1 Target of Death

by Madison Johns

“Don’t be such wimps. You’re in the north now, girls, not spoiled in the Deep South.”

  “Michigan isn’t shit next to Louisiana. You don’t have to face down an alligator when you go out your backdoor like we do everyday. You wouldn’t last one day in the heat, either.”

  “No need to be testy, now. It’s not my fault you girls didn’t come prepared.” She turned into the driveway of a hunting store, Jacob’s.

  We all got out, my shoes sinking beneath the freshly fallen snow. I hugged the thin jacket close as we made our way inside. As we stepped through the door, a bell overhead jingled and I about ran straight into a grizzly bear, or at least a taxidermy version. “Since when do grizzly bears live in Michigan?”

  “They don’t, but the owner has decorated the place with a variety of animals for atmosphere.”

  The place had racks filled with camouflage clothing and a glass counter displaying handguns inside, while shotguns and rifles were on racks behind it. Taxidermy was the theme for sure, as stuffed ducks and geese hung suspended from the ceiling. I swirled the clothing around the racks looking for my size, but Dixie pointed out boots on a display rack along the wall. She and I selected our sizes and tried them on, smiling when they fit. I even found a pair that was solid brown instead of camouflage.

  We carried the items up to the register where Margarita stood, inspecting a pair of thermal socks. She smiled when she saw us and showed us where the parka jackets were. Once we had the right sizes, we wandered back to the register and waited while the man behind the counter rang us up. I about fell over when he told us it all came to three hundred dollars.

  “Highway robbery,” I spat, as I paid the cashier. He merely took my money, ignoring my outburst, which was just fine with me. That’s what I deserved. I had him cut off the price tags for us so we could wear the boots and jackets out.

  Once we were in the SUV, Margarita suggested, “It might be a good time to question the widow.”

  “But weren’t you just told not to tell anyone you know who was murdered?”

  “Yes, but how else are we going to move the investigation forward?”

  Dixie grimaced. “But what if the sheriff didn’t tell the woman her husband is dead yet?”

  “I’m sure he’s told her by now.”

  I shook my head. “Wouldn’t it be a little insensitive to go there now? It might be better to wait until tomorrow, don’t you think?”

  “I never saw you as a chicken, Sassy. You seem the more ‘grab the bull by the horns’ type, or am I wrong?”

  I glared at the back of Margarita’s gray head. “What if she won’t talk to us? We’re strangers, remember.”

  “No. You girls are strangers. She’s my cousin.”

  Margarita was one cold woman. “Were you close to Clayton?”

  “Not at all. Marilyn could have done so much better. That man was no good from day one, but it wasn’t my place to interfere.”

  I rested back against the seat and knew how she felt. What woman hadn’t known a friend or relative who was married to a good-for-nothing?

  Margarita roared down the road, and a few miles from town, she tore up a driveway that led through the woods. The sheriff’s car passed our SUV and both Dixie and I ducked down in our seat, hoping he hadn’t seen us.

  The SUV came to a halt in front of a house and we cautiously got out of the vehicle and made way for the front door. Margarita knocked, and when the door was answered, a frail blonde fell into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “He’s gone, Margarita. His body was discovered in the woods with an arrow through his—”

  “Let’s get out of the cold, dear, and you can tell us all about it.”

  The blonde led us inside and we shucked our footwear in the entryway that was already loaded with boots and shoes. When we went through another door, we were instantly warmed by a fire roaring in the stone fireplace. We were in a large room with a vaulted ceiling and furniture placed along the walls, instead of near the fireplace, which is where I’d have positioned it. I yanked off my jacket and told the woman how sorry I was about her husband’s untimely death.

  “Th-Thanks.”

  Margarita made the introductions. “This is Tammy and Dixie. They’re here for the winter festival.”

  “I’m Marilyn Percy.”

  I smiled sympathetically at Marilyn. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss, but could we ask you a few questions?”

  She sank into her leather couch. “Sure, but I-I don’t know if I could be of much help.”

  “How long has your husband been gone?”

  “He left early yesterday morning, but when he didn’t return for dinner last night, I called the sheriff right away.”

  “Did they take his disappearance seriously?”

  “Not really. The sheriff insisted he’d probably return soon, but that never happened.”

  “Do you have an idea where he went?”

  She shook her head. “I wish I knew.”

  Dixie handed Marilyn another tissue as the new widow began to wring the other one around her fingers.

  “He must have told you he was going somewhere,” Dixie said.

  “All I know is that he left. His shotgun was missing from the rack in the game room, so I assumed he might have gone hunting, but it’s not even hunting season. At the time, I never gave it another thought. Not until he never came home.”

  I cocked a brow. “Oh, so you never saw him leave, then?”

  “No. Why is that important?”

  “Well, are you sure nobody came to the house early in the morning?”

  “No, I sleep like the dead with my medication, but his truck was gone.”

  “Did the sheriff happen to say if they found his truck?”

  “No, he didn’t, but I suppose they’ll find it eventually.”

  I stared at Marilyn, trying to determine if she was being truthful or not. She sure seemed upset, but if her husband was really on the prowl, it was reasonable to assume she might have a very good reason to want him dead. Back home, I knew more than a few women folk who’d off their husbands in a hot minute if they strayed. Another reason to add to my list of why I didn’t want to get married or entangled with a man.

  “Is there anything else you remember from that morning? Was anything out of place?” I asked.

  Marilyn frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean by that?”

  “Marilyn, what Sassy means… oops, I mean, Tammy, is did the house look like it usually did in the morning?”

  Marilyn twitched her nose and said, “Well, it was odd that the coffee wasn’t made. I mean, Clayton always made his own in the morning before he headed out.”

  “I see. Well, I suppose that’s hardly a reason to think foul play was at hand, but I don’t know many people who would head straight out without a few cups of coffee in the morning,” Margarita said wistfully.

  “Does your husband work in the morning?” I asked.

  “Yes, he’s a machinist at Hank’s Tool and Die, but yesterday was Saturday and he was off.”

  “And what does he usually do when he’s not at work?” I asked.

  She frowned. “He usually hangs out with his friends, Barry Haskel and Marty Novak.”

  “I take it from your frown that you don’t much care for them?”

  Her lips turned down. “Not at all. Neither of those men do much besides hang out in the bar and drink at Miceli’s Corner.”

  Margarita bit her balled up hand in response. “Oh, my. That’s not good.” I shot Margarita a look until she added, “It’s a nudie bar in Harrison, not far away.”

  A smile split my face. “Really, this far north of the equator? And here I thought that was frowned on in the north.”

  Dixie chuckled. “Now, Tammy, it’s not like this is the Bible belt like where you’re from.”

  “Oh, but I thought the Big Easy had plenty in the way of adult entertainment?” Margarita asked.

  “Sure, but not near the Bayou, where we live. Sure, New Orlea
ns has plenty, but it’s not like I would know firsthand.”

  Dixie about busted a gut over that one. “Oh, no. Miss Tammy here is as pure as a freshly made mud puddle.”

  I glared at Dixie and explained to Marilyn that Dixie and I were from Louisiana.

  She eyed us suspiciously. “If you’re from way down south, then why are you here asking me questions about my husband?”

  “I’m in town for the winter festival, like Margarita said, but when I heard your husband ... you know, was murdered. I just had to find out who might have done it.” Now that sounded absolutely ridiculous.

  “Actually, it was my idea,” Margarita said. “I convinced the girls to help me find out who might have killed poor Clayton. I know we’re not as close as we used to be, but we’re still family.”

  Marilyn’s eyes widened as she stared at us. “So you’d have me believe that you and these southern belles are planning to launch an unauthorized investigation into what happened to my Clayton?”

  “Southern belles we’re not,” I clarified. “My mamma raised me to be ladylike, but my daddy raised me to raise hell.”

  “So what do you consider yourself to be?”

  “Just a normal woman from the Deep South who likes to have fun.” When Marilyn’s face dropped, I quickly added, “Back home, we’ve done some investigating of our own.”

  “Yes,” Dixie said. “One of our neighbors lost her pot-bellied pig once.”

  “Oh, and how did that turn out?”

  “Gators got him, I suspect,” I said. “It’s sorta hard to prove that sort of thing.”

  Marilyn set her tissues on a nearby table. “I see. Well, I suppose that might qualify you, but what if the sheriff finds out you plan to meddle in his investigation?”

  “We weren’t planning to tell him, for one,” Margarita said. “We’re not interfering as much as launching our own investigation into the truth.”

  I pursed my lips. “Tell us a little about Clayton. Was he a good husband?”

  “He went to work five days a week and brought his paycheck home. That’s as good a husband as any, I suppose.”

  “So, leading up to his disappearance from the house that day, was he acting out of character?”

  “He’s been distant for quite some time, but I figured that he was so used to looking at titties at that stripper club, that he just wasn’t all that interested in my flat chest.”

  “Oh, my,” Margarita said. “That’s a shame.”

  I surveyed the sweatpants with matching sweatshirt that Marilyn wore and could almost agree. While I don’t have a man to speak of, every woman should know that they should try and keep the package looking worth unwrapping every now and then. “I’m sure it’s not your fault,” I said before thinking.

  “Of course it wasn’t her fault her husband turned into a woman chaser,” Margarita said. She then covered her mouth with a hand.

  Dixie tapped her foot. “He wasn’t running around on you, was he?”

  Marilyn frowned. “I’m not sure. He stayed gone unless it was dinnertime most days, but I never considered for a minute that he was straying.”

  “So, no perfume smell on his clothes or matchbooks with phone numbers in his jeans?” I asked.

  “Good point, Tammy. You can find out a lot about a man from rummaging through his pockets.” Margarita tucked a loose hair behind one ear. “You know, if I thought my husband was acting suspicious….”

  “Oh, I had no idea you were married,” I said.

  “I’m not, not anymore. My ex-husband, Winston, didn’t know how to stay home. I caught him with Patsy McNalley. She owns the beauty salon in town, Curls and Cuts.”

  Marilyn nodded. “I remember all too well. She’s the town floozy. It’s a shame these men are so easily a slave to their needs.”

  I bit my lip. She said it like it was a bad thing. Women had needs, too. I all but ignored mine for my own sanity. “Is there anything else you could say about your husband?” I asked Marilyn.

  “Nope, that’s about it. I just don’t know what I’ll do now.”

  “You’ll do just fine,” Margarita reassured her. “You’re still young and—”

  “I meant for funeral arrangements. I don’t even have a checkbook.”

  I wrinkled my brow. “Are you saying he never gave you any money?”

  “No, he gave me money every week, fifty dollars, but he took care of the rest of our finances.”

  If that man weren’t already dead, I’d give him a real pounding. He treated his wife like a slave, in my opinion. What man this day and age gives his wife an allowance? Of course, most women these days also had their own jobs. I, for one, never wanted to have to depend on a man for anything. It’s just situations like this that made me know for dang sure to depend on my own resources.

  “You might want to start looking for bank statements,” I suggested. “Your husband must have some in the house somewhere.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to look, but he just never told me anything about the bills. I hope my name is on the bank account, at least.”

  “It might be a good idea to start calling the banks in town. Surely he put your name as beneficiary, I would hope,” Margarita said.

  I walked to the fireplace, warming my backside, while Marilyn made her calls to the two banks in town. As she set the phone down, she burst into tears. “They wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  “Well, that means one of two things,” I said. “He doesn’t have an account in those banks or your name wasn’t listed as a beneficiary. You’ll have to wait until you can get a copy of the death certificate. You should be the heir unless he has children.”

  “None that I know of. That man sure left me in a pickle. How on earth will I be able to pay for a decent burial with no money?”

  “Take a look around the house. He might have left some money in the house somewhere,” I suggested.

  “Let us help,” Margarita said.

  When Marilyn nodded in approval, we all went separate ways, searching through drawers, some of which were so packed with envelopes that I sighed. How on earth was I ever going to find anything of use here? I felt weird sorting through someone else’s mail. Most were credit card applications and insurance papers. I pulled out one and carefully slipped out the papers inside. It was an insurance policy for two hundred thousand dollars payable to Clayton Percy as beneficiary. Before I had time to even wonder if Marilyn knew that her husband had taken out an insurance policy out on her, I heard a commotion coming from down the hallway.

  I ran down the hall, scraping my arm against the rough texture on the walls. When I reached the open doorway, I stumbled inside where I found Marilyn and Margarita struggling to remove a large duffle bag from a top shelf in the closet. Dixie darted in and together, we yanked the bag down, nearly toppling over.

  “Here, put it on the bed,” Marilyn said.

  “This bag is sure heavy,” Dixie said with a rush of hot air from her exertions.

  Marilyn yanked the zipper back and we all gasped: it was stuffed full of cash. I lifted a stack of hundreds that were held together with a paper band. I took a good whiff and choked out, “Jesus, Jenny, this smells like dope.”

  Dixie’s eyes were all aglow. “How much money do you think is in this bag?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s dirty money for sure.”

  Marilyn cocked her head back. “Who says it is? I’m so on easy street.”

  Had this woman lost leave of her senses? “Look, we don’t even know where the money came from.”

  “So? It’s in my house and I’m claiming it.”

  “It smells just like dope, I tell you. Don’t forget that your husband was just murdered.”

  “Yes,” Dixie gushed. “Whoever killed your husband will be coming back for the cash, for sure.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “I highly doubt this money was your husband’s life savings. I also can’t believe the tool and die place where he works pays him this much
money,” I added.

  “Sassy’s right,” Margarita said. “It might be best to hide the money someplace safe until we figure out what to do.”

  “It’s my money and I’m keeping every last dollar,” Marilyn said. “But you might be right about me hiding it.” She glanced about the house. “I know what I’ll do. I’ll hide it where nobody will think to look.”

  “We’ll help you,” I said.

  She shook her head. “No way. Why should I trust you? I don’t even know you.”

  “Just in case, is all.”

  “Not happening, so scat, the lot of you.”

  We made our way back down the hall and I retrieved the envelope, handing it to Marilyn. “Did you know that your husband took out a large insurance policy on you?”

  Her mouth hung open for a moment and she said, “No. You can’t be serious?” She pulled out the policy and her hands shook as she read it. “I can’t believe Clayton would do such a thing, and without me even knowing about it. Where did you find this?”

  I motioned to the kitchen cabinet. “In the drawer over there.”

  “That’s Clayton’s drawers. He warned me never to go through his things, or—”

  “Or what? He’d slap you upside the head?” I asked. When Marilyn’s face paled, I regretted being so harsh. “I’m sorry. So he was abusive, then?”

  She nodded. “Why else do you think I didn’t say anything about him keeping me in the dark about our finances? Giving me a paltry fifty a week for myself. I could barely afford a haircut and style at Curls and Cuts.”

  “That’s the hair salon in town,” Margarita added.

  “I figured as much. Do you have any idea who that money might belong to?”

  Marilyn shook her head. “Not at all.”

  “Did your husband owe anyone any money?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “How about debts?”

  “As I told you earlier, I really don’t know too much about my husband’s comings and goings.”

  “Do you have anywhere you could stay for awhile?”

  “I’m not leaving my house,” Marilyn said, as she stomped a foot.

  “I wish you’d reconsider. I just don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here. Whoever killed your husband might come here to look for that cash.”