by Alan Black
Eustace looked thoughtful. “I can’t do it for a hundred. It’s thirty minutes there and thirty minutes back, plus a couple of hours worth of taking statements. I can’t do it for less than five hundred.”
Veronica laughed. “It’s only ten minutes here and ten minutes back. Plus, I’m the only witness you need a statement from, and then you do a quick body scan, and you’re home in time for your afternoon masturbation session.”
Eustace laughed. “It’s still going to take at least three hundred.”
“It was an accidental death. Make it two hundred.”
“Two-fifty since I have to wait to get paid.”
“Deal, but only if you get here in the next half hour.”
Eustace made the trip in fifteen minutes.
Veronica would have recommended he use the extra fifteen minutes to brush his teeth and use some mouthwash, but she led him around the west side of the house to the ramada, anyways.
“Maine, huh?” He looked at her with suspicion before flipping on his data-patch to begin scanning the body.
Veronica nodded. “He was drunk and passed out when I went to bed last night. He was upset about having killed Dillon, but he was alive when I left him.”
Eustace said, “Is that your official statement?”
She nodded. “Yes, it is. I didn’t touch Maine, and as far as I know, no one else was here.”
Eustace ran the data-patch across Maine’s body and waited for the results.
Veronica started to speak, but Eustace held up a finger to stall her. “Wait a bit.”
It took about thirty-five seconds for the medical program in the sheriff’s data-patch to beep, indicating its results.
Sheriff Eustace said, “Official conclusion is accidental death due to alcohol poisoning.”
Veronica was surprised. “I thought he choked to death on his own vomit.”
Eustace shrugged. He turned around in a slow circle, recording the whole scene for his official report. “Choking on his own vomit did finish him off, but he’d have died anyway. His blood alcohol level was 4.6. Death happens mostly around 4.0, so he was already on his way out.”
He stopped recording when he reached the bottle of stain remover and his data-patch beeped. He glanced to the west. “Oleanders, huh?”
Veronica smiled. “They’ll be pretty, and they’ll provide excellent shade when they come in.”
Eustace nodded. “The compound in that bottle there isn’t good for removing stains.”
Veronica froze. She felt her heart stop. The sheriff knew—somehow, he knew. She realized she might have underestimated his intelligence. He may be useless, but that did not mean he was stupid.
Eustace shrugged. “Still, the body scan doesn’t show any signs of digitoxigenin. How do you pronounce this?” He pointed at a word on his data-patch screen.
Veronica pronounced the word neriin for him.
Eustace shrugged again, “Strange you know how to pronounce that, but I guess you were a college professor back on Earth. The body also doesn’t show any signs of oleandrin, oleondroside, or any of the other poisons you get from boiling down oleander plants.”
Veronica said, “Sheriff Eustace, it’s like I said, an accidental death.”
Eustace said, “Good thing he did himself in by accident, or I’d have had to report it differently. However, accident or not, I can’t say I find fault with your intent.”
“My intent?” She wondered if she could bluff her way out of this.
Eustace shrugged. “Intent to commit a crime is not a crime. You actually have to do something.” He pointed at his data-patch screen. “Here, I need your fingerprint.”
Veronica put her hands behind her back. “What am I signing?”
Eustace sighed. “Just that you’re a witness to this accidental death and you’re authorizing your IOU to me. The rest isn’t my problem…this is outside of my jurisdiction, anyway.”
Veronica said, “Can you take care of the body?”
Eustace shrugged. “Not my problem. Give the remains back to Buckner and Dee or toss him in the compost pile.” The man walked back to his flitter and drove away without looking back or saying another word.
Veronica looked down at Maine’s body before she looked up Peaceful Junction’s land plats on her data-patch. The town planners had not planned on anyone dying. They had not zoned for a cemetery. She did not want this man’s remains fouling her land. Maybe she should deposit him on his parent’s doorstep. She could dump him in the river or maybe she should build a boat and give him a Viking funeral. Back on Earth, she might have dumped his body out in the desert. After all, coyotes have to eat, too.
She shrugged, it was time to call her foreman. She dialed Steve’s private number on her data-patch realizing it was the first time she thought of him as her farm foreman. She thought, “Well, Veronica, we’re flying now.”
A name to give her farm suddenly occurred to her. She was born a Wikoff; become a Smith when she married the first time; divorced, and remarried, becoming a Halberd for a short time, and was now a widow. Calling it the Smith Farm, Smith Place, Halberd Ranch, or the Wikoff Homestead did not make sense. She liked the sound of “Flying V Farms” using a V with wings as a brand or logo. She did not have any cows to brand, but it would make a cute logo on her letterhead.
Steve’s voice brought her back to the present. “Veronica? Are you okay?”
She smiled. “I’m fine, Steve. Maine had a little accident, though. Could you come up to my house and bring the truck. Maybe you could ask Auggie to come along. I know it’s Sunday and you both have the day off, but I have a body we need to dispose of.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Veronica picked up her bottle of stain remover, went back into the house, and dialed up the Halberds home phone number. It rang a dozen times before Buckner Halberd finally answered.
“Maine?” He said sleepily. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Mr. Halberd, Maine is dead. He drank too much yesterday and died of alcohol poisoning.” She could see that her words were not sinking in. “I’m going to take his body into town today and leave it at the saloon. If you want his body to bury next to Dillon, go get it.” She severed the connection before he could respond.
She walked into the kitchen and poured the bottle of oleander extract down the drain. She would not trust the glass bottle, no matter how many times she cleaned it, so she shoved it down the trash shoot, instantly compressing it into a tight bundle with her wedding dress.
The front door flew open and Steve, Auggie, Maslow, and Polat rushed to the kitchen.
Auggie said, “Are you alright?”
Veronica laughed. “Yes, thank you for coming, but I do not need protecting. I just need some muscle to help me put Maine’s body in the truck.”
Steve said, “You said it was alcohol poisoning?”
She said, “Sheriff Eustace has already been here.”
The vidphone buzzed impatiently. She walked over and checked the caller id. “Ignore the phone. It’s my ex-in-laws, and I’m in too good of a mood to talk to them. This is my honeymoon, after all.”
Auggie chuckled. “Masterful, boss, true artistry.” He waved his data-patch screen in her direction. She caught a flash of Mags’ grinning face. “Mags thinks you did right, too. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
Steve said, “Wait, I don’t get it. You said he drank himself to death? What are you talking about, Auggie?”
Veronica said, “Yes. That’s precisely what happened.”
Auggie stifled a smile. “Don’t mind me. I have a strange sense of humor this early on Sunday mornings. I’m just glad Maine Halberd isn’t around anymore.”
Steve said, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m more than glad he’s gone, but…” His voice faded as a concerned look came over his face. “Never mind. Sheriff Eustace said it was an accident?”
Veronica said, “Yes he did, and yes, it was.”
Auggie started to say something, but he hesitated, listening to Ma
gs say something in his ear. He smiled instead.
Steve said, “He still outside in the ramada?”
Veronica nodded. “I’m going to take his body into town for his parents to claim if they want it.”
Everyone went out to the ramada and stared down at Maine’s body. Auggie stripped off his torn, shaggy t-shirt and tossed it to Polat. “Hang on to this for me. I don’t want to get his vomit on my nice clean Sunday best.” He picked up Maine’s body using a fireman’s carry as if it had no weight at all. Moving around to the front of the house, he tossed the body in the back of the truck. It made a sickening sound as it landed on the truck bed.
Veronica said, “Can I get a volunteer to go into town with me and help move the body when I get there? Auggie?”
Auggie nodded. “Sure, why not. I already got his cooties all over me, I might as well finish the job.”
Veronica was silent on the way to town. She was glad both Dillon and Maine were gone. They deserved what they got. She was sure both men knew their father was abusing their sister, yet they did nothing about it, maybe they even participated. It was a minor thing to shoot out the windows of her farm truck, but the broken glass cut Ransom Johannsen. Even killing her cows did not justify killing the two men, although her Arizona ancestors hanged cattle thieves whenever they caught them. She was convinced they conspired with their father and murdered Maine’s first wife, Missy.
Her initial plan was to dispose of Maine before she had to get into bed with the repulsive cretin. She was happy he was dead and relieved she did not have to kill him. Yet, somehow, the whole affair saddened her.
Auggie looked over at her knowingly but remained silent.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Mags leaned back against her pillow and smiled. Auggie was with Veronica disposing of Maine’s body. It was quiet in the house, and since it was Sunday, she did not have to get up and do anything.
I knew the boss was tough, but she surprised me. She said aloud, “Good girl!”
She stopped herself from voicing her next thought, but it crossed her mind anyway. I knew that the boss was tough, but she’s more devious than I gave her credit. I’m going to have to watch that. I’m getting so comfortable here I let my paranoia slip away. I’m definitely going to have to watch that.
She glanced around her bedroom. Again she spoke, “I don’t know what I have to be paranoid about. I can just let the boss handle it, if I have a problem.”
She checked the time on her data-patch. “Accident or not, however, she rigged Maine’s and Dillon’s deaths. The time is about right for her remorse to start setting in.”
Chapter Fifty
Sheriff Eustace was standing at the door of the saloon when Auggie and Veronica pulled up.
He spoke with a calm, dull voice, as he normally did. “What’re you doing? I’ve fielded a dozen calls from Buckner and Dee Halberd. They’re madder than the man who makes hats for the moon.”
Veronica turned to Auggie. “Would you put Maine’s body in the saloon?”
Auggie said, “Sure, Veronica. Do you want me to put him in the back beer cooler? That way, it won’t start to stink any worse than it already does in this heat.”
Veronica nodded.
Eustace said, “Well? You’re in my jurisdiction now.”
Veronica said, “I am. I told the Halberds to pick up Maine’s body here. I didn’t want to go to their place, and I didn’t want them on mine.”
Eustace said, “I don’t want either of you here. They’re going to be here any minute.”
“And that is your problem. You keep the peace. I have business in town, and since I’ve dropped off Maine’s body, I don’t have any business with the Halberds.”
“What business have you got in town on a Sunday? I thought you started doing all of your business over in Twisted City.”
Veronica said, “I have records to straighten out.” She started walking toward city hall.
Eustace sighed and followed her.
She looked over her shoulder. “Did you file the report on Maine’s death?”
“Yes. I recorded it just like I said I would, as an accident. The system automatically filled in a death certificate. You’re officially a widow if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“No. I’m worried about owing you two hundred and fifty credits. I’m going to get it for you today if I can.”
Eustace turned at the sound of the flitter and walked back to the saloon to intercept the Halberds. “Your boy’s in the cooler in the bar!”
Veronica turned as Eustace looked at Auggie for confirmation.
Auggie nodded.
Veronica left the conversation behind. The lights of city hall flashed on automatically as she entered the building. She stepped up to the first information kiosk and called up Maine’s death certificate and the sheriff’s report on the death. It read exactly as Eustace said it would. The report mentioned the inquiry into oleander poisoning but confirmed that no oleander toxins were present in the body.
Maine’s prenuptial agreement covered joint survivorship concerning the land. She attached copies of his death certificate, the sheriff’s report, and his will, to the request to change the title on the deed to Maine’s property. Maine’s land was practically useless, but it butted up next to hers. Owning contiguous property had its advantages—that advantage was now hers.
She smiled as she transmitted the redemption request for the one million credit life insurance policy along with the supporting documents, to the headquarters of the insurance company, in Landing City. Even on Sunday, the computers completed the appropriate data matches, updated its actuarial tables, reviewed all death notices, scanned law enforcement documents, and most important, paid out the credits immediately. She checked her bank balance using her data-patch. After twenty-seven seconds—give or take a nanosecond or two—she watched her bank balance skyrocket.
She wondered how long it would take Manning Tatum to get the news and how his insurance commission was structured. Would he get his commission or would he call for an insurance investigation into Maine’s death to dispute the policy payout, seeking a return of funds?
Veronica set up a connection between the kiosk and her data-patch so she had continued anonymous access to city hall records. After password protecting it, she left city hall. Other kiosks were available so her open connection on the secured kiosk would not block anyone else’s information access. Unless someone was specifically searching for it, no one would notice it.
She saw the Halberds loading Maine’s body into their flitter. Ignoring them, she turned the corner to walk up the alley. She was not exactly sure where she was going, but almost everybody in town knew the approximate location of Tiffany Eustace’s place of business.
Come to find out, it was not hard to find. A simple one-word sign over the door boldly proclaimed “SEX.” It occurred to Veronica it did not need to say more. She attempted to open the door but found it locked. She rang the doorbell and waited. She rang the bell again and continued waiting. Finally, she leaned on the doorbell and did not release it until the door flew open.
“Ah, crap!” Tiffany said. “It’s you. Look, if you’re here to tell us that we can’t take Maine in as a customer anymore, that’s not my job. You keep—”
Veronica laughed. “Oh, Tiffany, that isn’t a problem at all. Maine is as dead as Dillon is. I just came to give the bad news to Tania Halberd.”
An explosion of air escaped Tiffany’s lungs. “Not bad news as far as I can tell. It is kind of a surprise though, what with both brothers going on the same day.”
Veronica laughed, “Well, where Dillon went, Maine was sure to follow. You hardly ever saw one in life without the other right there. Why should death be any different?” Veronica was not willing to say more. She did not intend to explain Maine’s death to everyone who expressed a casual desire for gossip fodder.
She followed Tiffany into the waiting room. Her mental picture of what brothels looked like did not match t
his room. To her surprise, the waiting area looked exactly like any doctor or dentist's waiting room, except the artwork on the wall was somewhat different.
Well, she thought, the art here isn’t that different from my gynecologist, Dr. Wellman’s office. In fact, the pictures on this wall are a lot less graphic. She looked around at the décor. The small room had stackable, orange plastic chairs interspersed with blowup, plastic plants. She was sure this brothel only catered to male clients. Any place catering to women would spend more time on interior design. She sat and waited for Tania.
The woman came in and sat down next to her. She looked and smelled like she had had a hard night. “It’s too early on Sunday for this.”
Veronica said, “Did Tiffany tell you about Maine?”
Tania nodded. “No great loss to the human race. You were a bit quick about getting rid of him.”
“He drank too much yesterday. He was remorseful about killing Dillon and drank himself to death. The sheriff investigated and said it was alcohol poisoning.”
Tania patted her knee. “Well, thanks for coming by and telling me. See you at your next wedding.”
Veronica said, “Hold up a minute. That isn’t why I wanted to see you.”
Tania grunted. “Well, I don’t usually take women clients, but give me time to shower—”
“No—oh, no! I wanted to see if you were interested in selling Dillon’s land.”
“Interested? Yes…yes, I am. Oh, hell yes! Tatum was in here last night trying to get me to practically give it to him. He seemed to think he was good enough in the sack that I should give him a discount there, too.”
Veronica said, “Did you sell it to him?”
“The land or the sex?” She giggled at her own joke. “I sold him the sex at full price, then I told him I would think about it selling the land. He offered me a credit an acre and said that he was doing me a favor at that. He said the land is practically worthless. I’d like to get some money out of the land so I can get out of this sinkhole, maybe move to Landing City and get a job in one of the big houses, or even as a waitress in a casino or something.”