by Wendy Byrne
I shook my head so vigorously I gave myself an instant headache. What was it about Iowa? Was I some kind of dead-body magnet?
Living in New York all my life, I would have expected this kind of stuff to happen, but not in the middle of cornfields and quilt shows. It didn't seem fair. I wasn't prepared for all this drama, despite my ability to escape relatively unscathed the last time a body was involved. A couple of massive bruises around my neck, a few hours getting checked out in the hospital, hair that looked like I'd stuck my finger in an electrical socket, but besides all that, I'd fared pretty well.
"Do you think we could get out of here? I'm feeling a little claustrophobic." Actually, I was feeling a little faint, but I didn't want to voice that out loud—that whole self-fulfilling prophecy thing. Besides, I didn't want the ladies to wander over looking for me…uh-oh, too late. I spotted them exiting through the back door. I should have known they'd show up because even a hint of a dead body and their Jessica Fletcher radar got fired up. After that, it was all hands on deck and hold on for dear life.
"Oh dear, Izzy, is that you?" Viola asked.
"We heard there was a dead body and had to see for ourselves," Alice said.
The cop took charge—as best as could be expected considering he was young and inexperienced and it was a full-on Qs invasion. I had to give him credit for standing his ground with his arms outstretched trying to keep them back.
They swarmed around him like little bees peppering him with questions. "Who do you think did it?" Ramona asked.
"Not my job, ma'am. It's up to the detective to investigate the matter. I'm securing the scene for him, so I'd appreciate it if you ladies would go about your business."
"Nonsense. Izzy's our friend, and we need to know if anything happened to her," Viola said.
"Did she get hit over the head or anything?" Alice asked.
"I once saw a Murder, She Wrote—or was it one of those Hallmark Mysteries?—where the woman got knocked out. It could have happened, and we'd need to know so we could…you know, help make sure she doesn't have a concussion," Ramona said.
"She almost got one at the state fair when that guy hit her on the head," Dolly said.
"And I'm a nurse. I need to check her out and make sure she's alright," Viola said.
His eyebrows scrunched as he glanced from the Qs to me. I'd long since justified my friendship with these ladies and gave him a stare down I'd perfected over the months. There was no disputing the fact I liked the Qs, even if they managed to annoy the crap out of me sometimes. It was well intended—at least I thought so.
"I'm so glad I made that date for us at the laser tag place once we get back to Inez," Alice said.
"It's what we need to keep us ready in case the murderer comes after us like last time," Ramona added.
The cop raised his eyebrows and rocked back on his heels. "A murderer came after you?"
I didn't bother to interrupt the flow. They were on a roll, and the young cop was clearly fascinated, or maybe amused. He was using his cop face, so I couldn't figure out which.
"Izzy had the worst of it. The crazy fool tried to kill her and her father. Well…Izzy didn't know he was her father at first…yep, that kind of happened during our investigation," Dolly said.
"So you ladies solved the crime?" the cop asked.
"Yep." Viola looked around. "Well, Sheriff Crowder helped out a bit in the end."
"After Izzy nearly died. But I don't blame the Sheriff for not catching on right away because it was kind of tricky. Mason and Jefferson helped out, too. And who's that psychic lady? She warned you, so we kind of knew," Alice said.
Now it looked like he'd gone into that zone of why-won't-they-stop-talking as his eyes went wide. It was something the Qs and I had in common—we both had a tendency to make people get that faraway look in their eyes when we were on a roll. Not exactly something to aspire to.
Luckily, a man dressed in a pair of jeans and a sports coat made his way toward us. I guessed he was a detective or sheriff or something based on the way he moved with that air of authority swirling about him and a confident gait with a take-no-prisoners-chaser.
The man held out his hand. "I'm Detective Chesmu Begay. Most people just call me Chaz." His Native American ancestry sculpted the lines of his jaw and cheekbones like he could have posed for a picture depicting his heritage. His raven dark hair and piercing brown eyes brought another level of intensity to his perusal of the ladies and me. "I understand you found the body."
I gulped back a little of this combo-special of intensity and gentleness that overwhelmed me a bit. Despite the weirdness of the moment, I tried to parcel my words so that I straddled the balance between succinct and gone-off-the-deep-end.
"I was organizing the quilts for the show as that's my job as the artistic director. Because of my background when I lived in New York and my current status here in Iowa, which I sort of fell into, I was the likely candidate. I have a fairly healthy following in the art community. Unlike New York, where no one paid any attention to my work…" He gave me a half-lidded gaze. While I knew I was rambling in no logical direction, reining in my propensity toward oversharing bordered on impossible right now. Between the shakiness of the moment and his intensity, I was tumbling down the path of no return at warp speed.
He shook his head and held out his hand as if his stare weren't enough to prevent my non-stop chattering. "Try to be specific for right now. Let's start with your name. We'll go from there."
"Isabella Lewis. Most people here call me Izzy, not in New York…" I stopped myself in the nick of time.
"Where did you find the body?"
"In the corner, over there in the box." Wanting to avoid another sighting, I pointed toward the back but evaded looking in that direction.
"Was the body visible?" When I shook my head, he continued. "What made you look into the box then?"
"I was looking for some more racks to put the quilts on, and because it was big and different from the others, I thought maybe there'd be some display racks in there. When I tried to shift it closer toward the front of the truck so I could see inside, it was too heavy to move."
He held up his hand again. "You were alone? The guys working the dock weren't here?"
I shook my head. "Nope, they'd gone to lunch or something, although this guy named Gus came after I screamed. At least, I'm pretty sure I screamed, although it might have just been inside my head. You know how something scares you…." I stopped when he held up his hand up again. This was getting annoying.
"Can you point out Gus for me?"
I glanced toward the dock and the men milling about but didn't see him. "He's not here." My breath hitched thinking about Gus's last words. "He said something about just getting out of prison and worrying he'd be arrested. To be honest, he looked more frightened than I did."
"Can you describe Gus for me?"
"Tall, dark hair, but greying at the temples. Kind of a sad face. Sad as in like his puppy died. I don't have a puppy, but I could imagine how that might make me feel. That kind of face, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders."
"Did you get any indication this Gus guy knew the deceased?"
I thought about his question. "I think he said her name was Lori. He seemed as shocked as I was to see the woman in there. But he didn't panic, especially when he tried to keep me from hyperventilating."
"Like in 'dead bodies happen all the time' kind of non-panic?"
"I can't say. I've encountered another dead body, and it seems like a shock to me each time. I imagine you've encountered dead bodies as well. How's it for you? I mean when I found poor Stan I—" He laid a hand on my arm.
"But Gus isn't around now as far as you can tell?"
I searched the crowd of men milling about. "He said he was the crew foreman or something, so maybe that has something to do with it. He might be filling out paperwork for whoever he works for…like an incident report. Most companies are kind of sticklers about that kind of thing,
especially if a dead body is involved. Not that I know from personal experience, because it's not like this happens every day, and not like I have a normal job. Or ever had one for that matter—" He held up a hand.
"Was there anyone around when you first got here?"
I sucked in my lip. "Now that you mention it, there were a couple of guys walking away when I pulled into the parking spot, but I didn't see their faces."
"Could you describe their clothing? Were they walking or running?"
"Definitely walking, but quickly. They both wore something similar like jeans and maybe a hoodie, like one of the dock workers."
"How about if we walk over by the guys and see if any of them seem familiar to you?"
This sounded suspiciously like it might end up as trouble for me. I'm not sure if I was channeling Zora the psychic artist or not, but the whole thing felt like it could breed trouble as that creepy-crawly sensation wove its way up the back of my neck.
Without waiting for an answer, he grasped my arm and led me toward the front of the dock. I was surprised the Qs weren't clamoring to go with me. Then again, Detective Chaz was a force to be reckoned with despite the fact his words were parceled out like breadcrumbs.
"Do any of these men look like the person you saw?" The guys milling about looked as shocked as I felt by the detective's abrupt manner.
"I didn't get a good look at their faces."
Tattoos. That's the only word that came to mind when I spotted the guys waiting on the dock. They all wore T-shirts, most were super tight around their biceps, and all were sporting major body art of dubious quality.
Unlike Gus that I'd met earlier, these guys looked tough, inside and out. The biggest of the guys, with a snake tattoo on his neck, gave Detective Chaz the stink eye and then folded his arms across his chest. The other men followed his example like a choreographed dance move—of the prison variety.
Chaz gave the men a half-smile that oozed confidence. As for me, I was pretty much still shaking in my boots. Two police officers, four little old ladies, and me versus five big, burly guys who made my knees knock together. Not a good combination if things went south.
"Chuck, what's been going on?" Chaz asked like the guy wasn't lobbing eye daggers at him right now.
Chuck shrugged, ignoring his request. I couldn't help but be curious as to how Chaz would handle it. Maybe I could get some pointers in case something like this happened again.
"I wonder what your parole officer would say about your non-cooperation with an officer of the law. What do you think, Chuck?"
He gave Chaz a snarl and spit onto the dock. "I don't know nothing."
"I guess we'll have to figure that out and ask a few questions."
"We were at lunch," one of the guys piped up, earning him a full-on, piercing stare from the detective.
"That doesn't mean you didn't see something before or after. Let's start with the loading order for the truck. Where it originated, that kind of stuff."
"Gus had all that information. It might be around here somewhere."
"Or maybe he did it," one of the guys growled.
"Just because we did time doesn't mean we murdered anybody."
"But you're ready to throw Gus under the bus. Besides, did I say that any of you murdered anyone?" Chaz shrugged. "But you might have seen something. Ms. Lewis thought she might have seen somebody when she came to unload the quilts. Do any of you know anything about that?"
"Let me check with the guys, but I didn't see anybody," Chuck said in a much more conciliatory tone.
"You do that. Are all the guys here?" Chaz asked.
Chuck glanced around. "Everyone except Gus. Don't know what happened to him."
"Does Gus have a last name?"
"Gus Seibolt. He's the foreman on this job. He's a con too, though. Just got released on a murder charge. He killed his wife."
I was pretty sure the bottom dropped out of my stomach at that revelation. I didn't get a murderer vibe from Gus. Not that I was an expert since I miscalculated the last time a murderer was after me, but he seemed way too gentle. After all, he'd come to my aid when I kind of fainted for a second or two—or at least he responded to my scream. And then helped me through that panic attack.
But did that mean he wasn't guilty?
CHAPTER THREE
I was pretty sure I had a deer-in-the-headlights-look on my face as Chaz gave me a strange look. I tried to decide whether or not I should be forthcoming on my impressions of Gus.
But was my response to him accurate? I knew the guy less than five minutes, and I'd decided he was innocent, despite potential evidence to the contrary. It didn't make sense. But still, he seemed more scared and shocked than someone who'd recently committed murder. And…well…he seemed super sweet and non-threatening.
My stomach trembled. "When you say killed his wife, do you mean like murder? Or was it some kind of accident?" The idea that a killer had been so kind to me didn't compute. Call me naive, but I couldn't see it.
To my surprise, the guy responded, "Drunk driving. Killed her."
My gasp was so audible, both men glanced in my direction. I wasn't ready to hear any of this. Somehow, I needed to justify why I felt the way I did about Gus because otherwise it didn't make sense.
"May I ask why you're so interested?" Chaz asked.
Before I could answer, Alice broke through the crowd, "Hey Snake, is that you?"
My mouth gaped open. Say what? I watched as Alice went up to Snake, otherwise known as Chuck, and gave him a hug.
"Ma'am, if you don't mind. I'm trying to do my job here," Chaz said.
Alice pretended like she didn't hear him as she continued her conversation with Snake. "How's your mom doing? I heard she had a health scare a way back."
"She's doing better. You know she thinks she doesn't need to watch her sugar, and then, boom, she ends up passing out."
Chaz was a brave soul and stepped in front of Alice and redirected her attention. At over a foot taller than her, when he'd stepped in between her and Chuck, there was no way she could see around him. Even Alice wasn't going to push aside a detective. At least, I hoped not. If she did, I suspected things wouldn't end well for her. He didn't seem to be the type who would overlook something like that.
"I'm going to respectfully ask you to carry on your conversation after I'm finished, ma'am." While he spoke, he crooked his arm and offered it to her to grasp.
Alice smiled broadly like she'd won some kind of standoff and allowed him to lead her back to the group. The other ladies peppered him with questions, which as far as I could tell, he deflected with grace and a whopping dose of charm, based on the giggling emitting from the Qs.
Much to my disappointment, it didn't take long for him to saunter back toward me. He didn't seem rattled by either the Qs or the uncooperative parolees. Maybe I'd misjudged the way he did his job if his long fuse was an indication.
"I get the feeling, Ms. Lewis, there's something you're not telling me." His expression mimicked his skepticism.
How should I answer that? He was an officer of the law and was staring at me like he expected some kind of thoughtful response. "I don't know Gus, but he seemed like a very nice person. He helped me up and was concerned that I was okay, especially when I couldn't catch my breath. He held my hand until I was able to get it together. I can't believe he might be a murderer."
"You have heard of Ted Bundy, right?" This time he smirked. Touché. He had me there.
"I know it's superficial, but he was so sweet…well…until we both saw the body. That's when he bolted so fast he gave me whiplash watching him leave. To be honest, he was worried you'd jump to the wrong conclusion." And you have.
"Are you going to be in town for a few days?" he asked.
"Just until the day after tomorrow. I have to get back to Inez as I have an art show coming up I need to prepare for, and Gabe re-did my new place, and I haven't seen it yet, and there's a retail space below mine that I have to find a renter for if pos
sible, so I really…" I'd seen that look before. TMI. Besides, I already had firsthand knowledge about cop speak and knew he meant I needed to stick around.
"Great. Are you staying at the Limestone Inn?" He smiled.
"Yep. The one and only." I nodded. "If you don't need me any further, I'll hook up with the ladies and get them out of the poor officer's hair. He's looking a bit overwhelmed." Having an excuse to get out of there ASAP seemed like a good way to avoid trouble of the Qs variety. Besides, there wasn't much more I could contribute to the conversation relative to Gus and what happened. In my heart, I didn't think he had anything to do with the murder or he wouldn't have been so shocked. On the other hand, it wouldn't be the first time I'd been misguided in my assumptions.
* * *
Between the interrogation—okay I'm embellishing—but between the detective and the ladies at the quilt show asking non-stop questions and finishing up the staging before the show tomorrow, by the time we walked out of Northside Cafe after dinner, I felt like a wet dishrag. Even the to-die-for coconut cake hadn't given me a boost of energy.
Luckily, the hotel was just across the street. Despite my exhaustion, the ladies seemed raring to go as we hovered around the front desk.
"We're going to watch a little Murder, She Wrote to unwind. Do you want to come to our suite?" Viola asked as the ladies finished checking in.
As long as I didn't have to think about dead bodies, could take a hot shower and get to sleep, I figured I'd survive. Tomorrow I'd be rested for whatever craziness might come along. But I had to admit, a little diversion sounded good, as did a chance for a little peace and quiet.
Before I could respond, the woman behind the front desk stopped typing in the computer and verifying my information. "Ms. Lewis, I have some messages for you." The woman turned to reach behind the desk as I waved to the Qs and told them to go ahead without me. "I'll meet up with you later." They got onto the elevator while I waited for the lady to retrieve the message. It must be from Gabe. No doubt his grandmother told him about what happened, and he wanted to send me a note—but why wouldn't he send me a text? That's the part that seemed odd and very unlike him.