The Doom Diva Mysteries Books 1

by Sherry M. Siska

  "Chicken!" I hollered, laughing, as she walked away.

  I changed Jaelyn, pulled up her little black and white polka-dotted romper, and kissed her before I sent her back off to play.

  "I'll be right back," I called to Vanessa, who was pushing one of her kids on the swing. He hopped off while it was in mid-flight, soaring through the air the way I always liked to do when I was a kid. It looked like fun. "I better get rid of this toxic waste."

  "Looks like the closest trash can is back there next to the johns." She pointed back by the rear fence where the two lovely portable toilets, one pink and one blue, stood. The park was still under construction and permanent restrooms weren't supposed to be added until sometime in the fall.

  I picked up the offending diaper and held it out at arm’s length, pinching my nose closed with the other hand. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes, call the cops."

  Vanessa laughed.

  I practically skipped over toward the green ninety gallon trash tote. I lifted the hinged lid of the trash can, swung it open, and tossed in the diaper. That's when Destiny not only called my name, she also spit in my face, thumbed her nose, and blew me a big old raspberry. Lucky me.

  3

  I was about to drop the lid down when something inside the can caught my eye. Then I did something that I've re-played over and over again in my mind, each time saying, "Don't do it, Marty. Don't look down in that trash can!" But, of course, I did.

  At first, I thought that someone had put one of those department store mannequins in the trash can. It was wedged inside: feet and rear end down, knees bent in a semi-crouch. The body slumped over, right hand on the right knee, forehead resting on the hand. The left arm stuck up, lying across the head. The back of the head was a mess. Blood matted the hair so thickly that I couldn't tell what color it was. Flies buzzed around. I whispered, "shoo, shoo".

  Slowly, as if they were controlled by some force outside of me, my hands rose to eye level. I stared at them, comparing them to the one I could see inside the trash can. Then, I did another really stupid thing. I stuck my hand down in the trash can and touched the left hand of the body. It was lifeless, but definitely not plastic.

  That's when it hit me. No, no, no! Bile boiled up from my stomach and my legs went wobbly. All I could think was: Please, this can't be happening! I slammed down the lid, and ran like hell toward the picnic table, trying not to scream. Trying not to throw up.

  "Vanessa!" I tried to shout to get her attention, but my voice caught and it came out in a squeak.

  Suddenly, something took my feet out from under me and I fell backwards, my head hitting the ground. Everything went black.

  I moaned and opened my eyes. Vanessa dabbed at my head with a wet baby wipe.

  "Marty, are you okay? Are you all right? Marty, honey, talk to me." She was trying to be gentle, but dang did it hurt when she touched my head.

  I swatted at her hand. "Nessa, stop! That hurts. What happened?"

  "You ran into that tree branch there." She pointed up at a low-hanging branch. Her face shimmied back and forth. "Are you sure you're okay? You have one heck of lump popping up. Do you know where you are?"

  I stared up at the branch she'd indicated. It shimmied, too. The sunlight filtering through the leaves made intricate patterns, like fairies dancing. The kids were playing Red Rover. "Red rover, red rover, send Adam right over," they chanted. They laughed and shrieked, clanging noises came from the industrial park, but something was wrong. What was it?

  I sat up and felt the knot on my head. "Ouch!"

  "I'll bet. You were running full tilt when you smacked into the tree. I asked you if you know where we are."

  "Morley Park," I said. Then I remembered. "Oh God!"

  "What? What is it?"

  Panic. "We gotta call the police!"

  Vanessa looked puzzled. "The police? What on earth do we need the police for? Here, follow my finger with your eyes. We need to make sure you don't have a concussion."

  I couldn't focus, couldn't track her finger, couldn't stop thinking about the body in the trash can. "The police! Gotta get the police!"

  "Marty, stop it. You're scaring me. What's going on?"

  I sucked in air and grabbed her hand. "Vanessa, there's a dead guy in that trash can. The one I threw the diaper in. We've gotta get the police!" My voice sounded weird, sort of like I'd been inhaling helium.

  "Oh, honey, you're just hallucinating. You know...."

  I cut her off. "No! I'm serious. Go look for yourself if you don't believe me."

  She looked skeptical. "Okay, if it'll make you happy, I'll go look."

  When she reached the trash can I didn’t watch her open it, fearing that she wouldn't see what I'd seen. Fearing that she would. Still, I couldn’t help myself and looked over in time to see her put her hand to her chest.

  I choked back a sob and looked away again. The children were taking turns on the slide. Singing at the top of their lungs. So innocent. So full of life.

  When I looked over again Vanessa gently closed the lid of the trash tote and crossed herself. Automatically, I did the same thing, a silent prayer echoing in my mind.

  I struggled to my feet and went to her.

  "Nessa, we've got to get these kids out of here," I said. "Right now. Then, the police. We have to get the police. I’ll call. You take the kids and go. I'll wait here."

  No answer, just a dazed expression.

  "Vanessa?" I touched her shoulder. "I need for you to take the kids and get them out of here. Now.”

  "Okay." Her voice was weak. Like a frightened child.

  “Just take the kids to your house. I'll come get them as soon as I can," I said.

  "They can just stay there until Charli gets back. I'll fix them some lunch and they can play in the backyard." Her voice sounded flat, emotionless.

  I picked up a weak signal and dialed 911 while she rounded up the kids. Luckily, they hadn't noticed anything was wrong. I was grateful for that. One of Vanessa's kids complained about having to leave. She told him to stop arguing, just get in the van. He looked like he was going to cry, but thought better of. He grabbed Adam's hand and the four older kids trooped off toward the parking lot. Vanessa scooped up Jaelyn and hustled after them.

  It didn’t take her long at all to get Jaelyn’s car seat transferred and within seconds, it seemed, she shot off out of the parking lot, spinning gravel all the way to the train tracks, leaving me all alone in the park with the dead guy.

  I managed to get the basic info relayed to the 911 operator before I lost the signal and the call dropped. I waved my phone around, trying to re-gain the signal so I could call back, but it was a lost cause. The sun passed behind a cloud making everything dark for a few seconds. When it emerged, the boundary of light and dark passed quickly over the park until the whole place was once again bathed in sunshine.

  Another train passed by, this one heading back toward the coal fields, its cars empty and hungry looking. I watched it until it was out of sight, my head pounding along to its clack, clack, clacking.

  While I waited, I went and sat back down on the picnic table. It was hard not to look at the avocado colored tomb, though. Every time I glanced toward it, I pictured those flies buzzing around, some lighting in the blood-caked hair, and that hand, just lying there, so still. So very still.

  The park was quiet and beautiful, the sunlight reflecting off the play equipment. Two little squirrels chased each other around and around and disappeared into the top of one of the oak trees. How could this picture perfect setting contain such a grisly secret? I shuddered.

  On the other side of the railroad tracks, past the industrial park, lay the city of Glenvar, Virginia. Imagine Mayberry on steroids. Daddy says Glenvar isn't just a city, it's a state of mind. Sucker that I am, I'd believed him. I'd always felt safe there, protected.

  Now, though, everything felt different. More common. Even the familiar church spires and the Courthouse clock tower, standing their vigil over the city,
seemed to belong to another place and time. So did the surrounding mountains.

  The gentle, rolling peaks of the Blue Ridge were normally a comforting sight. On that terrible day I didn't find them very appealing. They loomed ominously in the background, making me feel small and alone. I shivered and quickly looked away, hoping the police would hurry.

  It took less than ten minutes for them to arrive. My mom, Maggie Sheffield, beat them by a full five minutes.

  4

  My Mom is gorgeous. Picture Michelle Pheiffer with a southern drawl. Even though she's almost fifty, people always think that she and Charli are sisters. It drives Charli nuts. They look a whole lot alike -- that stylish ash-blonde hair, blue eyes, peachy complexion, small boned -- the exact opposite of me. With my brown curly hair, green eyes, and olive complexion, I'm the spitting image of my dad.

  Mom and Charli both dress real fancy, too. They wear expensive, stylish clothes from the best stores. Again, just the opposite of me. I like jeans, t-shirts, and tennis shoes. The size four, lime green, silk suit Mom wore looked like it cost more than one of my monthly paychecks. It didn't look all that comfortable either.

  She walked toward me, practicing her 'Miss America' smile, giving me one of those lady-like little waves.

  I met her in front of my car. "Mom, do you have some sort of special 'Marty radar' that goes off the second I get involved in anything? How did you know I was here?"

  She gave me a quick hug. "Hi, sweetie, I didn't know you were here." She pulled back and looked me over, her smile fading. "What in the world have you done to your head?"

  "I ran into a tree branch, back there on that big old oak tree." I nodded toward the back fence. Back to where the body sat, not even thirty yards from the tree.

  She hugged me again. "Honey, you've got to start watching where you're going. You could have poked your eye out. I swear, sometimes you are such a klutz."

  I blew out my breath and decided to go with sarcasm. “Well darn. Maybe I’ll get that eye next tine.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It looks like it hurts." She gently touched the bruise. "You don't have a concussion do you? We better get you to the doctor."

  "Ouch!" I jerked my head back. "Don't touch it! I don't need a doctor. I'm fine. I promise, I don’t have a concussion.”

  "For goodness sakes, Martina, let me look at it." She reached for my head again. I backed up a couple of steps.

  I started to tell her about the corpse, but caught myself. I didn't want her to faint or anything. But, then, maybe she already knew about it. I couldn't think of any other reason she would have shown up at the park on a hotter-than-hades August morning. Mom isn't the sort to sit around communing with nature. Especially when nature contains mosquitoes and other pests.

  "What are you doing here anyway?" I asked.

  She fluttered her hand. "Well, it's sort of silly. I interviewed Mayor Mongan this morning." Mom's a reporter for the local weekly, The Glenvar News-Record.

  "I'm doing a story on the new golf course proposal. You know, the one they want to build on top of the old landfill? Anyway, when I got in the car to go over to city hall, I found this note stuck under my windshield wiper blade." She pulled a folded up piece of paper from her jacket pocket and handed it to me.

  "Did you put it there?" she asked.

  "No."

  I opened the note. It was typed on lined paper. The paper still had the ragged edges where it had been ripped from a notebook. I read it aloud:

  “Your next scoop? Waiting for you at Morley Park. Look in the dumpsters.”

  At the bottom of the note was a crude drawing of the portable toilets and the trash can where I'd found the body. A big star was drawn on the front of the trash can. Obviously, whoever had put the body in the trash can wanted Mom to find it. But why?

  "Isn't that the silliest thing," Mom said. "Marty, what's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"

  “It’s a body.” I shook the note. "In the trash can. There's a dead guy in the trash can you're supposed to look in."

  "You're kidding, right?"

  "Mom, would I kid about something like that?"

  She slumped back against my car, looking horrified. "No. I guess you wouldn't. Do you know who it is? Was?"

  "No. I didn't look that closely." I leaned next to her.

  She didn't say anything, just stood there staring toward the trash can.

  "You're going to get your suit dirty." I gently touched the hem of her jacket, rubbing the silk between my fingers like I'd done as a child.

  "Not to worry, it's old. I can always send it to the cleaners."

  She brushed her hair back from her face. "So you must have received a note, too."

  "No. I didn't get a note. I just happened to open the trash can and find the body. See, I was baby-sitting the rugratsCharli for Charli. They were driving me and poor Delbert nuts, so I brought them here. I had to change Jaelyn, and when I went to throw the diaper away, that's when I found - well, you know."

  She gasped. "The children were with you? They didn't see the body did they?"

  "No, don't worry. They don't even know anything was wrong. I'd give anything to be that innocent."

  She looked around, as if she expected the kids to suddenly pop out of some secret hiding place. "Where are the little angels now?"

  Angels? Charli's kids? The heat was affecting her mind. Or maybe it was that family history of insanity I mentioned before.

  "Vanessa Young was here. She took them with her. We didn’t want them here when the police arrived. She's going to keep them until Charli gets home."

  Mom pressed her hands against her chest. "Thank the good Lord you found the body! Can you imagine if one of the kids had found it? That just gives me chills." Her eyes teared up and she dabbed at them with a tissue, careful not to smear her makeup.

  "I know, me too. I'm so glad Vanessa was here. I don't know what I'd have done if I'd been by myself. Probably panicked or something," I said.

  "You would have handled it somehow. You're strong." She straightened up and brushed off her skirt. "I'm going to go have a look."

  "What?" I said, pushing off the car and grabbing her arm. "You can't do that! The police will be here in a minute and besides, it, it, it might make you sick."

  She shot me her 'don't be ridiculous' look. "Nonsense. I'm a reporter. If I want to have the best story, I need to see the body." She pulled loose from me and headed toward the entrance gate.

  I could almost see the wheels grinding in her head. Mom's determined to get a job working for the Roanoke Times, the big daily paper located in the city that's about twenty minutes away from Glenvar. I'm sure she was thinking that this story was going to be the one that got her foot through that particular door.

  When she reached the gate, she turned around and winked at me. "Don't worry, I won't disturb anything." She flashed me a smile. "I know all about police procedures."

  She pulled a leather bound steno pad and a pen from her purse. I watched her as she walked through the gate. It clanged shut, bouncing back and forth a few times.

  "Hey, Mom," I said, "wait up."

  I squeezed my eyes shut as she opened the trash can with a tissue. "I don't want to leave fingerprints," she explained.

  I opened my eyes. "Mom, this is nuts. I can't believe you're doing it."

  "For goodness sakes, nobody said you had to look again. Go on over there and sit on that table or..." Her voice trailed off.

  She dropped the lid down. But not before I'd peeked in again. It was exactly as I remembered it: swarming flies, blood-matted hair, and that lifeless hand. Only something else.

  I lifted the lid back up and looked again. "Wart? Mom, it's Warthog Turner!"

  Warren 'Warthog' Turner. The guy voted most likely to go to prison in an informal class poll our senior year. The guy who, if someone had said to me, 'Marty, you're going to find someone you know, dead in a trash can, guess who?', would have been my first, last, and only answer.

 
I closed the lid and turned around to face Mom. She wasn't there. She was bent over inside one of the portable toilets somewhat inelegantly losing her breakfast. I waited until she'd finished, and went over to her. She mopped at her face with a tissue, not caring whether she smeared her makeup or not.

  I put my arm around her and led her over to what I now thought of as 'my' picnic table. Her face was very pale and her eyes were blurred with tears. She trembled slightly as we sat down.

  "Are you okay?" I asked gently.

  She gulped for air. "I didn't think he'd look so, well, so dead!" she said, after a few more gulps.

  I didn't say anything. I heard the sirens and then the gravel spraying as a police car, followed closely by an ambulance and a fire truck, screamed up to the entrance gate.

  "We better go out and meet them," I said, pulling Mom to her feet and out toward the parking lot.

  5

  "Warthog? You mean Warren Turner?" My human best friend, Tim Unser, who also happens to be a Glenvar police officer, scratched his nose and gave me one of those looks that amounts to a mental pat on the head.

  I nodded vigorously. "It's Wart. I'm positive."

  "Warren. Warthog. Dead." Tim still had that look.

  "Tim, you're regressing here. Pretty soon you'll be babbling worse than Jaelyn. Snap out of." I gently swatted him on the arm. You'd have thought I hit him with a baseball bat or something.

  He rubbed his arm. "Ow. Geez, Marty, you don't have to hit me, you know."

  He looked over at the trash can. There was a whole knot of people around it, some of them looking inside, some stringing up yellow crime scene tape, all of them shouting and waving their arms around. There were people looking around on the ground, some searching the parking lot, one officer was down by the railroad tracks keeping rubberneckers away; the noise level had gone up about ten-fold. It reminded me of one of Ricky Ray's records -- lots of banging and clanging, and every once in awhile a word you could actually make out.