Who Left That Body in the Rain?

by Patricia Sprinkle

  As Laura turned to face him, her eyes might have been pink but her voice was perfectly level. “I wasn’t killing my daddy, sir. I met my folks for dinner at the Mexican place; then I went back to MacDonald’s. We’re open until nine on Fridays, and Daddy and I—” She faltered. Without conscious thought, she reached for a strand of her long thick hair and drew it toward her mouth, then noticed what she was doing and flung it away. Gwen Ellen had worked for years to break Laura of the habit of sucking her hair when she was nervous or upset.

  Laura swallowed hard. “Daddy and I used to take turns closing on Friday. This weekend was my turn.” Her voice took on an angry edge. “I had to close out the used-car lot, too, because Skell had disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” Charlie pounced on the word.

  “Hadn’t bothered to come back after supper. He was with us at the restaurant, but he never showed up at his lot after that. With two lots to close, I worked until around eleven. Maybe a little later, even . . .” She narrowed her eyes and nibbled her upper lip like she was trying to remember. I suspected she was deliberately drawing Charlie’s attention to herself, away from Skell. She used to do the very same thing when one of her teammates was in a vulnerable position.

  Charlie, bless his thick head, fell for it. “You worked alone at night, ma’am? You weren’t afraid?” His hand caressed the butt of his gun. I hoped he wouldn’t get any ideas about going over late at night to protect her.

  Laura gave him an unruffled look. “No, sir. We have a good security system.” She also had a gun in her desk. Skye insisted on it. But instead of saying that, she added, “The manager of our service department can vouch for me. He was there the whole time, except when he ran out to Hardee’s for a bite to eat. He walked me to my car when I left.”

  “This mechanic. He always work that late?”

  “No, sir, he was finishing up a brake job for somebody who needed his car.”

  “He get along with your daddy?”

  “Yessir.” Had Charlie noticed her brief hesitation?

  Maybe so, becuse he shot back, “How long would you say he was gone for his supper?”

  “About fifteen minutes. He brought back something to eat while he worked. He’s conscientious that way.” Joe Riddley and I both looked at her in surprise. Her voice was glacial.

  Chief Muggins didn’t seem to notice. He propped one shoulder against the doorjamb and asked, “So, was your daddy home when you got here?”

  She drew her brows together, trying to remember. “I believe his car was gone, but I didn’t really notice. He and Mama often went down to Dublin to a movie or something on nights when he didn’t have to work.” She turned her face quickly to the window, but not before I saw her blink back tears.

  Charlie’s cell phone rang. He backed into the dining room and we heard him muttering. We heard him finally say, “I’ll be out in just a little while. Get the crew on it right away.”

  He swaggered back in, polecat eyes glittering. “They’ve found his car parked over behind the Presbyterian church. It’s got a dent in the front—looks like it hit somebody.”

  Laura gave an involuntary moan, and her knees bent. If Joe Riddley hadn’t caught her, she’d have fallen. Her face as pale as fat-free milk, she let him help her into the nearest chair.

  The Presbyterian church? That was our church, right downtown on the square, about a mile from the MacDonald house—farther than folks generally walk around here—and a perfect place to leave the car. The lot was secluded behind the big building, and generally deserted on Saturdays. Furthermore, since Skye was forever running over to the church to check on one thing or another, nobody would think a thing about seeing his car there.

  Who called to lure him to the church, met him in the parking lot, and got in beside him for that fatal ride? It would have been simple to drive his car back to the parking lot and drive another car away. His might not even have been noticed until Sunday morning, or his body found until the next time a tractor went down the dirt road. I sent up a quick prayer of thanks for two boys who stumbled across his body sooner than the murderer probably expected him to be found.

  Chief Muggins wasn’t praying. He was rubbing his paws together in satisfaction. “Rain pretty much washed it clean, of course, but if there’s anything to find, we’ll find it.”

  Laura trembled, but she didn’t cry.

  Joe Riddley laid a hand on her shoulder and bent to ask softly, “Where’s Skell, honey? You need him here. Does he even know about all this?”

  Her voice sounded both angry and forlorn. “Last time I saw him was at the restaurant. I’ve tried calling his house and his cell phone, but he’s not answering.” Again she reached for a strand of hair, and this time carried it to her mouth. Only when she caught my eye did she drop it.

  Charlie butted into what was clearly a private conversation. “So he has disappeared.”

  I was glad to wipe that gloat off his face. “He was in town this afternoon, over at Maynard’s wedding luncheon.”

  Gwen Ellen came in just in time to hear me. Hope brightened the color in her pale cheeks. “Then he’s got to be around town somewhere. I was so afraid he’d gone up to Atlanta. He likes to do that on weekends, especially if he and Skye—” She stopped and pressed a tissue to her nose. “The last time Skell saw his daddy, they were fussing. That’s what Skell’s gonna always remember.” She collapsed on the couch, sobbing.

  Chief Muggins stepped forward. “There was a quarrel between your son and his father?”

  “A silly disagreement, that’s all,” Laura corrected him.

  “What about?”

  She heaved a big sigh that showed how dumb she thought it had been. “Skell was late getting to work yesterday, and somebody called Daddy over to the lot for something. While he was there, Daddy sold a car Skell had promised to somebody else. Skell was upset, but he’ll get over it.” She muttered to Joe Riddley, “I told Daddy a hundred times that if he meant to let Skell run that lot, he had to let him do it.”

  Chief Muggins narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips before he spoke. “How upset would you say your brother was with his father?”

  “My brother didn’t kill my dad.”

  Her roar didn’t surprise me. Laura had inherited Skye’s temper, too, but only two things made her lose it: an umpire who made what she considered an unfair call, and attacks on her brother. In grade school she’d beaten up kindergarten bullies who’d called Skell “Bones” or taunted him for preferring music to sports. She had silently endured her mother’s disappointment that “Laura just can’t seem to be a lady—she keeps getting into fights,” without ever telling Gwen Ellen what the fights were about. It was Ridd’s wife, Martha, our emergency-room supervisor, who learned the truth when a rough boy broke Skell’s arm in fourth grade while Laura was out of town playing soccer. “If Sissy had been here,” he’d sobbed angrily, “she’d have beaten that boy silly, like she always does.” I had even heard Laura taking up for him down at the motor company not long ago, when Skye came down hard on him.

  She certainly surprised Chief Muggins. He took a step back and held up his hands. “I didn’t say he did. But we have to investigate all avenues here.”

  Laura blew her nose and glared up at him. “The only avenues I’ve heard you investigate so far lead to Mama, my brother, or me. Seems to me like you need a bigger map, sir.”

  “Laura.” Gwen Ellen checked her softly, then turned back to the police chief. “She doesn’t mean to be rude, Chief Muggins; she’s just upset. But I wish you’d send somebody out looking for Skellton. Laura has tried to reach him a number of times, and he hasn’t answered his phone. His people at the lot haven’t seen him all day long, and a salesman Laura talked to sounded a little upset—”

  “He didn’t sound a little upset, Mama; he sounded furious.” Laura never had patience with her mother’s tendency to soften unpleasantness. “Skell hasn’t been there all day. Hasn’t even called.”

  “He must have a good re
ason,” Gwen Ellen insisted. “He may be hurt somewhere—”

  Laura gave a deep huff of impatience. “He’s just gone off to play, and you know it. He can’t make a go of the business if he won’t stick around to manage it.”

  I’d understood her anger when she was defending Skell, but her anger at him surprised me. She must be more worried about him than she let on. I sure hoped she wasn’t worried he’d killed their daddy.

  She looked at her watch and stood up. “I ought to go down and close up,” she told her mother, “out of respect for Daddy. Don’t you think?”

  Anybody could tell she just added the question out of respect for her mother. Gwen Ellen never made business decisions. She nodded uncertainly. “If you think so, honey.”

  “I do. I hate to leave you, but I’ll just be gone long enough to send everybody home. I’ll get back as soon as I can.” She picked up her briefcase from behind a chair and strode out. We heard her speak to Tansy in the kitchen, then the swish of her tires in puddles on the drive.

  Gwen Ellen shredded a tissue she was holding and dropped the pieces into her lap. I took the bits of tissue from her skirt and stuffed them in my pocket. She dropped her hands and sat with big tears rolling down her cheeks.

  Chief Muggins pushed away from the door and hitched up his britches. “I guess I’d better be getting over to see about the car.”

  “Car?” Gwen Ellen looked up in puzzlement. She’d been gone when his call came.

  “Skye’s car,” Joe Riddley explained. “They found it over behind the church.”

  “Looks like it’s the one that hit him,” Charlie added. The man had the sensitivity of a pill bug.

  Gwen Ellen fell forward onto her own lap, racked by deep sobs. “I can’t stand this. I just can’t.”

  Tansy hurried in and put her plump arms around her. “It’s gonna be all right. It’s gonna be all right,” she crooned, although we all knew it never would, not really.

  “I’ll be right back,” I promised her, and followed Chief Muggins.

  “Where exactly was Skye found?” I asked as we reached the kitchen.

  “On the third dirt road off Warner Road. Somebody must have driven him out there to rob him. I can’t think why he’d be there at that time of night otherwise.”

  “Rob him of what?”

  Tansy’s voice made us both jump. She hadn’t made any noise coming back. She went to the refrigerator and drew a glass of ice water, then stood as tall as she could, one hand on her nonexistent waist. Her dark eyes snapped. “You told me he was still wearing his Rolex watch. Mr. Skye didn’t ever carry a lot of money. What did they rob him of? Besides, why would anybody want to rob him, when they could have robbed the business—and not got charged with murder?”

  8

  I carried the glass of water back to the living room and found Joe Riddley standing over Gwen Ellen while tears ran down her cheeks. He never knows what to do when a woman cries. If God had given him daughters, he’d have spoiled them rotten just to keep their eyes dry.

  I handed Gwen Ellen the water and sat down beside her. She took a sip and said in a soggy whisper, “I miss Skye so much. And I am worried about Skell. Where could he be?”

  Joe Riddley saw his chance to escape. “He could have come home in the last hour, and not know a thing about all this. Or he may be asleep and not hearing his phone. Why don’t I drive over there and see?”

  Gwen Ellen’s face brightened again with hope. “Would you? There’s a key to his place hanging in the pantry. Tansy will get it for you.”

  In less than a minute his car purred down the drive.

  Mama always said if you can’t think of a thing to do or say, don’t do or say anything. I sat waiting for Gwen Ellen to take the lead. She leaned over so her arm pressed against mine, just as she used to when I read her fairy tales. I wished the whole afternoon were a fairy tale, so I could soon close the book and say, “And they all lived happily ever after.” Nobody ever said what happened after ever after.

  We sat in silence until Tansy brought in a tray holding two cups, a steaming teapot, a sugar bowl, lemon wedges, peanut-butter cookies, and two pretty napkins. “I thought you all might need something hot to drink.”

  “Go wash your face first,” I suggested to Gwen Ellen. “You’ll feel so much better.”

  She climbed the stairs to her room and came back a few minutes later with her makeup repaired and her hair freshly brushed.

  “I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but I really like your haircut,” I greeted her.

  Her smile trembled. “Thanks. I thought it was time for a change. . . .”

  She stopped and horror filled her eyes. She’d certainly gotten a change.

  Neither of us said a word while she poured tea through a little silver strainer, dropped in two lumps of sugar, and passed me the lemon. She sat, stirring her own cup as if the tea were a potion to bring back happiness. Finally, she sighed. “I still can’t believe this has happened. I keep expecting Skye to walk in the door and say, ‘Honey, what’s all this about?’ ”

  “Me, too,” I admitted. “He was always so good about taking care of you.”

  “From the very first day we met.” She gave a little laugh. “Remember what Daddy told me when I went to college? ‘Honey, go find yourself a loving husband who likes cars.’ ” Her eyes grew pink again. “I did, too,” she whispered.

  Bates Skellton had been forty when his only child was born, and he’d never liked selling cars—he just fell into it when his own daddy left him the motor company. Bates wasn’t like Skell; he never rebelled, but within five years after Gwen Ellen and Skye got married, he’d turned the business over to them and retired to Vero Beach.

  “Skye sure liked cars.” I wanted to keep her talking, thaw the frozen look on her face. “Tell me about those Volkswagen Beetles he started on.”

  A small smile touched her eyes and lips. “For his twelfth birthday, he asked his daddy for a Beetle he could tear down and rebuild. He saved his allowance and lawn-mowing money to buy parts. When he finally got it running, his daddy had to take it for its test drive, because Skye was too young. But it ran. Skye sold it for a good profit and used his money to buy another, plus parts to fix it. After he’d rebuilt and sold that one, folks with Beetles started bringing theirs by. His mama and daddy got tired of car parts lying all over their lawn—who wouldn’t? His father was a dentist, and they lived in a real nice subdivision. So his daddy said he’d have to quit. Instead, Skye begged him to sign the papers to rent a warehouse where he could work. Skye wasn’t even fifteen yet. He worked every afternoon and weekend, and by the time he went to college, he’d rebuilt and repaired enough Beetles to pay a lot of his own way.”

  “Oh!” Gwen Ellen pressed her hand to her mouth. “I must call his folks.” She sat forward and looked around like she couldn’t remember where she kept the phone.

  I pushed her back. “Not right this minute. Pour us each another cup of tea. Tell me again about you and Skye getting together.”

  She bent to the teapot like she was glad to have something to do. When both our cups were full, she relaxed against the cushions again. “Skye was in my sophomore history class, and from the very first day, I thought he was the handsomest thing. We didn’t have a man in Hope County who looked that good to me.”

  I was glad she’d added the last two words. I might have had to correct her, widow or not.

  “He kept looking at me, too, and on the third day he offered to buy me a Co-cola after class. We went for a walk and all he talked about was cars, and I told him I practically grew up in a motor company. I didn’t really, of course . . . ,” she added. She certainly hadn’t. I doubted if she was ever in the business as a child, except to ask her daddy for money. “Anyway, after that we were always together. We got pinned in November, engaged in February, and married in June, after he graduated. I never loved anybody except Skye. Never.” She set her cup on the coffee table and polished her small engagement diamond with her right
forefinger. The stone was nowhere near as big as Skye could have afforded later, but I knew how she felt about it. I looked down and found I was unconsciously polishing my own ring.

  “Tomorrow is the thirtieth anniversary of when we got engaged.” Her voice was rough with tears.

  Surely that was the cruelest thing of all.

  I set down my own tea and gathered her into my arms. “Oh, honey.”

  She laid her head on my shoulder with a strangled little sob. “He’s not really dead, is he? Didn’t I just imagine it? Isn’t this a bad dream?”

  “No, honey. You didn’t imagine it.”

  She drew away from me and covered her face with her hands. “It’s not fair,” she whispered. “It’s just not fair.” Tears trickled between her fingers.

  The best thing I knew to do was sit there and let her cry her heart out.

  Finally she took two deep breaths and leaned against the fat pillows. Her cheeks were trailed with tears and her lashes wet. “I loved him, Mac. I gave my whole life to that man.”

  “Of course you did, honey. And he gave his to you. That’s what marriage is about.”

  She sat up straight and demanded fiercely, “So why did he leave me?”

  Her anger at poor Skye caught me by surprise. “He didn’t leave you on purpose, even if that’s what it feels like.” Was that the right thing to say? I sure wished I’d taken that course at church on stages of grief. It seemed to me, from what I’d picked up from thumbing through the book, that Gwen Ellen was whipping through several stages at a fantastic rate.

  “Where is Skell?” she cried, pressing both temples as if her head would explode. “I want Skell.”

  A car came up the drive. I hurried to the window, but it was just one of the women from our Sunday school class. Behind her came another. “You’ve got company,” I informed her. “Do you want to see them?”

  She joined me at the window, then heaved a sigh. “I’ll have to, I guess. I can’t be rude.” She turned to peer in a mirror over a small table. “I look a mess.”