The Goodbye Body (6 page)

Once they’d gone, I leaned against Peter and said, “This is so bizarre. I feel like the housemother of a satanic sorority.”

He led me into the living room and we settled down on a sofa. “I won’t argue with you about that. Do you have any ideas whatsoever?” When I shook my head, he continued, “For starters, who the hell are those two who’re upstairs bubbling away their bruises—and why are they staying here?”

I explained what I could. “I have no reason to doubt their story, and I think it’s just a coincidence that they arrived the day after Dolly left. Maybe it’s not, but they haven’t shown any inclination to make off with the jewelry or the VCR. Then again, they could be waiting for an opportunity when we’re out of the house to have a moving van pull into the driveway.”

“Do you believe their story about being assaulted?”

I nodded. “They were truly upset when they came inside. Madison’s arm was red, and Sara Louise’s backside was dotted with grass. There were smudges of dirt on her shirt where she was kicked. What am I going to do if she really does have broken ribs? Is there any hope they’ll keep her in the hospital? Not that it would get rid of the insufferable Madison. I can’t envision her sitting at her cousin’s bedside, peeling grapes and reading
Vogue
magazine to her.”

“Don’t even think about tossing a hair dryer into the Jacuzzi,” Peter said. “That only works in fiction. Could they have anything to do with this body that won’t stay put for five minutes?”

“I don’t see how they could. They were waiting for a tow truck when it first appeared. And even if they were in some way involved, where would they have stashed the body for more than twenty-four hours? I didn’t search their rooms, but I would have noticed if they were carrying a rolled-up carpet when they left this evening.”

“Nothing escapes Miss Marple’s keen eye.”

“Cool it, Sherlock,” I said as I punched him in the rib cage, albeit gently enough to cause no damage. “I’m not on the case. There’s no way this can have anything to do with me, or with Caron and Inez. If all of this has to do with someone, it’s Dolly.”

“What do you know about her?” he asked idly, as though attempting to gain the confidence of a recalcitrant witness. He’d probably been given a fingerprint kit on his sixth birthday and dressed up like a Pinkerton agent for Halloween.

“Not much. Her husband died a year ago. I gathered that he was exceedingly wealthy, but generous in his will with bequests to family. Dolly didn’t seem to think there was any animosity when the estate was settled. She obviously inherited a substantial amount, and moved here from the Chicago area. Oh, and she and Bibi loved to tango. I wish I had the phone number in Dallas, darn it.”

“You said she called earlier. Didn’t you ask her for it?”

“I would have, but she just said she’d call back when she got the problem with the telephone company resolved. Before I could say anything else, she hung up. Can you trace the call?”

“I can, but it’ll take as long as a week. This is hardly a high-priority situation. A simple assault isn’t going to do it, and we can’t make a case for murder until we have evidence.”

“You told Caron you didn’t think she was lying.”

“And I don’t,” he said. “I believe she’s telling the truth as she sees it, but she’s almost a legend at the PD. Remember when she and Inez were arrested for trespassing in people’s yards while dressed in gorilla suits?”

“They weren’t technically arrested,” I said loftily. “They were picked up by an overly zealous animal control officer. The theft of the frozen frogs destined for dissection in the biology lab was never reported to the police. Inez did kidnap a baby recently, but for what she perceived to be a valid reason. In any case, that’s history.”

He flinched at the gunfire from the den. “And now they’re training to be interns for the Mafia?”

I rested my head against his shoulder. “What should I do, Peter? Dolly was kind enough to invite me to stay here, but it’s been a nightmare since we moved in. I’ve got to consider Caron’s and Inez’s safety, as well as my own.”

“You can all stay with me.”

“If ever there was an invitation issued in haste,” I said. “You have two bedrooms. Although Caron knows precisely what’s going on between you and me, she pointedly refuses to acknowledge that we do anything more than exchange chaste kisses. Do you really want to sleep on your sofa for ten days?”

“I can pay for hotel rooms,” he murmured, nuzzling my neck. “As long as they don’t have adjoining doors, you and I can—”

“And what about Madison and Sara Louise? I can’t allow them to stay here by themselves. Even if they’re not murdered in their beds, the house would look as if it had been used as a clubhouse for spoiled preppy princesses. The cleaning service would refuse to set foot inside. Even the pool guy might quit when he saw wine corks bobbing in the pool and martini glasses on the diving board. Dolly entrusted me with her house.”

Peter was not overwhelmed with compassion. “Throw them out. You never agreed to host them.”

“So they can sleep under a bridge until the car’s repaired? They’re Bibi’s nieces, for pity’s sake. I feel as though I should take them up cups of tea.”

“I can’t arrange for twenty-four-hour surveillance in the backyard. The best I can do is have a patrol car drive through the alley every few hours. That’s not likely to produce results, since this body is not on a regular schedule. If it appears tomorrow, have Caron or Inez stay with it while the other calls 911.”

“Now there’s a splendid idea,” I said coldly. “Either the man is not dead, and is therefore capable of doing physical harm, or he’s dead and someone is waiting nearby to whisk him away. I doubt said person is a benevolent employee of the sanitation department.”

The conversation drifted toward topics of a more intimate nature, although both of us were aware that Caron and Inez were in the next room. I finally told Peter I needed to resuscitate the vicar and sent him away, then conscientiously made sure the exterior doors were locked before I set the alarm. Caron refused to respond when I went into the den to say goodnight, and Inez’s smile was several degrees weaker than usual. I wasn’t sure if they thought I should sit by the pool all night with a shotgun in my lap or call the FBI and demand a forensics team to search the yard for DNA traces.

I opted for bed.

No one was about when I rose the next morning. Rather than set foot in the kitchen, I stopped by a drive-through window to pick up a cup of coffee and a politically incorrect muffin, and retreated to the Book Depot. The solitude, if not financially advantageous, was agreeable. A few students trudged toward the campus, laden with backpacks to hold not only their textbooks and notebooks but also all the vital electronic apparatus deemed necessary for survival of the fittest. Caron and I had engaged in numerous arguments about cell phones. I had not been swayed by her assertion that I was a pathetic example of a throwback to the twentieth century (a
Librasaurus extincta,
so to speak).

Sally Fromberger, the ever so enthusiastic chairperson of the Thurber Street Improvement District, stopped by with a stack of flyers for the upcoming Summer Solstice Fair. I declined to supervise a mock battle performed by the Society for Creative Anachronism knights in aluminum foil armor, consented to tape a flyer in the window, and hedged when she invited me to a planning session. A meeting by any other name is still a meeting.

An elderly woman dropped by and nattered to me about her cats as she thumbed through quilting books. A teenaged boy dressed in black leather came in, asked if I carried interactive computer games, and stomped out when I suggested he might interact more wisely with classic literature. A sorority girl shed a tear when I told her I did not carry any condensed versions of world history with, like, you know, pictures and maps and that kind of stuff. The head of the philosophy department came in to buy several westerns, and gravely declined my offer to wrap them in plain brown paper.

I was finishing the crossword puzzle when a pair of more promising customers came into the bookstore. The man had short gray hair, an uncompromisingly square jaw, and the tan of a dedicated amateur golfer. His plaid Bermuda shorts were not a good fashion choice, since they emphasized his bony knees and hairy calves. His companion, perhaps twenty years his junior, was dressed in a short skirt, sleeveless blouse, and a visor restraining cropped auburn hair. Her brown eyes were wide-set, and her shoulders broad. She looked as though she would be a fierce competitor on a golf course, a tennis court, a conference table, or even a Scrabble board.

“Looking for anything in particular?” I asked.

“We’re here on vacation,” he said, “staying at a condo by the country club. You have much in the way of military histories and biographies?”

I headed for the appropriate section against the back wall. “Just a few. I hate to say it, but you might have better luck at one of the bookstores in the mall.”

“Oh, I’ll find something. Lucy’s taste runs toward frivolous choices like mysteries. If you ask me, they’re a waste of one’s time, as well as one’s intellect. Don’t know why she bothers to read at all. She might as well watch decorating shows on TV.”

“Goodness, Daniel,” she said, “I don’t recall hearing anyone ask you. Why don’t you go bury your nose in Napoleon’s armpit while I have a look around?”

I showed her the rack of paperback mysteries. “I don’t carry much in the way of bestsellers. I prefer traditional mysteries, so that’s what I order. Do you have any favorite authors?”

She mentioned a few names that happened to be among my own favorites, so we had an amiable time searching for titles that she might have overlooked.

“You’re the owner?” she asked as we headed back to the cash register with a dozen paperbacks. “I’m Lucy Hood.”

“Claire Malloy. Are you enjoying your vacation?”

“It’s nice to get Daniel away from the office, even if he does spend all day playing golf. I ran out of books to read two days after we arrived. I was invited to play bridge at the clubhouse, but I declined. Local gossip doesn’t intrigue me, and bad bridge irritates the hell out of me.”

I began to ring up the sales, feeling increasingly kindlier toward her with each ka-ching of the cash register. “Why did you choose to come here?”

“We were told it’s a wonderful retirement area, so we decided to investigate. We’re going to tour a few gated communities adjoining golf courses later in the week. The weather’s purportedly mild, and—”

“Low property taxes,” Daniel asserted as he approached with a couple of books. “What’s more, the area’s booming, so we can rely on a profitable resale price if we decide to move elsewhere. The cost of housing in Southern California is exorbitant, and even if we were interested in southern Arizona or Florida, we’d have to invest too much of our—”

“Get out your wallet,” said Lucy. “I’m sure Claire’s not interested in the details of your IRA and pension plan. I know I’m not.” She looked at me. “So what’s the truth about the weather? We’re from Virginia and not at all accustomed to annual blizzards and relentless summer heat waves.”

“‘Purportedly mild’ is a good description.” I took Daniel’s credit card and began to fill in numbers on the receipt. “Occasional snow, but it doesn’t linger. August is usually pretty hot.” I glanced up as the bell above the door jangled and my science fiction hippie slithered in. “Spring and fall are lovely, though, and you don’t have to worry about hurricanes, earthquakes, or tornadoes.”

Daniel peered at the license displayed on the wall behind me, as dictated by the local powers that be. “Claire Malloy, eh? How long have you lived in Farberville? Did you attend the college?”

I handed him his card and a pen to sign the receipt. “I’ve lived here quite a few years, and I went to college elsewhere. Would you like a bag for the books?”

“Yes, please,” said Lucy, “and do forgive Daniel. He’s as snoopy as a little old lady who hides behind the curtains and spies on her neighbors.”

“Like that witch in the condo next to ours?” He laughed in a rather unconvincing way. “I think she’s hoping we’re going to skinny-dip in the hot tub. Why don’t you invite her over for coffee some morning, Lucy? She probably has some juicy stories about illicit liaisons behind the fourth green.”

“Let’s go, Daniel. I enjoyed talking with you, Claire. I’ll come by later in the week to replenish my book pile.”

I wished them a pleasant stay, and after they’d left, went to see what nefarious tricks were being perpetrated behind the science fiction rack. The hippie was squatting to peruse the lower rows, his jacket pockets bulging suspiciously.

“Find anything?” I asked.

Startled, he stood up. “No, just browsing. Who were those two that just left?”

“A couple of tourists. Unlike some, they paid for their books.”

“Spooky.”

I frowned at him. “Because they paid for their books?”

“No, them. Real spooky, if you know what I mean.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” I said, hoping he wasn’t in the throes of a hallucinogenic flashback from substances he’d ingested in the seventies. “They seemed very nice.”

He began to edge toward the door. “I’m talking real spooky. Don’t get all worried if I don’t come around here for a few weeks. I think I’d better go to an ashram to get my head straight. Nothing like meditation to realign your karma.”

I had a feeling he might benefit more from medication. “I’ll try to be brave. Send me a postcard if you have a chance.”

He backed through the door and headed up the street. I sighed as I noticed a few gaps on the rack, then went into the tiny office to collect a stack of catalogs. His absence might be the closest I’d come to a vacation, I thought as I sat down on the stool behind the counter. Lucy and Daniel had seemed to be the epitome of a normal, upper-class couple, bickering in a genteel way while they searched for a gated community where they would be sheltered from even a glimpse of the untouchable caste.

At noon, I put the
CLOSED
sign on the door and drove to Dolly’s house. There were no signs of activity in the front yard, and no blare of music from the back, which suggested that all concerned parties were still in bed. I was not inclined to rouse them and suggest we have lunch by the pool. I didn’t know of an antacid that could combat the level of acrimony and antagonism that would surface between bites of tuna salad and sips of iced tea.