Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder (17 page)

Jo grabbed his shoulders and shook him. She shouted, “Who helped you kill the medical examiner?” His head flopped loosely to the side.

Wind whipped Jo’s curls about her face as she watched the life leave his body. She reached out a tentative hand and crooked her finger in the collar of his shirt. Tugging it open, the tattoo of a crow on his neck was clear.

When she pulled her hand away, there was a smear of his blood on her finger. She shivered and wiped it off on his shirt. Her hand shook as she reached into her coat pocket and flipped open her cell phone. “Frisco. Yeah, it’s me, Agent Schwann. Found one of Sid’s killers. You might want to send someone from the ME’s office with a couple of body bags. Tow trucks, too.”

Chapter Twenty

Turners Bend

January

By mid-January Turners Bend was in hibernation. An ice storm followed by fourteen inches of new snow had paralyzed the county. Snowbirds had flown the coop to Florida and Arizona or left in their Winnebago trailer homes. High school basketball games were the highlight of the week for most residents, and everyone crawled out of their caves to cheer on the Prairie Dogs despite their dismal one and seven season to date. Dreams of reaching the state basketball tournament were melting a lot faster than the ice and snow.

Iver sometimes plowed for ten hours a day. Then did it the next day when it snowed again. He plowed out Chip’s road and always stopped in for a cup of coffee. He would pull one of the kitchen chairs over to the playpen to watch the puppies, delighting in their antics.

“Look at that Zeus. Isn’t he just the biggest little bully? Pansy can just take so much, and then she nips him, but that don’t seem to faze him one darn bit.”

“What do you think, Iver. Which one do you want?” This was the week that Chip was determined to find homes for the puppies.

“Not for me, but I’m thinking about one for Mabel. She’s been kinda blue, not being able to work and being cooped up in that house. I reckon that little Petunia is about the sweetest one. I’ve been thinking she’d be the one for Mabel.”

“I think you’re right about that. Petunia is ideal for Mabel, but I’ve been thinking Thor should be your dog. He’s going to be the biggest and strongest of the lot. Thor was the Viking god of thunder, you know. I can see him riding in the passenger seat next to you in the plow and on your road grader in the summer. You’d make a magnificent pair, and no one would ever mess with the two of you.”

Iver didn’t say anything, but Chip saw a smile that told him he had just placed two of the puppies. He was learning that with some “city slicker” showmanship he was going to be able to find good homes for the rest of the puppies.

Iver’s smile turned tentative. He cleared his throat and turned his eyes away from Chip. “I been wondering if I could show you another gift I been thinking on giving Mabel.” He put his hand in the pocket of his overalls and pulled out a small red velvet box.

Chip opened the box and let out a long low whistle. “Why you sly old dog.” Nestled in the box was a half-carat, emerald-cut diamond set in a yellow gold band. “Congratulations, buddy. She’s a fine woman.”

“When we almost lost her up at the Mayo, I knew I had to stick around and take care of her, ’cause I don’t want to be without her. But, I don’t know if she wants to put up with me. I’m no prize.” He picked up Petunia and kissed the top of her head.

“Tell you what, Iver, you bring her Petunia and give her that ring, and I guarantee you’ll be hearing wedding bells before the snow melts.”

Iver hesitated. “There’s one more thing. I’d be mighty grateful if you’d be my best man.”

Chip was blown away. “Iver, that’s such an honor. I don’t know what to say … except, yes, I sure will.”

The next morning Chip got two cups of coffee and two cinnamon rolls to-go from the Bun and trotted over to Town Hall to beguile Flora, his next prospective puppy parent, with 500 calories of baked goodness.

“Hi, lovely lady. I was hoping I could join you for a coffee break this morning.”

“Just the man I wanted to see. I understand you had a date with Dr. Jane. I wouldn’t dream of sticking my nose in your business, but I thought you might want my advice about how to impress her.” In her bright-red sweater and matching lipstick Flora looked like an overly ripe cherry.

“You know how I value your expertise, Flora. In fact, did I tell you I named my girl puppies after you? They all have flower names.”

“Oh, my. I don’t know what to say.” Flora patted her hair.

“There’s one in particular, her name is Pansy, and I think of you every time I watch her. Why don’t you come by and take a look at her? I know you won’t be able to resist her.” Warming to the role of dog salesman, Chip put his hand over his heart.

“I think I might just do that. And, you know, my granddaughter in Des Moines is having a birthday coming up. Is there another little flower for her?” She put her hand over her own heart.

“I think every little girl should have a puppy named Violet, don’t you?”

Hook, line and sinker … two fish with one rod and reel.

Four down and three to go. This was easier than Chip thought it would be. He was wondering if he hadn’t missed his calling. His next stop was the firehouse. Zeke and Porky, two volunteer firefighters, were polishing the hook and ladder. Zeke was over six feet, tall and slender as a broom handle. In sharp contrast, Porky was just over five feet and rotund.

“Hi, guys. How are Turners Bend’s finest today?”

“Busy as we want to be,” replied Zeke. “Want some lunch? Porky makes a mean chili.”

“That’d be great.” Zeke was right. Porky’s chili made Chip’s nose run and eyes water. He identified garlic and onion and possibly cinnamon and nutmeg, as well as hot peppers and chili powder and possibly chocolate. “Wow, what have you got in here?”

Zeke laughed and ran his hand over his shaved head. “I used to have hair before I ate Porky’s chili.”

Porky was a retired hog farmer—thus his nickname. He was too old and too overweight to fight fires, but his culinary skills were an asset to the department. He pushed his 285 pounds up from a chair and refilled Chip’s bowl. “Secret family recipe of twenty-nine herbs and spices.” He laughed and his belly bounced like a department store Santa Claus.

“You guys ever think about getting a firehouse dog?” Chip launched into his sales pitch.

“You mean like one of those dalmatians?”

“Well, I hear they’re temperamental. I was thinking more of a fine golden retriever, maybe a pup to train as a rescue dog.”

A friendly argument followed in which Zeke and Porky battled over which one of them would be a better trainer. In the end Chip succeeded in placing both Jupiter and Zeus, one for each man.

He was down to Lily, the last little girl. Chip had heard that Ingrid’s fifteenth birthday was around the corner. He would give Lily to Ingrid as a gift, and voila all the puppies would be gone.

Chip was pleased with himself until the puppies started to depart. As each puppy left for its new home, Chip, Honey, and Runt suffered. He fought back tears when he realized that Violet was going to Des Moines, a place where he may never see her again. Honey seemed to fret, as if she had misplaced her babies, and Runt continually sought Chip’s lap in loneliness for his brothers and sisters. They were a pathetic threesome for days, as they moped and wandered from room to room.

The phone rang.

“How’s the puppy-daddy?” Lucinda was back to her New York accent.

“I’m going to have Honey spayed. She and I couldn’t go through this again. It was just too hard to give our puppies away.”

“God, Chip, I think you’ve gone soft in the head. They’re dogs for Pete’s sake. Now, down to business. I hated to leave Rodeo Drive, but a girl has to work. Howie paid us a nice sum for the movie rights. He has to find a screenwriter, director and financing before anything happens, but in the meantime we’ve got money in the bank. After I pay the expenses for my time in Hollywood and take my fees, I’ll send you the rest.”

“If there’s any left, that is.”

“Don’t be snide, Collingsworth. Just forget about puppies and get going on
Brain Freeze
. Must I remind you that your deadline is fast approaching? Bye.”

Chip was not good with deadlines. Things always seemed to get in the way of finishing anything on time. Today he was more interested in what was happening in Turners Bend than he was in meeting Lucinda’s demands. Jane had voiced her frustration at the slow response from state and federal authorities, and there didn’t seem to be much the locals could do but to send out warnings about the creek water. He was trying to fit all the pieces together … the poisonings, the plant, Hal, Owen’s beating … and he had a nagging feeling that he was missing something, something more sinister than illegal dumping of toxic materials.

Chapter Twenty-One

The Bend

Mid-February

The Bend was the only drinking establishment in Turners Bend. The “B” in its neon sign had run out of gas. Chip never failed to view it as a prophetic omen … The _ end. Business at the Bend was inversely related to the weather, the worse the weather the bigger the crowd at the bar. There was some crossover between the morning regulars at the Bun and the evening regulars at the Bend, but there was an additional element of rough-looking, tough-talking young males. They drank heavily, cussed with every third word and used their fists when their limited vocabularies failed to communicate their points of view.

The day before Valentine’s Day, the Bend hosted Iver’s bachelor party. It consisted of lots of backslapping and teasing and a few bawdy jokes, but no strippers, no lap dancers and no naked girls popping out of cakes. Thus, it was shaping up to be unlike any bachelor party Chip had attended in Baltimore. He didn’t know what Benders expected from the best man, but he felt he should make a toast.

Without an available microphone, Chip was unsure how to get the crowd’s attention. He stood on a chair and clinked two beer bottles together.

“Hey, Joe, pull the plug on that jukebox so we can hear this dude,” said a guy in a leather vest and cowboy hat. Eventually the room quieted.

“Tomorrow Iver is going to become the luckiest guy in Turners Bend. Don’t know how, but he managed to snag the best available woman in town. I think we would all agree that Mabel is the grand prize. She must want someone to plow her driveway pretty damn bad.”

When the hooting ceased, Chip continued. “On the other hand, Mabel is smart enough to know a good thing when it comes along. He’s a diamond in the rough, and underneath those overalls is a heart of gold. I’m proud to call him my friend. Let’s hoist our glasses to Iver and Mabel. The next round’s on me.”

In a rich baritone Oscar Nelson started “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” and the others joined in, as Iver stood red-faced and grinning.

One guy who did not sing along was Hal Swanson. He sat bleary-eyed at the bar, drinking the establishment’s best single-malt scotch, Johnny Walker Black Label. Chip took measure of the man, an ex-high school football player gone soft and puffy with buttons straining his silvery silk shirt. His face was red and splotchy and his nose pitted … sign of a veteran drinker. A lexicon of adjectives came to Chip’s mind … sleazy, slimy, pseudo-suave, self-possessed, ruthless, conniving, but also smart.

Chip put his plan into action. “I’m buying this round. What are you drinking, Hal?” Chip took the barstool next to him. Hal’s whitened teeth sparkled like in a TV toothpaste ad.

“I’m a man who never turns down a free drink. Make it a double, Joe.”

“I need to do some research for my next book. Do you have any openings at AgriDynamics? I want to get some first-hand experience in a manufacturing company.”

Hal swigged half of his drink, sloshing some over the side of the glass.

Chip continued. “My agent is giving me pressure to get moving on this book. You met her a few weeks ago. Tall, flashy dame. What she doesn’t take in commissions and fees, my ex-wives do.”

“Hey, I remember that bitch, and I sure as hell know about ex-wives that give you crap and rob you blind. All I’ve got is a weekend opening in the warehouse. It’s on the third shift, but you can have it, if you want.”

“I’ll give it a try for a few weeks, just to get a feel for it.” They shook hands, and Chip walked away from the bar, congratulating himself and rubbing his hand on the side of his pants, as if it had come away greasy from the shake. The third shift on a weekend would be the perfect time to nose around AgriDynamics, look for toxins and see what other illegal activities might be going on.

On Valentine’s Day, Iver and Mabel were married at First Lutheran. Mabel wore a light-blue suit with a matching pillbox hat, trimmed with a wisp of veiling. Jane, her attendant, worn a mid-length navy-blue dress with long sleeves and a scooped neck low enough to show a peek of cleavage. Chip had never seen her in a dress before. Her curves delighted him as he stood next to Iver during the brief ceremony. The scent of roses was intoxicating, sweet and cloying. It was a heady experience for him, and his hormones began to surge.