Petal to the Metal

by Annabel Chase

  The cat managed to dart into a section of overgrown bushes. I pictured her rear-end sticking out like Winnie-the-Pooh when he overindulged in honey and couldn’t quite make it all the way home.

  “Ophelia, I’m not angry, just disappointed,” I called, using an oft-used line by my mother.

  I wasn’t about to cut a path straight through the bushes, so I attempted to skirt the outer edge. Unfortunately, I wasn’t watching the ground and managed to trip over a fallen log. I cried out as I fell and scraped my already injured hand on the earth. Who left a log in the middle of the garden? That was just asking for trouble.

  It was only when I turned to glare at the offending tree limb that I realized I was wrong. It wasn’t the limb of a tree at all.

  It was the limb of a dead body.

  Chapter Seven

  “Well, isn’t this a darn shame?” Chief Tuck Sherwood scratched his snow-white beard as he observed the woman’s corpse. The chief of police stood about six feet tall with weathered skin and blue eyes that rivaled Paul Newman’s. There was an unexpected sweetness to his manner given that he was the local chief of police.

  “Do you know who she is?” I asked, unable to look at the dead body. The only dead bodies I’d seen were already in coffins in the middle of a funeral service. I wasn’t accustomed to seeing them in the wild.

  “Sure do,” the chief said. “That’s Gladys Spencer.”

  With her grey hair and sensible shoes, she looked like a Gladys.

  “You don’t know her?”

  “No, I only arrived in town yesterday.”

  He glanced over his shoulder toward the house. “You bought this place or you’re renting?”

  “Neither. My father’s aunt left it to me. She died a couple months ago and I’m her only living heir.”

  His thick white eyebrows seemed to rise like two puffy clouds. “Hazel was your aunt?”

  “My dad’s aunt,” I said. “I’m Amelia Thorne but everyone calls me Mia.”

  “You weren’t here for the memorial service,” he said. It almost sounded like an admonishment.

  “No. I didn’t know her.”

  He gave me a curious look. “Why not?”

  “My family life is complicated.”

  Chief Sherwood appeared unmoved. “Family is important, Ms. Thorne. You’re a grown woman. You couldn’t reach out on your own?”

  “My dad’s been dead for a long time and my mom thought Hazel was cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, so we never had any interaction with her.”

  “Gladys here was one of your aunt’s best friends,” he said. “Did you know that?”

  “Obviously not. I just told you I didn’t know her, so how would I know any of her friends?”

  His expression sharpened. “That’s a nasty mark on your hand. You should get that looked at.”

  I cradled my wounded hand. I’d been so shocked by the body that it seemed to numb the pain.

  “Where’d you come from, Ms. Thorne?”

  My mother’s womb didn’t seem like the answer he was looking for. “New York City.”

  “A lot of crime in the city. You’re probably always looking over your shoulder, worrying about getting mugged—or worse.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What’s your point?”

  “Maybe you saw someone trespassing on your new property and you got nervous. Reacted without thinking. Do you carry a weapon?”

  “Does sarcasm count?”

  The chief stared at me with a blank expression. “Maybe you reacted by pushing her and she hit her head on one of those decorative rocks.”

  My eyes popped so hard, I worried they might freeze that way. “Are you accusing me of killing her?”

  Chief Sherwood inclined his head. “Why don’t you come down to the station and we can talk about it?”

  I pointed at the dead woman. “Talk about this?” I heard my voice go up an octave and winced. I hated when my voice went high-pitched. I half expected dogs in the neighborhood to start howling in response.

  “It’s standard procedure,” Chief Tuck said.

  “Not for me. The closest I’ve gotten to a police station is…” I trailed off.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Is when?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. If he didn’t actually arrest me, he might not find out.

  “I see.”

  “We can’t leave now,” I said. “What about the body?”

  “Not to worry. I’ll have it taken care of it.”

  “I don’t have a car.” A lame objection, but I didn’t have a better one.

  “I’ll drive, Miss Thorne. The station’s not very far.”

  “Okay then. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, especially because you’ll have to drive me home afterward.”

  He let me ride in the front seat, which was considerate and made me feel less like a murder suspect.

  “There’s an active theater community here,” he said, pointing to the theater as we passed it. “Sunday matinees are the best time to go if you’re looking to save money.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  “Do you kayak?”

  I shot him a quizzical look. His disposition was awfully amiable for a man who thought I’d killed a helpless old woman.

  “I’ve been once or twice on vacation. Not a lot of opportunity for it in the city.”

  “You’ll appreciate it here,” he said. “I like to fish from my kayak. I bring a nice picnic, toss out a small anchor, and relax for a few hours.” He tapped his thumbs idly on the steering wheel. “The nice weather will be here soon enough.”

  We pulled into the station and he unlocked my door.

  “You’re not going to make a run for it, are you?” he asked. “My knees aren’t what they used to be.”

  “I hear that.” I popped open the door. “I’m not going to run because I’m innocent.”

  He said nothing as he left the vehicle and escorted me inside, directing me to a small interrogation room.

  “I’ll be with you in just a minute. Can I get you a drink? There’s water or we have hot cocoa if you’re in the mood for something sweeter.”

  I perked up at the mention of hot cocoa. “Do you have those little marshmallows?”

  “I’m sure we can manage that.”

  “Thanks, Mr…I mean, Chief Sherwood.”

  “Everybody calls me Chief Tuck.”

  He sauntered out of the room and closed the door, leaving me alone at the table. I tried not to think about poor Gladys. How long had she been there? Days? Hours? She was wearing a coat, which suggested she hadn’t been killed inside and then carried outside to dispose of the body.

  As promised, Chief Tuck returned with a mug of hot cocoa covered in tiny marshmallows and placed it in front of me.

  “You might want to wait a minute so you don’t scald your tongue,” he advised. “Apparently this isn’t your first brush with the law.”

  My throat went dry. It was full cottonmouth, like that time I’d woken up in the morning after a night of tequila shots in Cabo. I’d been so drunk on the walk home from the beach bar that I’d stripped naked and jumped in the ocean before being carried back to my room by a beefy albeit well-mannered security guard. My friends had followed behind us with my clothes, snapping photos and cackling like two hyenas in stereo.

  “I had a minor incident about ten years ago,” I said. “Is that bad?”

  Chief Tuck peered at me with those ice blue eyes. “You were arrested. You don’t think that’s bad?”

  “I got probation,” I said. “It couldn’t have been that bad, right?”

  “According to the report, you assaulted a man with an Indian cigar statue and called him a racist,” Chief Tuck said.

  “In my defense, I was very, very drunk.” I paused.

  “That explains the charge of drunk and disorderly.”

  “And I stand by my statement. Having that statue on display was insensitive to Native Americans. Anyway, I didn’t exactly assault him with it. I pushed it ove
r and it broke his toe.”

  The chief observed me in silence for a moment and I couldn’t decide whether he thought I was innocent or an idiot. Maybe both.

  “Murder is a big step from knocking over a racist statue,” I said.

  “I think you’ll find most criminals start small and scale up over time,” a voice said.

  I glanced up to see an insanely attractive man in a suit. He swaggered into the room with the confidence of a former athlete who’d peaked in high school but didn’t know it. It was actually kind of charming.

  “Deputy coroner’s at the scene, Chief,” the former high school athlete said.

  Chief Tuck nodded gruffly. “Good. We should know cause of death in the next forty-eight hours.” He motioned to me. “Detective Fairfax, this is Amelia Thorne, the new owner of Red Clover.”

  My radar pinged. “Fairfax? As in Dane Fairfax?”

  He gave me a curious look. “I’m Derek, his younger brother.”

  I could see the resemblance. Slightly darker hair and an inch or so shorter but same build and Caribbean eyes. It seemed unfair to have such a high concentration of good genes in one family.

  “You know Dane Fairfax?” Chief Tuck asked.

  “I signed papers at his office yesterday.”

  “Have a seat, Fairfax,” the chief said. “I was just discussing Ms. Thorne’s criminal history with her.”

  “It’s not really criminal history,” I said. “Seriously. Who hasn’t been drunk and disorderly at least once in their life?” I didn’t like the way they were both looking at me. “I didn’t kill anyone. I’m far too lazy for a felony. I don’t even kill ants or spiders in the house, not because I respect their precious lives, but because it would involve getting off the sofa.” I shook my head somberly. “I only get up if I really have to pee. And I mean really.”

  Chief Tuck exchanged glances with the detective. “I’m going to need a rundown of your schedule the past couple days. I’m also going to need you to stay put until we figure this out.”

  “That works for me,” I said. “I can’t go anywhere for a year.”

  Chief Tuck peered at me. “How’s that?”

  “I need to stay for a year in order to keep the house,” I said. “I can’t sell it until then.”

  “You want to sell?” Detective Fairfax asked, in a way that made me rethink that particular plan.

  “That had been the plan, until I learned about the provision.” My palms began to sweat at the thought of going to prison. “She could’ve been out there for days. I wasn’t even in town until yesterday.”

  “Or she could’ve been killed last night or early this morning,” Chief Tuck said. “We’ll know more once the autopsy results are in. Anything else you care to share, Ms. Thorne?”

  I slotted my fingers together on the table. “I don’t know what else I can tell you. I’ve never seen the woman before. I literally tripped over her while chasing a cat. A cat, by the way, whose speed and stealth seem to defy physics.”

  “That’s a nasty mark on your hand.” Fairfax pointed at the red and swollen skin. “How’d you manage it?”

  I held up the injured hand for closer inspection. “The aforementioned cat.”

  “We’ll need confirmation that those marks are, in fact, from a cat,” Fairfax said.

  I gaped at him. “You think Agnes did this to me?”

  “Gladys,” Chief Tuck corrected me.

  “Could be defensive wounds,” Fairfax said.

  “Yes, my defensive wounds,” I countered.

  “I recommend Dr. Farrell. She’s smart and has a pleasant bedside manner,” Chief Tuck said. “Her office is only two blocks from here.” He glanced at Fairfax. “Why don’t you call and see if you can get our friend in today? Sometimes it can be tough for a new patient to get an appointment.”

  “I’ll have to check and see if she’s on my insurance plan,” I said. I now had COBRA thanks to the loss of my job and hadn’t bothered to check the specifics.

  Chief Tuck swatted the air. “It’ll be fine. Go on ahead.”

  I looked warily from one to the other. “I can go?”

  “Fairfax will accompany you. That way he can give you a lift home afterward.” He turned slightly to address his underling. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No, sir. Of course not.” Detective Fairfax gave me an expectant look. “You ready, Miss Thorne?”

  I made sure to drain every last drop of hot cocoa from the mug.

  “I am now.”

  “You dislike the doctor’s office,” I said. I wasn’t sure where the statement came from. It seemed to bubble to the surface and slide off my tongue before I could stop it.

  Detective Fairfax gave me an uneasy look. “What makes you say that?”

  “I…I don’t know. Something happened in your youth.” Suddenly the peaking in high school description made sense. “You suffered an injury in high school. Football?”

  “Soccer,” he said. “Did Dane tell you that?”

  “No,” I said. “He didn’t tell me anything about you.”

  A feeling of extreme discomfort overtook me and my head grew fuzzy. What was wrong with me?

  “Amelia Thorne,” the receptionist called, snapping me back to reality. “The doctor will see you now.”

  I rose to my feet and approached the door.

  “Not you, Detective Fairfax,” the receptionist said, smiling sweetly. “You know how privacy laws work. I’ll be happy to keep you company while your friend is in the exam room.”

  From her predatory expression, I thought I might find her seated in his lap by the time I left the exam room.

  I turned to wink at him. “You’ll have to admire me in a paper gown some other time.” I slipped through the door and was directed to a corner in the corridor with a scale.

  “Let me just grab your height and weight,” the nurse said.

  I cringed. “Is that necessary?”

  The nurse offered a sympathetic smile. “You can close your eyes if you like. I won’t say the number out loud.”

  “Bless you,” I said and slipped off my shoes. I wasn’t willing to carry the extra pound or two onto the scale whether I heard the results or not.

  Afterward the nurse pointed me to the adjacent exam room. I sat on the edge of the exam table, my legs dangling over the side, as the nurse checked my blood pressure.

  “Do you normally have high blood pressure?”

  “Not that I know of, but I’ve been under a lot of stress recently.”

  The nurse scribbled a few notes. “Dr. Farrell will be right in.”

  The nurse left and I stared at the wall, feeling out of sorts. A woman was murdered on my property. Aunt Hazel’s friend. Yet I still had to remain in the house for a year or forfeit the inheritance. Maybe it wasn’t worth it. Maybe I should leave town as soon as the police give their approval and move in with my mother and Jurgen.

  My heart began to pound and I inhaled deeply in an effort to calm myself. The door swung open and the doctor entered the room. She was a petite woman with a head full of brown curly hair that reminded me of Andie MacDowell.

  “Hi there. I’m Dr. Farrell. I understand you have an injury that needs assessment.”

  “I’m making friends with a resistant cat,” I said, holding up my hand. “She’s territorial.”

  The doctor inspected the skin of my hand. “When was your last tetanus shot?”

  I swallowed hard. Needles still freaked me out thanks to a childhood bout of tonsillitis that ended in surgery.

  “No idea,” I croaked.

  “You’ll need one today then. Have you taken any painkillers?”

  “I took ibuprofen and applied ice.” I’d had the presence of mind to do that much after I went inside to call 911. “I think the police want confirmation that a human didn’t do this to me.”

  Dr. Farrell eyed me curiously. “I see. Well, see these two puncture wounds?”

  I nodded. It was hard to identify them due to the swellin
g, but I saw them.

  “This clearly indicates a cat bite.”

  I shot a triumphant look at the wall, knowing the detective was seated somewhere on the other side of it.

  “I’m also going to write you a prescription for amoxicillin. You’re not allergic to penicillin, are you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Which pharmacy do you use?”

  “I only moved here yesterday. I’ll use whichever one you recommend.”

  Great. A tetanus shot, pills, and a dead body. Welcome to the neighborhood.

  “I can’t die from a cat bite, can I?” I asked. My hypochondriac tendencies started to kick in.

  “It’s possible but unlikely. If the cat has an infection, it can make its way into your bloodstream, but those cases are rare. That’s why I’m giving you the shot as well as the prescription, to be on the safe side.”

  I tried to steady my breathing. No one knew me here. I was going to drop dead of an infection in the middle of the night and no one would know for days. Maybe even weeks. Ophelia would dine on the meat of my bones for months, which was probably her plan all along. Evil cat.

  I left the exam room after the nurse administered the tetanus shot. Detective Fairfax was chatting with an attractive woman in the waiting area, but he stopped talking when he saw me.

  “You okay?” he asked. To his credit, he actually seemed concerned.

  “It’s definitely a cat bite. I authorized the doctor to share the report with your office.”

  He nodded and stood, his keys already in his hand. “How about I drive you home now?”

  “Mind if we stop at the pharmacy first?”

  “No problem.” He held the door open for me.

  “This really hasn’t been my day,” I said.

  His handsome face darkened. “I think Gladys Spencer might feel the same—if she could feel anything at all.”