Peters built this huge Victorian mansion over on Main Street. It should probably be noted that at the time it was the only house in town because Main Street was the only street in town.
The town sort of grew up around that Victorian house and its businesses. The Peters family lived there until the 1960s, when the last one died in a drowning accident. Since then, the house has been a museum, a shoe store, and very, very briefly, a bordello (which was literally marched on with pitchforks, causing the "employees" to flee into the night). Now, according to my research, it was Ferguson Taxidermy—Where Your Pet Lives On Forever!
I checked the hours of operation and realized they'd be open soon. I was going to visit Rex's sisters today. Sisters who would someday be mine! I'd always wanted siblings. Granted, I'd always imagined them to be scientists or artists, but working with animal carcasses would do.
As I got ready, I came up with a cover story, threw on a coat, and headed out. I figured it was too soon to just barge in and introduce myself as their new sister-in-law-to-be. Playing it safe without lying would be the safest route to go.
It took all of four minutes to get there, and that's because traffic was backed up (which meant a farmer had driven a combine into town during rush hour). The old Victorian looked a little run-down but hadn't changed from its original design.
As the largest home in town, my parents used to tell me the king and queen of town lived there. I believed it until kindergarten when I met Kelly, who, in her usual matter-of-fact way, told me I was an idiot and it was just a house. We've been best friends ever since.
"Hello?" I pushed open the door, and a loud gunshot went off.
I dove for the floor and crawled behind a display case.
"I told you, Ronni!" a female voice shouted. "We should just have a bell. The sound of a gunshot will scare people!"
"But it's fitting, isn't it?" Another voice that sounded exactly like the first (but angrier) insisted, "We do a lot of animals killed by hunters. A gunshot adds authenticity!"
I popped up behind the display case and brushed myself off. The women weren't startled, which led me to believe this had happened before.
"Hi!" I said brightly. "Welcome to Who's There."
They were completely identical right down to their shoes. Both women were short, like tiny, older versions of Rex. However, there was a distinct difference in their expressions, as one woman looked friendly and the other had a scowl etched into her face.
The woman who smiled grasped my hand introduced herself. "I'm Randi. This is my sister, Ronni. How can we help you?"
Ronni scowled at me. "You live in Iowa. Haven't you heard a gunshot before?"
Of course I had. I was a spy once. "Yes. I just wasn't expecting it."
For a moment I wondered what being an Iowan had to do with it, but then I remembered that on her farm, Grandma Wrath kept a loaded shotgun by the kitchen door. She went her whole life without using it until dementia set in at age ninety-three. After that, she shot at trees for reasons no one could understand, until she had a stroke a year later. At her funeral, we had memorials made out to the Arbor Foundation. It seemed like the right thing to do after Grandma's yearlong tree assassinations.
Randi beamed. Ronni narrowed her angry eyes. They were twins in everything but temperament. Unable to figure out what to say next, I studied the room. From all angles, high above me, badgers, squirrels, deer heads, coyotes, hawks, and a skunk dressed as a clown glared down at me. I backed into a giant buck wearing a raincoat and tripped over what appeared to be a dinner party scene with garter snakes.
"The skunk is for sale." Randi smiled. "The others are special orders. Did you want to buy something?"
For a moment, I toyed with asking if I could outbid whoever ordered the snake party but decided I didn't want to start off our new relationship with a disagreement. My cover story poked me in the brain.
"Sure. I was looking for something unique to give to a friend. She loves dead animals."
"I've got some interesting things in the next room," Randi (who didn't seem to think this was a strange thing for someone to love) said as she motioned for me to follow her.
Ronni crossed her arms over her chest. I think she even growled at me as I squeezed past her. That woman's stare would wilt flowers. I'd never met someone so unpleasant. Well, that's not
entirely true. There was this monsignor in Paraguay with halitosis and Tourette syndrome who hated me because my first name started with the letter F. Considering that his name was Father Farquard, I assumed he was just being difficult.
With the twins, my strategy would be to befriend Randi and hope someday Ronni would come around.
"Here!" Randi handed me a dead kitten. "She's holding a little doll!"
The white kitten had blue eyes and was dressed as a little girl with a hair bow, pink dress, and tiny doll. It was disturbing, especially considering I had two live cats at home—who would never forgive me if I bought this.
"She's allergic to cats," I said about my fake friend who didn't exist.
"Oh! Well…" Randi turned to an open display cabinet filled with small animals in various clothing, pretending to be humans. "How about this?" she asked as she handed me something.
It was an armadillo with a ukulele.
"They're very big in Japan!"
Where did they get an armadillo in Iowa? I pushed that thought from my mind as I declined.
"Are you going to buy something or what?" Ronni glowered from the doorway. "I hate looky-loos. People should only come in here if they're serious about buying something."
"Why don't you go finish the squirrel Phantom of the Opera diorama?" Randi said calmly to her sister. "The client is picking it up tomorrow."
Ronni muttered a few words I couldn't hear before disappearing. The room seemed to brighten in her absence.
"How about that?" I pointed to a large crow wearing a Groucho nose, mustache, and glasses. He appeared to be in the middle of a stand-up act, with a microphone clutched in his right claw and a rubber chicken next to his other foot.
Randi beamed. "That's Sigurd! An excellent choice!"
I thought so. With the fake glasses, I couldn't see his beady eyes much. Maybe the cats would like it. Or I could give it to Finn, my infant goddaughter and Kelly's baby…if babies liked that sort of thing. I really wasn't sure.
Randi plucked the dead bird from the case and took it back to the front, where she began to wrap it in blaze orange and green camouflage tissue paper.
"How long have you been in town?" I asked as casually as I could for someone buying a dead crow impersonating a stand-up comic.
"Oh, just a month." Randi's tongue stuck out to the side as she very gingerly stuffed tissue paper into the crevices around the bird.
"What made you move here?" I asked.
"We fell in love with this house." She smiled. The woman seemed very sweet. Rex must have been exaggerating.
"So, you'd been here before?" I asked.
"That's right." Randi finished wrapping the paper around the thing before tucking him into a paper bag with handles. "There you go! That's two hundred dollars."
Two hundred dollars? I could shoot a bird in my yard for less than that. But I handed over the money anyway, hoping the look on my face indicated that I did this kind of thing every day.
"Do you know anyone in town?" I pressed as she handed me the bag.
"Oh yes." She beamed. "We have a brother who lives here."
Aha!
Ronni screamed from the other room, "Why aren't you gone yet? People have work to do, you know!"
Time to go. "Well thank you," I said as I backed toward the door. "I hope your business does well here!" This time I flinched only a little when the gunshot doorbell went off.
Back at home a few minutes later, I opened the bag and plopped Sigurd down in front of the cats. Philby's tail twitched as she walked around the thing, hissing at odd moments. After completing her circuit, she punched the bird in its fake nose. When the inanimate crow didn't flee in the face of her fury, Philby lost interest and walked away.
Martini hunkered down before taking a run at it. When the crow didn't move, she seemed disappointed and settled for munching on his tail feathers.
I snatched Sigurd from her. "This isn't for you." I put the bird on the fridge where I thought he might be safe.
Rex didn't seem to appreciate the gift a few hours later when I took it over to his office.
"You went to see my sisters, didn't you?" His eyes were riveted on the dead beast on his desk.
I pulled up a chair. "I was sitting there this morning, thinking Rexi needs something in his office, but what? And that's when I realized you needed this guy. His name is Sigurd."
He shoved the bird aside. "Why did you go?"
"Why haven't you gone there?" I shot back.
"I haven't seen my sisters in years," he countered. Rex was adorable when he verbally sparred with me.
"Why haven't you seen your sisters in years?" I asked. "If I had sisters, I'd visit them every week. Maybe more often." That was true. I didn't really like being an only child.
Rex seemed to know he was outgunned. He pushed back in his chair. "Just don't go back."
I shook my head. "I'm thinking of going back there every day and buying something for your office until you introduce me properly."
He sent me home with Sigurd.
Fine. I'd break into his house in the middle of the night and put Sigurd on his nightstand. That would show him. Maybe a judgy dead animal with a sense of humor would change his mind about his family.
After several hours of trying Sigurd out in different spots around the house, I settled him in my bedroom on top of a tall wardrobe. The cats wouldn't be able to get him there, but I'd have to remember where I'd put him so I didn't freak out in the night about shadows of birds attacking me.
Lying down on the bed to get a better perspective, I felt woozy. Closing my eyes, I thought for about a second about Rex's sisters. And then, I fell asleep.
It was dark when I woke up. Whoa. How long had I been out? After a nod to the dead crow, I headed to the kitchen to give the cats their supper, where I found Rex sitting at the breakfast bar, reading the newspaper. This was significant because I didn't subscribe to the newspaper.
"I forgot to mention earlier, Officer Dooley searched the Fontanas' house last night," he said without looking up.
I fed the cats and poured myself a bowl of Lucky Charms, adding extra marshmallows. I'd discovered this particular cereal during a campout with my troop. Kelly was not happy when I had four bowls in a row. She said I was bad at sharing.
My fiancé was a bit of a foodie, and while he'd never directly disparaged my childish eating habits, he'd made it clear that he'd do the cooking once we were wed.
The thought caused flutters in my stomach.
"He didn't find anything. No body and nothing out of order."
"You sent an idiot to do a real cop's job," I grumbled as I poured milk over the cereal.
Rex set the paper down. "Officer Dooley is a real cop. You need to stop giving him a hard time."
I pointed my spoon at him. "Tell me one thing he's good at. Then I'll leave him alone."
Rex stared thoughtfully into space before saying, "He's great at ordering lunch for the station, and he's actually pretty good at paperwork."
"I'm not sure those count." I stirred my cereal until all the rainbow colors bled into the milk.
"Fortunately for you and to my surprise"—Rex nodded toward my neighbors' house—"the Fontanas are not angry and didn't complain. If they had, I'd have had to come over and give you a good talking to."
With a mouthful of marshmallows, I managed, "That would be okay if by a talking to you mean making out over a bucket of fried chicken with an Oreo chaser."
Rex laughed and got to his feet. He kissed me on the forehead, since I was mid-chew, and told me he had to head home and get some sleep.
"Try not to spy on the neighbors tonight. I'd like a full night's sleep."
And with that, he walked out the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
I wiggled my eyebrows at Philby. "We know what we saw—don't we, girl?"
The fact that the neighbors weren't in the least upset that I'd sent the police to their house in the middle of the night was curious. I'd be outraged. Wh
y weren't they?
It wasn't too late, so I grabbed my keys and ran to the hardware store to buy some binoculars. Even though my neighbors were…well…neighbors, I needed to be able to see everything.
I loved this store. All of the employees were little old men in overalls who knew where every screw and washer was located on a wall full of thousands of little drawers. Of course, binoculars were easier to find, as they were by the front door. Within minutes, I had what I needed.
I was just congratulating myself for being clever, when I turned the ignition in my car and a man jumped in on the passenger side.
Without thinking, and acting reflexively, I punched him in the throat.
The man gasped and, in a gravelly voice as he faced me, croaked out, "Hey! Easy now!"
"Riley? What are you doing here? And why are you in my car? And why are you in disguise?"
Riley Andrews, my former handler and one-time boyfriend, had a thick red mullet, sported a five o'clock shadow, and was wearing a shirt with the sleeves torn off. He looked like my mechanic, come to think of it. This was a departure from his usual tailored suits, permanent tan, and thick, longish, wavy blond hair.
He studied my face. "Wow, Wrath, you look like you haven't slept in a month." The bastard.
I pointed at his wig. "You look like my mechanic, Stewie."
Riley tugged on his wig. "That sounds promising."
"Stewie doesn't have any teeth, and in the last presidential election, he wrote BALLS as a write-in candidate." True story. I've only seen him once in the last two years, but he was good with cars. "What are you doing here?"
Due to circumstances of his own making, Riley had left the CIA. I'd heard rumors through the grapevine that he'd since joined the FBI. Which, in our line of work, is like American troops going over to the Nazi side.
Just to be clear, Riley didn't work or live here. And since my engagement he'd been sending me mixed messages on how he feels about me. So, punching him in the throat was completely justified.
"Just passing through." He winked. "I'm working on something. I was just in Omaha and am heading to Chicago."
Motto for Murder (Merry Wrath Mysteries Book 6) Page 2