Dead Man's Carve (A Tickled to Death Mystery Book 1)

by Kym Roberts

  Stone’s hands rested on the bar. Still caging me in from the animals on the outside, making me feel like a diver in a shark cage. I picked up the shots and turned toward him. He stared down at me and for the first time since I’d walked in the place, I actually felt a sexual charge — no sleaze or disgust attached. Stone took one of the glasses from me and downed the drink like it was water, his eyes never left mine. I heard the glass clink on the bar behind me, and felt my heart beat stop. Since it’d pretty much been in overdrive since I walked in the place, the freeze felt exhilarating.

  Stone looked at the shot in my hands, and gave a little head nod indicating I should down the contents. I didn’t hesitate. I lifted it to my lips and swallowed it just as quickly and smoothly as he did. Then I gagged profusely.

  Coughing and sputtering I gasped for air, my eyes tearing, my throat and chest on fire with the burning amber liquid. Stone smiled and took the shot glass from my hands and placed it on the bar.

  Leaning forward, his mouth against my hair, he asked, “You ready to go home now, little girl?”

  I shook my head and grabbed for the spunk that brought me here in the first place. “You owe me, Stone.” My voice, raspy from the whiskey, sounded sultry even to my own ears.

  His left eyebrow rose and I knew he was wondering what debt he owed, so I answered. “No woman should suffer that man’s nasty tongue.” I took a deep breath. His eyes traveled from my lips to my cleavage. I continued. “I need you to wipe any trace of that horrible memory out of my mind. For good.”

  Stone’s arms remained on the bar. Never touching me. But his body caressed me. Wiped away the feel of the semi-hard lap I’d experienced with his chiseled granite form. Erased the memory of soft breasts against my ribs with stacked-brick abs. The bite of whiskey had sanitized my mouth from the beer and cigarettes, and when Stone’s mouth captured mine, he annihilated any remnants of the man before him. Starving for what he offered, my hands snaked around his neck and pulled his mouth closer, deeper. My body inflamed with his heat, igniting into a wildfire.

  Stone pulled away — dousing my flames with a dose of reality. Wow. I’d just made out with a virtual stranger in a strip bar.

  “Are you ready to go, now?” His voice completely in control, the exact opposite of my own.

  I nodded, too afraid to meet his eyes lest he see the invitation they undoubtedly held. He pulled me to him, my backside to his chest once more and we walked through the bar like we were invisible.

  That was until Tommy saw us at the front door. He took one look at Stone’s arm wrapped around my middle and his chest pumped up twice its natural size. Nostrils flaring, hands fisting, the lazy-mannered gentleman suddenly revealed a side I’d never seen — a very violent side. And I felt, rather than saw, Stone’s body do the same thing. Armor sliding into place as these two men prepared for battle.

  My voice found the strength it lacked a few moments ago. “Tommy, it’s okay. I came here looking for Stone. And I found him.”

  Tommy stopped short. I wasn’t sure if the disappointment on his face was because I’d chosen Stone, or because I’d chosen to — cheat. He looked at the wedding band on my hand. Seeing myself through his eyes smothered the last wisps of heat flowing through my body. I slipped out of Stone’s protective embrace.

  Only then did Tommy’s understanding eyes return. “I heard one of the customers got randy with you. Point him out and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. To anyone.”

  I looked back across the crowd but couldn’t see my offender in the smoky haze filling the bar. “At first I thought he was older,” I yelled over the music. “But I think it was because he didn’t have teeth and he had a gray beard. One of the dancers called him Carl.” Tommy was nodding while he leaned forward and scoped out the crowd.

  “I think I know who you’re talking about.” He yelled back.

  Stone broke in, “Ask Brandy. She can ID the guy.”

  A look passed between them and a glimpse of pain sparkled in Tommy’s eyes. Brandy Kay was the central cause of that pain. Apparently I’d met Tommy’s girlfriend up close and personal, and not in a way either of us had planned.

  “I’ll do that.” Tommy backed up and allowed us to exit the bar.

  My lungs hungrily took in the sweet crisp smell of mountain air. Compared to the interior of Woody’s, a horse stall filled with manure would be perfume to my senses at that point. That was my very first, and definitely my very last, trip inside a “Gentleman’s Club.”

  Stone kept an arm’s length distance between as we walked across the crowded parking lot in silence. When we reached the front of the store, his fingers brushed my chin, forcing me to look up. At first I thought he was going to kiss me. He didn’t.

  “I said I’d do whatever it took to find my buddy’s killer. That includes going into the last place he worked.” His thumb rubbed my bottom lip now quivering from a combination of emotion and the cold. “Thank you for a wonderful memory.”

  Stone took the key I’d removed from my wallet and unlocked the door. Placing it back in my hand, he guided me inside, but remained on the front porch.

  “If you need me, just call.” He started to back away.

  “I don’t have your number.” Something passed through Stone’s eyes. A hesitation, an uncertainty, something that made me think maybe it was best that I didn’t have it.

  “I programmed it in your phone the first day I met you.”

  “What?” Had I heard him correctly? He snooped around my house and found my phone and programmed his name in it after he carried me home naked?

  This time I recognized the heat in his eyes as he remembered the state of my undress.

  Not naked! I wanted to scream, but licked my dry lips instead.

  Stone chuckled before saying, “Good night, Rilee.”

  “Goodnight, Stone.” The door closed and he waited for me to lock up. Our eyes met as the deadbolt slid home. Then he turned and walked away into the glow of neon boobs.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  What little sleep the night yielded was filled with dreams of the townspeople putting a scarlet letter on my forehead, images of Stone’s naked body, and more clouded dream fragments I just couldn’t bring back into my consciousness in the light of day. I was exhausted when Bogart lapped at my face.

  “Come on, Bogart,” I groaned. “Let me sleep a few more minutes.” I rolled over, turning away from his doggy bad breath. “Maybe hours.”

  “Pppffft. Pppffft.” He sneezed in response. He was the only dog I knew who could sneeze his displeasure and sprinkle you with a continuous shower of spit on command.

  I wiped the slime off my ear. “Alright, alright.” I grumbled and threw back the quilt. “Go wait for me at the back door.”

  The dog looked at me like I’d beat him with a stick, before slumping off the bed and down the hall toward the stairs. He was going to have to learn that, at six A.M, if I haven’t slept well, I’m not a happy camper. Maybe next time he’d let me sleep a little longer.

  I spent minimal time in the bathroom, then slid on Keens that matched my low-rise dorm pants beautifully. My hoodie covered my bare midriff. I brushed my teeth, then ran a brush through my hair before weaving it through the back loop of my ball cap. Then I plodded down the stairs, too tired to open my eyes more than a small slit.

  Bogart waited at the back door, in what was becoming his normal stance — front paws spread out on each side of the glass, nose stuck between the curtains, and eyes watchful for the axe murderers that weren’t coming to Tickle Creek.

  A smile threatened to form on my exhausted mouth. “Let’s go, Bogart.”

  He jumped down, forgetting my rude behavior and said good morning. “Arrrrgghh.”

  I scruffed his head and opened the door. He bound down the stairs, forgetting the porcupine who lived underneath, and ran past the garage toward the edge of the woods, where he proceeded to mark every tree as his own. I sat down on the steps and looked under the porch. Although
the sun had been up for a few minutes, it wasn’t nearly bright enough to illuminate the dark hidey-hole Patty considered home.

  “Are you in there, girl?” I’d been neglecting my pet in favor of Bogart for the past week, and guilt began to rub on my conscience. No movement. When was the last time I’d seen Patty?

  There’d been so much occupying my mind, the sassy little nocturnal rodent had fallen off my radar. And considering Jacob had rescued her when her mother was hit by a car, my sin hit hard in more ways than one.

  My eyes tried to adjust to the low light, but I could only make out that there was something under the porch. Pulling myself up, I glanced back at Bogart to make sure he wasn’t getting into any trouble, then stepped inside for a flashlight and a treat for Patty.

  When I returned, I had a salt cube, a banana, a dog bone, and a flashlight. Mr. Bogart ran over and jumped in the air at the treat he knew I’d brought for him.

  “Arruggg!” He protested when I didn’t let him snatch it out of my hand.

  “Sit.” I commanded, sounding sterner than I felt.

  He sat down in front of me, his eyes glued on the prize. I let him have the bone, which he snatched as fast as he could, then leapt back as if I might retract it. (Like I’d want it.) Setting the bone on the ground, he looked to see if I had anything else. The banana in my hand didn’t interest him in the least, and the salt cube was stashed in my pocket, so he picked up his bone and marched toward the detached open garage that backed up to Woody’s.

  “I’ve got a treat for you, Patty.” I teased, waving the banana in the darkened hole. My attempt to bribe her out of hiding didn’t result in the high-pitched jibber I’d hoped for, and I flashed the light under the porch. Patty kept a clean den — normally. At least when I fed her on a regular basis and there wasn’t a dog around. She even kept the spider webs to a minimum due to her quills rubbing against the underside of my deck. Today, however, I saw a temper tantrum of mass proportion from my girl.

  Underneath my porch I found a gnawed piece of tire rubber, which she’d evidently found on the road and dragged home. I certainly didn’t want people to claim she was the cause of all the tire damage. There was an axe handle that I’d never seen before. That made me re-think how seriously I should be looking for axe murderers. Pieces from bags of fast food from a restaurant I didn’t frequent were scattered from one end to the next, and last but not least, a shoe. An old, ratty, leather lace up that looked to be ancient. And thankfully it wasn’t mine. But my round as a basketball, beady-eyed, black and white porcupine was missing.

  “Where are you, Patty?” I asked the empty space. Then I grabbed the axe handle. No way was I going to leave some creepy killer a tool to use on me, and raked the other items out with the empty-end of the handle.

  “Arrfff! Grr.....arrfff!”

  I turned to see what Bogart had stirred up now, half expecting Patty to walk across the yard. But the grass was empty, the trees swayed in a gentle breeze and the birds continued to chirp, completely unperturbed by my dog’s excited remarks. And Bogart was nowhere to be seen.

  “Bogart?” I twirled around looking for him. Then remembered the bear my dad had warned me about.

  “Grrrrrrr ... rufff!” Bogart’s voice changed. Deeper. Darker. Like he meant business. I lifted the axe handle like a ball bat, ready to take on any murderer who chose my house as his target. The hairs on my arms stood at attention when the birds suddenly stopped in unison and Bogart turned silent. I would not be the victim of an axe murderer.

  My breath coming in short bursts, I re-gripped the handle, wiggling the fingers I could no longer feel. Blood rushed through my ears like white water rapids, and doubt clouded my quickly dissipating bravery. Stupidly I forged ahead, vaguely aware that I was acting like the victim in a horror flick. Dead leaves crunched the announcement of my approach at record levels.

  A shadow streaked out of the garage. I yelped and swung the handle as hard as I could. My swing was magnificent — and connected with nothing but air. Thank God. Bogart leaped across the yard, tossing a new treasure in the air; he raced to pick it up and then repeated the process — playing fetch with himself.

  I laughed with a gigantic exhalation and leaned on my weapon.

  “Arrff!” Bogart tossed his toy at me, and it landed at my feet. A man’s leather shoe that matched the filthy one I’d just dug out from under my porch.

  “Where in the world did these come from?” Afraid to pick it up, I used the trusty axe handle, and scooped it up to take a closer look. Bogart took that as an act of play and jumped in the air to retrieve his chew toy.

  I pulled the stick in closer. “Down, boy,” and got a noseful of the unmistakable stench of filthy feet. “Aaaak, that’s terrible.” I tossed the shoe away and Bogart chased it, loving every awful smell of it. He pounced on it, biting into the leather before I could stop him. His white foamy slobber covering the toe, I remember the tongue that woke me up that morning and thought of the places Bogart put it.

  “No more morning kisses, dog. That part of our routine just got altered. So where did you and Patty get those nasty things?” While Bogart chewed happily on the shoe, I went to the garage, afraid it had turned into a dumping ground for my angry porcupine. The structure was old but sound, with moss growing on the roof. Actually my garage was more like a carport, with one end completely open to the elements. But the sheer depth of the building kept my car protected. I used my flashlight to search for the unwanted garbage source in the deep recesses toward the back.

  Rounding the front of my car, I cringed at how bad the smell was and stopped in my tracks. There in front of me was the source of the smelly shoes. Not in a trash bag, or scattered around like the litter under my porch. But in one large solid lump — of dead body.

  Stumbling back, I cursed my stupidity and swung the light from side to side looking for a killer. Determined not to end up dead, I swung the light up toward the rafters.

  Empty.

  I slid down to the ground, my back against the outer wall, and peeked under my car. Vacant.

  The only occupants — me, the dead guy and a dog makes three.

  Bogart ran past me and grabbed at the coat on the body before I could stop him. Attacking, he growled and shook his head so fast, it blurred in my vision.

  “Bogart! No!” I yelled to no avail. The dog continued shaking the coat with the body attached like a rag doll.

  I couldn’t help but think our entire routine was going to completely change. He could sleep in the shop if he wanted to be cadaver dog.

  I grabbed his collar and yanked him away from the victim. Although I didn’t think he bit the body, I was glad the person was dead so he couldn’t sue me. Dried blood stained through the coat, a small tear just above the stain. Pulling Bogart away, I couldn’t help but look at his face, a face I’d had intimate contact with the night before. The first kiss I’d experienced since Jacob — and he wasn’t any more appealing dead than he had been when he was alive and shoving his nasty tongue in my mouth.

  I yanked Bogart backward and played bumper cars with him, the Prius and the wall as I tried to get him back out of the garage. Once in the open, Bogart panted and looked up at me. I ran toward the house, clenching his collar in my hand, fighting his desire to drag me back.

  Once inside I slammed the door and locked it. Leaning against it, breathing like there was no tomorrow, I realized I’d left my axe handle behind. Great.

  This was Murder with a capital ‘M.’ There was no doubt about this one. The man had been shot or stabbed or something. Trying to catch my breath, I grabbed for my phone to call 911, then stopped, realizing I’d had an altercation with this guy last night. He was dead in my garage. I found the body. I’d be the number one suspect.

  But I wasn’t the suspect. Someone else was.

  Stone.

  No. That was stupid. I didn’t even think Stone saw that part of my night. But Stone was my alibi. I needed him here. Before the police got ideas and only allowed me on
e phone call.

  Frantically I dialed his number. My hands shook so badly, twice I chose the wrong contact in my phone address book. When the ringing started I prayed he’d answer. He did.

  “You’re up bright and early.” His voice was warm and cheerful.

  I didn’t have time for that. “The guy from Woody’s is dead in the back of my garage.”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Did you kill him?”

  “What?” My squeaky voice returned.

  “Did you kill him?” He was talking slower the second time. Like if I did do it, I’d confess to a murder over the phone.

  “Of course I didn’t kill him! But someone did and his body’s in my garage!” Panic threatened to undo me.

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Are you with the body?”

  “Hell no, I’m not with the body!” The pitch of my voice fluctuating so quickly I couldn’t recognize my voice.

  “I need you to go back to the body.” Now he’d done lost his mind.

  “Huh-uh. No way. It stinks. Besides how do I know the killer isn’t still hanging around?”

  “If the real killer is trying to frame you, he’s long gone. Take Bogart with you, just in case.”

  “He started to eat the body.” Revulsion shuttered through my body.

  “He’s a dog. They eat dead meat. Leash him.” He was beginning to breathe hard, and I hoped he was running as fast as he could. “I don’t want you to go back there without protection, but I don’t want you to have a real weapon that will lead the police to conclusions if they get there before me.”

  “How are they going to get here before you? I’ll wait.”

  “No I need you to look for the murder weapon.” Even though he was running, I was pretty sure my pulse was racing a lot faster than his.

  “Can’t I wait until you get here?” It made more sense from my perspective.