by J. L. Wilson
"Who's Winnebago is it?" the Professor asked as we met in the middle of the street.
"I have no idea. Whoever it is, they must be lost." Garland Lane ended in a large circular concrete turnabout. Beyond that was Mel's barn and Mel's house.
I whirled to check the farm buildings to our east but slipped in mud. Dr. Franke caught me. "Careful, Dorothy. There might be all kinds of nasty things lying around. It looks like Mel and Hank came through it okay. I wonder how the town fared." The Professor was a tall, athletic man in his mid-seventies with a thick shock of white hair, a dimpled chin, and the sort of aristocratic appearance I associated with ex-Harvard professors, not professors at the College of Central Kansas. His pale blue eyes were worried as he gazed behind us to the west, as though checking the fate of our little corner of Kansas.
"Glynnis is fine," I assured him. The Professor and Glynnis Samuel were An Item in town. They were regular partners at the Friday night Country Club bridge game and they dined together frequently. "I saw her and Mina at Hank's store before I got home."
"Well, that's a relief." He turned to the fallen RV in the street. "I don't believe I know anyone who owns a Winnie."
In the distance I saw Mel stride across the lawn, going from her house to the barn. "Are you okay?" I shouted.
She waved in return. "Going to check the livestock!" Her voice was faint, the breeze carrying it away from us. Her 'livestock' consisted of a menagerie of rescued animals who had temporary berths with her and Hank before moving on to permanent homes. Mel currently cared for Liza, the retired guide-horse, in addition to an arthritic Scottie dog named Skye, three monkeys who had been research subjects at the University before being freed, two rescued cats, an Araucana hen named Lina, and nine baby pot-belly pigs. Most of the critters lived in the barn but the monkeys sometimes came into the house to socialize with Hank, Baby Dot, and Mel.
"Dorothy, come over here."
I started, surprised by Dr. Franke's harsh, peremptory tone. "What is it?" He was staring at the back of the Winnebago where a door sagged open.
I leaned over and blinked when I saw the license plate. "What the--?" I edged closer. My eyes weren't deceiving me. "That has to be Wade's," I muttered.
"Wade? Your ex-husband?" The Professor straightened and shot me an incredulous look. "He doesn't live around here, does he?"
"I don't know where he lives anymore." I inched closer to the open back door. "That license plate has to be his, though. He was so proud of that."
The Professor glanced at the plate then at me, obviously confused. "No3QB?"
"Wade was named the number three quarterback in the state when he was a senior in college." I smiled at the Professor's skeptical expression. "Trust me. It's the greatest athletic accomplishment in Wade's life. He always had that on his license plates, even back when it was expensive to get vanity plates." I moved a foot closer to the open back door, shading my eyes from the suddenly intrusive sun. "Is that--oh my God, is that what I think it is?"
"What?" Professor Franke leaned over, following my lead.
We both gaped at the red sneakers sticking out from underneath the overturned RV.
Chapter 2
The Professor stared into the Winnie but quickly backed away, his face ashen. "We need to call Drew," he said, his voice rough. "Something's wrong."
"Is it Wade?" I pushed past Dr. Franke to get a closer look.
"Dorothy, don't!" He reached for me but I was already bending over the body that lay half-in, half-out of the RV, draped in an exit doorway at the back of the vehicle.
It was Wade. Even after fifteen years, I recognized him. He was older, but weren't we all? I had gray hairs peeking through my black strands and I was keeping wrinkles at bay with my secret vice, expensive face creams. I knew it was just a matter of time, though, until I walked the path to Seniorhood. The lines around Wade's mouth and eyes were deeper and his once dark blond hair was graying, but I was sure it was Wade.
I leaned closer. His face was abnormally pale and small red dots peppered his cheeks and his bloodless lips. Small red...I gulped. Blood drops. I yanked my eyes away from his face to check the rest of him. He wore red Keds, faded jeans and what had once been a white polo shirt. It was now liberally soaked with blood, almost matching the Keds. His jeans, too, were moist, blotchy and they appeared squished or flattened. Squished? Why?
I reeled back as I saw that one of his legs seemed crushed. I didn't need to get closer to know he was dead. "What happened? Should we call an ambulance?"
"I don't think an ambulance will help." The Professor fished a cell phone from his jeans pocket. "You'd better step back, Dorothy. Drew will want to see this."
"Drew? Why would Drew care about this?" I turned to watch as the Professor moved away, talking into his phone.
"What is it, Dorothy?"
I winced at the sound of that peremptory, abnormally high-pitched voice. Rosemary Gilley, the Professor's neighbor on the west, was bustling down the street, her two teen daughters in tow. Rosemary was short and round with black hair cut in a bob that swung around her face. Her daughters were following her on the road to plumpness as evidenced by their tight clothing, which amply exposed their muffinly forms. The family was relatively new to the block, having moved in the previous year. Rosemary was one of those stay-at-home moms who seemed to know the business of everyone on the street but was woefully ignorant about the behavior of her own slutty daughters and their boyfriends. I avoided the family whenever possible since Rosemary's shrill voice made my teeth ache and her husband, 'call me Ken,' gave me the willies. No man could be that jolly all the time without a pharmaceutical product being responsible.
I moved to block the female Gilleys from getting any closer to the RV. "I'm not sure. I think there's been an accident. How are things at your house? Was there any damage?"
My ploy was successful in diverting their attention. The three gave me overlapping stories about their adventures during the storm. As they spoke, I edged back to the city-end of the street, away from the RV and its gruesome occupant. I nodded and expressed astonishment at the Gilley conversation while thoughts whirled around my brain, competing with shock for attention.
Wade? What was he doing here? Why was he in an RV? Why was there so much blood? When did he get here? He must have died in the storm, but the RV wasn't crushed. How could Wade be crushed if the Winnie wasn't hurt? I used the barrage of thoughts to keep my memory at bay. It almost succeeded, but every time I blinked I saw Wade's ghostly face splattered with blood and the lump of flesh that was once his leg.
The sound of a siren scattered my thoughts. "Is that the fire truck?" Rosemary asked then she answered her own question. "It's an unmarked police car with that portable light thing. Doesn't the Chief drive that? I don't know why he's here, although maybe the police are checking all the neighborhoods. I suppose they have to do that. They'll want to make sure we're all okay." A cheery jingling sound issued from her vicinity and she hastily pulled a cell phone from her pocket. "Oh, it's Ben. Let's see how he is." She turned her attention away from the unmarked police cruiser and gestured to her daughters to join her on the curb.
The police sedan approached us and drew to a kitty-cornered stop outside Leo's house, effectively blocking any other cars from coming further into the cul-de-sac. As the car door opened, Kim, Rosemary's oldest daughter, whispered, "Oh, that's Chief Strawn."
Her sister, Lou, threw back her shoulders, straining her pink T-shirt emblazoned with a faux rhinestone "Princess" across her breasts. "He talked to our Civic class. He's hot. He looks like Brad Pitt."
Drew? My Drew? Brad Pitt? I suppose he did somewhat, although Drew was craggier and more worn than Pretty Boy Brad. I successfully strangled a laugh at the sight of Kim, fluffing her strawberry blonde hair and moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue. Drew Strawn was three years older than me and old enough to be her father. I made a mental note to tease him about his appeal to the Young and the Restless as I watched him skirt the
RV to stand next to the Professor.
"Everything okay, Dorothy?" he called to me over the side of the downed vehicle.
"I'm fine, Drew. But--" I gestured to the RV, my hand trembling. "I think it's Wade who's in there."
He stared, first at me then at the RV. Drew was about as tall as the Professor, around six-foot, and he had a runner's build with broad shoulders, a narrow waist and long legs. Today he wore a dark short-sleeved khaki uniform shirt with his badge on the pocket and light khaki pants. The brownish colors contrasted nicely with Drew's dark brown hair with the blond highlights. He wore it short but his hair was thick and coarse so it always appeared tousled no matter what he did.
"Why do you think it's Wade?" Drew asked as he circled the RV. I gestured toward the license plate. He eyed it, his pale green eyes thoughtful. "Yeah, I remember that."
"He's in the back," the Professor said. "We saw him."
"Who?" Rosemary demanded, stuffing her phone back in a pocket as she pushed past me.
"Stay there, please." Drew's voice was firm and sure. I blinked in surprise. In all the years I've known Drew, I've never seen him in Cop Mode. Now he was self-assured, confident, and focused, three words I would never have used to describe Drew Strawn.
Rosemary must have sensed it, too. She stopped in mid-step, her daughters piling up behind her like a mini-train wreck. They all watched, agog, as Drew and the Professor bent over and stared into the back of the RV's rear compartment.
When Drew straightened, he pulled a cell phone from his belt. "Everybody needs to stay back." It wasn't a request but a command.
I automatically backed up, almost tipping over my curb when I ran into it. Drew spoke into the phone as he went to his car. The Professor joined me on my side of the street along with Rosemary and the girls. "What is it?" Rosemary asked in a hushed voice.
"Someone was in the Winnie." Professor Franke shot me a sympathetic look.
Rosemary saw it. "Who was it? Is it somebody you know? A visitor?" When I didn't immediately blurt what I knew, she barreled ahead. "I've never seen that RV around here so it must be somebody visiting. Were you expecting company?"
"I wasn't expecting anyone." I shivered, watching in horrified fascination as Drew opened the trunk of his car and pulled out a small black case, like a doctor's bag. He withdrew a pair of thin latex gloves and put them on before going back to the RV.
"What's he doing?" Kim whispered.
"Crime scene stuff," the Professor said knowledgeably. I looked at him in surprise. "I watch a lot of television," he admitted. "I've seen this kind of thing on that Law and Order show. Drew will put out crime tape and cordon off the area."
Sure enough, Drew opened the bag and extracted a roll of yellow tape. We watched as he affixed one end to the oak sapling in front of Leo's house then paced across the street to the Professor's mail box and looped the tape, effectively creating a flimsy barrier that blocked in my house, the Professor's house and the turnaround at the bottom of Mel's hill. He did the same thing on the Professor's side of the street, looping the tape around the mailbox, pacing to the cul-de-sac and draping tape around the sapling there, before coming over to our side of the street to complete a rough square around the RV. We all stepped back as Drew passed in front of us, tying off our part of the square to Leo's tree.
Wailing sirens sounded in the distance, getting louder. "Do you need us to do anything, Drew?" I asked as he paced around the RV.
He glanced at me then at the others. "Go back to your homes for now. I'll be by later to talk to you."
"We were in the basement," Rosemary said. "We didn't see anything." She turned to her daughters for confirmation and they nodded vigorously.
"I heard a loud noise," Kim volunteered, stepping off the grassy verge and onto the pavement. "It was a big crashing sound."
"Step back, please." Drew waved a hand and Kim sprang away so fast she collided with her sister. The two girls started to bicker but their argument was cut off when a squad car came screeching around the corner, siren blaring. It pulled to a stop next to Drew's sedan and Ginger Majors almost fell out of the car in her hurry to join Drew.
Deputy Ginger had been a secretary at the courthouse for the six years it took her to get her A.A. degree in Criminal Justice at the local community college. She worked part-time in the police department for almost four years before being hired as one of Broomfield's three full-time deputies. I knew her because she brought her mother into the library occasionally to help the old woman choose her books.
Ginger joined Drew near the Winnebago, speaking excitedly to him in a low voice. She was a petite, slender woman with straight brown hair pulled back into a stubby fat braid. Although she was a full head shorter than Drew, she had the same air of competence and confidence that he exuded. I suppose it had something to do with carrying a gun and dealing with unpleasant people. Of course, as town librarian I dealt with unpleasant people, too, but I didn't have the benefit of firepower.
"We may as well go inside," the Professor murmured. "Drew will probably--" He stopped when another car turned the corner and parked at the curb down the street from Drew and Ginger's vehicles. "Who's that?"
I eyed the beige four-door sedan as the driver's door opened and a man stepped out. "Who's that?" Kim whispered in an awed voice. "He's hot." I expected her to salivate any minute. Her sister nodded, eyes bulging.
I couldn't really blame their reactions. The man coming towards us was delectable in a stern, authoritative sort of way. As he approached Drew, he pulled a brown wallet from his back pocket and held it out. Drew met the man near the crime scene tape and took the proffered wallet.
"Is he a policeman?" Rosemary asked, standing on her tiptoes to see over the wreck of the Winnebago. "He's not wearing a uniform."
As though sensing our curiosity, the man regarded us as Drew examined the wallet case then returned it to the man's outstretched hand. He was classically tall, dark, and handsome, with short black hair edged by gray parted on one side, straight and dark eyebrows, a stern mouth and a long, rectangular face. Like Drew, the stranger was tall but he made Drew seem slender compared to his more muscular physique. He wore a lightweight pale gray suit coat over a black T-shirt and black jeans, which probably added to his bulky appearance.
Drew lifted the tape and the man ducked under it. He and Drew went to the RV and squatted, staring into the back. Deputy Ginger stood behind them, bending over to listen as they exchanged words. Drew gestured to me to approach. "Why does he want to talk to you?" Rosemary asked excitedly. "Do you know that man?"
"I have no idea who he is." I stepped off the curb before I could be questioned further. I managed to dip under the tape without dislodging it or falling over, giving the Winnie a wide berth as I joined Drew, Ginger, and the stranger.
"Dorothy, this is Jack Tinsley. He's with the FBI." Drew performed this perfunctory introduction in a snappish, angry voice. "Agent Tinsley, this is Dorothy Gaylord. She lives in the house here," and he gestured to my little bungalow. "It's her ex-husband in the RV."
Agent Tinsley turned a cool gaze on me, his blue eyes flat and impersonal. "Did you know your ex-husband was in town?"
"Why is the FBI investigating my ex-husband?" The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I reddened when Tinsley's eyebrows drew together and his mouth flattened into a stern line. I turned to Drew, flustered. I was even more flustered when I saw him hide a grin. That rat. He wanted me to ask that question.
"That's really not your concern," Tinsley said. "Why was your ex-husband coming to see you?" He shifted position, widening his stance.
"What's she doing here?" Drew muttered.
I looked over my shoulder. A dark green Cadillac Escalade SUV was pulling onto the street. Only one person in town drove a vehicle like that. Wanda Wilhelmina Wickman--a.k.a. Mina--was in the hood.
She parked the car parallel to the crime scene tape blocking off the street. "Why is the street closed?" Mina jumped out of the SUV and st
rode toward our little group. Her straight black hair in its French braid was draped over one shoulder and she tore off her sunglasses as she approached, revealing her bright green eyes fringed by long dark lashes. She was as tall as Drew and as long-legged as Tinsley, her crisp olive green Bermuda shorts emphasizing her gams and her green-and-white striped top with the V-neck emphasizing her cleavage. "I need to get through, can you move those cars?" Then she saw the fallen Winnebago. "Was there an accident? There's enough room on the side there for me to get past if you'll move those cars blocking the street." She lifted the tape and started to scoot under it but Drew gestured her back.
"Stay outside the tape."
"Tape?" Mina eyed the bright yellow Crime Scene tape with bemusement. "Why is the road blocked off?"
"What's the rush?" I asked as Glynnis, Mina's mother, descended from the passenger side of the SUV.
"I've got that damn pony in my car and I want to get her to Mel's." Mina gestured past me to the slope leading to Mel's farmhouse.
"Why didn't you take the road to Mel's house?"
Mina shot me a gee, what a moron look. "There's a tree in the road and I can't get through. Would you mind moving your car, Drew? That horse got covered with paint at the store and I'm afraid she'll smear it on the car upholstery."
"Hello, Dorothy," Glynnis said, joining Mina at the tape. She was impeccably dressed in pale blue denims, a red summer knit top sprinkled with white stars, and white canvas shoes. Her silver hair was pulled back into a sleek chignon and her makeup was flawless. Glynnis looked like she should be entertaining at her nine-bedroom mansion south of town instead of shepherding a pony through a subdivision behind the Emerald Hill Mini-Mall.
The Professor waved to her from the curb. "Are you okay, Glyn?"
"I'm fine, Morgan," she called in her musical, high-pitched voice, every word carefully enunciated. "We weathered the storm in the hardware store. Hank lost a window and some of his stock got tossed around, but otherwise we're okay." She nodded toward the SUV. "Hank is busy so we volunteered to bring Liza home."