“Are you okay with me recording this? It’s not like a formal statement or anything. It’s just for me, so I remember what you said.”
“Yeah, that’s cool.”
“Do you know her aunt’s name?”
“Something weird.” Keko kicked the toe of her black combat-style boot repeatedly into the ground as she tried to remember. “Flavia! That’s it. Ain’t that weird?”
“It is unusual.” I liked unusual names. Made tracking the person down much easier. “Did you ever see the aunt? Can you describe her?”
Keko shook her head. “Never saw her, but Yasmine used to pick on her a lot.” Keko gestured around her head like she was pulling her hair back. “Guess she wears her hair in a bun so tight her eyes get squinty. Yasmine used to hold her hair back then purse her lips and look down her nose and pretend to be her.”
Sounded exactly like the woman at the sheriff’s station. “Does this Flavia wear long baggy dresses?”
She shrugged and shook her head. “Dunno.”
“Do you know what they fought about?”
“No clue,” Keko said too quickly. “Something stupid. Something about Yasmine not being pure. Whatever that means. Yaz was really wasted that night she was talkin’ about it. Wasn’t making a lot of sense. And she wouldn’t talk about it no more after that.”
Pure? Was that the same thing as being an Original? Or did purity have to do with Yasmine’s peepshow-like style of washing cars?
“I heard she was trying to make money,” I said.
“Yeah. She didn’t have enough to get back to Milwaukee after her aunt kicked her out. She was planning to stay here, as in permanently, but her aunt wasn’t too happy with Yaz’s career choice.” Keko laughed. “Don’t know if you know what Yaz looked like, but damn, the girl was stacked and had the tightest ass I’ve ever seen.” Keko’s cheeks flushed red. “Not that I check out girls’ butts or anything like that. Anyway, she put on this teensy little bikini and set herself up at either the parking lot by the creek or over by the hotels next to the lake. She’d get buckets of water from either the creek or the lake, get herself all wet.”
Keko mimicked carrying a bucket clutched to her chest instead of by the handle.
“That’s how she carried it?” I asked.
“Yeah. Said it added to the show.”
“The show?”
“No one’s gonna pay fifty bucks to have some chick wash their car. But a girl in a bikini with her nips poking out? It was a total show. She made good money.”
“She must’ve been cold,” I said and shivered. “That was two weeks ago and it still isn’t bikini weather.”
Keko laughed again, but this time it sounded hollow. Like the high school girl who didn’t make the cheerleading squad but was trying to convince you how happy she was that her best friend did. And for someone who claimed she didn’t know Yaz well, she sure had a lot of answers.
“Did you ever help her?”
“Washing? Yeah. She let me help once. We figured two girls would earn twice as much. Didn’t work out that way. She said she could make more on her own.” Keko’s face darkened for a moment. “Guess I understand. Like I said, she made good bank.”
“Did she have enough to go back to Milwaukee?”
“Made enough, sure. But she decided she was gonna stick around for the summer. It was almost Memorial Day, and she had her performance down to a freakin’ science. She knew she wouldn’t make that kinda money back home flippin’ burgers or whatever.” Keko’s shining, almost proud smile faded to a frown. “Then she got sick.”
“Sick how?”
She pulled the blanket off her shoulders and hugged it in front of her like a protective shield. “First, she started puking a lot. She said her stomach hurt real bad. Then her head started hurting and she got diarrhea. It was bad.”
“Do you think she caught a bug or something?”
She shook her head. “Food poisoning.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because she went to The Inn with this guy one night.” Keko huffed and shook her head again. A heavy scowl tugged at her brow.
What did that reaction mean? Disappointment maybe? Disgust? Whatever it was, she clearly didn’t approve of Yasmine’s date.
“It was right after that she got sick.”
“Have you heard of anyone else getting sick that night? If it was food poisoning, it’s likely more people contracted it, especially since The Inn has such a small menu.”
“No, didn’t hear of no one else. Besides, with food poisoning you’re better in like a day. I know, I had it before. Yaz kept getting’ worse. I told her to go to the doctor. I was plannin’ to drag her there that next morning.”
“You mean the morning after she died?”
Keko nodded somberly. “I shoulda took her right away. Food poisoning don’t last that long. You know?”
“Depends on the person and whatever caused the poisoning. E coli, for example. Some people get sick from it and get better. Others get sick and die.”
“Guess that’s true.”
“So, this guy she went to The Inn with. Do you know his name?”
“Yeah, I do.” She gave a half pout, half frown that was full of attitude. “That guy you work with. Martin Reed.”
Chapter 15
What was I supposed to do with this information? Yasmine Long goes out to eat with Martin Reed, gets sick, and a few nights later she dies? I couldn’t go to the sheriff with this information. Could I? He must know that his nephew went to dinner with the victim. Whispering Pines had a population of less than one thousand. They all seemed to know everything about each other, down to when to put out an arm to catch a fellow villager from falling.
Maybe Keko was wrong about this. Maybe she only thought Yasmine had gone out with the deputy. She was high on weed, and who knew what else, right now. Maybe she was confusing the details. After all, I asked Martin flat out if he knew Yasmine. He insisted he didn’t.
Then again, I hadn’t been sure I believed him.
“Thanks for your help, Keko,” I said and switched off the recording app. “Will you be around for a while? In case I have any follow up questions.”
“I’ll be here. At least through next weekend.”
Keko joined her friends again while I stood by Yasmine’s tent, staring at the zippered doorway.
“Hey guys?” I called out to the group. “Has anyone come by to look through Yasmine’s things?”
“Haven’t seen anyone” and “Me either” and “Don’t know” were the responses that rose from the group like the cloud of tobacco smoke that surrounded them.
“Have any of you been inside since Yasmine died?”
“Why would we do that?”
“Couldn’t pay me to go in there.”
“Do you know what she was doing in there? Put on a hazmat suit first, lady.”
I turned back to the tent, absently patting my nonexistent jacket pocket for the third time in twenty minutes. This time I was looking for a pair of rubber gloves. Instead, I used the hem of my T-shirt to grab the tent’s zipper pull, but Tripp interrupted me before I could open it.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I can’t believe the sheriff hasn’t been here yet. It’s been nearly three days since I reported Yasmine’s death. As far as I know, the only pressing thing he’s got going on right now is investigating a break-in at Shoppe Mystique.”
“A break-in?” Tripp asked.
“Someone stole some beans. Must be magical beans considering the commotion Morgan is making over them.” I shook my head. “Sorry, that’s not very professional. I actually got calls for reports similar to that all the time in Madison.” I laughed out loud. “One day, an eight-year-old kid called 9-1-1 because his stuffed pig was missing. He was sure the neighbor’s dog had climbed in through his bedroom window, on the second floor, and run off with it.”
“Did you go on the call?” Tripp laughed along with me.
> “I was in the neighborhood and you never know when they’re in real trouble and saying anything, no matter how weird, in order to get some help. So yeah, I went. His mother was horrified when I showed up at the door. Since I was there, I searched his room and found the missing pig stuffed between his mattress and the wall. My first successful missing person recovery. Or missing porcine, in this case. Then we had a discussion with him about only calling 9-1-1 in an emergency.”
“But it was an emergency to him, right?” Tripp asked with a look of empathy.
“If you could’ve seen the way that boy clutched that pig. Honestly, I’ve returned children who wandered away at festivals and the parents didn’t react with that much emotion. So, yeah, I guess stolen beans qualify as legitimate.”
“Don’t you think you should let Sheriff Brighton search the tent? Aren’t there procedures or something?”
“I might be breaking rank, but I am following procedures,” I said. “I’m just going to take a peek.”
I unzipped the tent door and immediately gagged as the unmistakable smell of sickness hit me like a slap to the face. A sleeping bag, pillow, and thin sleeping pad covered one half of the small A-frame. Clothing, two backpacks, a tote bag, and empty food containers cluttered the other side. Using my phone’s camera, I took pictures, documenting the contents of Yasmine’s tent from my crouched position in the doorway, careful to not cross the threshold and contaminate the scene. Besides, I had no idea what Yasmine died from and didn’t want to catch whatever bug might still be crawling around in there.
From beneath one of the pines, I found a tree branch long enough to reach across the tent. I used it to pull the tote bag close to me. After a quick peek inside the tote, I walked over to Keko’s group.
“I’ve another question.” I directed it at Keko, but spoke loudly enough that they could all hear. “Do you have any idea how Yasmine ended up down by the lake? Did she tell you where she was going?”
“All I heard her say was that she felt like she was going to puke again,” Keko answered. “Two whole days, she never left that tent except to go to the bathroom. Sometimes she didn’t make it in time.”
That explained the smell.
“She had the runs real bad,” a guy with a full mountain man beard added. “She couldn’t make it all the way to the toilets over there.” He pointed to a small wooden building set up near the middle of the campground. “She did her thing behind some trees over by her tent. I’d stay away from that area if you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean.” I made a face. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Duane. Duane Crawford.”
I jotted the details on a note taking app in my phone.
“You don’t know why Yasmine would have wandered down by the lake?” I asked.
“She wasn’t making a lot of sense,” Keko said. “Kinda delirious or whatever.”
“If she’d been vomiting and had diarrhea that badly,” I said, “she was most likely dehydrated. Delirium can result from severe dehydration. Regardless, when a person is that sick, it’s hard to think clearly.”
Keko frowned. “She probably went to do her thing by the tree and went the wrong way. Or maybe she just wanted some fresh air and got lost.”
“Any chance that someone lured her to the lake?”
“Lured her?” Keko asked. “Why would you think that?”
“I heard that she entertained guests in her tent.” I could be way off with this, it was just a hunch, but if it was true these people might know.
Duane snickered. “Dudes.”
Keko spun on him. “You make her sound like a hooker.”
“Well,” Duane began.
“Shut up,” Keko snapped with more anger than seemed appropriate. “She wasn’t no hooker.”
“If she had men in her tent,” I said, “there could’ve been a significant other looking to enact a little revenge on her.”
“If?” Duane asked. “New night, new dude.”
Keko glared at him but didn’t disagree. She added, “Not those last two nights. She was too sick.”
I thanked them and went back toward the tent but didn’t stop there. At the moment, I was trying to see everything through Yasmine’s eyes.
I’ve never been this sick. Everything hurts and I can’t think clearly. There’s nothing left in my stomach, I’ve been puking for two days. I drop to my knees as my stomach clenches again and dry heave. The cool, moist night air feels good on my hot face. My tent has become toxic with my stench and sickness. Maybe being outside, breathing in some fresh air, will help clear my confused head.
Walking through the woods, I stop every now and then to lean against a tree and wait for the forest to stop spinning. When it does, I take in a deep breath and walk a little further. Wait. Am I heading back to the tent? The trees are obscuring the moonlight, so it’s too dark and I can’t tell which direction I came from. Walking again, I stumble, or maybe I tripped on something. I put my hand out to steady myself against a tree. Except my hand misses and I collide face first into the tree. Now I have an abrasion on my left cheek . . .
“Jayne!”
I blinked and looked around, Yasmine’s dark night cleared away and the current day lit woods came back into focus. I was me again. Behind me, Tripp stared like I’d lost my mind. I hadn’t, only slipped into someone else’s for a minute.
“Where are you going?”
Squinting, I could just make out the lake through the dense forest. “I’m walking the path Yasmine likely took to end up at the lake. That’s a tactic I use sometimes. It helps me get a better idea of what the victim might’ve been thinking or experiencing.”
I glanced at the lake, grateful that the last thing she saw was something peaceful and beautiful.
Tripp followed me back to her campsite where I peeked in the tote bag again, this time taking a picture of the contents. I moved items around with the stick. Money littered the bottom of the tote, and a quick estimation put it at five hundred dollars or more.
“Either she got turned around while wandering or she knew she was about to die.” I tapped the tote with the stick. “This is her purse. Her wallet, which surely has her ID and credit cards, is in here along with a lot of cash. She planned to come back. No woman would leave with the intention of not returning and not take her purse. Especially with this much money in it.”
Tripp knelt next to me. “She left her tent, for whatever reason, got lost or turned around and died before she could make it back.”
“Or she was taken and murdered.”
“Why do you think that?”
I gestured at her group of friends. “Duane says she couldn’t walk across the campground to use the toilets, but suddenly she was able to make it two or three times as far to the lake? I’m thinking that maybe someone took her there.” I studied the group some more. No one seemed skittish over my presence. No one seemed anxious to run or for me to leave. “I believe them. If Yasmine was murdered, I don’t think it was any of them. It’s upsetting that none of them tried to help her sooner. Of course, they all seem so wrapped up in themselves, I’m surprised they noticed her at all.”
“You saw her,” Tripp said. “The dudes definitely noticed her.”
I scowled at him. “Always about sex with men, isn’t it?”
He returned the scowl. “This isn’t about sex. This is about a woman wanting to be noticed.”
I was about to object, but he stopped me.
“Oh, come on. Suppose some super-ripped guy walked past you right now. Or maybe he’s walking around the village. All he’s got on is a Speedo and flip flops. Along with being ripped, he’s filling out that Speedo with a nice sized package. You’re saying you wouldn’t notice him?”
I cleared my throat. “I guess I see your point. Although not a Speedo. No one should wear those. Regular old swim trunks are better.”
“Good to know,” he said. “My point is that Yasmine had some real problems. The bikini thing didn
’t start until after her aunt kicked her out.” He paused, staring into the tent. “So why did the aunt abandon her?”
“Good question. And I agree, something was definitely not right in Yasmine’s world.”
I moved things around inside the tent with the branch, snapping a picture every few seconds. Condoms, a box of new as well as a few used, were tucked between the sleeping pad and the side of the tent. The unmistakable stench of vomit wafted from the sleeping bag, and this time I nearly puked myself.
I poked at empty pastry boxes with Treat Me Sweetly’s logo imprinted on them, paper coffee cups from Ye Olde Bean Grinder, a few Styrofoam containers from The Inn, and a couple of plastic treat bags with pink Valentine hearts all over them.
“Are those containers used?” Tripp asked. “I mean, is there food still in them?
“They’ve all been here a while. Anything left is crusty. Why, you hungry?”
He made a face at me. “No, but any bears around here might be. We’re supposed to lock our food in our cars or in the bear boxes.” He indicated a large metal container closer to the other tents. “Bears can’t open them so anything inside is safe.”
“Why is this a concern?” I asked.
“I’m surprised one hasn’t shredded this tent yet,” he said. “Probably the people around the campground have kept them away, but bears have a tremendous sense of smell. They’re attracted to anything that could be food, even things like lotions and toothpaste.”
“You’re saying we should get this stuff out of here.”
“Isn't this a crime scene or whatever? Shouldn’t you tell the sheriff or the deputy?”
“With the speed at which they operate? This is a public safety issue now. I can’t risk the other campers getting attacked due to division of responsibilities. Do you have any plastic bags?”
“You’re such a rule bender.”
Tripp went to his popup and returned with a few bags. Using the stick, I pulled the items to the edge of the tent and, because I was as anal as my grandfather with his insurance binders, photographed every item with my phone. Since the items had all been piled together in the tent, there was no need to bag them separately.
Family Secrets Page 10