Brewed, Crude and Tattooed Page 6

  ‘I never got the impression Tien was unhappy,’ I said.

  Tien was walking ahead of us, talking with Rudy. Her father seemed to tighten.

  ‘She says she’s not,’ Luc said in a clipped tone, ‘but my daughter’s young. She shouldn’t still be working with her father.’

  We watched Rudy say something to Tien, before he broke off from the group and ducked inside the barbershop’s back door. Probably avoiding Sarah, who had been on his heels, but now continued on.

  Tien dropped back to us. ‘Rudy says he has a surprise and asked me to grab some things from the store. Is there anything else we need?’

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ said Luc, voice back to normal. ‘I’m going to pick up some bottled sodas. I don’t think the fountain at the pharmacy will work without electricity.’

  The two of them disappeared into An’s as Mrs G opened the door of Goddard’s.

  Jacque stepped past her into the store. ‘I find the battery-powered lights. Like this.’ He lifted what looked like a Japanese lantern and flicked a switch. The neon green lantern - complete with a serpent silhouetted on it - lit up.

  ‘Are those party lights?’ Caron asked, going to help with the multi-colored paper globes. ‘They’re so cute.’

  Meanwhile, Mrs G turned, one hand on Oliver’s shoulder. The poor kid still looked shell-shocked, and who could blame him?

  ‘You all make yourselves comfortable now,’ she said. ‘I’ll make us some nice sandwiches.’ She looked at Oliver. ‘Give me a hand?’

  He nodded wordlessly and they disappeared into the kitchen.

  As I said, Oliver looked like he was on the edge. Aurora, too, I was sure. It couldn’t be easy seeing your son’s father after he was Cuisinarted by a snow-blower.

  Which reminded me of Eric and everything he’d had to deal with, father-wise. I hated not being able to check with him even by text message, which was his preferred method of communication - especially if he was trying to avoid questions. I’m a whole lot easier to ignore in cyberspace than I am in person.

  Which gave me a thought. Cellphones might not be working, but perhaps a text message might go through. A couple of years back, I’d been caught in the aftermath of a steam-pipe explosion in New York City and tried to call Ted and Eric to let them know I was safe.

  Even as I flipped the phone closed after several aborted attempts to get through, a text message icon popped up. The message, from Eric, read: ‘r u ok?’

  Eric later explained to me that texts didn’t require as many ‘bars’ of reception as calling out does.

  Despite that information stored in my poor brain’s data banks, I hadn’t tried sending a text.

  Eric could run, but he couldn’t hide. And neither could anyone else.

  Chapter 10

  My cellphone was back in Uncommon Grounds, so I turned on my heel and went back out the door. The hall was quiet, since Rudy, Luc and Tien were still scouring their respective establishments for sustenance.

  I’d forage, too, after I got my phone. There must be something Uncommon Grounds could contribute to the effort.

  The corridor seemed even spookier than it had earlier, which wasn’t a good sign. The last time I’d felt like this I’d stumbled on a dead body in five minutes flat.

  Turning the corner, I was just passing The Bible Store, when I heard a thud.

  This was both a good sign and a bad one. Good, because corpses don’t thud. Bad, because murderers do.

  According to Caron, The Bible Store hadn’t opened today. Without a paid staff, the good-book store often suffered at the hands of undependable volunteers. Sophie Daystrom was the most faithful, but even she had surrendered to the weather today. Especially understandable, given the ‘Hyundai’ ransack earlier this morning.

  But had someone else decided to pick up Sophie’s slack?

  I tapped timidly on the door. If someone was inside, I’d invite them to Goddard’s for sandwiches.

  No response, so I knocked a second time, even as the thunder - which had been quiet for awhile - kicked up again.

  Maybe it was thunder that I’d heard, not someone...

  Another thud, followed by two more. Still no one came to the door, so I tried the handle. Locked.

  If it was the bogey man, he was being awfully noisy. The alternative was that someone was inside and unable to come to the door. Maybe even injured.

  I backed up and rammed into the door, using my shoulder like I’d seen on TV.

  Damn.

  That hurt. A lot.

  I let out an involuntary whimper and rubbed my aching joint, hoping I hadn’t dislocated something. For its part, the door hadn’t budged.

  Rather than risk further personal injury, I decided to grab my phone from Uncommon Grounds and then go back and find Luc. He was a big guy and a vet. He could probably kick the damn door down using just one big toe.

  I hadn’t locked the door of our coffee shop, so I went in and made a beeline for the office to get my purse and cellphone. As I picked up my bag, another long roll of thunder pounded the earth, this one seemingly right overhead. It was followed, uncharacteristically for thundersnow, by a loud crack.

  Even as the sound died out, there was another thud like the one I’d heard through the door of the adjoining store. Then a third. As I stepped out of mine, the door of the storeroom swung open abruptly. I put out my hands to keep the door from smacking me in the nose. That successful effort, though, left me without a spare hand to regain my balance. I lurched against the wall and slid down, landing on my rump.

  Frank sat down side-by-side with me and gave me a disdainful look.

  ‘I left you alone when it was thundering.’

  Frank sniffed.

  ‘I found a dead body,’ I offered by way of apology.

  But Frank was having none of it. He lifted his back leg and licked...you don’t want to know what he licked.

  I said, ‘Was that you thumping?’

  Still no response. He just continued his ablutions, pretending I was invisible.

  Now I know my sheepdog. Frank was punishing me or being evasive. Or both.

  But why?

  I pushed myself up and stepped into the storeroom to look at the back of the door.

  A hole. A big one in the cheap, hollow-core door.

  Like someone had thudded his furry sheepdog head into it.

  I looked around the door at Frank. ‘You put a hole in that.’

  He switched legs.

  I sighed, accepting my reprimand. ‘You’re right. I brought you here and then abandoned you. I -’ hesitating to admit it - ‘I even forgot you were here.’

  Frank, who was nothing if not gracious, stood up.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Apology accepted. Frank jumped up with paws on my shoulders. Just in time, I saw the tongue.

  ‘No kisses, no kisses!’ I said frantically, twisting my face away from his. I pushed him down gently.

  ‘Do you need to go out?’ I asked.

  Frank’s tail wagged and he pranced to the front door. I turned the latch and pushed, but got only about a two-inch opening. The piled-up snow was blocking the door.

  Frank looked at me expectantly - urgently, even - and put his nose in the opening.

  ‘Sorry, buddy,’ I said. ‘I don’t think you’re going to fit.’ Made me think of that Bible verse about it being easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into heaven.

  I might not be rich, but my canine camel sure as hell wasn’t going to fit through this particular needle.

  I sighed. ‘I’ll let you out back,’ I told Frank, ‘but Way’s body is strictly off-limits.’

  Frank didn’t answer, but waddled to the hallway door. A doggy version of crossing one’s legs.

  I let him out into the hall and he made a beeline for the outside door.

  ‘It’s Pavlik’s crime scene,’ I said, figuring Pavlik might get more respect than Frank’s owner would. The sheriff and the sheepdog w
ere buds, after all.

  Frank, though, didn’t give a damn. He just wanted out.

  I turned the lock and pushed at the door. Since we’d all tramped out less than an hour ago, the snow was compacted enough for me to get it open.

  Frank dashed out as I called after him, ‘Remember...’

  A door slammed behind me, followed by footsteps pounding down the hall. Before I could turn completely around, I was struck in the back.

  Chapter 11

  No blackness, no stars. I saw only white.

  The snow, I realized after a terrifying moment. But...this white wasn’t cold. Or wet.

  This white was...fuzzy.

  Oh, for God’s sake. ‘Get off me, Frank.’

  He shifted and I spat out a mouthful of dog hair. ‘I’m OK, boy. Now...get...off...me.’

  Frank complied. He had laid himself diagonally across my head - presumably to protect me and keep me warm. I didn’t think asphyxiation was on his radar screen.

  Frank stood up, giving me a thankfully rare view of his underside and then moved off, managing to step on me with only one of his paws.

  I sat up, flexing to see if I truly was ‘OK’. My back, where I’d been hit, felt sore. Bruised, for sure, but if it had a cleaver in it, I’d know, right?

  Unless I’d gone into shock.

  Like the victim on television who doesn’t realize there’s a railroad spike through her skull until she overhears: ‘If we remove the thing, it’ll kill her.’

  Which begs the question of how you accessorize a railroad spike if they don’t remove it.

  ‘Take a look.’ I twisted around so Frank could see my back. ‘Do you see anything? Blood? Maybe something sticking out?’

  My devoted pet, who had been watching me with concern, perked right up and started bouncing around, obliterating the crime scene.

  The first one, not mine.

  I’d said ‘sticking’, not ‘stick’, but Frank was running away through the snow like a wide receiver going out for a long pass.

  ‘We are not playing fetch,’ I called after him, getting to my feet.

  ‘Did you scare him away?’ I asked as the sheepdog circled back. I was checking out my body parts one by one, making sure everything was working properly. I didn’t see any blood on the snow, so I wasn’t leaking anywhere. ‘Did you get a good look at him?’

  Frank didn’t seem to have a clue and neither did I. Because I’d been staring out into the brighter snow, when I’d turned back to the dark hallway I’d only gotten an impression - like a reverse negative - of someone coming at me.

  I had to admit, though, his silhouette seemed familiar. The way he moved, maybe, or…

  An intruder?

  I brushed myself off. I’d been assuming that Way’s killer was either someone stranded in the mall or, better, an outsider who had killed him and fled.

  Now I had to entertain the possibility that there was someone - maybe a stranger and maybe not - also hunkering down in Benson Plaza.

  I shivered - not from the cold this time, but it did remind me that I was freezing. I rounded up Frank and we stepped back into the service hallway. Warmer, but not by much, and my clothes were now soaked through.

  Since I assumed my assailant had escaped outside, I turned the lock on the door to the back parking lot to keep it that way. Then, returning to Uncommon Grounds, I sat down at the desk and rummaged through the file cabinet drawers, looking for something, anything to wear. I came up empty, except for an Uncommon Grounds apron.

  I held it up to Frank, who was sitting on the floor next to me, as close as he could get without being on my lap. The sheepdog projected the impression he wasn’t going to let me out of his sight. I wasn’t going to let him out of mine, either.

  I stood up, holding my cellphone. ‘Let’s go see if Mrs G has something I can change into.’ At the very least, word was that there was a fire in the wood stove. If I stood near it long enough, maybe I’d dry out.

  Or toast like a marshmallow. Right then, not such a bad fate.

  Frank walked me to the door. I opened it a crack and looked out. No sign of any bad guy, but then I didn’t know what he looked like anyway.

  Or even, to be completely honest, whether he was a ‘he’.

  In lock-step, Frank and I navigated the hall back to Goddard’s. I had my hand on the sheepdog’s back, fingers twisted in his thick fur. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Frank might have saved my life.

  Frank. The dog I’d reluctantly taken custody of when Eric left for school and Ted had just left our marriage.

  I sniffled. ‘Thank you, Frank.’

  He grunted. Gracious, even in triumph.

  As we navigated, I checked around to see where my attacker might have come from. So far as I could tell in the dim light, everything was the same as it had been when I’d approached Uncommon Grounds. When we reached The Bible Store, I tried the door.

  Still locked, so ‘he’ couldn’t have come from there.

  When I arrived at Goddard’s, I expected Mrs G to have the same reaction to Frank that Caron had earlier. Instead, she welcomed him with open arms. Sitting at the horseshoe-shaped lunch counter, I filled in everyone who was there - Mrs G, Caron, Sarah, Jacque and Aurora - on what had happened.

  ‘You could have been killed,’ Caron said, wringing her hands in a way I found oddly - but sincerely - concerned.

  ‘No, no.’ Jacque was shaking his head. ‘There is no need for panicking. This person, he desires to make the great escape, not injure anyone.’

  Easy position to take when you’re not the ‘anyone’.

  ‘Maggy was lucky she had this dog,’ Mrs G said, giving Frank a tummy rub. ‘He probably saved her life.’ She switched to Frank exclusively and cooed. ‘Didn’t you sweetie, huh? Didn’t you, my good boy?’

  Frank licked her face. I shuddered, but didn’t tell her where that tongue had oh-so-recently been.

  Oliver joined us just then. ‘Hey! A dog!’

  Frank padded over to him. Mrs G watched with a smile on her face and then turned to me. ‘Your clothes are wet.’

  I looked down at my waterlogged T-shirt and jeans. They were even worse than my jacket was now. ‘Do you have anything here I could change into?’

  Mrs G thought. ‘I don’t have much in the way of soft goods, but there might be a T-shirt or two in “Tourist Trash”.’

  ‘Tourist Trash?’ I peered up at the aisle markers.

  ‘I don’t label it that,’ she said, leading me to ‘Souvenirs’. This seems to work just a tad better.’

  Personally, I found the tourist trash approach refreshingly honest. And maybe the stuff by the cash register could be subtitled: ‘Crap you don’t need and wouldn’t buy if you weren’t stuck here waiting in line for so long.’

  But sure enough, Mrs G was able to come up with a green ‘Brookhills: Land of Hills and Brooks’ T-shirt. It came down to my knees, but the shirt was dry and that, to me and my shivering torso, was all that counted.

  ‘Now, what are you going to do for pants?’ she asked, eyeing my wet jeans. ‘I had pink sweats with “Brook” on one butt-cheek and “Hill” on the other, but I had to send them back last week.

  ‘The missing S’? I hazarded.

  Mrs G nodded. ‘No one takes pride in their workmanship anymore.’

  Or spelling. Though leaving the ‘s’ off Brookhills has proven to be a common mistake over the years. Why do you think our main drag is called Brookhill Road?

  But, as wonderful as pink mis-spelled sweatpants sounded, I was still very grateful for the T-shirt alone. ‘That’s fine,’ I said. ‘My jeans will dry.’ Eventually.

  Mrs G snorted. ‘Denim? That will take days. How about some nylon knee socks?’ She was leading me to the magical land where pairs of pantyhose reside in small plastic eggs.

  I wasn’t hot on the knee-sock idea, but I did thumb through the display. ‘Hey, how about opaque tights?’ I said, pulling out an egg.

  ‘I’d go with the black,’ Mrs G s
aid, casting a critical eye. ‘They’ll look better with the T-shirt.’

  We couldn’t find black tights in my size, so I chose navy ones to accessorize my green T-shirt. My feet were freezing, so I pulled on a pair of red tasseled slipper-socks.

  I looked like an elf on holiday, but at that point I was beyond caring.

  Luxuriating in my new-found dryness, if not exactly warmth, I went to stand by the fire.

  Aurora was already there. She looked me up and down. ‘Nice outfit. Besides getting soaked, are you hurt?’

  I thought it was considerate of her to ask about my wellbeing when she had Way’s death - and manner of death - to endure. ‘I’m fine, Aurora. But, thanks. How about you? And Oliver?’

  ‘Oliver? I don’t know. He doesn’t talk to me.’ Aurora lifted her head. She had tears in her eyes. ‘Doesn’t want to talk with me.’

  ‘It’s epidemic at that age,’ I said. ‘I barely hear from Eric.’ With a pang, I realized I hadn’t tried to text my son yet.

  Aurora managed a smile. ‘So what next, Maggy? You’ve rounded up the usual suspects. Aren’t you going to start interrogating us?’

  If I had to have a reputation at this point in my life, I’d rather that it be as a slut than a snoop. Still, we play the cards we’re dealt.

  ‘I admit I want to know who did this,’ I said. ‘Don’t you?’

  Aurora didn’t answer the question. Instead: ‘If you’re looking for people who hated Way, it’s a wide-open field. Despite his education, he is...was, crude.’

  ‘Crude?’ I’d thought of Way as egotistical and self-centered, but not necessarily gutter material.

  She laughed, bitterly this time. ‘Did you know that he commissioned a tattoo in my honor?’

  I did, because I’d seen it on Way’s lifeless body.

  ‘Well, that was romantic, right?’ I said. I mean people don’t have ink injected under their skin for just anyone. Unless they’re drunk.

  ‘Sure,’ Aurora said. ‘Until we divorced.’