Dead Right (32 page)

“Your
wife,
” Madeline replied. “We happen to be friends, remember?”

He stared at her for a second, then sighed. “I shouldn’t have told her,” he grumbled. “It’s already too crowded in here.”

The past few days certainly hadn’t strengthened their relationship. Toby himself had cal ed her when they found Rachel Simmons’ body; she’d joined them at the quarry at his invitation. Now, only two weeks later, he seemed to have an aversion to her presence.

Her life was changing. Opposing people she’d known for years and hiring Hunter was costing her everything that had once meant so much to her. Family. Friends. And even, indirectly, Kirk. Who knew how many times they would’ve reconciled and split again if Hunter hadn’t come along?

Despite her growing resolve, their breakup wouldn’t have lasted, not in the face of al this pressure. It was the incident behind the tree that told Madeline it was
really
over.

“I have a right to be notified,” she said, her tone no kinder than his. “I’m the press, remember?”

“There’s nothing here to report.”

“The loss of a fel ow citizen is important to me,” she told him tartly and tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smel , some of which came from the trailer itself and not Bubba.

“What happened?”

Ramona Butler, the county coroner, was a smal , bony woman who raised horses outside of Iuka. “I’m betting it was a heart attack,” she said, leaning back on her haunches. “I imagine he clutched his chest, then stumbled and hit the corner of the counter. There’s quite a lot of blood, so his heart was stil beating when he hit it. Maybe that’s what actual y kil ed him.”

Pontiff looked at the counter she’d indicated, but Madeline couldn’t bear the sight. The bloody gash she’d glimpsed on Bubba’s forehead upset her.
Death
upset her.

Bubba’s lifeless body brought back images of her mother.

Opening the door to her bedroom. Finding the dark figure, barely visible because of the tightly drawn shades, lying on the floor like a discarded garment. Rushing forward and crying out, “Mama! Mama, what’s wrong?” as she touched her shoulder. Then bending close to see why her mother wouldn’t answer and, as her eyes final y adjusted to the dim light, finding a hole in the side of her head.

Madeline suddenly felt claustrophobic in the tiny room.

She wanted to run outside and drag big gulps of air into her lungs. But Helen, weeping on the couch, reminded her that she wasn’t the one suffering here. Refusing to do anything that would draw undue attention her way, she edged closer to Norm. “Don’t tel me Helen found him,” she whispered.

He nodded. “They were supposed to go grocery shopping. When he didn’t answer the door, she came in and—” he wiped beads of sweat from his forehead “—and then she cal ed us.”

“He never locked his door, not while he was home,”

Helen said, interrupting their hushed conversation. “Why would he lock it now?” she demanded of the room at large.

“I couldn’t find the key he gave me, couldn’t
help
him.”

Norm grew a shade paler as his eyes fastened on the bloated body, and more sweat popped out on his forehead.

He was too rattled to help the crying sister, so Madeline slipped past him and knelt in front of her. “Did you know something was wrong, Helen?”

“I was worried.”

“Why?”

“Because I kept cal ing him this morning, and he didn’t answer. I even cal ed Ray next door and asked him to go over, but Ray couldn’t get an answer, either.”

“You think Bubba might’ve been alive when you got here?”

“Stop beating yourself up,” Ramona said. “That definitely wasn’t the case.” She’d answered with less tact than Madeline might’ve hoped for, but that was Ramona. She wasn’t highly empathetic or patient. She was merely efficient, with a cool, detached air that was probably necessary to her emotional wel -being, considering the gruesome nature of her work. “Judging by the temperature of the body, he’s been dead for hours. At least eight.”

Madeline took Helen’s hands while Ramona made the notations on her clipboard. “Are you going to be okay?” she murmured.

“Why’d he lock the door?” she asked again.

Madeline just shook her head.

“He never did, you know,” Helen said again. “Not when he was home.”

Pontiff rose to his feet. “How’d you get in?”

“I final y located the key he gave me a long time ago, in case he ever lost his. He’d lock up when I came over to take him places so the deadbeats around here wouldn’t steal his beer. That’s al he had. A few bottles of beer.” She dissolved into tears, and her daughter put an arm around her, crooning, “It’l be okay, Mama. It’l be okay.”

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” she moaned.

Ramona’s pen scratched on the sketch she was creating to show Bubba’s head wound. “This much weight would kil anyone.”

“I told him that.” Helen nodded, stil sniffling. “I told him he had to get a couple hundred pounds off. But he wouldn’t listen to me. I said, ‘Bubba, that weight’s gonna kil you someday.’”

“And it did,” Ramona said. “You want to have the funeral here in town, Helen? At Cutshal ’s?”

Helen nodded again. “Of course.”

“I’l give them a cal so they can pick up the body,” she told Pontiff.

Madeline heard Ramona request a hearse and tried to distract Helen. “I’l write a nice obituary for the paper, okay?” she said. “If there’s anything in particular you’d like me to say, you just let me know.”

Helen pul ed away long enough to wipe her eyes. “I—I’m not much of a writer. But he was a good brother. Say that he was a good brother.”

“I’l do that,” Madeline promised.

“You sure we shouldn’t do an autopsy?” Toby asked Ramona as she hung up.

“I don’t see any reason to go to the added trouble or expense,” she said. “Do you?”

When he seemed uncertain, she went on, “At his weight, he either died of a heart attack, or that bump on his head when he fel . Nothing mysterious about that.”

Toby turned to Helen. “What do you think, Helen? You want to hold off on the funeral for a few days so we can drive the body over to the hospital in Corinth and have a pathologist take a look?”

Helen pul ed a fresh tissue out of her purse. “What good would that do?”

“It might give you some peace of mind to know the exact cause of death,” he said.

But Helen hid her face again and spoke through her hands. “There’s no need. It won’t bring him back. It was his heart. It final y gave out on him, just like I told him it would.”

19

M
adeline stayed with Helen until Cutshal’s had removed the body, even though she had a glass company coming out to repair her window and a lot to do at the office.

Thanks to the revelations of the past week, she’d had trouble concentrating and had fal en behind in her work.

Now that Hunter was here, the situation was getting worse.

To make sure it didn’t become a problem, she’d hired Bea Davis just this morning to help her. Bea used to write for a bigger paper—before she and her husband moved to Stil water and started a dog grooming business—and was going to do a short piece on Brittany Wiseman’s debut in the school play, as wel as an article on teenagers and alcoholism, in response to the Rachel Simmons drowning.

Bea had also asked Madeline if she could do a story on Hunter. Everyone was “so curious” about him, she said.

Madeline had refused at first, then relented because she felt she needed to toss the citizens of Stil water some kind of bone to compensate for her preoccupation.

Besides those stories, Madeline was planning a fol ow-up on the panties that had been found in the Cadil ac so she could thank the people who’d come by to view the pictures and mention the reward again. She thought she might add something about how DNA was helping to solve so many old cases these days. And now, of course, she had Bubba’s obituary to write, which she’d print with his viewing and funeral information.

“What are we going to do with this trailer? And al his stuff?” Helen asked, obviously overwhelmed at the prospect of what lay ahead.

“Just take it one day at a time.” Madeline stood beside her at the door as Toby, Ramona and Norm fol owed the hearse out of the park. Helen and her daughter were supposed to head over to Cutshal ’s to make the funeral arrangements. They walked to their car, but Helen suddenly turned back.

“Wait. What about Sarge?”

“Sarge?” Madeline asked.

“His cat. Someone’s got to take care of the cat.”

Madeline hadn’t realized Bubba had a cat, but now that Helen mentioned it she could identify one of the smel s that had nearly overpowered her inside. “Of course.”

“He must be sleeping in the back room.”

“I’l get him.” Helen’s daughter slipped past Madeline, but when she came back, she was carrying a smal aquarium instead of a cat. “Sarge isn’t in there. But I should bring Uncle Bubba’s tarantula, shouldn’t I, Mama?”

Helen nearly twisted an ankle as she scrambled to put some distance between herself and the spider. “No! Get that thing away from me. It’s not coming in my car!”

Madeline wasn’t any more thril ed with spiders than Helen was, especial y big, hairy, poisonous ones, but they couldn’t leave it in the empty trailer. There was no tel ing when Helen would get around to sorting through Bubba’s belongings. It could take a week, maybe two, and Madeline had no idea when the spider had last been fed, what it needed to eat or when it should eat again.

Her own phobia precluded real y looking at it, but she reached for the container. “Here, give it to me. I’l see if one of the neighbors might be wil ing to adopt it. And I’l search for the cat at the same time. What’s his name again?”

“Sarge,” the daughter informed her. “He’s big and white and fluffy.”

“Got it.” Madeline tried not to think about the eight-legged creature behind the glass that was now pressed against her arm. “Okay. You two go ahead. They’re waiting for you at Cutshal ’s.”

Helen was stil eyeing the spider, keeping a safe distance, but Madeline noted the sincerity and relief in her thank-you and was glad she’d offered to help.

“It’s no trouble,” she said. “It’l give me a chance to get some statements from the neighbors that we can include in the obituary.”

“That would be nice,” Helen said, eagerly reaching for the door handle to her car as if she couldn’t escape fast enough. “These people were his only friends, you know.”

Madeline adjusted the aquarium so she could wave.

Then, when Helen turned out of the park and her tail ights disappeared, she held the tarantula as far away from her as she could and tried to decide which neighbor might be most receptive to an arachnid adoption.

That was when a flicker of movement told her Ray was watching from his window. He was probably wondering what al the fuss was about, she realized, and walked over, careful not to jiggle the aquarium.

“Here, give it to me,” she muttered sarcastical y, but she felt so sorry for Helen she couldn’t real y begrudge doing her such a smal favor.

As she approached Ray’s trailer, she expected him to come to the door. She knew he’d seen her. But he didn’t.

Final y, she knocked—nearly dropping the glass container in the process. “Ray?”

When he appeared, he looked rumpled and unshaven.

But she knew he typical y stayed out late and had a drinking problem.

“Hey, Maddy.” He peered at her through bloodshot eyes, smiling as congenial y as ever. “How are you?”

“Fine, I guess.” She once again adjusted the awkward aquarium.

His bushy eyebrows, brown tinged with gray, were far too long. They drew together as he studied the object she held. “What you got there?”

“Bubba’s spider.”

“Is Bubba okay?” he asked. “I saw the cop cars.”

He must’ve missed the hearse. “I’m sorry to tel you this, Ray. I know you and Bubba were friends, but…” A lump suddenly rose in Madeline’s throat. She’d gotten through the whole morning without crying. And now that the pressure was off…“Bubba’s dead,” she managed to say.

His jaw dropped, and he rubbed his whiskers for several seconds before responding. “That’s terrible. What happened?”

“Heart attack, I think.”

“He was far too heavy,” he said. “Wasn’t healthy.”

She nodded, blinking back tears. Granted, this latest tragedy didn’t affect her as personal y as the other events of the past few weeks. But she’d liked Bubba, had seen him almost every week at church. He was jovial and kind and quick to cal her with a hot lead. He even fancied himself a journalist of sorts and had written a few pieces for the paper—
had
fancied himself a journalist. It was so hard to think of him in the past tense. He wasn’t the best writer, he didn’t have much of an education. But he had a lot of enthusiasm, and he’d been part of the fabric of this town.

And now he was gone.

“His sister’s frightened of spiders—” she couldn’t completely quel the shudder that went through her as her eyes flicked involuntarily toward the tarantula “—and she’s looking for a good home for his…pet.”

Ray stared at her. “You want
me
to take Terrence Trent?”

“Is that his name?”

“Yeah. Bubba and I were best friends, you know. But I’m not real y a pet sort of guy.”

“I’m not sure, but I think tarantulas are pretty easy.”

“Wel …” His hand rasped over his whiskers again. “I guess I could give it a try.”

Relief swept through Madeline as he took the aquarium from her. “I can’t thank you enough.”

He smiled. “It’s the least I can do.”

She drew a deep breath. Now her first mission had been accomplished, and she needed to find that darn cat…. “You haven’t seen Sarge, have you?”

“Isn’t he over there?”

“No.”

“Seems like he’s been around. I’m sure he’l turn up. I’l keep an eye out for him, okay?”

“Wil you cal me when you find him?”

“Of course.” He hesitated. “You know, you don’t look too wel . Would you like to come in and sit down? Maybe have a cup of coffee?”

Madeline glanced at the spider again. “As long as you keep that thing across the room,” she muttered.

“Hey, come on. Terrence Trent is as harmless as I am.”