I brought you into this endeavor to improve it, not sabotage it. I just know James Patterson doesn’t have to put up with this shit. In the next chapter, I’m getting this book back on the rails. I hope we can keep it there.
Lisa
P.S. No, I wouldn’t remove my own appendix. But I wouldn’t let you do it either.
CHAPTER 13
Another idiotic duck reference was all Lacey had to show for her visit with Marybeth Monroe. Lacey thought for sure Hart’s mom would have a little more information. In fact, on the drive home she had to wonder why she’d even bothered with the visit, which was an utter waste of time. It was as if some outside element were at work, temporarily putting the brakes on her investigation.
There were questions that needed asking. For instance: Who were Hart’s known associates? Where had he been living these past six months? Were there any conflicts she knew of? Was he dealing meth again, or even using his product? Was he having money troubles? Marybeth, from what Lacey recalled, was always good for a few grand. These questions would have to linger for a while. Lacey couldn’t bring herself to return to the Monroe household just yet. Instead, she dropped by Mapleshade for a debriefing.
Once again, Lacey had enlisted the cuddly badass Sook in her investigation. Against her better judgment, she’d asked the old man to invite himself on an early-morning hunting trip with Tate—a reconnaissance mission, of sorts (though not the wisest activity for a man who had his driver’s license revoked due to poor eyesight). After Lacey’s dead-end visit with Marybeth Monroe, she hoped that Sook might offer some new revelation.
“My, it was cold out there. I’m afraid I don’t have much to report,” Sook said, looking a bit haggard. “You might want to steer clear of the Timberline for a while. You’ve really gotten under Tate’s skin.”
“Could he be the killer?”
“Lacey, he’s not your killer. He was talking too much. Your murderer would keep his trap shut. Besides, Tate’s basically harmless. Everybody knows that. Hell, he can’t even get his wife to give him his clothes back. He’s been wearing the same pair of pants for a week now. When he wears pants.”
“He should just buy another pair,” Lacey said.
“Agreed.”
“I still think he’s hiding something.”
“We’re all hiding something, Lace. But sometimes when you’re foraging for mushrooms, you find wild nettle instead.”
“I used to do that with my mom,” Lacey said, recalling afternoons spent on their property while her mother showed her the difference between the King bolete, an edible fungus, and its close relative, Satan’s bolete, poisonous until cooked. But still, who wants to tempt fate?
“Do what?” Sook asked, as Lacey’s mind wandered.
“Do you remember when my parents died?”
“No. I was turtling hard back then.”
“I thought we talked about that.”
“Sorry. I was keeping to myself, mostly. It was around the time Loretta got diagnosed with cancer. I wasn’t paying attention to much else.”
“Sorry, Sook. I forgot it was around then.”
An awkward silence started to take shape, but Lacey put it out of its misery.
“So, if Tate’s a dead end, where should I look next?”
“Maybe nowhere. You ever think about giving this thing a rest? Why don’t we play a game of gin rummy,” Sook suggested.
“I regret spilling my drink on Big Marv,” Lacey said, ignoring Sook’s suggestion. “It would be nice to have a friendly conversation with him. I guess there’s no turning back. Maybe I can break into his office in the middle of the night.”
“Lacey, you’re talking crazy. It’s one thing messing with no-pants Tate. But Big Marv is all bite. That man don’t even bother barking.”
While Lacey was lost in thoughts of breaking and entering, Sook walked over to his bureau, withdrew a shoebox, reached under a mass of old photos, and pulled out a handgun. He passed it to Lacey, holding it by the barrel.
“You know how to use this, right?”
Lacey’s uncle Duke had taught her to shoot during a visit right after their parents died. But when Paul started growing pot, he established a no-guns policy. It was the one part of Terry’s advice he’d ignored as he set up the business. There’d been enough death in his life already. Lacey hadn’t held a revolver in her hand since she was seventeen. But she most definitely knew how to use it.
“I remember,” Lacey replied.
“For emergencies only,” Sook said, returning the shoebox to the drawer.
While Lacey cradled the gun and imagined herself in a movie-style shootout, Sook rummaged through the other drawers of the bureau, tossing socks and faded Tshirts onto the floor.
“What are you looking for?” Lacey asked.
“My teeth,” Sook replied.
“Excuse me?”
“This might surprise you, but these alabaster marvels are dentures. My real teeth I keep in a bag in my dresser. Only they’re missing.”22
“Why would you keep your old teeth?” Lacey asked.
“I don’t know,” Sook replied. “Maybe I was hoping for a windfall from the tooth fairy.”
On the road back from Mapleshade, Lacey’s mind cycled through the grab bag of useless information she’d acquired. Tate had only one pair of pants. Sook saved his old teeth and lost them. And, of course, there was that one juggernaut of a clue—Merganser, Inc.—courtesy of Hart’s mom.
It occurred to Lacey that this crime was keeping her tethered to Mercer. She’d have to step up her investigation if she was ever going to get out. Without any other ideas up her bandaged sleeve, Lacey decided to pay another visit to the new doc, angling for more information.
“Lacey,” Doc Egan said. “How nice to see you.”
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
Lacey strode directly into the office and parked herself on the examination table.
“Are you feeling all right?” Doc Egan asked.
“I’m fine. I’d like my stitches out now.”
“It’s too soon.”
“It looks like my skin is sticking together just fine.”
Lacey ripped off the bandage to show the doc his handiwork.
Doc Egan swabbed the stitches with alcohol and said, “Eight days. That’s the rule. You have six more to go.”
“Okay. Whatever,” Lacey replied, quickly giving up.
There was another reason for her visit. Unfortunately, she was too worn out to orchestrate a subtle transition to the point of it.
“I accidentally got a piece of Doc Holland’s mail.”
“How did that happen?” Doc Egan asked.
It was a fair question, since they lived miles apart. Lacey had to think hard and fast for an answer.
“Hansen. Holland. I think we’re the only H’s in town,” she said, surprised by her skillful prevarication.
“I see,” Egan replied.
“So, maybe you could give me his forwarding address and I’ll pass it along.”
“Or you could leave the letter with me and I’ll forward it to him.”
“I’d feel more comfortable taking care of this matter myself,” Lacey said.
Egan found Lacey’s persistence equal parts bizarre and amusing.
“Maybe we can come to some kind of understanding,” Egan said.
“I don’t see why not. What did you have in mind?”
“I have some patients who could use a certain kind of medication.”
“Why don’t you write them a prescription?”
“The closest compassion center is a three-hour drive. Most of my patients can’t drive. I need another option.”
“Are you a cop?” Lacey replied.
“No, I’m a doctor.”
“Sorry. I had to ask.”
“Do we have a deal?”
“I’ll comp the first batch. After that, you need to pay.”
Doc Egan re-dressed Lacey’s wound while she
provided a complete price list. When he was done, he returned to his desk and on a prescription pad wrote out an address and passed it to Lacey. She looked it over.
“Wait a minute,” Lacey said, “I thought he’d at least left the state. This is just a P.O. box in Tulac.”
“I doubt he’s living in Tulac. He probably has his mail forwarded to wherever he went.”
Lacey hopped off the table. “Nice doing business with you, Doc.”
Egan walked Lacey to the door.
“Want to catch a movie sometime?” he asked.
“Did you know that the closest movie theater is a forty-minute drive?” Lacey replied.
“I didn’t.”
“You should have looked into that before you moved here.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Sure. Why not?” Lacey replied.
“This week sometime?”
“I’m busy this week.”
“Doing what?” Egan asked. As far as he knew, she had all the time in the world.
“Solving a murder. I thought my brother would help me, but he’s totally useless. It’s kind of taking up most of my time.”
“Why don’t you leave that business to the cops?”
“It’s personal,” Lacey replied.
On her way home, Lacey dropped by Betty’s place. She wanted to check on the address of Mallard Corp., the apparent provider of Doc Holland’s supplemental malpractice insurance. If that’s what it was. Lacey couldn’t articulate a connection, but two operations named after ducks couldn’t be a coincidence, could they? Betty still had Holland’s accounting data in her computer and had no problem accessing the address, a mailbox in Emery, just north of Mercer. Betty served Lacey a mug of hot tea. She was itching for the latest town gossip, but Lacey was more interested in old news. She hoped Betty’s memory was better than Sook’s.
“Do you remember when my parents died?” Lacey asked.
Betty and Lacey’s mom had been close. Their friendship arose out of proximity rather than common interests, but what eventually tied them together was trust. Betty was a woman you could rely on. On occasion she used to babysit the Hansen children. After Sheriff Ed broke the horrible news to Lacey and Paul, Betty was the first person to bring a casserole to the house.
“Of course I do, darling. It was a terrible day for the whole town.”
“Was there an investigation?”
“I’m sure the police looked into the matter, but I don’t think anyone thought it was anything more than an awful accident. Nobody had those carbon monoxide detectors back then. Come to think of it, I don’t have one now. Do you?”
“Yes,” Lacey replied. “Paul changes the batteries twice a year.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Did my parents have trouble with anybody?”
“Everybody loved the Hansens.”
“Everybody?”
“I think Big Marv had some sort of scuffle with your dad.”
“What kind of scuffle?”
“Remember that fifteen-acre lot your family owned just on the city line between Mercer and Emery?”
“Vaguely.”
“Well, Big Marv wanted to buy it. For years, he kept making offers and your dad always said no. Figured it would be worth something one day. ‘Once the suburbs ooze their way out here,’ he used to say. They still haven’t spread this far. Still, it’s a nice piece of property.”
“So what happened to it? We don’t own that land.”
“After your folks passed, your uncle wanted you and Paul to have some savings, so he sold it.”
“To Big Marv? That’s awfully convenient.”
“No. Marv tried to buy it, but Terry Jakes outbid him.”
Lacey’s head was swimming with inchoate clues. No matter how she twisted the facts, she couldn’t figure out how she and Paul were connected to Hart’s murder. She only knew that there was a connection.
Sheriff Ed’s cruiser was parked in the Hansens’ driveway when Lacey returned home. She sat in her car composing herself for a minute. While there were a number of questions Lacey wanted to pose to the sheriff, she would have preferred doing it on his turf. Lacey started to get out of the car, but remembered the gun in her purse. She stuck it in the glove compartment and then braced herself for whatever was happening inside the Hansen home.
The last thing Lacey expected to find was Sheriff Ed and Paul planted on the couch watching a repeat of Brainfreeze, a short-lived game show in which contestants ate a pint of ice cream and then had to answer reading and arithmetic questions.
“Hello?” Lacey said.
“Welcome home,” Sheriff Ed replied.
“What’s going on?” Lacey asked over the whimpering of a contestant trying to divide forty-nine by seven.
The sheriff picked up the remote control and turned off the TV.
“Have a seat,” he said.
“This sounds serious,” Lacey replied, following his instructions.
A glazed expression had taken over Paul’s face—the same one as when Paul first discovered that you could slice earthworms in half and they’d live. That was one long summer.
Sheriff Ed cleared his throat and said, “Lacey, we found some of Hart’s personal effects in our investigation.”
“Like what? Do you know who the killer is? Where was he living? I forgot to ask Hart’s mom, like a complete moron.”23
“I’m not here about that, Lacey,” the sheriff abruptly replied. “Did you know that Hart had a life insurance policy?”
“He was only twenty-eight. Why would he have that?” Lacey asked.
“I don’t know,” said the sheriff. “You didn’t know about this?”
“Well, we hadn’t spoken in six months.”
“He took the policy out two years ago, right after you got engaged. A hundred thousand dollars,” Sheriff Ed said, looking at Lacey for a hint of surprise. Whether he saw any was hard to gauge. Lacey had been working on her poker face since this whole business began.
“Oh,” Lacey replied.
“You’re his sole beneficiary.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Just fill out the paperwork,” the sheriff said, handing Lacey a manila envelope.
With that, Sheriff Ed got to his feet, tipped his hat, and departed without another word. Once the sheriff’s car was long gone, Paul brought out the Purple People Eater and took the biggest bong hit of his life.
“Congratulations,” Paul said flatly. “You know what this means, right?”
“Yes,” Lacey replied. “I am now suspect number one.”
NOTES:
Dave,
Back to you. I tossed in a few fancy words to illustrate how unnecessary they are. I am sanguine that you will agree. For the record, I took three years of Latin in high school. Still, I managed to keep it out of my chapter.
I don’t want to harp on the insanity of your last chapter, but we’re supposed to be building on each other’s work. When I make a suggestion, please take it seriously. I know what I’m doing here.
Lisa
Lisa,
Three years of Latin, wow! Do you mean Latin Dance?
I can’t help but admire your skill in turning all my ominous revelations into jokes so the reader wouldn’t be distracted from another chance to watch Lacey flirt with Doc Egan.
As for the vocabulary, I’ll try to turn it down a notch.
Dave
CHAPTER 14
Terry was cutting the pretty plants. Cut, cut, cut, went the scissors.
Paul was visiting his friend Terry.
“Terry, why did you not tell me this before?” asked Paul.
“Do you mean about the teeth?” asked Terry.
“Yes,” said Paul. Paul was watering the pretty plants.
“I did not want to scare you,” said Terry.
Paul was scared. He rubbed the bump on his forehead.
“Do not be scared of Marv,” said Terry. “Your sister’s new fri
end is more scary.”
“Who is my sister’s new friend?” asked Paul.
“I will give you two clues,” said Terry. “Clue number one: He lived in a large city, but now he lives in the country.”
Paul thought and thought.
“I will give you another clue,” said Terry after a while. “He is a doctor.”
Paul thought some more. “Is it Doctor Egan?” Paul asked.
“Yes,” said Terry.
Paul had solved the riddle!
“Doctor Egan seems nice,” said Paul.
“He may seem nice, but he has not been telling the truth,” said Terry. “The new doctor has many secrets.”
“What should we do?” asked Paul.
“I am going to visit the doctor,” said Terry.
“Good,” said Paul. “Let us visit the doctor.”
“I must go alone,” said Terry.
“Okay,” said Paul. “I will talk to you after your visit. Good-bye, Terry.”
“Good-bye, Paul,” said Terry.
The two friends shook hands.
Paul felt tired. He drove his truck to his house.
Irving the cat was on the porch. He was eating a dead bat. Chomp, chomp, chomp, went Irving.
Paul petted Irving. “Hello, Irving,” said Paul.
“Meow,” said Irving.
NOTES:
Lisa,
Here you go. Hope you were able to follow along without pictures.
Dave
Dave,
My thoughts, in chronological order: 1. Fuck you. 2. Seriously, fuck you. 3. I wonder what John Vorhaus is up to these days. I never did call him. 4. What was I thinking collaborating with an unpublished, narcissistic poet? 5. We’ve sunk three months into this and there’s still a mystery to solve.
I am reminded of that standoff during The Fop over whether Claude Hindenberg would smuggle the bomb in his tuxedo jacket or a loaf of pumpernickel. You conceded to my logic—who brings bread to a catered ball? But every scene you wrote after that featured a loaf of fresh pumpernickel. You’re wasting our time mocking me instead of getting the job done.
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