Misalignment and Murder

by Cathy Tully

  Susannah made her way to the styling room where Polly was toweling Angie’s hair. “Is that a deer hunting target in the backyard?”

  “Mmm-hm.” Polly nodded, a plastic rat-tail comb in her mouth. She removed it and used the long tapered end to spear through Angie’s thick mane. “Travis left it here. Poor Travis.” Her lip quivered.

  Susannah immediately felt ashamed. “I’m so sorry.” She hadn’t meant to upset her. She had no idea that Polly even knew Travis.

  “No, no.” She waved the comb in Susannah’s direction. “When I found out, you know, what happened.” She took a deep breath. “The first thing I thought about was the day he brought that dang deer over here. He was so proud of his new inventory that he just had to show it off to Maggie.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet,” Susannah said, nodding and smiling at Polly, hoping she would dry her tears. In reality, it sounded odd and suspicious. Why would a man bring a hunting target to his girlfriend’s hair salon? She envisioned caped women with their wet hair twisted into highlighting foils raising their hunting bows. She held back a laugh, biting the inside of her cheek. “Did Maggie hunt? Was it a gift?”

  “Lord, no.” Polly tittered. “Maggie hated anything outdoorsy. Her idea of camping out was tailgating in a parking lot before a Georgia game.”

  “I thought she went to the boys’ camp-out,” Angie said.

  “Oh, sure.” Polly grabbed a clip and clamped a section of wet hair. “She would do anything for her boys. But she wasn’t like Travis. He loved all that stuff. He brought that thing over here just as proud as you could be and set it up against the toolshed. He shot at it with arrows and then left it here with all those arrows sticking out plain as day. Maggie lit into him about it, I can tell you.”

  “She did?”

  “What do you think?” Polly blinked at her.

  Susannah said nothing. She didn’t know what she was supposed to think.

  “Maggie wanted to have a fashionable, stylish atmosphere. Having a fake deer shot up in the backyard didn’t exactly lend itself to our brand. It’s ungainly.”

  Susannah said nothing. She was not an arbiter of what was fashionable or stylish.

  “Men. Am I right?” Angie piped up. “I could tell you stories.”

  Polly winked at Angie, swiveled her in the chair, and began cutting. “I suppose I shouldn’t say this about Travis, may he rest in peace, but he was a stinker about it.”

  “Tell me about it,” Angie mumbled.

  “He didn’t want to take it back when Maggie asked him to. He insisted on leaving it in the yard. Maggie and I went out there and carried it behind the shed.”

  Susannah caught Angie’s eye in the mirror. Her raised brow again asked Susannah, What do you think about that? This time, Susannah knew what she thought. Susannah winked at Angie. She thought she should get outside and dig around.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  An Ungainly Ungulate

  Susannah scurried out the door and ambled across the porch to the side of the building where the parking lot was. Trying for nonchalance, she tiptoed down the handicap-accessible ramp and strode through the backyard. A few trees speckled the area next to the parking lot, but the bulk of the yard was a rutted lawn and overgrown privet bushes. Past the bushes was a stand of trees that probably connected with the property behind her. The trees were so tall and numerous that anything else was hidden from view.

  Susannah glanced at the house next door. The wraparound porch and railings were painted light pink, which contrasted nicely against the traditional gray of the house. A flash of movement caught her eye, and she saw a slat from a vinyl window blind drop into place. She shrugged. Was it trespassing if you were outside when you were supposed to be inside?

  She secreted herself behind a dense thicket of overgrown privet, and then a sudden vibration frightened her so badly that she jumped. Lecturing herself on the adverse effects of too much caffeine, she pulled her phone from her pocket, palms sweating. This was why she disliked the sneaking-around part of being a snoop.

  Her phone displayed a text from Bitsy: Where are you?

  Texting with sweaty fingers took some time. After two failed attempts, she finally managed: At Cutz & Curlz. Busy now, talk to you later.

  She didn’t have time to explain to Bitsy that she was traipsing around Maggie Hibbard’s overgrown yard because of her suspicion of a dupe deer. And at this point, she wasn’t sure who exactly was the dupe.

  Pocketing her phone, she paused to push a branch of privet out of the way. It slapped her arm, and she tottered into a ropy-looking vine with waxy, heart-shaped leaves. It was called deer thorn by her neighbors, and she recognized it too late. The innocent-looking dark green leaf hid a nefarious stem of miniature marauding thorns. The vine immediately lassoed her ankle as if it were alive. Grateful that she had donned a pair of walking shoes with thick soles, she shook her head. What was she doing here? She had designed the office schedule so that two mornings a week, no patients were seen. This was supposed to give her time to catch up on notes and reports, not sneak off into the hinterlands of someone’s unkempt and bramble-ridden yard. She waggled her foot free and looked over her shoulder. The house next door was quiet, and she thought she heard a raucous laugh coming from Cutz & Curlz.

  Angie was a people person, and Susannah wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that she was delaying her haircut by keeping Polly in stitches with some stories of her pre-Caden party life in New York City. Susannah continued on, stepping around an anthill. In the distance, a freight train rumbled. Cutz & Curlz was close enough to the railroad tracks that the train passing would cover up any noise she made examining the deer target—if she got there before it passed.

  As the train neared, she felt its vibrations in the earth. Finally at the shed, she skittered behind it and examined the faux deer. Standing about four feet tall, the target was made of foam and taller than it looked from a distance, with a realistic-looking face and a ten-point rack. Susannah was surprised at what hunters would do to hone their craft. She patted its back and sides; it felt smooth and intact. Not many arrows had pierced the ersatz animal’s hide. Why had Travis left it here? It was possible he wanted to show it off. But if so, why would he keep it here, half-hidden behind the shed?

  As the locomotive reached the railroad crossing just yards from the salon’s parking lot, it sounded its horn. The whistle was so loud, the noise would have covered the sound of a pack of wild warthogs making wild warthog love. Susannah quickly crouched down to get a better view of the target’s side. Just behind the foreleg, where she supposed the vital organs would be found, was an oblong piece of foam that looked as though it could be removed. She bent lower and prodded it with her fingertips.

  A tap on her shoulder sent the hair on her arms standing to attention. She twisted to see who was behind her and a pain shot up her spine. “Ow!”

  “You okay?” Bitsy yelled over the sound of the horn, a look of concern on her face.

  “Holy moly!” Susannah untwisted and rubbed her back. She shouted over the rumble of the train, “What are you doing here?”

  Bitsy’s words were obscured, but she pointed at the house with the pink porch. Susannah looked to see a woman in the window waving at them. Cousins? Susannah mouthed the word.

  Bitsy gave her a thumbs-up.

  What else is new? Susannah thought, pointing at the deer and mouthing the words, help me.

  Bitsy wagged her finger at Susannah and then pointed down at Susannah’s feet. “Back up.”

  Susannah scrunched her nose. Back up? She stepped back, eyes fixed on the legs of the target. Vines curled around them. She felt Bitsy tugging on her as the rumble of the train decreased. Bitsy leaned in and shouted: “You’re standing in poison ivy!”

  Susannah jumped back.

  “That’s better.” Bitsy nudged her out of the way, lowering her voice as the train receded into the distance. “That’s a Big Shooter Buck target. Little Junior had one.”

&
nbsp; “What’s this?” Susannah asked pointing to the middle piece without getting close to the poison ivy.

  “That there is a removable foam section.” Bitsy pushed on it. “You can replace it when it gets all shot to smithereens.”

  “I want to see what this deer is hiding.” Susannah poked it, and the piece shifted. She bent closer and then squeezed her finger inside the minuscule gap and tried to pull it loose. It didn’t budge.

  “I think we’re going to have to lay this ungulate down,” Bitsy said. “Then ram the piece out from the other side.”

  “Okay.”

  “Come on,” Bitsy said, leaning over the target and pulling it toward her. “Its feet are all tangled up in these briars. Just tip it.”

  Susannah glanced at Cutz & Curlz and noticed Polly moving around the break room. A shot of adrenaline spurred her on. They had to finish before the next client showed up and asked why two women were hiding behind her shed and molesting a make-believe buck. She grasped the animal around its middle and tipped it over. Bitsy shoved the foam section, and it came free. She held it up for them to see.

  The piece was solid foam, but a cavity had been carved out in the middle. The hole was big enough to hide something about the size of a paperback book. The women locked eyes. Susannah shoved the piece back inside the target.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Pops & Cracks & Gangs

  Susannah hugged her coffee mug in her hands and swiveled in her chair to look at Henry the Eighth. His bright tank made her smile. Henry swished his tail and circled his green moss ball. Susannah wished Caden was here to share this with her; his enthusiasm and excitement over a tiny fish and a bit of green moss was contagious. Placing her mug on her desk, she clicked her computer mouse and peered at the Google map from a different angle.

  This morning, she and Bitsy had found themselves hip-deep—well, maybe ankle-deep—in brambles and vines, dissecting the foam guts from a faux deer. And what had they learned? She tapped a finger on the patient file Tina had given her and bit her lip. A modicum of Caden’s enthusiasm could help her figure out how the secret hidey-hole fit into the overall picture. Though the connection between Gus and Travis was still tenuous, it was obvious to her that Travis had been involved in something underhanded. Using the inconspicuous foam target and hiding something in the cavity, Travis would have been able to communicate with another person without anyone ever seeing them together.

  But why? The Google map of Peach Grove didn’t provide any answers about Travis’s motivation. Was he hiding something? Passing messages or money? She wanted to bring her discovery to Randy, but she remembered his admonition to her. Perhaps if she had proof of what the deer was used for, she could admit to Randy she had been snooping. Until then, it was her secret. Well, hers and her closest friends’.

  The intercom buzzed.

  “Dr. Shine?” Larraine’s voice came through the speaker. “You have a patient in room two.”

  “On my way.”

  Angie had mentioned that Gus got phone calls and text messages that he ignored. He and Travis could have been communicating. But Susannah couldn’t imagine any scenario where Gus would be traipsing around Maggie’s yard without someone noticing. Bitsy’s cousin Tiffany had seen Susannah as soon as she left the parking lot.

  An idea tickled her brain, and she straightened her spine. If someone lived close by Maggie’s shop, it might make sense. But the property behind Cutz & Curlz was owned by the city’s water authority.

  Susannah closed the map and gazed at the peach orchard across the street, now in hibernation. She stared at the naked branches and cleared her mind. Exhaling, she stood and with a small wave to Henry, walked down the hall. In room two, Mr. Doyle Etheridge was lying face down. She patted his shoulder. “Good to see you.”

  Doyle raised his head and gave her a wink before he buried his face in the papered head piece with a crinkle. Susannah palpated his back and pelvis while forcing all other thoughts out of her mind.

  “Okay, let’s get you onto your side.” Susannah moved in for a pelvic adjustment. Doyle squinted up at her, his bushy gray eyebrows contracting. As she leaned into his pelvis, an audible pop filled the room.

  “Just what the doctor ordered,” Doyle wheezed, righting himself and sitting up. “I suppose you heard about the murder down in the Junction th’ other night?”

  “I did.” At least it wasn’t common knowledge that she had tripped over Travis’s body.

  “I heard some crazy rumors about that,” Doyle commented. “You know, some people think there are spirits that walk the earth. Souls that refuse to stay in that cemetery.” His raspy voice broke and his eyes narrowed to slits. “They walk the woods looking for souls to steal. If you look one in the eye, I’ve heard tell the sight is so horrible it just stops your heart.” He paused, then cackled and broke into a grin. “You should see your face, Doc. Don’t tell me you believe in all that hogwash?”

  “Of course not.” She winked at him. “For a moment, I thought you did.”

  “Me? I’m a man of reason,” he said. “I got my rifle and I don’t need no reason.” He cackled again. “You see, Doc, I’ve lived down this end of the county all my life. I’ve hunted down yonder and roamed the woods around Peach Grove and Tussahaw Junction ten times over. If there were some demons out for revenge or evil spirits walking the earth, I would’ve met them by now. And I ain’t. Unless you count the spirit inside some folk that just makes them mean.”

  He stood and reached for his keys and wallet, which he had left on a small shelf. “Ask me, it ain’t the dead ones that give you a problem,” he said, stuffing his wallet into his pocket. “It’s the one’s still walking.”

  “Can’t argue with you there.”

  “Anyway, I heard from one o’ my hunting buddies that a nine-millimeter kilt Travis. Never heard of no evil spirit that needed a gun.”

  Susannah stopped. A nine-millimeter bullet. She forced herself to focus on Doyle. “No, they wouldn’t,” she mumbled and ushered him toward the door. “I guess people are just caught up in Halloween.”

  “No, that’s not it,” Doyle said, jangling his keys and turning to her. “When I grew up, everybody I knew went huntin’ in those woods. Got my first deer down the Junction out where that scout camp is now. Down there, used to be you could walk for miles and not see another soul. But there were certain areas everyone knew were off limits.” He nodded at her and hitched up his pants, dragging out the story.

  “Why?”

  “Shiners.”

  “Shiners?” Susannah had a mental image of shoe shiners.

  He grinned at the confused look on her face. “Moonshiners. Used to have a still down yonder. Everyone knew roundabouts where it was. Least, where to stay away from.” The laugh lines on his face smoothed out, and for the first time he looked serious. “Nowadays, I don’t know what goes on. I hear rumors. Drugs. Guns. Gangs. Don’t usually believe what I hear, but with a man dead, I guess there’s a good reason to keep away.”

  “I guess so,” Susannah ushered him out of the treatment room. A plan began to form in her mind. Travis had last been seen in the cemetery, and tomorrow was his funeral. She understood his family had a plot in the same cemetery he had died in. Susannah shivered. Wandering around woods that went for miles would only get her lost, but a tromp around the cemetery would definitely be in order. She dashed to her office to make some calls.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Zebra Bereaved

  Susannah and Angie drove in silence to Tussahaw Junction and Travis’s funeral. The area was just as small as Peach Grove, so it really wasn’t surprising that the cemetery on the outskirts of town should house a lot of local residents. The real mystery was, why had Travis been in the cemetery in the first place? Was he hiding something there? Susannah glanced over to Angie, who had the vanity mirror down and was applying an extra layer of mascara.

  “I don’t know about you,” Angie said,
“but I’m not looking forward to this. Why’d ya force me to come? I didn’t know Travis. The only time I ever talked to him was when he sold us our guns.”

  Susannah took a sip of her latte, inhaling the aroma. It had taken two shots of espresso to get her moving extra early this morning. She eyed Angie again. Her sister was chewing on a corn muffin, the crumbs sprinkled over her lap. “I didn’t really know him either, but we need all hands on deck here.”

  “All hands on deck?” Angie laughed, a few more crumbs falling down her chin. “What are you, a sea captain? Did you used to talk like this in Brooklyn?”

  “You know what I mean. Get off my back.” Susannah looked down the road as she grasped the steering wheel. “At least I don’t swear like a sailor and spit on the ground.”

  “I do not spit!” Angie turned to face her. “Except one time when Jimmy Massaro pinched me, and I never lived it down.”

  “I know. I know.” Susannah felt a twinge of guilt bringing up the ancient accusation, but her sister deserved a jab once in a while. She teased Susannah often enough. “Let’s go over what we have to do when we get to the cemetery.”

  Text messages had been coming in from Bitsy since the crack of dawn. Her new role as president of the Peach Grove Business Association had given her a new take on the situation. She had become point person, sending emails and text messages to the group and taking up a collection for a spray of flowers that had been sent directly to the funeral home. And while Susannah and Angie had begged off of going to the viewing at the funeral home, Bitsy had attended, ostensibly in her role as president, but unobtrusively as a spy for the Ladies’ Crime-Solving Club, accompanied by her cousin Shanice. They had kept their eyes and ears open and had agreed on one thing: Crystal and Travis indeed were still married.