The Goodbye Body (15 page)

In any case, the gun was gone. I closed the drawer and moved to the other side of the room to examine Bibi’s extensive video collection. Although I’d had the impression that all of them were black-and-white movies featuring mobsters, G-men, and machine guns, I found a selection of musicals from the forties and fifties and a few tearjerkers of an even older vintage. Caron and Inez had preferred to watch antiheroes bleed out in rain-slicked alleys, but I decided that were I forced to remain in the house too long, I would override them and settle in with the comforter to sniffle as fragile heroines succumbed to vaguely defined fatal illnesses, much to the chagrin of the steely-eyed men who’d secretly loved them throughout various tragic upheavals.

On a bottom shelf were exercise videos that did not tempt me, and a few that offered instruction in the basic tango steps, as well as more advanced moves. The covers of the boxes depicted women in long gowns and men in tuxedos, reminding me of Madison’s patronizing remarks about Dolly and Bibi’s passion. At least ballroom dancing was healthy and did not threaten the environment, I thought, although one woman was bent back so far that her vertebrae must have been crackling in protest.

I was about to replace them when I saw a video that had been cached behind the others. It did not have a protective box, but only a strip of masking tape and a handwritten notation that read: “Lookout Lodge, Catskills, 1991.” I glanced back at Sara Louise, who was still asleep, then inserted the video in the VCR, located the remote control, and pushed buttons at random until eventually the VCR whirred to life and the screen began to flicker. Although I wouldn’t have been stricken if the sound awoke Sara Louise, I muted the volume.

The video was clearly an amateur production, and an amateurish one at that. The camera wobbled and jerked, as if its operator were standing on a small dinghy in a rough sea, but eventually he found steadier footing and panned the room. The setting was a large banquet room, the players dressed elegantly, lights glittering off a rather scary mirrored ball above their heads. Gowns and tuxedos, as I’d anticipated. Round tables adorned with candles, flowers, and champagne glasses. Music must have begun to play, because most of the participants rose and began to glide past the camera. Silk and satin seemed to be compulsory. Some of the couples wore coordinating ensembles that were embellished with sequins and rhinestones. No one was smiling, suggesting this was serious business.

I waited patiently until I spotted Dolly, who was wearing an aquamarine gown. A fan of peacock feathers swayed in her hair. I assumed her partner was Bibi, the mysterious manufacturing mogul. He was significantly older than she, by as much as twenty or even thirty years. He appeared to be shorter, although it was hard to judge because of her towering hair. His hair, in contrast, had dwindled to a white ring around a shiny dome. A large, irregular nose and bushy white eyebrows dominated his face. If I’d encountered him on the street, I would have pegged him as a politician or a member of the European peerage. Both he and Dolly had expressions of dogged concentration, as though mentally replaying one of the instructional videos.

Eventually, everyone returned to the tables and the competition began. I was hardly qualified to judge the couples as they slunk, spun, whirled, and twirled across the dance floor, but I was impressed for the most part. Each move had been rehearsed and polished, if not always executed perfectly. I suspected that room service employees had been kept busy later that night with requests for footbaths, heating pads, and ice packs. The tango was not a dance for cowards.

After half a dozen performances, Dolly and Bibi had their moment in the spotlight. They looked pretty good to me, but I was biased. They were more cautious than some of the younger participants, but neither appeared to falter and Dolly did not limp off the dance floor, as her predecessor had done. The camera followed them as they returned to their table, then fizzled out.

I removed the video and replaced it at the back of the shelf. Dolly had brought no old photographs with her to Farberville, but she hadn’t been able to resist the video. It was not dusty, suggesting she’d watched it on occasion. Imagining her on the sofa late at night, a glass of champagne nearby, watching Bibi and herself under the sparkling lights, brought a tightness to my throat. I am by no means a slave to sentimentality, but candor obliges me to admit I was blinking back tears as I stood up.

I was tidying up the kitchen when Caron and Inez came inside through the sliding glass door. Both of them looked as grim as tango dancers, although I doubted there’d been much twirling at the police department.

“How did it go?” I asked.

“Just dandy,” Caron muttered as she sat down on a stool. “Peter asked us the same dumb questions over and over again, trying to trick us into confessing. It’s not like we knew the man, much less conversed with him. Peter almost choked when I suggested that Rhonda Maguire might be behind it. If anyone deserves to be locked away in a clammy cell…”

Inez pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I don’t think he was really expecting us to confess, Ms. Malloy. Most of his questions had to do with hearing a voice or a car engine, or remembering something we’d forgotten to mention.”

Caron snorted. “He didn’t get too excited when you told him you saw a scissor-headed flyswatter on a power line.”

“It was a scissor-tailed flycatcher,” she said haughtily. “They’re uncommon in populated areas. You certainly didn’t contribute much except for some lamebrained theory about Rhonda Maguire climbing the wall out of jealousy. Why on earth would she even own a black ski mask?”

I dropped a loaf of bread between them. “Would you like some lunch?”

“Wow, another sandwich.” Caron shoved the bread to the edge of the island, where it teetered briefly and then tumbled out of sight. “Are we under house arrest? Are they going to put manacles on our ankles?”

“Only if we attempt to break out,” I said. “Peter’s worried about us.”

“Which is why we have to stay in a house where a body was found twenty feet from where we’re sitting and those two sniveling morons claim to have been attacked in the front yard. It makes less sense than the Pythagorean theorem.”

I looked at her. “I hear there’s a cafeteria in the juvenile detention center. It probably includes a salad bar. I can’t promise a big-screen TV and a Jacuzzi, though. If you’d feel safer there, I’m sure it can be arranged.”

“I’ll make a salad” Inez said, edging out of the line of fire. “Does everybody like olives?”

I gave Caron a moment to stop huffing, then said, “Did Peter tell you about the body?”

“I told him they should have stuffed it in a safe-deposit box at the bank. He did not appreciate my remark.” She retrieved the loaf of bread and began to nibble on a slice. “What’s the big deal with it, anyway? I mean, once the guy was dead, it’s not like he was going to start blabbing state secrets. He looked way too ordinary to be a spy.”

“Maybe he was disguised,” Inez said as she took an armload of salad ingredients from the refrigerator. She dumped everything on a cutting board and found a cleaver. “Anyway, spies are supposed to look ordinary. That way nobody suspects them.”

“Suspects them of what?” demanded Caron.

Inez whacked at an innocent head of lettuce. “Of creeping into the headquarters to photograph documents and maps. Everybody thinks they’re just low-level bookkeepers or nameless secretaries. James Bond gets in trouble because he’s so tall and handsome. Real spies don’t get to be in movies because they never get caught.”

“Gee, I hope the archvillains aren’t bugging the room.”

“Continue this discussion later,” I said. “Caron, see if you can find a salad bowl. Shall we eat here or in the dining room?”

Caron remained where she was. “What’s the deal with those awful flowers in there? They’re so gaudy that I assumed they were plastic. Did Peter send them? I would have thought he had better taste than that.”

“I forgot to ask him,” I admitted. “Did he say anything to you about Dolly?”

“Just that they’re trying to find her.”

Inez began to wreak havoc on a tomato. “Well, he did ask us if we’d snooped through her closets and drawers.”

“About fifty times,” added Caron. “Had we inadvertently found a packet of correspondence, or pulled any boxes off the top shelf, or forgotten to mention finding the crown jewels under the bathroom sink? I was quite offended. Inez, that tomato looks like it was run over by a truck. I mean, do you have something personal against it? Were you force-fed ketchup as a baby?”

“I happen to be chopping it,” Inez said. “If all you’re going to do is sit there and criticize me, you can open a can of tuna fish for lunch.”

Caron rolled her eyes. “There are no cans of tuna fish in this kitchen. Anchovies, maybe, or smoked oysters in virgin olive oil. You are so utterly provincial. If you were someplace like Paris, you’d probably be looking for a McDonald’s.”

I was in dire need of a bus ticket to someplace like Billings, where I could sit on the porch of a log cabin at sunset and watch coyotes stalk prairie dogs. “I am going to sit out by the pool and read. The two of you may remain here, eat in the dining room, or go soak your heads in the Jacuzzi. You are not to come outside under any circumstances. Got it?”

I refilled my glass with ice and tea, and left the kitchen. Once outside, I did a quick tour of the yard on the off chance I might find the body in placid repose on a bed of aromatic pine needles. The gate was ajar. I made a note to ask Peter to bring a padlock when he came by later. It might not provide much of a deterrent, but nothing short of guard dogs and concertina wire would.

And why, I asked myself as I returned to the patio, would anyone find the need to keep making off with the body? As Inez had said, the corpse was no longer able to tell tales. Since there were no suspects, there could be no DNA samples or particles of fiber to be matched. Carting around a body was risky business. Stealing it from the hospital bordered on lunacy. Mordella had already been fingerprinted and officially identified. Photographs had been taken before and after the body was removed from the freezer. The cause of death was evident.

Dolly must have known him. She’d called his motel room, and then called me three days later on his cell phone. His arrival precipitated her departure in some way. As hard as I tried, I could not see her as a killer. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been as warm and gracious as always. She’d invited us to enjoy the contents of the freezer, which she hardly would have done if she’d left her victim among the pork cutlets. I myself had removed a package of hamburger meat the day after she’d left.

I avoided the lounge chair where I’d seen Mordella’s feet, sat down by the table, and let my gaze wander while I tried to construct a timetable that went as far back as Lookout Lodge. Peter and I could never tango, I thought with a sigh. The male led, and the female meekly followed (unless she was willing to risk a broken toe). It was his erotic fantasy, not hers.

Caron opened the sliding glass door. “Mother?”

“Do I look like Carmen Miranda? I thought I told you to leave me alone for a while.”

“You have a call.”

“Take a message,” I said coolly.

“It’s Dolly. She says it’s urgent.”

I brushed past Caron and snatched up the receiver from the table in the hallway. “Dolly?” I gasped.

“Well, yes,” she said. “I saw something in the newspaper about what happened last night, and I want to be sure you and the girls are okay. What a horrible thing, so insane, discovering a body like that! You must have been hysterical.”

Caron and Inez inched closer to me, their noses twitching. I shooed them toward the dining room, then went into the kitchen. “We’re okay, Dolly. How about you?”

“I’m fine, of course,” she said, surprised. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“And your sister and niece? Are they fine as well?”

“You sound very peculiar, Claire. I hope you haven’t been drinking so early in the day. That’s not to say I wouldn’t understand if you have been. The shock of finding a body in the freezer must have been a nightmare. I can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like for you. Now that I think about it, perhaps I’ll have a martini for lunch.”

“It was not pleasant,” I said. “But you must tell me about your sister’s condition. Has she improved since you arrived?”

“I suppose so.”

“Has your niece made any more margaritas?”

“I really don’t understand why you keep asking about them. I called out of concern for you and the girls. Have the police identified the body?”

“A man from New York City named Petrolli
Mordella. An old friend of yours?”

After a long pause, she said, “I don’t recall the name. Is he the one Caron and Inez saw behind the gazebo a few days ago?”

“So it seems. The police don’t know when he arrived in Farberville, but they do have the name of the motel where he was staying. Of course, you already had that information, didn’t you? Otherwise, you couldn’t have called him before you left for Dallas. How’s the weather down there?”

“Very chilly,” she said. “Why would you think I called this man? I don’t even know who he is.” When I did not reply, she added, “I did receive a rather odd message on the answering machine to call an unfamiliar number. It turned out to be a motel. I assumed it was an error and forgot all about it until now. I most certainly did not speak to anyone staying there.”

“That doesn’t explain why you have Mr. Mordella’s cell phone.”

Dolly’s laugh echoed like that of a used-car salesman. “No, I don’t guess it does. Perhaps I can explain when I get back from Dallas.”

“Or Atlanta.”

“Oh, dear, this is complicated, isn’t it? After I got to Dallas, I realized that I’d needed to call an old friend in Atlanta. She’d called me the previous week to tell me that her husband of twenty-three years walked out on her. When I spoke to her, I was worried that she might go berserk and shoot him, his twenty-five-year-old secretary, or herself. I felt as though I needed to be there to talk her out of whatever she might do. I didn’t want to mention it, because she’s a best-selling author. If the tabloids were to hear about this, they’d destroy her reputation.”

I wondered if she could be quite so nimble in the witness box. “That doesn’t explain why you have the murder victim’s cell phone.”

“That must be a mistake. I used my friend’s cell phone, but I simply cannot tell anyone her name. Friendships are very important to me, Claire, including yours. I would never knowingly put you in harm’s way.”

“Then why don’t you tell me what’s going on? Let’s start with your real name, as well as Bibi’s. Don’t waste your energy coming up with more fanciful stories and coincidences. The police have already checked all that out.”

The receiver began to crackle and buzz. “We’re losing our connection,” Dolly said loudly. “Cell phones are so unreliable. Can you hear me?”

“I hear you,” I said, also forced to raise my voice as the staticky buzzing increased. “Give me a number so I can call you back.”

Her voice faded. “I’ll have to call you, I’m afraid. Has anything come in the mail for me?”

“Nothing important,” I shouted. “Do you promise you’ll call me?”

“Yes, I—” The line went dead.

“Damnation,” I muttered as I continued to sit on the stool, scowling at the receiver. I was such a Luddite that no one even bothered to call me from a cell phone, so I had no idea if this was typical, or very convenient for Dolly. Was there a notation in the instruction guide for tactfully terminating conversations?

Caron opened the kitchen door. “What did Dolly say? Does she know who the dead guy is?”

“Did she shoot him and put him in the freezer?” Inez asked over Caron’s shoulder. “If she did, I’m not sure I want to sleep in her bed.”

I shrugged. “She’s not hiding under it, if that’s what worries you. Her earlier call was made from Atlanta, and she implied that she’s still there. This doesn’t mean she’s not in New Orleans or Miami or Kalamazoo. I guess I’d better call Peter and tell him about this.”

Caron grabbed Inez’s arm. “You know what we ought to do? We should write a book about this. We’ll call it something really provocative like
Ice Cold Corpse.”

“How about
Freezer Burn?”
suggested Inez.

“Not bad,” said my daughter the seasoned crime writer, stopping short of posing for the jacket photo. “There’s some paper in the desk in the den. The first thing we have to do is write down exactly how horrified we were each time the body appeared. After that, we can—”

“You can’t use the den,” I said. “Sara Louise is asleep on the sofa.”

They stared at me. “No, she’s not,” Caron said. “She left half an hour ago. She came in the kitchen and said she was going upstairs, but a couple of minutes later we heard the front door close and the car start up. You were out on the patio and said you didn’t want to be disturbed.”

It seemed that, for once, my daughter had not only listened to me but also chosen to take me literally. “Did she say anything else?”

“I told you what she said, Mother. Why does everybody act like I’m holding back some earth-shattering revelation? She did not say that she was going to the morgue to collect another body, or that she’d remembered who shot that man and was going to make a citizen’s arrest. I’m sure I would have noticed.”

Inez blinked at me. “All she said was that she was going upstairs, Ms. Malloy. When we heard the front door close, we looked out the living room window and saw her drive off in Dolly’s car.”

“It’s not like we were assigned to follow her around with a cold compress and a pot of tea,” added Caron. “Besides, who cares? I wouldn’t mind a bit if she decided to drive all the way back to wherever she lives. We can give her a couple of hours of grace, then report the car stolen. I’d like to see her try to explain that to some potbellied sheriff in Missouri.”

I waved my hand at them. “Then go into the den, or out by the pool, or better yet, upstairs to the Jacuzzi. I read somewhere that all truly great authors think best when immersed in hot water. I need to call Peter.”

“Is he going to be mad?” Inez asked timidly.

“I’m quite sure he will be. Now go off and write your bestseller. Dolly knows someone who can help you find an agent when the time comes.”

Caron opened her mouth to respond, but closed it when she saw my expression. “Yeah, come on, Inez. We can write a hundred pages before dinner, which no doubt will be sandwiches. Pretty soon we’ll be reduced to trapping songbirds and scooping frogs out of the pool.”

I waited until they’d gone into the den, then dialed the number of the police station. While I was left on hold and treated to a recorded voice offering tips on protecting my home from burglars, I carried the receiver with me into the guest bathroom and found a bottle of aspirin in a cabinet. Although I was tempted to wash it down with scotch, I went into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. I was seated on a stool when Peter finally came on the line.

I warned him not to interrupt, then related the conversation with Dolly as best I could. “There’s no point asking me to repeat it over and over again,” I continued. “When the connection went bad, she promised to call me back. Please note that I’m not holding my breath.”

“So noted,” he said drily. “I suppose I’d better send a technician up there to rig the phone so we can tape any future calls. You took quite a hit this morning. How are you feeling?”

“Rotten. If I keep taking aspirin at this rate, I won’t have a headache—but I’ll start feeling as if I’m in a casino filled with slot machines. Caron’s being her obnoxious self, and Inez seemed disconcertingly intent when she chopped a head of lettuce into shreds. Oh, and Sara Louise left a while ago.”

All sympathy disappeared from his voice. “She what? Where did she go?”

“If I knew, Sherlock, you’d be the first to hear. I was out by the pool. She told Caron and Inez that she was going upstairs, presumably to lie down on her bed, and then drove away. Either the pain pill wore off, or she was faking it. I should have poked her after all.”

“She took Dolly’s car, right?” He told me to wait, then barked orders to have the patrol officers start searching for it. Once everybody had scurried off to comply, he said, “This is by far the screwiest case I’ve ever encountered. Please don’t succumb to any flashes of insight and go storming off to confront the murderer in a cave or an empty warehouse—or the bookstore, for that matter. Jorgeson arranged for deadbolts, since there were no signs that someone broke in. He’ll keep the key until this is resolved.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want anything else to happen to you, Claire. You know how much I love you. I just wish I could trust you that much.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said solemnly, “and I promise to tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“When have you ever told me the whole truth?”

“When it suited me,” I said, smiling for the first time that day. “I have a lead on Dolly’s identity, by the way. I found a video of her and Bibi competing in a tango tournament—or whatever it’s called—in 1991 at a hotel called Lookout Lodge in the Catskills. Maybe they keep fastidious records.”

“I’ll put that on the list, right after bagging all the pine needles for evidence. As soon as I can get away for the day, I’ll come over and let you know what we have thus far. Shall I bring something for dinner?”

“Anything but sandwiches.”

I replaced the receiver on the base and went to the doorway of the den. Caron was draped across the sofa, reciting a litany of aggrandized emotions that had bathed her in perspiration, turned her blood to ice water, and left her paralyzed with fear as she stared at the corpse. Inez was perched on the ottoman, a notebook balanced on her knees, scribbling madly. I suspected Jane Austen and Louisa May Alcott had gone about it differently.

I decided to take a quick shower before the technician arrived to fiddle with the phone. My earlier sprawl on the floor of the bookstore had left a residue of dust on my T-shirt and shorts. Blood from the scrapes on my elbows and knees had discolored the Band-Aids. A long-sleeved shirt and jeans would cover the worst of it. The hair on the back of my head was matted, as to be expected, but less than alluring.

I was putting on clean clothes when Caron shouted, “There’s some man at the front door, Mother!”

“Let him in and show him where the phone is,” I called back. “I’ll be down in five minutes.”

I presumed the man had a badge rather than a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead, so I gave myself a few additional minutes to dry my hair with a towel. I still looked pale, I thought as I scrutinized myself in the mirror, and a faint discoloration on my cheekbone might evolve into a black eye worthy of an inept boxer. Various aches and pains had retreated for the time being. I gave my curls a final fluff, then went downstairs.

No police officer, uniformed or otherwise, was bent over the phone. Puzzled, I started for the den, then saw Gary Billings in the dining room.

“I came by to see how you’re doing,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind. You’re looking much better than you did this morning.”

“It’s very kind of you to be concerned,” I said coolly. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Is it too early for a glass of wine?”

I suggested he go out to the patio, then went into the kitchen. The idea of a glass of wine appealed, but I dutifully fixed myself a glass of iced tea. I left the sliding door open so that I could hear the doorbell and save Caron from losing her train of thought in mid-sentence. Authors in a creative frenzy should never be interrupted by anything less significant than a tidal wave or an earthquake measuring at least eight on the Richter scale. Even the arrival of the Prize Patrol was iffy.

“No wine for you?” asked Gary, crinkling his eyes just enough to make them sparkle. “It seems to me you deserve one after all you’ve been through these last two days.”

I sat down across the table from him. “I appreciate your efforts at a heroic rescue this morning, even though it wasn’t necessary. I’m used to my science fiction hippie, but I can understand why he looked guilty to you. Usually he is guilty when he comes inside the store, but only of shoplifting. I consider it a charitable gesture. I wish it were deductible as well.”

“I felt like an idiot.”

“Some days there’s no need for a knight in shining armor.” I took a sip of tea, aware that he was doing his best to overwhelm me with his masculine charm. I had yet to decide if he actually had any. “The police have taken care of everything, including deadbolts. I should be able to straighten up the mess and open in a few days.”