First Born (Lily Moore Series)

by Tricia Zoeller

  The lieutenant’s whole face puckered in disgust. “Man, really?”

  “What?”

  “That stuff can make you tachycardic.”

  Caldwell looked down at the empty Red Bull can. “Listen Mama Lake. My real mother lives in Jersey and brushes her teeth with Jim Beam. It could be worse.”

  “I hear that’s good for the gums.”

  Caldwell held his gaze for several uncomfortable seconds then burst out laughing. “Shit Lieutenant, I’m kidding. My mom’s a California girl. You know, all natural granola crap.”

  Lake shook his head. “All I know is don’t come running to me when the corpse seems to be moving. That stuff makes me squirrelly. I have enough natural adrenaline.” As if to prove his point, an alfalfa stuck straight up in the back of his blondish-gray hair like an antenna.

  At forty-six, the lieutenant was short by most standards, but a solid mass of muscle. After his recent divorce, he had become a health nut. Caldwell suspected his new relationship was with a Bowflex and a Jack LaLanne juicer.

  In synchrony, both detectives looked up at the gabled window of the second story apartment of Lily Moore’s neighbor, Mona Sinclair. After the news had broadcast the disappearance of Lily, Ms. Sinclair’s sister, Sarah Clemens, had come over to check on Mona at 10 a.m. She found an officer stationed outside the house who offered support once they entered the home and found seventy-one-year-old Sinclair dead inside.

  “You ready?” Lake asked.

  “Third time’s a charm. Marx, Moore, and now Sinclair.”

  “A strange coincidence,” offered the lieutenant.

  “Right.”

  Caldwell followed the lieutenant under the tape and up a flight of worn stairs. At the entrance, he signed the logbook and put on booties and gloves. When the smell of decomp hit him, he reconsidered the strength of his cool mint gum. In his spare time, he planned to invent a type of gum that worked its way through your sinus passages like Pop Rocks. His theory was that the smell of death couldn’t take you hostage if your sinus passages were on fire.

  Crime scene technicians were studying a brown patch on the carpeting while the Medical Examiner Investigator, Jimmy Chu, bagged a used syringe. Mona Sinclair sat on an antique couch with unfolded laundry next to her, a laundry basket on the floor. Her eyes drooped to half-mast, her cheeks sagged like deflated balloons, and her lips peeled back from her teeth. It was an undignified smile on what looked to have been a dignified lady.

  Chu glanced up to greet the detectives. “Are you guys stalking me?”

  Caldwell smiled. “Jimmy. You’ve gotta work on your bedside manner. I don’t think your patient is responding.”

  Lake glared at Caldwell as if he’d farted in church.

  “Sorry, Lieutenant.” Caldwell swallowed as he studied the deceased woman. She looked like someone’s grandmother.

  Chu glanced up. “Mona Sinclair...my daughter and I heard her read from her latest book last week during the library children’s hour.”

  “What’s your take?” Caldwell asked.

  “Found a sharps container in the bathroom. Won’t know anything until I talk with her doc and the tox screen comes back. Looked like she just went to sleep in the middle of folding laundry, except for the syringe I found lodged in the crease of the couch.”

  “You have any idea what it is?” Lake asked.

  “She had oral prescription containers for Inderal and Prevacid in the kitchen,” Chu said. “I’ve got a call in to her doc to see if she had a prescription for an injectable medication. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back.”

  “Looks like she’s been here a while,” said Caldwell.

  “The lividity indicates she was in this same spot. The flaccid stage of the body suggests it’s been around thirty-six hours—rigor came and went,” Chu said.

  “Thanks, Chu.”

  “No problem. I can get preliminary findings to you in the next day or so. Formal report may take longer depending on when I get things back from the GBI lab.” The Georgia Bureau of Investigation’s crime lab served as the processing plant for forensic evidence in the state of Georgia. Like any processing plant, sometimes the GBI got backlogged.

  As Chu finished up, Caldwell conferred with the forensic techs as they bagged items. They informed him they hadn’t found a suicide note. Caldwell took his own careful look around the apartment. Although nothing stood out, he found the timing of her demise remarkable. There was no way in hell Lily Moore’s disappearance and Mona Sinclair’s death were two unrelated incidents.

  Two hours later Caldwell removed paper booties and gloves and placed them in the biohazard bag by the door. Lake followed him out.

  At the bottom of the steps, Caldwell turned to the lieutenant. “Strange.”

  Lake raised an eyebrow. “Pretty ordinary to me.”

  Caldwell raised both eyebrows.

  “Well, it doesn’t jump out at you like last night’s scenario,” added Lake.

  “True.”

  “You follow up on our animal attack victim?”

  Caldwell nodded. “Miller is semi-conscious and very talkative with the hospital staff.”

  “What’s your take on him?”

  “Phillip Eugene Miller works as a used car salesman at European Dreams on Cobb Parkway. According to his Match.com profile, he’s twenty-six. Record includes a reckless driving and a DUI six years ago. Co-workers describe him as a cocky, womanizing slimy bohunk.”

  “Nice,” Lake said.

  “He suffered quite a bump on the head. During his psych eval he talked about Moore ‘not cooperating’ and then referred to her as a ‘demon woman with glowing eyes.’” Caldwell’s voice cracked. He’d like to add a few more lumps to Miller’s cranium.

  Lake rolled his head from side-to-side, cracking his neck.

  “The hospital tox screen showed the only thing in his system was alcohol. We’ll need to check back with him and see if his story changes as he comes down off the pain meds,” Caldwell said.

  The lieutenant looked back at the house. “Tiny called before you got here.”

  “I wondered where he was.”

  “He’s tracking down a forensic odontologist to examine Miller’s bite marks. Maybe the expert can help determine what caused them.”

  Caldwell just shook his head.

  Lake squinted. “So in addition to the interesting animal marks, Tiny had the same impression you did of the car scene.”

  “Bad date interrupted?”

  “Possibly. We’ll know for sure once we get results back from the lab,” Lake said.

  “You would think with significant injuries she wouldn’t have made it far,” Caldwell said.

  “Unless something dragged her off.”

  Caldwell stopped chewing his gum. That hadn’t occurred to him.

  “You see Miller’s claw marks?”

  “Yeah. What the fuck?” Caldwell asked.

  Lake shrugged as he turned to look down the street. “You gonna help me talk to Sinclair’s neighbors?”

  “Sure,” he said, faking an enthusiasm he didn’t feel. Sinclair was dead, but Moore might still be alive somewhere and in need of help. He’d touch base with Search and Rescue the moment he got back to his car.

  * * *

  Celine Dion blasted from the Bose sound system as they rode through Buckhead in Larry’s convertible Mercedes. It felt so good to hang over the side of the car with her face in the breeze Lily wondered why she hadn’t tried this instead of sitting for hours on a therapist’s couch. Note to self: stick Celine Dion poster on Larry’s cubicle...if I ever get out of this situation. She and Larry had a long-standing feud at work that involved the exchange of teenage boy-style practical jokes. He would never live down Celine.

  Lily didn’t let the music get to her. The pink bows and matching rhinestone collar that Larry picked out for her were still giving her fits. She wasn’t too thrilled with the hot pink nail polish either, but hey, he paid for it. She didn’t have much say in the m
atter.

  He had worked on his laptop and returned phone calls from the coffee shop next door while she received her spa treatment. Lily spent most of the time trying to review the latest developments in her miserable life. Guilt plagued her. At least she recognized it for what it was. How could she have been so dumb, so trusting of someone like Phil Miller?

  As they pulled into the driveway of the Ansley Park home or “the Manor” as Lily had come to think of it, she noticed Frank’s black Audi A-4 in the driveway.

  When they entered, she ran to the front of the house to peer through the French doors of Frank’s office. He was pacing while talking on a headset. He waved as Larry picked her up and held her to the glass. Confusion washed over his face followed by a eureka moment.

  “A girl!” he mouthed.

  “Duh,” said Larry through the glass before walking back to the great room. As he flipped on the Channel 5 News, he fed her gourmet doggy treats. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings so she ate them. Hungry as a pregnant elephant, she would have eaten cardboard.

  Larry gasped as a familiar picture flashed on the screen. The news anchor relayed the few known details about the death of Lily’s elderly neighbor as the camera panned to a picture of the duplex they had shared, now draped in yellow crime scene tape.

  “Oh no!” Lily began to rumble like an asthmatic cat while she paced the floor.

  Larry turned toward her. “What?”

  She sat. I talked. This wasn’t good. Lily attempted a howl, “Oroarorarara.”

  Larry took a sidelong glance at her, fear evident in his pupils. “What is that? Are you hurt? Did someone damage your vocal cords?”

  She chased her tail before flinging her new squeaky heart toy in the air at him. I’m an idiot dog, Larry!

  He rubbed his face and hair before shaking his head. “I have got to get some sleep.” Turning back to the news, Larry reversed his steps and plopped onto the cushy sectional. She lay down with her ears wilted to the side of her head. Officials were not releasing any information about the cause of death. Of course, the reporter speculated about Sinclair’s death and a connection to Lily’s disappearance and the bizarre attack on Phil Miller. Lily growled fiercely at the image of him on TV.

  Larry’s eyes darted to her. “Pea brain, what’s the big idea? I can’t hear a word they’re saying.”

  As they flashed to the crime scene again, she caught a glimpse of Detective Simms. She watched his every move on the screen.

  “Dog!”

  She turned to Larry. His frosted hair was heavily gelled in a faux hawk and it looked like it was standing on end even more than usual. He raised one eyebrow at her. “Did you recognize Detective Hottie?”

  “Wuf!”

  “You are something else.” He turned back to the TV to listen to the details of a house fire in Smyrna. With a deep sigh, he clicked off the TV.

  She raced over to him with the stuffed squeaky heart in her mouth and dropped it at his feet.

  “Aw, thanks.” He lifted the heart between two fingers, his nostrils flaring. Apparently, he had an aversion to dog slobber. He placed it on the ottoman. “Now,” he said with his hands on his knees. “If you are to stay here, you need a name.”

  She cocked her head as Larry turned and yelled, “Frank, come in here!”

  Frank skidded into the room, hair frazzled, earpiece askew, documents in hand. “You just see the news about the neighbor?” he asked. Lily didn’t appreciate his morbid interest.

  “Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Frank waited.

  “We need to name Dog.”

  Frank looked at her.

  She gazed back.

  “I’m sorry I thought she was a skunk this morning,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t have my contacts in. She did kind of smell.” He grabbed the heart and chucked it her way. She stood stock-still.

  Larry chuckled.

  “I think there may be something wrong with her,” Frank said.

  “There’s nothing wrong with her,” Larry insisted.

  “Well. Look at her bottom teeth. Why do they stick out like that?”

  “It’s an underbite; very common in little dogs,” Larry huffed.

  “Weird,” Frank said, sitting down.

  “You better kow-tow to the princess. The groomer said she’s a purebred Shih Tzu. They used to live in the palaces of China.”

  “Yeah I read about that. They may have originated in Tibet,” added Frank. “Do you know that Shih Tzu means lion? She is considered a foo dog or guardian lion like the ones that protected palaces and temples.”

  Impressed, she snuck a glance at Larry. He was dumbfounded.

  “Let’s call her Cimba—it means ‘small’ in Tibetan.”

  “Cimba makes me think of a large elephant,” Larry said disgruntled.

  “How about Foo Foo?”

  Larry squinted with disgust. Lily snarled a deep primitive rumble.

  “Scary,” Frank said, eyeing her with respect. “How about T-Rex?”

  Larry ignored him as he picked up the heart and threw it across the room. Lily bounded into the kitchen and returned to drop it at his feet.

  Frank walked to the kitchen. Lily scurried behind him nipping his heels the whole way. Frank swung around to glare at her. She rushed back to hide behind Larry. “Did you just see that?”

  “See what?” asked Larry.

  “I think she bit me.”

  “Frank, really? She weighs eleven pounds. How ’bout I call you a waaahmbulance?”

  Frank smirked as he took a sip of water and returned to his spot on the ottoman. I printed out some info on the foo dogs of China.” He handed a page to Larry. Lily strained on her hind legs attempting to see the picture.

  “What an ugly mug,” Larry said. It was a Wikipedia blurb showing two lion-like creatures. One had a ball under its paw, representing the earth, but Lily didn’t pay that much mind. She focused on their menacing, demonic faces.

  “It says these fierce lions guarded against evil spirits,” Frank said.

  “I know that would scare me away,” Larry responded.

  “Tibetan lamas bred the dogs to resemble little lions. They are considered holy dogs because when Buddha came to earth from heaven he rode on a lion,” Frank said, placing his glass on the side table.

  Larry bent down, surveying her as if she were an oracle.

  Frank chortled. “There ain’t nothing holy about that dog. She sounds like Satan’s hell hound when she barks.”

  Lily wanted to bite him. Not just nip. Take a chunk out of him.

  She breathed a visible sigh of relief when they settled on “Tashi” which apparently connotes prosperity and good luck.

  As much as Lily liked Frank and Larry’s company, she yearned for some time alone to think. All the talk about fierce Chinese lion-dog creatures made her nervous as did the haunting image and scent of the man in black. Her sweet neighbor, Mona Sinclair, was dead. She had been a good friend to the Moore family.

  Lily tried to keep out the dark emotions that crept through her mind, but she couldn’t. Her father, Officer Arthur Moore, had been shot in the line of duty six years ago. Her boyfriend died nine months ago. Now Mona was dead. What was going on? She needed to figure out how to get her body back so she could function. Life as a dog was a real bitch.

  Chapter 5

  Fenghuang Cheng, China

  Liling sipped fuzhuan black tea from her favorite tea set decorated with a peach blossom pattern. The pink blooms brought to mind her granddaughter, her namesake, far away in the Peach State. She managed a weak smile. Another coughing fit struck, but she sipped some more tea. It didn’t prevent the coughing, but it did ease her throat.

  Out the kitchen window, she watched young children kicking a shuttlecock made with the handsome striped feathers of a pheasant and a lucky coin wrapped in bright material. She studied the green waters of the river as she touched the warm surface of her mother’s sacred heirloom positioned next
to her teacup.

  After a deep breath, she arranged the jewelry in a silk-lined box and closed the cover. With trembling fingers, she traced the outline of fucanglong, the dragon of hidden treasure, engraved upon the box’s teak surface. The creature assumed to undulate and pulse. But it was just her nerves bringing him to life, deceiving her eyes and ears.

  Her eyes stayed locked on the dragon as emotions raged inside her. A tear escaped, accelerated over the curve of her cheek, and halted at her jaw, suspended in uncertainty. She wiped it away while whispering a blessing for Liling through dry, cracked lips, “Shangdi baoyou.” Her granddaughter had already been tested, but the true crucible was yet to come.

  Chapter 6

  Good Luck Shih Tzu

  As she watched Larry reading his email messages on the computer, Lily wrestled with guilt. Perhaps she should warn him that she was not good luck, but rather the Grim Reaper in a furry costume. People were dying around her for God’s sake.

  It was hard to sit idly by while she worried about loved ones and they worried about her. There was also the constant fear that she would suddenly shift to human form, providing a peep show for her new roommates.

  Just as she started to relax, she heard a loud whoop from Frank. He emerged from the hallway and skated across the kitchen hardwood floor like Olympic gold medalist Evan Lysacek in black socks. “I did it.”

  Larry looked up briefly from the computer. “Did what?”

  Frank flashed a cocky smile. “I nabbed that big investor.”

  “Holy crap!” exclaimed Larry, who jumped up from his chair to join Frank in an end-zone dance. Larry’s exuberant movements resembled those of a cheerleader rather than a wide receiver. Where was her phone? She could have videotaped the entire episode and blackmailed Larry for months by threatening to post it on YouTube. Instead, she watched helplessly from a blanket on the floor.

  “Let’s celebrate!” said Larry.

  They spent several hours guzzling champagne, feasting on filet mignon, and conducting Yo Yo Ma and the Berlin Philharmonic orchestra before doing something that resembled Zumba moves to Lady Gaga. Finally, at one in the morning, Lily followed them upstairs to bed. They had separate bedrooms since Larry snored. Within five minutes, she understood why he slept alone. It sounded like a Nor’easter was blowing through. She stumbled to Frank’s room and collapsed next to him on the down comforter.