Saturday I awoke to a downpour, although it wasn’t attached to another tornado, thank God. And speaking of tornadoes, the reason I woke up in the first place was because the dog, Tornado – or Nado – was standing with his front feet on either side of my head, one of his hind feet next to my hip and the other on my balls. He was also licking my face like it was smeared with kibble.
‘Get!’ I said, shoving at him as I doubled over in pain. ‘Get off, you brute!’
‘Hey, Dad,’ Johnny Mac said from the doorway from Jean’s and my bedroom to the kitchen. He had a spoonful of peanut butter that he was licking like a lollypop. I had to assume that Johnny Mac had opened my door, allowing the giant dog inside. Otherwise, I’d have to believe that the beast had learned to open the door, with no (visible) imposable thumbs. And that just put the fear of God into me.
‘Get. This. Dog. Off. Me,’ I said succinctly.
‘Hey, Nado,’ Johnny Mac said, ‘come on.’
The dog jumped off my bed and followed Johnny Mac into the kitchen. I got up gingerly and went into the kitchen, finding a dish towel and some ice before going back into the bedroom to tend to my balls. Come on, that dog’s gotta way a hundred pounds easy!
After the pain had subsided I went into the bathroom, took a shower, shaved, brushed my teeth and did all those things one does upon rising, even on a Saturday. My job being what it was, just because it was Saturday didn’t mean I wouldn’t wind up at the shop taking care of business. I went back out to the kitchen to find Johnny Mac alone in the breakfast nook. I looked out of the sliding glass door that led to the backyard and saw Tornado dancing in the rain like he was on LSD or some other hallucinogen. I’m telling you, that was one strange dog.
‘Started the coffee for you, Dad,’ Johnny Mac said.
I looked at my son and grinned. ‘You’re trying hard to make up for that stunt you pulled last Saturday, huh, boy?’ I smiled and nodded my head. ‘You keep this up,’ I said as I grabbed a cup and poured myself some coffee, ‘and you should be out of the doghouse by the time you’re ready for college!’
I ruffled his hair as I sat down at the table. My brother-in-law, Harmon, wandered into the room. He obviously didn’t do the same things I did upon rising on a Saturday. He was wearing a white T-shirt, plaid boxer shorts and a robe I happened to know belonged to my wife since it was a gift from me last Christmas. It was blue silk with a dragon on the back. His hair was suffering from extreme bed-head, his beard had what looked more like two weeks’ growth rather than just overnight, he was barefoot and, as he passed the breakfast nook on his way to the coffeepot, I could smell him – it wasn’t pleasant. I figured I’d have to get Jean’s silk robe to the dry cleaners before she got back – and then lock it away somewhere where Harmon couldn’t find it.
I’d been up half the night, alternately worrying about my wife and trying to figure out a way to catch Drew Gleeson. I’d gone to sleep with several ideas in my head. Gotta get somebody back to the hospital to see if anyone saw Drew and Joynell together, for one. But mainly, I needed to talk to Jasper Thorne, Drew’s EMT partner, and the teenager we had in the cells when we brought in Darrell Blanton. I know he’d been mostly out of it, but he might possibly remember something. Maybe he saw something go down between Darrell and Drew when the EMTs first got there. Maybe Darrell said something Darrell-like, such as, ‘Hey, you can’t hump my wife no more, I done kilt her.’ That would be good. We’d gotten all the boy’s vital stats from the hospital – things we didn’t already know, like his name, address, phone number, etc. All we’d known before that – when he was dumped in the cell – was that his name was Larry and he was seventeen. So I was planning on heading to the shop, before I got called in on some emergency, to try to find out where Larry lived and head my ass on over there. Anthony was on half-day duty this Saturday so I thought I’d send him back to the ER to check if anyone had seen Drew and Joynell together, and also to see if he could set up an interview with Jasper Thorne. Figuring I’d done a quality job of thinking that morning, I rewarded myself with a second cup of coffee.
The viewing was long and tedious. Over one hundred people came through the line, spent a moment staring at Paula’s remains then filed out into the next room where refreshments were being served. Constance had hired a caterer for the event, and the room was filled with tables holding platters of boiled shrimp, Kansas City beef on a stick, mushrooms stuffed with crab, vegetable and fruit crudités, and chafing dishes with hot hors d’oeuvre. When the line had finally stopped and the last people had left the viewing, Jean, Jewel and the Carmichael women – Constance pushing her mother’s wheelchair – went into the crowded reception room. Constance parked her mother near a small seating arrangement and Jean sat down next to her.
‘Mother, what do you want to eat? There’s seafood, steak, all sorts of wonderful things,’ Constance said.
Vivian Carmichael sighed. ‘Just some fruit, I think. Thank you, dear.’
‘Jean, how about you?’ Jewel asked. ‘What can I bring you?’
‘Whatever you’re having, and thanks,’ Jean said.
As they left, Vivian turned to Jean. ‘I know you must think I’m a terrible mother,’ she said. ‘I can’t imagine the things Paula must have told you.’
Jean patted Vivian on the hand. ‘Honestly, Mrs Carmichael, Paula never said anything derogatory about you,’ she said, omitting the fact that Paula never said anything at all about her family.
Vivian stiffened. ‘I hardly think that could be true,’ she said, removing her hand from Jean’s touch.
‘It is. In all the years I knew her, we pretty much stayed in the here and now. What was happening on campus, how our classes were going – that sort of thing.’
‘She was so smart,’ Vivian said. ‘Smart as a whip, the saying goes. I’m not sure how smart a whip is, but my Paula could have been anything she wanted to be. I wasn’t surprised at all when she chose medical school.’ Her face had perked up a bit when she said this, but then a very sad look spread across it. ‘But she could never keep a job. She had to have three internships before she was certified.’ She shook her head. ‘I just never understood that. She was a very pretty girl, don’t you think?’ She didn’t wait for Jean’s answer, but continued, ‘She looked a lot like I did when I was younger. Constance, now she was never that pretty. I think she may have resented Paula a little bit because she got so much more attention.’
‘Sibling rivalry is quite common,’ Jean said.
Vivian snorted a laugh. ‘I keep forgetting you’re a psychiatrist. I was happy Paula went into real medicine – cardiac surgery! Now there’s a field! She could have made millions. But—’ She stopped talking and shook her head again. ‘I don’t know if you know this, but Paula had been at home again these past few years. She hadn’t been able to find a job. And she was a board-certified cardiac surgeon!’ The headshake again. ‘She was so hopeful about the interview with the hospital in Houston. If she hadn’t stopped to see you …’ Again, her voice trailed off.
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Carmichael,’ Jean said.
‘Vivian,’ the older woman said brightly, making Jean wonder about her mental health. ‘You promised you’d call me Vivian!’
I got to the shop, leaving Johnny Mac in the care of a finally cleaned-up Harmon, and found the information for Larry the teenage lush. His name was Larry Pottz and he lived just outside of Longbranch in a subdivision that never really happened. Some enterprising yahoo built three model homes on spec back in the early1960s but nobody bought them, so the county took them over and sold them at auction for pennies on the dollar. Larry Pottz’s grandmother had grabbed one, raised her daughter in it, and still lived there with her daughter and her daughter’s son, Larry. The house was a gray brick single-story ranch, with fresh white trim and a freshly painted red front door. The lawn was well-tended and still mostly green, although some of the trees in the yard were turning colors. There was a Honda Civic in the driveway, next to a classic Volvo. I knew who
the Volvo belonged to: Lois Dunlap, a very nice lady from my church who taught Johnny Mac’s Sunday school class. Too bad I never knew that Larry the lush was her grandson. I woulda called her right away.
I rang the bell and waited on the small front porch. By the look of the place I would guess it to be a three bedroom, possibly two bathroom house. There was a two-car garage, but noting the cars sitting in the driveway, I assumed the garage – like so many others – was filled to the brim with junk.
Lois Dunlap, the grandmother, opened the door. When she saw me, her face fell. ‘Milton,’ she said. ‘Are you here to arrest my grandson?’
‘No, ma’am, not at all. He didn’t get caught breaking any law. He was definitely under the influence, but he wasn’t driving and he wasn’t particularly disorderly. He just couldn’t walk too well.’
‘I’m very embarrassed about this, Milt,’ she said, opening the door wider and inviting me in.
‘You shouldn’t be, Miz Dunlap. I was a kid once and I gotta say I did a lot more damage than he did the other night. I do need to talk to him, however, if he’s around,’ I said.
‘Just let me go get him,’ she said, and left the room.
She left me standing in a small foyer. To my right was a wall, beyond which was, I’m sure, the garage. To my left was a living room with a dining area attached. The room was furnished just the way I would think Miz Dunlap’s home would be furnished – if I ever were to think on something like that. The furniture was traditional, in muted shades of blue, while the walls were white with a few reproductions hanging on the walls. Not many doo-dads. Miz Dunlap just wasn’t the doo-dad type.
Miz Dunlap came back into the foyer. ‘Would you mind sitting in the kitchen?’ she asked. ‘We do all our best work there.’
‘Of course,’ I said, and followed her to the other side of the living-room wall. The kitchen had obviously been renovated since its original early 1960s design. It was huge with an obvious add-on to make it so. Part of the add-on was a glass wall, the top of which curved over about three feet to join the roof so that the sun streamed in, brightening the whole room. A picnic-style table sat under the sun roof, and the rest of the room was filled with appliances, counters, two sink locations, a wall of ovens and an island stove top with a rack holding shiny copper-bottomed pots and pans. If I could figure out how to do it, I’d have our own kitchen redone just like it.
There were already two people sitting at the picnic table – Larry the lush and his mother. They both stood when I entered.
‘Milt, this is my daughter, Charlotte Pottz—’ The daughter leaned over the table and we shook hands. ‘And I believe you’ve already met my grandson, Larry – although he may not remember you.’
The boy blushed. ‘Grams,’ he said in that way children everywhere say your name and make it sound like an indictment. He held out his hand, not having to lean like his mama. His arms were long, which befitted a boy his height. As I’d never seen him actually standing, I was surprised at how tall he was. Well over six feet, but not weighing, I’d bet, much more than Johnny Mac. He was a skinny kid with a huge Adam’s apple and bony arms that ended with gigantic hands. I’d bet good money he wore at least a size thirteen shoe, but I couldn’t see his feet. I shook his hand and Miz Dunlap and I sat down opposite the boy and his mother.
I had a feeling I wasn’t about to speak to this kid without one or both of these women present. And that was OK. I thought I’d get the truth out of him, as it wasn’t going to get him in any trouble.
‘Hope you’re feeling better, Larry,’ was my opening gambit.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘Thanks for asking.’
‘I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but right after you were taken off to the hospital the man in the cell next to yours was murdered,’ I said.
Larry’s eyes got big, his mother gasped and Miz Dunlap said, ‘Oh my God!’
‘I know you were pretty much out of it that evening, but I wonder if you remember anything at all about your time in the cell,’ I said.
Larry shook his head. ‘No, sir. Not much. I know I got sick and threw up ’cause of the smell.’
‘What smell?’ I asked him.
He shook his head again. ‘I dunno. Like food. Pizza, maybe?’
I nodded. ‘A pizza was delivered to the other man in the cells.’
‘I couldn’t help puking and I’m real sorry about that, Sheriff.’
‘It happens. You remember anything else?’
‘Well, when I puked somebody said something funny, like “how appetizing” and both guys laughed.’
‘By both guys, you mean the man in the cell and the pizza delivery guy?’ I asked.
He nodded. ‘Yeah – I mean, yes, sir. I guess that’s who they were.’
‘Did you see anything?’ I asked.
‘I looked up at the guys – there were two of ’em – and then one of ’em opened the pizza box and I think I sorta passed out.’
‘Do you remember the EMTs coming in?’ I asked.
Larry shook his head. ‘No, sir. I don’t remember anything else until I woke up in the hospital.’
I sighed inwardly and stood up. ‘Thanks, Larry. You were a big help,’ I lied.
Miz Dunlap rose too, as did her daughter and grandson. ‘Won’t you have a cup of coffee before you leave, Sheriff?’ Miz Dunlap asked.
I patted my stomach. ‘Thanks, but I’ve already had my quota for today.’
I shook hands all around and left through the front door, thinking that had been a big old waste of time.
THIRTEEN
The ride back to the Carmichael mansion was quiet, none of the women speaking more than to say what was necessary to be polite. The family had left the funeral home and gone to a nearby restaurant that had a private room. Since everyone had eaten at the catered buffet served at the funeral home, most just ordered drinks or coffee and dessert. Besides the four women, all the key players had been there – Uncle Max and his fourth wife, partner Mitchell and his wife, and neighbor Neil and his wife, but Jean found out little from their small talk.
It was after eleven before the chauffeur pulled up to the front doors. As had been explained to Jean and Jewel earlier when they left for the viewing, Mrs Carmichael refused to have a ramp built on the front of the house (‘Ruins the lines, you know’), and instead came in and out via a ramp built at the back. Constance got out with Jean and Jewel and Constance’s two stepdaughters, Megan and Dru, who were going to spend a couple of days with their stepmother, while the chauffeur, with Vivian in the back, continued on to the back of the mansion. Luckily the two girls were staying on the second floor – the family floor – leaving Jean and Jewel alone on the third. They went into the forest room to discuss the events.
‘There were certainly a lot of people,’ Jewel said, sitting on the chaise lounge while Jean stretched out on the bed to rest her left leg, which was beginning to hurt. ‘Paula had a lot of friends.’
Jean shook her head. ‘None of those people were Paula’s friends,’ she said. ‘They were all Vivian’s and-slash-or Constance’s friends.’ She was silent for a moment, then said, ‘What did you think about Uncle Max?’
Jewel shuttered. ‘Creepy. I couldn’t believe he almost kissed my hand. If he had I’d have had to dunk it in bleach.’
Jean laughed, then quickly sobered. ‘Jewel, I have to tell you something,’ she said.
‘Sure,’ Jewel said.
Jean sighed. ‘I haven’t been exactly truthful with you.’
‘About what?’
‘Our reason for being here.’
‘You’re not here to bury your friend?’ Jewel asked.
‘Of course, that’s the main reason.’ Jean stopped for a moment then corrected herself. ‘Well, maybe not the main reason, but the perceived main reason.’
‘You’re losing me,’ Jewel said.
‘I didn’t figure this out until after Paula died. I’m not sure why – I was just in denial, I suppose. And back when Paula and
I were good friends, in our younger days, I wasn’t able to pick up on or understand the signs properly. But I’ve come to the conclusion – one I’m now positive of – that Paula was sexually abused as a child.’
‘What?’ Jewel exclaimed. ‘Oh my God! Are you serious?’
‘Yes, of course I’m serious. There are several reasons I came to this conclusion, none of which I need to burden you with. I just think you should know that, while I’m here to pay my respects to my friend, I’m also here to find out who abused her and out him.’
Jewel was quiet for a moment, then said, ‘Oh, shit.’
Jean looked up at her. ‘What?’
‘That creepy Uncle Max! I bet he did it!’
‘At this point it would only be speculation,’ Jean said.
Jewel grimaced. ‘Jeez, you and Milt and your gotta-have-proof bullshit! That guy obviously did it!’
‘The most obvious suspect would be her father—’ Jean started, but Jewel interrupted.
‘He has Alzheimer’s!’
‘Now, but he didn’t always. Remember what Vivian said? How he’s so much easier to get along with now? Vivian is very controlling so I have to wonder what Walter was like before the onset of his illness. And she indicated that he had plenty of sexual relationships outside the marriage.’ Jean shrugged. ‘In my opinion, that makes him a suspect. Besides, he was in closer proximity to her than anyone else.’
‘Yeah, but he’s not creepy and that Uncle Max is. Then again, so’s that neighbor. What was his name?’
‘Neil Davenport. And yes, he’s creepy. Did you notice how his wife seemed to disappear into the woodwork?’ Jean said.
‘Oh, right. I forgot he had a wife.’
‘Exactly. And then there’s Walter’s old business partner.’
‘That weasel-faced little guy with the Amazonian wife?’ Jewel asked.
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