Die Smiling (4 page)

Bud and I moved over to the railing and stood looking out over the drop. Sometimes when perpetrators used knives to cut their victims, they cut themselves, too, especially if they killed in a rage. I knelt down, hoping the perp had left some of his blood behind for us, and that's when I saw it, on the rim of the deck outside the rail.

“We got blood, Bud. He went out this way, all right.”

Bud shook his head, his jaw working underneath his skin. I knew he was still thinking about Brianna. “Why would he leave blood out here in plain sight when he went to that much trouble cleaning up the bathroom?”

“Good question. Maybe he didn't see it.” I looked up at Bud. “Or maybe he was just in a hurry to get outta here.”

“She's not cold yet and in full rigor, so she hasn't been dead too long. Half a day, maybe less.”

“Yeah. And he'd have to've stuck around awhile to clean up this much. Maybe we surprised him when we drove up and he took off back here.”

The back deck was about twenty-five feet square and hung out over the sheer plunge of the cliff. Heavily wooded, even now, this early in the spring, the trees obscured the lakeshore below and there were plenty of thick bushes and brambles to help hide somebody trying to flee the scene. Rooflines of the other bungalows were visible both to our left and right but none were directly below the deck, just trees and tangled undergrowth. We both peered over the railing and searched the ground about ten feet below.

Bud said, “Is that blood down there on those rocks? See it?”

I said, “Go ahead and string the tape. I'm going down and see what I can find. Maybe we'll get lucky this time.”

“I'll give you a hand down.”

I sheathed my gun and swung a leg over the top rail, then pulled my other leg over. I stood poised on the narrow outside ledge for a second, and Bud grabbed my hand to lower me to the ground below. We both froze as a sharp crack shattered the stillness. Sure as hell recognizing the retort of a gunshot when we heard it, we both instinctively ducked, but not before I felt the burn of hot metal as a slug ripped a shallow path across the top of my arm. The impact knocked me off balance, and I half-jumped, half-fell, landing hard on my wounded arm and rolling about three yards down the incline until a small stand of hickory saplings broke my descent.

Above me, Bud dropped flat on his belly on the deck and propped the nose of his .45 on top of the bottom rail. Another shot rang out from somewhere far below and to our right, and Bud returned fire with four quick, deafening blams while I lay low and fingered the wound through my torn T-shirt. It burned like hell, but was little more than a flesh wound, so I scrambled up onto my knees behind the steel brace that bolted the deck into the limestone rocks and tried to get a visual on the shooter.

Bud already had his cell phone out and was calling for backup, then he yelled down to me. “You hit bad?”

“No, it just grazed me. You see him?”

I peered around the metal beam. Halfway down the slope, I got a brief glimpse of a figure dressed in dark clothing half running, half sliding down the hillside.

“I got him. Let's go!”

I took off down the steep hillside, zigzagging and using the trees for cover. I couldn't see him anymore but I could hear him well enough, crashing through the thick undergrowth below us, causing rock slides. He wasn't far ahead of me. I could get him. Bud was right behind me now, I could hear him, too, slipping and causing his own avalanches as he barreled down the hill at full speed.

About thirty yards down, I fought my way out of a blackberry thicket, sharp thorns catching my clothes and scratching my face and hands; then I stumbled headlong over a log that sent me down hard, falling head over heels until I rammed up against another tree trunk. Before I was back on my feet, Bud burst through the brambles, caught hold of a sapling, and swung himself to a stop.

We both took off downhill again, but we couldn't hear the perp anymore, and I knew he might be hidden somewhere ahead, in ambush, waiting to pick us off. I discounted that theory when I heard the roar of a boat's motor firing up and shattering the quiet. He had come in off the lake, and we had shown up as he was finishing up his kill. Still using trees to break our speed, we both managed to reach the bottom, but way too late to stop him. He was gone, and as I scanned the calm waters of the inlet I saw only the dissipating waves of his wake as his boat made the main lake channel. There, I could see at least half a dozen runabouts speeding in every direction. The closest was red and white, a runabout, but it disappeared around the forested curve of the cove within seconds.

I swore, sheathed my weapon, called dispatch, and told them to get the water patrol out looking for all watercraft in this branch of the lake, especially those with a single person aboard.

“Damn it, we almost had him,” Bud ground out furiously, panting from the pursuit. “You sure you're okay?”

I pressed my fingers hard against the shallow wound to control the bleeding. It really wasn't bad, barely a nick. I'd seen worse. I'd live.

Bud started his climb back up the hill, still swearing under his breath, and I turned and labored my way behind him. My arm was beginning to throb pretty good now and was bleeding heavily, but I bound it up with my sleeve enough not to drip blood on the crime scene. When we reached the bungalow, I retrieved latex gloves and paper booties for both of us to put on before we entered the house again and enough yellow crime scene tape to cover both the house and the hillside where the perp had made his escape.

Bud took the hill, and as I taped off the front of the bungalow, I found myself gritting my teeth, fury at letting him get away rising by the minute. After working homicide at LAPD, I should've been used to this kind of thing. Mutilation murders weren't as rare as they should be. Out there I'd seen plenty of awful acts perpetrated on innocent people, and my last couple of cases here on the lake hadn't exactly been butterflies and roses.

Rural Missouri was spewing out its fair share of psychos, too. Yeah, lately Lake of the Ozarks was giving California crazies a real run for their money. I was trying to figure what sick reason would have driven a killer to remove a woman's lips. He was a psychopath, no doubt, but we'd have to figure out his motive to butcher up her mouth like that. And the note. That was pretty damn specific, too. I sure as hell wasn't looking forward to it. Anger flashed back across me, anger that something like this had happened, anger that it had happened to a loved one of a friend, anger that I'd had him in my sights and let him get away.

After I finished securing the house, a couple of deputies showed up and I set them out scouring the wooded area below the house for the bullet casing. I sat down in the front seat of the Explorer, got out the first-aid kit from the side pocket, then cleaned and doctored my wound. The bullet had blown a shallow, inch-long groove of flesh off the side of my arm that hurt really, really bad at the moment, but it wasn't deep and it wasn't serious. I had gotten lucky again. A helluva lot luckier than Hilde had been. I stripped the protective papers off a couple of giant-sized Band-Aids and pressed them into place. It was a mere scratch compared to what it could've been if I hadn't moved when I did, or to what I'd suffered before on other cases. I leaned my head back against the headrest, shut my eyes, and waited for the coroner's team to show up.

Little Miss New Year
was the next pageant Momma made them attend. The older one didn't want to, but her momma always made her help Sissy get dressed in her fancy, sparkly clothes. Stepdaddy Russell was going to take Bubby to the sale barn, where they sold all kinds of horses and cows and rabbits and other neat things. It was a fun place, but the older one was never invited to go along. Momma always dragged her to the stupid contests, so she had to watch everybody make over Sissy.

Right now they were just waking up in their room at the Holiday Inn where the pageant was being held. It had taken them forty-five minutes to drive there from their house. Stepdaddy didn't like it because it cost money, but Sissy had begged and he had said okay. Momma always got them up so early so she'd have plenty of time to make Sissy look perfect. Sissy was frowning and complaining as usual, and Momma was coddling her. When she turned to the older one, she wasn't nearly so gentle.

“You, get out of that bed and get dressed. And try to look halfway decent for a change. No need in you embarrassing us again.”

The older one dragged herself up and padded barefoot into the bathroom. She got a washcloth, wet it with cold water, then held it against her sleepy eyes. She was so tired. Sissy had tossed and turned and complained to Momma about the three of them having to share a king-size bed until Momma made the older one get down on the floor with a blanket. It had been really cold and drafty down there, and the traffic outside on the highway kept her awake most of the night.

Yawning, she found a T-shirt and jeans and for the next hour or so, she sat and watched Momma part off and roll up Sissy's hair in hot rollers so it would hang down her back in lots of loose golden curls. Later, after Sissy got a bath in her special bath oil, scented sweet like gardenias, Momma would put lots of makeup on Sissy's face until she looked like a real, live movie star. Once she had even bought Sissy some false teeth inserts called flippers that hid Sissy's front teeth when she had lost baby teeth. Sometimes the older one wondered what it would be like to put on all that stuff. Maybe it might even make her look less ugly. Someday when Momma was gone somewhere, she was going to try it.

“Can I watch cartoons while you get Sissy ready, Momma?” she asked after a while.

“No, you cannot. You know all that noise makes Sissy nervous right before she goes on stage. What's the matter with you? Go run Sissy's bathwater. And don't get it too hot like you did last time.”

Anger boiled up inside the older one, but she didn't dare say a word, not now. But someday she would get them both, kill them in horrible, painful ways, just like Freddy Krueger liked to do. She got up from the end of the bed and walked into the adjoining bathroom. On pageant days, Momma always yelled at the older one when Sissy was grouchy or obstinate because she didn't want Sissy to get upset and cry because her big blue eyes would get all bloodshot and the judges would notice and lower her scores.

Yawning some more, the older one turned on the taps and made sure the water was just the way Sissy liked it, then she got a washcloth and lay it folded on the edge of the tub exactly the way Sissy demanded. The special bath oil was in a pretty bottle shaped like blue dolphin and the older one picked it up off the counter, opened the cap, and dribbled it into the running water. The water foamed and the most heavenly flowery smell wafted up all around her. It smelled so good. Someday she would buy some sweet-smelling oil to use in her own bath, but not gardenias. She never wanted to smell like her sister.

Sissy suddenly appeared in the doorway and cried, “Momma! She's in the bathroom and won't get out. I need to take my bath! Make her get out!”

Momma yelled at the older one from the other room. “Get outta there right now and let Sissy get ready! What's the matter with you today? My God, you are just rotten to the core.”

The older one stood aside, and Sissy walked in, curling her pretty little mouth into her meanest smile. “You better quit doin' stuff to make me lose this crown, or you're gonna get a whippin'.”

“I'm not doing anything to you, Sissy,” the older one whispered because she knew if Sissy got mad, she'd scream and cry and say the older one hit her or some other big lie to get Momma mad at her. And Momma always believed Sissy, too, but now, when Stepdaddy wasn't here to see, the older one had to be very careful because Momma would hit her on the back with a coat hanger if Sissy got her in trouble. Her fingers clenched up and her fingernails dug into her palms and she hated her sister so much she felt a little sick to her stomach.

After Sissy sat down in the silky, soapy water that smelled so good, Momma came to the door and said she was going downstairs to get some breakfast. She asked Sissy what sounded good to her, then left, telling them not to dare go outside the room or open the door to any strangers.

While Sissy washed herself in the scented water, the older one stood at the sink and looked down inside Sissy's pink plastic makeup case. It had lots of little trays for lipsticks and blush and mascara and every size of cosmetic brush. All the different kinds of makeup fascinated the older one, because after Momma put it on Sissy's face, she didn't look anything like a little girl anymore, but rather a tiny, glamorous movie star like the actresses they saw on TV walking down that red carpet to the Academy Awards. It always seemed sort of miraculous to the older one, and she stared at her own ugly face in the mirror, wondering for the thousandth time how she would look if she put all that magic stuff on her face. She fingered a small bottle of what Momma called foundation makeup, one called L'Oreal that cost almost ten dollars at Wal-Mart, wishing she could try it.

Behind her, Sissy stood up and watched her in the mirror while she dried off with a big white towel. “Go ahead. Put some of that on your face,” she said. “Momma won't know.”

“Yes, she will. You'll tell her.”

“No, I won't. I promise. Let's see if we can hide all those ugly freckles.”

The older one was tempted, really, truly tempted, but she wasn't stupid, either, and she wasn't going to fall for Sissy's lies. She didn't trust Sissy for one minute. “No, I'll get in trouble if I do, and that's what you want.”

“Uh-uh, I just wanna see how you'd look.”

Sissy had on her fluffy white terry cloth robe now, the one with her name embroidered on the pocket, and she moved up beside the older one. They stared at each other in the mirror.

“C'mon, you big chicken, try some on.”

 

“No, you're gonna get me in trouble again.”

Then Sissy smiled. “You better do what I say, or I'm gonna empty all that foundation makeup in the sink and tell Momma you did it.”

The older one felt a stab of fear because she knew how angry that would make Momma. The foundation was the most expensive thing in Sissy's cosmetics box. And she knew Sissy'd do it, too. She'd done lots of things in the past to get the older one in trouble. “You can't do that, or you won't have any foundation for today.”

Sissy smiled and slowly unscrewed the cap. “I'm pretty enough to go without it. Everybody says so. Here, put this on or I'll empty it down the sink.”

Really afraid now, the older one begged, “No, Sissy, please, Momma will kill us.”

“She won't kill me, not right before the pageant. She'll kill you.” Sissy giggled as she tilted the bottle and the older one watched the precious makeup drip into the sink.

“Stop, stop, Sissy, please, she'll be back any minute!”

“Then put in on, right now. I want to see if it makes you look better. Do it, or I'll throw it on the floor and break it!”

Sissy raised her arm and held the precious bottle up high, and the older one swallowed hard, but Sissy'd do it. Sissy loved to get her and Bubby in trouble. Terror clutched the older one's heart, and she quickly scooped her fingers through the makeup in the sink and rubbed it on her cheeks. It did hide some of her freckles, and she stared at herself in awe, always having imagined that maybe someday she could look as pretty as Sissy.

When she heard Momma's key in the lock, she grabbed a towel and tried to rub it off, then froze in utter horror when Sissy suddenly hurled the expensive bottle of makeup onto the floor. It broke into a million pieces and spattered tan liquid everywhere, just as Momma appeared at the bathroom door.

“Momma, look what she did!” cried Sissy. “She said she didn't want me to look pretty today because she didn't! She said she wanted me to be ugly like her!”

Momma's eyes went to the mess on the floor and then back up to the older one's face. Rage overtook her, black and terrible and violent. She dropped a sack of powdered doughnuts on the counter and grabbed the older one by the hair. “You stupid, destructive little brat, I'm gonna teach you to leave Sissy alone! Sissy, you get in there on the bed and stay there.”

Sissy ran from the bathroom, but she turned in the doorway and stuck out her tongue at the older one, just before Momma slammed the door and trapped the older one inside. Sputtering with fury, she grabbed her by the throat and pressed her back against the sink, and then she jerked the older one up bodily and threw her down into the bathwater. The older one choked and clawed against the terrible grip on her throat, but Momma was gone away inside one of her furies, and she held her too tightly for her to get loose. She thrust her head down under the water and held it there.

The older one struggled desperately, but couldn't fight free, and she stared up through soapy water that burned her eyes like fire and saw Momma's face, red with wrath and effort, as she held her submerged. This was the look that was the worst, this was when Momma did awful things. She held her breath and twisted desperately until Momma jerked her up again, and she coughed and sucked in air, but Momma forced her down under again, despite how she cried and begged her to stop. She fought hard, but Momma was too strong, especially when she was so mad. When the older one thought she could not hold her breath any longer, when she thought she was going to drown and maybe it would be better than having to live with Momma, her Momma jerked her out, and she gasped and choked for breath.

Momma ground her words out between clenched teeth. “Don't you ever touch Sissy's makeup again, you hear me? Don't touch it, don't even look at it, or you'll get a lot worse than this, you understand me?”

“I won't, Momma, I promise I won't,” the older one said weakly, but she didn't cry until after Momma had stalked outside and slammed the door. Then she sat up in the cold water and cried hard into a towel, so Momma wouldn't hear and come back and punish her again.