“Missed that,” Mother said.
A rare admission from Holmes.
“But,” I said, “you’re right about the staging of a robbery as the motive. A thief would have taken the ring. And if he couldn’t remove it, there was always the cutter to use to get it.”
Mother was nodding. “Very astute, dear.”
A rare compliment for Watson.
“Why,” she said, “that finger would have snapped right off like a tiny twig.”
A nauseated moan came from the entryway—apparently Peggy Sue had been standing there long enough to hear the last part of our conversation.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said, clutching her stomach with one hand. Her other hand made a small fist that shook at the air. “Sometimes I think you two are crazy. Demented! There’s a man murdered in there, and you banter back and forth like some silly comedy team. Don’t you have any respect for the dead?”
Raising her voice, Mother said, “Go back to the car, dear. You’ll soon feel better. Brandy and I are old hands at this kind of thing, and no disrespect is meant for—”
“Mother,” Peggy said, “shut up.”
Mother gave me a whatever-did-I-do-to-deserve-that expression, and I shrugged in agreement, though of course Peggy Sue was exactly right.
But I didn’t think our conduct came out of being “old hands” at this—I think we were numb, even in shock, at finding ourselves caught up in a homicide yet again.
As Sis left, shaking her head, the distant wail of a siren brought an end to our preliminary sleuthing. We scurried out of the storage unit like frightened mice, leaving nary a dropping, to stand by the Buick and await the police.
Soon the wail became a scream that cut off abruptly as the squad car with lights flashing burst through the fog, seeming to leap toward us before coming to a gravel-grinding halt.
This nerve-jarring arrival was followed by that of another vehicle, which pulled up with considerably less melodrama: the unmarked car of the chief of police. Two officers hopped out of the squad car, male and female, both well-known to Mother and me (and vice versa).
The driver was lanky Scott Munson, mid-forties, his oblong Herman Munsterish face in a sorrowful cast, possibly because this was a homicide, or maybe he was just reacting to finding Mother and me at the scene.
His partner, Mia Cordona, was my age, a dark-haired beauty whose masculine uniform couldn’t hide her hourglass shape. Mia had once been a good friend but we’d drifted apart.
Exiting the unmarked car was Brian Lawson, interim chief since Tony Cassato had entered the Witness Protection Program. Brian had a leanly muscular athlete’s build and was (if it’s not bad taste to say so in this context) drop-dead handsome, with sandy hair and the kind of brown eyes a girl could get lost in.
And, once upon a time, I had.
Which is to say I had history with these officers, even before Mother and I had begun making a bad habit of turning up at crime scenes.
Mother was the first to speak. “In there,” she said to Munson and Mia, who had reached us first.
Munson hurried past us, but Mia paused long enough to give me a disparaging look, which I responded to with an elaborate shrug.
Then, with mag-lights shining, the uniformed pair disappeared inside the unit.
Mother faded back, leaving me to deal with Brian.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concern tightening his boyish face.
“I’m fine.” I cocked my head. “But I’m surprised to see you here. The chief himself?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I was just leaving the station when the call came in. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine. But Peggy Sue isn’t.” I gestured toward the Caddie. “She actually fainted when we found the body. I don’t think I ever saw anybody faint before, except in movies.”
“Does she need medical assistance? The paramedics are on the way.”
“She’s all right—just shook up,” I said. “Why paramedics? It’s not like Big Jim Bob needs them.”
“It’s procedure.” His concern, maybe because I was being so flip, switched over to curiosity. “How did you happen onto him, anyway? Guy owned the business here, right?”
I nodded, then filled him in on everything that had happened since this morning. Had it really only been eight hours? On the other hand, I was wiped out enough for it to have been eight days.
I was wrapping up my account when Mia’s sharply raised voice interrupted, echoing within the unit.
“Get out!” she shouted.
“Why, Officer!” Mother retorted, and hopped out, landing a little unsteadily. “I was merely trying to be useful.”
“You mean useless,” Mia said. Like a teacher sending a very bad child to the principal’s office, she pointed a finger at Mother, then away from the unit. “This kind of nonsense landed you in jail not so long ago, Vivian. If you don’t want to go back there, stay out!”
As Mia withdrew into the crime scene, Mother came toward Brian and me, smoothing her jacket like a bed she was making.
“They don’t seem to value my insights,” she huffed, “but you do, don’t you, Interim Chief Lawson?”
Brian’s jaw muscles flexed, ever so slightly. “That’s ‘Chief Lawson,’ Mrs. Borne.”
“Oh, please feel free to call me ‘Vivian.’ Any friend of Brandy’s is a friend of mine. So, you have been made permanent chief, then?”
“No, but I am acting chief.”
Mother’s eyebrows climbed her forehead. “Oh my bad, as the children say. Not Interim Chief Lawson.”
“That’s right.”
“I won’t make that mistake again, Acting Chief Lawson.”
Brian’s jaw muscles flexed again, not so slightly, so I said, “Chief? I’d like get to Peggy Sue out of here. Could you take our statements tomorrow, either at home or at the station? Whatever’s convenient?”
I only dared to suggest that the Borne girls might all leave the crime scene, knowing Brian stood between Mother and me—otherwise she would have kicked me in the shin. Or shins.
“All right,” he said. “Late morning? Station okay?”
“Fine,” I said, and gave him as warm a smile as I could under the circumstances. “We’ll see you then.”
He smiled tightly. “Just you, Brandy. Your statement should cover it. I can always follow up with a phone call to Mrs. Borne.”
“Vivian,” Mother insisted.
“Vivian,” he said with a nod.
I’d expected a vehement protest from Mother, being excluded from the police station visit, but to my surprise Mother only added, “I’m quite content having Brandy speak for the two of us—after all, she was first to discover poor Big Jim Bob.”
Munson, having stepped out of the unit, was motioning for Brian, who then left us to huddle with his officer.
Mother whispered in my ear, “Dear, you’ll be able to get more information out of the acting chief without me along. He’s still mad about you, you know. A perfect opportunity to deploy your feminine wiles.”
Feminine wiles: beauty and charm used by a woman to get a man to do something.
You’re right—I don’t think it sounds like me, either.
Brian returned to us. “The coroner is on his way.”
I nodded. “Then it’s okay for us to leave?”
He nodded back. “We have a lot more work to do here and ...” He flicked a glance at Mother, and I got the picture: we would just be underfoot.
So before Mother could make any more trouble, I took her by the arm and led her to the Buick; after telling her to stay (knowing she was no more liable to follow that command than Sushi), I went over to the Caddie to see if Peggy Sue was up to driving herself home.
She insisted she was, and in fact seemed just fine now. Soon our two-car caravan was moving slowly out of the drive, passing the paramedic truck as it rolled in with lights flashing but no siren.
As we passed, Mother powered down her window, stu
ck her head out, and shrilled, “Not needed! Not needed!”
I cringed. “Well, your yelling wasn’t needed, all right!”
“It most certainly was.” She powered the window back up and folded her arms like a nightclub bouncer. “Dear, it’s a waste of taxpayer money to send a vehicle like that out burning fuel, and wasting electricity with those flashing lights. If I don’t make my opinions known, how are improvements to be made around this town?”
We were in the country, but I didn’t point that out. We just fell silent. Sis was back to her tailgating ways again, but this time I let her get away with it. The fog was still thick and we were just crawling, anyway.
“You know, Brian would make a suitable husband,” Mother mused, shifting gears even if I was the one driving. “He may not be the brightest crayon in the box ... but with my help he could make a decent chief of police—interim, acting, or otherwise.”
And a great conduit for police information.
Mother went on: “I do understand that you’re still pining away for Tony Cassato, and he was a handsome brooding brute of a man ... but, dear, you can’t be certain you’ll ever even see him again. It’s time to move on. Just step up to that counter and say, ‘Next!’ ”
I kept quiet.
“By the way, dear, were you ever intimate with Tony?”
Good thing I wasn’t drinking anything, because that one rated a spit-take all over the dashboard.
I shot her a glare. “Mother, there’s such a thing as privacy! How can you ask me that?”
She was staring into the fog, perhaps looking out for icebergs. “Because I’m your mother—and grandmother. That gives me twice the right.”
Typical Mother reasoning.
I said, “I was seven months pregnant at the time Tony and I got serious, so what do you think?”
(Last year, I played a role that outperformed anything Mother had ever done at the local Playhouse—I was surrogate mother for my best friend and her husband, who couldn’t have children. Are you newbies keeping up?)
Mother was saying, “A third-term pregnancy never stopped me. Why, it was some of the best—”
“Stop! La la la la la la! Don’t want to hear it! Do not want to hear it!” Much less have any images form in my mind... .
“Very well, dear. I just wanted to show that I was willing to tear down the walls of my own privacy, in order to enlighten you.”
“Well, I’m plenty enlightened already, thanks. Keep your walls up and untorn.”
“Fine.”
We fell silent again.
The fog began to clear; after a while, I risked a glance at Mother. “I am sorry about Big Jim Bob.”
Staring out her side window now that looming icebergs were no longer a threat, she sighed. “I am, too. He was such a dear man. I’ll cry about him later. In my own veil of privacy.”
Mother did have a remarkable ability to compartmentalize, to handle a crisis first, then deal with emotions later. To some, her lack of empathy made her seem cold. I knew better.
But she had touched on what was bothering me about my relationship with Tony: our love, if that was what it was, had been frozen in the early stage of our courtship, when everything was exciting and heady and just on the brink of intimacy. Swell of music here. Had it been allowed to progress, we might well have discovered we weren’t meant for each other, and our love could have withered and died. Music down.
But with Tony suddenly yanked from my life, I somehow couldn’t seem to move on... .
I pulled into our driveway, Peggy Sue nosing in behind. The house was dark—which of course wouldn’t bother blind little Sushi—but seemed unsettling in the aftermath of a murder discovery.
Inside, I switched on the entry light, then the ceiling lights in the living room, and there was Sushi, sitting patiently on the Oriental rug, waiting. And clutching by one corner with her sharp little teeth ...
. . . that valuable Superman drawing.
Mother and I froze, Peggy Sue bumping into us. Still tailgating.
I whispered to Mother, “She’s upset we’ve been gone so long.”
“Yes,” Mother whispered back. “How did the little devil know that particular item was the one we cared about most?”
“Must have our scent all over it ... plus she heard us oohing and aahing. Don’t anybody move.”
“What’s going on?” Sis demanded.
“Shhhh ...” I ordered.
I moved forward, slowly. “Sushi, honey, be a good girl. Let it go.”
Soosh backed up with her prize.
“I know what will do the trick!” Mother said, then rushed into the kitchen.
In a moment came the sound of a potato chip bag rustling.
But Sushi remained still, spooky white eyes unblinking. If her little head had done a complete Exorcist turn on her little neck, I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised.
“Try cookies,” I hollered.
“We’re out of cookies,” Mother hollered back.
“How about that leftover meat loaf?” To Sushi I said, “I double-dog dare you to ignore that.”
Our eyes were locked in a battle of wills. And I knew I was very likely outmatched... .
Mother returned with a container of yesterday’s dinner, which she placed in front of Sushi.
The little dog’s nose twitched, but the drawing remained clutched in her teeth.
I said, “Mother, she doesn’t want the meat loaf, so why don’t we have it?”
“Ah! Capital idea, dear!”
And I got down on my hands and knees in front of the bowl, pretending to eat.
Mother followed suit.
Two adult women, huddled around a Tupperware bowl like a couple of hounds at a doggie dish. Dignity be damned—a valuable collectible was at stake.
Peggy Sue, still in the entryway, muttered, “Oh, for pity’s sake. You’re worse than that silly animal. I’m going upstairs.”
I could see Sushi weakening, jaw going slack, then, finally. . . the drawing fluttered to the floor.
Whereby, Mother snatched it up.
Soosh scurried over and began gobbling the meat loaf, as we examined the drawing.
Finally, Mother concluded, “Surprisingly unharmed ... a few tooth marks on this one corner, but not a nibble on the artwork.”
I pointed. “Little slobber, there.”
Mother brushed it off. “Good as new.”
We both sighed with relief.
To avoid any further act of canine retribution, I spent the next hour playing with Sushi, until she and I were exhausted. Then I took her upstairs, depositing her on my bed.
But before turning in, I went to check on Peggy Sue. A light was shining beneath the closed door, so I knocked, then went in without waiting for permission.
She was in her pink robe, propped up in bed, reading Mother’s tattered copy of The Power of Positive Thinking, itself darn near an antique.
“You okay?” I asked.
Sis set the book aside. I sat on the edge of the bed near her.
She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I ... I don’t mean to be offensive.”
“Go on.”
“It’s just that ... I don’t want to be like you and Mother.”
“You won’t be.”
“I will if I stay here.” She burst into tears, covering her face with her hands.
“Book not working, huh?”
She continued to sob.
“Look,” I said softly, “I know you’re in a bad place right now, but it won’t last forever. Things will get better. Mother and I are a quirky couple of kooks. But it’s not catching.”
“It’s in the blood.”
“Seems to have skipped a generation.”
She smiled weakly and sniffled mightily, looking up from her hands. “You don’t know what I’m going through—what it’s like to lose everything and come crawling home.”
“Really? Kinda sounds like me not so long ago.”
Peggy Sue st
ared. Then, looking a little sheepish, she said, “I suppose you’re right. I was just thinking of myself. Typical.”
“Oh, that’s not so.” Sure it was.
Her eyes searched my face. “It’s just that, well, you seem to like it here.”
I grunted a little. “I wouldn’t say that. Life around the Borne homestead’s just a comfortable old shoe I can slip on—doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like a brand-new pair. Anyway, I’m only here because I don’t know what I want to do next with my life.”
“Me either.”
I touched her arm. “Maybe we could ... figure it out together?”
She granted me the tiniest smile. “Maybe.”
I returned to my room, where Sushi had stretched out in the middle of the bed. I turned out the light and, not bothering to remove my clothes, flopped on the slice of bed she had left me.
I dreamed my teeth were falling out. First the front ones, then all the others. I was trying to shove them back in their sockets, when I forced myself to wake up.
Okay, so I was overdue for my yearly dental checkup ... but did I have to do that to myself? What was wrong with just dreaming I needed to make an appointment? Or maybe having an angel appear to remind me?
Then I heard a terrified scream.
Was I still dreaming?
I felt for Sushi, but she was gone.
I jumped out of bed, ran into the hallway, where I met Mother, coming out of her room.
“What was that?” she asked, also alarmed.
I dashed into Peggy Sue’s room, where I found her bed empty.
From below came a pitiful canine yelp.
“Sushi!” I yelled.
I raced past Mother, taking the stairs down, two steps at a time.
On the lower landing, despite the darkness, I could make out a prone form ...
. . . Peggy Sue!
On her stomach by the entryway, arms stretched out, blood oozing from the back of her head.
Just like Big Jim Bob.
Mother had reached the phone in the alcove, and was calling for help.
I checked Peggy Sue for a pulse, found one, but she was unconscious. I tore off my shirt, used it as a bandage, applying pressure to the wound on her head.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Sushi?”
Antiques Disposal Page 5