Dying for a Change (15 page)

“
I don’t know, Ellie,” Dan said with a little sigh. “I hope not. But then, I don’t want it to be anyone I know. Being a policeman in a small town is usually pretty good. But not now.”

I didn’t say anything more until we were in my driveway. “It wouldn’t be so bad if it were Ray.”

Dan started to laugh. “No, Ray I’d have an easier time with. Too bad we can’t write the final chapter, like they do in those mysteries you used to read. Do you still read those things?”

“
Absolutely.” I was ready to be defensive, remembering his Nancy Drew jokes.

“
Yeah,” he said, a little tiredly. “Just remember, please, this is real life. Don’t play detective.”

He reached across me and opened the door. I climbed out, then hesitated a second.

“
I’ll wait until you get in the door,” he said. “Call you tomorrow.”

I walked up onto the front porch, opened the door and closed it a little harder than necessary. What did you expect? I asked myself. I didn’t get an answer, but I didn’t really want one.

Jake came to greet me, rubbed against my legs, told me his dinner had been inadequate, wouldn’t I like to fill his dish again. I wandered into the kitchen, told him he had food, thought about tea, rejected the idea, headed for the TV, decided the ten o’clock news would be too depressing. Bed and my book seemed the only options left.

The red light on my answering machine was blinking. At first I was going to ignore it, but what if it was Susannah, needing me? I pushed the button and there was Dottie.

“
Ellen, I know you are out tonight, but could you call me when you get in? Or, if you don’t mind, could you come over? I don’t know what to do and I so much need to talk to you. I’ll be up late.”

I stared at the machine, as if it could tell me what that phone call was all about. Why did Dottie want to talk to me? She sounded upset, more than upset. Should I call her? I glanced at my bedside clock. Ten after ten. Too late to go over to her house? No. The way she sounded, phones wouldn’t work. But a cup of tea might. I pulled my coat back on and turned to go. A soft purr made me pause. Jake, curled into an orange ball, lay in the middle of my pillow. At least someone around here had some sense.

I had been to Dottie’s house only one time, to pick up some papers, and wasn’t sure I’d recognize the long, narrow driveway in the dark. I drove down the street, looking for the white picket fence that separated her one bedroom cottage from the sidewalk. I didn’t think I could miss the gate that opened onto the pathway that wound through fruit trees, vegetables, rose bushes, and an array of wildly blooming annuals, interspersed with a bird bath and a stone rabbit or two. The effect was charming, as was the cottage. I’d been told that Dottie bought it in terrible condition and did most of the work herself. However anxious and unsure of herself Dottie might be in work and social situations, here she shone. The cottage had a picture book look, flower filled white window boxes, white shutters against gray blue walls, even a watermelon pink front door.

I missed it the first time, but finally found the driveway and started slowly down. Most of the windows on the street side of Dottie’s cottage were dark, only a sliver of blue light from the television showed through a crack in the closed curtains. I stopped in front of her tiny garage, went through the gap in the fence and along the stone path toward the front door.

If she’d wanted me to come so bad, I thought grumpily, she could have left a porch light on. Groping, my hand found the old bell pull she used instead of chimes, and I gave it a yank. Its clang sounded boldly in the night air, loud enough to wake half the neighborhood. Somewhere a dog barked, but there was no answer from inside the house. I hesitated a minute, expecting the porch light to snap on. Nothing. I pulled once more. Again the dog barked, but Dottie didn’t answer. I called out, “Dottie, it’s me, Ellen,” and knocked loudly. Other dogs started to bark, one howled, forming a chorus, but the house stayed silent.

Irritation mixed with alarm. She’d called me, insisted I come. Why wouldn’t she answer? I reached down and tried the door handle. Locked. Now what? Should I go home? No, I couldn’t. Something was wrong, and I had to find out what it was.

Edging my way through a bush, hoping I wasn’t going to end up ankle deep in mud, I put my eye to the slit in the curtain. I couldn’t see much of the room, but I could see another light that probably came from the kitchen. She must be there, but why didn’t she answer? The bathroom. Of course. I dislodged myself from the bush, and started around the side of the house. I tripped on something, and muttered some unkind things about Dottie and her refusal to turn on any lights. The night was dark, the stars evidently taking time out, and I was afraid I’d break my neck before I got to the kitchen door.

Finally. The light from her kitchen shown like a beacon through the window and the slightly open back door. I paused for a second, looking at it. It was chilly. No, cold. Why would anyone leave their door open on such a night?

I almost didn’t go on. Every nerve ending I owned was shouting, leave, run, get out of here, but I had to go on. One foot in front of the other, I slowly approached the door, pulled it open, and looked in. The fluorescent lights gave me a clear view of what lay on the black and white kitchen floor. I stopped, hand over my mouth, and for a moment forgot to breathe. Dottie. Like a rag doll a child had dropped, she lay on the floor, eyes staring, the front of her yellow sweatshirt stained bright red.

“
Oh my God,” I thought wildly. “No, this can’t be happening. Not again.”

I rushed in, called her name, and knelt beside her, but I knew there was no hope. Her open eyes were blank, and no breath disturbed the blood that still dripped slowly from her sweatshirt. I waited for the waves of nausea to subside, then looked around for a phone. There was one on the wall, and with a trembling hand, I dialed 911.

I kept trying not to look at her. Sweet, anxious Dottie, what had she wanted to tell me? Who had killed her? Why? She knew something, she must have, but what? I thought about Tom, but pushed the thought away. He wouldn’t have done this. Besides, he didn’t have a gun, and I was sure Dottie had been shot. All that blood on her front, and a faint trace of cordite in the air convinced me. Who did have a gun? Ray? Benjamin? But why would they want Dottie dead? My hands were clutching the edge of the sink as I waited, and I decided to quit thinking. Dan was right. Real murder wasn’t fun.

Sirens screamed, rudely breaking the silence, and my old friend the dog went crazy. He’d have laryngitis by morning. A police car drove into the alley behind Dottie’s garage, it’s lights flashing. Another joined it. An ambulance tried to maneuver down the drive. The fire trucks had a harder time. Dottie’s narrow lot wasn’t very accommodating, and they were forced to stay on the street. No lack of light in the neighborhood now. Porch lights came on one after another like a switchboard gone berserk

The first policeman through the door was Gary, the young man who taken my statement when I’d found Hank. He gave me a startled look but immediately transferred his attention to poor Dottie. When he could tear his eyes off of her, he looked around the kitchen. That didn’t take long.

“
What happened?”

“
I don’t know.” I stood pressed hard up against the sink, and I had no plans to move.

“
You been in there?” He jerked his head toward the living room.

I shook my head. He hesitated, started to say something, then, his hand on his gun, cautiously pushed open the swinging louvered door. I didn’t miss him, for the kitchen rapidly filled up. Ambulance attendants, fireman, more policemen, all tried to fit into the tiny kitchen, most gaping at the body on the floor.

One policeman started pushing people out, yelling, “Get this place secured.” He snarled at a volunteer fireman who seemed frozen in place, staring down at poor Dottie. “What’s the matter with you? Haven’t you ever seen a murder victim before?”

“
No.” The fireman’s face was white under his yellow helmet. He left the room a bit faster than he’d come in.

More people were coming up the driveway. Someone snapped a switch and the backyard was flooded with lights. Several people shouted at each other. It was a circus.

I was so absorbed watching the show that I jumped when I heard Gary’s voice. “You the one that found her?”

I nodded again.

“
When was that?” His hand still rested lightly on his gun.

“
When I got here.” I said, not very definitively. “As soon as I saw her, I dialed 911.”

“
But when?” he persisted. “What time? Why were you here this late?”

Something in his tone made me take a closer look at him. “She called me, and I came.”

“
Do you have a purse?”

“
Of course I do,” I replied. “I have several. I just don’t seem to have one with me.” I looked around. No purse. Had I left it in the car? Were my car keys there also? Who cared?

“
Would you empty out your pockets, please?” Gary asked. He took a step back, or tried to. I watched him, confused. Purse? Pockets? Then I got it.

“
Hey, wait a minute. You don’t think--she was lying there--I walked around--she didn’t answer--I didn’t do this!”

Alarm was giving way to indignation when Dan walked, or rather, squeezed in. He stared down at Dottie, his face impassive. Then caught sight of me. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“
She called me, I came, then I found her, and now he--oh, never mind.”

“
Never--what do you mean, she called you? I just left you! Why would she call you at this time of night?”

“
There was a message on my machine. She sounded upset, so I came over. And it’s not so late.”

“
It’s too late to be gallivanting around town finding dead bodies. Why didn’t you call me?”

“
Because she wanted to talk to me. How was I supposed to know someone was going to kill her? And stop yelling.”

“
I’m not yelling.” His teeth clenched, but he did lower his voice a little. “However, finding dead bodies is becoming a habit with you.”

“
It’s not one I’m trying to develop.” I said that as sourly as possible.

Dan and I glared at each other. “Come on.” He grabbed me by the arm, stopped and turned to Gary. “You been in there?” He pointed to the swinging door.

“
Yeah.” Gary puffed his chest out a little. “No sign of anyone.”

“
Really.” Dan’s eyes bored holes in him. “Did you push the door open with your hand?”

Gary looked startled, then crestfallen. “Ah, I guess.”

Dan sighed, pushed the door open using his shoulder and pulled me after him. We were in Dottie’s small living room.

“
Sit down there.” He shoved me toward an old fashioned rocker. “Don’t move. Don’t even think about it.”

“
What are you going to do?” I was still exasperated, but willing to get off my shaky legs.

“
I’m going to see if I can salvage a crime scene.” The bitterness in his voice did not bode well for some of the people milling aimlessly around in the kitchen. He stalked across the room toward the blaring TV and snapped it off. Noise from the front yard filled the room instead. He reached over and pulled the curtains aside. “What in God’s name’s going on out there?” He turned and ran out of the room.

Curious to see what had provoked such an interesting reaction, I got up, went to the window and pulled the curtains back. It was quite a spectacle. People were out of their houses, standing in little groups, blowing on their cold hands, stomping their slippered feet. Some wore clothes; most clutched their bathrobes tightly around them. A few actually ventured over Dottie’s low fence and into the yard to get a better view. All seemed unwilling to go inside for fear they might miss something. The fire trucks completely filled the street, lights still flashed, and there were a couple of new police cars. Uniformed people milled all over the garden area. No one was going to get convicted of this murder on the basis of footprints. I could see Dan yelling at people, clearing spectators and officers alike back from the house. Gradually something like order took shape.

“
Sorry I startled you before.” A voice sounded in my ear. I yelped, dropped the curtain, and whirled around to find Gary earnestly peering at me. “I really didn’t think, well, we aren’t used to murder around here, and, you know, you’ve been there both times. I--you all right?”

“
Fine.” I answered him as soon as my voice started working again. “Maybe I’ll sit down.” I headed back to Dottie’s high backed rocker and sank into it. Until Gary scared me, I hadn’t realized how upset I was. I could feel myself start to shake, my stomach was doing odd things, and I wanted desperately to cry. I was determined not to, especially with young Gary hovering over me.

“
Are you all right?” he repeated.

I wanted to scream at him, I just found the murdered body of a friend, it’s the second dead body I’ve found in the last week, how do you think I am? But before I could dissolve into hysterics, someone put their head through the swinging door and called out, “Gary, we need you.”

“
Leave that thing closed until I finish,” a bald man in a baggy gray suit said, as Gary pushed through. I caught only a glimpse of him brushing something on the jamb before the door swung shut and I was alone.

I sat and rocked. I willed myself to be calm. I took deep breaths, closed my eyes, and tried to empty my mind. Pretty soon I was calmer, but my eyes refused to stay closed, and my mind was crammed full of thoughts.