A Teeny Bit of Trouble

by Michael Lee West

  “So the funeral home is involved in this?”

  “The GBI searched Eikenberry’s. The funeral director talked to them. He says he filled out the cremation papers on Kendall. Apparently Lester arranged for Piney Flatts to do the cremation. Also, to pick up Kendall’s body. But the body never got there.”

  I dragged my shoe through the gravel. “Has the GBI talked to Vlado?”

  “Agents went to his duplex. He’s gone.”

  “Or dead.”

  “Or in the Bahamas. Drinking piña coladas on the beach.”

  “Bet he’s not.”

  Red gazed into the darkness, where crickets shrilled from the weeds. “I don’t want to encourage your wild ideas, homegirl. But I think the Philpots are involved with the kitty litter. I’m not saying they’re selling body parts. More likely, Lester didn’t want the ME examining Kendall’s body. He wanted to hide something. Maybe he paid the winking guy—or Vlado—to dispose of Kendall’s body.”

  I thought of the printout she’d found under the rug. Now she was dead. I’d found a printout behind Barb’s photograph. Was I next?

  After Red drove off, I walked into the house. Before I had time to shut the door, Sir rushed into the hall to greet me. I reached down to pet him and a thick, cottony tiredness took hold. Behind me, through the screen mesh, the crickets stopped buzzing, as if something had disturbed them. A black, sucking silence descended.

  I scanned the driveway. Empty. Then I glanced toward the orchard. The branches creaked. Between the rows, shadows snaked off into the gloom. I slammed the front door and locked it. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was waiting. And watching.

  When I stepped into the kitchen, Asia was making BLT sandwiches. “You look shook up, Teeny.”

  I glanced past him, through the window. “I have a creepy feeling that something’s out there.”

  “It’s probably got four legs,” he said. “But I’ll check it out.”

  Zee stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “I saw a fox earlier.”

  The phone rang. Asia stepped away from the stove and lifted the receiver. “Who’s calling?” he said in a gruff, “how dare you call” voice.

  He listened a moment, then said, “I don’t think she’s here, but let me check.”

  He covered the receiver with a pot holder. “Son Finnegan. Says it’s urgent.”

  “Tell him I’m gone,” I whispered. What did Son want? And how did he know I was here?

  “Sorry, Teeny isn’t home,” Asia said, then his eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t matter who I am. Yeah, yeah. I’ll tell her you called.”

  He banged down the receiver and shuffled back to the stove. The smell of bacon wafted around the room. The phone rang again. Asia sighed and lifted the receiver.

  Please let it be Coop, I thought. Please let him say he’s coming to Georgia. Please let him say he was wrong about the poisoned tree.

  “Anybody there?” Asia paused. He slammed down the phone, cursing under his breath. “How’s a man supposed to cook?”

  * * *

  I awoke early Monday morning and looked out the window. Red’s van was still parked in the driveway. I put on a loose cotton dress and ran down to the porch. I stood there, arms crossed, until he got out of the van.

  “Bad news,” he said. “Picnickers at the lake found a dirt pile. Black hair was sticking out. It was a body. Young, white female.”

  “A frog tattoo?” My fists knotted against my arms.

  “She didn’t have much skin left,” he said. “The medical examiner had trouble identifying the body.”

  The sweltering heat pushed in around me, but I felt cold, so cold. “Animals got to her?” I whispered.

  “Possums did some damage. But they don’t pull teeth. They don’t slice off whole sheets of skin.”

  I sat down hard on the porch step, and my knees began to shimmy. “She was harvested?”

  “Yeah. And somebody went to a lot of trouble to make sure she wouldn’t be identified. Her fingertips were missing, and her eyes had been removed. But her breast implants had serial numbers. That’s how the ME identified her.”

  Nausea was building in the back of my throat. No teeth. No eyes. No skin.

  “You’re looking queasy,” he said. “I won’t tell the rest.”

  “There’s more?” I gripped the newel post.

  “You really don’t look good.” He sat down beside me. “Maybe we should go inside where it’s cool.”

  I shook my head. “Why did they remove her skin?”

  “It’s used for grafts. Collagen injections. Surgeons use it to plump up lips. Big money in that.”

  “Were Kendall’s vital organs missing?”

  “No.” A drop of perspiration slid down his temple, and he wiped it off. “A donor has to be alive for a heart or kidney transplant to work. And the procedure requires paperwork. Laws are in place to prevent trafficking. But quite a few tissues can be removed postmortem. Corneas, veins, skin, teeth, tendons. Corneas are good for about ten hours. But tendons have a longer shelf life.”

  “Who did this to Kendall?”

  “We’ll find out. The GBI went back to Eikenberry’s with a warrant and a team. They found some fishy-looking records. They coulda been altered. And they found discrepancies in the CODs.”

  “The what?”

  “Cause of death. It looks like someone forged tissue donation forms, too. That takes legal know-how.”

  “Josh has an MBA.” I loosened my grip on the newel post. “But he wouldn’t have the skill to remove corneas.”

  “If he’s involved, he probably hired a surgeon.”

  “Norris is an ophthalmologist.”

  “Yeah, but can he remove yards of skin?” Red’s gaze sharpened. “I’m thinking a plastic surgeon would’ve been on the payroll. You know anybody like that, homegirl?”

  “Son would never harvest organs and sell them,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “He’s no criminal.”

  “He’s got the skill.”

  “So does Norris Philpot.”

  Red shoved his hand in his pocket and jiggled his keys. “When did your aunt die?”

  “This past January.”

  Red stopped jingling his keys. “Was she cremated?”

  “No.” I felt sick and put one hand on my stomach.

  “Who handled her funeral?” Red asked.

  I hesitated. “Josh Eikenberry.”

  “Don’t be surprised if you have to give permission for her exhumation.”

  “You’re not thinking she was … She couldn’t have been. She had cancer.”

  Red picked up a rock and threw it. “Maybe the tissue bank wasn’t told about the cancer. See, a few years back, there was a case in New York and Jersey. A funeral home director falsified the COD. Said people died of heart attacks and strokes, but some were riddled with cancer. A chop shop got the cadavers and harvested the organs. The Feds exhumed bodies. Bones had been replaced with plastic pipes. The kind plumbers use. The diseased tissues went into healthy people.”

  I started wheezing. I reached into my pocket, grabbed the inhaler, and dropped it. The cylinder rolled down the steps. Red picked it and set it in my hands.

  “There you go, homegirl. Didn’t mean to upset you. Just want you to be prepared.”

  I was barely listening. My full attention was focused on the Ventolin. I sucked in the acrid vapor, then held my breath.

  “Come back to the O’Malleys’ house,” he said.

  I shook my head so hard, I pulled the inhaler from my mouth. I took an experimental breath, shallow but clear. No wheezing. My bronchial tubes were opening.

  He nodded at the house. “Where’s your bodyguard?”

  “Inside.”

  “He’s doing a shitty job. You need to be in a house with an alarm. And a loaded gun.”

  “Asia’s got a gun.”

  “I ain’t letting him watch you. You’re a precious woman—a little loony at times. But you’re irreplaceable.�
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  I put my head on his shoulder. “I feel the same way about you.”

  “I know who hit you in the mouth,” he said. “Emerson called this morning. She’s worried. You ought to give her a call.”

  “I’m too ashamed. See, I found Barb’s diary. She may have gotten pregnant by some guy named A.M. When the paternity test comes back, I’m going to ask Lester if I can adopt Emerson. Because he doesn’t want her, and I do.”

  Red looked away. “You should discuss that with the boss.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss. Either he’s in or he’s out. But I don’t want to alienate the Philpots. If I cause trouble for Norris, the family will close ranks. And Emerson will be raised by body snatchers.”

  “Let’s go to the O’Malleys’. I’ll keep you safe. And I’ll fix you some lunch, too.”

  All this talk of death was wearing me to a frazzle. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t leave the farm unattended.”

  “Ask your bodyguards to stay. Come on, let’s see how it goes. You’ve got to be in Sweeney this Friday morning for the lineup. If Irene’s house starts to wear on your nerves, we’ll come up with another plan.”

  * * *

  Since Irene wasn’t home, I wandered upstairs, down a long hall that had floor-to-ceiling mirrors. I found Coop’s old room at the end of the corridor. White walls, twin beds with white quilts, black mattress ticking on the windows. Everything was stiff and formal. Robert’s Rules of Order was on the bookshelf, next to The Right Stuff and tennis trophies. Black-framed photos lined one wall. Punctuality awards. Pictures of him and Ava. They looked happy.

  I found my way back to Dracula’s den and sat down on the sofa. In the distance, the phone rang, and I heard Red’s gruff voice. I clicked on the TV. Wild at Heart was playing on Showtime. Sailor and Lula were doing the big nasty in the Big Easy.

  Red handed me a cup of peppermint tea. “You look tense,” he said, then leaned over to scratch Sir’s ear.

  “I am.”

  “Maybe you should read Zen philosophy.”

  “I’ll try anything.” I took a sip of tea.

  “You ever heard of Bruce Lee? He’s an actor and a karate expert. He said water doesn’t have a shape. It’s free flowing.” Red wove his hands through the air. “But if you pour water into a vase, the water assumes the shape of the vase. They’re a single entity. If the vase shatters, the water runs everywhere. It’s shapeless. Chaotic. When things get tough, do what Bruce says. Be water, girlie.”

  “I can’t be what I’m not.”

  “Think you’re tough, don’t you?” He grinned.

  “I aim to please.” I smiled. “Who was that on the phone?”

  “Don’t ask. You’ll just freak out.”

  “I’m already freaked.”

  “A bass fisherman found two bodies in Lake Bonaventure,” he said. “One was Vlado the Russian. The other was the cosmetology girl. Both had ligature marks on their hands and ankles. Whatever was holding them down in the water must’ve come loose. And the bodies floated up.”

  A painful gas bubble was growing in my chest, pressing against my ribs. I raised the cup and inhaled the gut-calming peppermint.

  “The state ME is down here. A crew is exhuming bodies from the Bonaventure Cemetery. The docs are doing posts in a big plastic tent.” Red paused. “The DA will offer Mr. Winky a deal. He’ll talk before it’s over. I’m guessing that the Russian put Kendall in that shallow grave.”

  “But who put Vlado’s body in the lake? Josh is in a wheelchair. He couldn’t do it. Winky’s in jail.”

  “There’s no telling who’s involved.”

  “Like the Philpots?”

  “The Feds haven’t found any evidence that links them.”

  “I might have.” I told him about the printout I’d found at the pharmacy.

  “Inadmissible, girlie,” he said, and launched into a diatribe about the exclusionary rule. I raised my hand.

  “Save it. I may break in that store again. I haven’t cracked all of those anagrams. Barb left something on that wall, and she wanted Coop to find it.”

  “You’re not above the law.”

  “I don’t care. The day Kendall died, I told Coop that someone was harvesting organs. He blew me off. And I was right.”

  “Do you want to be right? Or do you want to be happy?”

  “Quit using psychology on me and act like a detective. Barb’s murder is connected to the chop shop. So is Kendall’s. I bet the Sweeney police arrested the wrong man.”

  “Maybe. A witness saw Barb arguing with a man. They were in a Sullivan’s Island bar.”

  “Coop told me about that.”

  “The police are gonna show the witness pictures. The Philpot brothers, Josh, Winky, the Russian, and Son Finnegan.”

  I set down my cup a little harder than I intended, and it banged against the saucer. “I saw that man in the mask. He was tall and skinny. Son has muscular thighs. And Vlado was stumpy.”

  Red stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Before you go postal, hear me out. The GBI questioned Dr. Finnegan. He admitted that he and Barb had rubbed no-no parts. Then his lawyer showed up, and the doc stopped talking.”

  The gas bubble in my chest burst, spilling acid into my throat. Son and Barb had been lovers? My pulse beat in my ears, train, train, train. Barb had been the engine, and Son was the caboose.

  Red was watching me. “Finnegan could be mixed up in this, homegirl.”

  “Why don’t you test his DNA and see if it matches the sample that was left on my nightgown?”

  “That’s another thing I wanted to tell you. The substance on your gown wasn’t semen. It was watered-down confectioners’ sugar.”

  * * *

  While Red swam laps in the O’Malleys’ pool, I watched TV. The discovery of Kendall’s body had made the Savannah news, minus the gruesome details. A NewsCam tried to interview Mr. Winky outside the jail as he did a perp walk, but he pulled his shirt over his face.

  The portable phone rang and I snatched it up. “Hey, Boots.” Son’s voice poured over me like scalding-hot lava cake.

  I glanced out the window. The pool was empty. “How’d you know where to find me?”

  “Drove by the O’Malleys’ house and saw your truck. Bet Irene is tickled to have you around.”

  “Delirious.”

  “Is Cooter around?”

  “Right beside me.”

  “Sneak out. We can have dinner and catch a movie.”

  “Stop calling me.” I clicked off.

  I heard a rustling noise. I looked up. Red stood in the doorway. “Was that the boss?”

  I shook my head.

  He leaned toward me, giving off the sharp bite of chlorine, and snatched the portable phone. He scrolled through the numbers and his eyes narrowed. “You called Son Finnegan?”

  “He called me.”

  “How’d he know you were here?”

  “Stalkers have their ways.”

  “It’ll kill the boss if you’re seeing Finnegan on the sly.”

  “I’d never do that. If anyone’s cheating, it’s Coop.”

  Red’s mouth opened and closed. “He’s not.”

  “Does Coop work with a brunette lawyer?”

  “You mean Sherry Beth?”

  “Lester said her name was Chlamydia.”

  “Sheesh, no. She’s a nice lady. The boss isn’t interested in her.”

  “I called him yesterday. He wasn’t at the beach. Something was beeping in the background. A TV was blaring. He wouldn’t tell me where he was.”

  Red shoved the phone into the charger. “Boss ain’t banging Sherry Beth or nobody.”

  “Fine. Let’s call him right now.” I lunged for the phone and dialed the beach house. I held out the receiver so Red could hear it ring. And ring.

  I hung up and dialed Coop’s cell, but I got turfed straight to voice mail. Next, I called the law firm, and a curt voice told me Mr. O’Malley was out of the office for the rest of the week.

>   I hadn’t expected that. My hand shook when I set the portable phone back in the charger. I glanced up at Red. “If you know where Coop is, now would be a good time to let me know.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I promised.”

  “Let me get this straight. Coop gets to know where I am, but I don’t get to know where he is?”

  “He’s not doing nothing wrong.”

  “How can he take off the rest of the week? I thought his job was on the line.”

  “The situation has changed.”

  “Okay, tell me one thing. Is he alone?”

  Red tucked a towel around his waist. “Not exactly.”

  “Who’s taking care of T-Bone?”

  “The mutt’s in good hands. Look, I’ll talk to the boss. I’ll tell him you’re upset. If he gives the go-ahead, I’ll explain everything.”

  “You’ll explain? Right.” I led Sir to the truck. We got in and I blasted toward the historic district. By the time I reached Monterey Park, my thoughts had turned to murder. Everyone who’d known about the harvesting was dead. Barb, Kendall, Vlado, and the Gothy cosmetologist. True, Winky had been in jail when the last three victims had gone missing, but he probably had helpers.

  Maybe one of them was Son Finnegan.

  The noon sun skated through the clouds while I drove to the farm. Asia’s van was gone, and so was Zee’s car. I was scared to go inside the house. Sir tapped his paw against my arm, his way of saying, Let’s get out of the heat.

  “But someone could be in the house,” I said. “It’s not safe for you, either.”

  Sir panted, his ears twitching back and forth.

  “Go ahead and say it,” I told him. “You think I’m a coward.”

  His forehead wrinkled, making me think of that scene in Blue Velvet when Dennis Hopper had sniffed nitrous oxide. That movie had centered around body parts, too. I just couldn’t seem to escape it. Not in movies. Not in my imagination. Not in real life.

  Sir wriggled away from me. He ran to the other side of the seat and stretched his paws on the window. Over his head, I saw a column of dust move down the driveway. A gold Corvette shot around the bend and angled in front of the house.