“You’re kidding,” I said.
“I know how much you love all that girly stuff,” Grizzy replied. The sarcasm was strong with this one.
“Hey, I do my nails.” I hid them in my pockets – between the bus ride and the dismissal, I hadn’t had a chance to do anything but nibble on them. They were a wreck.
“This way.”
I hefted my bag and followed her up the stairs into the pinkest guest room on the planet. Fake roses in a pearlescent vase, a pine four poster, bedecked in a flowery bedspread – oh heavens. “You weren’t kidding.” I dropped my bag next to the bed. “Grizzy, this is real kind of you. Thanks, a lot.”
“What are friends for? Besides, you’ll be paying me back by working in the Burger Bar.”
I laughed. “You realize I might end up chasing customers off rather than attracting them.”
“You give yourself too little credit,” she said. “What with a cute butt and a sweet smile like yours?”
I kept a straight face to make a point.
“I’m only kidding.” Grizzy sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress squeaked a complaint and slotted her fist under her chin.
“Uh oh. That’s your thinking pose.”
“It’s my ‘worry’ pose,” she said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
The walls didn’t close in on me. That was a start. Ever since I’d been suspended for my irrational – and impulsive – behavior every room had juddered around me like a lung on the verge of collapse.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’ll be fine. It’s my fault, after all. I can’t throw a pity party when I’m the one to blame for my problems.”
“You’re allowed to be upset, though. You’re not a bionic woman, although sometimes I wonder,” Grizzy said.
I trailed to the bedroom window, then leaned against lurid wallpaper, scanning her darkened back garden. Back in Boston, this view would’ve given me the creeps – anyone could be watching – but in Sleepy Creek I’d bank on stray cats and nothing else.
I caught my best friend’s worried reflection in the window. “What about you?” I asked. “Seriously, enough about me. You’re a huge success. That burger nearly killed me it was so delicious.”
“Oh, that’s all Jarvis. He’s a whiz in the kitchen. The bar was doing fine before he came on board but we took off after he started creating burgers. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“Are you two – uh, you know?”
“Jarvis?” Grizzy burst out laughing. “No way. He’s happily married, he’s as cuddly as a teddy bear and like a brother to me.”
He hadn’t seemed all that cuddly in the restaurant after Loopy Paul started causing trouble.
“What about –?” A crash-bang outside cut me off. My muscles went taut as a line on the end of a fishing pole.
“What was that?” Grizzy whispered, tremulous.
I held up a palm. A low moan drifted up from the darkened garden. Another crash and then a thump.
“Turn off the light,” I said.
Grizzy clicked it off and plunged us into the night.
Two shapes took form at the end of the garden, next to what had to be Grizzy’s back border – a slatted wooden fence. One was humped, low, unmoving. The other crouched over it. Was it a man and a dog? No, Grizzy hadn’t mentioned a dog. And a dog would’ve barked at an intruder.
“What is it?” Grizzy squeaked off the bed.
I didn’t answer. I opened the sash window and slid it into place as quietly as possible.
The second shape quit moving. It was… listening?
I braced my palms on the sill and listened right back.
The figure leaped up and grabbed the fence – the boards rattled and shoes bonked against them.
“Hey!” I yelled. “Stop right there.”
The shadow slipped over the top and out of sight. I listened hard but I couldn’t make out in which direction they’d gone.
“What was that?” Grizzy asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Does Sleepy Creek have a resident ghost?”
“No. Unless you’re talking about Old Timer Earl. But no one’s seen his ghost since Milly passed,” she replied.
That was too much to process. I dug my stubby nails into the sill. “You need to call the cops. Now.”
“But – why?”
“I’d bet my badge that’s a dead body by your fence.”
“What?! Please tell me you’re joking.” Grizzy leaned against my side, and I snapped back into the room. I cracked the top of my head on the window’s edge.
“Ouch.”
“A dead body?” Grizzy fanned her face, wafting the icy air over to me. “A dead body? No, no. That’s not. Why?”
“Stop panicking. I’m going downstairs to see for myself. You call 911. Okay?” I took her by the shoulders and jiggled her. “Okay?”
“No, it’s not okay. You’re scaring me. I’m on the verge of expelling everything from all ends.”
“That’s – uh, that’s somethin,’ Grizzy.”
“I’m serious. What was that? Why was there someone in the –?”
“We’re not going to find out up here. Trust me. I’ve done this before, remember?”
“You’re not supposed to get involved in anything like this.” Griselda bordered on hysterical.
I patted her shoulder. “Call 911.” I had to get down there. If there was a dead body in my friend’s garden I was obligated to sort this out. It sounded like an excuse, even in my own mind. I wasn’t supposed to get involved– I’d risk my badge – but the itch to find truth bothered me. It was a constant in my life since the day I’d been told that my mother had passed.
I jogged down the stairs and into the kitchen. I found the switches and flicked all of them up.
The light flared, I squinted, made for the back door. Grizzy had triple locked this one. Her footsteps creaked overhead, and muffled chatter, panicked, of course, drifted through the ceiling. She’d called 911, at last.
I finally got the back door open.
Light from the porch’s single bulb danced across the grass and illuminated the body, face down, in a washed out haze. It took me a minute to cross the yard. The shape waxed – spindly arms and legs, a trench coat.
“Loopy Paul,” I whispered. So much for my excitement-free sabbatical.
Chapter 4
The lanky jalapeno hater was dead, all right.
I’d checked his vitals, scanned for signs of a head injury, and attempted CPR by the time the ambulance and the cops arrived. But Loopy Paul was gone. He’d lost too much blood from the stab wound beneath his sternum.
Paramedics flooded the scene, and I backed off to let them do their job. It wasn’t my place to get involved here. This wasn’t Boston. And I wasn’t an official, even if that desire to find justice had already kicked me in the back of the skull.
“Omigosh.” Grizzy hovered on the porch, digging her manicured nails into her cheeks. “Christie. Christie, is that –?”
“It’s him,” I said. “It’s Loopy Paul.”
“Paul Whitmore,” a man spoke nearby. “That’s his full name.”
The voice reminded me of an Old Spice advert, and the face matched it. A handsome, and I never used that term lightly, police detective stood a few feet from the base of the stairs.
Wrinkles around the eyes, a little older than I was, no gray in the hair though, and a jaw which could chop down trees. All right, so I’d exaggerated that last bit, but he did have a butt chin. A chin dimple was the correct phrase.
His uniform told me more but less at the same time. He was neat. All I could garner was that he took pride in his work.
I traversed the stairs and flanked Grizzy. “You need to ask us questions,” I said. “Take our statements?”
“That’s correct,” he said. “I’m Detective Balle. I don’t recognize you. You new to town?”
“You could say that.” I folded my arms.
“She’s visiting from Bos
ton,” Grizzy blurted out.
I stopped myself from poking her in the ribs. I didn’t want handsome guy detective scrounging around in my recent past. Firstly, it’d be embarrassing, and secondly, he’d suspect I’d get involved in his investigation.
“Boston, eh?” Detective Balle asked. “You don’t sound like you’re from there.”
I shrugged.
“What’s your name?”
“Christie,” I said.
He brought out a pen and a notepad. “Last name?”
“Watson.”
“Elementary, my dear Watson.” Another detective arrived – mussed hair, six foot two, little bit extra around the middle, but no slouch. Messy uniform. Remains of a chicken dinner on his collar. Was that a smear of ketchup? He’d eaten in a rush.
Ugh, Grizzy was right. I had to stop the Sherlock Holmes stuff.
“Hi Arthur,” Griselda said, and to be honest, she sounded out of breath. I’d never seen my best friend go doe-eyed over a dude before, but she did a good impression of it now.
“Griselda,” the second detective said, and went a pink. “I liked the special today. Those jalapenos had a real kick.”
“It’s all Jarvis. He’s the genius behind the flavors,” she said.
Detective Balle coughed and both of them blushed.
“Sorry, Liam,” the second detective said.
“Miss Watson, this is Detective Cotton. He’ll take Miss Lewis’s statement while –”
“You’re kidding, right?” I bit my bottom lip.
“I don’t kid often,” Liam Balle replied. “I’d love to be a part of the joke, though. What are you referring to?”
“He’s Detective Cotton. You’re Detective Balle. Cotton. Balle?” It was the funniest combination of partner names I’d heard in a while, and, working up in Boston, I’d heard a couple doozies. Literally. The Doozey brothers had worked homicide for longer than I’d been around.
The detectives exchanged a quizzical glance – they didn’t get the joke.
“Oh, come on,” I said, and flopped my hands. “Cotton ball. Cotton ball?” They didn’t crack a smile. I gave it up. “Never mind.”
“Miss Watson, if you’ll come with me we can talk about what you witnessed this evening,” Detective Balle said.
His partner, the fluffier detective, led Grizzy inside the house and out of earshot.
I sat down on the swing set, and Detective Balle sat next to me. The seat wasn’t exactly spacious, and our thighs touched. I shifted to give him more space. He did the same for me.
“Miss Watson, I –”
“Please, call me Christie,” I said. “Miss Watson reminds me of someone special.” My mother. Hearing her maiden name sharpened the dull ache in my chest.
“Christie, I’m going to ask you questions about this evening’s events and then I’m going to take your statement,” Balle said. “Are you onboard with that?”
“Of course.” I’d never been one to stand in the path of justice. I’d prefer to smooth the process.
“Let’s start from the beginning. When did you become aware that Mr. Whitmore was in the garden?”
“Not until I ran down,” I replied. “But I was aware there was someone here before that. Two people.”
“Two people,” he said, and kept his face impassive. Those broad shoulders tensed underneath his standard issue shirt, though. “Two intruders?”
“Yeah. Grizzy and I were upstairs in the guest bedroom when we heard a noise. A sharp crash, and then a bang. There were other noises too, not an argument, but more thumps. Sounds I can’t place,” I said. “I proceeded to the window to assess the situation and discovered two shadowy figures at the back fence.”
“You proceeded. You assessed the situation,” the detective said. “Miss – Christie are you in law enforcement?”
Great. My professional lingo and stiff attitude had let the monkey out of the bag – cats were boring. “Boston PD. Homicide.”
“Oh,” he said, and deflated a little.
Boston was big city, Sleepy Creek was small town, and most officers would run into each other once in while. A lot of times, the guys from the big city made the small-towners feel, well, small.
“Yeah, I’m on sabbatical, though,” I said, and offered him a winning smile –so he’d know I wasn’t like the other braggarts. “So, no police work for me.” Still, the case of the dead loopy man intrigued me.
Detective Balle wrote a note on his pad. “What happened after you discovered the two shadowy figures by the back fence?”
“I told Grizzy to switch off the light so we could see them better,” I said, and tried to relax my professional lingo. “Then the first figure jumped over and disappeared. After that, I came down and Grizzy called 911. I tried to revive Paul but it didn’t work.” I nodded to the covered stretcher wheeling past the side of the house, two somber medics on either side of it. “Unfortunately.”
“Did you get a good look at the individual who jumped the fence?”
“No. And even if I had I wouldn’t have recognized them,” I said. “It’s been a while since I last visited the Creek. Everyone’s a new face.” His was handsome. Gosh, what a ridiculous thought. We were ten feet from a crime scene for heaven’s sake.
“Did Miss Lewis ever mention Paul? Any arguments they might’ve had?” Balle asked.
I tensed up. “What? Why are you asking?” Of course, I knew why he’d asked. Paul’s body had been found on Grizzy’s property. It was natural that the detective would investigate that avenue. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Griselda wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“I’m following leads, Miss – Christie.”
“Grizzy has a rock solid alibi. She was upstairs with me.” But my word didn’t count for much.
“Please answer the question, Christie.”
I sucked up my anger and told him about the run-in I’d witnessed today, and that Paul and Jarvis had also had a minor disagreement. He wrote it all down, expression blank.
“I think that’s all the questions I have for –”
I grabbed Balle’s arm. “Wait a second,” I said. “Level with me here, detective. Are you going to investigate my friend? Me?” I needed it from the horse’s mouth.
Balle gave me icy professionalism on a silver platter. “Ma’am, I’m not at liberty to discuss an ongoing case.”
Good cop. Pity, it would’ve been much easier to operate with a bad one in charge of the investigation.
And operate I would. If Grizzy was in danger of taking the fall for a murder she didn’t commit, I’d go to the ends of the earth to prove her innocence.
Griselda Lewis was the only person who’d been there for me after mom had died.
Chapter 5
Perhaps, I’d overreacted a little about Detective Balle’s investigation. Things were clearer in the light of day, especially from the inside of Grizzy’s Burger Bar where the smells, and Jarvis’s low humming from the kitchen, drove off negativity.
The combination of exhaustion, a long, sweaty bus drive, and my frustration at the sabbatical had all added up. Just because a corpse had been found in my best friend’s back yard didn’t mean she would take the fall for the murder.
“Do you hear yourself, right now?” I muttered.
“Do you?”
I spun around, holding my empty delivery tray, and came face to face with none other than the cat lady. Or was it the woman Grizzy had greeted as ‘Virginia’ yesterday afternoon?
“Talking to yourself again, dear?” She asked, and patted her silver curls. “There’s an animal shelter down the road.”
“Missi,” I said. “That’s your name, correct?”
“Mississippi,” she replied. “Our mother’s choose our names. It’s a pity we can’t choose our mothers, isn’t it? How about you fetch me a Double Thick Chocolate Malt Shake? Oh, and tell that strapping chef I say hello, will you?”
“I – uh, okay?”
“Are you asking me or agreeing with
me?”
“I’m agreeing with you?”
“You’re doing it again,” Missi said, and clipped open her clutch bag. She brought out a lipstick tube, then rolled out the plum colored wedge and gestured with it. “Chocolate Malt. Double Thick. Don’t get it wrong, new girl.” She sauntered off, before I could agree with her properly this time, and took a seat in the corner booth.
Jarvis tinged the bell in the kitchen window. “Order up, mon.”
“Comin’,” I said, and rushed to the delivery section.
Grizzy had come into work with me this morning, even though she was shaken over finding a dead customer in her garden. She’d decided to hang back and work the milkshake and soda bar instead of dealing with the people. As if my dealing with them was any improvement.
“Are you ready?” Griselda asked, and brushed back that blonde messy hair. “The lunch hour rush isn’t called a rush for no reason.”
“I’m as ready as I can be, given the circumstances,” I said. “Say, who’s that Missi lady over in the corner? She wants a Double –”
“Thick Malt Chocolate Shake? Yeah, that’s her regular drink order,” Grizzy said. “I’ll whip one up. She’s one of the twins. The terrible Sleepy Creek twins.”
“That’s catchy.” A lot had changed in the twelve years I’d been gone. When I’d lived here there had been plenty of terrible things, none of them had been twins, however.
“You get the idea,” Grizzy replied. “Her sister was in here yesterday. Virginia? They were both named after the states their mother and father were born in. Virginia’s the soft-spoken one and Missi –”
“Still has good hearing in a half-empty restaurant,” the elderly woman called from the corner. “Are you going to milk the cow first?”
“Coming, coming.” Grizzy bent to grab a tub of ice cream from the silver freezer below the counter. “It’s good to have you back, Missi.”
“Is it? Sorry, dear, I’m a bit grumpy from the trip.” Missi folded her arms. “All that way for nothing.”
“This milkshake will cheer you up,” Grizzy replied.
The Fiesta Burger Murder (A Burger Bar Mystery Book 1) Page 2