BM03 - Crazy Little Thing Called Dead (3 page)

“No eggs for you,” I told him. “I put your tuna in the storm drain.”

Stripes followed me to the house, which still made me kind of nervous. He hadn’t sprayed in a long time, but the potential was still there. Diesel, the boxer ran over to Stripes, they sniffed noses and Diesel rolled the skunk over and snuffled his belly. Thank God skunks can’t spray when they’re on their backs.

Annabelle Cat hopped down from the porch rail as I came up the stairs and followed me into the house with the other dogs. I inherited my house from my grandma. My brothers got money, which made them happy, and I got the farm, which made me happy. I’d done a little remodeling, mostly putting in a bunch more windows, painting walls and tossing a bunch of furniture.

I grabbed a Greek yogurt with honey from the fridge and ate it leaning with my back to the sink. I’m great at compartmentalizing but now that my chores for the day were done, the body in Planet Hair was on my mind.

It was just so unlikely. Why dump a body there? I could see the benefits; Planet Hair was situated out of the line of site from the Green, the New England equivalent of the town square. Because Planet Hair was at the end of the building and the porch didn’t extend past the door, no one could glance in and see the body. But still, it didn’t make sense to me.

I set aside the body as ‘unanswered questions’ and rooted around in the fridge for something else to eat. I grabbed an apple and a soda, heading to the living room to hang out on my couch. I truly did mean to watch TV, go to bed and forget about the murder, but questions kept cropping up in my mind. Like, why diapers? And why not just dump the body in the river? So I turned on the lamp, got a pad of paper and a pen, and started taking notes. I’d find the facts if it killed me.

***

There are certain perks to working over the main drag in town. Food is one of them. Unfortunately, when I walked into the café to pick up my grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tomato soup, I spotted the front cover of the
Valley News
. While I was waiting I bought the paper and opened the
News
and placed it on the counter next
to The Star
. My article had more detail than Lucy’s, and thankfully Randy hadn’t signed a release for the
News
, so we had the only photos of the dead body, but when it came to actual facts they were identical. Crap.

When I finally climbed the stairs to the office, there was a woman standing on the landing outside our door. She was petite, slim and wearing a coat that clearly came off a New York runway. I instantly morphed into an over-sized Vermont woodchuck. Which I was, and proud of it, but there’s nothing like coming face to face with your polar opposite to make you aware of your weak points. Her dark hair was cut short, the ends of her bob sweeping her cheeks when she turned to look at me coming up the stairs.

I balanced my sandwich on the cup of soup and unlocked the door. She followed me in, looking around the office as if it had a sour smell.

“Can I help you?” I asked, wondering what the hell she was doing here. “I’m afraid Meg isn’t in today, but I can take the information if you want an ad.”

She looked at me strangely. I flashed back to high school when I’d said the principal was an old cow and discovered her standing directly behind me. Not a good sign. But the woman smiled and held out her hand.

“I am Michèle Ledroit.” She had a distinct European accent. “This is a news agency? Am I correct?”

“Yes.
The Royalton Star
.” What was she after? I gestured to the chairs at my desk. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Thank you.” She sat upright in the chair, her ankles crossed, prim in contrast to Tom’s comfortable sprawl of yesterday.

“How can I help you?” I was all curiosity. This woman was clearly out of her element, and strangers don’t just wander in to our offices. You kind of have to want to find us to get here.

“I am looking for a man, my boyfriend, named Victor Puccini.” Her bottom lip trembled.

“Victor Puccini? I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of him? You thought he was here? At the paper?” Could this be another story brewing? First a murder, then a submerged car, now a missing Italian. This was turning out to be a good week.

“Not here specifically, but I think the car that was found in the lake was his.” Tears gleamed at the corners of her eyes.

“The white Taurus was Victor Puccini’s?”
That’s interesting
. What were the chances the three incidents were related?

“I’m sorry, I really am but I don’t know what I can do for you. Have you talked to the police?”

“They don’t know anything at all.” The tears trickled down her face and she blotted them with the back of her hand.

I handed her my box of tissues. “You must know a man was found murdered here as well. Not to be indelicate, but could it have been your boyfriend?”

“It wasn’t him. They showed me a picture, and it wasn’t him but I don’t know where he is.” She wiped her nose and took another tissue. “He must here somewhere.”

“I wish I could help you, but I don’t know what I can do. I’m a reporter, not a detective.”

“Could you just keep your eyes open? You might see someone you don’t recognize… You could tell me?” She handed me a card. “This is my number.”

“Where are you from?” I asked. There was a phone number on the card, and her name, Michèle Ledroit, but nothing else.

“I am originally from Paris, but I am currently living in New York City. Victor was expected home a few days ago and did not return.”

“Victor Puccini,” I said. “I can keep him in mind, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

“Call me if you find him.” She stood and looked down at me. “There is a reward.”

“Just out of curiosity, what made you come to me? Why not a private detective?” I dropped my gaze to the business card, considered picking it up, but let it lie.

“I was asking in the general store about getting help and they said ‘Bree MacGowan’. Then in the cafe downstairs, again it was ‘Bree MacGowan’. The post mistress said you were nosy, so then I knew I had the right person to ask.” She looked me in the eye. “It is an insult to be called ‘nosy,’ no? But today it is the highest compliment.”

Great
. I’d been insulted by half the town and a Parisian waterworks.

Ledroit left, and I called Steve Leftsky to see if I could get an ID on the New York plates.

“I don’t know, Bree. I’m not sure Tom would be happy with me feeding you information,” he said.

“For God sake, Steve, I can get it off the internet if I have to. Can’t you just give me the information?” I was pretty sure I could run plates, but I didn’t want to pay the fee.

“Margaret LeDonne.” He sighed. “She’s been notified and the insurance is taking care of the details.”

“Thanks, Steve. You’re a prince. I owe you one.” I was scribbling the details onto my legal pad.

“And we both know I’ll never collect.”

I was accumulating names. The interesting thing was that Margaret LeDonne and Victor Puccini were both Italian. Michèle Ledroit was French. And yet Ledroit was connected to Puccini.
Interesting.

I ate my lunch while I considered Michèle Ledroit. I didn’t quite know what to make of her. She was elegant but not what I would call warm or friendly. She cried over her boyfriend but somehow she seemed distant. I picked up her card and flipped it over. On the back she had written
$1000 reward for the location of Victor Puccini, $500 reward for information instrumental in his recovery
.

I would keep my eyes open.

***

Identity of body found at Planet Hair
was as far as I’d gotten on the follow-up article when Tom walked in followed by a tall man with a shaved head. The guy’s bulging, tattooed biceps looked familiar. I couldn’t see his face, but the butterflies in my stomach were a good indication that my intuition was right. He turned from closing the door and I was face to face with Richard Hambecker.

My feelings about Hambecker were conflicted. He’d abducted me from my home the previous winter, but only so he wouldn’t blow his cover. I’d poisoned him to get away, so maybe that made us even. I’d say he didn’t play well with others, except sometimes he did. And if I was telling the truth, I’d say there was a certain attraction between us.

He smiled a slow smile and heat began to build in my midsection. I felt a smile start to form and squashed it. I didn’t know if I should hit him or throw my arms around him. But my first instinct was to hit him.

“What the hell is he doing here?” I asked Tom.

“I thought you said she’d be glad to see you,” Tom said, turning to Hambecker.

“I think what I actually said was that Bree would be
excited
to see me.” Hambecker looked me over. “She looks pretty excited.”

“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m sitting right here. You have a lot of nerve bringing him here.”

“I take it you didn’t part on good terms?” Tom pulled out one of the chairs from the front of my desk.

“Part on good terms?” I was spluttering. “We didn’t
part
. We were in the middle of a firefight, and he and Moose just disappeared. Never to be seen again, apparently. Until today.”

“It wasn’t really a firefight, you know. No shots fired. More like a Mexican Standoff.” There wasn’t an iota of tension in Hamecker’s body. Not a twitch, a clench or a tick to show he had any feelings at all seeing me again.

I stood up and looked at him, my eyes narrowing. “The point is, you vanished. It was your doing I was there in the first place. Anything could have happened at that point, and you bugged out. You left me there.”

“And here you are safe and sound. I had no doubts about your ability to take care of yourself; it was a full time job keeping you contained.” Hambecker leaned against the wall not far from me, giving me the eye.

My face was hot. My ears could combust at any minute, and I was momentarily tongue-tied. Deirdre took advantage of the silence and grabbed her purse. “If Meg comes in tell her I’ll be back in half an hour, will you? I have a feeling you don’t need me around for this.”

I nodded and moved back to my chair. The trouble with this arrangement was that Hambecker was effectively out of my line of sight. I could see him only if I swiveled my chair or turned my head to look directly at him. I was pretty sure he did that on purpose. I turned my attention to Tom, trying to convince myself that I didn’t care where Hambecker was.

Tom leaned back, stretching his legs out to the side of my workspace. There wasn’t any tension in him either, and I might have relaxed if it wasn’t for the knowledge that Hambecker was behind me.

Tom pulled a voice recorder from his pocket and put it on my desk. “MacGowan, I want you to walk us through what happened yesterday. Go slow; give us as much detail as you can.”

I turned to look at Hambecker. His face was unreadable. I found that incredibly annoying.

“You never did say why Hambecker is here.”

A ghost of a smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. “I’m consulting.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“The dead guy is a person of interest.”

“Who is, uh,
was
he?” I asked.

“There’s a possibility that this death is related to a case the Feds are working on. Richard is here to look into that.” Tom looked like he had a stomach ache. “Can we get on with this?”

I nodded and took a breath, casting back. I started with the drive into town and took them through what I’d seen until Tom arrived at the salon. There wasn’t much to tell since we hadn’t been in the shop for more than a minute.

“I got gypped. I was supposed to get my hair cut.”

“You made out better than the guy in the salon.” I swear Tom was making an effort not to roll his eyes at me.

“Too true. That’s it. I don’t have anything else for you. Can I ask a question?”

“Fire away,” Tom leaned back. “I don’t promise I’ll be able to answer it.

“Why’d he have a diaper taped to him?”

“We think they were transporting him and didn’t want to leave a blood trail. He had one taped to his back too.”

“That’s gross. And weird. Did they happen to have diapers on hand, or did they have to go out and buy them? And did they think of that ahead of time and go out and buy them first or after the fact?” I narrowed my eyes. “Do you know who he is?” I threw the important question in at the end. With any luck it would be the easiest to answer, and Tom would tell me.

“All good questions,” Tom said. “But I suggest you leave those questions to us. You’ll be giving yourself nightmares.”

I snorted. “If finding the other two bodies didn’t give me nightmares then this won’t. There wasn’t even any blood on the ground.” Compared to the other two bodies I’d found a balding man in a bad suit with diapers taped to him was almost pleasant.

“Whatever you say,” Tom said. “But I happen to know you aren’t as tough as you think you are.” He stood up. “We’ll call you if we need anything else.”

“Don’t you need me to sign a statement or something?” I knew a bit about cops; they always made you sign things.

“I’ll get this typed up and bring it by for you to sign. No need for you to drive down to the barracks. My wife would kill me if I pulled you away from the office during paste up.” Tom smiled. “Where is she, by the way? She’s usually here by now.”

“Last I saw her she was at the coffee shop.” I indicated the restaurant below us. “Hang on. You’re going to type that up? Isn’t that a little below the status of the Captain of the barracks?”

“When I said ‘I’ll get this typed up,’ what I meant was I’ll have an admin type it up. I wasn’t planning on doing it myself.” He moved toward the door. “I think I’ll have Vicki do it, she’s fast.”

“Come on Tom, give me something here. Was the dead guy from here?” Just because I’d never seen him alive didn’t mean he hadn’t lived around here somewhere. “Why was he dressed in clothes that didn’t fit him?”

Tom shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you.” He finished his sentence as he started down the stairs and I heard the lower door bang shut as the left building.