"No way. I'm not staying in this house!" I shrieked at the same time as Aodhagan offered, "Don't you think that might harm the integrity of the crime scene?"
It was back to the drawing board for Dooley, whose progress was probably hindered by my look of total revulsion. I could almost see a cartoon lightbulb come on over his head as he hit upon another solution. He pointed one plump finger at the mayor/crime fighter/civic hero. "She could stay with you."
CHAPTER FOUR
Dooley pointed so close to Aodhagan MacFarley that he was almost touching his chest. Aodhagan looked less than thrilled by the prospect, and to tell the truth so was I. For all I knew, he was the one who had strangled Penny. After all, he had found the body. "I'll remand her into your custody."
"You can't keep me in custody. I didn't do anything wrong!" My panicked words fell on deaf ears. Neither one even looked at me.
"Maybe you should just let her go, Dwight. She can leave a forwarding number." Mayor MacFarley was eager about this suggestion, and I was slightly offended. I wasn't scary or questionable. My hygiene was impeccable, thank you very much.
He probably had the same concerns ringing in his head. Although, even if I had been able to overpower my sixty-something aunt, I surely could not overpower a healthy man who stood over six feet tall. But we're all entitled to a little paranoia, as far as I was concerned. Or a lot. Hell, we're all entitled to Woody Allen levels of twitchy nervousness, as far as I'm concerned.
"No, no. This is perfect. She can stay with you until the end of the weekend. I can make you do that." He addressed me. "If you come up clean on background checks by Monday, you'll be free to go."
I thought of objecting again, but I didn't have the energy. I desperately needed a nap and a very stiff drink. Maybe I owed it to the memory of my aunt to stick around at least a few days. "I saw a hotel in Muleshoe," I conceded.
"Muleshoe? That's over seventy miles away. You may as well go to Lubbock as Muleshoe."
"Could I?" A few days at the Hilton never hurt anyone. Least of all me. I was obsessed with hotels. They made me feel relaxed and eager to please. Especially the ones with minibars.
Dooley burst my bubble. "Not a chance. Do you know how quick you could disappear in a city like Lubbock?"
A lot less quickly then I could disappear in a city like New York, that was for sure. "Look, if I agree to go home with Aodhagan MacFarley, could I just go? Please?"
Aodhagan looked like he was about to protest. I didn't know him well enough to kick him in the shin, so I stamped on his foot instead. His surprise was genuine, but he easily recovered and shrugged at Dooley.
"I'll take her home, Dwight. I don't mind." I could tell it was clearly a lie and that he did mind, but I didn't care. My hands were shaking. I was three seconds from hyperventilating, and I really needed to be alone for a few minutes. I was much more likely to get that with Aodhagan MacFarley than at the county lockup.
"Good. I'll do what needs to be done, and I'll see you both bright and early tomorrow morning." Dooley said it like it was a light invitation to meet for brunch. He'd suddenly changed his tune in the way he was treating me, and that made me suspicious.
Before I could ask any questions, Aodhagan MacFarley ushered me outside, his hand hovering a fraction of an inch from the small of my back, like he was steering me with psychokinetic powers.
"This way," he said, nodding off to the east.
I realized he meant for us to walk. "Didn't you come in a car?"
Aodhagan eyed me for a second like he was sizing me up just one more time, though I had no idea what he was looking for. No doubt whatever it was, he'd find me lacking. He pointed to the road. "Junior drove it into town. It's okay. It's about a three-minute walk."
I threw my purse into my car, still parked on Penny's lawn. "Well, I do have a car, and I'm driving. I have to give you a ride, or I won't know where to go."
Aodhagan spent a moment taking in my nondescript car, and I got the odd impression he'd expected something else, though I had no clue what. Then he shrugged and let himself into the passenger door. He smelled good in such a small space, like something woodsy and a little exotic.
"Won't Mrs. MacFarley mind you bringing a strange woman home?" If I was about to get harassed by the wife, I wanted to know it.
He shrugged again. "I bring strange women home all the time. We have a very liberal marriage." He didn't look at me, but his lip quirked, and I knew he could feel my stare. "Just kidding. I have no idea what she'll think."
He put his seat belt on and then added airily, "But when I meet her, it'll be the first thing I ask."
The tight twist of my stomach didn't need an explanation. I already knew why this was bad news. "I thought everyone in town would be married. You're not married?"
"Hmm." I was pretty sure that was an affirmation. "Most of the men here in Birdwell are single. That's why our population pretty much never changes. No babies born. It only changes when somebody dies." He suddenly seemed to realize what he'd said and fell heavily silent, his lips twisting into a tight line.
Now every reason that I had for coming to Birdwell had been completely obliterated. Penny was dead, totally beyond my help. All the guys in town were single, quite to the contrary of what I had expected. The only person named Dwight was the local sheriff, and Aodhagan MacFarley, for one, had very nice teeth. Good thing he clearly had a stick up his ass, which made him so not my type.
Hands shaking, I rooted through my purse until I produced a pack of Luckies I had stolen from Penny's desk. I used the single lonely match in my bag and desperately fumbled to take my first drag. This day was pushing me in the direction of total hysteria. Now. Now I would smoke this cigarette because my solution for total hysteria was a cigarette or two or five. And maybe a Valium. Or two. Or five.
Mayor MacFarley finally turned and looked at me, his movable lips forming a perfect sneer. He rolled down his window. "Would you like to know the exact number of people who died last year from lung cancer?"
"About 158,040." I always knew what people died from. I made it my business to find everything I could be paranoid about. Hey, it gives a girl a hobby. "Give or take. Now, kindly shut it, and tell me where to drive," I growled, taking another swift hit.
Suddenly, he reached across the car and grabbed the pack out of my hand, making me shriek. "These are Luckies. You smoke Luckies?" He demanded.
I snatched it back, wishing I were shaking a little less. It might have made me seem tougher. "I don't usually smoke at all anymore, but when I did, I preferred something that tasted a little less like roadwork."
Aodhagan was aghast, as though I had dragged Penny's body out of the house with me. "You stole those from Penny's house. I can't believe you stole something from a crime scene."
"Oh, for heaven's sake, I didn't steal from a crime scene. I stole a half-empty pack from inside her desk. It's not likely to be covered with fingerprints or clues. It's just a pack of friggin' cigarettes. It's not like I took the one from the kitchen table. Take the stick out of your ass."
His mouth twisted as he reached into his black messenger bag, pulling out a single latex glove and a plastic sandwich bag. He used the glove folded between his fingers and snatched the cigarette box from mine. He shoved it in the baggie with a bit too much force, propping open the lid, and sealed the top. "Interfering with an investigation, including tampering with evidence, is a crime, Ms. Harding."
Even in the lap of my mother, the most judgmental person I'd ever met, I'd never heard so much disapproval ring in a single sentence. A hint of something sheepish crept up on me. He was right. I hadn't even given the entire matter any thought. I'd been operating on instinct, and a driving need to smoke, alone. "Okay, so I shouldn't have taken the cigarettes."
MacFarley looked startled. "I…"
"I just felt so desperate and unhappy, and there they were just waiting to be smoked, and I knew nobody would miss them. And I haven't smoked in a year, and I didn't have any of my own, and
I really didn't think about the fact that I was tampering with evidence, and I just really, really need a drink." The words tumbled out in a crazy stream, probably making me completely not understandable, my voice rising hysterically at the end.
When he finally spoke, it wasn't at all what I expected. "How do you know how many people died last year of lung cancer?"
"Research," I responded, still puffing away at my aunt's disgusting cigarette.
I knew about anything that might kill me. You might call it anxiety disorder, but I call it attention to detail. The incubation period of food-borne bacteria? I know it. The time you can expect to live the good life between eating tainted brains and getting a touch of the mad cow? I know that too. Ebola? You got it. I know how long the virus takes to kick in. I can also tell you your odds of surviving a shark attack, an airplane crash, and an encounter with the mob. Call it what you want, but I'm nothing if not knowledgeable about the odds of life and death.
I'd unsettled him, again. Oh well. If we were having a slumber party, he should probably get used to it. I tended to have that effect on people. After a moment, he turned his eyes back to the dirt road and quietly told me how to get to his house from Penny's.
I practically jumped in my seat when he spoke. "I've been thinking. About what Penny wanted from you."
It took a second to focus my brain, because I was still so rattled. What Penny wanted from me. The second biggest mystery of the day. Right after my poor aunt's murder. The statistics supported her living a full life without dying violently. Only 454.5 people in every 100,000 Americans were likely to be the victim of a violent crime, assault, manslaughter, robbery, rape, or, in this case, murder. It was inconceivable to my mind that Penny could be one of that small number.
"I've been thinking about it for days, but I still haven't figured it out. Except, maybe…"
He nodded his head once in my direction. "Exactly. I could see it on your face when you told me what kind of writer you are. She wanted you to solve a mystery."
"No. That doesn't even make sense. I don't know how to solve mysteries! I just write about them!"
He shook his head. "Look, no offense to your aunt, because I loved Penny, but she wasn't the best at realizing the stuff she saw on the screen wasn't real. She wrote angry letters to characters on soap operas."
I took my hands off the wheel for a fraction of a second, throwing them up in frustration. Because the roads were so rutted, the car went veering wildly to the left, and I had to grab it, pausing until my heartbeat returned to some semblance of normal.
"You said it yourself. There are no mysteries here. What could she have been investigating?" I spent a moment considering any options. "Maybe there's some kind of blackmail scandal. Who has the most power in this town?"
"Well." He considered the question for a long time. "Me?" He said it like he wasn't sure, but it was pretty obvious that he pulled some weight around here.
"I guess you didn't kill her?" I was pulling a Sheriff Dooley now, hoping Aodhagan MacFarley was just going to tell me whether or not I could trust him.
He smiled slightly, the right side of his lip cocking just slightly higher than the left. "I guess not. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt because I don't think you killed her either. So, maybe if you can figure out why she wanted you to be here, you can figure out why someone wanted her dead."
"Look, Mayor MacFarley…"
"Aodhagan," he interrupted.
I didn't want to call him by his name. I didn't even want to be sitting in the car with him. Not only was he not particularly likable, but he represented everything that I hated at the moment. And he was way too attractive, which was way not acceptable.
"Okay, Aodhagan. I don't know about this. When I saw this town, when I came here this morning, I planned on telling Penny that I couldn't stay. I don't want to stay. I still can't imagine why I agreed to come in the first place. I can't get involved in this."
His expression was really a special kind of disdainful. "Boy, you are from New York, aren't you?"
When I realized I was on the right street for the MacFarley homestead, I slowed, finally pulling into the drive. My hands were shaking again. I did not like this man. I didn't like Birdwell. I didn't like Texas. I didn't like Dooley. I didn't like that I came to town only to bury a woman I really loved.
But, at that moment, what I really didn't like was Aodhagan MacFarley.
"Hey, you just met me. You don't know anything about me. What, just because I don't want to devote my life to following something that will probably turn out to be pointless, I'm a bad person? Even if I followed whatever trail she would have provided, I cannot believe her asking me to come here and her murder could be in any way related."
"I'm willing to devote my life to it, at least for a couple of days," he countered.
"Of course you are. As far as I can tell, you have some kind of Good-Samaritan hero complex. Do you take up everyone's cause, and are you mayor, sheriff, and a shiny happy person so that you feel good about yourself or so that other people can look up to you? Is that why you live in this pathetic little town? For the worship?"
I hadn't even looked at the house yet, but it must have been his, because he jumped out and bent back in to look at me. I could tell that now he was truly angry. With skin as pale as his, the red slashes on his cheekbones were vivid. "In your own words, you just met me a couple of hours ago. You don't know anything about my life." He slammed the door and walked away.
Well. There went my lack of impulse control again, losing me the only person in Birdwell who'd been willing to take my side and probably the only person who ever would.
Aodhagan MacFarley mystified me. Half of him figured for a little laid-back, with his outdated clothes and lopsided smile. The other half of him read like a type A user's manual. Obviously, I had touched on something that really bugged him. The reason why he stayed in Birdwell was clearly a sensitive issue for him. Wasn't able to get into college? Couldn't cut it in the outside world? Well, obviously I would never know. I had just made an enemy of Aodhagan MacFarley.
I got out after him and took in his house. It was a spacious two-story farmhouse, with freshly painted white shingles and forest-green shutters and frames. Well, at least someone in town worked on their house. But the mayor had to keep up appearances, I supposed. He had a well-outlined gravel drive and a nicely mowed acre or so of front yard with two massive pecan trees, one on either side. Welcome to Mayberry.
I climbed the steps to his pristine white front porch, replete with a homey wooden porch swing. As I pushed though the door, I stepped over his welcome mat and made a note of the wooden welcome plaque on the door with the scrolled word MacFarley. This was a guy who didn't need a wife. He already had a homey touch without one. No doubt inside I would find everything covered in chintz. Just like an issue of Home and Country magazine.
I walked into the hall, my sandals making explosively loud slapping noises against the heavily polished wood floor, but I didn't see any chintz or any sign of Aodhagan MacFarley. I took another good look around. In front of me was a large staircase headed straight up. To the left was a door that was cracked enough for me to see a kitchen bathed in the light of the late afternoon sun. I was wrong. There wasn't actually a lot of decoration in his house. It was just very, very neat.
The kitchen floor was so clean you could have done an operation on it, and the only bits of color at all were a pale blue dish towel hanging from the stove that looked like it had been starched and pressed first and blue curtains and upholstery in the breakfast nook.
To my right was a formal dining room that was pretty darn formal. A heavy, dark table sat in the middle, looking so massive and threatening that I could only guess someone had built the room around it, since no mortal could ever pick up and move such a monstrosity. There were two doors to either side of the stairs, but both were closed.
"Hello?" I didn't get any answer.
I went into the kitchen and called again. N
othing. I was starting to feel like I was replaying this morning all over again, except without the mess and the cat. Now that I was in the kitchen, I could see another door in the right corner. The house must have been built in a square around the staircase. I knocked first, but when I got no response, I opened it and went in.
It was Aodhagan's living room. There was a big-screen TV in the middle of the far wall, and blue-and-white striped chairs and couches surrounded it. The coffee table had a large photography book about Maryland and another about World War II. The whole outside wall was floor-to-ceiling windows, which seemed sort of daring when taken in context with the rest of the house. I could see his backyard. It was another few well-mowed acres with a small pond in the middle, a lazy little river, and a horse grazing near the fence.
There was a fireplace on the other wall and on the mantel a couple of prints with ducks on them. I was having trouble believing that anybody lived in this house at all, let alone a single man. It looked like a demonstration house for a subdivision builder. The corner door between this room and the next was already open, so I just walked in.
There was no one in there anyway but the left-behind presence of Aodhagan MacFarley. Here was a room that was lived in. A pool table in the middle was flanked by a huge entertainment center with another, smaller TV and an advanced sound system that could have blown Birdwell to the other end of Tallatahola County if he'd turned it up to full capacity. The huge bookcase that dominated one whole wall was filled with books. I walked closer and took each title in. They were organized by genre and then alphabetized by author within those groups, so I guessed the cleanliness was actually a trait of his. I immediately noted his large section of science, math, and medical books. His reading tastes were almost as bizarre as mine.
I moved on to examining his CD collection, which contained monumental amounts of jazz, big band, and a touch of the unexpected, like Sting, Barenaked Ladies, Erasure, INXS, and The Cure. Most of them seemed to be complete collections, but he did have a few odds and ends like Ben Folds Five and The Mavericks. Weird.
Digging Up Bones (Birdwell, Texas Mysteries Book 1) Page 4