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

by Kym Roberts

  Stone smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile, but it held a hint of satisfaction. A bit of ‘I told you so,’ and relief that his friend hadn’t neglected to reach out for help when he needed it most.

  I smiled back at him. “You did it. We need to bring this to the police. It not only proves that Carl went after Max, but that Tommy told him where he could find Max. It could be Tommy’s motive for killing Carl.”

  Stone ejected the disc from the machine. “No. First I need to speak to Max’s mom.”

  He surprised me with that one. “His mom? Why?”

  “She deserves to know the truth first. And she’s the current owner of Woody’s.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The clock coo-coo’d three times. Stone hadn’t contacted me since leaving with the DVD the night before. I suspected it hadn’t been easy for him to talk to Max’s mom. Dredging up the pain of the past and then being unable to find justice for her son because his killer was already dead, wouldn’t be something any mother would want to hear. But the police were working the case. I’d seen them hit every business in town this morning. Every business except mine.

  From the perch behind my register, I’d watched Det. Maury and her partner shake hands, write in their little pads of paper and point to various points of interest in the town. But they hadn’t questioned Tommy. And he was the key to Carl’s motive for following Max into the woods with that knife.

  Det. Maury had gone in to Dara’s salon and I had a moment of guilt for not giving her a heads-up. I didn’t think she was involved, but I believed there was a possibility that she knew something that would crack this case wide open. And with Max’s case being reopened, I hoped that would put suspicion on Ryan’s case as well. What with Ryan’s watch found on Carl’s arm along with the video of the knife, I firmly believed the coroner had missed the actual cuts that killed Max and Carl.

  As the minutes ticked by, I began to lose hope that Brandy Kay would return my phone calls. Tonight should have been Missy and Ryan’s rehearsal dinner. If I was going to give the set to her, I needed the bride. Now. But it seemed no one wanted to answer their cell phones today, especially Brandy Kay.

  In three and a half hours I would be meeting Missy to give her the bride — or tell her I was making another one. I’d finished sanding down and filling all the teeth marks Bogart had put in the groom. Then I’d painted him and put on another finish coat. Unless you knew what you were looking for and where the marks had been, the imprints were unremarkable. I certainly wasn’t going to break the news to Missy. It’s bad enough that she had to live with images of her real groom being eaten up and spit out by a train, she didn’t need a constant reminder of his gruesome death sitting in front of her. No, this was to remind her of how much Ryan loved her.

  “If you have any questions, just ask.” I told the couple from Missouri as they browsed through my store in their black and gold Tigers t-shirts. We’d had a friendly sparring match about the merits of the college football, specifically my Oregon fowl and their Missouri kitty cat and I’d enjoyed the reprieve, in spite of the stress the passage of time was causing me.

  I dug out my Exacto knife, put a fresh blade in the end and then shoved the extra blades in my rear pocket. I’d developed a habit of using the knife when another local carver showed me the results she obtained by using them to smooth out the finished product. I gently smoothed out the curve of the bride’s head as an ache in my own head began to form and the birds on the clock continued to tell me I was crazy at each half hour.

  Coo-coo. Coo-coo.

  Maybe I was. I’d been hoping for a call for the last twenty-four hours. After seeing Brandy Kay with Tommy the other night, it was clear she’d decided to stand by her man even if it meant starting anew in a lowly cabin. Which gave me hope that she’d give up the bride before Tommy got arrested.

  The church bells on my phone chimed to announce a call, and upon seeing Brandy Kay’s phone number light up the screen, I immediately began to wonder about divine intervention.

  “Brandy Kay!” I said with more enthusiasm than I’d planned.

  Be cool. Don’t pressure her.

  I cleared the sudden frog in my throat. “I was hoping you’d call.”

  “I’m sorry —” Her apology ended with a sudden intake of breath.

  “For what?”

  “For – for not returning the sculpture sooner. Can you meet me at Woody’s? I — I’m packing up my stuff and … leaving.” Her voice faltered.

  “Did you get another job?” I hoped she found a job that didn’t involve taking her clothes off.

  “Yeah. In — in Sandy.”

  “Congratulations. What are you going to do?”

  I could hear her packing things up in the background and wasn’t surprised when she asked, “Can you come get the sculpture now? I need to get going.”

  “Of course. As soon as my customers leave, I’ll be right over.”

  “Okay.” She hesitated. “Rilee?” Brandy grunted into the phone.

  “Yeah?”

  “I really am sorry.” The line went dead before I could tell her it wasn’t a big deal, I was just happy I’d be able to give the bridal set to Missy.

  I pushed the end button and stuck my phone in my pocket just as the couple walked up to the counter. After explaining the piece they selected, a sea turtle, was carved out of Suar Wood (or Rain Tree) from South America, I told them it was a popular wood for carvers due to the fast growth of the tree, and how the intertwining grain actually kept sculptures from cracking. They’d already appreciated the beautiful marbling swirls throughout the piece that the wood created.

  I said goodbye as they exited the store, and acted as calm as I possibly could, I failed miserably. When the bell on the door stopped ringing, I ran and flipped the sign to Closed and went through the back of the store to my house.

  Bogart greeted me at the door, eyes shining, butt wiggling.

  “You have to stay, boy.”

  I made it to the back door before he replied, “Aaarrrooo.”

  I glanced at the dog who obviously had to ‘use the tree,’ as Stone would say, and realized I hadn’t let him out since early that morning.

  “Okay,” I capitulated. “But you have to make it quick.”

  I opened the door and he ran toward his favorite spot, but he didn’t want to stop there. Bogart was ready for a walk.

  “Let’s go, boy.” I patted my side hoping he could wait and I’d take him out again when I got back. For the first time, he ignored me and ran to the next tree. Anxious to get the bride before Brandy Kay changed her mind, I made my way to Woody’s back door where the fresh scent of the woods was masked by the rotting trash in the dumpster. The odor filling my nostrils as I knocked on the door.

  In a few minutes I would have the bride to give to Missy, and I’d be one step closer to giving her the closure she needed.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The rusty brown metal door inched open, then groaned with indignation at being brought to a halt as huge aqua-marine eyes peered out.

  Brandy Kay’s arm snaked out and grabbed me — yanking me off balance as her talons dug in. Before I knew it, I was standing in a dimly lit storage room, my back to the door with her next to me, breathing hard. Her chest heaved much higher than my own.

  What struck me as odd was the man standing in front of us. He didn’t belong. Even if I had seen him enter the club on several of the DVDs I’d viewed from the last year. The gun in his hand made even less sense. Especially since it was pointed at my chest.

  “Brendan, what are you doing here?” I asked.

  “What’d you tell them, Rilee?” Brendan’s question sounded more like a demand.

  “Tell who?” I looked at the gun to see if this was a joke.

  No joke. The damn thing was real.

  “The police.” Brendan ground out.

  “Nothing. Why?” Totally confused, I looked at Brandy Kay, who scooted away from me and wiggled her way toward my friend.
Brendan. The town pharmacist, who wore a short sleeve plaid shirt and pleated slacks. In his dressy brown loafers, he was the last person I would suspect to own a gun. Obviously, I was clueless when it came to profiling gun owners.

  “With Carl’s death, the investigation was supposed to stop. But it hasn’t. If anything it’s opened up too many events of the past.” Carl explained it to me like it was all supposed to make sense now.

  It didn’t.

  A bottle crashed to the floor in the room to my right. Brendan froze and cocked his head at the noise.

  “Is there someone else here?” I whispered.

  Brendan laughed. A terrible, evil sound that didn’t come close to the nerdy snorts I was used to him making.

  “That would be Tommy. It seems he doesn’t hold his liquor well.” Brendan explained. Brendan waved the gun toward the doorway. “After you, ladies.”

  Brandy Kay was still breathing like she might hyperventilate. We both had on skinny jeans and t-shirts, but whereas I wore combat boots that matched my oversized blue shirt, with two braids in my hair, Brandy Kay balanced on sparkly stilettos that matched the rhinestones in her body sculpting tee. And glorious waves of curls framed her face. We looked like Pippy Long Stocking and Marilyn Monroe. (Unfortunately that defined the shapes of our bodies as well.)

  I’d say our moods were similar to the two Hollywood icons. Marilyn was acting very girly and helpless. While I, Pippy, wasn’t so much cocky in the face of danger; rather, I was totally clueless; fear hadn’t quite reached my brain.

  This was Brendan, my pharmacist. The guy who advised me what to buy when I had a sniffle and cautioned against the overuse of antibiotics. He’d even encouraged me to renew my birth control pills. I pushed off the door, still trying to understand what was going on, while Brandy Kay scooted — her heels clickety-clicking as she clung to my arm.

  She seemed to know where we were going and why, the three of us in a procession that would have had the old Brendan snorting. This version scowled and waved the gun to indicate I should keep walking, each time I looked over my shoulder.

  We walked through two double doors into what appeared to be the strippers’ dressing room. Sitting along a long granite counter were seven director style canvas chairs, each in its own partitioned space. Below each station were drawers, no doubt filled with makeup, hair paraphernalia and costume jewelry. Clear light bulbs trailed around the mirrors in each cubicle for the dancers to create a professional makeup application. If we weren’t in a strip club, I’d think we were in a Broadway dressing room.

  Racks and racks of skimpy, glittery clothing lined the wall to my left, and a kitchenette and bathroom were located to my right.

  “I never expected such a nice place.” I said without thinking. Then my eyes stopped on the third cubicle from the end where a small sculpture of a bride stood alone on the counter.

  Brendan snorted. “Dreams of becoming a stripper, Rilee?” I glared, no longer thinking of his boyish noise as cute.

  Brandy Kay added a little commentary. “Woody wanted a class act.”

  “You talk as if you knew him.” Maybe I had been living in my own little world too long. I seemed to be the only one oblivious to Woody’s history.

  “Woody lived on the ‘Only Men’ mountain. He died a few years back and then his grandson took over. But then he died, and the place has been going downhill ever since.” Brandy Kay looked at Brendan like he was responsible for the decline in the strip club’s standards.

  She knew the bar from the inside out. I should have asked her about Max a long time ago. “Was his name Max?” I asked, knowing darn well it was.

  “So you weren’t completely oblivious to the hunky vet who eyed every woman in town like they were candy.” From the tone in Brendan’s voice, it was obvious he’d known Max and had been jealous.

  “The only thing I know about him came from my da…” I stopped short. I really didn’t remember Max. He’d shown up when life was a struggle for me to even get out of bed. There were moments in time that just didn’t exist for me. But my dad had stood by and watched me. As had the town.

  Brendan’s forehead smoothed with determination. Like any of the good I’d known in him had turned to dust and blown away with the ripples of doubt.

  “So daddy Dust knows.”

  I slowly shook my head in denial. Making sure he understood my dad knew nothing. Saw nothing. But my heart rate caught up with the situation. Bringing up my dad’s name and seeing Brendan’s resolve to eliminate anyone he believed posed a threat to whatever he’d been doing, honestly scared the crap out of me.

  My mind searched for a weapon, any kind of weapon, and suddenly I remembered the Exacto knife in my pocket. I began backing away very slowly, toward the rows of glittery costumes.

  “I don’t even know what’s going on, Brendan. My dad is completely clueless.” Although I was beginning to wish he wasn’t.

  He hit me from behind. I didn’t see it or hear it coming. Big arms encircled me. I screamed for all I was worth before being slammed into one of the partitions. With my chest crushed, the scream in my throat disappeared. I heard mumbling in my ear, but I had no idea what was said. Fear rocketed through my system, but I fought to control it as I fell. In the mirror, I saw the man I’d hoped to avoid. The man I’d be fighting to the death.

  Tommy — more than twice my size and responsible for three murders, had me pinned. I grabbed for the Exacto knife that I could still reach in my rear pocket. Sliding it free, I pushed the blade out and slashed at one of the arms encasing me. Blood sprayed everywhere and a long hiss drawled out of his mouth.

  This time the scream didn’t come from me. It was Brandy Kay’s turn.

  Tommy released me as if stung, withdrawing and sending me stumbling forward into a director’s chair. I watched as he staggered backward, seeing the blade held firmly in my hand. I was good with it — on wood. Flesh was another story. Brandy Kay started toward Tommy, but Brendan held her back. The four of us stared at each other, silence entombing us with the echoes of our breathing. Sad, frightened, angered. And totally frickin’ confused. Four people and a multitude of emotions in the midst of a drama none of us wanted. The cuckoo clock wouldn’t dare make a noise if it were here. It would freeze like the rest of us.

  Tommy broke the silence first — his words incoherent. I stared, wondering if adrenalin could possibly make me unable to understand him. His eyes focused on me — pleading. Until they turned on Brendan and Brandy Kay and exploded with fury. He burst off the wall and I jumped away. Everyone was moving. A shot rang out. Then the pitch-black darkness hit hard against my skull.

  ***

  To say my head was split wide open with pain was an understatement. It surged back and forth, mainly gravitating to one spot on the right side of my head that wanted to erupt like a volcano — angry and mean like Mount Saint Helens in 1980. Wet goo trailed down the side of my face, and a sweet, fruity smell roiled my stomach. I turned my head just before heaving my guts up, and then wanted to scream from the raw pain vibrating through my skull.

  I don’t like being sick. The thought pissed me off. Only a wimp would allow themselves to throw up uncontrollably. I should have made it to the restroom. I’d have to clean that up. Clean up my face and hair that stuck to my neck with perspiration. This was all I could think: Must. Clean. Up. But all I could do was drop my head and keep my eyes closed until the pain subsided. If this is what a migraine felt like, I never wanted to experience another.

  A vague memory of Tommy’s fury seeped through the relentless waves of throbbing through my skull. Brandy Kay stumbling backwards in her heels. My bride in her hand, Missy’s white bridal gown in dark contrast to Brandy Kay’s jeans. I forced my eyes open.

  Brendan sat in front of me. His face angelic in its evilness.

  “I see you’re fully awake.”

  A moan at my feet brought my attention downward. Tommy lay helplessly on his side in a reverse fetal position — hands and feet bound with d
uct tape, the two bindings then attached behind his back, hog-tied.

  I wasn’t sure which one of us hurt more, but despite the pain, relief flowed through me. “You got him. Now we can call the police.”

  That horrible laugh returned. The one I’d learned to hate right before I lost consciousness. I squinted through the pain at Brendan, realizing I was still missing a huge piece of this puzzle.

  “You shot me.” The memory was a shock to my system. I looked up at my friend in amazement.

  He shrugged. He literally shrugged. Like ‘shit happens’ or ‘c’est la vie.’ The man had pointed a semi-automatic handgun at me and pulled the trigger.

  I began cataloging my aches and pains. The worst one was my head, which explained the goo running down the side of my face and neck.

  “It’s really not that bad. Just a scratch on your temple. It could have been worse.”

  I stared at the man I thought I knew.

  “Why?”

  He snorted. I hated that snort.

  “I was actually aiming for him,” Brendan nodded toward Tommy at my feet. “But Brandy Kay has a soft spot for him so when she hit my arm, my shot went wide and struck you.” He looked over at Brandy Kay, like a parent chastising a child. It was the first time I noticed she was still in the room. Standing near the doorway, her arms hugging her trim waist. And her cheek sported a visible handprint wrapped in a deep pink outline. Someone had hit her, and if I was putting bets on it, I’d say it was Brendan.

  “But thank you for taking him down for me. That made things much easier. Somehow he escaped the rope Brandy Kay had tied him up with. I don’t think he can get away now.” The confused look on my face made Brendan explain. “When you went down, you effectively tackled him. You were out like a baby, and Tommy has been fighting the rohypnol Brandy Kay put in his tea since this morning, so getting back up was difficult for him.”